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rocorambles · 4 years ago

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Lifetime of Love

Pairing: Suga x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Overstimulation, Mythology AU, Demi-God!Suga

Prompt: Mythology

Summary: As the son of Aphrodite, Suga knows more than most when it comes to beauty and love. But knowledge and experience are two very different things. OR Suga finds true love.

A/N: This is my contribution for the HQHQ NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. As always, thanks for beta-ing @sawamooora

Being the son of Aphrodite has its perks. Even as just a demi-god, Suga is borderline ethereal, naturally drawing men and women to him with his dazzling silver hair, enthralling hazel-brown eyes, and coquettish charm. It’s effortless, the way he wakes up looking just as radiant as ever, the way his hair is naturally shaped and styled even after tossing and turning in bed. Clothing is just a technicality, just fabric he wears to not risk indecent exposure. Why waste time and effort thinking of putting an outfit together when he could wear a burlap sack and still have admirers flock to him?

It’s not a bad life and he knows others stare at him with envy, wondering what it’s like to be so beautiful, so loved, so wanted, so desired. Never an off day. Never a hair out of place. And truth be told, maybe more of his mother runs in him than he likes to admit, if the swell of pride and satisfaction he gets from having everything in life handed to him on a silver platter is anything to go by.

Life is easier for beautiful people. It’s a hard pill to swallow for the masses, but a reality that Suga has no qualms taking advantage of. After all, he might as well get some benefit from being a goddess's son, even if his mother and him don’t always see eye to eye.

Suga can appreciate beauty and love. Aphrodite has taught him to have an eye for the finer things in life. He’s not stubborn enough to deny that he enjoys waking up entangled in silk and satin sheets, surrounded by a beautifully decorated apartment, to reject the ecstasy he feels when he has one or more playmates in his bed.

But love of the flesh is different than love of the heart, and he wonders, despite how blasphemous it is to question a deity, if his mother truly understands what love is.

Aphrodite’s love is a seemingly fleeting and fickle thing, a fire that blazes bright and strong, only to burn out just as quickly as it had risen. And he judgmentally watches as she bounces from man to God to man to God again and again, grimacing whenever he meets his “family”, knowing how she’s slept with most of the other gods in Olympus.

He has no doubt that in her own way, she truly has loved each entity she’s slept with. But he wants something different, something less promiscuous, something less shallow. He wants true love, a love rooted in something much deeper than superficial appearances, a love rooted in a connection of souls, a love rooted in the bond of two people truly seeing and knowing each other’s flaws and strengths, yet still determinedly pursuing each other.

So he steadfastly continues on, searching for the one.

There’s no end to the line of people who practically throw themselves at his feet, desperate for a chance to catch his attention. He goes on endless dates, entering and leaving countless relationships. Some attempts are longer than others. Some partners have hope churning inside of him, have hazel-brown eyes sparkling in interest. But in the end, they’re all the same and the flutters of his heart become anchors of disgust inside of him when he sees their leering eyes, the lust driving their actions, the way they never see past his handsome face and attractive body.

No one sees Sugawara Koushi. They only see the body of a man literally blessed by the gods.

Maybe it was naive of him to believe that he knew more about love than the goddess of love herself. Maybe sleeping around with other attractive bodies is all his life will amount to, can amount to. And as he watches the people around him break-up, divorce, chase after some happy ending that seems more and more unattainable, he gives up his rose-colored dream of a fairytale romance.

But life has a funny way of dropping something in your lap just when you’ve given up all hope.

Aphrodite had not been amused when Suga had told her he was going to be a teacher at a local elementary school in the countryside. Children and parental instincts have never been her forte, and he remembers the long winding back and forths they had as she implored for him to rethink his decisions, flaunting modeling and acting opportunities in his face, anything to have his handsome face plastered on televisions and magazines.

But he had remained steadfast in his decision and she had finally relented, shaking her head and letting him know that she’d be ready to help him when he’s done wasting his gifts and time.

“You’re only part-god, Koushi. Your beauty will only last so long.”

He knows there’s no malice behind the words. It’s just a cold hard fact, a reminder. And he simply nods in response, secretly wondering if that would be so bad, letting age take its toll and put him on the same playing field as the rest of the world.

But he has years before he crosses that bridge and he dedicates himself to finding fulfillment in life by caring for and teaching the children in his class. A megawatt smile spreads across his face as he watch them play and excitedly call his name, politely ignoring his fellow teachers who parade themselves in front of him for an ounce of his attention, never entertaining the married mothers of his students who try to lavish him with unnecessarily exuberant gifts and woo him with fluttering lashes.

It’s a tiring never-ending dance, so when he hears about the arrival of a new female colleague, he internally sighs, no doubt in his mind that you’ll be just like the rest. So imagine his surprise when you just casually smile at him when you’re introduced, no interest in your eyes, no lingering gaze, before turning your attention away from him without a second glance back.

He wonders if it’s a fluke, hopes and prays that it isn’t. It’s almost comical, complete insanity, how his heart races, his eyes blow wide, just from your sheer nonchalance. And for the first time, it’s Suga who’s left wistfully staring as his eyes trail after your figure even long after you’ve turned the corner of the hallway.

He’s seen his mother’s work, seen the way humans pursue their love interests with almost fanatical effort. But he had never understood, not until now.

It’s an intoxicating feeling, addictive, the thrill of the chase energizing him in a way he’s never felt before. It’s hard, meticulous work finding reasons to visit your classroom, finding ways to weave himself in conversations you’re a part of. But it’s always worth it when he sees the genuine fondness in your eyes, the way you look and really see him, the way you care about the man underneath the shiny facade, in a way no one ever has before.

And when the two of you go out for a friendly lunch one day, when you order his favorite dish that he’s only briefly mentioned to you once in passing, without even missing a beat, his heart stops. It��s something no other partner has bothered even taking note of, too busy trying to impress him with high-end meals and fine dining. And just like that, he blurts out his confession, heart hammering, fingers nervously twitching as he awaits your response.

For many years to come, the two of you will debate whether or not that lunch counts as your official first date as a couple.

Dating you is everything he’s dreamed of and more. And for once, Suga feels like just another regular man, a normal human being as he holds your hand in his, giggling and sharing stories, feeding each other bites of food, lazing around on his sofa watching TV.

But as a romance movie runs in the background and the main couple kisses after the male lead raves about how stunning his lover is, he turns his attention to you, curiosity nagging at him, a tiny tendril of lingering fear squirming inside of him.

“What do you like about me?”

There’s silence as you owlishly blink and look up at him, surprise and confusion flitting across your face as you try and process where this question is coming from. But when you see the worry, doubt, and insecurity muddling your boyfriend’s eyes, you interlace your fingers with his and cuddle into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as you continue gazing at him.

“I like the way you always insist on getting the highest spice level at every Chinese restaurant we go to that serves mapo tofu, even though you complain about your mouth burning all night long afterwards.”

Suga chuckles, unable to deny the truth of those words.

“I like the way you act like a clueless angel even when you’re wreaking havoc and chaos, you big trouble maker.”

This time Suga does try to plead innocence, although all he can do is sheepishly grin when you start listing off event after event of mischief he had instigated and encouraged, much to Daichi’s and Asahi’s dismay.

“I like how patient and gentle you are with your students and your old underclassmen. I like the way you nurture them, mentor them, encourage them to keep on going, keep on trying even when the going gets tough. And I like how you instill that belief in your own life. If we have children of our own one day, I know you’ll be the father I’ve always wanted for my future kids.”

The weight of your last sentence hangs heavy in the air, the meaning, the hope of a lifetime promise has Suga’s jaw dropping. But when you shyly look away, nervously biting your lip as he just dumbly stares at you, he jolts back to reality and you yelp as lips suddenly crash against yours.

Sex with Suga is always sweet, with a hint of spice when your lover is feeling particularly mischievous. But it’s never been like this, full of desperation, untamed desire, a want so deep that it leaves both your minds in a hazy disarray. You gasp as you’re firmly pushed down, until your back hits the couch and you’re moaning into the mouth pressed against yours, your tongues tangling with each other in an attempt to taste every crevice.

The wet sounds of your lips connecting and disconnecting over and over again, the frantic sounds of fabric being rustled and tossed off, they all mix in a passionate symphony punctuated by breathy declarations of love, by whimpered names.

You throw your head back as a hot wet mouth sensually carves a path down the column of your neck, to the delicate swoop of your collarbone, sighing in bliss as they end in the valley of your breasts, two hands gently tweaking and rolling your nipples. And then fingers are replaced with a tongue, with lips, and your back arches, body writhing, seeking more, more, more as you wildly grind against your lover’s body.

Usually Suga likes to take his time with you, unwrap you piece by piece, unravel the strings that tie you together, coax the prettiest sounds out of you. But today something more carnal, more desperate, more raw spurs him on, and he feels more beast than man as he devours you, plunders you, marks you as his for all eternity.

“Koushi!”

You wail as he wastes no time in quickly snapping his hips, filling your slick walls with his cock. There’s an urgency behind his pace you’ve never felt before and you dig your nails into his shoulders, eyes rolling back in your head, lewd moans echoing in the room as you wrap one leg around his back, the other dangling off the couch.

You’re not sure exactly what the trigger had been for this, but you’re not complaining, pussy walls only clamping down even more when you see the feral hunger in his eyes, the drag of his cock against your insides even more pronounced.

He can feel your end approaching, sees it in the way your head tosses side to side, the way your eyes glaze over, and he brings a hand between your bodies, toying with your clit, circling it, rubbing it, never losing his rhythm as you begin to convulse, body thrashing, nails scratching his skin, a debauched version of his given name rolling of your tongue. Only when you begin to whimper, shaking hands trying to grasp his fingers still playing with your oversensitive nub does he relent, smiling down at you as you entwine your fingers with his as he continues to thrust in and out of you.

Suga’s been told he looks like an angel time and time again, but as he stares down at your completely ravaged and exhausted form, the way your chest heaves up and down, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the after tremors of your body, the duality of how you cling onto his hand despite your wanton state, he thinks you’re the true angel here. Maybe a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless and he can feel his balls tighten, the last shreds of his endurance ripping apart at the seams as he takes in your breathtaking appearance.

But he needs more than that, needs you, needs you here and with him, and he meets your lips in a bruising kiss, a silent demand for your attention, adjusting his hands until your fingers are interlocked on either side of your head.

“Look at me.”

He patiently waits, peppering your face with butterfly kisses, slowing down the rocking of his hips. You’re so tired, heavy eyelids wanting nothing more than to close, but you’re still in a rocky ocean of pleasure, body still registering and reacting to every touch, every move. And when his soft voice makes its way through the fog, you know you need to listen, you want to listen. So you turn your eyes until they lock with hazel-brown, a weak smile plastered across your face when you see the love and affection pouring down onto you.

“I love you.”

Both of you grin as the three words unanimously exit your mouths, but the smile is wiped off your face as he resumes his pace, tempo beginning to stutter, his own head being thrown back in ecstasy as he approaches his end. Your overstimulated body is barely hanging on by a thread, pathetic mewls dripping from your lips, and you keen when sticky spurts fill you, Suga’s cock buried balls deep inside of you as he breeds you, coating your quivering walls with his essence.

Suga gently lowers his body on yours, capturing your mouth in another kiss, one much gentler as both of you catch your breaths, bodies feeling soft and pliant as post-coital bliss wraps around you like a fluffy blanket.

Beauty is a fleeting thing. His mother’s not wrong about that.

But love? Love isn’t nearly as fickle as beauty, he thinks, as he holds you in his arms. And he smiles, letting himself be lulled to sleep by your rhythmic breathing, dreaming of the long and full life still ahead for both of you.

#haikyuu smut #suga x reader #sugawara x reader #suga smut #sugawara smut #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fic #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader

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littlewitty · 4 years ago

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Bitten

Ship: Leonardo x MC

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Description of blood

I just tagged the people who seemed interested in the story idea.

@entidy13 @niphredil-14 @kisara-16 @lead-ruby-red

It was beautiful in summer. The trees would gently sway in the calming breeze. Nurturing the greenery in his luscious rays, the sun would burn. Lilies, roses, sunflowers and marigolds would all proudly spread their petals out, basking in sultry-filled confidence.

“This is nice,” I hummed into his chest. He was refreshing. One thing I adored and sometimes took advantage of was how vampires were naturally cooler-blooded compared to humans. That meant that leaning on his chest would leave a pleasant burn of tranquil freedom from summer’s passionate heat.

Leonardo’s room was a gratifying wash of warm amber. The sun intruded from the ajar window. The cobwebs were more apparent than ever. I abhorred them but he would only chuckle and say to ‘let them live their lives’. Time-forgotten books scattered. All of them were open on specific pages, held in place with random objects found in the moment: a coffee cup, paper weight (that one made sense), an old lighter and a sleeping Lumiere.

“I guess so.” Leonardo stiffly replied. His eyes reflected something different, as of recent. Ever since I was turned in fact. He seemed further away - in his own world. Perhaps it was because I had abandoned the gift of humanity, turning into the very creature he least preferred. Or maybe the summer heat made him lazier and miss Italy. His body was always raspingly tense; he was on the cusp of rupture. He would second-guess himself around me. I could see it.

“...Cara, you’re a bit close,” he seethed before covering himself up, “Are you trying to initiate something?” He posed. His painfully forced smirk grated itself through his teeth. Overall, he seemed grey and sickly - skin like worn down leather.

“Hey, you can talk to me… come o-”

“Cara, I’m fine.” He panted. The knife-edged tone left no space for questioning and soon my head was perched against his chest, yet again. His breathing had definitely changed. It had once been shallow. I was sure of it. What once had been a peaceful silence had degraded to subtle attempts of panting. Was he ill? Could he even get ill? Maybe thirst?

Now I knew what it was like to be thirsty. I knew of the agony that the residents had to go through. I knew what he went through everyday in our relationship when I was human. Your brain contaminated your morals. Humans turned into blood banks. In your sight, all you can see is their throbbing, pulsating veins carrying their rich, precious life-line. Like swallowing cement, your throat cramps and tenses, contracting around you.

Pushing off my arms, I united his glowing orbs with mine. He desperately tried to avoid all eye contact. He probably would have pushed me off him if he could. Through his separated lips, the sharpness of his fangs protruded.

“Cara Mia, you should leave.” He hissed, like I would have listened. My hand gradually crawled from the silky, cotton sheets to his slick cheek. Guiding his vision to me. I tenderly caressed his jaw. He was aware I knew. The sorry expression that signed itself on his features proved that.

“Shh, you don’t have to say anything.” I hushed. He knew I was a vampire. Yet, he still had this internalised phobia of biting me.

“C-Cara….I-” He barely ushered, losing his resolve until he gave up. One final reassuring smile to say ‘I know and I forgive you’ was all his instincts needed to take over. I was roughly pinned down. Eyes filled with self-betrayal and soon-to-be regret. Right hand enmeshed in my hair, dividing my neck and head. Left hand on the back of my right thigh, lifting my knee up in between his own. He kneeled over me. Burying his face into my neck as much as he could, he nipped. Asking permission maybe? He was going to feel so guilty. The only pacifier I could think of was entangling every limb I had around him. ‘It’s safer in my arms, closer to me heart and soul.’

“Ah! Gentle Leonardo, p-please..” Fangs deeply nested in my neck, he didn’t want to neither stop nor pull away. I knew, now. Instinct was everything. It ran our lives. If you needed blood, you were going to kill for it.

Glorified, gory ecstasy was tempered through my body. Hot pleasure - a comforting warm - a rush of anticipation filled adrenaline with tainting spice boasting the feeling. Soft fatigue, humble and descended you down like falling into a heavy sleep. My darkest, deepest desires ran wild. He engorged himself lightly. Sucking and lapping at my neck, tending to it by licking anything he could get. Flailing limp, he loosened his grasp on my figure. Whether he was personally fulfilled or not, his bloodlust was more than sated.

“You can have more, I feel fine.”

“No, Cara, I can’t.” He exhaled. There was a sleepy, grainy tinge to his voice. Leonardo wouldn’t admit it but he would have found a preserving delight from that.

“Look at me.” I demanded.

“Heh, you’ve been so demanding since your rebirth,” he lifted his head and, even though only slightly, smiled. His whole face had more colour and his skin seemed softer and more delicate. A guilty rose-red tint pasted itself onto his cheeks. Endearingly, he reached up and smoothed my hair out. It definitely needed it. It was odd how much stinging friction my locks had against his hand. That coaxed a laugh out of us. A lovely, peaceful quiet laid itself between us. No words were said, no words were needed. His lips were pale, perhaps that was due to the red stain on the inside of them. In his smile, he bared his, currently, pink teeth and his deeply rouge-dyed mouth. Some smudges around his lips here and there, droplets of blood in the corner of his lips, comfortably resting. But his bloodied tongue soon made quick work of them.

Maybe the vampire in me detecting blood or it could have been the lover seeing him for who he truly is, perhaps a mixture, but he looked more handsome than ever.

“Do I look good Cara Mia? Is that why you’re smiling and stari- hey! Don’t stop,” he pulled me nose-to-nose with him, “It was cute.” A sweet kiss to the tip of my nose and we were back snuggling. Although, this time, reversed-roles. Leonardo’s head rested happily against my breast as I began to stroke his hair softly. He was the most relaxed I had ever seen.

“I’m going to have to learn a completely different side to you, aren’t I Leonardo?” He shifted, meeting my eyes. “Your vampire side.”

#IkeVamp #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen #ikevamp leonardo #IkeVamp Leo #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire leo

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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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Hieeeee, just read ur last post and loved it, but it got me thinking how would BNHA Yanderes react to a darling who FAKES Stockholm syndrome?

HEADCANNONS!

