#i am an ignorant fool and i must atone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marwritesgood · 4 years ago

Text

Peach | S. Basett

Pairing: Simon x WOC!Reader

Timeframe: Season One AU

Summary: Y/n tries to ignore her aunt’s words, while Simon prays he is not yet out of time.

PART ONE // PART TWO

masterlist

A/N: This fic is just over 8K words

I cannot thank you enough for receiving this mini-series with so much love and support! I am so grateful that so many of you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed creating it.

I hope you like this ending <3

Philippa was still standing on the steps outside her home when Simon arrived.

He raced through gates atop his horse but, when he quickly realised Y/n was nowhere in sight, he came to a halt. A worker appeared beside him as he came down from the saddle, guiding the horse away so that Simon could approach Lady Bennet.

“Lady Bennet-”

“I take it you hesitated to come here?” Philippa questioned bitterly. She had made it quite clear to the Duke that time was of the essence. Yet, he stood, dishevelled and panting because he was late, despite his delayed best efforts.

“Lady Bennet, please help me,” Simon exhaled, taking his hat off swiftly and holding it to his chest. Philippa had begun walking towards her home before she turned around again.

“Grant me one reason as to why I should help you, your grace,” she sneered. “Did you not possess every available opportunity to make amends with my niece ever since her arrival in London?”

“I did,” he cried, desperate to obtain Philippa’s assistance. “I had every opportunity but, like the fool I am, I took each one for granted. I have been far too preoccupied with affairs I do not care for; I have stupidly disregarded that which matters most to me; my relationship with Y/n.”

He grew quiet for a moment, during which the only sound heard in the cortile was that of Simon’s panting, a consequence of his frantic outburst. Philippa’s cold and glaring expression remained unfazed. She could not yet decide whether she trusted him.

Simon waited until he caught his breath to speak again.

For any other person in the world, he would uphold his reputation of being reserved and brooding. However, Y/n was not any other person in the world to him. She meant a great deal to Simon, and he was willing to disregard his typical persona, stoicism and all if it meant fixing things between them.

Even if it meant a vocal revelation of how he truly felt.

“I... I love her,” Simon admitted, the crinkle between his brows a confirmation of his sincerity. Philippa’s scowl faded. “I know I am undeserving of your ladyship’s help... just as I am unworthy your niece, but I can no longer deny the true nature of my feelings for her. Nor can I begin to describe the regret I have for not being here sooner so that I could confess this to her.”

As silence filled the courtyard once more, Simon glanced at the floor beneath him, overcome with regret and sorrow. Had he reached the Bennet home quicker, it would have been easy.

“Well then... you ought to begin thinking,” Philippa stated flatly, inciting confusion upon Simon. She smirked, amused by Simon’s response. He always was slow to catch on. “Your grace, if I am going to help you reach my niece, the very least you can do is think of what you will say to her.”

A wide grin slowly made itself apparent on Simon’s face. Suddenly the sorrow he felt previously was beginning to be replaced with a newfound hope- one he would, this time, indulge in and act hastily upon. He was not going to allow himself to repeat his same mistakes.

“Alright now,” she smiled. “I presume you have a plan in mind?”

Simon thought for a moment. While he feared he would miss Y/n’s departure, Simon, unfortunately, did not consider what he would do. He began panicking, straining his train of thought as he sought for even a scrap of an idea.

Then Simon remembered how he found himself in this position. He recounted all the times in his past, where he hesitated. Where became so enveloped in all the matters that burdened his mind, he lost sight of what mattered most to him.

He refused to fall subject to that mentality again.

Therefore, for the first time in his life, Simon turned to his instincts. Not his desire for perfection. Not his pride or his arrogance or his vengeance. What mattered most at that moment was how he could best apologise to Y/n and prove that he loved her dearly.

“Do you know the man whose proposal she is to accept?”

Philippa nodded. She narrowed her eyes at Simon, curious as to what he intended to do. Lady Bennet knew she would inevitably agree, no matter how strange the plan turned out to be, but she was still greatly curious and the slightest bit concerned.

“Can you delay him?” Simon asked. “By the time Y/n’s carriage reaches her home, it will be dusk; thus, I presume she will plan to meet with her suitor in the morning. I need you to delay that from happening.”

“And what will you do?” Philippa questioned. “Would it not be wiser for us both to leave immediately?”

Simon shook his head. He thought of the right way to phrase his answer. If Simon revealed his plan to Lady Bennet, he knew she would support him wholeheartedly. However, he thought it best to keep the better part of it concealed. It would have more effect that way, he believed.

“There are a few places I must visit beforehand,” he explained.

“You are asking me to delay Mr Graham so that you can visit a few places?!”

“I am asking your Ladyship to have trust in me,” Simon pleaded. “Hurting your niece is my biggest regret. I intend to atone for my mistakes, not repeat them.”

Philippa stared intently at the Duke. It was a massive ask of her; to leave her family momentarily and interfere with Mr Graham’s pursuits. However, every instinct she possessed led her to believe that Simon was sincere. The confidence he held gave her hope that his plan would work. She sighed.

“Then you must leave immediately,” Philippa ordered him. “Visit the places that say you must visit and then race hastily to my sister’s home. I will do my best to delay Mr Graham until then.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Simon cheered before doing just as he was told.

He raced towards his horse and climbed atop the saddle. Philippa dashed inside to organise yet another carriage headed to her hometown. Both equally determined to keep their beloved Y/n from accepting Mr Graham’s proposal.

***

The Y/l/n household was, needless to say, very much hectic. Y/n had arrived home the night before, hoping she would, at the very least, be able to have some sleep before the next morning. That proved to be impossible.

The words of her Aunt Philippa haunted Y/n during her journey home. Then, just as she feared, it continued to do so as Y/n tossed and turned in her bed. Once she finally began to settle, her mother barged in with sever different dresses for her to try on.

“Sit up straight, dear.”

Y/n flinched at the sudden sound of her mother’s orders. She reluctantly obeyed and straightened her back. When Mrs Y/l/n turned back around, Y/n sighed exasperatedly, slumping her shoulders ever so slightly. Her hands curled into tight fists as she tried to keep herself from dozing off yet again.

“I do not understand,” Mrs Y/l/n agonised as she paced the sitting room. This was an all too familiar situation for Y/n. “Mr Graham is known for being punctual, yet he is running terribly late.”

Y/n could care less that Mr Graham was late. Not while she was living off of less than an hour of slumber.

“You don’t suppose I could have a scone while we wait, mama,” Y/n mumbled. She was not particularly hungry so much as she was desperate for some energy.

“Do not be silly, Y/n. You mustn’t risk staining your dress,” Mrs Y/l/n replied. Eager to make sure everything went perfectly, she sat beside her daughter and asked the same question she had asked every hour previously. “Now, have you prepared what you will say?”

“Yes, mama, for the fifth time, yes,” Y/n droned. Her exhaustion only intensified her irritability which her mother seemingly lived to test continually. “I don’t understand your concern with how I respond. It matters not how I respond but that I simply remember to say ‘yes’?”

On any other given day, Mrs Y/l/n would have scolded her daughter. However, for reasons unknown to Y/n, she simply sighed and took hold of her hand.

“Words hold great power, dear,” Y/n’s mother explained simply. She glanced down at her daughter’s hand momentarily before meeting her gaze once more. “They are a valuable indicator of one’s character. How Mr Graham proposes to you will tell you of his attitude towards you and your future marriage. How you respond will do the same to him.”

Y/n nodded, knowing first-hand the amount of truth in her mother’s statement.

She did not care for her response to him as she did not care for him or their future marriage. Y/n simply wished to move past what had happened with her and Simon. This was beginning to become clear to her.

“I will respond to him properly, mama,” Y/n assured.

Mrs Y/l/n smiled, lifting her hand to cup the side of her daughter’s face. It was slowly dawning on her that in only a matter of time, Y/n would be married. When Mrs Y/l/n sent Y/n her letter, she knew the issue of her daughter being unwed would resolve itself in one way or another. However, Mrs Y/l/n was taken by complete surprise when Y/n came home on her own accord.

It was far too out of character for her.

She tried her best to look past it. Mrs Y/l/n rushed to get everything in order for Mr Graham’s arrival. However, it was becoming clear to her that she had been too preoccupied with doing so.

As Mrs Y/l/n struggled to find a way to question Y/n about her behaviour, Mr Graham’s carriage arrived outside her home. Y/n looked out her window and jumped to her feet. Before she could race to the door, her mother held her back.

“Before he comes in, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “Are you... Are you sure you are ready for this? Is this truly what you want?”

Y/n scoffed. Her previous concerns about accepting Mr Graham’s proposal suddenly became easy to look past. Y/n’s resentment for her mother began to surface, adding much to her motivations to go through with marrying.

“Mama, please do not pretend to care about what it is I want.”

Mrs Y/l/n had not expected her to react in such a manner. She was not prepared to have her mothering methods confronted. Y/n’s mother’s primary concern had always been ensuring her daughter marries. It gave Mrs Y/l/n significant discomfort to realise how this resulted in her overlooking what should have mattered more.

Not to mention how she only came to realise this just as her daughter was about to agree to marry a man she expressed great disinterest in just weeks before.

Y/n rushed out of the room before her mother could say anything further. As she reached the hallway, Y/n watched the doors burst open. Much to her surprise, it was not Mr Graham alone who walked through. Instead, Mr Graham was with her Aunt Philippa, who relentlessly attempted to guide him in the opposite direction.

“Mr Graham, please, I must show you-”

“Lady Bennet, you have shown me enough gardens,” Mr Graham insisted, trying his best to contain his annoyance. “In fact, I am quite certain you have shown me almost every garden in town.”

“All except the best one, sir, which is located just outside the-”

“- Aunt Philippa, enough!” Y/n shouted.

Mrs Y/l/n reached the hallway just as Y/n called her sister’s name. Mr Graham exhaled tiredly before holding his hands behind his back and regaining his composure.

Philippa sighed. Her attempts at delaying Mr Graham by badgering him to stop at all 9 gardens on their way to her sister’s home all appeared to be in vain. Simon had yet to arrive, and it was clear they were out of time.

“Philippa?” Mrs Y/l/n said in shock. Her sister had always made an effort to give notice before visiting.

“Hello, sister,” Lady Bennet replied awkwardly, trying her best to force a smile.

Y/n had been glaring at her aunt.

She was furious that after she made clear her intention countless times to Philippa, her aunt still chose to meddle. Y/n felt more adamant than ever to go through, even if to simply spite her aunt. It was due time that they learned to refrain from making her decisions for her.

Even if it meant marrying a man she did not particularly care for.

She forced herself to appear alright, mainly in the hopes that it would influence her feelings. That it would obliviate her concerns. It was her last resort at being ok with what she was about to do.

“Mr Graham,” Y/n called out. The man stood tall, prompting Philippa to grimace. “You may join me in the sitting room.”

She walked ahead of him, guiding Mr Graham to the room. Once he walked in, Y/n turned around and closed the door before returning her attention to him. She fiddled with her hands while he cleared his throat.

Y/n was fixated by the words of both her mother and her aunt. She kept asking herself the same question Philippa had. Could she be happy? Could she possibly find any enjoyment in marrying a man like Mr Graham? In living an inevitable future with him?

Mr Graham was exhausted from the long journey he was forced to take with Lady Bennet. For the most part, his mind was blank, aside from his impending desire to return home.

“Is there anything you wish to say, Mr Graham?” Y/n asked. Mr Graham was taken aback. “Before I give you my response, that is.”

Y/n was resorting to humouring her mother’s advice. She wanted to see how Mr Graham was going to ask for her hand so that, this time, she could identify his intentions. Y/n wished to put aside the conclusions she reached about Mr Graham; he was arrogant and ignorant.

She hoped he could prove that he had one if any, good qualities aside from possessing wealth.

“Uhm-” Mr Graham coughed. “You will remember my father is the primary supplier of livestock commodities in our town.”

“Yes, I do remember-”

“By livestock, I am of course referring to domesticated animals raised in agricultural settings,” he continued, despite Y/n’s best efforts to get a word in. It seemed Mr Graham believed he had reason to take her for someone simple-minded; reasons Y/n did not care for but absolutely resented. “And by commodities, I mean the products-”

“-Yes, I am aware of what words mean, Mr Graham,” Y/n retorted.

“That you are,” he smiled, patronising her even more.

Outside the sitting room, Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n stood with their ears pressed against the door in the corridor. The more they heard Mr Graham speak, the more concerned they became for Y/n. Philippa’s stomach churned as she thought of her poor niece being wed to such a man. She could hardly believe she managed to last the journey there with him and not be at her wit’s end.

“I was recently made aware of the amount your father is offering for your hand,” Mr Graham stated, wincing as he did so. Y/n knew how small her dowry was, and she was annoyed that Mr Graham unnecessarily reminding her. “And you will be pleased to know that I am willing to look past it.”

“How charitable of you, sir,” Y/n muttered. Mr Graham did not catch on to her sarcasm. He was an easily distracted man, Y/n concluded. One need only groom his ego, even sarcastically, for him to be oblivious.

Y/n was reminded again of what her Aunt

“Yes, it is quite charitable of me,” Mr Graham remarked, smiling as he felt pleased with himself. “In fact, that is the very reason I first asked for your hand. Father believed it a grand idea that I marry a woman of your kind. Should attract a different demographic to choosing Graham as their supplier.”

“A woman... of my kind?”

The Grahams were the primary supplier of livestock. However, the few other families in Y/n town, who were not white, found livestock commodities elsewhere. It was clear Y/n that they viewed her as a pawn in their pursuit of broadening their clientele.

Y/n could already foresee where the conversation was headed, and suddenly her aunt’s questions held all the more weight.

‘Do you truly believe you will be happy?’

It took her only a moment to think it over. There was no denying that Mr Graham possessed all the ignorance and arrogance Y/n suspected he did, so she considered if it was worth bearing. Would a mediocre future with him be worth having to endure his jabs at her identity, her class and her family?

Mr Graham and his father dealt with domesticated animals for a living. It was clear that they viewed Y/n just the same.

Thus, her mind was decided.

“I expected you to be grateful,” Mr Graham commented, confused as to why Y/n was not flattered that of all the two women who made eye contact with him at the town ball. It was she who received a proposal from him. “You do not exactly have an abundance of suitors lined up at your door. Not to mention, I was generous enough not to withdraw my proposal after you asked for... time to consider your answer.”

Out in the corridor, the two sisters exchanged glances. Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n both argued quietly over who was to barge in and reprimand Mr Graham.

“That is quite enough, Mr Graham,” Y/n hissed, beating both her mother and her aunt to it. Her mind was, after all, decided.

Y/n had struggled for most of her life with control in that she had little of it. If it was not society dictating how she was to live and breathe, it was her mother. This time would be different, Y/n decided.

This time, she would be taking control and making decisions based solely on her own input.

“Thank you for expressing your feelings, your family history and your intentions with such candour,” Y/n began sweetly. Just as she expected, Mr Graham took nothing but pride in what he believed was sincere gratitude. “And thank you for being so charitable as to offer a lowly woman such as myself a proposal of marriage.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n listened in with concern. They both knew Y/n too well to believe that she send Mr Graham off with civility and decorum. Y/n was the least bit concerned for either.

“You have been so generous with your time,” Y/n continued. “Therefore, I will not keep you waiting any longer... Mr Graham, I will not be accepting your proposal.”

Y/n took great pleasure in rejecting his proposal. Mr Graham grew pale as he quickly realised what her answer was. He stood on the opposite side of the sitting room, yet Y/n was desperate to further away.

“You... You mustn’t be serious,” he exhaled dumbfounded. The man possessed a great ego when he first enters Y/n’s home. Thus she was determined to shrink, if not demolish it.

“On the contrary, sir,” Y/n smiled, this time genuinely. “I am perfectly serious.”

“S-surely you have not considered the ramifications of denying my proposal,” Mr Graham reasoned.

Y/n was far too accustomed to being lectured by white men on not considering her actions’ consequences. They, of all people, she believed, were the least bit qualified to talk another on such matters. Not when they are granted every luxury and advantage at birth.

“Miss Y/l/n, you must know, after two seasons of rejected proposals, it is doubtful you will receive another after me,” Mr Graham explained. He was merely adding insult to injury. “And with a dowry as small as yours, I predict your future will be bleak.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Y/n replied, her head held high as she knew Mr Graham was expecting her to be grovelling. “Perhaps I will not receive another proposal after you. Perhaps I will be doomed to live a life of struggle and severe austerity, but make no mistake Mr Graham. I would sooner commit to the life of an impoverished spinster than I would, ever again, entertain the prospect of being your wife.”

Y/n marched towards the door and swung it open, revealing Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n eavesdropping on their conversation. Y/n hoped that would be the case, as an audience’s presence prompted Mr Graham’s mortification to increase tenfold.

“I must ask you to leave immediately.”

Mr Graham did not wait another moment. He just about sprinted out the door, determined to never step foot in the Y/l/n home again. Y/n stood in the hallway with a smirk and a proud glimmer in her eye. If she felt as a result of taking control, her only regret was not doing so sooner.

Perhaps Y/n would regret her decision later in her life. Maybe she only created more issues for herself than anything else. However, all that would be affairs she would attend to last, in the far off future. For now, she was happy.

Y/n headed towards her bedroom without saying a word to her mother nor her aunt. She had not done so on purpose. She was simply desperate to change out of her corset and resume resting her fatigued body. Once Y/n was altered, she sat on the edge of her bed. As she let out an audible sigh, Y/n slumped her shoulders and fell back.

She had never been so grateful for her mattress.

Y/n closed her eyes momentarily. She was very sleep-deprived, yet she was on an incredible high from the adrenaline of rejecting Mr Graham so explicitly. Before she opened her eyes, Y/n felt the mattress sink at her sides. As she opened her eyes, she realised both her mother and aunt were lying beside her.

“I must apologise to you both,” Y/n explained, reach her arms out to hold each of their hands. “I have caused you both a great deal of grief. And it all appears to be in vain now that I have rejected Mr Graham.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n turned to face Y/n, both with the same expression.

“You may be sorry for many things in life, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “But you mustn’t dare apologise for denying Mr Graham’s hand... you mustn’t ever.”

Y/n smiled. She was unsure what motivated her motivated to have such a change in character. However, she was far too pleased with it to question it.

“Any thought as to what you will do now, dearest?” Philippa asked. She looked over to her niece with her brows raised, and her sister followed suit.

It was clear that neither of them could keep Y/n from doing what she wanted. Therefore, it was decided that both Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n would simply stand aside and hold her hand throughout it all. Y/n thought for a moment.

“Perhaps another season?” Y/n answered.

In an ideal world, Y/n would have opted for something different. Perhaps she would have embraced the idea of being a spinster. In perfect world, such a fate would not be so grim. However, that was not the world Y/n lived in.

And so she opted to embrace the best and only option she had.

“Truly, dear?” Mrs Y/l/n exclaimed. While she was overcome with excitement, she wanted to ensure it was her daughter’s genuine desire.

“Yes, mama,” Y/n insisted, smiling weakly. She hoped in time the prospect would become more appealing to her. “-and it will be much different this time, hopefully for the better, as I am now willing to comply with you and your rules and your overprotective nature. I want it all.”

Mrs Y/l/n did not take offence. Instead, she simply laughed and leaned her head in to kiss Y/n’s temple. She had raised a mighty blunt and greatly opinionated daughter.

Mrs Y/l/n was most proud of it.

“I must excuse myself,” Y/n’s mother said. She placed her arms behind her and lifted herself off Y/n’s mattress. “Your father will be delighted to hear the news, I am quite sure.”

Y/n laughed at her mother’s excitement. Once Mrs Y/l/n left to recount the morning to her husband, it was just Y/n and her aunt.

“I hope you won’t mind me asking, dear,” Philippa whispered, inching closer to her niece. She feared the next subject of conversation would strike a chord with Y/n. “Has any of this changed your feelings... towards Simon?”

“No,” Y/n answered shortly, her voice neither louder nor quieter than previously. “He will soon be a married man, so it is most appropriate I refrain from paying him any mind so as to not remind myself of my feelings for him.”

Philippa huffed, torn as to whether or not she should tell her niece. Would doing so disrupt the duke’s plans? Would it not be better for Y/n to hear the truth from Simon himself when he eventually came? Would he ever arrive?

“I, however, must admit- whatever rage and anger I once held against him has since passed,” Y/n sighed. “You were right in what you said before... Although it will not be me who marries Simon, I do hope to marry someone like him.”

Someone like who he was before he became Duke Hastings, Y/n thought.

“You do?” Philippa smiled. She decided not to reveal anything to her niece quite yet. Lady Bennet was confident such a task should be carried out by Simon and him only.

“Hmm,” Y/n nodded. “Someone of good character and of a kind heart. A man who does not resent me when I raise arguments but rather engages in them.”

“It is the least of what you deserve in a husband, my dear,” Philippa replied.

The two of them shuffled to the top of Y/n’s bed, where her pillows laid. Both were exhausted from travelling in from London and enduring what had been a most eventful morning.

They both remained silent to get some sleep in before Mrs Y/l/n would eventually call them down for breakfast. However, just as Philippa began to drift off, his niece disrupted the quiet.

“Aunt Philippa,” she murmured. “I never did ask you what exactly compelled you to come... let alone badger Mr Graham as a means of delaying his arrival.”

Y/n was unsure what she was expected her aunt to reply. Philippa grew nervous as she tried to respond in a manner that would not reveal the real reason she came to her sister’s home.

“I-I,” Philippa stammered quietly. “-I simply could not sit idle... and let you accept Mr Graham’s proposal.”

Y/n hummed before turning to her side. It was a predictable answer, yet it left her with a bitter feeling of disappointment. She slept without

Philippa sighed in relief before hoping that wherever Simon was, whatever it was he was doing that moment, that it would not hinder him any longer from finally reaching the Y/l/n home.

***

Y/n awoke from her nap to an empty bed and an open room. She was curious about where her aunt had gone, not to mention why her mother did not wake her for breakfast. The sky had darkened significantly since she first fell asleep, though Y/n was sure it was not yet evening.

She climbed out of bed and donned a simple dress. Y/n could hear the faint sound of her parents talking, so she suspected they were with Philippa. Afterwards, Y/n wandered down the steps of her home and headed to the dining room. The conversation grew quiet, prompting her to call out.

“Have you truly begun eating without me?” Y/n laughed as she pushed the doors open.

As she stepped inside, a man stood from his seat- across the table from Philippa and Mr and Mrs Y/l/n. He turned to face Y/n with his hands held behind his back.

“Simon.”

Y/n was awestruck. All she could say was his name, and after muttering it quietly when he stood, she found herself left speechless. What could motivation could he possibly have to travel there from London.

“His grace will be joining us for dinner,” Mrs Y/l/n explained, refuting Y/n’s last hopes that it was not yet evening. “It will not be ready for a small while, so perhaps you could walk him to the garden in the meantime.”

“‘Tis the best one in town,” Philippa commented, a reference to the wild goose chase she led Mr Graham on just earlier that day.

Y/n remained quiet, unsure as to what was happening. She expected her mother to be repulsed by the sight of Simon. Y/n had, after all, rejected countless marriage proposals for reasons involving him. However, she was not repulsed.

She was smiling. Glowing, rather. Even Philippa and Y/n’s father seemed to be beaming despite sitting in silence. Y/n could not decide whether that should comfort her or worry her.

“He requests a private audience with you before dinner is served,” Mrs Y/l/n continued.

“H-He... does?” Y/n stuttered, looking at Simon in confusion. He appeared to be avoiding her gaze, which further provoked her curiosity.

“I do,” Simon replied shortly.

Y/n turned to her mother in confusion. Indeed, she would not send her unmarried daughter off, with an available man, on an unchaperoned walk without explanation nor context.

“I cannot possibly leave you to make dinner alone, mama,” Y/n stated. The thought of walking with Simon, especially after the nature of their last conversation, left her much unsettled.

“Nonsense, I will offer my assistance,” Philippa responded. Y/n narrowed her eyes at her aunt. She had always avoided being in the kitchen with her sister by all means necessary.

“It is decided then,” Mrs Y/l/n cheered, guiding Simon and Y/n towards the door that led to their garden.

“Mama, it looks as though it will begin to rain,” Y/n whispered, hoping to stop her mother but to no avail.

“You will not be far from the house, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n replied, opening the back door and guiding the two outside. “Should that be the case, you need only take a short walk back.”

Before Y/n could think of another way to avoid the walk, her mother rushed inside, slamming the door close behind her. There was no more avoiding, it seemed. Y/n sighed before reluctantly walking towards her mother’s botanical garden.

He was initially quiet. Simon had rehearsed what he was to say several times before he arrived. However, it was not until he saw Y/n again that all his prepared words vanished from his memory.

Y/n was conflicted. She was overcome with a myriad of emotions, which always seemed to be the case for Simon. While she was still very hurt by his actions and was determined to voice her feelings, Y/n felt it necessary to first break the ice with civility.

“How long will you remain in town?” Y/n asked.

“I have not yet decided,” Simon answered, after a moment of deliberation. He believed it wise to tread lightly in their conversation, though he too was determined to let his feeling become known.

His answer left Y/n’s curiosity to grow.

“Why not?” She queried. “I suspect Miss Bridgerton will be eagerly awaiting your return to London.”

Simon smirked. He missed her witty remarks terribly, just as he missed her company. Y/n had not intended for her response to land with such snideness. However, it was clear to her that Simon did not resent it.

“You suspect wrong,” he answered gleefully, catching Y/n off guard. Simon took amusement in her confusion but did not hesitate to clarify the situation. “She has already promised her hand to another... His royal highness Prince Friedrich. I was informed of the news this morning.”

“You do not seem upset,” Y/n commented as she studied Simon carefully.

“That is precisely why I wished to speak with you,” he explained.

Simon stopped walking, prompting Y/n to do the same. They stood by her mother’s hyacinths, specifically the purple ones. Simon took inhaled deeply as he prepared to explain himself and as he hoped, with all his might, that she might forgive him.

“I lied to you,” he began.

“Yes,” Y/n muttered quickly before Simon could continue. Had he genuinely come all this way just to recount their argument, she wondered. “I remember our conversation vividly.”

“No,” Simon cried. “What I meant to say was that I lied to you... when I told you that I was courting Miss Bridgerton and that I intended to marry her.”

Y/n remained silent, allowing Simon to continue.

“She approached me earlier this season,” he explained. “- with a proposition that I pretend to court her. She needed more suitors, and I sought to improve my public image.”

Y/n recalled the countless articles written about Simon, painting him as a stoic and brooding snob. It made sense that he wanted to change this portrayal, Y/n, though.

“I tried my best to put an end to our pretence earlier... on the day you approached me at Hyde Park, in fact,” Simon said. “However, Miss Bridgerton was adamant that it continues until she could attract the attention of Prince Friedrich. And I had already given her my word not to reveal our ruse to another soul.”

Y/n remained quiet as she took in his revelation. The more Simon spoke, the more Y/n understood why he acted so cold to her. He was always most irritable when he was hiding something.

“Peach,” Simon sighed. He reached out for Y/n’s hand, and, to his surprise, she did not pull away. “For all the pain and sorrow I caused you that night at the gala, I am so sorry.”

She squeezed his hand tightly as a way of comforting him. Y/n knew the way Simon could be so cruel to himself. Considering the impossible position he was placed in, she could only imagine the extent to which this had been burdening him.

“While I wish I had been spared from getting hurt,” Y/n began. Simon winced but nodded. He, too, wished she had not been caught in the middle. “I do understand why you had to lie to me... and I think it unfitting if I were to continue to hold that against you.”

Simon exhaled in relief.

Y/n smiled, comforted by his reaction. She, too, was relieved. After the gala at the Danbury estate, Y/n deemed Simon a stranger, someone she could no longer recognise. Yet, as they stood opposite each other in her mother’s garden, Y/n felt she knew exactly who the man that stood before her was.

The two continued walking across her mother’s garden. After Simon thanked Y/n several times for being so understanding, she recounted her morning to him. Simon struggled to contain his laughter when Y/n explained the 9 gardens Philippa forced Mr Graham to stop.

“So what will you do now?” Simon asked curiously.

“I will have to endure another season,” Y/n replied. “I have already promised mama I would comply with her this time around. Hopefully, my luck has not yet run out."

Simon nodded, though he resisted the urge to frown. She appeared to be excited. Hopeful, even. He worried this indicated a change in her affections for him. Nonetheless, he cast his worries aside for a moment. Y/n’s happiness was his primary concern.

Simon thought back to the story Y/n told of her rejecting Mr Graham’s proposal. In particular, he remembered the comment Y/n said he made regarding how dowry.

“If that is the case,” he began. “Then I insist on making a donation... to contribute to your dowry.”

Y/n’s feet came to a halt as she furrowed her brows in both shock and confusion. Instinctively, she began devising a way to reject his offer without offending him. Y/n was never oblivious to the significant difference in her financial standing to Simon’s, but she certainly never wanted to take advantage of it.

“It can remain anonymous,” Simon insisted. He knew his offer was far from appropriate as a woman’s dowry was her family’s responsibility. However, that was precisely what Y/n was to him: family. “If you are concerned about what others might say, I assure you I will personally see to it that the donation remains private.”

“Simon, no-”

“- Please, I insist,” he held firmly. Y/n continued to shake her head profusely, but Simon refused to give in. “It is the least I can do after playing such a significant role in hindering you from marrying these past two seasons.”

Y/n paused, taken aback by the fact he knew that.

“Simon,” she began. Her tone was neither shocked nor angry. “You mustn’t hold yourself accountable for a decision I made. Yes, you may have been the reason for it, but it was I who ultimately made a choice... And I take full responsibility for the position I am now in as a result.”

Simon nodded sheepishly.

“Regardless,” he said softly. “I still insist... You mean a great deal to me, Peach. Ensuring you have a befitting dowry is the least of what I owe to you, particularly after all our years of friendship.”

The grey clouds grew darker as the weather turned sour, and the day slowly came to an end. However, that quickly became the least of Y/n concerns. Her lips parted briefly, but she struggled to say anything.

Simon let out a heavy exhale before reaching his hand into the pocket of his coat. He looked at Y/n and smiled. She still appeared adamant to deny his offer of making a donation to her father.

“Do you remember the story,” he began, “- of the first time we played in the maze at Lady Danbury’s home?”

Y/n chuckled, unsure whether he was serious or if the question were rhetorical.

“Of course you do,” Simon continued, laughing all the while. “You recount it at every available opportunity.”

His laughter was disrupted by Y/n’s fist, gently colliding with his shoulder.

“Please allow me to finish, Peach,” he cried as he rubbed his shoulder. Y/n rolled her eyes playfully but allowed him to continue nonetheless. “You recount it at every available opportunity, but you always failed to include the part of the story I favoured most.”

Y/n raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“After I found you in the maze- crying hysterically, I must add,” Simon quipped. As Y/n raised her hand to repeat her previous action, Simon caught her fist in his hand. Their eyes locked as he did so, and the tension between them grew this. Y/n lowered her hand coughed awkwardly, prompting Simon to continue. “I took you to see Lady Danbury’s fruit orchids.”

Simon’s smile grew remarkably wide. He had purposely refrained from retelling his favourite part of the maze story to Y/n. He was most excited to finally do so.

“You ran straight for one tree in particular,” Simon said. Y/n’s brows snapped together as she tried to remember. “I picked some fruit, and we ate it beneath that tree. However, you were still quite upset, and that was when I assured you I never would have left you behind... Do you remember which tree we sat beneath?”

After giving it a moment of thought, Y/n gasped quietly when she finally remembered. She looked back to Simon and smiled. In a quiet whisper, she answered his question.

“Peach.”

Simon nodded. It was after that day that he refrained from calling Y/n by her name. After they left Danbury’s orchids when he chose to instead call her ‘Peach’ to remind himself of that day on of his promise not to leave her behind. Despite falling short on that promise, Simon was determined to fulfil it.

He took a step towards Y/n and slowly replaced his grin to express both sincerity and fear. Y/n studied him in anticipation of what he was to say next. Simon seemed greatly troubled by something, she thought.

“If you wish to find another suitor next season,” Simon started, unable to hide the sorrow he felt at imagining it. He inhaled sharply and, in doing so, forced himself to remain composed. “I will do everything in my power to help you in your pursuits. Whether that be in the form of financial support or advice. Whatever it is you may need from me, Peach... my answer will always be yes.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and her mouth curled into a frown. She could see right through Simon’s attempts to his sadness.

“But if there is any chance,” he question, his tone frantic and desperate. He inched forward slightly and deepened his gaze at Y/n before he continued. “If there is even a fleeting chance that your feelings towards me are... are as they were before, then please tell me now.”

Just as he finished speaking, droplets of rain began to fall. They grew bigger and more rapid as time went on, but neither Simon nor Y/n noticed. Both were far too concerned with the affairs of their affections for one another.

Y/n held her breath as she looked at Simon. Earlier that day, she decided to enter her third season. She had finally come to terms with knowing that casting aside her feeling for Simon would be her best method of moving forward. Yet as they stood in her mother’s garden, she found herself with no choice but to confront them.

“They are,” she confessed, her voice almost overpowered by the sound of the rainfall, though just loud enough for Simon to hear. “My feelings for you, they... they have not changed.

Her words were music to his ears. Simon reached his arm out and took hold of her hand. He felt his heartbeat rapidly against his chest. Despite the cold and wet weather, Simon felt a warm sensation in his chest.

“I must assure you,” he spoke, glancing down at the sight of her hand in his. “This is not a result of impulse or of the heat of the moment. Rather, this is something I have anticipated doing, I... I have desperately hoped to be able to do for quite some time.”

“Simon,” Y/n quavered. “W-What are you referring to?”

Simon looked up at the sky. He laughed as the heavy rain showered over his face, and then he turned back to Y/n. She did not move from where she stood but, instead, studied Simon closely. Her mouth fell agape when, without a moment’s notice, Simon knelt down.

Y/n gasped. There was a loud slushing sound made as Simon’s knee sunk into the mud. He was unfazed by it, which made Y/n shock only grow. He couldn’t be, she thought. It was not possible. And indeed, if he intended to do as she suspected, he would live to regret it.

In a swift motion, she too fell her knee. Standing up while Simon knelt before she felt all too overwhelming. Y/n was confident he was not serious, despite him expressing profusely that he was. Simon’s eyes grew wide as he looked down and noticed the mud-splattered across the hem of Y/n’s gown.

“Peach, your dress-”

“Never mind my dress,” Y/n croaked. “Simon, what are you doing?”

“What I should have done two years ago,” he replied instantly.

Y/n clasped her hand over her mouth. Her hair and her clothes were drenched from the rainfall, as was Simon’s, yet neither seemed to notice. He reached out and took hold of her free hand.

“I know I am the least bit deserving of your hand, as well as of course your forgiveness and your friendship,” Simon began. “However, these past years away from you, and these past two days in particular... They have been pure torment. And I have since realised that I would be a fool not to make an offer of marriage to you and hope that you would be so kind as to accept it, because... Well, because I love you, Peach. Fervently so.”

“What... What about your vow to never marry?” Y/n asked.

Indeed he had not thought this entirely through, she wondered. This was the moment, she believed. The moment he would take back his proposal.

“You said before that I have the luxury to choose while you do not,” Simon answered. Slowly, he let go of Y/n hand and lifted it to her face, holding the side of her cheek tenderly. “Well... I believe it’s due time that my choices begin constituting to my happiness... and that of the only woman I love.”

Tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes and began to trickle down her face as she wept. She felt it surreal, the fact that Simon was offering his hand to her. And as it appeared, she had run out of reasons to argue against it.

“I know I have caused you much suffering,” Simon sighed, rubbing his thumb gently across Y/n’s cheek, wiping her tears away while doing so. “But I am determined to spend the rest of my life atoning for it by doing everything in my power to ensure your happiness... That is if you will have me?”

Y/n thought of her mother’s advice earlier regarding how one’s words indicate one character and their intentions. She thought of how all her past suitors made proposals from a place of arrogance, how they all made the argument that their financial standing was reason enough for her accept.

That was not what mattered most to Y/n.

Love and happiness; that was what she sought most from marriage. After years of being told that to do so was naïve and pointless, Simon was offering precisely that.

“Yes,” Y/n answered, laughing beneath her breath as she exhaled. She stood up and planted her feet firmly in the mud before reaching her hand down to help Simon do the same.

“Yes?” Simon repeated in disbelief.

Y/n chuckled and helped him to stand, after which she reached her hands out and placed them on the sides of his face. Even in the pouring raid and even covered in mud from the waist down, he was still so beautiful, she thought. Simon precisely the same of her

“Yes! I... I will marry you,” Y/n declared, her smile growing wider as she spoke. She could not make that statement repeatedly when she would eventually share the news.

Simon wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He leaned closer to her slowly and kissed her sweetly. Y/n held the sides of his face firmly, pulling him even closer to her, causing him to smile against her lips. Shortly after, Simon slowly pulled away, leaving Y/n gasping for air.

“I am sorry it took me so long to do this, Peach,” he said softly, gazing apologetically at the woman he could finally address as his fiancee.