FAKE STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere-themes, DUBCON/NONCON elements, abuse, profanity, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

YANDERE ! BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

Let’s start with our Bakuboy. He’ll know what she’s doing from the get-go, and tease her for it. He’ll applaud her efforts, however dishonesty is not something he’s aiming for and will therefor refrain from taking advantage of her seemingly bendable mood. And mockery is such a good way to make the wolf come back out from under its sheep’s clothing, especially with how vulgar and descriptive and clever his quips are. He can’t blame her for how she’s unable to hide the flickering flames rising behind her eyes as they grow slimmer, narrowing until she’s fully scowling at him in such an adorable fuming stance. How could he possibly desire fake affection over this display? Of her balling her fists by her sides, fighting with every nerve set on fire to keep her outburst at bay, but he can see it building and bubbling until she explodes in feral viscous and useless wrath. Curled fingers coming to rake and claw and rip the skin from off his face, and it’s so very satisfying to hold her down and laugh at her futile struggles beneath him. Bloody hell, of course it’s way better than any forced affection.

YANDERE ! DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi won’t be suspicious, because the Stockholm syndrome is most likely a real display and if it isn’t it soon will be. He just has that effect, that good cop bad cop vibe, whereas on the one hand he’ll make his darling sob and quake in pure unrelenting uncontrollable fear, however on the other hand, whence he’s scared her good enough, he’ll coo and stroke loving pets over her hair, calming her down. It’s a good strategy. She’ll become rigid without him, unstable, sporadic. He won’t take her reliance as affection, not yet, he knows better. But dependence is not too far away from love. At least not in his mind. Besides, feeling her crawl up beside him in bed, limbs shaking as small smooth hands wrap around and touch ever so softly on his scarred flesh, feeling needed can almost feel better than feeling loved.

YANDERE ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Tomura knows his darling is a survivor and he doesn’t mind when that survival instinct shifts from being all claws and fangs and growling to playing dead. Whatever’s easiest for him to deal with is just fine with him, and perhaps if she’s not always screaming and fighting and complaining and just all over tiring both herself and him out, she’ll realize how it’s not all that bad. He’ll definitely take advantage and make her play videogames with him, before doing anything nasty, not wanting to break the shell he knows is too thin to handle him and his hands and tongue on her body. The door is locked so he doesn’t have to keep his guard up and when she asks all cute in what she thinks doesn’t sound like the epitome of suspicious of whether or not they can’t leave his room, he’ll happily show her around the base, watching as the veil fractures upon her understanding of how well hidden and secure her imprisonment with him truly is, he’ll watch in somewhat sadistic glee as she crumbles into a defeated little thing, stuck someplace between knowing how fighting and escape is useless and not wanting to do give in entirely, gradually moving on to becoming used to her new life with him, pleasing him, loving him, just the way he wants it.

YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI

Hitoshi doesn’t like it. It makes him feel bad. Makes him feel as though his darling is trying her best to please him even though he wants nothing more than her in all her honesty. He’s got a clear grasp on the human psyche to see dishonesty from miles away and he never welcomes it, he’ll endure it for the most part when it comes to others but never enjoy it. When it comes to his darling, it is definitely not something he’ll encourage. He’ll call her out, nearly tell her to quit, maybe even use his quirk and demand full honesty. However, him telling her to act is entirely different. If he’s initiating the game, he’ll enjoy himself thoroughly. Make her say things, do things, feel things she’d never do on her own. But it’s a game, not reality, and the pleasure is very much real on both sides in the end. She can’t lie to him.

YANDERE ! TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Keigo knows. It’s not real, and he knows that. He’s encouraged pretending on those days where he’s been desperate enough for a mere counterfeit shred of her affection, but his darling is feral, it’s her nature and it’s not easily contained. So, deep down he knows, and therefor has his guard up, yet not refraining from enjoying the, what he knows to be temporary, peace. Silence is not something to be taken for granted when coming from his darling, neither is soft heavenly touches or smiles or anything but scowls for that matter. It feels so impossibly good to hear her laugh at one of his awful jokes, despite knowing it to be utter bullshit. He’s become very good at pretending, it’s only fair for her to do so too. He knows it won’t last forever, she’ll crack at some point upon the realization that there is no way for her to escape and he’s preparing for it, but he stills humors and hold onto the hope that perhaps she’s tired too, that she sees it’s not the most awful situation ever, that it can be, if she wants it, a good life, despite it being chosen for her.

YANDERE ! MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izukiu thinks it’s cute. He doesn’t really view It as lying, yet behaving, finally behaving like the good little girl he knew she was deep down behind the death glare and foul words. Behavior is such an important thing, something that he’s taken his good time in cultivating in his darling. Virtues and morals and rules, must be followed. She’s become so good at biting her tongue and rendering her outbursts to mere trembles, but what more she’s become good at going out of her way to please him. Dressing herself in Pro Hero Deku merch, large hoodies that seem to drape her like a tent. She’s so cute, even as she flinches when he brings her hand up to her face only to stroke away the betrayal of a stray tear running down her cheek, the only crack in her composure. She’ll smile and he’ll realize what a great teacher he is, seeing those eyes sparkle like plastic preforming as diamonds. He knows she’ll grow to like it for real someday, but settling for her growing into her role is satisfying enough for now.

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

Kai hates lies. Dishonesty is a foul and disgusting sin plaguing the earth that has now taken home with its vile boils festering inside his darling. It will not be tolerated. He demands full candidness, anything less is unacceptable, impure, revolting. Even if she has nothing nice to say, he would still prefer it over what vile treacherous words she can force out from between her teeth, words laced with atrocious intent. The fact that she’s so terrible at hiding it helps, words spoken as though they’re stillborn, the sick having taken them before leaving her mouth, lacking everything and anything sept for nerves when dropped in the air. It all proves to him how she’s too pure to ever pull off the ghastliness that lying craves. Too innocent. She’s not like him. He will keep it that way.

YANDERE ! TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto enjoys the performance. It’s an artform. The lies, the forced smiles, the fake laughs, the willful touches holding back the desire to fight. He’s seen theatrics but never this up close, never as both audience and partaking member. He always thought dancing could be done in more ways than one, turns out she thinks so too. First: they fought and it was a brutal form of dance, then they made love and it would vary from being just as brutish as the battle leading up to it or a soft type of dancing. But now she’s the one asking for his hand, she’s the one initiating the dance. Who would he be to refuse? When he constantly makes her participate in his games, only fair, only right, to humor her antics too.

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cafeinthemoon · 4 years ago

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The Founders with s/o who's a civilian and has talent to people maneuvering 🗨

This was requested by @kaiseaya (thanks for it, dear 💜) and I found it very interesting to try and imagine how it would be for the Founders to have a s/o who, as a civilian, doesn’t have blatant, impressive power as them (shinobi), but has their ways to convince people of their views and make them collaborate: they are versed on the laws, bureaucracy, diplomacy and takes the advantage of social conventions to achieve their goals.

Not all warriors are ninjas, right? 😉

Fandom: Naruto | Founders

Symbols: 💗 | ◻ | ▶

Hashirama

He met you at a diplomatic meeting

Tobirama said that they attended it alongside the most capable representatives available, and you were one of them

At first he thought that meeting was going to be as boring as the many others in which he participated since he became the Hokage, so he didn’t think much about the people chosen by his brother. You know, he hated to deal with this things so he trusted Tobirama as he wouldn’t trust himself

Things were like this until it came your time to speak. Once he saw you in action, he became interested in you

He spent the whole meeting observing and thinking about you and your talents. Your speech, your intelligence and your knowledge could only be compared to the ones of few people he knew, including his brother

However, you had something nor he or anyone else had: the sensibility you used to put in your work. He noticed you had a deep understanding of the human emotions and behavior, and used this as an advantage besides your argumentation

In other people this trait of yours could be considered some sort of manipulation, but you were not this kind of person, and that was exactly what gathered Hashirama’s attention. You were never pretentious or disrespectful, and when things started to get tense you promptly acted to calm everyone’s moods. You used your power as a way to connect people, to intermediate communication between them and thus to bring peace 💜

It was something that he himself always tried to do, but his preference to use his heart to guide his actions instead of logic and technical knowledge took the best of him and he always ended up depending on his brother’s rationality. You, on the other hand, combined the best of the two sides

Someone who achieved the perfect balance between their heart and their brain – that’s the type of person Hashirama wanted by his side. And he told you that when you met in the evening of that day

Today, he’s glad he has you with him 💕

Among the Founders, he is the one who’s less concerned about the fact that you are not a ninja. You do your work as no one else could, so why should he worry?

It’s true that when you and his brother are there to work with him, he might feel a bit intimidated by your competence, but he loves to have you all together. You three are like a team 🤝

Tobirama

Working besides Hashirama and being a master of maneuvering himself, it was only natural that sooner or later, Tobirama’s path would cross yours

He had a talent for organizing tasks and delegate them to the people with the right skills to accomplish them, whether they were shinobi or not. He simply knew everyone’s place in the schemes

And this is how he met you

Some of his partners talked to him about you when a complex mission was assigned to them, and he immediately demanded your presence

He explained what you had to do and gave you the proper tools for the work, or at least the tools he thought to be the right ones, because once you’ve read the papers and analyzed the situation, you pointed out some fragile spots that needed to be revised and asked for some time to do it

Your observations caught him off guard. How could he just miss important stuff like that? Was he becoming blind?! He asked the papers back and revised the whole pile lmao

In the end you were right, and he gave you the time you needed 😜

Time passed and episodes like this happened from time to time. Tobirama never brought them to the table, but he couldn’t deny that they bothered him a bit. You know, man is proud of his own capacities, so having someone who “challenges” him without even noticing had its impact

Besides, it didn’t go unnoticed by him that you didn’t depend solely on your intellectual and technical skills to achieve your goals: you had the ability of putting some “human” touch in everything you did, specially when your work involved direct communication with groups of people. You never imposed yourself or tried to force things out of them. You just knew where and how to press, and then you had everyone at your feet

One day, when you were talking about work and such, he made a comment on how you manage to have the idealism of his brother but not his empty head without letting it blind your judgment and always prioritize facts and logic when making your decisions. You, on your turn, said that this wasn’t a big deal and that you were actually learning so much working by his side that it was good to have his acknowledgment

This conversation basically stated the beginning of your relationship ❤

Today, Tobirama says that working with you is one of his fav things in life, but let's be honest, he can get a bit jealous of you sometimes lol

This leads him to be more stubborn than he naturally is, and he starts discussing about minor things and questioning your decisions without a good reason. You’ve already had some serious arguments bc of that (Tobi for god’s sake just chill)

However, as you use to do at work, you always solve your problems with patience and open communication

He even admits that such things are hard to accomplish specially for a shinobi, a kind of person who is used to conflict above all

In the end, he's more than happy to have someone like you by his side 🥰

Madara

In this gif he’s probably wondering if you’re really a civilian or if your talent is actually some sort of secret genjutsu

You met at an encounter with representatives of other nations. Tobirama couldn’t attend the meeting, so his brother chose you to go in his place, but you weren’t alone in this: as one of Konoha’s Founders, Madara Uchiha was included among the representatives of the village

Because of your work, you and Madara were familiar to each other, but you never had a proper conversation or anything of this kind. Still, you’ve heard things about him here and there, and decided it’d be better to keep him out of your way

That’s why you weren’t exactly pleased when Hashirama came to tell you that this man was joining the group. It was when you were introduced to each other

You were formal and polite in your greetings and everything was fine, but then Hashirama stated that you were going to mediate the negotiations, since you were replacing Tobirama

The look Madara gave to you was enough for you to see he was not satisfied with this arrangement

He didn’t say a word against the Hokage’s decision, that’s true, but he didn’t miss the chance to point out that you seemed too young for such role and because of this, there was a possibility of the other nations not treat Konoha’s group with the respect they deserved

Too young = an inexperienced girl who’s not a shinobi occupying a position as the leader of negotiations with international diplomats. And yes, he suggested it right in your face he has no shame lmao

Your first instinct was to give him a harsh reply, but once you looked at him, you saw it wasn’t worthy, so you just told him to wait until the meeting’s beginning

“Maybe it is better to give them the benefit of doubt, at least for now. We do not know them yet, but once we do, we will know the best way to deal with them. We know our goals here and we will work to reach them, whether they appreciate us or not” 👊

Hashirama, who was hearing all of this, blushed (as he always does in this kind of situation), but the Uchiha just smiled and said he didn’t want to offend you and that “if the Hokage trusts you for this task, I am with him”

As expected when you are involved, the meeting was a success. Your knowledge of bureaucratic matters and ability to observe combined with your understanding of human behavior were enough to grant your village one more victory. Hashirama wasn’t even worried that his brother was not there

But that didn’t mean the end of Madara’s mistrust of your talents: if he didn’t want to acknowledge your capacities during the meeting, now he purposely refused to give you the credit you deserved, stating that circumstances worked at your favor and etc.

Yep, unfair, irritating and immature, but you know, this man the personification of stubbornness. He has a hard time seeing other people's value, specially if they’re not shinobi, so it wouldn’t be different with you, right?

It was only when you made it clear that you didn’t crave for his approval that he stopped denying what it was obvious and recognized that you deserved respect for your hard work

Yeah it never crossed his mind that someone could simply ignore his opinion but thank goodness you were good at brat handling

But it was the first step for you both get close to each other 😏

#naruto headcanons #naruto requests #hashirama headcanons #hashirama x reader #tobirama headcanons #tobirama x reader #madara headcanons #madara x reader

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years ago

Note

is it okay if you do one about the reader who is 13-14 going with Bella to save Edward and when Alec see's her, he realizes that she's his mate and tries talking to her and her being scared but after sometime they have a sweet bf/gf relationship? Thank you, and your writing is awesome, sorry if I bothered you

Hey hi hello, you most certainly have not bothered me at all 😊 You’re very sweet and I’m glad you enjoy my writing, I hope you like this piece just as much as the others!

Just as a wee reminder to yourself and others who wish to request anything Alec related from me, when I write for Alec, I do tend to write him as the 13-14 year old book version. The only time I age up Alec and Jane to the 16+ year old movie version is if I receive an NSFW request for them. I am still figuring out what I’m comfortable writing in terms of the level of explicitness, so while I figure out what sort of NSFW requests I will and won’t take please be patient and don’t be rude about it if you send me something I don’t think I can deliver, there’s plenty of other really incredibly writers out there I’ll happily link you to if I don’t think I can provide what you want.

For now, have this fluffy little piece.

Forever Yours:

Words: 5416 (oopsie) Warnings: There is some description of injuries later on and a lot of descriptions of fear and distress in the first half of this fic.

Alec was not one to dwell on things he didn’t find interesting. In his human life he had been pigeon-holed into farming, the manual labour something that would support his family and one of the few occupations he could actually get training for, since it meant sending him into a field and leaving him there to work alone most of the time. His village was not a welcoming place to people like him and Jane, and despite his vocation to be a blacksmith his dreams were shelved in order to provide for his mother and sister. The end result was an insatiably curious young teen desperate to break free of the tedious field work and explore what else the world had to offer him, a trait that had only been solidified by his transformation.

Currently he found himself fascinated by the readings surrounding physical Geography, the formation of the world brought to the forefront of his mind after passing through a village that had suffered an Earthquake on a mission not a month earlier, and studying such things was how he spent the majority of his evenings now. Then in the Cullen boy came, bedraggled and smelling like three week old garbage he was pleading for the end of an existence far greater than his human one could have ever been, and Alec’s mind was set whirring into motion once more.

He couldn’t begin to fathom the mind-readers motives for wanting to end his immortal life, not when it had offered Alec so much. Over the course of centuries, he had accrued wealth and knowledge, prestige, and authority that the boys in his village could only ever dream of given the circumstances they were born into. Immortality offered an eternity to pursue what interested you without the disruption of sickness, or fear of being left out of doing what you love due to injury; Alec never have to worry about being unable to train because he’d sprained his ankle after all.

No, no it was simply incomprehensible as to why the Cullen boy would throw away his immortal existence so readily, and when the reason why was finally revealed to them it only left Alec all the more baffled. A human? He wished to end his life because a human had done the same? Humans died everyday in droves, most of them tripping over their own feet and into their graves. They were weak, fragile, dim-witted enough that most actually deserved the cattle-like status his predatory nature accredited them. For Edward to willingly choose one as his mate had been foolish from the start and Alec had to wonder if this wasn’t some sort of cosmic ‘I told you so’. Surely a human couldn’t be the true mate of a vampire? Alec had never pondered over the mating bond before but as Demetri and Felix silently followed after the boy to see to it he did nothing foolish, he began to wonder about the nature of such bonds.

Aro and Caius had both turned their mates, as had Chelsea. They had all felt some form of affection for their mates as humans but had the bond solidified before or after their transformation? Were the red strings of fate he’d read about in varying fantasy novels real to some extent? Venom hardening them to form the strong bonds that allowed vampires to mate for life? He couldn’t imagine ever loving anyone to the point that Marcus had, where they became the only thing his world revolved around and left it collapsing once they were gone. Humans surely weren’t capable of loving anyone with that kind of depth, were they? Not with their flawed design.

“Dear Jane, please go and see what’s taking them so long?” Aro requested. Jane gave him a sugar sweet smile in response, kissed Alec’s cheek and floated gracefully down the steps and towards the door. Alec watched her go before returning to his thoughts, the conundrum still fresh in his mind, but Aro did not let him remain there, a drawn out sigh escaping him as he steepled his fingers to rest his chin on his hands.

“Something bothers you, Master?” he asked, tilting his head. Maybe he was having similar thoughts and they could brainstorm together. Aro stared at the doors ahead of them, his expression completely impassive. Alec was treated with the deference his gift and status demanded but out of them two of them, he knew Jane would always be the favourite, and he was okay with that. He would serve loyally as long as he lived, grateful for all the Masters’ had given him, but he did not need to be valued in the way Jane did.

“I hope Edward does nothing foolish. He would be a great asset to our little household.” Aro responded. Alec kept his face impassive, mind immediately turning now to the tactical advantage telepathy could offer. Edward’s gift was indeed powerful in its own way, to hear over great distances would compliment Demetri’s tracking ability well and override Felix’s tendency to impulsively use his brute strength without identifying priority targets first…

“Undoubtedly.” Alec agreed. Aro chuckled slightly.

“Your mind is preoccupied Alec, perhaps you ought focus it?” he suggested lightly. Alec forced back an eye roll, inclining his head to indicate he had heard him before stepping down from his place beside his throne. He retraced his sister’s footsteps, following the main hall along until he reached the secretary’s desk. Gianna glanced up, standing to greet him with the professionally polite smile she was obliged to give him, even though her heart was thundering in her chest.

“Have the others returned yet?” he questioned. Gianna shook her head.

“No Alec, they have yet to come back this way.” She answered. Alec hummed thoughtfully, engaging his senses and straining his ears to listen to the stumbling footsteps approaching. There were the usual graceful taps of his sister’s dainty steps, the tell-tale smoothness of vampires moving along stone, but the clumsy thudding that followed was definitely human in origin. What cause did they have to bring humans back into their home? That was Heidi’s job after all, and she would be returning home soon enough to slake their thirst.

“But Bella I don’t-“

“Just…not now.”

Bella? Isabella? The human mate? Now that perked his interest. Alec watched with keen eyes as the doors slid open to reveal his siter first, and a brigade of people behind her. Felix and Demetri brought up the rear as Gianna greeted Jane with the same professional courtesy she had him, the golden-eyed Cullen’s following along behind her. The two humans they had brought with them were corralled between them. One clung to Edward like a barnacle to the underside of a ship, spindly arms thrown around him despite her chattering teeth and goosebump riddled flesh. She was quite ordinary in appearance, plain even, yet the way Edward stood made it abundantly clear that this human was something extraordinary to him, something he would protect. The other was...oh how to describe her?

She captivated him almost immediately, Alec unable to take his eyes off of her approach. Was she always that pale or had the situation leeched the colour from her face? Was she always so wide-eyed or was it fear that had blown those (Y/E/C) irises wide open? She was smaller in stature than the other, yet similar enough looks wise it was clear they were siblings, one older one younger. She was perhaps his physical age with all the wide-eyed innocence that entailed, gangly limbs she hadn’t really grown into yet carrying her along with a bit of encouragement from Felix’s proximity, and the Cullen woman’s guiding hand.

“Sister, they send you out for one and you bring back three, such a clever girl.” He teased, Jane’s scent invading his nose and helping refocus his mind. Her eyes rolled, but she still embraced him as she always did with a trill of laughter to boot.

“They made it all to easy.” She responded. Alec could see the malice in his sister’s eyes and guessed that she was not appreciative of having to wait for the humans. It irked him more than it should, that the young girl had potentially unintentionally incurred his sister’s wrath, the mere notion that perhaps Jane’s thoughts of her were less than savoury something that made every protective instinct he had ever had for his sister flare and extend to this stranger.

“Edward, you seem in a markedly better mood.” He said, hoping to distract himself from the sudden, unnerving discovery.

“Marginally.” the mind-reader agreed, though his voice was blunt and cutting. Clearly Edward was not in the mood to talk.

“But Alice I still don’t know-“

“Shhh Y/N, not now.” Alice Cullen, the seer that Aro had raved about from the moment he had learned of her existence. Alec should have been interested in her, should have been evaluating her as a threat and a potential ally, but his mind had been thoroughly distracted by the small human once more. Y/N…it was a good name, a name that felt pleasant in his ears and rolled easily off of the tongue.

“But Alice-“ the urgency in her voice tore at his heart and Alec had the strange urge to comfort her. Did she truly know nothing? If she knew nothing of their kind she had broken no law and there was no reason to put her through any of this, it was unnecessary suffering.

“Is this the cause of all the trouble?” he asked, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice as he took in her unremarkable sibling. Isabella seemed to shiver under his stare (much to his amusement) though it was the younger girl whose reaction he was more interested in. Her head turned his way, (Y/C/H) hair swishing with the movement as wide (Y/C/E) eyes latched onto his own and refused to let go. The scent that was wafted up his nose was almost unbearably tantalising, the controlled burn in his throat flaring to a raging inferno that he almost choked on for a moment before he caught himself. Edward’s stare was penetrating, Alice Cullen tightening her grip on the young girl in her care in case he made a move. He swallowed back the fire but there was no hiding the way his eyes had melted to black, and the sweet tinge of fear in her already too appealing smell only made him want to give into his urges all the more.

He hadn’t realised he’d taken a step towards her until she flinched back from him, and for the first time in a long time Alec felt genuine pain. The fear on her face was obvious, the rampant thudding in her chest tangible proof that she was terrified, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it and he didn’t like that he didn’t like it because she was just human, flawed and breakable and pathetic so why oh why did it pain him so to see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes?

“Y-your eyes…they just – your eyes just…Bella what did you get me into?” her voice wavered and something inside him just snapped. For once, Alec didn’t feel the apathy that came with taking a life seen as less valuable than his own, he didn’t take any sort of joy in watching her be afraid of his advance. He couldn’t deny it, not when the feeling was so deeply rooted and burned so fiercely, like a flower that been laid dormant beneath the Earth suddenly bursting from the soil to bloom brightly. He was protective of this human he barely knew, and it was terrifying to feel so connected to someone he had never met before.

“I mean you no harm, I give you my word.” The promise had escaped him before he had really thought it through and he was well aware he could not keep such a promise, but she didn’t care to hear it anyway, cringing even more into Alice since Bella seemed to refuse her in that moment. It only made him angrier. He was angry with himself for suddenly losing the emotional control he had gained over a long millennium of living, angry that he was making promises he couldn’t keep, and he was angry at the stares he was receiving from those he would call friend. Jane looked the most outwardly shocked before she quickly covered, but the one person he would have hoped would react positively just didn’t. Y/N was too afraid to see sense, and he supposed given the pie-crust promise he’d just made that might be a good thing, even if it hurt. He was angry to that her sister ignored her obvious need for comfort.

He let his sister take the lead as they headed back to the throne room, trying to fight through the sudden swell of confusing emotion and sensory information. His nose seemed attuned to her scent, suspiciously close to his favourite smells of lemongrass and gooseberry, his eyes magnetised to her form to the point he turned his head to glance back at her so frequently that Demetri felt the need to motion for him to keep his head turned forward. Humans radiated heat anyway but she felt scorching, a mini-sun whose tendrils reached out and left warmth lashing down his spine. His ears were full of her heartbeat. She was so thoroughly distracting he could barely take his eyes off of her after he had taken his place by Caius, the blonde man staring with such distaste at the both of them that Alec felt a strong urge to step between them and absorb the glare himself.

He could only half pay attention as the conversation unfolded around him, because Y/N wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was the devil incarnate and it bothered him immensely. He had dealt with it his whole life, a social pariah for his links to witchcraft and someone whose gift left him with few friends since they feared the authority it gave him. He had handled it then, and he handled it now, he could deal with other people looking at him like that but not her, anyone but her.

“Alec!” Jane hissed his name and Alec snapped to attention, mist unfolding from his palms so he was ready to take down any threat that came at him. Demetri snickered loudly enough it reached his ears and Alec’s glare was so deadly it drew a soft whimper from her. He almost groaned. Could he do no right by her? Y/N had started trembling a while ago but now there were full body shakes wracking her from head to foot, her teeth grinding together so loudly he worried the teeth might snap under the strain she was putting on them. Aro’s laughter clattered through his head and he turned to face him, at a loss as to what to do for once. He didn’t honestly think that he could hurt the girl if asked.

“My dear boy it would seem you are quite distracted by young Miss Swan. Oh to be young and in love once more!” he tittered. Alec froze, every muscle locking in place as the distinct feeling of distress rose through the confusion and anger and pain he’d been desperately trying to wade through. Love? He definitely did not love the girl, it was mere curiosity and nothing else, the same curiosity he applied to his studies.

“Love?” Jane’s voice was equally as harsh and Aro seemed surprised by her reaction. Alec was not. For centuries they had had only each other, the centre of a small world where they seldomly let others join them. The very notion another might be welcomed into his heart would be not just repulsive, but very troubling for her.

“Why, don’t tell me you cannot see it? Already the bond between them has set, the thread connecting them tied at both ends. Are you not happy for your twin to have found such a rare and beautiful thing?” Aro wondered. As if Aro had perhaps waved a magic wand his mind settled. His brain had tried to fight what his body already knew, his subconcious screaming the word while his rational mind raced a million miles ahead to try and outrun the answer until it could run no more, and the two collided. The aftermath of the explosion was calm, almost wonderous, for he would finally get the chance to study something he had never studied before.

“You’re my mate.” He breathed. Even he could hear the awe in his voice, though nobody but him seemed to find it wonderful. Jane hissed, both Cullen’s tensing up while Bella recoiled from her sister like she was diseased, and Y/N…Y/N just cried. Alec’s world ground to a halt, the pain his mate spilling out and into him. He descended the stairs with every intention of stopping her tears, hoping to calm her perhaps and explain exactly what it meant to be mates, but Y/N didn’t let Bella refuse her this time and sought refuge in her sister, sobbing all the while.

“Wh-what did you do! Why d-did you bring me h-here? I d-don’t want to st-stay with him!”

The words were a hard blow, they struck him in the gut and it was the closest he’d felt to nauseous in centuries.

“I have no desire to keep you here, but if you would please-“

“Leave me alone! I w-want to go home!” she cried, not so much as turning to look at him. If he hadn’t been a vampire he would probably have missed all of the muffled words she heaved into her sisters shoulder.

“You can still go home yet-“ he had paid enough attention to know Bella was not being executed at least and as his mate Y/N was exempt of that fate to, “-all I would like is a chance to talk.” Alec’s plea fell on deaf ears, his hand shrugged off of her shoulder.

“No!”

Alec straightened, wiping his face of any and all expression, he didn’t so much as give any of them a farewell before he left the room. The sudden rejection stung worse than the fire that had once burned his flesh from his bones, and the hollow that opened in his gut grew wider and wider with every moment that passed since the second he’d left her. He put down his books, spending his nights envisioning her tear-stained face and wondering what would have made her smile instead. He craved to know every like and dislike, to hear her voice when she wasn’t consumed with horror and fear, to learn more about her life and contrast it with his own. They had all tried to talk him round in the intervening months, but Alec couldn’t find the strength to drag himself out of the numbness that had enveloped him. Not until Marcus came by to see him anyway.

“What do you require of me, Master?” he asked, staring aimlessly out of the window at the Garden’s below. Marcus seated himself at the desk across the room, the one littered with books Alec hadn’t had the heart to open since the fateful day his mate had left him.

“Didyme was not immediately drawn to me either.” He rasped. Alec’s head whipped around at that, the shock on his face obvious. Marcus had been nothing but a shell in all the time he had known him, grieving a lost love so profound Alec was sure that their story must have been the greatest romance ever known. To hear Didyme had not readily accepted him was both astounding and…it gave him hope.

“She didn’t?” he hedged. Marcus glanced to him, a wisp of smile floating from his lips before his expression fell flat again.

“She was a headstrong woman, and for a while she resented Aro for what he did to her, to me. She could not revel in her new state as we did, this world was so different from the one she had known…it took time for her to adjust before she truly opened her heart to me.” His words were like a soothing balm on the raw wound her rejection had left behind.

“I might find it more encouraging if I was sure I might yet see her again.” Alec frowned slightly as Marcus pushed to his feet.

“There will be opportunity enough to visit her yet, you might yet be surprised.” He answered, floating from the room like dust on the wind. Alec stared at the door, his mind mulling over the cryptic message before the briefest hint of a smile twitched his lips upward. Hope was a beautiful thing, and it only grew in his chest as Aro deployed them to Seattle not a day later to deal with a mess created by a gaggle of newborns. When stressed, vampires did not fidget but rather became motionless and immobile, but while he sat rigid as stone in his seat for the flight over his mind became restless. Where would he find her in this city? If Marcus’s cryptic message had been for him then surely he knew he would find Y/N here? Demetri’s hand on his arm made him pause before he stepped off of the jet.

“She’s in the city Alec, if you need a guide.” His voice was low enough nobody but him would hear him. Alec fully planned to take him up on the offer once their work for the night was done, it wasn’t often the tracker was rendered unnecessary, but Alec didn’t need Demetri’s gift to know when he had found her.

Her sobbing was ingrained in his memory after all.

The rage that built in him was blinding, his body unable to move fast enough to put himself between Y/N and the newborns dragging her mangled body from the wreckage of a car they had flipped. All around him was the screaming and snarling of newborns, the metallic screech of hardened skin coming apart as they put an end to the atrocity. His mist had exploded outward, rippling in every direction and he had only just enough sense of mind to ensure it didn’t harm his coven mates as he tore apart the newborns who had dared lay a hand on his mate. Chest heaving and throat blazing, Alec felt the blood on the ground soak his trousers as he collapsed beside her. She was screaming, body contorting in awful ways as her face turned red, veins popping in her neck as it strained. Alec placed a cool hand shakily on her forehead, beyond furious with the grotesque bitemark marring her shoulder.

“What were you thinking brother! Now that we have destroyed this group we – we…oh…oh Alec…” the rage that simmered in Jane’s voice very quickly dissipated when she saw the state he was in. His head was swimming, the appealing scent of blood hanging heavy in the air while his gut twisted and fury and terror raged war in his heart. She was turning, there was no doubt about it, the venom was leaking out of the wound with her blood. She was turning and it wasn’t his venom.

“I – I can take away the pain.” He stammered. He had wanted someone to do that for him when he burned. It was the greatest act of mercy he could think of, perhaps the greatest way for him to show his love for a girl he barely knew but wanted to oh so badly.

“You will starve yourself before she completes the transformation. There is hardly enough venom in that bite Alec.” Felix pointed out. Y/N let out another tortured shriek, body twisting. He heard the broken bones in her legs crunching at the movement and said a silent prayer to thank whatever deity was watching over her that the venom was excruciating enough she wouldn’t have to feel broken bones on top of it.

“So what do I do? Leave her like this? She’s in agony!” he snapped, “She’s in agony and I can end it!”

“It is a natural thing brother.” Jane said quietly.

“But it does not have to be endured forever.” Demetri weighed in finally, “Give her some more Alec, shorten the process and if you find yourself unable to stop…well, we will stop you.” Alec could only give her an anguished stare, loathe to cause her anymore pain but knowing Demetri was right. The longer the change dragged on for the less likely it was she would survive, but if he bit her again, gave her more of his venom to override what little was already diffusing through her blood, it would shorten the process considerably. He could already feel the acidic liquid pooling in his mouth and he hoped she could see just how apologetic he was, though he didn’t think it likely given how her eyes had rolled back into her head as she convulsed with a shout.

“Stop me Jane, forget our oath this one time and do whatever it takes to stop me.” He demanded. Jane looked horrified by the very thought but Alec didn’t wait for her to consent to his plea, cradling Y/N close and closing his eyes as he bared his teeth, ready to bite into the buttersoft sinews of her throat…

“What are you thinking about so hard?” her voice was melodic in his ears, a symphony he never grew tired of. Startled from his reverie, Alec had to pause a moment to gather his thoughts and remind himself where he was. Volterra was bathed in sunshine once more and his skin refracted it beautifully against the walls of the garden, the book in his lap long since discarded as his mind began to wonder. It had been a while, since he’d recalled that fateful night.

“You’re back,” he noted with a small smile, “I was thinking about you of course, as I always do when you’re not around.” Her smile could have lit up New York city, and Alec adored it. Y/N hadn’t been happy upon waking up in Volterra, Alec by her side as he quietly explained she had been made immortal in desperate circumstances. It had taken her many months to get over the traumatic incident but since she had started to bounce back to her old self, Alec had discovered a rather beautiful, happy person he really rather liked. Since she had been forced to spend so much time with him, letting him coach her in the new way of life she had to adopt, she had taken quite a liking to him to it seemed.

“You should be proud of me, I got to the nomad before Demetri so we all got to come home sooner. You should have seen his face!” She giggled. Alec couldn’t help but smirk, smug and proud as he pulled her down to rest between his legs, back pressed flush to his chest. Her scent dragged him under, a tranquil wave settling those restless parts of him that recognised how incomplete he felt without her around. He buried his nose in her hair to take a deep lungful of the addictive smell.

“I’m always proud of you.” He promised softly.

“Have you just been reading all the time we’ve been gone?” she wondered. Alec hummed, picking up the book he had discarded and reopening to the page he was on.

“It was the one you recommended to me. I’ve just gotten to the chapter where Sephy realises Callum is one of her kidnappers.” He revealed, and without hesitation he dropped his cheek atop her hair and began to read aloud. She melted into him, her hands mindlessly reaching for the ground every now and then while Alec focused his energy on his book, the peaceful atmosphere remaining unbroken for a chapter more before she shifted. He relinquished her immediately, knowing his mate was never one to stay still for too long, only to be surprised when she turned on her knees with a ring of daisies in her hand. Alec raised an eyebrow and she grinned.

“I hereby declare you King Alec of Castle Volterra!” she announced. The daisy crown was placed daintly atop his head, only to fall and get stuck on the bridge of his nose. Too big to be a crown but too small to be a necklace. Her face fell into a pout as Alec began to laugh, very gently rearranging the daisies so they rested at an angle and were slightly weighted down by some of his brunette hair.

“I, King Alec, declare I cannot rule without you, Queen Y/N,” he proclaimed, offering her his hand. She giggled as he pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. She was forever going to be shorter than him, just a little, and he loved that. “Now, as our first royal duty, that dye you ordered came. I decree it’s time to give our guard matching uniforms!” He was bolstered by her obvious enthusiasm, crimson eyes sparkling.

“It came? The neon green one?” she asked eagerly. Alec nodded, unable to keep his laughter at bay as she bounced up and kissed him so quickly she almost broke his teeth with the speed she moved at. He didn’t get to voice his protest because she was already dragging him by the hand back towards the castle. Before he had met her, schemes like this would have made his nose turn up in distaste. How childish these endeavours were, how wasteful of their time. Y/N had changed his perspective on a great many things, and it was rather nice now and then to give into the childish ways his physical age demanded he give in to every now and then, he had gotten so good at repressing those throughout the centuries but she seemed to bring out the playful side of him. If anything had managed to convince Jane she was a good addition to their family, it was tallying how much more Alec had smiled since she came into his life to stay.