“It does not matter anymore, Simon,” Y/n replied, pressing her temple against his.

He grinned before leaning in to kiss her once more. Y/n lowered her hands and left them placed against his coat’s lapels. She wished for the moment to last a lifetime. However, as the rain grew heavier and the sky grew darker, Simon pulled away again.

“Perhaps we should return,” Simon suggested, despite much enjoying being alone with Y/n. She immediately groaned at the thought of going back. “I imagine your mother will be quite cross if we miss dinner.”

“Simon... I have waited a very long time for this moment,” Y/n began. “I will not be rushed by you or my mama.”

Simon laughed before kissing her once again.

When they finally walked back to the house, Simon continued to glance over at Y/n and at the sight of their hands intertwined. He thought of all the different ways things could have ended between them.

What would have happened if she had accepted Mr Graham’s proposal or even that of her previous suitors? What would have happened if he did, in fact, marry Miss Bridgerton? What would have happened if he had just proposed to her when she first confessed her feelings to him?

Simon wondered how many times things could have drastically been made different between them. He thought of how many choices, events and actions dictated whether they would ever be engaged.

And all he could do was smile at his beautiful fiancee and be completely and utterly grateful that this was how their story concluded.

@fuckoffthanos @awesomebooklover17 @shadowfoxey @eternallyvenus @smol-grandpa @deakesthegreatest

#simon basset x reader #simon basset imagine #duke hastings x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #simon basset #duke hastings

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alonfic · 4 years ago

Text

second nature

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x reader genre: college + bff to lovers au | fluff, pining pining pining wc: 4,767 description: love is complicated; it tends to bloom in desire, in impulse. sometimes you just need to stop the overthinking and just do. in other words, you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend and decide to take matters into your own hands. author’s note: completely self-indulgent. i just wanted a scene where mc jumps into kuroo’s arms and kisses him after a win. sue me.

People do stupid things when they’re in love. You don’t know who said it, if this is some universal conclusion, or maybe Hercules’s Megara is a love genius who you should take notes from. Then again, she did twice, and was saved by her destined lover the second time around. You aren’t all that sure this is a fate prescribed to you by the stars nor is it one that you want for yourself, but it makes you wonder if your love life would be easier if it could have that Disney-esque theatrics just for a happy ending.

Then again, you don’t think Disney has any love stories about best friends turning into lovers, just strangers to lovers. But how do you fall in love with someone you haven’t spent years together cultivating memories with? How do you not look back and smile at the stories of chasing fireflies in the summertime or running from the ocean’s kiss because it’s just a tad too cold even in the late spring? Could it be possible to imagine a love built out of the blue?

Perhaps that part of unexpectedness could be the suspect. Being around him is comfortable; easy as breathing. He’s always been there, always a faint image in the back of your mind as you walk down memory lane, and still there as you walk down this strange path of adulthood. He’s never one to push too hard or let you fall without reaching a hand out to hold you steady.

In truth, you don’t think about loving your best friend. At least you try not to at first. It isn’t something you’re supposed to do or anything that could proceed painlessly, and you’re no masochist. Maybe you are. Wouldn’t you have extracted yourself from the situation sooner if you weren’t?

Then again, you didn’t choose to love him one morning, it just happened.

You consider ignoring Kuroo when it happens. Or if there’s any chance of going back.

It isn’t anything against him because you obviously wouldn’t feel the way that you do if you considered him a shitty person. But that’s the problem. Well, not the problem, more like the reason. The heart of your pining has always been a consistent figure. A loving one that has always had your back even when you both were kids; him the notoriously shy boy who clung to his father’s leg when you and your mother first stopped by, and you the painfully hard-headed one who lacked control when you came bounding up to him with the intent of friendship.

Funny how things seem to take on a reverse effect as he approaches you in the same confidence. His smile unaltered by the slight changes in you, how you tense up ever-so-slightly and squeak affirmations when he mentions going out later that night as a treat for surviving midterms. It shouldn’t mean anything more, really, these are normal interactions for you both. The small celebrations are your favorite things to do, so you hope it doesn’t feel weird when you say yes and he looks at you like he’s over the moon kind of happy.

You don’t say a word when his hand is on the small of your back in the slightly crowded ramen shop. It’s been a longtime favorite of your and his, and surviving the quarter is a celebration in and of itself. Everything is normal. These things, like guiding you to a table, are normal. Your hyperfixations on them are hardly normal though.

Was he always this touchy? Of course, you ponder this. It’s your brain wondering and hoping to figure out what the motivations of these actions are even if he’s done them before. He’s always been keen on physical touch with you. Ever the one to wrap an arm around your shoulders while you two walk around shopping centers or the park to keep potential intruders away and to keep you from getting swept up in the crowds. Sometimes holding your hand when things get tense and he wants you to know he’s there. They’re normal for him by all accounts, and there hasn’t been a time where any of that has felt out of place, at least until now. And it isn’t because of him, it’s you.

If you had an allowance to dream and believe in your idealistic side, this would be a new beginning and his way of easing you into intimate gestures. You don’t though. Your realistic side won’t let you. He just doesn’t make it very easy on you as he sits in front of you under very grainy incandescent lighting—the very non-ideal kind to consider one’s love for somebody—and still manages to get you feel the same things you had when you awoke to him cooking breakfast in your kitchen after a late night study session. The very stupid morning that brought you to this conclusion.

When he says your name, you realize the server is there. You’re naturally a little embarrassed because you haven’t even had a chance to glance at the menu, still a little more spaced out than usual, though it shouldn’t be that big of a problem. You already know what you want, and so does Kuroo.

He jumps in and asks if you want your usual choice, to which you simply nod so he can tell the server who leaves just as quickly as they had come. Kuroo looks like he wants to say something, probably ask about what’s going on with you, but instead something else catches his eye.

He leans over the table and his fingertips find some stray locks of yours dangerously trying to kiss the corner of your lip. His fingertips graze your cheek rather slowly. Painfully slow, even. It doesn’t help the sweat on your palms or the pounding of your chest. Hell, your heart feels like it might fall out if he continues going at such a snail’s pace, but eventually he gets the strands behind your ear.

He smiles at you again, and this time you know it’s all over.

There is no going back.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

You almost deny it altogether, almost. But this is Kuroo. You know better than to try and lie to the boy you’ve known since middle school, the same boy who knows when something’s wrong before you even have a chance to register that something’s wrong. It sometimes makes you want to curse at him and wish this whole thing would just come to a halt instead of continuing on this weird precipice of change. But you stop yourself and step aside so he can enter your apartment, making his way through the long hallway and turning right to take a perch on the barstool at your kitchen isle.

He’s right anyway. It’s been days since you realized your feelings and even more since you two went out to get ramen together. But you’d be damned to admit the truth.

“Been busy.” You settle on this because it’s a safe answer, at least relatively so, though he hardly looks even the slightest bit convinced. The fact that you lean on the opposite side of the granite countertop is enough to solidify his doubt, but you decide to play the fool anyway. “What?”

“Are you alright? Have I done something to upset you?” Kuroo asks this genuinely, and you can tell most definitively by the slight crease in his brow and the small line his lips have become. It isn’t a frown by any means, it’s his pensive expression. He must be trying to think back on anything he’s either said or done in the past couple of weeks, but you know he wouldn’t be able to guess it.

Not that “it” is all that major. How do you even describe the sensation of falling in love with your best friend? How do you even dare face them after you’ve done it? And where do you even go from there when it’s happened? These are the things you’ve mulled over; they’re also the things that have stopped you from immediately treating your friendship with Kuroo like business as usual. You don’t think there’s any going back once you say something. No matter the times you’ve imagined what could happen or what it would be like to cross that bridge, a bit of reality grounds you from all impulsive acts.

Of course, you would love to just kiss him and run your hands through his beautifully soft sable hair. You wouldn’t hesitate to finally tell him your feelings if you didn’t think there was anything to lose or if you weren’t in the right state of mind, at least there’s the cushion of not caring and simple selfishness in all of that. It takes a lot to shake it all out of your head, at least to just try to, as he watches you in that unnervingly analytical way.

“Are you sure I haven’t done anything?” You can tell he’s trying to probe now, perhaps hoping for an opening to atone for any misgiving he might’ve done without realizing. His voice is soft, comforting. “If I did, I really am sorry.”

You shake your head again, this time for him and his question. You’re starting to feel a little bad for keeping this from him. “You haven’t done anything, I promise. I’ve just been preoccupied with some things. It’s getting better, so really, no need to worry.”

You hope the half-truths are enough to keep his interrogative questions and inquisitorial stare at bay. At least enough to change the subject, he’s the one who called about coming here, after all.

“If you’re sure?” He tries once more, just to give you an out. It isn’t like you to keep anything from him, and he knows this, but you can’t help but want to keep this one thing under lock-and-key. At least for now, or forever.

You nod. “What’s up anyway?”

“Well, I’ve been missing my best friend like crazy since someone’s been ghosting me for the past two weeks.”

The emphasis on ‘someone’ makes you snort, just a little and only for a moment because he shoots you a playful glare. You hold your hands up in surrender in hopes of spurring the conversation forward. Just because you wanted to avoid him to keep the truth under wraps doesn’t mean you haven’t missed the cheeky bastard.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, with a faint smile. “Has it been that hard without me?”

“The hardest! Kenma’s sick of me, you know. Him, I’m used to wanting to keep me away. But you? That’s a different playing field.” It’s all in a playful jest, of course, and whatever the case may be for you, you know that Kuroo doesn’t mind. He knows it would be for a good reason, even if you don’t think this is all that good of a reason to try and push him away. It’s a hard thing to do when it’s clear that he has no intentions of being set aside, and how can you, given the history here?

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, o’dramatic one?” Of course, you’ll play it off, just to see the toothy grin on his lips, and watch the light dance in the hickory of his eyes as he considers his next quip. You wonder if he’ll have you do something stupid just to make up for the sudden separation, although you’re grateful that he’s a more benevolent schemer where you’re concerned. You expect him to charge you a free coffee or something.

“Come to my game on Saturday, please,” Kuroo coughs the last word, as if it might be painful for him to say, or maybe he’s trying to play off sounding forceful, which has never been his forte.

You can’t help but smile albeit confused at the sudden news when it feels like it’s been ages since his last high school game. “A game? With who?”

“It’s just a reunion game against Karasuno, since it’s a rare occasion where we all happen to be free at the same time, and you know us. We’re always hankering for another Battle at the Garbage Dump.”

Before you can say anything, he adds, “If you love me, you’ll come!”

You probably miss the way he looks at you a little more longingly than he once did, as if there’s something he means in these cheeky words. They should mean nothing more than provocations, a mild itch of guilt tripping, but only in good nature. It couldn’t possibly mean anything in the way that you’re hoping. No, not at all.

You know he only means it all in a lighthearted way, but you can’t deny the way your heart seems to rumble with a very distinct sound of early springtime thunder and you feel the back of your throat go dry. Of course, you can’t deny this truth, not even when it’s disguised like this. And anyway, who would you be if you missed out on one of his games?

Of course, you’ll go.

When Kozume calls you over, you already know it’s a mistake to oblige.

The moment you get there, he’s playing a game though he pays a little more attention to you when he sees how much you tense up at the sound of Kuroo’s name. It’s enough for the conversation to completely focus on the former Nekoma captain, and you’re almost certain you want to go home already. If anything, you might be able to cite that you had some homework you need to sort out before the big game.

“You shouldn’t keep lying to yourself. Plus, I know you finished all your homework so you wouldn’t be distracted for the game,” Kozume points out, shooting you a brief pointed look. “You’ve been avoiding me too, you know.”

And this is why: visiting Kozume means speculations, and speculations means hopes, and those mean disappointments because reality is just that cruel. You tell him so in your apology, even when he pointedly ignores the question and instead asks you one.

“When do you think you’ll tell him?”

You look at him incredulously. “Why would I do that?”

The sheer idea is preposterous; confessing to Kuroo might invite trouble for the two of you and the state of your friendship. Sure, you tried ignoring him and seeing if that could help, but that was a bust. Telling him would probably be even worse. Probably the worst thing you could do in this situation. Is it even possible to be okay after confessing to your best friend?

“You’re both idiots who deserve to be together. Why else would I ask?”

He isn’t even looking at you as he says any of this, instead focusing his attention on the characters in his game. His own little fantasy. A part of you is envious of the escapism, wishing for a bit of that for yourself at the moment. At least you can forge a love story from camaraderie there, and in a game world like that, it’s acceptable. Loving your best friend in the modern reality? Not so much.

You’re a little confused at Kozume’s wording. What was he trying to say? Kuroo liked you back? The thought makes you shake your head.

“Easier for you to say,” you roll your eyes at him, certain he hasn’t seen it, but he clicks his tongue at you anyway.

“If you did something, or let yourself do something, life would be so much easier for the both of you.”

“You say this with the assumption that he feels something too,” you point out, still in disbelief. After all, why would Kuroo love you back as more than a friend?

“Why do you even love him anyway?”

You can’t help but reply so nonchalantly when it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “Why not?”

There are many answers to that question, probably more than you care to admit, let alone to Kozume. Even without meeting his eyes or saying a word about any of it, he seems to know already. It’s unnerving. Have you always been this easy to read? Does Kuroo know too?

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

“It’d make things too complicated.”

In other words: it’s easier to tell the truth when you’re not speaking to Kuroo about the whole thing. Hell, it’s easier to address it when it isn’t directly to him. It happened, and obviously there’s no way to strip the power from it now.

“Is that what’s really stopping you?”

You take a moment to consider this, and maybe the large part is the fear of consequence, if there will be one, what it will be, that sort of thing.

“Yeah…”

“Then stop thinking and just do something about it. I’ve never known you to take things lying down. Talk to him after the game or something.”

You don’t say anything, but you consider it.

The day of the game is supposed to be simple. It isn’t like it’s supposed to bloom into anything, and yet you find yourself thrumming with excitement when Kuroo easily finds you in the crowd before he’s set to enter the gym.

You don’t care to admit how much you enjoy this or the sight of seeing him in that vibrant shade of red. The same way you’ve seen him in countless games. It stirs something in your chest as you’re reminded of those days, like this revelation of your feelings might have bloomed sooner than you realized.

“Come find me after the game,” Kuroo tells you with that beautifully toothy grin of his, and you find that you can hardly breathe. “I have something to tell you when I win.”

When did he get so damn good looking? You want to wonder, though that would only be one of many ponderings. You don’t know what his words mean, or why the implication makes your heart react the way it does, but you hope against your own ideals just to remain in reality. At least you try to.

It’s hard once the game begins.

Watching him play feels like falling in love again.

You don’t know what it is in the way Kuroo carries himself or how he seems to dance across the court with a hitch in any of his movements, but it’s addictive to watch. How easily he remains himself even on the court. The very cheeky grin flashes at his opponents, particularly Tsukishima, who looks more and more fired up as they contain their rally. They don’t look much different than when they first played against one another in high school, though they all seem to carry a newfound sense of wisdom in this game they’ve been destined to play time and time again.

Each rally feels like it goes on for longer than the last, as if everything will be gone in a single drop, and perhaps it’s true to say that this mirrors that of love. How you may try as you might to keep the secret of loving away from reality, but it all comes crashing down eventually. It feels that way when you see the final round reach a neck and neck standstill. Neither side wants the ball to drop, to allot victory to their opponent, of course.

It’s Kuroo’s determination that stands out to you. The way he seems to cheer his team on even without words as he tries his best to keep the orange, green, and white ball in play. He’s never been one to give up no matter the circumstances. He’s always found a way to move things in his favor, and he’s never once wavered, even in the beginning of his time with volleyball, he’s always tried, even with losses under his belt.

It’s strangely beautiful to bear witness to this play once more. You don’t know what it is when he looks back at you before his notoriously accurate block with a small, yet triumphant smile, like he knows this’ll win the game, or even so, bring them closer to it, but it rouses something even stranger in your chest as you cheer alongside everyone else in celebration of the first point of two needed to finally win the game. This is by no means a big game like the Inter-high or anything, but it feels that way. Maybe that’s why everything seems to stand out to you. It feels like something big might happen.

Simple as this game might be, it feels like everything when they reach the end of the rally.

They win, and you rise from your seat without a second thought.

You don’t think about what you’re doing.

Your limbs seem to move on their own accord as the rest of the team does a final bow to the audience. You don’t bother stopping to wonder if Kuroo’s searching the crowd for you as you make your way down the stairs, or what the little frown on his face means when his gaze lingers on the spot right behind the banner as soon as you reach the hallway across from the court. Your spot.

No, you don’t stop to think about it.

You don’t even stop moving as you call his name or as you see the light come back to his beautiful hickory eyes. You don’t stop to consider what that might mean either.

Instead you run to him at full speed without bumping into anyone, truly a miracle in and of itself, and instead of stopping right before him with your feet planted firmly on the ground like any other person, you choose to jump. You don’t know why. You don’t think about why either. You just believe that he won’t drop you because he’s never given you a reason to believe otherwise. In fact, you absolutely trust him to catch you now more than ever, and to no one’s surprise, he does.

There are so many things you want to do—reasonable things that any normal best friend supporting their best friend would do. You want to say congratulations. You want to just hug him and jump down because you want to believe that this will be like any other hug you’ve shared with this man you’ve known for years. And maybe it could’ve been that simple if you had just stopped to consider what your actions would mean to him, you, and everyone else. But you don’t bother with the frivolities, you don’t want to yet.

Because when you really look at Kuroo, you catch sight of something beautiful. A sight all too familiar to you and the years of memories you’ve shared together. It’s him in his most purest form; little drops of sweat falling at the sides of his face, an elated grin in all its toothy glory, and the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes becoming more and more prominent. And yet, there’s something a little too new in the way that he looks back at you, the way his gaze lingers on your lips and only snaps back up to your eyes when you say his name.

Your grip around his shoulders tightens and his lips fall a little closer together like he might say something, but you don’t give him a chance. It’s hard when you find yourself on a roll of impulses, like you’re untouchable from consequence.

Maybe you’ve watched too many romance movies, or maybe read too many stories where the best friends finally get together after years of pining and being called idiots by everyone around them. You know it’s all too silly, and you and Kuroo have spent evenings mocking the theatrics of boombox accompanied confessions and singing over the loudspeakers with the marching band as the main male lead’s instrumental track. They’re endearing in the moment, but so painfully unreal, you almost wish this world was entirely fantasy for just a taste of what could be with Kuroo. That’s the true villain, maybe. You can’t stop yourself now.

Everything everyone has ever speculated about you two flies over your head, and for once in a great while, you stop caring enough to just do what you’ve always wanted to do, to finally actualize the fantasies you’ve played out over and over in your head.