“I can pilfer the shirts, they’re far less likely to suspect I am up to any wrong doing than if they smell you in their rooms.” Alec pointed out in hushed tones. She nodded, her head tilted up as they walked close together, co-conspirators to anyone looking in.

“Okay, you steal the shirts while I mix the-“

“Mix the what, exactly?” Demetri’s voice came from behind them and with wide eyes Y/N yelled ‘Scatter!’ before the tracker had the chance to grab either of them by the collar. Alec bolted after her down the corridor, just ever so slightly lagging behind her since she still had her newborn strength and speed. She grabbed his wrist without warning and Alec felt Demetri’s hand swipe right through his head before she tugged him straight through a wall and they began to freefall into the courtyard below. Demetri was cursing up a storm inside, her gift having turned them both immaterial long enough to allow them to pass through the walls in a way he couldn’t. Collapsing in a fit of boisterous laughter the pair lingered in the sunlight, eyes bright and smiles wide. For a moment, anyone passing them by might have forgotten their glittering skin and vibrant red eyes, mistaking them for two normal teens experiencing the euphoria of puppy love.

“Did you see his face!” she gasped. Alec could only smile at her, hand reaching to tuck a lock of stray hair behind her ear so he could have an unobstructed view of her face. Her smile faded slightly, expression growing more sheepish instead.

“I was too busy looking at yours. I think I would like to spend every day I have looking at your face over his. I love you Y/N, at least, I think this is what love feels like.” His brows furrowed, the confession falling from his tongue without his permission. He wondered if perhaps it was too soon, too big a word to label the affection they held for one another, but seeing the way her face lit up told him otherwise.

“Pinky swear it, Alec. If you don’t pinky swear it’s not real.” She said, holding out her hand. Alec rolled his eyes but looped his pinky through hers, cementing his promise with all the binding legality the pinky swear had to offer.

“I swear it Y/N. I’m forever yours.”

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #alec volturi fanfiction #volturi fanfiction #alec volturi #jane volturi #felix volturi #demetri volturi x reader #alec volturi x reader #we all know he's a soft boi #deep deep down #and a bookworm

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dear-yandere · 4 years ago

Text

hiraeth (ii).

hiraeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

yandere! don! giorno giovanna x f! reader. collab with @ddarker-dreams. read part one here! do not re-upload or use our writing without permission.

› warnings: angst, blood and gore, poisoning, canon-typical violence, death. › word count: 9.3k. › art credit: spearthymint.

Intrusive, lifeless eyes watch on from afar with tangible disgust. Hatred being the driving point behind his entire existence, all positive emotions are but a long forgotten memory of the past. To see the devil incarnate rejoicing in the fine pleasures of life is sickening, enough to make his head spin in further abhorrence. Observing from a safe, undetectable distance has been a rough challenge. All for the sake of procuring revenge, to fill the hole in his heart Giorno Giovanna tore out all those years ago.

Fueled by malice, the Stand, Snake Oil, slithers in the shadows of false paradise. More akin to a hybrid between human and snake, Snake Oil is the size of a fully grown man when stretched out to his fullest. His appearance is similar to that of a cobra, clad in ebony scales that serve as armor and dull, ruby eyes. Despite his imposing physique, it is truly unfortunate; having seen Giorno up close, Snake Oil knows killing him is impossible. So he’ll go for the next best possibility, inflicting the same pain he felt all those years ago. Having what you love most in the world ripped from you, torn apart before your eyes until nothing but blood and flesh remain. This is the bleak world of gangsters. To take and be taken from. To maintain equilibrium, vacillating between the highest of triumphs and lowest of defeats. Snake Oil has known nothing but the latter, surrounded by loneliness and bitterness that festers like an open wound. The scars of that day remain, the corpses of his family attempting to defend one another a grim reminder. A reminder that he’ll grip until his last breath, his only anchor in this world.

An eye for an eye.

The two of you are a picture perfect scene; pity how such beauty is fleeting. All it’ll take is a single opening. Giorno’s guard is lowered considerably, but he clings to you like an insistent shadow. How irritating. If only he left your side for a few more moments, then you’d be within range to kill. To have revenge just within grasp feels surreal in the best of ways. It brings a rush that the Stand hasn’t felt in years. The pain that makes up his resolve has yet to fade, pulsing and growing stronger as he searches for an opening.

There’s a visible shift between you two.

Snake Oil’s uncertain of the nature of things from this distance, gathering clues to the greater picture through body language. You’re on edge, impulsive, as you separate from Giovanna’s clutches, however momentary it may be. Snake Oil realizes this is the best opportunity he’ll be afforded. It isn’t the ideal set of circumstances, with your insistent shadow nearby, but it’s enough to be out of Gold Experience’s range. The Stand possesses great speed, a skill that will be fully taken advantage of in this course of this plan; in this moment, it seems more like a blessing than a skill, given who he’s going up against.

Checking to make sure the Don doesn’t follow you and remains seated, fate finally seems to have smiled upon Snake Oil today. This is the best opportunity he’ll get.

Slithering from his hiding spot amongst thickets, he lunges at you from behind. A horrified shriek leaves your lips at the constricting sensation surrounding you, body feeling like it may explode at any second. The air is forcefully pushed from your lungs, breathing growing erratic. Out of instinct, you struggle in hopes of freeing yourself, to no avail.

Two, phantom-like apparitions phase through your neck. You cry out, but the sound is pitiful and choked, dying mid air. The skin of your neck is raw, the insides slightly turned out and exposed in order to accommodate the invisible fangs of your attacker. The area pulses, quickly numbing when a venom is injected into your veins. The change is immediate, your eyes widened to their brim and your screams choked into your throat like spit. Your vision darkens slowly, the grip you once had on your consciousness now gone; the last thing you remember is the shock on Giorno’s face.

Giorno rises in an instant, a flash by his side procuring Gold Experience Requiem to come to your defence. Before any more movements are made on either side, Snake Oil takes control of the situation by speaking in a booming voice. It commands authority, knowing that leverage is within his grasp. That this wicked man wouldn’t dare endanger your life.

“Make one, tiny move, and I snap her neck.”

This is the plan, for better or worse. For Snake Oil to utilize its ability, a fast acting venom that’ll kill you within minutes. The in-between time of injection and subsequent organs shutting down will take place. During this period, he’ll finally find satisfaction in Giovanna’s suffering, helpless to aid you in fear of making it worse. Changes in your skin should be taking place now, veins growing dark as it carries the lethal dosage to the rest of your body. It’s acting slow, Snake Oil realizes. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, a false concern born from his anxiety about the situation.

It's a tricky situation, one which requires Giorno to act fast and tread carefully.

“I take it you won’t tell me who you are.” Giorno chooses his words with the utmost care despite the shock and anger rolling from his body. Gold Experience Requiem hovers closeby, the same rage thinly veiled beneath the Stand’s imposing and threatening presence. As Giorno’s Stand, GER has always been utterly taken with you, having no need to hide its affections like its user must. He is a pure amalgamation of Giorno’s love for you; the sight of your life endangered is no doubt a blow to its usual composure and restraint. Neither party wants nothing more than to destroy their enemy in an instant, but there’s no guarantee you wouldn't be caught up in the fray.

“You say that as if you remember the names of every person you’ve hurt,” Snake Oil does little to hide his animosity, keeping an eye out for any tricks Giorno may have. “It made no difference who I was before. Not until I threatened your little prisoner, that is.” The Stand sneers, its arm coiled around your neck. Its tail is strung around your lower half, restricting any flailing and movement should the poison’s effect be prolonged.

“What is it that you want?” Ignoring the Stand’s treatment of you, to the best of his ability, Giorno tests the waters. Every word the Stand speaks is funneled into his mind, searching for hints that can be taken advantage of, for any cracks that can be slipped through. The top priority is to get to you out of harm’s way, no matter the cost. Composure on either end is unfaltering, a duel of wits to secure a victor. This is a matter of life and death. And still, Giorno hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to see your body, your skin pallid and your limbs motionless, cradled in the arms of a man who intends you harm. His composure falters at the mere sight. That Stand isn’t just holding you; he’s holding Giorno’s happiness, his future, his heart in a vice grip. He sees the way your eyebrows knit and your body winces, the Stand’s grip far too tight to insinuate any goal other than to kill.

Snake Oil only smiles in response, not yet wanting to ruin this moment of pure distress radiating from the Don and his Stand. The sight itself is rapturing; it’s not everyday that a lowly civilian such as himself gets to see one of the most influential men in the world come apart.

Unabashed, Giorno considers what information is presented to him. From how this Stand speaks, its user is older, if not a bit inexperienced. No slang or other terminologies from a younger generation are present in his words, it’s far more removed and bitter. As if the user has seen the worst the world has to offer, callous in his direct approach; as if the user is betting everything on the line for a small chance at attacking the Don of Passione.

He needs to get you out of the Stand’s range. Since the Stand didn’t attack him, the main source of his user’s ire no doubt, it’s likely a long-range Stand. Any suspicious movements will lead to your death. And, from a quick look around, there are no suspicious vessels within a 10 km radius of the island; he would have seen them approaching long before, had there been. Its user must be far, and the Stand must be operating at its maximum range. Engaging in close-range combat would be the best bet if you weren’t engulfed in the Stand’s arms, its poison already blackening the veins around the entrance wound. Killing it might prove to be the only antidote, but on the other hand, it’s a risky trade. Perhaps the Stand’s power doesn’t include producing an antivenom — killing it early would slash any chances of saving you before the poison spreads further into your system. The only option for Giorno now is to provoke him, upsetting the Stand to the point where a mistake is made. In that opening, Giorno will strike.

“It must’ve been a lot of work to make it here,” Giorno begins his plan with a cautious comment, searching for any outward reaction. Nothing. Assuming he’s safe to continue, he offers his observations. “If you have any demand, make them known now.”

It’s not so much stalling, but rather, testing the waters. To see how much resistance he can offer without you being placed in any more danger, igniting sparks that will only gain strength with time. Each word is selected with great care, not wanting to further upset the emotional user and trigger an undesirable outcome. Under the face of immense pressure, Giorno steels himself. It’ll do you no good otherwise.

The Stand lets out a distorted chuckle, its grip on you unwavering. “Demands? Of course, someone in your line of work would naturally come to that conclusion. You think I’d go this far for power? Money? Drugs?”

Giorno’s eyes narrow, and he mentally checks off one motive.

“There’s nothing then? No affiliation, no desire for material gain?” Giorno’s incessant line of questions come to a halt when the Stand tightens its grip around you. Sensing that Snake Oil’s growing irate, Giorno can only assume it’s because this encounter isn’t going as planned. Given how frail you are, the poison should have spread to major points in your nervous system, your death imminent. While Giorno has his theories, ones he can only hope to be true at this very moment, they’re placed on the back burner for the time being.

“How could I forget? That’s all that matters to people like you.” The Stand’s tone is low, prudent. Giorno’s interrogation is getting somewhere, it seems. The Stand’s grip on your shoulders have loosened slightly, only to retighten within a moment’s notice. Giorno’s heart tightens in response, the unpleasant feeling not showing on his face in the slightest. “Gain. How to make more at the expense of others, a greed that cannot be sated no matter whose life is taken in the process.”

Ah. Perhaps...

“You say that like nothing could satisfy you.” The tempest unfolding in Giorno’s mind begins to calm. His answers lie at the eye of the storm, waiting to be found. It’s an easy enough feat for someone of Giorno’s caliber, as his job requires quick-witted thinking and observation. So he presses forward, his words more daring, his answers more confident.

The Stand can’t help but grimly agree, darkness spreading over its inhuman face upon realizing how unaffected the don is. “Nothing can.”

It’s brief, but Giorno catches a glint of sadness cross the Stand’s features. A trick of the light, perhaps, as he’s yet to see any Stand capable of showing emotion; and yet, this one reeks of resentment and regret. He’s closer to his answer.

“Not even her death?”

“It’s a place to start.” The Stand hisses in a displeased tone. This isn’t how he envisioned this encounter in his mind, the countless outcomes that all ended with Giorno Giovanna in the pits of despair. He should have known better; the Don of Passione is cruel. A monster who wouldn’t be phased even by the loss of his beloved. Still… an element of unknown is always present in Stand battles. Your immediate death should’ve been carried out by now. That’s how it was meant to be; the venom is fast acting on normal people, only slightly less-so on stand users. He draws bated breath and lets his expectant gaze flicker toward you. The moment you breathed your last, Snake Oil would have true satisfaction, witnessing Giorno lose everything he holds dear, just as he had all those years ago. Ultimately, he’d be killed for his transgressions. But he’d come to terms with that long ago, the final chapter of his life ending in Giorno’s grief. The ultimate satisfaction, even if it sends him to Hell. Even if it keeps him from his family.

But your face is pristine, calm despite the painful wound on your neck and the quickly blackening vessels under your skin. You… you’ve stolen that opportunity from him. Why won’t you just die already, like you’re meant to? Why can’t you die as quickly as his own family died before him? It can’t be due to Giorno’s Stand. If you were within Gold Experience Requiem’s range, that meant Snake Oil would be as well. The battle would be hardly fought, the Stand’s sacrifices for nothing. If that were the case, Giorno wouldn’t be watching from afar, the great Don of Pasione helpless to save his own beloved.

Something is wrong.

He can’t let it be for naught. Not after all the sacrifice, after all the hellish years that plagued him. Even now, Giorno waits patiently, an air of dignitary grace and poise befitting someone of his position. His eyes never once stray from the Stand’s physique, not even to check on his beloved, presumably searching for an opening to end the Stand’s life. There’s no chance to give it more thought. The power the Stand wanted to hold in this moment is faltering, slipping between his fingers like fine sand.

“How long ago was it that I took something from you?”

He’s going out on a limb, an educated guess more than anything else. He almost feels pathetic, betting your life like this, as if you’re another bargaining chip in Passione’s plans, another expendable pawn. But there’s no other option in his sights, his thoughts filled with saving the light of his life from the darkness of his own past.

There’s no longer an immediate response from the Stand, nor a sarcastic quip full of loathing. It felt like the most logical explanation, revenge being the greatest motivator known to man. Giorno knows he made the correct assumption, or something close to it, considering Snake Oil’s change in attitude. Did the Stand think Giorno would remain in the dark until the end?

“What… what do you mean?”

Hesitation.

Giorno’s lips twitch into a small, satisfactory smile, his nerves having earned some rest upon guessing correctly. He continues, this time with a barrage of thinly-veiled accusations rather than questions. “It must’ve been longer than a few months, with how much planning this would’ve taken. So when was it? A year, two maybe?”

The most drastic changes were made within Passione during the first six months of Giorno taking over.

“Why does the time even matter?” He bites. “All the people you’ve killed, they’re nothing but faceless names on a list to you.”

Giorno wants to laugh; for someone so bent on killing him, he took the bait far too easily.

“While that holds some merit, you’re no better in that regard.” He begins, shaking his head and shifting his weight onto the other foot, looking awfully lax despite the context of this conversation. He takes note of the way Snake Oil’s fingers twitch with arrogant annoyance. “Wanting to involve an innocent life who has nothing to do with this, you don’t know the first thing about her.”

“You’re wrong. I know plenty about this girl who had the misfortune of meeting you,” Snake Oil’s blank eyes flicker towards your incapacitated form. You look more like a helpless pup than the wife to a mafia boss; perhaps… perhaps that’s why he chose you. For your vulnerability, for your innocence. “Not that you made it easy. Having virtually every aspect of her existence wiped from the planet, going so far as to pay off police to end their missing person search… scum never has hopes of growing, do they?”

Giorno has no reason to justify his thoughts to a stranger who intruded on your paradise and put your life in peril, no matter what injustices he might have caused the man in the past. Only for the motive of provoking him further does he respond. “For the sake of protecting her from those who’d do her harm.” He quips, his expression unchanging.

“Is that what helps you sleep at night, Giovanna? A pat on the back for kidnapping some girl from her life, taking away all her freedoms? Letting her family search and search, only to be fed lies that there are no leads, that the case has gone cold?” Snake Oil’s grip on you falters slightly, a wave of pity washing over him at your poor predicament. How unfortunate you are to have earned the attention of a demon… “You don’t know the first thing about losing someone precious to you, do you? What you’re doing to her isn’t protection. This is greed, meant only to benefit yourself,” the Stand accuses. “Considering how greedy you lot are, I’m surprised it hasn’t occurred to you that, if it weren’t for your manipulation, she would’ve slit your throat weeks ago.”

Giorno is wholly unfazed; he has been called worse, by you even. Nothing the Stand says or will say could come close to the unfiltered hatred he’s heard from you. “Believe what you want, Snake Oil. It makes no difference to me.”

“... So it doesn’t. I suppose labels hold no significance in your life — you’ve come to terms with what you really are. You're a fool, thinking someone like yourself is capable of love. A murderer can experience no such thing.”

“And that’s what I am to you,” Giorno deduces, scouring the Stand’s mannerisms for any clues that may be of use. “A murderer.”

“It’s not what you are to me. It’s an undeniable fact.”

Giorno doesn’t give him the luxury of a response nor the slightest change in his own expression. His stare is blank, even with your life on the line, even when you hang uselessly from the enemy’s arms. The venom is spreading, creating a thick, void-like trail along the paths of each vein it reaches. Starting from the entrance wound in your neck, your blackening veins look like tendrils, crawling up your face and down your chest — toward your brain, your heart. So that is his Stand power...

“Does she know, Giovanna?” Snake Oil hisses, handling your unconscious body harshly. Giorno bites down on his bottom lip at the mere sight, composing himself; now is not the time to strike, not over something so trivial. If that were the case, he would have used Gold Experience Requiem the moment this enemy laid a single finger on your person. Snake Oil barks out more questions, clarifying himself. “Does she know who you truly are beneath that mask?”

Giorno returns his gaze to his enemy, the look in his eyes hardening considerably as he chews on the question. Is that his motive? To use you as a bargaining chip, a means to lower his guard far enough to strike? It’s clever, if nothing else, but Giorno is poised in the art of manipulation. The chaos unraveling in his head, jumping from conclusion to conclusion over your current state — even that is pushed to the far reaches of his consciousness. Lashing out will do the Don no good. It’s a strength right now more than anything, the ability to stuff his own emotions and humanity into the recesses of his mind. Considering how emotional this Stand and its user must be to find a remote, isolated island and its sole inhabitant — regardless of Passione’s extensive influence over the territory — this man has a personal vendetta against Giorno himself.

But he should have never involved you.

Occupied with their back and forth, the pair of men fail to take notice of how your finger twitches by your side. The movement is subtle, easy to miss; even Giorno is too caught up in the situation to pay you any mind for once. The slightest movements of your incapacitated body are the least of his concerns, right now, his mind filled with one thought: you haven’t awoken. You are dying, and that is far more than Giorno can take.

“She doesn’t need to know.”

The Don smiles sardonically. Gone is the ray of light that usually graces his features when he sets foot on this island, when his gaze lands on you. This man keeps speaking of you as if he knows you. If you were awake right now, you’d be easily swayed, your thoughts a mess and your mind easily malleable. This could ruin everything, everything he’s built here, everything he’s built for you, with you. You won’t look at him the same. Not like this morning. Not even like the weeks before, spent in harrowing isolation, flinching at his very presence. You’ll look at him like you would a monster; horrified.

But you aren’t awake. You are on the brink of death and he’s made next to no progress in your rescue. What a pitiful excuse he is. For all his power and influence, he can’t even protect you. He can’t even protect the very thing keeping him alive, the only person that showed a semblance of genuine love for him, even if it was hidden behind a hesitant and doubtful countenance. He was making progress. You were making progress.

“I am a murderer, as all gangsters are, but my reasons are just. I don’t need to explain them to someone such as yourself.” He laughs blithely. “Who did I kill that was so important to you?” He asks the same way one would ask for the time.

Snake Oil doesn’t answer.

“For you to come here, you must believe their death to be unjust. Who was it?” Giorno dwells on the thought for a second, deducing that these unknown variables must be closely related to this Stand’s user. “I can hardly recall their names, much less their faces. That begs the question: what did they do?” His smile grows, one-sided, as if knowing something his enemy does not. “I wonder… was it human trafficking? Narcotics?”

His only response is a glare, the Stand’s arm tightening around your neck like a noose. But, the Don head only cants to the side, testing the waters further.

“No matter. If I wasted time doing so myself, they must have deserved to die.”

It’s spoken like an irrefutable fact. An ultimate dismissal of human life, of their own autonomy. An insult to the memory of those Snake Oil held dearest. The words aren’t only indifferent, but spoken with implicit confidence. In the recesses of his mind, he knows what it is Giorno is trying to do. Rationale is snuffed out, replaced with righteous fury.

“You… you don’t deserve to speak of them. You know nothing.”

“Do I now?” The Don’s body relaxes, now knowing what the Stand is after. The investigation falls; the interrogation begins. “Ah, I remember.” His lips twitch into a cruel smile, enjoying the act of playing with this enemy’s feelings. To be ruled by one’s feelings, to the point of enacting revenge on a man you haven’t a chance of winning against — this Stand and its user wouldn’t make it in the world of gangsters for much longer. “A wife, and a….son was it? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? For revenge.” He tests the waters with a contemplative tone despite already knowing the answer, the Stand’s body language holding a tension and enmity it hadn’t moments before. “I don’t recall their faces or names, really, but I remember their screams. Your wife was groveling at my feet, begging for mercy. She had this look in her eyes — betrayal. You didn’t tell her your true profession, did you?” The Don’s lips twitch when Snake Oil falters, the latter’s eyes wide. “And your son… a prominent member in the very drug routes Passione aims to quell. I remember he tried to bargain with me, sell you out in exchange for my mercy.” Giorno laughs at the irony. To not even be trusted by your own family… “Like father, like son. He deserved to die.”

Snake Oil draws a sharp breath.

“And your daughter… such a sweet little thing. She didn’t understand what was happening.” He recalls with faint disinterest. “The look on her face was so tragic. I almost felt sorry for her. But she is related to you by blood, and scum can only breed scum.” An idea formulates, the words pressed past his lips as easily as breathing. “It’s a pity, though. She got away before I could…” He trails off, relishing in the way Snake Oil chokes pathetically on this information; his daughter… his only family is alive, somewhere, and... “I suppose I'll have to find her, take care of what I started." Giorno finishes.

“Shut up!” In his anger, Snake Oil’s grip tightens around your neck, squeezing at your already-suffocated veins. Giorno’s eyes flicker, taking note of the blackening nerves beneath your skin. “Don’t forget who’s in control here, Giovanna…!”

It’s all talk meant to rile him up, create an exploitable opening. Snake Oil refuses to fall into the trap, a ploy meant to keep him from enacting revenge. The words are heavy, a weight over his shoulders, but the Stand has you. While you should be dead by now from his ability, there are other ways to kill. Messier methods that he didn’t wish to stoop to, not until now. Giorno Giovanna, in all his sadistic glory, has dug a grave for his own beloved; an end truly befitting a monster such as himself.

“The pain I felt that day… you get to experience it now. You’ll pay for your sins in blood,” the Stand sneers, its expression full of countless years of pain. His gaze turns toward your unconscious body, his mind already concocting plans of a painful death. “Her blood.”

"You view me as a demon, but do you have the resolve to stoop to my level?" Giorno quips, his resolve quickly running thin. The air is tense, suffocating, but he can’t let his mask falter. It would mean the end to this. An end to you. An end to this paradise, this false Eden.

He’s not ready for that. Not yet. Not when you were finally...

“So sure of yourself, so confident…” Every word drips with malice, forced out from a dark place. Every syllable is a shot to Giorno’s heart, to his willpower, Snake Oil feels his goals shift, wanting nothing more than to prove Giorno wrong. That not everything can fall into place as he sees fit, that he isn’t as omnipresent as he believes himself to be. To see those calculating eyes widen in horror, knowing that he made a grave error.

It’s wishful thinking. Nothing in this world is that simple. If it were, Snake Oil’s family would still be by his side,and he wouldn’t be here, threatening an innocent girl with the displeasure of being involved with the worst scum society has to offer. He wouldn’t have had to stoop to the levels he did, likely disappointing those he cared for in the distant past. He wouldn’t have to stoop to Giovanna’s level and kill a blameless soul.

Monsters can only breed monsters.

Should the poison fail, so be it. It’s a messier death, a far less merciful one, but Snake Oil no longer has the capacity to care. How could he, after being taunted, when it was Giorno who was meant to be cowering away in anguish? The Stand’s grip around your limp body strengthens, intent on strangling out all signs of life. This is it, the final act of dishonor to end it all. Within a few seconds, you should be reduced to nothing but a corpse, a shadow of your former self, that sadistic light in Giovanna’s eyes long gone.

Time is at a standstill. It all happens in the blink of an eye.

At his torso, there’s a forceful shove that sends him sprawling backwards, air knocked from his lungs. Snake Oil lets out a shocked gasp, noticing the surprise on Giovanna’s own face; it’s clear he wasn’t expecting this turn of events, either. This attack… it couldn’t have been him. So that means you’re…

Before Snake Oil can dwell on his revelation, Gold Experience Requiem phases into the Stand’s field of vision, its speed unmatched and its strength beyond anything he’d prepared himself for. He knew death was coming should he mess up, should he let that monster creep under his skin. And yet, it still ends like this, a hole driven into his chest, just as it was meant to be. The pain is nothing new. The loss of everyone he’d ever cared about hurt far worse, but this… this is comforting. A release, a mercy. A promise that he will soon see his family, again.

The gentle wave that washes over him is short lived; the blow had sent him flying, his back pierced by a nearby rock. There’s pain, briefly, before it washes away all the same. Washes away into nothing. Death, he’s come to realize, feels like nothing, and yet everything all at once. Even death has a heart, it seems, a vague sense of clemency and calm that life lacks. All the memories of a time long past, all the regret and the pleasure that comes with living. Sweet memories, bitter memories… memories of his family, killed at the hands of a man who acts like a God dictating who should live and who should die. A God who slaughters innocents, under a false moral code. A God who locks away his own lover, as if her life means nothing; a God who looks at her the same way the stars admire the sun.

And yet, in Snake Oil’s last moments, that same God looks down at him the same way one would a fly before you kill it. The same insignificance, the same detachment. Like he meant never meant anything of value. And he realizes...

Death does not discriminate; life does.

Giorno gazes at the dying man with a look of vague disinterest, a sight he’s grown accustomed to. There’s no anger, no pity, no emotion. Those were stolen the moment your eyes snapped shut and your blood started rotting. Snake Oil will find no satisfaction in this squandered death, his life squelched out and amounting to nothing.

“Go to Hell. They’re waiting.”

The words fall from his lips so easily, so listlessly, without a shred of remorse. Snake Oil’s last moments are far from peaceful, those precious moments prior having lulled him into a false sense of security. They? Who are they? The Devil? His enemies? Or….

Realization hits. His blood has started to clot, and yet it boils with anger with indignant realization: he will go to Hell for his sins. He will go to Hell, and his family won’t be there. A sinner has no right of choice, only a punishment and its executioner. Even in these last moments, he’d hoped Giovanna would grant him the mercy of solace, the sympathy of a human rather than the malevolence of a monster. But that hope was misplaced from the start.

“Y...y-you’re a…. dem—”

But it’s too late. Snake Oil worked with diligence, but the devil works faster.

The storm has passed. The corpse, in its final moments, is gagging on thin air and it occurs to Giorno that its user is dying. Gagging on his own bile and vomit someplace far off, someplace Giorno can’t reach in his current state. If your life wasn’t in immediate danger, he’d hunt for the bastard himself, ensuring that his life has come to a permanent end. But you are more important. You will always be more important.

When he turns, he expects the worst. He expects to see your skin sallowed and your face sunken. He expects to see a lifeless husk, a goddess without the glow he’s come to admire. But that light is still there. You are still there, just as radiant as you were before your Eden was corrupted. The rise and fall of your chest is unmistakable, no matter how shallow your breathing may be. You’re alive. You’re alive, and Giorno’s legs nearly give out at the thought. Seeing you this close again, even as you cling to life, feels too good to be true. Giorno’s not sure who to thank, be it fate or having the devil’s own luck, but you’re still here. Still with him. This was too close to the chest. Pesky little details will be examined later, to ensure nothing like this ever has the chance to repeat. Security being tightened, loose ends removed… there’s an abundance of work to be done. For now, he allows himself to think only of you.

He’s by your side in an instant, checking your pulse and breathing. Gold Experience takes note of the movement beneath your wrist, pulsing as it should be, yet rapidly dimming. Any flesh wounds he can spot are immediately healed with a featherlight touch, fearing the unattended wounds may harm you further. He holds your limp body to his chest, gently trying to shake you back into consciousness. To bring you back to him.

“Let me see those gorgeous eyes of yours, amore.” His voice is so quiet and weak, it’s drowned out by the ocean waves. “I’ll be here as long as you need me. We need to finish our date, right? There’s still so much we have to do. I’ll clear my schedule, so just open your eyes and...”

He chokes, eyes wide with bitter tears. Your color is paling at an alarming pace, lips becoming a sickly blue. The flower he made earlier now looks out of place against your skin, its vibrant yellow petals so vivid in comparison — mocking you. Giorno chokes on his own spit; there’s no escaping it: you are dying, and he may as well be too. Giorno’s grip on you falters due to his own trembling, forcing him to steady you entirely against his chest. Every breath he takes is laboured, the weight of the world dragging him down. He’s seen this sight too many times before, and in his heart, he knows what this means. Without full knowledge of Snake Oil’s ability, there’s no way to treat whatever wounds were inflicted on you; he can only grasp at ideas from the previous encounter. It’d take hours to find and deliver the proper antivenom, and by then, it’d be too late. He knows this, and he hates himself for it. He hates his knowledge, his experience that allows him to come to this horrific conclusion. Giorno wishes he were a fool so he could delude himself into believing you’ll continue to live with him.

“You said you wanted a frog for a pet, didn’t you…? I’ll make as many as your heart desires, I swear it. So, please…” The words die at the back of his clenching throat. His entire life, he’s told himself that crying is useless. That it achieves nothing, a waste of time and effort. Action is always the best course, the only path that amounts to overcoming grief. It’s been the philosophy of his life, and yet; he kneels here on the verge of tears all the same. “Please, please, please…”

Another shake, more urgent than the last.

“I wanted—” he gulps back a telling lump forming in his throat, “I wanted to do so much with you. Cooking together is just the start, there’s so much more...” His voice is a low whine, like a child begging his parents for their time and affection. It’s a battle against time, a battle that he’s losing. “So much more…” His words are incomprehensible at this point, slipping from his mouth before he can gather himself. “I love you, [First]… I love you, I love you. Please, God…” The words are unschooled, said without thought — genuine. There has never been a moment in his life where he believed God to be real, not after everything he’s seen, not after everyone he’s lost. You can’t be another causality — he can't lose you too.

For the first time since he was a child, Giorno cries.

He cries for everything he put you through, for everything he took from you. Every wish you had, every dream he never got to hear. He stole them like his family stole his own. He promised to be better, a better man — someone who could change the world, someone with a good heart. Growing up, he wanted nothing more than to prove his parents wrong. His step-father, cynical and drunk and good-for-nothing. His mother, neglectful, always chasing a high, as if her own family was the lowest of the low. And his real father, his origins and identity unknown; a man who no doubt would not want to be part of Giorno’s life, his own son’s life. Giorno didn’t want to be like any of them, didn’t want to grow up to become a monster in the shape of a human. That sentiment feels hypocritical right now, having just lost his composure and temper. The remnants of a man’s own soul is not too far off, mangled and destroyed beyond recognition, its user dead on the shores of a monster who stole his family.

Giorno Giovanna is not a good man. His tears are more for you than anyone else; you truly did have the misfortune of meeting him. The Devil could drag him to Hell right now and his last thoughts would still be: “Let her go to Heaven.”

There’s a gradual change.

To the untrained eye, it might be too subtle to pick up on. Almost like a transparent sheen hovering just above your skin, a low hum of energy resonating alongside it. Giorno’s lip twitches as your complexion practically shines, eyes squinting to combat the light's growing strength. Too much is unfolding before him, a complex mystery where he remains in the dark. Snake Oil… he’s certain that Stand is no more. That’s when a chilling realization hits, like a bucket of ice being poured over him.

Gold Experience Requiem remains by his side, the Stand at the ready to attack as Giorno constructs a plan. Could Snake Oil have had a Stand that stays active upon death, like Notorious B.I.G? Giorno freezes at the thought, knowing full well the power a Stand like that would have. Hunting down its target for eternity. Did Snake Oil place an ability on you that triggered after death? In that case, precautions need to be taken to ensure you’re not placed under any further harm. There’s still a chance to save you; even Notorious B.I.G. had its flaws, no matter how terrifyingly powerful the Stand at first seemed.

But… something about it is off. The energy convulsing from you feels different, almost familiar. Warm and enveloping, unlike Snake Oil who conveyed nothing but bitterness and lost hope. What is this…?

The luxury of thinking is replaced by a raw desire to act, to salvage what little remains, not willing to patiently assess the situation any longer. Not after that’s what led to your possible death sentence in the first place. Divine light radiates around your limp body, and Giorno reaches out, prepared to fend off the perceived threat. His trembling hand inches closer to your iridescent skin, tingling at the sensation rolling from your person like a barrier, and then—

He’s flung back against the ground, as Snake Oil was before him. Gold Experience Requiem releases a fierce battle cry, lashing towards the presumed threat that envelopes you. Your person lets out a disgruntled noise at the attack, eyebrows twitching and body regaining itself. Cheeks flushing with color again, long eyelashes fluttering against your face. Rest is a coaxing concept, though something deep inside you commands that you wake.

Your eyes open.

Blood. Your vision is filled with a thick red, the beautiful blues and golds of the beach but a distant memory. The scene before you is a battlefield, its only remnants thick puddles of fresh blood. The liquid mars the beautiful beach sands, crimson revealing a story you weren’t meant to witness. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, dulling various areas that should be screaming out in pain. There’s too much to chew on, your thoughts in complete disarray. Your body feels prickly, vitality making a swift reappearance. And yet, there’s an unfamiliar pain at your chest, where Gold Experience Requiem’s hit landed. It’s dull, as if there is a layer of protection between your skin and the place the Stand’s fist had landed, but the very thought of Giorno hurting you, no matter the circumstance, has your mind reeling.

It doesn’t take long to piece together scattered pieces of the puzzle. In your delirium, you’d heard everything. It evokes disgust and shame, knowing you willingly went along with Giorno’s qualms. You had lost yourself, giving into him for frivolous comforts. He’s harmed too many, you’re not the only person to be on the receiving end of endless pain; you were just lucky enough to be on his good side. Morality and running a worldwide crime syndicate do not go hand and hand, no matter how many times Giorno tries to humanize himself to you. It’s all a facade.

This was all a mistake. You shouldn’t have come here, not so willingly, not with him.

“You’re a monster.”

A fact you’ve known for months now, and yet the words struggle past your teeth. A week ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated to say that and much worse to his face, relishing in the hurt that would momentarily cross his features. You had some semblance of power over him during those moments, using his twisted sense of love against him. You felt powerful, in control for once, having one of the most powerful men in the world grovel in wait for your affection. Before you, he wasn’t Don Giorno Giovanna, boss of Passione. He was just a boy, a psychopath, a man who had taken the world from you and expected your love in return.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last. He will always have the upper hand, some sort of control or advantage over you. You were a fool to think whatever you two possibly had — a relationship, if you could call it that — could work. Humans aren’t meant to be with monsters, and monsters aren’t meant to fall in love.