Fuck it, you decide. If there’s any time to do this, it’s now. The extra shit can wait.

So, before any words, you kiss him.

You take note of the way he responds so gently to the initiation. It’s a tentative pressure, as if he’s testing the waters to see what you can handle before you pull away. But you don’t. You remain, and maybe part of that has to do with the adrenaline coursing through your veins or maybe it’s the part of you that seeks this wish fulfillment and wants to bask in it before reality sinks it.

The whole thing is indescribable. Of course, it is. All of your fantasies have never gotten you as far as the real deal. You wouldn’t have guessed just how close to peppermint he would taste, or that there would be a slight hint of honeyed lemons in the aftertaste. Like the treat promises, you feel invigorated, rejuvenated, and maybe even worst of all, hungry for a little more.

This is why you readjust your grip around his shoulders as you attempt to deepen the kiss. In response, his grip on your thighs tighten, as if he might be afraid you’ll disappear. And to your surprise, he kisses you back with just as much fervor, like it might be the last time.

You don’t remember what draws you apart, whether it’s one of his teammates jeering at you two or if it’s your respective needs to breathe, but you’re inclined to etch this new sight of him to memory. The way his chest heaves, his pupils dilated, and his lips all pink and swollen. It’s new and beautiful, and you wonder if it’ll happen again.

And then it hits you.

What you’ve done. Your head spins just a little.

“I’ve fucked us up, haven’t I?” Your words are no louder than a whisper, but it feels like it’s only you two right now. Nothing else to cut into this moment, though you almost sort of wish for an opportunity to sink into the ground because what the fuck did you just do?

All you can do is try to shake yourself away from him, back down to the ground, back to reality.

Kuroo keeps you in place and takes the chance to really look at you. His eyes scan your face for a trace of truth, not that this would be a hard feat anyway. You’ve never been good at hiding anything from him, not when you were kids, and most certainly not now. You wonder if he can read, “I’m totally and utterly in love with you” from your eyes or if it somehow materialized across your forehead like Kozume and Nobuyuki have always teased you.

“That’s not entirely fair,” he says, still faint with his usual teasing.

“Huh?” Your eyebrows knit together, and your lips seem to pull into an involuntary frown.

“That implies that you were the only one who compromised our friendship…” he pauses for a second as his bottom lip trembles and he gives an inaudible swallow, “right?”

“What are you getting at?” Simply the implication is enough to bring lightning to your skin, as if to resuscitate you back to a more serene state. Your heart can’t seem to handle this overload, however. You wonder if he can hear it.

“I think you know what I’m getting at...”

His cheeks have gone pinker than the cherry blossoms in spring. Of course, it should’ve been enough to confirm your suspicions. You could’ve left it at that, but for your sake, for your very own heart, you tell him what you need.

“Say it.”

One more look at you and it’s enough for him. Somehow you know that without being told.

“I love you.”

Your heart trembles, even louder now, like a thunderstorm. That strange calmness remains. The kind only he can elicit in you.

Kuroo looks at you in wait, in wonder, as if your answer wasn’t as clear as day already. You laugh a little and the corners of his lips turn upward.

“I love you too.”

He lets you drop down, of course, but only after another kiss.

You hold his hand and walk through the double doors you entered through.

This time together.

#kuroo scenarios #kuroo imagines #kuroo fanfic #kuroo fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #emwrites #title: second nature

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xenia-cenia · 4 years ago

Text

Kaeya x Fem!Reader - To Heal

A/N-part 4... god razor and albedos are gonna kill me i FEEL it also wtf his backstory is so SAD.... enemies to lovers.... but only one sees them as an enemy..... god the brainrot is so good today

Trigger/Content Warnings: Spoilers for Kaeyas backstory, minor character death, light swearing, PTSD/nightmares, blood, kidnapping

I promise it’s only half as angsty as it sounds

Word Count: 2,267

Request: No

Summary: You hated him. He loved you. It’s every romcom but this time, there’s trauma.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaeya Alberich had the world beneath his fingertips.

Very few people could resist his charms, good looks, or smile. Especially not healers who hung towards the back of the party and saved every life he put in danger.

Kaeya Alberich was a genius. People would willingly divulge secrets that would ruin their lives to his kind gaze and warm smile. He was manipulative, he was a liar, he was a traitor.

No person in Mondstadt hated Kaeya Alberich more than Kaeya Alberich himself. Though, you were a close second.

“Captain!” You barged into his office as he tied his hair up into a ponytail, “You can’t keep endangering people like this!”

He turned to you with a confused smile, “Like what? They’re Knights, aren’t they?”

“It doesn’t matter! Eventually, my healing won’t be enough!” You marched over to him and slammed your hands down on his desk, “You are selfish! You disgust me.” He shot you a big smirk which caused you to spin on your heels and leave the room, your anger nearly tangible.

Kaeya leaned back in his chair and sighed, a goofy smile lingering on his face.

No person in Mondstadt loved you more than the soldiers who you saved.

Though, Kaeya Alberich was a close second.

He didn’t know why he loved you so much. By all accounts, he should hate you. He should despise the way you brought comfort into everyone's eyes, the way you always arrived just in time to save countless lives, how your power in battle nearly outmatched his own.

He should be jealous. He should be angry. He should not be head-over-heels in love with you. He should not be trying to plan more carefully so your healing workload is lightened, and it shouldn’t even cross his mind to leave his door open so you don’t hurt your hands as you barged in here with your justified rage.

Kaeya melted into his chair as he tried to contain the thoughts that ceaselessly ran through his mind. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms, sweat dripping off his face as he saved your life. And you’d smile at him, a shy and genuine smile, as you thanked him profusely.

But he was no fool. He knew how deep your hatred ran. And he couldn’t blame you, by all accounts he was selfish. He was disgusting. He risked lives for his enjoyment, he loved seeing the fear in recruits as they ran from danger.

Did that make him a bad person? Yes. Yes, absolutely. He slept every night trying to forget their screams as they called for help. No. Not called for help - begged him for help.

You seethed as you walked out of Kaeyas office. Too many lives were senselessly taken every day, too many people's blood-stained your hands.

Just like... no.

“Stop it, (Y/N). You can’t think like that.” You shook the thoughts out of your head as you mumbled to yourself. You looked to your side and caught sight of your reflection in a window. You stared for a moment, a blank expression on your face before it fell into a glare.

Kaeya Alberich brought anger into your heart. Kaeya Alberich made memories you’d rather die creep up to the surface and hit you with guilt. You hated Kaeya Alberich because he was...

“Dammit.” You slapped your cheek, “Cut it out.”

You walked back to your home and thought over what you’d do for the rest of the evening. Maybe a warm bath and tea? However, you did like the idea of belting songs from the privacy of your home... the possibilities were near endless! But, as usual, you would wash your hands first.

It didn’t matter if you hadn’t touched anything. It didn’t matter if they were already clean. You would wash them every time you had the chance.

When you finally arrived home, scrubbed your hands, you decided to put the relaxing bath off for a different night. You collapsed onto your warm bed, happily covering yourself in your heavy sheets as sleep overtook you.

If you had any regrets in your life, learning how to fight would be your top one. As the only fighter in your small town, you were relied on for everything. (Y/N) go hunting, (Y/N) take out these slimes, (Y/N) head to Mondstadt, and purchase goods.

And you were there. You were there when the small army attacked. Why were they attacking? You weren’t sure.

Families, friends, enemies. They all blurred together as you raised your weapon. In the end, you were the only one left. You weren’t out of breath nor saddened by the deaths.

Instead, you looked around the corpses that littered the ground and tried to hide your exhilaration.

For the first time, you had to fight like your life depended on it. For the first time in your life, you could let your frustration out. And there, covered in blood, was a small icy ball. You leaned over and picked it up, wiping the blood off with your hands. A Vision.

And for the first night in years, you found you couldn’t sleep. Every time your eyes would shut, you would see their bodies. Every time you plugged your ears you could hear them call your name. Every time you breathed you’d remember that they never would again.

You spent years atoning for that day and dedicated yourself to saving lives. You mastered healing, it took the same precision as killing you quickly realized, and went to Mondstadt hoping that the City of Freedom could free you from these deeds.

It couldn’t.

Nothing could.

Eventually, you found yourself working for the Knights of Favonius. As long as you didn’t swing a weapon, you were fine. You were just saving lives. You were keeping your promise.

So, why did it feel so good when their lives all depended on your choice? Why did you feel so powerful knowing you were essentially the God of these men?

Did you only join the Knights because you knew violence and bloodshed would always be a part of you?

You did everything you can to suppress these feelings. You swore off fighting, ignoring people's begging to duel you one-on-one. You’d lie and say holding weapons scared you, but it was always Kaeya who saw through your facade.

And that’s why you hated him. He was as bloodthirsty, evil, and selfish as you. He saw through each lie you spent years carefully crafting.

You hated him because he was you.

One week later, it was time for another raid.

As long as you were on the field, none of your allies would die. The raid started fine enough, you all charged into a Domain under Kaeyas orders. He froze falling rocks or spare enemies that could have killed his troops, as you stayed in the back and healed every scraped knee and minor wound.

Stay in the back. They had said. It’s safer in the back. Kaeya is smart. He’ll never lead us into a trap.

And you hated him. You truly hated him. But, damn, you trusted his plans. Even if it meant you had to work harder to keep everyone alive, you knew that the job would get done. Together, you were unstoppable.

Maybe you put too much confidence in him. You couldn’t muster a thought as a bubble of water enveloped you. You tried to break it, but all you did was force your oxygen to run out sooner.

With one last hint of desperation, you threw your vision onto the floor. And then, you fell unconscious.

Kaeya was no idiot. He saw the number of his troops dwindling and knew what happened. He ordered the stragglers to retreat, take the wounded and try their best to not die without him holding their hands.

When they were out of his sight, he immediately started to retrace his steps.

He didn’t need to come very far to notice the Vision that was kicked around and sitting on the floor. Kaeya walked over to it and picked it up, rubbing his finger over the outside.

“Cyro Vision...” He tossed it into the air, grabbed it, and continued walking. Once again, he noticed a trail of water that was slowly beginning to dry.

After not even 5 minutes of walking, he saw what he needed. A slightly askew rock. Kaeya chuckled to himself as he pressed his on it, the rocks pushed themselves aside and revealed a staircase heading down.

“Well, here goes.” He muttered under his breath as he went down the staircase.

The Abyss Mages had taken you out of the bubble and tied you to a table. You were waking up, groggy and confused, but when you remembered felt anger bubble in your stomach.

“What the hell!” You yelled at the two Abyss Mages who captured you. They both jumped and turned to face you, “Why am I here! I swear if any of my men died...”

“You’re awake.” One of them chirped.

“You’re awake-” you mocked, “did you think I was sleep talking or something?! Let me out of this!”

“We know about your true power.” The other one chimed in, “We know what happened that night. It was our allies who you killed. You must face punishment.”

You stared blankly before breaking out into laughter, “Wait - that was you guys? God, you’re pathetic! Can’t believe I was relying on someone to save me.” You began to struggle against the ropes.

“The ropes are sealed, they can only be undone with the work of a Vision. We know you are Visionless - none of the Archons would grant something as lowly as you power.”

“Oh,” you bit your lip, “that might be a problem.”

“So you accept your fate!”

“Let our justice reign down-”

Kaeya, who was standing on the staircase watching this all happen, let a laugh slip out.

“-who was that?!”

He walked down the rest of the stairs and clapped his hands, “Great show you two have put on here.”

“K-Kaeya!” You yelled. “Did you grab it?”

He threw your vision to you, and just being near to it made the ropes fall to the ground.

“I-Impossible!”

You stretched, stood, and smiled widely at your kidnappers, “I hope I’m not rusty.”

Within seconds, the Abyss Mages were dead. Ice bit at your skin, and, once again, there was blood on your hands.

You looked at your hands and felt your body start to shake. Kaeya walked over to you but stopped when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Don’t... don’t look at me.” You turned away from him, “I’m... I’m no better than them.”

His heart snapped in two, “(Y/N)...”

“You heard what they said. I’m a killer. I killed everyone I cared about and after everything, after every promise I made... I just... I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, don’t look at me.”

“If you’re bad then I’m the worst.” He stepped over the corpses, “I didn’t cry when my Father died. I put everyone in danger for fun. I left... well, I can’t call him my brother now, can I?”

You slowly turned to him, “Kaeya, I-”

He kept his gaze on the ground, “I tried to make them happy. And I did- I do- really love him. Even if I’m not his brother, he’s still mine. I didn’t mean to hurt him. That’s all I ever seem to do... I hurt you. I hurt them. And I’ll do it again. I... I know all of their names. You probably don’t believe me, I wouldn’t blame you. I am a bad person.”

In a few steps, you reached him. He looked up at you and felt his eyes widen as his hand hovered above his cheek. You hit him. No, you slapped him.

“Stop talking about yourself like that.”

“Why? You think like this too.”

“Because you’re me.” You stiffened, “Everything you do is something I’ve considered. Every plan you make is one I dream of. Every life you put into my hands is one I know I can leave.”

“But you still...”

You kneeled next to him and grabbed his hands, “Because I am more than these thoughts. I know how much it’d hurt if I let them die, how much their families would cry. I see it, Kaeya. I see the ways you care for people. You can’t tell me it’s all an act.”

“What if I did?”

“I wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe someone who hates his people would spend time listening to Glory or look into medicines for Anna. You do it even when you think nobodies looking and I...” you took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“My anger for you was directed at myself. I do think you need to change the way you plan things, have more care for people's lives.” You smiled at him and wiped the tears from his eyes, “I’m also really sorry for hitting you.”

“It’s fine, I deserved it.” He chuckled lowly.

“No, you don’t. You did like... a month ago. But not tonight.”

“So, what now?” He looked at you with small tears still in his eyes.

“Well, I think first we get out of here. Next, we should spend some time and work on ourselves. And finally...”

“Finally?”

You blushed, “Let me buy you dinner.”

The two of you left the Domain, and for a reason, no person in Mondstadt could explain, you and Kaeya became inseparable. His plans suddenly became more conscious of his men.

And together, you began to heal.

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moved-to-void-kissed · 4 years ago

Text

Too Late to be Saved

Document link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GF_jZevunsCA5QKPWXfaVO_OO61ZaAtxkzPdoJNJHUM/edit?usp=sharing

When Aqua and Aria reach the Dark Margin at the edge of the realm of darkness, they meet Ansem the Wise, who is quickly sought by Ansem, Seeker of Darkness. Aria angrily confronts the fellow Heartless, but finds herself unable to get back to the End of Sea before Riku and King Mickey arrive. (2351 words) Replaces the KH3 cutscene “An Unexpected Encounter” and changes some story events so that “Too Late” and “Braving the Darkness” no longer occur.

My first new piece of selfship writing on this blog, and oh boy is it a big one! I had a lot of fun writing this, so hopefully it makes for a good read, haha ^-^

A transcript of the document is under the readmore! Reblogs of this post would be greatly appreciated, since I was really happy with how this turned out, but they’re not required by any means~

“What is this place..?”

The blue-haired woman slowly walked forwards, marvelling at the sight before her. The endless dark caverns that she had wandered for so long had opened out to a clouded grey beach, lit by what appeared to be a glowing white moon above the horizon. The hard stone underfoot was giving way to soft sand of the same ash-like colour, as waves of murky water gently grazed the shore. It was an eerily tranquil place by the standards of all she had witnessed before, something her companion was quick to notice.

“There are no Heartless here.” she said. “I almost feel as though I shouldn’t be here, either. Aqua.. I think this might be the edge of the realm.”

“So, we’ve made it to the end?” replied Aqua, now making her way towards the shoreline.

“Yes, it would appear so. Whatever lies beyond this shore.. It seems less like part of the darkness, and more like something between dark and light. Something that doesn’t belong to either force..”

As her partner spoke, Aqua became aware that her voice was growing fainter. When she turned around, she saw that she had made far less progress towards the water, standing awkwardly some distance away with her wings curled around her body. She looked nervous, and unsure what to expect, yet the catlike ears poking straight up through her messy blonde hair showed that she was still as alert as ever, constantly listening for danger even in the silence of the new place they had stumbled across.

“Aria, it’s okay! We can keep going, if you’d prefer that. You look tense, and I don’t want you to be unsettled.” A worried expression flitted across Aqua’s face as she reached out to hold Aria’s hand - the sudden movement made her flinch in surprise, but she quickly and visibly relaxed as Aqua drew closer. When the two were standing together again, Aqua gently closed both of her hands over Aria’s, unfazed by the patches of open darkness that ran along them, and smiled as she looked down at her partner.

“Thank you..” she mumbled quietly. “I’m alright, I just- don’t know what to expect here.”

It was then that, behind the Keyblade Master, Aria spotted a hooded figure sitting some distance away, hidden by a black coat but appearing to gaze out over the barely-moving water. Though she still let Aqua hold her right hand, she slowly shifted to free her left and moved to stand at Aqua’s side in one fluid movement. Then she extended her left arm and a mass of dark energy enveloped the space beside her, dissipating quickly to reveal a jagged dark red Keyblade.

“Identify yourself!”

Her shout echoed across the shore, leading the figure to turn its head and slowly stand up. As it started to walk across the sand, it removed its hood to reveal an older-looking man with piercing orange eyes and wispy light blond hair. He looked tired, and his face bore the wrinkled lines of worry as he observed the two Keyblade wielders.

“Please, stay your weapon. I mean you no harm.”

Aria wasn’t overly convinced, but she could see that the man did not have the strength to be a threat, so she lowered her Keyblade. Aqua was curious to find out more, taking a step forward.

“Who are you? How did you end up in this place?”

The man sighed wistfully, folding his hands behind his back. “My name was.. stolen by another, and I can feel this place taking its toll on my memory. I’m sorry. I know that I have only been here for a fairly short time, and that I was sent here by the destruction of the machine I created to encode Kingdom Hearts in data.”

“Before that..” He turned to look out over the water again, unwilling to meet Aqua’s gaze. “I caused a great deal of misery to many individuals, through both my recent actions and my previous research. It is clear to me now that I was deeply in the wrong about some of my original beliefs.. Now, I can only hope for a chance to atone for my deeds.”

“It’s alright.” Aria’s Keyblade had disappeared from her hand. “I can see now that your heart holds a true desire for.. repentance, or something of that nature. I’m not sure what the right word is, but.. The point is that you won’t be harmed, by either of us.”

“Yes, of course!” Aqua added. “I think you’ll be safe here, at least, since the Heartless don’t seem to come here. And, I can’t claim to know what you’ve done, but.. What’s important is that you recognise your mistakes, and that you want to make up for them.”