You realize that now.

“[First]...” For once, he’s speechless. Even saying that much is difficult. Gradually, he stands from the spot he’d been flung to, wearily making his way toward your crumpled body. His hand reaches out, shaking; were you slipping in and out of consciousness the entire time…? How much did you overhear? How much did you see?

“Don’t come closer!” You blink back tears, your vision focusing and unfocusing in the midst of it all. Your fingers, your hands, your… your body is glowing. The light is faint, weak, like the remnants of a flame before its wick gives out. “I-I… W-what happened? What happened to me?”

The puzzle pieces fall into place in his head. Giorno draws a sharp breath, his thoughts reeling to provide an explanation that won’t frighten you any further. In this state, you’re running on a high, coming down from the power your body has just awakened to. Having just defended yourself against a deadly venom, your body is running on pure adrenaline just to keep yourself upright. Your mind is reeling to rationalize what’s happening. Every nerve in your body felt like they were on fire, burning you up from the inside out. It’s as if you’re being overclocked, forced to work at full capacity, threatening to crash at any moment. Power rolls off your body in waves, as if it was meant to be there, as if it was there all along. And there’s an energy in your veins that feels wholly foreign, simultaneously yours and someone else’s at the same time. The ringing in your head is disorienting beyond compare; it feels as if your mind has been invaded, as if there is something else, someone else in your consciousness.

“What did you do?!” You don’t want to look at him, not in this moment, but the situation leaves you no choice. Your eyes flicker, briefly glowing with unadulterated rage when your gaze meets his. It couldn’t be possible, he couldn’t have… “You… you made me a monster just like you.”

“[First], I can explain everything, but you need to rest or—”

“No. God, I’m such a fool.” Your gut wrenches when you accidentally turn your gaze upon the battered corpse, its body mangled and face unrecognizable. Its heart hangs from its chest; you shudder to think what his human counterpart looks like. His death must have been painful, agonizingly slow — an end befitting a monster more so than a human. And he… he’s surrounded by a sea of blood — your husband is surrounded by a sea of blood.

“How could I forget? W-what you are…” Your eyes are fully glowing, pulsating with a holy energy when they meet his, but the sight is far from terrifying. You’re trembling. You’re crying. You’re pleading with him, just as you had when you first arrived on this island. You’re scared. “W-Will you do the same to me?”

His heart shatters.

Even now, as broken as you may feel, you cannot let yourself fall apart. If you break now, you won’t escape. He won’t let you escape. It will just be worse this time. You’ll always know the truth, the fact that countless lives have bloodied his hands — that he killed in cold blood then looked at you like your life is the only one worth keeping.

“You’ve already taken everything from me. You took my family from me. My friends. My life. My future. How am I any different from them? From any of the people you’ve hurt?” His expression wavers at your endless accusations, but he doesn’t defend himself and you take that as a confession to his sins. “That man was right. Do you remember all of them? All of your victims? All their faces? Their dreams and ambitions?” Air catches in your throat, realizing something the enemy had divulged; your family. They’d been… they’d been lied to, and that revelation does nothing to quell your anger.“What about their families? Are they still looking for them, too?” Your voice cracks, coinciding with your crumbling heart.

That’s right, your family looked for you. They searched for you; they mourned, they were betrayed. They think you’re dead, that you left without saying goodbye — without saying “I love you”. And you were deluded into thinking that everything was going so well, that you could forget, that you could start anew. You were happy, for once, for the first time in what felt like years. As close as you could get to happiness. Finally having set out on a path of healing, recovering pieces of yourself and putting them back together where no one else could. This illusion you allowed yourself to believe dissipates, the fog over your eyes lifting to reveal barren reality. A reality Giorno himself designed and held full control over, like a God, and you his sole obsession. If he is a God, he is cruel. To think otherwise is to be seduced by the enemy.

“You lied to me. You said I was safe here, that I could trust you.” Your voice breaks at that word — trust. What a pretty word, for such awful lies. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

Giorno gathers his senses, his head ringing with your hurtful words, his heart tired. He is losing you all over again; this is the only thing he can defend, as all your other accusations are more or less true. “[First], I had to. He was going to—”

“No. There’s never a good reason to murder, not when you have the power to stop them instead.” Your eyes flicker to Gold Experience Requiem, knowing full well of its powers. Giorno holds his tongue, realizing you’re right. He didn’t have to kill the enemy, not… not in front of you at least. Your eyes are not meant to see bloodshed or pain, and yet, he let his feelings get the better of him — and this is his price. “You didn’t have to, but you did. You killed him, Giorno. You killed him.” You can’t bring yourself to look at the corpse any longer. “That’s what monsters do.”

Each word stings more than the last.

He’s analyzing you. Mentally reciting and testing dozens of different explanations that might serve to placate you, even if it’s a temporary fix. Anything to get that stinging look of repulsion off your beautiful face, anything to make you look at him the way you did earlier. This is far more detrimental than the times you spoke down to him before now that a third party had been involved. The damage is already done, nature of himself that he tried to hide from you now out in the open.

There may be no coming back from this.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Giorno takes one step closer to you, stomach dropping when you flinch at the tentative action. All the progress has been undone, though he can’t mourn that now. He has to keep a straight face, lull you down this high filled with fear and adrenaline. Get under your skin again… make you trust him. “Come, let’s go inside. You must feel tired.”

“No. No, no, no, you liar. You’ve put me through a lot,” you correct with a weak glare, holding your hand to your chest. The same hand that had finally come to accept him just minutes prior. Recalling his touch makes you want to scrub the skin raw, knowing how bloodied they were. “Just… stay away from me, p-please.” Your demands sound more like pleads, the shock of your new abilities still paralyzing your system. Your wings encircle you still, their transparent silhouette coursing with a power you know not what to do with. Their presence alone makes you feel safe, a much needed barrier between you and him. It even withstood a direct attack from Giorno’s own Stand…

The possibility of escaping is becoming frighteningly real.

Giorno withdraws his outstretched hand, not wanting to scare you any further. It’s clear you don’t want to listen to him right now, and he’s not sure he wants to continue persuading you; the trembling of your body, the look on your face, like a frightened doe — you’re scared of him. The same girl that had looked at him with hesitant admiration, that had played with him, that had gotten to know him, that had kissed him — she’s gone, and some deep, hateful part of him knows she won’t ever come back. He’s walking on eggshells again and he knows it. In the terrified state that you’re in, there won’t be any deescalation. You’ve seen too much, know too much. It’s troublesome, too many factors at play to safely talk this out. There’s still the problem of your safety, and monitoring your body for any further repercussions from the earlier Stand attack. Giorno considers all of this, and with a silent sigh, makes a swift decision on how to best fix this. More roadblocks are set in the path of recovery, but he’s determined to see this through. That’s how he’s always been, and how he’ll always be until the day he draws his final breath. You are no exception; you never will be. Not when everything he does is wholly for you.

You realize something is amiss when he doesn’t respond any further to your pointed accusations. Normally, you’d see a flicker of hurt flit across his features — the only time he ever lets his guard down, even slightly, is with you. That’s not the case now, not after everything you’ve heard, everything you’ve seen. Lips parting, you’re about to inquire what it is he’s plotting, but by then it’s far too late. From the blood by your feet, roots start to form at the base, coming to life by Gold Experience Requiem’s ability. An unidentifiable substance leaks from them, sapping away at the remnants of your consciousness like parasites. It acts as a salve, soothing the snake bite on your neck and the skin covering your blackened veins, but its true purpose is far from that, meant to constrain you, to confine you. It’s a terrifying sight, being restrained by vines tainted in the blood of a dead man, being restrained by an entity that had made you gifts and brought you joy only minutes prior.

He’s using his ability on you.

Gold Experience Requiem, an entity that had excitedly made you a crown to place atop your head, looks almost distraught as he covers you from head to toe, confines you like his user has for as long as you can remember. They are one and the same, you realize; how foolish it was to believe this man was capable of anything but tragedy. You had been charmed by pretty lies fashioned to ensnare you for eternity. His words, his actions, everything about him was a lie — a forbidden fruit.

Standing becomes too arduous a task, your body crumpling to the ground in a pathetic show of weakness. The world around you grows blurry, your eyelids fighting to remain open only to lose and sink into the sweet call of sleep. Everything feels so far away. The call of the birds, the crashing of the ocean… even the sand that rubs against your skin doesn’t register. The only thing that does is the look on his face, so unlike the monstrous, dissociated expression he had when he took a man’s life before your eyes. Even that, all the pain, dread, betrayal, it’s all slipping away, to some place you cannot reach. Not anymore. The light that stems from your back flickers, the remnants of your holy wings shattering like fragments of glass. Giorno approaches you as the disorientation continues and your Stand deactivates, having protected you long enough. He wants nothing more than to take its place as your savior, your protector, his arms reaching out to catch and prevent your body from further harm. You’ve been through enough. You were right; he’s put you through enough.

As consciousness fades, you hear the Devil whisper one final promise.

“I’ll fix everything, just give me time.”

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grailfinders · 4 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #123: Gawain

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Buster Gorilla himself, Gawain! Big man, big sword, big fires. Let’s go.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LOZuxwVk7TU

Race and Background

Take a wild guess. Go on, I dare you.

Gawain’s a Variant Human, giving him +1 Strength and Charisma as well as proficiency with Investigation. His interlude was entirely about tracking down the people who stole his stuff, he’s got a knack for it. He also gets the Magic Initiate feat, giving you two cantrips and first level spell from the Sorcerer spell list and bumping your Charisma up by one. You get to cast Absorb Elements once per long rest for free, but we’re really here for Green-Flame Blade. Your Galatine is an AoE effect, so we can’t replicate it with normal smites like Lancelot. You also get the Light cantrip. Make your sword shiny, go nuts.

Like every other Knight of the Round you’re a Knight of the Order, giving you Persuasion and Religion proficiency because you have to know what the grail is if you want to hunt for it.

Ability Scores

Your nickname’s “Buster Gorilla”, your Strength is going to be pretty high. Aside from that you’re a pretty easy guy to like, so that’s Charisma covered. After that is Constitution, you’re pretty tough. When the sun’s out, at least. Your Wisdom certainly isn’t bad, it’s good enough to get you a sweet job as a guard in Camelot. Your Dexterity is a bit low, you’re kind of a giant brick that gets thrown around than a dancer. Finally, drop Intelligence. You’re called an airhead in your own biography, which is harsh, but fair.

Class Levels

1. Paladin 1: Continuing Gawain’s hotstreak of 0 surprises, this class! You get a Divine Sense to detect extraplanar creatures nearby. You can also Lay on Hands for a bit of healing

You get proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saves and two paladin skills. Athletics adds to your meathead aesthetic and Insight makes tracking down those material thieves a bit easier.

2. Paladin 2: You’ve got a great sword, so grab Great Weapon Fighting for a better average of damage by letting you re-roll 1s and 2s on your damage with two-handed weapons. It’s not huge for a regular sword, but you can burn spell slots for Divine Smite, adding a bunch of radiant damage dice to your attack. Speaking of which, you can cast and prepare Spells using your Charisma now.

Normally this is where we’d talk about what spells suit you best, but you’re pretty much the generic holy knight, so there isn’t really a stand out option until level three. Searing Smite‘s good if you want another way to use Galatine though.

3. Paladin 3: Swearing to be by Arthur’s side makes you an Oath of the Crown paladin, granting you immunity to disease thanks to your Divine Health, and two flavors of Channel Divinity, a feature you can use once per short rest. Champion Challenge spends a bonus action to force creatures near you who fail a wisdom save (dc 8 plus your proficiency plus your charisma modifer) to stay within 30′ of you. You could also Turn the Tide as a bonus action, healing bloodied creatures nearby. As a third option, you can Harness Divine Power, turning your channel divinity use into a spell slot.

As a final crown goody, you can keep Command and Compelled Duel on your prepared spell list for free to really swing the power of the law around.

4. Paladin 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up that Strength. Gotta get those buster cards busted.

5. Paladin 5: Fifth level paladins get an Extra Attack each action, and you also get second level spells like your freebies Warding Bond and Zone of Truth. Warding bond will be especially fun in a level or two. Give someone else resistance to damage, give yourself resistance to damage, tank for days, fun for the whole family.

6. Barbarian 1: First level barbarians can Rage, giving you extra attack damage, advantage on strength saves and checks, and physical damage resistance. The downside is you can’t cast or concentrate on spells while raging, and more importantly, you can’t wear heavy armor to use this. Also, rages only last for like a minute, not the three hours your Numeral of the Saint normally lasts. If it helps any, you also get Unarmored Defense, giving you a base AC of 10 plus your dexterity modifier plus your constitution modifier. It’s not a good AC, but it’s better than being naked normally would be.

7. Barbarian 2: Second level barbarians get a Reckless Attacks, giving you advantage on all your attacks for a turn in exchange for enemies having advantage when they hit you. Ideally you’ll have fried them all to a crisp before they get the chance, but it’s a risk you’ll have to keep in mind. You also get a Danger Sense, giving you advantage on dexterity saves for things you can see coming. That should help make up for the base stats a bit.

8. Barbarian 3: Now that you’re a Storm Herald, you can make a Storm Aura when you rage. Storm heralds get a bunch of options, but we’re here for the Desert aura, dealing a touch of fire damage to everything nearby for an area of effect flame burst. It’s only 2 damage per burst, but it’s a bonus action. Just smite and use this at the same time, it’ll be fine.

9. Barbarian 4: Odd numbers make me cry, so use this ASI to become more Resilient. This bumps your Constitution up by one, and you gain proficiency in constitution saves. This also increases your HP by 9, because constitution modifiers affect health retroactively.

10. Paladin 6: Going back to the paladin side of things for a bit, you get an Aura of Protection that adds your charisma modifier to all saves made by friendly creatures in its range.

11. Paladin 7: Seventh level Crown paladins can use their Divine Allegiance to take the damage any creature within five feet of you would take as a reaction. Just a note, this damage can’t be reduced. I’m not entirely sure how that plays out with rage, but it’s probably not good for you.

12. Paladin 8: To help out with the whole “surviving being the party tank” thing, use this ASI to bump up your Constitution for more HP.

13. Paladin 9: Our final paladin level nets you some third level spells for even bigger smites and fancier spells. You can cast Spirit Guardians for a holy trap, or Aura of Vitality to heal creatures as a bonus action. But of course, that’s not the real reason we went this far. We’re here to grab Daylight, for the flavor. Even better, daylight doesn’t use concentration, so using daylight to help you rage at night is mechanically supported!

14. Barbarian 5: The extra attack you get this level isn’t that useful, but you also get Fast Movement, giving you an extra 10 feet of speed. Yaaay.

Oh wait, your storm aura also gets a bit stronger! Three damage instead of two!

15. Barbarian 6: Sixth level storm heralds awaken their Storm Soul, giving you resistance to fire damage, immunity to extreme heat (very useful in the desert), and you can set items on fire as an action. Technically swords aren’t flammable, but I’d allow it for the intimidation factor.

16. Barbarian 7: Your Feral Instinct gives you advantage on initiative rolls, and you can ignore being surprised by raging. Maybe now you won’t always be going last.

17. Barbarian 8: We’ve held off long enough. Use your last ASI to maximize your Strength for extra swording power.

18. Barbarian 9: Ninth level barbarians get Brutal Criticals, giving you an additional die of damage when you hit with a 20. Every little bit helps!

19. Barbarian 10: Your savage flames mix with your protective nature, making you a Shielding Storm, giving creatures in your storm aura resistance to fire damage, which is nice since they’re going to be taking a lot of it.

20. Barbarian 11: Your capstone level allows you to go into a Relentless Rage. While raging, going to 0 hp won’t knock you out right away. If you make a DC 10 constitution save, you drop to 1 hp instead. Each time you roll that save between short rests, the DC goes up by 5. Looks like that scarf you got from the Green Knight is finally coming in handy!

(I know the green sash doesn’t actually protect you from damage, but I wasn’t going to be able to fit “only gets super powers between 9am and 12pm into the build, and you’re only famous for so many things. At least you’re not as bad off as Artemis.)

Pros:

Your fiery soul makes you great at taking on flame-based enemies. Most of your damage comes from radiant energy, but you have plenty of defense against fire attacks, making you a good counter for red dragons and elementals.

With almost 200 hp, rage defenses, healing, and the ability to die up to five times and not stay down, you can be pretty tough to keep down for long. That also makes your entire party a little bit tougher, thanks to your ability to eat their damage for them.

You can pump out pretty consistent damage thanks to your great sword, smites, and fighting style. You’re not as flashy as Lancelot, but you have a pretty good shot at outlasting him.

Cons:

While mixing Barbarian levels in does make you tougher, it also has plenty of drawbacks. Stripping away your heavy armor is a big one, as it makes you dependent on your dexterity for your armor class. There’s also the problem that you’d want to stick close to squishier party members to protect them, at the same time exposing them to you constantly exploding.

Like a lot of the knights of the round, you have issues when it comes to ranged attacks. Anything that wanders too close won’t be an issue, but you might have problems if you end up fighting Tristan. That’s ridiculous though. Knights of the Round? Fighting each other? Never gonna happen.

Compared to other knights, your AC is relatively low. Considering you’re already taking other people’s hits for them, being easy to hit yourself isn’t great. Also, your paladin abilities can probably eat through your rage, which seriously weakens your tanking abilities.

#Fate Grand Order #fgo #D&D 5e #Gawain #Fate and Phantasms #Barbarian #Paladin

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margherita-dascenzo · 4 years ago

Note

Rita, ¿cuál es la experiencia más aterradora que has vivido en la mansión Sakamaki? ¿Alguna vez has tenido miedo de Laito o de alguno de sus hermanos?

TW: PHOBIAS, NO CONSENT

[Spanish version under the cut/Versión en español abajo del corte]

Sugar-lolipop asks:

Rita: What is the scariest experience you have ever had in the Sakamaki mansion? Have you ever been afraid of Laito or one of his brothers?