The man seemed relieved, and turned back to face the pair with a shadow of a smile on his face. “Thank you, both of you. I admit that I was not expecting to meet anyone else in this infernal prison. If I may ask, what are your names?”

“Oh, there’s no time for that now.”

A dark portal had opened up, and from it stepped an imposing and well-built man in a similar black coat. He had slicked-back long silver hair and similarly piercing eyes to the old man, though his were a cold golden colour. Aria’s eyes narrowed at his approach, as it was clear that he was a powerful user of darkness, though the true nuance was only visible to her.

“What- What’s going on?” Aqua asked, turning to face the man with suspicion. He ignored her for the moment, focusing only on the older man, who in turn was glaring fiercely at the intruder as he approached.

“You..”

“Master.. I must have a word with you.”

“Master?” he echoed. “So now you mock me..” The disapproval dripped from his voice like bitter venom. The interloper opened his mouth to respond, but-

“Leave.”

Aria had broken away from Aqua’s grasp and now stood defiantly before the intruder, Keyblade still in hand.

“Excuse me?” The man raised an eyebrow and sneered down at her, surprised by her actions.

“I know what you are, Ansem.” she snarled back. “I have known your power since before you even existed. A villainous Heartless with a natural human form - the one that took the title of “seeker of darkness” and is shadowed by a twisted dark figure. You think you’re so strong, but you are not the one who holds power here.”

This last statement had clearly struck a nerve, and Ansem’s expression of contempt soured into anger. “You’re certainly an astute one.. But what makes you think you could possibly face me?”

“Have your eyes gone blind as well as gold? If I can tell what you are, you can tell what I am. I have seen more than you will ever achieve, especially now that you’re afflicted with some other presence. That-” - she pointed up at his eyes - “-is Xehanort’s power, isn’t it? If you’re with him, that makes you our enemy.”

At this point, Aqua’s worried expression had returned. “Aria, be careful..”

“Aqua, get that man somewhere out of the way. I’m going to stop this before it becomes a problem.”

“You are a fool to challenge me, girl!”

An eruption of darkness burst forth from the Heartless, and the powerful frame of the Dark Figure rose up from his shadow. Aria quickly leapt up into the air, spreading her wings to soar over Ansem’s head as he lashed out. To deflect the residual impact of his outburst, Aqua summoned a Barrier spell, then started to help the old man escape once he had turned around.

The force of that initial burst - not even a targeted attack, merely an effect driven by the might of his anger - instantly made Aria aware of the strength Ansem possessed, and she knew she would have to be careful. Her advantage was agility, as the darkness she could draw from her surroundings to aid her flight was limitless. She darted out of his reach and flew up and away from the Dark Figure’s grasp, firing shockwaves of unearthly blue energy at both it and Ansem. The monster seemed unfazed, but Ansem himself was slowed down in his pursuit of her, only to then retaliate with a barrage of violet orbs, which Aria was able to flit between. At every twist and turn, she flew further away from him, enraging him even more as he was forced to give chase.

“What is this insolence?!” Ansem yelled. “You should be obeying me!”

“Does it look like that matters?” she replied, deftly evading another blast of dark energy. “I already told you - you’re not the one who holds power here. Even if you did, Ves’ presence is enough to protect me. I don’t care what you think you deserve!”

Another flash of darkness, this time from Aria herself - she had switched her Keyblade from its dark mode to its diamond mode, now shimmering with cold blue light, and enveloped herself in a shadowy aura to strengthen herself. Still soaring on her wings, their black feathers gleaming with energy drawn from the realm, she sent a rain of insightful flames down from above, then her Keyblade became electrified and she hurled it spinning towards him.

“Maybe you meant something, once. But now you’ve let yourself be taken over by someone who’s not even strong enough to control you completely. Take it from someone who knows - all that does is weaken you!”

“Enough of this!”

Suddenly, the Dark Figure wrested itself from Ansem’s shadow and lunged forwards into the air, followed swiftly by Ansem himself, roaring and surrounding himself with a wall of intense darkness. As Aria dropped through the air to avoid his charge, a blast of ice struck him from behind. It was Aqua, channeling magic even without her Keyblade to act as a conduit. The impact threw Ansem off-course, but the Dark Figure swept around and managed to grab hold of Aria.

“Agh!”

“Let go of her!” Aqua cried, trying to fire more magic without hitting Aria. Ansem’s attention remained focused on the Keyblade Master, while the Dark Figure tightened its powerful grip as if to crush Aria entirely. She desperately writhed and struggled, holding onto the figure with her right hand and trying to slash at it with the Keyblade in her left. After a few moments, it became shrouded in a dark mist, as if dissipating, and she was able to slip from its hold when another direct hit from Aqua made Ansem stumble.

Anger still pulsed through him like a poison as he shouted at the both of them. “I will not lose to an obstinate recusant and a lost guardian with no Keyblade to protect herself!”

Clearing the space around him by emitting a shockwave of energy, Ansem started to summon a massive crest of darkness above him, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. The Dark Figure was still clawing at Aria, as if enraged at how she had stolen some of its power to escape it, but she felt confident she would be able to evade the incoming blow. She could tell that he was not at his full strength anymore, and the intricate crest was already starting to lose its shape, contorting into a misshapen orb of raw darkness.

Then she saw where Ansem was aiming.

“Don’t you dare!-”

In the instant before the orb struck her, all Aqua saw was a flurry of feathers, and then came the dark impetus. Something fell from her sash as she was knocked to the ground, and she was only aware of something- someone- Aria being launched through the air above her, sent flying further back into the dark.

Just then, a shower of stars came soaring in from the direction of the otherworldly beach. Their light seemed to pierce through the darkness like a blade through fog, and Aqua couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope as she saw them strike the Heartless.

“Oh no you don’t!”

A familiar and determined cry from none other than King Mickey himself - the little mouse had leapt to the fray and brandished his Star Cluster Keyblade to help Aqua out. From behind him, another Keyblade wielder in plaid clothing was running towards them, carrying a sword of grey metal with ease.

Aqua recognised him immediately, even though he had grown considerably. “Riku! Mickey! Is it really you?”

“Gah..” Ansem staggered back to his feet, clearly injured from Mickey’s attack, and glared at them all in turn. “You have not won this.. You will not prevail!”

Another dark corridor opened up, then it was gone, and he was gone.

“I don’t feel good about letting him get away like that..” said Mickey. “Should we try and go after him?”

“There’s no time!” Riku exclaimed, his green eyes clouded with concern. “We need to get you out of here, Aqua, and bring Ansem the Wise with us, too. I don’t know how long the corridor I made will stay open for.”

“Wait, but-”

Mickey nodded at Riku’s words with a determined expression. “You’re right. I’m not leaving without you again, Aqua!”

All the while, Aria was desperately flying.

The light of all their hearts, and of the corridor, was blinding, especially for one so accustomed to the dark - but she kept racing forwards, using them as a guiding beacon. Sharp spikes of rock loomed down from the ceiling, as if the jaws of a monster were trying to consume her, to keep her trapped in the realm that had already held her for so long. No. She wouldn’t lose her. This would be her only chance to escape.

The lights flickered, once, twice, three times - and then it was all extinguished. Fatigue from her injuries mixed with overwhelming emotions brought Aria to the ground with a sob. She crashed to the floor just metres away from where her love had been so cruelly rescued, clinging onto what Aqua had so sadly left behind.

All she had left was a blue glass Wayfinder.

#third time's the charm..#a call from the void #creations from the void #selfship #selfshipping #love: wayfinding waters (aqua)#selfship: survivors of the dark (aqua/aria)#self‑inserts #self‑insert: darkness' champion (aria)#kingdom hearts selfshipping #this post is okay to reblog!#I hope that's everyone who wanted to be tagged! if i've missed someone off or tagged someone who didn't want to be then please let me know

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sharpen-jadescythe · 4 years ago

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Luxana Queenwing

I’d like to avoid creating a whole Tumblr page I won’t maintain for my Harpy character (in-game as a Night Elf Demon Hunter) Luxana. Maybe I will eventually create one if I have enough interest in it. But I wanted to at least share her TRP About tab because it’s really beautiful.

Harpy Queen

Art resembling Luxana

It is true that the longer harpies live, the more beautiful they become. If mortal races misunderstand and call me an Elf, then fine. I shall use them. Happily use their willful ignorance, or their fool lust, against them…

If mortals see my harpy markings? Or how my eyes and wings burned in the fires of Ashenvale? And how I claw enemies at ear-popped speed, then they insist I am a Demon Hunter instead? Yes, fine. All the better. I am a huntress, in a way. A hunter of men’s flesh…

Anything for my flock…

I miss the Song. High above Ashenvale, the very air was Song. I did not ever imagine air without movement, no breeze, and none of my sisters’ voices carried on the wind. How can the world be so deceptively silent…

I am a harpy queen with no kingdom, no territory. We were tumbled out of the canopy we called home, a jewel and feather-strewn empire high above Ashenvale. Sunshade was a beautiful world of glittering light and flowing shadows. The Awning was laced with true harpy magic and sacred wards gifted to us by Aviana. Our home was bathed in warm sun and rejoicing, casting the forest of Ashenvale beneath in faintest echoes of that—quiet and blue shadow. We kept Sunshade safe, and secret, for thousands of years. But in the end, we were beat out of it like taking a stick to a wasp nest. By the weapons and fires of mortal men…

Perhaps we were lax in our watch over the forest. Perhaps it is our folly...

First? I shall gather my clutch, my beautiful and brave daughters. I don’t know if there are other queens like me. But together, we must find our sacred flock. And if we, Aviana’s chosen, cannot fight our way back to Sunshade, then we will tear out a new Awning under which to live! And there, fly free. Have all our feathered sisters finally together. And fill the air with our Song.

It goes like this…

VrrAAAaaaaaawkk!!!

RP Hooks

- If you’ve heard of the mythical harpy kingdom of Sunshade, above parts of Ashenvale. You might have been told stories about it, or you might have dreamed of the place while in the area. Sometimes, harpies like Luxana give people beautiful dreams to inspire them to protect their forest.

- If Luxana gave you a harpy dream before you finally met her. Like a siren’s song, sometimes Luxana draws strangers to her for a purpose. (Or she may do it accidentally.)

- If you’re a fellow witch able to chat with Luxana about the secretive harpy magic she uses. Harpy magic is passed down from mother to daughter, but there’s a lot she would have in common with a witchdoctor, etc.

- You like to sing. Luxana can make her voice atonal and ugly, or sing beautifully if she chooses.

- You, too, enjoy hunting men.

- You like harpies!

((This is all based on a bit of my own, but mainly awesome harpy headcanon from other players. Check it out!))

The Harpy Queen Skrch on fanfiction.net

Harpy Wowhead.com article

#luxana-queenwing

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

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Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 15

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Chapter summary: Ienzo has to decide how to move forward.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

When Ienzo woke up he could breathe.

The intubation had been removed, but his throat ached. He was in the med bay again. It hurt to move.

He sat up slowly. Demyx was fast asleep in a chair nearby, his body awkwardly folded onto it, a blue blanket spread over him.

“Ienzo?”

He looked over and saw Aerith. She approached him and took his pulse. “I’m sorry about this,” he said hoarsely.

“How do you feel?”

“Alright--I suppose.”

At the noise, Demyx stirred. “Hey, you’re awake.”

Aerith sat at the foot of the bed. “The good news is that I was able to heal the damage to your heart and lungs. But… on the other hand, Ienzo, all of that healing is going to unravel the moment you use that power again. You’ll go back to being unable to breathe without support. And likely other organs of yours will begin to fail.”

“...I see.” He still felt a bit breathless. “Thank you for your help.” He was oddly numb.

“It’s lucky Demyx was with you,” she said. “Otherwise…”

“It would have been fatal,” he said in that numb voice. “Quite.”

Demyx seemed numb too; his face was blank, his eyes haunted.

She smiled sadly. “As long as you don’t use that power, you should begin to bounce back and recover. You’re young, and healthy, otherwise.”

“I see.”

She squeezed both his hands. “I’ll call and check up on you in a few hours,” she said. “Get some rest.”

She left. For a moment it was silent. “How’s your… breathing?” Demyx asked in an odd voice.

“Back to normal, more or less,” Ienzo replied, equally as stunted. “I must apologize for that. Not very flattering.”

“Not very--” Something broke the numbness. “You almost died, Ienzo. You almost suffocated. Do you know what that felt like to see?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Truly, I am.”

“So much for this not killing you,” he said sourly.

“I’m going to stop,” Ienzo said, more to the blanket tucked around his legs than anything. “I promise. I’m going to stop.”

“I want to believe you,” Demyx said.

Ienzo looked at him. He could feel tears in his eyes. “It is very clear that this is doing nothing other than being dramatic and destructive. I’m not helping anyone. The power’s not strong enough to do any good--it only will kill me. I used to be fine with that. I used to want that. But now…”

Demyx took a few steps towards him and drew Ienzo into his arms. “There are other ways you can help,” Demyx said.

“I certainly hope so.”

The door opened and in came Even. His face was washed out, and his eyes were bloodshot, but his expression was resigned. “Might I have a word with Ienzo? Alone?” he asked Demyx.

“...Sure.” He squeezed Ienzo’s hand one last time and then left. Ienzo looked at his empty hand, wanting nothing more than for him to be back, knowing that Even was very likely about to tell him off.

Even perched on the edge of the bed. He’d shed his lab coat, and the turtleneck underneath was a little shabby. “How are you, child?” he asked in a soft voice, the same that had comforted him as he cried.

“Dazed. Disoriented. Humiliated,” Ienzo said softly. “I…”

“I could not help but overhear your conversation. You truly desired death?”

“You accused me as such.”

“Yet--to hear it aloud is all the more jarring.” He touched his temple. “I’m afraid emotions make me… feel quite stupid.”

Ienzo dropped his eyes. “Every day the guilt was eating me alive. It still is. I felt like a wretch. Like--of all the people to have died, why did I survive? Without the distraction of my work, I, as a person… was not worthy of the life given to me.” He exhaled. “Clearly all I was capable of in the past was mayhem and terror. I figured if I could die doing something worthwhile, then…” He trailed off. “I didn’t even fully know myself that was my goal for a while. But if it’s any consolation--I’m giving up.”

Even’s eyes were glassy. “Are you?”

“Yes. You needn’t manipulate Demyx into coercing me.”

Even winced. “I still don’t understand this match, at all,” he said softly. “But clearly he is giving you something no one else can. Something that you need. I would be a fool to ignore that.”

“He’s changing. He’s growing. I hope I am too.” Ienzo felt his eyes watering, again. The implications of it all were starting to break over him. He’d very nearly died. He knew it was a human response to be shocked and afraid about it; he was hardly going to react to a near-death experience with Zexion’s cold indifference.

“You are,” Even said softly. “I must insist after all this that you take some time to yourself. No work… nothing strenuous. I’m sure you’re feeling quite a lot.”

“You’re not mad?” Ienzo asked.

“Moreso… terrified of losing you. But now I know how you feel. And we can talk about that. You have so much to offer, Ienzo. Just because you cannot do this one thing doesn’t mean you are lacking worth.”

The tears ran over. “What am I to do?”

Even wiped away the tear. “Go back to this new project of humanity,” he said.

“I have to atone somehow.”

“And you will,” Even said firmly. “Of that I have no doubt. But if it helps… Ienzo, you were a victim of all this too. One of the best ways of atoning is healing.”

“What of you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you healing?”

Even looked startled. “A loaded question. I’m afraid… I have quite a lot more sins I’ve committed. But I will do everything in my power not to waste this life. I’ve spent enough time faffing about. Getting rid of Xehanort is one thing… cleaning up the fallout, another. But it is work that must be done. Work that I… want to do.”

“And things with Ansem and the others?”

“Will mend if they are meant to,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It is difficult.”

Ienzo sighed.

Even patted his hand. “Get some sleep,” he said. “This will all work out for the best. We have to trust in the ways of fate--it’s gotten us here so far.”

“What of the science?”

Even laughed. “Well. We all know what our science has done, yes?”

Ienzo reached forward to embrace him. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel awkward to do so, but he was just feeling so exposed, and in an odd way heartbroken. He needed to be soothed.

Even rubbed his back in circles. “We’re going to figure this out.”

---

For several days Ienzo just felt tired. Tired, weak, and sad, too. As he tried to sleep the memories poked him behind the eyes like hot needles--all the things he’d done, all the things that had been done to him. He woke up sobbing more than once and had to be comforted. In a way, he felt like a child, his emotions washing through him thickly without the barrier of his work.

But a child’s heart could grow, and bit by bit, he did.

He spent time with Demyx. Running packages, going out to lunch. Walking. Talking, a lot. Ienzo wasn’t sure if it was the near-death experience, or the difficulty of letting go of his research, or perhaps because of how vulnerable they’d been with one another, but the words were spilling from him without his permission. He found himself telling Demyx about his past, his biological parents, the experimentation. About how it felt to die and then, what seemed a second later, wake in a whole new self. How, on one hand, he had twelve years of Zexion's memories, but on the other he'd essentially gone from eight to twenty in a single breath. In all this, Demyx just listened patiently, holding his hand tightly.

He went to the restoration committee, offering himself for whatever might need to be done. Ienzo found himself looking through engineering plans, doing heavy admin work and helping proof Cid’s codes. The man was, in his own way, also trying to help Sora, building a model of him to function in simulations. Helping in this tertiary capacity soothed Ienzo’s conscience.

Once he was physically stronger, he and Demyx spent a lot of time in bed, getting to know one another’s bodies. In this all, something real seemed to be emerging. They talked about the future; where they might go and how they might get there.

“You’re going to do great things and I’m going to help you get there,” Demyx said. “Relax, Zo. We’ve got time.” Sometimes Ienzo would sit with him as he composed music, his fingers deftly weaving stories from sound.

Ienzo tried to write his own story.

The first few attempts actually just made him rawer and more emotional still. He snapped easily and cried at stupid things. But letting go of these emotions only served to ease the weight of dread in his breast.

Everything was, so slowly, looking up.

He should’ve known it wouldn’t last long.

#retribution #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #even (kingdom hearts)

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yanderedbh-moved · 5 years ago

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The Yanderes As Shakespeare Villains

Please take this post with a grain of salt, about 90% of the characters here are expressly not meant to be either entirely good or entirely evil and not going to lie. I mostly just titled this list “yanderes as villains” for the sake of a title, as more than a few of these characters are far more like anti-heroes than outright villains. Would I identify all the Shakespeare Characters below as antagonists? No. Do I feel they are similar enough to be compared to their DBH counterpart? Yes. All that in mind, please enjoy!

Connor: Macbeth, Macbeth

(Specifically the “nice” version of Connor.) Strung along while heavily manipulated under the control of Amanda/Cyberlife as Macbeth is manipulated by his wife Lady Macbeth, despite all this. However, they are the ones actively doing evil. Carrying out these acts of violence.

Straddle the line between victim and villain. Because of this, they're viewed wildly differently by other characters. Additionally, both are dynamic characters, developing and changing thoroughly from the beginning to the end of the play.

Even though both characters unleash severe pain and even death onto others, it's mostly on account of manipulation. Because of this lack of intention on their end to commit these acts, they suffer the regret and remorse later.

Markus: Cassius, Julius Caesar

Much of their resentment for their enemy is on account of having to live and serve as a lesser to a force of evil. Not necessarily Carl specifically, but still, Markus is forced to serve and interact with humans who hate him.

They fight for freedom and Liberation from the unjust in a way. Markus for androids who deserve a better life, Cassius, who argues Rome is too good to be controlled by a tyrant like Caesar.

Not necessarily an identical parallel but one which still connects the two, Cassius is motivated by his envy for Caesar. At the same time, Markus wants revenge on humans for what they did to him and his people.

Kara: Aaron, Titus Andronicus

The only time Kara is violent, even potentially lethal to others in the story, is in the name of devotion to her child. In the same way, Aaron’s redeeming factor is his devotion to his own son.

There isn’t exactly any real detail given to explain what it is that motivates them beyond the fact they appear to act based on instincts. Kara’s instincts telling her to act as a “mama bear” for Alice, while Aaron is only doing what he believes to be right in the name of being a good lover, and provider for his significant other.

Fundamentally their monogamy and the way they are so loving with only the one they care the most about is central to their characterization. Kara is one of the only non-pleasure based female androids, and Aaron mostly only acts as a way to appease his lover.

Hank: Shylock, The Merchant of Venice

Despite if you love or hate either of them, it's undeniable that they are a victim of circumstance. His villainy is one that is created, not what he was born with.

The driving force behind his dramatic change in behavior is on a count of losing a loved family member. Causing them to cling desperately to what they have left hardening themselves in the process.

Shylock demands a pound of flesh in return for his daughter, while Hank straight-up murders (ok, technically he only shoots him in the head, but his intent stands, just the same.) Connor, on account has misplaced anger towards androids.

Luther: Hamlet, Hamlet

Hamlet may be the tragic hero of the story, and Luther is given a fair shot at redemption. Still, it's wrong to ignore the fact that both of these characters committed evil deeds before the conclusion of their story.

Both arguably have blood on their hands for some character's death even though they're not the direct killers. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were sent to their deaths by Hamlet, and Luther's complacency in Zlatko’s house kept more androids suffering.

Hardly means they should be counted among the blood thirstiest of villains listed. As they are developed through story and are defined more by their redemption and complexity than by their own faults and failings.

North: Lady Macbeth, Macbeth

Fiercely driven by her appetite for power and ambition, an iconic and classic example of female power and the corrosive influence on her husband.

Obviously, she acts as the driving force in trying to convert Markus and pursuing a path of violence and vengeance. She won't hesitate in her goals, no matter the hesitance of others.

No doubt, this unrelenting thirst for violence would likewise extend to her as a yandere. She would see her actions as ones made out of love and selflessness.

Simon: Tamora, Titus Andronicus

Strikes a chilling balance between a schemer and a bloodthirsty murderer while never leaning too far to one extreme. In a sick way, by keeping this balance, this allows Tamora to embrace the full power of violence, as well as calculation.

While in her own right, she might not be expressly powerful in her own right. However, by aligning herself with as a leader becomes far stronger, similarly, Simon is one of Markus' right-hand men.

He would be the kind of yandere who should never under any circumstances be underestimated as he is capable of intense violence. Far more than meets the eye

Josh: Claudius, Hamlet

Claudius is an interesting villain because, even though he is the one actively committing acts of violence, he is absolutely doing this of his own free will. He’s not manipulated by another, or only doing this for some higher goal. He wants power, and he knows he must kill the current king to achieve this. Yet still, he feels remorse and unease over this. Josh similarly will openly vocalize his dismay over Markus pursuing violence, yet always, will follow through with his leader all the same.

There is no joy in this bloodshed. Both are brutally realistic and understand, ultimately killing is fundamentally wrong, but follow through with this plot to satisfy their own needs. To them, killing is always wrong, it was wrong when they committed this sin, and they fear their time of atonement is coming.

Both the stories of Hamlet and DBH share the notion that no one is entirely good or entirely evil. Even though he knows it’s probably a lost cause, Josh still pleads with Markus to turn to the side of peace and to favor mercy. Claudius may be self-serving to an insidious degree. Still, it’s debatable he did care for Queen Gertrude and felt pain when she died.

Kamski: Edmund, King Lear

While it’s not ever disclosed in canon any real details about Elijah’s upbringing, the two of them share a kind of “larger than life" persona. At least a part of their motivations could be described as going above and beyond the “common man.” For Edmund, this is because of his humble upbringing, and it’s at least possible Elijah shares this need to be celebrated on account of unremarkable upbringing.

Both Elijah and Edmund are absolute snakes! There’s nothing trustworthy or loyal about them, and they have no problem sacrificing or hurting others in the name of their own gain. Edmund, the adulterer, and Kamski, who was fully ready to let Connor shoot one of his companions.

Their quest to become the perfect self-made man left them cold and withdrawn as a result. In the narrative, this cold and withdrawn behavior is Elijah’s way of appearing more cold and mysterious. At the same time, for Edmund, this is a representation of his resentment for the familial love he never received.

Chloe: Titania, A Midsummer’s Night Dream

Both are extraordinary women. Titania is debatably the most powerful character in the entire play, while Chloe is a sophisticated, empathetically driven android, perhaps the most advanced ever, in this sense. Yet are unable to reach their full potential, on account of living under the control of men. Titania, subjected to life under Oberon, and Chloe's bound to a life of domesticity.

Despite their implied superior abilities and potential, they aren’t even really able to fight back against the men who control them. Titania, under the influence of a love spell, forces her to act a fool for her husband’s enjoyment. As Chloe is kept separate and isolated from the rest of the world with no way to make connections of her own.

(I am so sorry, Titania is not a villain in any way, this is all such a reach, but this… this was literally all I got, RIP.)

Gavin: Tybalt, Romeo and Juliet

Definitely a “what you see is what you get” kind of antagonist. And this description applies to both men from the beginning to the end of the story. They wear their motivations and emotions on their sleeves and are unapologetic for the way they act and treat others.

Complete hot-heads. While they may claim not to have selfish motives, as in, they genuinely believe their enemies to be as evil and reproachable as they say, but this is not true. Tybalt’s pugnacious behavior leading to his, and the deaths of many others. While Gavin’s opposition to his fellow investigator prolong progress and only lead to infighting and tensions rising between other humans and androids.

Both characters are pretty much the closest thing to an “all bad” character as it gets. While Tybalt may mean well in some way, to protect his family from the Montagues, he doesn’t care for their well being the moment the rival family is gone. And is clearly only fighting so hard for his own enjoyment. Similarly, for someone who wants to keep humans and androids apart as fiercely as Gavin wants, he doesn’t seem to have any good-will, or kindness to share with any of his fellow humans.

Zlatko: Richard the third, Richard the Third

Both characters follow the arcs of characters who desire power, or to hold a superior status to others, only to lose this power when taken down by the demons of their past.

Even when they are surrounded by the faces of those they’ve wronged in their past, it’s only until the very last second that either of these characters shows any semblance of regret for what they’ve done. And in Zlatko’s case, this doesn’t mean he regrets what he did to the androids he tortured but does regret how he wound up in a position like this.

Ralph: Caliban, The Tempest

Both are fiercely territorial of the places they reside in. While they may or may not have a right to this level of possessiveness, it’s important to acknowledge they only have to share the space anyway on account of unfairness. (Caliban was tricked into giving up possession of his island, and Ralph technically was here before anyone else, and even if he doesn’t own the area officially, it’s still his space.)

Both are written to be “monster” like characters. Or, in other words, characters who are fundamentally different from the humans in the story. Ralph an android, as well as “corrupted” on account of his trauma. While Caliban is described as a creature that lived in the wilderness before the island was under Prospero’s control.

Through the roughness, they present to the outside world, however, the audience sees a glimmer of softness, and maybe even more intelligent than given credit for. If Kara is kind to Ralph, then he will refuse to give away her position to Connor, even under intimidation. Caliban actually does desire a life on the island with Miranda by his side. (Granted, saying he wants to populate the island with “lots of little Calibans” was a bit of a yikes move on his part.)

Daniel: Goneril & Regan

They share a common theme at the heart of their stories. The idea of spending your time, life, and energy to be close to another, to be considered a part of the family, only to lose themselves to jealousy at the notion of being replaced.

Characters with motivations which may appear petty at first glance, however, this is more than enough motivation to enact intense violence. For Daniel, this means threatening to drag the young daughter of his former host family off the top of a building. For Regan, this means literally pulling out someone’s eyes.

Nines: Don John, Much Ado About Nothing

(This is partly a headcanon here.) Even though Nines is considered an upgrade from his predecessor, Connor, that doesn’t change the fact he’s still fundamentally following in his brother’s footsteps, and he can’t help but feel out shined here. A kind of familial resentment John experiences, which motivates his actions in the story.

Even though this petty jealousy may appear superficial at first glance, it’s critical not to underestimate these characters. They are both intelligent schemers. No one is truly safe from, or around them.

This would absolutely extend to you, in terms of yandere Nines. His treachery runs deeply, and if he is so ready to start a war against his own brother than you will never know if you’re genuinely safe around him.

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rosethornewrites · 5 years ago

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 3

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD

Summary: Wei WuXian wakes.

Note: This is more an introspective chapter, but I guess they all have been. At some point action will happen, but obviously there’s a lot of trauma and shit to deal with as well.

AO3 link

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

-------------

Wen QiongLin brings dinner, largely comprised of radish-based dishes. From Wen Qing’s comment regarding Wei Ying’s dislike of the vegetable, Lan WangJi decides they should absolutely purchase something else in Yiling tomorrow.

Though it is nearly time to sleep, Lan WangJi focuses on writing the letter to XiChen. He dares not include too much information, as letters can be intercepted.

XiChen,

The situation in Yiling is not what was claimed. Lan principles dictate it is our duty to embrace the entirety of the world and to uphold the value of justice. Failure to protect the weak enables bullying of the weak. In failing to uphold these, I have forgotten the grace of our forefathers, who believed in righteousness.

Thus I have decided to stay at Burial Mounds to atone and make right my wrongs. You may visit if you wish to confirm the situation, but I am well.

WangJi

Despite the letter being addressed to his brother, rather than to him as his role as sect leader, Lan WangJi has outlined four of the principles he feels have been violated regarding the Wen remnants and reminded XiChen of the GusuLan sect creed. This would be more befitting such a letter, but he feels he must justify his decision.

He sets the letter aside to reread in the morning and take to Yiling, then rummages in his qiankun pouch for his bedroll, intending to sleep on the cave floor.

Before he can, Wei Ying sits up with a gasp, his eyes wild. His breath comes in short pants, and even in the dim light of the talisman he set up to write the letter, he can see the sheen of sweat on his skin. When Lan WangJi moves toward him, his hand comes up, ChenQing held clenched as a shield.

“Don’t!” His voice is pure panic as he scoots back, and he’s dangerously close to falling off the makeshift bed.

Lan WangJi settles, moving slowly. He pulls out his guqin and starts “Cleansing,” reaching out with his spiritual energy through the music. The tension and panic start to ease from Wei Ying, and he idly wonders how long he has suffered like this, nightmares drenching him in cold sweat.

Wei Ying never seeks help, only shoulders his burdens with a smile. But there have been times when that smile has been a ghost of what it should be; when Wei Ying returned from being missing, a tight, careful smirk, something broken Lan WangJi didn’t know how to fix. Wasn’t allowed to fix.

Somehow Wei Ying never asks for help, regardless of how obvious it is he needs it, wouldn’t accept it when it was offered. He has, somewhere in his life, been taught he isn’t allowed help, is the only thing Lan WangJi can think.

He runs his hands over the strings to still them as “Cleansing” comes to an end, pleased to see that Wei Ying’s breathing has calmed.

“Thank you,” Wei Ying murmurs, not looking at him. “Sorry… for earlier.”

Lan WangJi isn’t sure what he’s referring to entirely, but knowing Wei Ying it’s for his emotional distress, as though he isn’t permitted such.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he tells him honestly.

Wei Ying picks at his robes, then seems to realize their state and stands to straighten them, finding his belt. Lan WangJi is oddly reminded of the opposite—him stripping in the cave of the XuanWu of Slaughter, pulling off his belt and sodden robes to induce him to expel bad blood. Now, his robes are another way for him to hide.

“I still don’t think you should stay,” Wei Ying says when he’s done.

Stubborn. But Lan WangJi is stubborn as well.

“I will stay as long as you are here.”

“That’ll be awhile.” Wei Ying sighs. “Well, you already know I can’t force you out.”

“Mn. You could.”

The power he wields through ChenQing, and he knows Wei Ying also is aware by the scowl on his face.

“I wouldn’t use resentful energy on you,” he mutters, sounding a bit offended.

“I know you would not. But you could and choose not to. I trust you not to.”

“You’re probably the only one who trusts me,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost too soft to hear.

Lan WangJi could tell him that the rest of the cultivation world are fools, but instead he starts plucking the strings of the guqin again, this time falling into a familiar song, “WangXian.”

He wonders if Wei Ying will ask him the name again. Wonders if he has the courage again now to tell him.

Wei Ying’s empty, bitter smile, his return like a ghost after having disappeared for months, telling Lan WangJi his heart was not his business…

The memory brings with it hesitation and fear; he had taken it as rejection, resolved painfully to endure unrequited love.

“You have nightmares,” he says as he stills the strings again, moving the conversation away from what he may not be able to say.

Wei Ying shrugs. “Memories, sometimes. The resentful energy comes from restless spirits. Sometimes I see what they regret, or how they died. Like a sort of Empathy, I guess. Sometimes after I dream, they’re able to move on.”

“Wei Ying.”

He isn’t able to keep the concern from his voice. This is more information than he’s ever given, though, and he’s honored by the confession.

“If it brings them peace, it’s okay.”

Lan WangJi sighs, frustrated. This is, again, Wei Ying’s sacrificial nature. He’s willing to forego restful sleep to put spirits to rest. That anyone could consider him evil is obscene.

“And tonight?” he asks, putting his guqin away and standing.

A shudder runs through Wei Ying, and he immediately knows the nightmare tonight was his own. Lan WangJi approaches, and though he knows the tremble isn’t from chill, he gathers the heavy robe from the makeshift bed and carefully wraps it around Wei Ying’s shoulders. It is far too large for him. He has always been slender, but nearly as tall as Lan WangJi. Now he is so emaciated the robes hang, dragging on the ground.

Wei Ying doesn’t look at him, and he simply waits, unmoving.

“Being thrown into, well, here. Before.”

His voice is soft, vulnerable, and cracks at ‘here.’ Lan WangJi is close enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.

“They threw me from their swords, right into the center. The resentful energy of this place caught me. Broke my fall and pulled me in.”

He says nothing further, and Lan WangJi senses he won’t from the haunted look in his eyes. Some things cannot be spoken or shared, too traumatic. This place is eerie now, partially cleansed of resentful energy, but all of China knows what this place had been before Wei Ying made it livable.

“You survived,” he finally says. “Achieved the impossible.”

Wei Ying only shrugs, crossing his arms and pulling the robe more tightly around him, his posture defensive, as though he too wonders if he truly survived Burial Mounds.

He can do nothing to change what has happened to Wei Ying, but he can work to improve the future. Perhaps starting with his health.

“Wen QiongLin requested to cook for you when you woke.”

Wei Ying pulls a face. “I ate earlier, in town.”

Lan WangJi frowns at him. “Wei Ying, you are starving yourself. You cannot help these people if you do not take care of yourself. You can no longer practice inedia.”

“I know that!” He glares, clearly displeased at the reminder. “I went without as a kid. A-Yuan deserves better.”

“As do you,” he counters. “I brought money. We will go to Yiling for supplies tomorrow. No one need go hungry.”

Wei Ying, he realizes, might be even more susceptible to starvation-related illnesses, having gone through it once before. He reaches forward, only for Wei Ying to jerk back, the reaction one of engrained trauma. Though he knows it doesn’t necessarily represent a lack of trust, the thought that it could is painful.

He has done little these months after the war to earn his trust, but Wei Ying’s rain-soaked face, telling him he trusts him to end his life if it comes to it, springs unbidden to mind. Lan WangJi hopes that isn’t all he trusts him to do, that perhaps Wei Ying can trust him to save his life instead...

“Fine, fine,” Wei Ying says, brushing past him. “Let’s go find Wen Ning.”

Lan WangJi follows him, wondering if the only reason he acquiesced was to ignore his own reaction. Wei Ying tries to hide his pain, always, and this pain is no different. He wants to address it, but getting him to eat is, for the moment, more important.

The rest can be addressed later. He only hopes he can earn Wei Ying’s trust moving forward.

#my fanfiction #the untamed #untamed fanfiction #wangxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wei ying #cql #chen qing ling #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wen qing #wen ning #wen qionglin

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princessdianaartemis · 5 years ago

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The One Where The Almighty Has Had Enough

Prelude: I was working on something else when I thought: Well, if Sandalphon was responsible for Sodom and Gomorrah, what if he was responsible for the Nephilim massacre, too? And what if his counterpart for ‘punisher of illicit love’, was Asmodeus, demon of Lust (those posts about Aziraphale asking Crowley if that’s what he changed his name to)...this was born.

Enjoy.

Also, here’s part two.

It was a crisp, early autumn morning when something in London shifted. There was a different feeling in the air, a mixture of ozone and sulfur that felt out of place in the foggy London morning, especially for the occult and ethereal being that realized their vacation was coming to an close.

The phone at the bookshop rung once before Aziraphale, who had been standing expectantly at its side, picked it up.

“I think it’s best you get here, my dear. I feel it’d be best to meet here than on the streets of London.”

Crowley, who hadn’t even been able to slip out an ‘angel’, answered, “Hmm, alright. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“No rush,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think they expect to do anything with us until we are together.”

With the promise of more hellfire and holy water, Aziraphale began to influence his visitors to remember appointments they’d previously forgotten (and then realize, halfway there, that the appointment was tomorrow) and closed the shop. He didn’t bother locking the door. Lock or no lock, Crowley—or the others—would find a way inside. There was time, he expected, so he made himself some cocoa as he waited.