Hello! Thank you very much for your question💕

TL:DR: Yes I had it

Yes... Unfortunately I have. But what terrified me the most and that I am terrified of being repeated is a situation with Laito.

Like humans, we can have certain disabilities. Since birth I have suffered from Nictalopia, which is the disability or reduction of vision in the dark, which is quite pathetic for a vampire heh... Before I could distinguish people in the dark, you know, see silhouettes and things like that. But after that incident where I spent a long time without ingesting blood, it got worse to the point where I currently can't see anything in the dark anymore, and I'm not going to lie to you… it scares me. It is not only about being in the dark and not knowing what is happening around me, it's also that my predatory instinct feels violated and a chaos of sensations and anxiety forms within me that I cannot control. My senses are always supposed to be alert as a natural hunter, but in the dark I am absolutely dependent on my hearing, so any sound makes me alert and aggressive. I go into a state of permanent paranoia, hitting the walls or furniture around me, and listening to every noise. And I don't calm down until I find a minimal source of light.

Well, I told Yui about this one night… a month, a month and a half after I arrived. I felt that I should tell her, I wanted her to feel safe by my side despite our difference in species and what they had made her live. But silly of me to trust, I completely forgot that this mansion is full of eyes and ears on all sides.

Like a week later, Laito took me to the dungeon of the house. 'Oh Margherita, and why do you listen to him and go with him?' I don't know, I thought maybe he wanted intimacy between the two of us… I don't know. And I wasn't so wrong, he started kissing me and I liked it, I'm not going to lie.

But… suddenly he said 'I have a surprise for you' and he put that damn smile… he approached one of the only two kerosene lanterns that lit us, and closed the stopcock, turning it off. Instinctively I ran to the other who was close to me, and hugged him to my chest as if my life depended on it. I remember that he was wearing one of my favorite blouses, a pastel blue, with ruffles that with the heat of the lamp, began to burn little by little.

I begged him to let me go, not to turn off the light, that he would forgive me for whatever I did. My thick tears were getting into my nose and mouth, I yelled at him to leave, tried to hit him, but he still placed his delicate pianist hand on my back and threw me to the ground, robbing me of the only hope I had left.

At first I thought he was going to leave me there and make fun, I just had to take a deep breath, remember where I was and try to get to the stairs. I got up very slowly but the chains, which the last time I saw them were behind my back, away from the two of us, began to jingle all over the place. I swear my voice was not coming out of my throat, my breathing began to shake, the only thing I could do was take great sighs to try to calm myself.

If it had all stayed there, I would have endured it, but of course Laito would not leave it unfinished. He began to push me from the front and back, to laugh with that psychopathic laugh that he has, making fun of me, teleporting around the room, talking to me about the corners of the dungeon, to my right, to my left. He approached my ear, whispered rudeness to me and disappeared, groped my butt, my breasts and kissed my neck at times while making sexual comments, to move away again and throw metal objects that made a huge noise when they fell, that I couldn't see by the darkness, did not know where they came from. I tried to hit him awkwardly, but he was faster and had an advantage over me. I tripped and fell to the ground, I approached the walls, scratched by nerves, threw slaps trying to get him away from me. I was confused and terrified, I couldn't believe that he was mistreating me in such a way. At one point he started pulling on my hair, very hard, I felt like I could yank everything out. But he only did it to take a big bite at my throat, piercing my skin. I felt tremendous pain, his fangs were almost touching my windpipe, I was afraid that he would rip it off, but he let go of me and I fell to the ground along with my drops of blood. My sensitive ears ached from all the noise, my eyes burned from crying, and my throat was in pieces, blood mixed with snot and tears that fell from my face. All of that would heal in a matter of minutes, but I could never forget what he did to me. Violating my privacy with Yui, using my fear and visual impairment against me...

I think with all the noise and my screaming we got attention, because Subaru and Reiji came down to see what was happening. Luckily for me they did it with flashlights. But the only thing they found was me, made a ball of tears and blood, with scratches on my arms from the despair I had, among lamps, chains and other things thrown on the ground, but without traces of the bite that had already healed. Until then Laito hasn't been with me alone again, which I appreciate.

Phobias are not something we can control, they are irrational. There are few times that I feared for my life, or of what truly I was scared. This is one of those, and I never want it to be repeated in the eternity that remains.

TL:DR: Sí, la tuve

Hola! Muchas gracias por tu pregunta💕

TW: FOBIAS, NO CONSENTIMIENTO

Sí… Lamentablemente las he tenido. Pero lo que más me aterró y que tengo pavor de que se repita es una situación con Laito.

Al igual que los humanos, podemos tener ciertas discapacidades. Desde nacimiento padezco de Nictalopía, que es la incapacidad o reducción de la visión en la oscuridad, lo cual es bastante patético para un vampiro heh… Antes podía distinguir a las personas en la oscuridad, ya sabes, ver siluetas y cosas así. Pero después de *ese* incidente donde estuve mucho tiempo sin ingerir sangre, empeoró al punto donde actualmente ya no puedo ver nada en la oscuridad, y no voy a mentirte… me da miedo. No solo se trata de estar en la oscuridad y no saber que pasa a mi alrededor, si no que mi instinto depredador se siente vulnerado y se forma dentro mío un caos de sensaciones y ansiedad que no puedo controlar. Se supone que mis sentidos siempre deben estar alerta como cazadora narural, pero en la oscuridad dependo absolutamente de mi audición, así que cualquier sonido me pone alerta y agresiva. Entro en un estado de paranoia permanente, golpeándome con las paredes o muebles a mi alrededor, y estando atenta a cada ruido. Y no me calmo hasta que encuentro una mínima fuente de luz.

Bien, esto se lo conté a Yui una noche… al mes, mes y medio de mi llegada. Sentí que debía contárselo, quería que se sintiera segura a mi lado a pesar de nuestra diferencia de especies y de lo que le habían hecho vivir. Pero tonta de mi de confiar, se me me olvidó por completo que esta mansión, está llena de ojos y oídos por todos lados.

Cómo una semana después, Laito me llevó al calabozo de la casa. 'Oh Margherita, y para que le haces caso y vas detrás de él?' No sé, creí que quizás quería intimidad entre nosotros dos… no lo sé. Y tan equivocada no estaba, me comenzó a besar y me gustó, no voy a mentir.

Pero… de repente él dijo 'Te tengo una sorpresa' y puso esa maldita sonrisa… Se acercó a uno de los únicos dos faroles de keroseno que nos iluminaban, y cerró la llave de paso, apagándolo. Instintivamente corrí hacia el otro que estaba cerca mío, y lo abrace a mi pecho como si mi vida dependiera de ello. Recuerdo que llevaba una de mis blusas favoritas, una celeste pastel, con volados que con el calor de la lámpara comenzó a quemarse poco a poco.

Le rogué que me dejara ir, que no apagara la luz, que me perdonará por lo que sea que haya hecho, pero que no lo hiciera. Mis lágrimas espesas se metían en mi nariz y boca, le grite para que se fuera, trate de golpearlo, pero aún así colocó su delicada mano de pianista en mi espalda y me aventó al suelo, robándome la única esperanza que me quedaba.

Al principio creí que iba a dejarme ahí y burlarse, solo tenía respirar hondo, recordar dónde estaba y tratar de llegar a las escaleras. Me levanté muy despacio pero las cadenas, que la última vez que pude verlas estaban a mis espaldas, lejos de nosotros dos, comenzaron a tintinear por todo el lugar. Juro que mi voz no salía de mi garganta, mi respiración comenzó a agitarse, lo único que podía hacer era dar grandes suspiros para intentar tranquilizarme.

Si hubiera todo quedado ahí, lo habría soportado, pero claro que Laito no lo dejaría sin terminar. Empezó a empujarme de frente y de espaldas, a reír con esa risa psicópata que tiene, burlándose de mí, se teletransportaba por toda la sala, hablándome de las esquinas del calabozo, a mi derecha, a mi izquierda. Se acercaba a mi oído, me susurraba groserías y desaparecía, manoseaba mi trasero, mis pechos y besaba mi cuello por momentos mientras hacía comentarios sexuales, para volver a alejarse y arrojar objetos metálicos que hacían un estruendo enorme al caer, que no podía ver por la oscuridad, no sabía de dónde venían. Traté de golpearlo torpemente, pero él era más rápido y tenía ventaja sobre mí. Tropecé y caí al suelo, me acerque a las paredes, arañadas por los nervios, lanzaba manotazos tratando de que se alejara de mí. Estaba confundida y aterrada, no podía creer que me estuviera maltratando de tal forma. En un punto comenzó a jalar de mi cabello, muy fuerte, sentí que podía arrancar todo de un tirón. Pero solo lo hizo para dar un gran mordisco en mi garganta, perforando mi piel. Sentí un dolor tremendo, sus colmillos casi tocaban mi tráquea, tenía miedo de que diera un tirón y me la arrancara, pero me soltó y caí al suelo junto con mis gotas de sangre. Mis oídos sensibles me dolían por todo el ruido, mis ojos ardían por tanto llorar, y mi garganta estaba hecha pedazos, la sangre se mezclaba con los mocos y lágrimas que caían de mi cara. Todo eso sanaría en cuestión de minutos, pero jamás podría olvidar lo que me hizo. Violar mi privacidad con Yui, usar mi miedo y disminución visual en mi contra…

Creo que con todo el ruido y mis gritos llamamos la atención, porque Subaru y Reiji bajaron a ver qué sucedía. Para mí suerte lo hicieron con unas linternas. Pero lo único que encontraron fue a mi, hecha una bola de lágrimas y sangre, con rasguños en mis brazos por la desesperación que tenía, entre lámparas, cadenas y demas cosas tiradas por el suelo, pero sin rastros de la mordida que ya había sanado. Hasta entonces Laito no ha estado conmigo a solas de nuevo, lo cual agradezco.

Las fobias no son algo que podamos controlar, son irracionales. Son pocas las veces que temí por mi vida, o de qué verdaderamente estuve asustada. Esta es una de esas, y no quiero que jamás se repita en la eternidad que me resta.

#my ocs #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers oc #phobia #ask blog #send me asks #answered ask #español

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thecheesbyrecipebook · 4 years ago

Text

so @girouxes made me begin to post all my cheesby aus.. so here we go. i’ll guess i’ll start off with one of my longest ones: keep in mind this is unedited and written very casually, and a lot of it is not thought through. warning for typos and weird sentance structures. tw for unhealthy relationships, unhappy-ish ending, it’s a soulbond au thing. also, like, by nature of this blog: mentions of 18+ stuff may happen, think ao3 mature rating.

bonds are fickle, they're unpredictable and you're never quite sure if you're able to bond with someone. it is important to note that bonds are not soulmates and bonds are not predestined: they're a part of human biology, where two or more being have a connection that extends beyond themselves, they form a bond with someone else. this bond strengthens their capabilities, their emotional understanding of each other and has developed as a survival tool for humanity, and our complex relationships.

in modern pop-culture, bonds have become the 'end goal' when it comes to romance, best friends, or even enemies. bonds have become like most things in our world, commercialized and exaggerated by media, they've changed from a survival instinct, to one additional layer of complexity within our society and something to sell and market.

the thing with bonds is that if you bond with someone: it can go away, and it can come back. bonds can be strong, they can can be weak. however, they cannot be one-sided: luckily, a bond requires consent (that is not to say forced bonds doesn't happen, they do, and it's.. yeah. bad)

anyways, within hockey: bonds are fucked up. like, actually fucked up. you remember how i mentioned forced bonds? yeah. obviously, they don't say they're 'forced' but when two teammates can sense each other,, yeah, that's an advantage. there's been attempts to forbid it, but modern hockey relies upon what is known as 'hockey bonds' which are superficial, often 'forced' bonds between teammates (most often, a line or d-man pairs) to help them play better. within hockey, bonds with other players that aren't for playing or with people on other teams.. well, it's highly frowned upon and a lot of time, not allowed.

like. see bonds as a sort of more.. mental connection of friendship and understanding. they can be strong and they can be weak. and this kind of tool in human biology where you can sense / understand others would obvs be abused in many ways, esp in hockey.

so like, a hockey bond is essentially a very superficial bond done between two or more players who has a ’good’ connection but they’re always temporary bonds, and don’t go ’deeper’. as said, bonds have to be consensual in that they need to be accepted by both parts... but when your contract depends upon it, yeah. also like, closer friendship bonds or godforbid romantic bonds between players is taboo, both because of the nhl being Itself as well as the drama that would happen with deperr bonds that can’t be broken with trades and no-trade clauses with bonds is a whole dramatic thing

this is just a vague idea and worldbuilding but it’s more deep nd like complex? anyways so

sidney crosby doesn’t like bonds. or rather, he doesn’t like hockey bonds. it’s the nature, when you’re a kid and you click with someone: they try to make you bond. it worked, a couple of times, but it’s weird being him, being sidney crosby, and seeing that from someone else’s head, where he’s not himself, but he’s the legend, and the unintentional jealousy and fear and pressure of being bonded to him is there. bonding makes them better players, sure, but also sid feels like he’s lost himself, where his thoughts aren’t his own and he’s less and less of sid and more sidney crosby the chosen one, and he’s been dealing with this since he was 16.

people don’t really know what makes it easier for some to bond, and harder for others, but as young, sid’s always gotten it easy to bond: mayhaps that’s been open to it, that it’s hockey, and mayhaps it’s that there’s something about sid being ’sid the kid’ that makes the other players want to bond with him, wants part of his hockey, want part of his legacy, which makes it easy.

that’s the thing with hockey bonds: your hockey becomes entwined with someone else, you aren’t just ’you’ and when you’re the next golden kid of hockey, it’s.. well, it feels like they’re leeches, it feels like they want his glory, his abilities, and a young sid doesn’t like his hockey not being his. he never said he was unselfish. luckily, hockey bonds don't last.

especially not for sid. during his years in rimouski, there’s a lot of bonds: but none that stick.

thank god for that. he doesn’t like being bonded: he doesn’t like having to share with someone else, and he doesn’t like being sidney crosby, the hockey legend in his own head. he just wants to be himself. sidney crosby is strong enough to handle it on his own.

the only bond that sticks is his familial bond with taylor. at this young age, other kinds of bonds haven’t really stuck: not when you’re a playmaker, and you’re constantly pressured to bond with your team.

so, sidney crosby doesn’t like bonds: especially hockey bonds.

then he’s drafted. the thing about being a center, the thing about being a captain (or on his path to become one), about being the centerpiece of your team is that you’re expected to well, bond with the core of your teammates. you are supposed to understand them. supposed to guide them, you’re supposed to be the hivemind: that’s the role most captains play.

sid doesn’t. sid realizes after his first years with the penguins: when he’s been encouraged to bond, and it hasn’t worked, and he hasn’t wanted to, and they win the cup: that well, he’s sidney crosby, he’s got the power to do his thing, to be one of the best players without adhering to the nhl’s system of bonding. in this universe, sidney crosby is not the quiet play-along with the rules guys: he’s out there, and he’s causing a minor revolution, but he’s sidney crosby and he won’t be making a big deal out of it, so it’s fine.

sidney crosby can do whatever the fuck he wants: as long as he plays good hockey. and he does.

there is a plotline here with sid wanting to bond with a couple of his teammates (mainly geno, maybe flower) but not letting himself to do so because bonding has always been a ‘must’, it’s always been something he doesn’t want, it’s always been the part of hockey he doesn’t want to participate, and he knows bonding with any teammate would result in his careful system toppling down upon himself, so he can’t.

there’s another plotline here with bonds being solely for hockey: and other bonds (outside of familial bonds, and romantic bonds with a perfect girl) being frowned down upon, or not really talked about, because when bonds become a part of the sport, your career, when that’s their role, it affects the nature of them.

and yes, this is a big issue within hockey and it is talked about, and awareness is trying to be spread about it, and some players fight back, like, it’s a social issue and a further flaw of the sport and harm of the culture. anyways.