The sound of the Bentley coming to rest along the street eased the slight tension in the angel’s shoulders and he took a sip of the cooling cocoa. When the door opened, he raised a hand from behind his pile of books.

“In here, love.”

Crowley would’ve blushed if he had the time for anything other than fret.

“No sign of them yet?” he asked and settled across from Aziraphale.

“Not yet, but I don’t think they’ll be long.”

It had been about a month since Adam had contacted them about the angel and demon duo that were hunting down evidence of the, as he had heard it, indecency causing Heaven and Hell so much grief. Since then, they had felt the light push and pull of one side or the other. The wave of righteousness and tail end of the tan overcoat Sandalphon took to wearing on Earth or the outpour of lust that ended with the outing of politicians and other important members of the community which Crowley knew reeked of Asmodeus’ influence.

But, they figured the honeymoon was over and it was time to face their demons—well, demon and angel as it were. They weren’t disappointed when a few minutes later, the crackle of otherworldly magic appeared at the door. They prepared themselves, standing side-by-side as they always have.

The door opened with a light jingle of the bell at its threshold, but it wasn’t angel nor demon, but a boy with blond curls that smiled when he saw the confused duo.

“You didn’t think I’d let you face them alone, right?” he asked with the overconfidence of any eleven-year old as he strode over to them and stopped between them.

Crowley reacted first, hands on his hips, “What are you doing here?”

“This really is no place for you, dear boy.”

Adam just raised a challenging eyebrow, “Mum and Dad suddenly had a desire to come to London for a day trip. They’re having a break at the café across the street so I asked if I could come over to the bookshop. I think—I think it’ll help if I’m here. After all, your gangs still want their fight and they still think they can’t have it without me. They won’t hurt you as long as I’m here.”

They looked between each other, Crowley gaze a little more firm than Aziraphale who gave him a wide-eyed, puppy-dog look until the demon sighed, “Ah, alright. But both of you buckle up, we’re in for a whole lot of ugly.”

“Oh, it’s okay—nothing is uglier than Greasy Johnson and I look at him all the time.”

Crowley felt the quirk of a smile before another wave of magic, this time older and angrier, pushed through the door. The bell wasn’t a jingle but more of a terrified rattle as four bodies walked through the door and stood in a semi-circle at the center of the rotunda—demons to the left, angels to the right.

Aziraphale and Crowley stood likewise with Adam in the middle, all three matching in posture, shoulders back, and head high as they faced their superiors and the two hunters. Gabriel, with his condescending smile stepped forward, hands clasped before him.

“Wonderful, you’re both here,” he said, gaze sliding down to the boy. “Wish you weren’t—don’t want you to witness what we’re about to do to your friends.”

“Godfathers,” Adam said. “They’re my godfathers.”

There was a light preen from each of the beings at his side as Adam took a step back and closer to their warmth behind him. Gabriel’s smile almost slipped before turning to Beezlebub and sharing a disgusted look.

“Right, well, I’m sure the two of you know why we’re here,” Gabriel said and gestured to Sandalphon. “My friend here has been researching about the two you and your torrid affair. He’s found some pretty—well—”

“Damning evidence,” Beelzebub said, a wicked curve of zir lips. “And Asmodeus is here to verify just how damning it is. We should begin immediately, I am anxiously awaiting thizzz outcome.”

Sandalphon stepped forward and glared at the angel-demon duo in front of him, “I haven’t seen such audacity since the incident with the Nephilim. Their relationship, the arrangement as they call it, is an illicit and gross misuse of their power and immortal time. I would say that the demon has corrupted a holy being—but Aziraphale was barely holy to begin with.”

Crowley took a step forward, the fist he’d made at his side sparking with fire and he radiated that heat of demonic rage. Adam glanced back with a raised eyebrow, but it was Aziraphale that reached over and brushed his shoulder, drawing his attention away from the floor and towards him.

“It’s not worth it,” he said.

“You are worth it,” Crowley said. “I’m damned enough as it.”

Aziraphale shook his head, “I won’t let you, so you can stop thinking about it.”

The sparks disappeared and the hand that had been hovering at Crowley’s shoulder dropped to give a light squeeze to the uncurled fingers and they remained that way, hand-in-hand. Gabriel gave a dramatic gasp, hand flying to clutch at his lapel.

“See,” Sandalphon said. “They’re brazen in their affections; even right in front of us they’re not even ashamed of it. It’s abominable.”

“My, Aziraphale, how you’ve broken,” Gabriel said. “But, you still have another chance. We can still save you from the Snake’s influence. Now, Beelzebub does your—hunter want to put in anything or are we saving them for the punishment?”

Beelzebub turned to the demon who had been quiet and gestured for them to start talking. They did.

“I didn’t know that angels inspired lust,” they said, the voice slippery and sounding different to everyone in the room. “But this angel has been very, well, naughty even if he himself hasn’t done anything of the sort. The demon, too, but it is his job. What’s so strange about him is that he’s had less than demonic thoughts—love of all things.”

Crowley tensed and felt as the Prince of Hell’s eyes raised to look at him, but the hand that held his gave it another squeeze and the tension drained. In front of them, Adam scoffed.

“Since when is Love a bad thing?”

He was ignored as Gabriel laughed, “Well, it seems the two of you have a few little things to atone to—well, atone in whatever way Hell makes that happen. So, we’ll start with our little angel, why don’t we? Aziraphale, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Aziraphale glanced over to Crowley at his side, then down at Adam before puffing up and addressing the Archangel, “It’s as Adam said, since when is Love a bad thing? We’re meant to be beings of love and we should express it towards everyone. Yes, my love for Crowley is different, but we have known each other for a ridiculous amount of time so of course it would be different.” He squeezed the hand in his, “So, do whatever you must, but I see nothing wrong with my actions.”

Sandalphon made a disgusted sound and leaned over to Gabriel, whispering something in his ear. Gabriel nodded and turned to the demon at his side who turned to her subordinate.

“What about you, Crowley? What do you have to say?”

Crowley hissed, long and extra-snaky, “What Aziraphale ssssaid.”

“Very well,” Gabriel said and turned to the two hunters. “Sandalphon…Asmodeus, you know your orders.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale said, a breath of a voice. “You need to get out of here.”

He frowned and turned an incredulous expression on the angel, “I’m not leaving you alone. Besides, everything will sort itself out—you’ll see.”

Almost as if he had summoned it, and it wasn’t too far beyond the realm of belief that he had, a roll of thunder ripped through the sky and shook the bookshop. Then there was a bright light in the area between the court of eternals and those accused and when it disappeared, there was a woman standing there.

Saying that there was a woman standing there was actually inaccurate. Saying it that way was like saying that a nuclear explosion had caused a bit of a mess. What is more accurate is saying that there was a corporation of a woman, if this woman were housing inside her a nuclear plant of ethereal Love, Peace, and Light. She was smallish, smaller than the men-shaped beings in the room, but not as small as Beelzebub and Adam. Her smile was more of a smirk as her eyes flickered from one side of stunned eternals to the other.

“Right,” She said. “That’s quite enough of this. I think this has gone on too long. It’s time I get involved.

Gabriel, reacted first, getting to a knee and dragging Sandalphon down with him, “It’s—it’s an honor, Your Holiness.”

“Quite. Now, get up, you’re making a fool of yourself Gabriel, dear. Beezy, Asmo, lovely to see you two. And you two,” she said and turned her attention to the pair of Earthbound beings, “you sure have brought me quite a bit of memos.”

Adam frowned as he studied Her, then his face lit up with understanding, “Hey, Grandma.”

She smiled, “Lovely to meet you, Adam, dear.”

“I know you’re in the middle of something, right now.” he said, “But can I ask a quick question?”

“Of course,” She said, “Curiosity is quite a human thing—and we are meant to encourage it. What is your question, dear?”

“Am I going to be smote?” he asked. “Smite? ‘Cuz Anathema was talking to me about the Bible and how half-angel kids were all killed because they weren’t allowed and then she said how Lucifer—that’s my not-dad, right—that he was an angel, which would make me half-angel so I’d be a Nephilim, right? So—is that guy going to smite me?”

Adam waved his hand towards Sandalphon who blanched, even more when She started to laugh.

“No, dear, you’re in a class all on your own. No one will smite you. No one’s being smote at all,” and She turned to the Archangel and Prince of Hell, “You two have been rather persistent, haven’t you.”

Gabriel cleared his throat, “He’s tainted, your Holiness, we can’t just let that slide. He’s been fraternizing with a demon, he stopped the Great Plan in its tracks. He’s—he’s immune to hellfire, there was something we had to do.”

The Almighty turned Her cryptic smirk on him, “Could it not be argued that you have fraternized with demons. You and Beezy have been communicating about this little hunt of yours. Sandalphon’s been tracking with Asmodeus, yet you call Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship illicit.”

“It izzzz,” Beelzebub said, voice rather quiet. “There are feelings involved.”

She turned Her attention on the demon, who made zirself smaller, then straightened the grey blazer she wore, “Alright then. It’s time you listen to me for a change. I think it’s high time my children stop acting like brats.”

Adam stifled laughter by hiding his face in Aziraphale’s coat. And the Almighty began Her speech, arms spread out before Her like inviting them all into a hug, though the eyes grew stormy:

“The Great Plan was stopped because I willed it. Don’t you think if I wanted it to pick back up I could make it so? No, they stopped it because it was part of the Ineffable Plan,” She stopped when Gabriel’s back straightened painfully and Her smile quirked, “Yes, they were telling the truth, dear, those two are quite different.”

She turned to face Crowley and he found his glasses disappearing with a light flutter of Her hand, “Crowley, dear, you were never meant to Fall. You were made to question—I made you that way. But your questions should’ve fortified Heaven, unlike Luci and his main crew,” then She turned a frown at Gabriel, “I shouldn’t have left them in charge—they got paranoid—and overzealous and down you tumbled.”

Crowley’s exposed eyes showed too much, they were wide and red-rimmed as they gazed upon the Almighty. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and found a thumb sweeping along the back of his hand.

“But I suppose it’s a good thing that you did fall, if you hadn’t—you might not have met Aziraphale,” She said and turned Her attention to the angel who was providing comfort to the demon. When he found the Almighty’s eyes on him, he tensed. “You—my dear, I did good with you. Perhaps a bit too indulgent, but where it counts you’re a great angel. You were always meant to be with Humans, didn’t expect you to hand them your sword, but no matter. Yes, you two were exactly what Earth needed so I’ll grant you what you deserve—your own side.”

She reached into Her jacket and pulled out a sword, very similar to the one a certain Horseperson used, and She willed it over to Aziraphale who took it in his free hand and glanced up with a confused expression.

“A sword. Not one to protect Eden, but to protect Earth,” She said, “Mind you, you shouldn’t need to use it, but it’s a reminder to Heaven of what you are—protector, Principality, and Soldier of Earth, no longer of Heaven.”

Gabriel sputtered from behind her, “Excuse me? Your Holiness, excuse me, but Aziraphale cannot belong to Earth. That’s preposterous. There is Above and there is Below and Aziraphale, as great as you say he is, should be with us, Above. It wouldn’t be right for him to continue—dawdling on Earth. It’s what’s making him so soft in the first place.”

The Almighty’s shoulders tensed and, from above, there was a threatening roll of thunder. She turned in a slow shuffle, an orbit if you will, until She was facing the petulant face of the Archangel.

“Gabriel,” She said, Her voice was cold fire and everyone in the room felt it’s hot-cold rush on their skin, “I really don’t like doing this. But if you are acting like a brat, so you leave me no other choice.”

Again, She waved Her hand in a dismissive fashion and the next time Gabriel opened his mouth, he found that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise, no sound came out. He glared around the Almighty at Aziraphale who shot him an indulgent smile and waved with the hand holding the sword. The Almighty looked at Sandalphon who snapped to attention.

“If he fails to carry this message, it’ll be up to you to deliver it: Aziraphale is no longer of Heaven. He is still an Angel, but he carries my duties out on Earth. He should not be bothered and he will not bother you,” then She turned to the demons who twitched under Her attention. “Same goes for you.”

Beelzebub gave a shallow bow and She turned a wide smile towards Crowley. He was frozen in place, white-knuckled grip around Aziraphale’s hand (it was a good thing that circulation of blood was not needed in their bodies otherwise the angel would’ve found himself losing that hand).

The Almighty took a step towards them and reached a hand out towards the demon, “Take my hand.”

Shaking, he raised the free hand up and let her cool fingers wrap around his overheated ones. Aziraphale made to move away, but Crowley pulled him closer, bringing Adam closer as well.

“I don’t know what to give you, my dear,” She said, giving him a sweet smile. “An apology wouldn’t be enough. I can Forgive you, but it wasn’t me who damned you in the first place. But I could give you one thing. I could Raise you.”

Behind Her, the eternal court all gasped and a little bit of shock ran through the room. She could feel Crowley shaking, an unrelenting shudder that shook him from head to foot. Even Adam had wrapped his arms around Crowley so that he could stop feeling shivery.

“You mean—”

“An Angel again, can you remember what denomination you were—ah, doesn’t matter,” She said with a dismissive shrug. “I’ll make you a Principality too and then you’ll be equals. And, of course, the same rules will apply for you, no meddling from either Heaven or Hell while the two of you protect Earth together.”

Crowley’s eyes were yellow from end to end, and they dilated at Her words. He pulled out of Her grasp and turned to Aziraphale, dislodging Adam from place and the boy made his way around to his Grandmother. He almost glowed with promise and he reached across, surprising Aziraphale to a point that he almost missed the opportunity to miracle away the sword before Crowley impaled himself. He took both of Aziraphale’s hands in his, a wide smile spread on his face.

“What do you say, angel? Both of us—together, equals in the eyes of Heaven and Hell. No more worries, no more back alley dealings, no more fraternizing. We’d get to do everything we always wanted and were too afraid to do,” Crowley said, eyes tearing up. “Say the word and I’ll do it, I’ll say yes. Say it’s what you want.”

From the court, Sandalphon took a step back, reaching up for his chest and sharing a concerned look with Gabriel. The demons did the same, though their glances looked a little sad as well.

Aziraphale’s own eyes softened and he shook off Crowley’s grasp on his hands to reach up and cup the demon’s face with them both. He took a step forward, closing the breath of space, left between them and pressing their foreheads together.

“My love,” he said, and Crowley shivered against him. “Heaven does not deserve to claim an Angel as good and kind and dastardly beautiful as you. They’d try to destroy the Earth just to gain your attention, they’d go to war to gain your affection.

“I wouldn’t belong to Heaven, I’d belong to Earth,” Crowley said, eyes closing, though he might’ve just said ‘I’d belong to you’. “Just think of what we could be—I wouldn’t have these eyes for one, I’d be washed away of all Sin.”

“Humanity needs us as we’ve always been,” insisted Aziraphale. “Besides, would you even want to be around a barely holy being when you’re holier than me? And your eyes are beautiful, Crowley, no matter what you associate it with, I associated with my best friend—from the beginning.”

When Crowley opened his mouth again to argue, a simple ‘angel’ slipping out before Aziraphale shifted enough so that their noses brushed. It stopped Crowley dead in his tracks, red tracking up his face.

“Besides,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle, “how can I be your angel if we’re both one? You’re perfect, my love, exactly as you’ve always been—it’s never mattered that you were a demon, just that you could be destroyed because of me.”

Crowley’s frenzy dropped as the thumbs along his cheekbones began to stroke and he reached up to place his hands atop Aziraphale’s and mimicked his actions atop the backs. He chuckled and nodded, their noses brushing once again.

“Alright, my angel, you win,” Crowley said. “Sata—Go—oh, bugger it, I love you.”

Aziraphale gave a satisfied little hum, “Well, it’s mutual, obviously.”

Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale’s hands in his as he turned to the Almighty.

She gave him an all-too knowing smile as he shrugged, “Sorry. I think we’ll keep our arrangement the way it’s been. Hasn’t been all that bad.”

She gave a little laugh, “Well, I would like to give you something. Heaven and Hell won’t bother you, that I can assure you,” and She shot the beings behind Her a glare before turning back. “But you deserve something, my dear Crowley, and don’t say the cheesy thing you were thinking.”

Adam at Her side gave a loud gasp and tugged on Her sleeve. She bent down so he could whisper in Her ear and whatever he said had Her lighting up.

“Right, well,” She said and turned around, clapping Her hands together. “Guys, you’ve got to get on your way…and remember what I’ve said.”

The door to the bookshop opened behind them. Beelzebub looked like ze wanted to say something more, but a light nudge from Asmodeus had both of them bowing and exiting the shop with nothing more than a glare at Crowley.

Gabriel looked indignant as Sandalphon pulled his sleeve. He met the eyes of the Almighty and frowned, but when She raised an eyebrow, he just shook his head and let his companion pull him away. Then She turned to Crowley again.

“I owe you a favor,” She said, a twinkle sparking in Her eye. “You’ll know what it is—if not, Adam can help you with it. Unless—you know what it is now.”

He gave Her a small smile, “I think I do—but I think I should probably do it the proper way, don’t you think? Deserves to be done the old-fashioned way: roses, chocolates, candlelit dinner or a picnic, big public display, ceremony with all our friends—not that we have a lot of those, but I have a feeling book-girl would be disappointed if she missed it.”

The Almighty laughed and the lights around the shop sparked with it, “That he does—and that she would. Alright, next time you pray, I’ll answer it. Be safe, my protectors of Earth. Grandson, you’ve made me proud. Till next time.”

“Your Holiness,” Aziraphale said, addressing Her for the first time. “I—I know I shouldn’t ask but, well, curiosity is a human thing and it should be encouraged. Why now? Why did you come to our aid now?”

“Because, it’s time for the Ineffable Plan, this plan,” She said and gestured between them, “to come to fruition—it’s about five thousand years overdue.”

And with no more fuss, She disappeared much like She appeared—with a roll of thunder and a flash of light.

The bookshop fell silent. The buzzing of London bustling outside the only sound of life as they attempted to gather their wits. Adam spun around and pulled on Crowley’s sleeve until he bent, ear to mouth, and he whispered something. Crowley’s laughter pierced the silence and he ruffled Adam’s curls on the way up.

“Of course, kid, you’re the only one I could want,” he said. “Now, I think you’ve hoodwinked your parents long enough. Go on. I’ll be in touch.”

Adam smiled, a genuine, ear-to-ear smile that lit up his face, and he ran off, “Bye Crowley, Aziraphale, thanks for letting me hang around,” as he rounded out the door he threw a last minute, “Love you,” and they puffed with pleasure.

Like that, the two were left alone in the bookshop just as they’d been earlier. Crowley rubbed his thumbs along Aziraphale’s palm as he turned back to face him. They shared small and soft smiles as their foreheads came to rest against each other’s again.

“Protectors of Earth,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. “Well, my dear, what would you like to do now that the riff-raff is gone for good?”

“I’d like to get drunk and sleep,” answered Crowley, noses brushing. “But, I have things to do so that might be for another day. Do you mind if a raincheck for the imbibing of copious amounts of alcohol to forget that we were almost smote today?”

There’s a pout on the angel’s face that Crowley almost leaned into, but he laughed and pulled away instead. He brought the hands in his up to his lips and he placed a light kiss onto the knuckles. The pout on Aziraphale’s face slipped off as his jaw dropped a bit and he blushed bright.

“Don’t make plans for tomorrow,” Crowley said, finally let go to reach into his jacket and pull out a new pair of glasses. “I’m taking you out for a celebratory dinner—or would you prefer a picnic at lunchtime. Ah, we can do both—we have all the time in the world.”

Aziraphale just watched him, “My dear…are you alright?”

Crowley patted the pocket he’d pulled his glasses from and his smile grew again, “Just tickety-boo, angel. Picnic, dinner. Don’t even bother opening the shop tomorrow, I’ll be around for you during lunchtime.”

With a little wave over his shoulder, he was gone.

The pout on Aziraphale’s face returned as he waved a hand to lock the door and readjust the sign to say that the store would be closed for tomorrow as well and to pardon for any inconvenience. He settled in his chair, the book he’d been reading before everything sat next to his now cold mug of cocoa, but he didn’t feel like reading. Instead, he willed the cocoa back to a warm state and sat there, fingers running along his knuckles, wondering what tomorrow’s outings would bring.

#i have more...#if anyone's interested in the rest #about their date #Good Omens #go #gomens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #gomens!crowley #fanfiction #gomens fanfic #gomens fanfiction #ineffable husbands fanfiction

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phantomphangphucker · 6 years ago

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A Sister Always Has Her Reasons - PhannieMay - Day 8 Sisters

Summary: A man stands trial for his actions and Jazz knows this isn’t right, even if everyone including her brother disagrees.

Warning: reference to drug addiction, mentions of almost world destruction.

Spoiler in the tags.

Jazz stands in front of the chained and restrained ghost, who ceases his glaring at the crowd, confused by her actions, as she shouts, “no! You’re not even going to give him a chance?! It’s been years!”.

Even Danny joins the Observants in gaping at his sister, whispering at her, “Jazz are you insane? You know what he’s done. What he’s capable of. What the hell are you thinking?”.

Jazz is one of the few people that can’t actually hear him though, due to not having a ghosts heightened senses. So she doesn’t respond or acknowledge Danny’s bafflement as one of the Observants speaks, “he’s responsible for the near destruction of earth, ghost zone and all existence on it. He can not be allowed free, kept conscious or even be allowed to continue to exist”. Another, more curious, Observant chimes in, “what say you that should even debate as to otherwise?”.

Jazz glares around the room, looking downright pissed at their suggestion to destroy the man behind her, “he's still a person! People mess up! Yes he messed up beyond anything imaginable or tolerable. And yes he did it completely willingly. But circumstances matter! Could even a single one of you claim he was genuinely in a sane and healthy state of mind?”.

“And what makes you think he’s any different now or will ever be?”

“What was essentially solitary confinement for years is going to have an effect. To think otherwise is completely foolish! Whether that’s due to the lack of contact or the inability to harm anyone, doesn’t matter. When you separate a person from actions and others, the effect is always profound. At the very least he had time to think over everything he’s done”. Danny watches as the chained man stares at the ground as she talks, and he can’t help but remember Vlad from the futures words, “if any good came out of this, it’s ten years without ghost powers. Gave me the chance to see what a fool I had been”. But he’s not sure if a second chance here, is such a good idea. The stakes are so much higher, all that future Vlad had to atone for was being a crappy person and multiple attempted murders; that hardly compares to nearly wiping out all life and death.

“At the very least you could give him the chance to lead a different life than the one before. Someone’s past does not determine their future! Especially if you give them a clear path to change”, Jazz shakes her head angrily at one of the Observants and talks right over them, “even if he didn’t take any opportunity to change before, why would he?! Routine is a hard-fought battle to break, even more so when everyone treats you like nothing but a villain and a monster! Why would you stop doing something if everyone is just going to assume you’re doing it anyway?! And that’s not to mention that he was happy doing what he did and believed nothing could stop him, yes it was wrong and yes he deserved the punishment he got for it. But punishments shouldn’t be a life sentence unless the persons proves they cannot change!”.

It’s pretty clear that a good portion are actually seeming almost guilty, Hell even Danny looks a bit guilty. But Danny’s notorious for his kind heart so Jazz doesn’t let that get her hopes up.

“The fact that he enjoyed it and was happy, sounds reason enough to argue he will not change”

“Many drug addicts love what they do more than anything in the world, they change their ways all the time, and that’s an addiction. That’s harder to change than habitual behaviours. People don’t stop doing something they enjoy unless they’re given a reason that is, to them, good enough. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who doesn’t consider being destroyed a damn good reason to at least try”.

Danny watches the chained man, who’s staring defiantly at everyone and holding himself as straight as he can from his kneeling position; it’s clear he’s being aggressive and assertive, likely even trying to intimidate but, “I think my sister might have a point. I’ve seen horrible people change their ways before and if anyone is familiar with all the wrong this man has done, its me”. Shaking his head at Jazz’s small smile, “I can’t say I believe he’ll truly change. But I can’t deny that it could be a possibility and that he may simply choose to behave even if he doesn’t want to”.

Many Observants mutter around before one speaks up, “ClockWork, what say you? You have seen all he’s done in ways others have not, do you believe change is so much as an option?”.

ClockWork addresses the Observants in the form of an old man, “while I can not speak on his future from here, due to complications. I am inclined to agree with the King. Though, I will not claim to the same optimism as that of the princess”.

The Observants return to muttering amongst themselves only for a short while, “we hear your plea and will grant that he not be destroyed, however, neither ClockWork nor King Phantom has the time to nor should they be burdened with, keeping watch over him”. A couple others nod in agreement and frankly, Danny knows having him watch over this man would be a bad idea.

One of the Observants stands up, “I propose that since the princess is the only one to argue for him, that she take the duty herself”. Half the crowd gapes at this Observants as another, clearly unimpressed one, stands up, “how is a human girl to control him? Intelligent and capable though she may be, that would not be enough should he act out”.

“I am not some petulant child”, nearly everyone snaps around and watches the man cautiously now, as he’s spoken for the first time since arriving to be judged.

Jazz takes this as her chance to interject, “I’ll take the responsibility if that’s what is needed for you to give him the chance to be different than he was”. Danny is once again baffled and rather freaked out at her, managing to maintain the demeanour of a king though, “I agree that this idea is far too dangerous. He has tried to kill or harm you explicitly before. He will do it again”.

Jazz glares up at her brother, “if you assume he cannot change then he will not. I am not about to make that mistake. Your relationship is too personal with him for you to be objective about this”. Addressing everyone now, “I would think by now every Fenton has proved themselves capable of way more than ever expected. I understand the distrust towards him, but surely there can be a fail-safe of some kind”.

Everyone is silent for a while, excluding the Observants, as they debate options. Quickly electing that anything too restraining would only increase the likely hood of disobedience but that it would also need to be something constantly available to either put him down or seal him instantly; they did not want a repeat of Pariah.

The head Observant stands to make the decision, as the chains holding the man dissipates, leaving only the collar, “he will remain bound as he is now and he will not be permitted to be further than 20 feet away from you at any given moment, excluding for extreme extraneous circumstances”.

Jazz nods curtly though frowns, “while I do not approve of collaring anyone like an animal, it is clear to me you see no other options. I request it be removed if he does indeed prove himself”.

“We will see about that, we will be watching for any slight misstep. On either of your parts”.

Jazz looks the way she does when scolding her brother over washing the dishes, as she retorts, “then I must also ask you give him room to mess up, everyone relapses sometimes. You can not genuinely request he be perfect or wholly good”.

ClockWork speaks up before an annoyed Observant can, “biased though they may be, they are perfectly capable of being fair”.

That same Observant, now glaring at ClockWork, “he will be granted no more wiggle room than any other ghost, anything beyond what could be reasonably classed as mischief or mild harm will not be ignored”.

The man watches Jazz with scrunched eyebrows, never even acknowledging his collar as to not give the Observants the satisfaction, as the Observants call the trail concluded.

Jazz spins around and gives him a soft though clearly strained smile and puts her hands on her hips, talking with warm friendly humour, “well, looks like you’re stuck with me. So I’m watching you, mister”. Jazz pats him on the arm before motioning him to follow as they go to level the courtroom.

He tilts his head but follows after a beat, more out of curiosity and confusion than anything else. Coming up a bit behind her, arms crossed, “why? I tried to kill you and everyone else”.

Jazz smiles and closes her eyes softly as she turns her head back to him, “someone has to be objective and because that’s what sisters are for, my not so little brother”.

End.

#danny phantom #phandom #phanniemay #phanniemay19 #sisters #drug addiction mention #mention of death #mention of mass murder #mentions of mass death #jazz fenton #clockwork #observants #dan phantom #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #fanfic #phanphic

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yukiwrites · 6 years ago

Text

Young Yet Old Love

Thank you for your support again, @soffie101! I really love Nyx so I had a lot of fun writing her interactions with Golajah! Hope you like it! ;D This is another Support Chain from her OC Golajah, but now with Nyx! You can check out his page right here.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

C SUPPORT:

Golajah, on his own: ...

Scene changes to Nyx on her own: Van fandel wis lurrea, van fandel crudea ousye. Van fandel deleir ousye!

Golajah: ...

Nyx: ...

Nyx: *sighs* The expected result, of course. Perhaps it is fruitless to keep on trying to break it myself. Do you not think so, Golajah?

Golajah: !! Since when did you realize I was here?

Nyx: Not denying your little spying, hm? Suit yourself, young one; the spectacle is over, go to bed now.

Golajah: … Apart from maybe Xander and the other older guys, you realize I’m the one closest to your age in this army, right? Don’t treat me like the kid you don’t want to be treated just ‘cause I look young.

Nyx: Oh? I was not aware you and I shared the same… condition.

Golajah: We don’t. I was born this way.

Nyx: ...

Golajah: You’re doing it wrong, by the way.

Nyx: Are you now lecturing me on how to use magic, Golajah? Has my presence offended you so that you must stalk me and say whatever you want whenever you wish?

Golajah: ...

Golajah: .Yeah, maybe it has. Or hasn’t. I’ll leave that to your imagination. A piece of advice, though: you won’t succeed by doing this on yourself.

Golajah leaves

Nyx: Off he goes, insulting me with every word! Good riddance.

B SUPPORT:

Nyx: Hmhm, such interesting approach to the use of this herb’s properties… Though I suppose if it will not enhance the effect of the moonlight reflected in the aligned mirrors, it will not do...

Golajah: Nyx.

Nyx: Why, decided to make yourself seen without being called out in your stalking behavior. What do I owe the honor?

Golajah: You’re injured-

Nyx: Clearly the reason why I am lying down in this infirmary bed, is it not? Healing magic is not my forte, thus even I need to undergo the healers’ treatment to be able to return to the battlefield.

Golajah: Stop mocking me and let me speak, woman!

Nyx: Do not hiss at me, young man. You may be older than you look, but I demand to be treated with decency at least as a fellow soldier. Despise me however you must otherwise.

Golajah: *groans* I’m trying to speak here, but you’re not shutting up. Guess I’ll just go, then.

Nyx: Be my guest. Do close the door after you leave.

Golajah: ...

Nyx: ...

Golajah: ...

Nyx: You are not leaving.

Golajah: You stayed silent so I was just waiting to see ‘till when it would last.

Nyx: Pah! Enough dilly-dallying! Either state your business or leave; I do not wish to be disturbed even during my recovery.

Golajah: ...

Golajah: You protected those people. Even though your body is so small and your magic was focused on attacking another front entirely, you threw yourself in front of the villagers so they wouldn’t be hit by the arrows.

Nyx: Indeed. And?

Golajah: … No gloating either. Huh.

Nyx: Did you come here to whisper, Golajah? If you are done stating the obvious, please leave. I am tired.

Golajah: I was almost thinking that I MAY have misjudged you, but you’re not making this easy.

Nyx: *sighs* My wounds hurt, Golajah. Do me a favor and leave me to them before you make me lose my mind.

Golajah: Alright, alright, you win. I’ll call the healer and leave. After you’re better, I have something to tell you. Maybe.

Nyx: Silence would be desirable, however.

Golajah: Hah! I’m leaving already.

Golajah leaves

Nyx: Hmhmhm, he can be a decent person, at least.

A SUPPORT:

Golajah: Well, now that’s rare. You’re the one sneaking up on me this time, Nyx.

Nyx: A poor choice of words, surely, since I’m standing right in front of you after you called me here.

Golajah: I ONLY told you I had something to say. I never set up a date or anything.

Nyx: Well? Out with it! I know you do not enjoy my presence, so let us be done with this for both of our sakes.

Golajah: It’s not- *sighs* Look, it’s not that I don’t enjoy your presence, alright? Especially lately.

Nyx: You went back to mumbling, Golajah. You are also blushing, though I am sure you are aware of that.

Golajah: That’s beside the point! What I meant to say is… I’ve been watching you, as you’ve noticed, and don’t speak, let me finish. I was watching you to just -- ugh this is harder than I thought it would be -- check if you were an at least decent person.

Nyx: ...

Golajah: No witty comebacks?

Nyx: You told me not to speak, so I am waiting my turn to. For the looks of it, it is now-

Golajah: No, wait. Not yet.

Nyx: *sighs* Go on. Surely you’ve realized the nature of my curse from all of that observing.

Golajah: I said not yet, gods but you really don’t listen. To be honest, I didn’t even need to watch you or anything. It’s your problem, not my responsibility, also Corrin’s the one who decides who stays and fights in this army. I could have washed my hands and just ignored you.

Nyx: ...

Golajah: I’m not really a squeaky-clean person either, but I usually stay in my lane ‘cause everyone’s got their own circumstances, so I could’ve just let you be and we wouldn’t need to go through these bickerings every now and then. But...

Nyx: But?

Golajah: But I saw suffering. YOU were suffering because of this curse of yours, but didn’t let that get on your head and still helped people. Although I have an idea why, I wanted to hear it from you. Why are you so intent on helping people yet while still pushing them away?

Nyx: … To atone. The way I’ve acquired this curse robbed many, many innocent people their lives. If I can at least help the younger generation with this cursed time of mine, then I shall consider it my life’s “calling” so to say, and use these “youthful” years to serve them. Yet, I know that this condition of mine is not natural and that it brings repulsion and discomfort in them, so I simply do my part from afar so as not to… inconvenience them with my presence.

Golajah: You really are too kind. Even though I wouldn’t have minded even if you didn’t feel guilty about those people, and yet...

Nyx: Mumbling again…

Golajah: Uh, nothing. I said that you’re doing it the wrong way.

Nyx: Hahhh, there you go again. WHAT am I doing wrong, young man?

Golajah: The way to break the curse. You can’t IGNORE people if you want it to be gone. From you, at least.

Nyx: Explain.

Golajah: The curse will follow your blood.

Nyx: … Do you mean to tell me that if the blood is in another vessel...

Golajah: You can transfer the curse to it, yeah. You catch on quick.

Nyx: But… that would mean… I couldn’t...

Golajah: Well, do with that info as you will, I’m leaving now.

Nyx: Wait. Tell me how do you know this.

Golajah: … That’s classified information. ‘S fine if you don’t believe me, I just couldn’t stand seeing you walk around in circles when I knew the answer myself.

Golajah leaves

Nyx: Golajah! Gone again! Impudent even when being kind! Though I must thank him for this new information, I’m afraid I cannot go through with it. Not like this.

S SUPPORT:

Nyx: Golajah. You are surprisingly hard to find when you want to hide.

Golajah: Still you found me. I can’t hide from magic, after all.

Nyx: I came here to apologize and then to thank you. Not necessarily in that order.

Golajah: I don’t need thanks if it’s about the curse thing from the other day. I don’t know about the apology, though.

Nyx: Soothsayer that I am, it is still inexcusable to look into one person’s past without their approval. I will not justify it by saying that I needed to know how you came across to the way to dispel my curse even though that IS the reason why I did it. I apologize for looking at your past behind your back.

Golajah: ...

Golajah: So you know everything.

Nyx: … I do. Oh, Golajah, I do.

Golajah: About my wif- about Carrie.

Nyx: … Yes.

Golajah: … And my son.

Nyx: *sob* Yes.

Golajah: Tears from you? I don’t know if I should be honored or-

Nyx: Please, Golajah. This is no time for that, as I know you are aware.

Golajah: … Yeah. I would just… rather not talk about it. No need to apologize for looking or whatever; I don’t care either way. It’s not gonna bring him back.

Nyx: Still, forgive me. I… want to thank you for telling me despite all the terrible memories. Why did you, though? So I could just pass on the curse to my own child and either kill them or watch them suffer as I did until death claims me?

Golajah: … You’re not gonna do it, though.

Nyx: Ah. So that was the reason.

Golajah: I’m not that big of a person who wants to save every kid in the world from having a terrible childhood or whatever, though I do believe that every person can help so the children can have a future. But I knew that, after watching you, you wouldn’t let your own child’s life be anything like yours. You’d nurture them, raise them and teach them how to properly use their powers without hurting other people.

Golajah: You… wouldn’t be anything like her. You’d treasure our child.

Nyx: OUR child, Golajah?

Golajah, blushing: Gah, guess I spilled it before I could even think straight. Y-you don’t look surprised in the least, though.

Nyx: … I MAY have come here with the intention of asking you the same thing.

Golajah: Soothsaying! You saw I was gonna-

Nyx: Mhmhm, which made my job of accepting it easier, see? Take my hand, Golajah...

Golajah: Bah, I didn’t even confess my feelings yet and you’re already this bossy...

Nyx: Wait until we are married, young love. I shall surprise you even more.

Golajah: Hah. At least I know you’ll treat our child well, even if I don’t receive the same-uh, your face is awfully close.

Nyx: Bend over already! This body is too small to properly kiss you, you fool of a man!

Golajah: Ah, maybe our life together WILL have its perks for me, yeah?

Nyx: Humph. Come closer still, Golajah. Allow me to wrap my arms around you and tell you that I will devote myself to you and our family as I have never done before. I love you.

Golajah, blushing: … I love you too, you tiny witch!

Nyx: Mhmhm, I can get used to that.

#nyx #fire emblem fates #fanfic commissions #fatesona #nyx fire emblem #my writings #yuki's commissions #the magic words were from Ar Tonelico btw

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