(i know there’s like, like, not right stuff with claude’s history in here, rn i’m too lazy to look it up, but, you should get the gist)

on the other side, we’ve got claude giroux. he never bonded as young: it was never his role, and he never had the prominence for him. there’s always been someone who fit better with someone else, and while claude’s been an important player when he was young, he’s always had his own, independent journey. claude’s not grown up with hockey bonds in the same way a lot of the stars are, where they are grown up to find the perfect partner or the perfect line, and to be the center of the system: claude’s a young playmaker grown up with the rare case of bonds not being shoved down his throat.

this also means claude’s grown up with platonic bonds, friendship bonds: bonds that aren’t related to hockey, bonds that are allowed to be just that, to flourish and grow.

then, he’s drafted by the flyers. the flyers is a messy, violent team: not that claude minds, at all. but it’s also the nhl. and bonds matter. hockey bonds matter a heck lot. there’s been bad blood in the past with bonds within philadelphia, everyone knows this, and everyone knows that there’s always been contention and heat within philly and bonds between the players. this is a sudden culture shift for one claude giroux, but it’s also a claude giroux who forms bonds with someone like danny briere, and who, well, claude’s not a kid who is used with hockey bonds.

hockey bonds are different than normal bonds, that’s just how it is.

there’s not like, a lot of detail thought out here but know this: know that claude’s new, and that flyers have a complicated past with how they bond, and how claude does things his own ways, and forms bonds, and how the flyers begin to find each other during 2007 - 2012, and how claude’s way of bonding spreads through the team, and how it becomes more familial, and reliable, but how it’s.. well. then briere get traded, and that’s the thing with hockey bonds, they need to be broken.

this hurts. this hurts so fucking much. claude doesn’t want to break his bond with danny (and some strange familial bond with his sons, either) but, he has to. that’s the rules. you can’t have bonded players on different teams, that’d destroy the game, make it unfair. and so. for the first time, claude’s gotta break a bond that he’s forged so closely, that hasn’t just become a hockey bond, it has become a bond of strong friendship, of trust, and it’s broken just like that.

there’s probably been other smaller bonds broken and not broken (and the whole thing with sidney crosby but we’re getting into that later) but it’s different. hockey bonds are different. claude quickly learned, for him, they’re something casual: they’re a quick connection you get with someone on the ice, it’s a connection you have with your teammates, but it’s not a connection that goes beyond that. at this moment, claude’s not experienced the true harm of hockey bonds until now: when he realizes that it means the connection, that the part of himself, must be broken.

he hates this. he hates this so fucking much. he hates it even more when people gets traded, when things change, when things start to go downhill, and claude’s starting to realize the way he bonds and the way he is doesn’t work in hockey, it’s not a part of the game: the game doesn’t want this.

it hurts.

anyways, by now i’m sure you’re curious about what’s been going on between sidney and g, and well, it’s complicated. i mentioned it before, but bonds aren’t just friendly. they can be happen between rivals: they can happen with someone you don’t like, and yet, have a connection with. of course, with hockey: rivalry bonds are somewhat common. it would be strange, otherwise, since hockey is.. well, hockey.

rivalry bonds don’t fall under the same category as normal hockey bonds: hockey bonds are meant to help, guide, and assist. it’s believed that rivalry bonds were developed as a need to understand your enemy, to help defeat them: and the thing with rivalry bonds is that they are balanced. this means within hockey, a team-bond of two people on opposite teams is meant to aid and assist in helping each other: a rivalry bond is the opposite of that.

so, of course, rivalry bonds have become an entertainment factor of the nhl, of hockey: rivalry bonds can be temporary, which has happened at times during the olympics between former teammates (this is often so funny, and is definitely one of the best parts of international tournaments), or they can last long. oh, there’s definitely been beef when two people with enemy bonds have gotten traded onto the same team. it can be very funny, but it can also be quite dramatic, but of course, the nhl tries to hide this.

bonds makes trades complicated: that is why permanent bonds aren’t allowed between teammates, or other hockey players. it has happened, and has most definitely caused a lot of internal drama within the nhl.

anyways, so. it’s like, 2008 or 2009 and sidney crosby and claude giroux are facing each other upon the ice. obviously not for the first time. but there’s been something brewing, something of obvious rivalry, and claude can feel the possibility of a rivalry bond between him and sid: and he can sense how explosive their hockey would be against each other, he can taste it upon his tongue, and he can feel it happening but- sid doesn’t want to. sid rejects it. enemy bonds are usually less voluanteery than other bonds, but, sid shuts claude out so quickly. they fight. sort of. basically, there’s a heated moment on the ice and after the ice, where claude questions this, because he enjoys the rivalry, he enjoys the thrill, he knows the potential of a rivalry bond. sid doesn’t want that. they talk outside the game, or well, talk, argue and bicker: and claude learns one thing he’ll never forget: sid doesn’t do bonds.

anyways, most of their early ‘relationship’ is this.. weird tension between them because they both know there’s a rivalry bond there. it could be formed so easily. it has the potential, it could grow, become something that would fuel both of theirs hockey, become a part of them. claude can sense it. sid can sense it. but. sid doesn’t want it, he really doesn’t want it, and bonds can never be one-sided.

the media speculates about this, of course: and sid hates it so fuckin’ much. he wants to play, and he enjoys playing against the flyers, and he enjoys being a brat against claude, but he doesn’t want a bond. he doesn’t do them. he doesn’t need it. his hockey can do good without it. claude gets so fuckin frustrated with sid, not with the fact that he won’t let their bond form, because, he understands that, but with what a brat and fuckin’ idiot sid is.

their relationship is heated, it is strange, it is weird. it is almost like a bond, except they’re not bonded, and instead, there’s some kind of potential that is there between all of their encounters and it affects their interactions, and they don’t quite know where they have each other.

then we get to the playoff series against the pens, in 2012. a rivalry bond forms between them. and claude is so fucking shocked, that sid let this happen, that he can feel the venom, that he can feel the hate, the frustration, and sid can feel it back, but it’s weird, it’s full, it’s got so much fuckin inside it.

their series becomes explosive. their hockey becomes explosive. claude’s got a taste what he’s been feeling for the past years, brewing, and it’s- it’s fucking glorious.

sid feels this too. he hasn’t bonded in so fucking long, and of course, it’s the rivlarly bond with claude, a bond that fuels him, that makes him play like fire- but he’s also scared. he doesn’t want his hockey to depend upon someone else. not now.

after the series is done, it fades away. claude and sid meet, after the flyers get kicked out of the playoffs, they talk, they fight. it’s heated, it’s rough. words bleed out, insults bleed out, their weird fickle relationship and with their strange, fickle, unstable bond between them. “what is this, sid” claude tells him, because, it’s not quite like a bond either of them has felt before. it’s a rivalry bond, but they both can feel so much brewing under the surface.

sid kisses him, heated, violently, and they both can feel the bond spark between them, come alive, rush through them, entwine itself around them, something about how love and hate is close, how it fuels them, but then claude pushes sid away and the bond breaks. it’s quiet.

“not like this.”

sid walks away.

so, we’ve got the next years. anyways. so, claude becomes captain after the lock-out, and claude’s way with bonds and how he thinks and feels about them and all this and his unique view on hockey bonds forms the flyers core going forwards, everyone tightly bonded (beyond what is allowed, but no one needs to know) and every time he meets sidney crosby, their bond flickers. this time it’s claude who doesn’t want it.

you see, sidney realizes a few things during the next years: this is what happens when you grow up. some of these things are realized thanks to claude himself, feeling his bond, feeling how bonds can be, but also, letting himself bond (platonically, not-hockey, in secret with his teammates) and letting himself learn and know what a bond can be and meeting new people and understanding how harmful the nature of hockey bonds is, with a fascination to learn how actual bonds outside of the harmful world of hockey work. thanks to claude giroux, and the world around him.

anyways, claude and sid are quite weird during this time: they both don’t really know what’s going on between them, what their bond is, what bonds are. and during this time, it is sid who wants it, it is him who wants to let claude in but claude- yeah- he doesn’t want to deal with that.

then the world’s happen. short summary of the world’s: they form a bond, but it’s merely a superficial hockey bond and it feels cold and empty and sid hates it, and claude does too, but they can’t let themselves closer, claude can’t let it open up, and they have this weird sort of understanding of each other, pretending it’s way less than it is and of course media catches onto this, and they both become teased over it, and it is- like- yeah, not really fun.

it breaks shortly after the worlds.

what happens next is that the pens win the cup. claude doesn’t know how to feel about this. sid seems happy. he seems joyous.

the next years are weird. they bond sometimes, and then it breaks, because one of them doesn’t want it. it’s like, this weird friends with benefits relationship where their bond bounces back and forth between lust / love / rivalries / friends and,, sometimes they open it, sometimes they close it, but in the end: one of them always don’t want this.

like, i don’t have the rest of plot of this worked out, but it’s essentially exploring the idea of bonds and hockey bonds in the world and how claude and sid are always entwined, and bonded, but how it changes and develops, and how their relationship is always this ‘well, you missed out’ thing and it never quite aligns, and how the harmful world of hockey shapes this, and how they have different understandings of bonds, and how this shapes their relationship, and how it never quite pans out, and how the hockey world developes around this, and how they both bond in different ways, and learn to understand it, and maybe they find each other sometime, maybe they don’t, but it’s exploring the fucked idea of having something as important as bonds tied to hockey and how it fucks with people and how in the end, it ruins claude and sid and their potential together because bonds are so personal and so sensitive and how they work in hockey is so toxic.

#sid #klod #grilled cheesby #cheesby au #au #soulbond au #rpf #hockey rpf

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dreamyaqua · 4 years ago

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Hi, hope you're doing fine. Any thoughts on sun conjunct ( almost combust..!?) pluto and mercury in 11thH? Thank you♥️

Hi hi~ I'm doing okay, I hope you're doing good, too!♥️ I tried myself on these two placements, I hope it makes sense!🥺

Sun conjunct Pluto

With the Sun being in conjunction with Pluto, this is an area where light meets darkness. The Sun, being our ego, our self, our sense of identity, blends together with the powerful and transformative force of Pluto. Someone with this placement is likely to be an intense person, maybe even intimidating and/or mysterious. They wield power and have an influence over the people around them even if they don't want to, it's simply in their nature. They're true Plutonian people as the planet can feel so instinctive that it can be hard to identify with it and thus, it becoming a "blind spot" (Pluto is amazing at disguising itself).

There is likely to be a constant need for transformation and they may feel like they don't have a set sense of identity - the person they were yesterday is different from who they are today and the person they will be tomorrow will be different from their current identity, and so forth. Self-knowledge is important to these natives and they tend to transform their personality through constant self-analysis, they are driven to uncover the truth of who they really are. The Pluto energy in them recognizes that our(humans') identities aren't static but that life comes with constant/gradual transformation and transcendence.

This huge amount of intensity, depth, and power may feel overwhelming at times. With Pluto's darker themes, there can be a tendency to search for the negatives; when a situation seems "too good to be true" these natives may become suspicious and feel like there's a hidden, darker truth that they have yet to uncover. These suspicions can lead to obsession, they feel like there's a deeper and darker meaning to everything as they tend to always read between the lines, which can also be good, as it makes them excellent at noticing what isn't being said. They just need to be careful as to not lose themselves in these obsessive and compulsive tendencies towards the self and other people, as it can lead to self-destruction. The constant thoughts of there being a deeper and darker truth to everything may stem from a fear of being taken advantage of or being lied to, so these natives feel the need to get to the bottom of everything to make sure this isn't the case - but that can be quite destructive and harmful to the self.

But on the positive side, this placement makes a native very skilled at reading people (and reading between the lines, as mentioned above), they seem to always be a step ahead of others and therefore make effective leaders (there might also be a hidden desire for rulership). These natives also despise superficiality and value anything that's deep and meaningful.

It's important that they uncover and identify Pluto's energy in their life and channel its transformative power towards positive pursuits as the planet's power can definitely be of great help as well!

Another thing to look at is the sign and house the Sun & Pluto are in, as the themes of said sign and house can be a focal point in one's life/something the native uses to identify with very strongly and they could potentially become obsessed with said sign's/house's themes, so that's something to look out for! Everywhere Pluto is or touches will create a tendency for indulgence, so being aware of that is important.

It may come across as more of a dark placement and granted, Pluto connections will always carry some darkness with them but I believe that being aware of what this placement can do is a great start to recognizing potentially harmful patterns and to use Pluto's power to one's benefit~

Mercury in 11th

When Mercury, the planet of communication, falls into the 11th House of friendships, hopes and wishes, there's a lot of networking going on. Natives with this placement tend to be very outgoing, maybe even extroverted, they enjoy talking to their peers about a variety of intellectual topics and are also interested in hearing their input! They are very sociable in general, communication comes easily to them and they are likely to have a wide circle of friends. Being with friends can be very stimulating but on the other hand, they may still stand out as they do not follow the crowd. With Aquarius ruling the 11th House, these natives may be quite original thinkers and they are likely to be concerned with what's going on in the world around them, they may enjoy talking about humanitarian issues and they are concerned with the greater good for the world. They really want to help other people and make important information accessible for as many people as possible.

Their strength is that they're charming and convincing, they're able to communicate their ideas in easy and understandable ways and they're able to communicate to people from literally all walks of life. They may frequently engage in social activities and enjoy being around intelligent people.

With the focus being put on social groups and relationships with the people around them, it's important though, that they learn not to be affected by other people's opinions of themselves, as they usually care a lot about them.

On a more negative side, they might enjoy to engage in gossiping and may also fake their own emotions as it can be hard for them to truly open up to other people (yes, they may have many friends - but how close are these friendships really?) as they are rational beings and aware of the fact that not everyone has their best interest at heart.

They can easily get sidetracked and feel a little lost in their own heads as they have so many ideas that it can be hard to organize them all. However, they're good at multitasking and also don't stress when put to work under pressure or faced with challenges. They strive to improve their skills and better themselves in order to eventually achieve their goals.

#this got so long omg #i hope i made sense skxjsjd #i still feel insecure but i'm so happy you sent this ask #🥺🥺🥺#sun conjunct pluto #sun #pluto #mercury #mercury in 11th #11th house #astro asks #astrology asks #astrology #anonymous

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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You all want to hear a shocking secret? I’m still writing these 😅

Drabble #3 for @valasania-the-pale!

Reckless Conversation

Pairing: Future Geralt/Dandelion with pining Dandelion and references to other ships

Word Count: 3,581

How'd it go? Geralt would ask, head bent over his blade like he wasn't hanging on Ciri's every word.

I think I broke Dandelion's nose should produce a fun reaction.

That was an enjoyment only future Ciri had access to though. Right now, present Ciri had to deal with the damn thing.

"It's not that bad," she insisted, even as blood soaked through the rag she'd given him. She winced as Dandelion all but stuffed the material up his nostrils in an effort to stop the flow. Ciri was pretty sure she'd last used that to mop up some drowner slime... best not mention it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was breathing through his nose right now. "It's fine. You're fine."

"I'd like to be the judge of that!" came the muffled reply. Dandelion staggered to a nearby water trough, blinking down at his own reflection. When he straightened his face was curiously blank. "You've ruined me."

"Oh please."

"I'm done. Through. My career will never recover. I hope it was worth it, little miss witcher, I really do."

"Okay, first of all you're fine. Second, I doubt a bruised nose will hinder your poetry��"

"I am speaking of my romantic career, dear, keep up!"

Ciri rolled her eyes to the heavens, half hoping they'd open up and drown her. Dandelion had dropped plaintively to his knees, staring into the water and bemoaning his bloodstained shirt. She bit down on the urge to point out the new mud on his trousers.

"Maybe," she said, rocking back on her heels, "you shouldn't go grabbing little miss witchers from the depths of alleyways. They have a tendency to hit first and ask questions later."

The glare didn't surprise her. The words though...

"Well, I was happy to see you."

Oh.

Shaking her head, Ciri pulled Dandelion to his feet and straight into a hug. "And I'm happy to see you too. Drama and all."

The sounds emanating from her shoulder were curiously wet, though whether that was due to injury or emotion she couldn't say. "Friends pay for ruined clothes, you know."

"Not when one friend has a monopoly on Novigrad's entertainment district and the other barely has two coins to her name. Plus, I'm pretty sure one of them is counterfeit. I owe someone else a broken nose. Sorry you got it instead."

With a laugh Dandelion pulled away. "In truth I'm happy to receive anything you might give me, Ciri. Though I'd really prefer a strong drink."

"I think we can manage that."

After checking that his nose truly wasn't broken — just blooming a display of color that would put many painters to shame — Dandelion took Ciri's hand and led her into the city. He wasn't a native, but he might as well have been given the number of years he'd spent here, moving between high society circles and dangerous slums. Ciri knew there were few who could show her Novigrad like Dandelion and after months on the Path she was more than happy to let someone else call the shots for a while.

She shouldn't have been surprised when, just minutes later, she was steered into a small alcove, the entrance so dark even she might have missed it passing by. An elf stood off to the side of a door, the bulk of his arms contrasting the ornamentally styled tunic. He inclined his head towards Dandelion as they slipped inside.

"Milireth," he whispered, though the sudden onslaught of chatter made that unnecessary. "Great chap. Bit taciturn for my taste, but then I have plenty of stirring conversation for the two of us. He had some trouble finding employment a while back — you know how inhumane those Eternal Fire folks are and yes, I use that term deliberately — so I called in a favor with Julia and got him a spot here. Perfect fit. Now Milireth, in turn, lets me in without Julia being any wiser." He dropped her a wink.

"Dandelion. Are we going to get kicked out halfway through our drinks?"

"Absolutely not. Probably not. Provided we keep to the back. Or provided Julia has gotten over her most recent grudge. Either way I'd consider those excellent odds. Come on!"

He led her through the establishment with impressive skill, weaving among the closely packed tables, dodging feet and legs. As Ciri's eyes adjusted to the low light she realized why Milireth was a good fit for this place. While Novigrad tended to divide its species rather strictly by districts and boroughs, here there was a diverse mix Ciri had only ever seen among her own friends and family. Dwarves, humans, elves, and, she suspected, a doppler or two made up the majority of the crowd, largely keeping to their own tables but still intermingling to an almost unheard of degree. They were literally sharing elbow room, leaning into one another's space with a confidence that said here, at least, everyone was welcome. A figure all the way in the back was shrouded in their cloak, but claw-like hands brought a mug to their lips. A woman with slit eyes smiled as they passed. Another was giving off pheromones — if the men draped in her lap were any indication. Monsters of all manner took refuge in shadows, fortifying themselves with good food, better drink, and even, if any would admit it, the company.

Dandelion gently pushed Ciri into an empty seat. Her legs felt loose as a water hag's stew.

"What — ?" she started to say before realizing that she knew precisely what this place was. Ciri shook her head. No one liked stupid questions. "How does this place exist?"

Dandelion waved a hand. "Well, the philosopher might spout something about life finding a way, no matter what might stand against it. The Captain of our guard would say that the scum of the city are unerringly skilled at meeting in clandestine places. I suppose that both are right in their own way. Me? I might wax poetic about the stunningly skillful enchantments that keep this place from prying eyes."

Ciri's gaze dropped instinctively to the Cat medallion against her chest. It lay quiet as a grave. Well, a grave post-witcher contract.

"Very sophisticated enchantments," Dandelion said.

"I'll say. I'm surprised you and the other humans aren't buckling with migraines." Ciri wasn't sure what protected her exactly. The Elder Blood, early exposure to magic, the fact that she was a Source... who could say. Except maybe Yen, and the last time she'd brought it up she'd gotten a mind-numbing lecture for her trouble. Better to simply let some things remain a mystery.

Dandelion shrugged. "We will. Eventually. In an hour or two, but by that point one should be three sheets to the wind, so who can really tell the difference?" With a grin he waved down a passing barmaid who unceremoniously dropped two mugs on their table. Apparently one didn't order here. Or if you did, best be quick about it. The barmaid paused only long enough to peer closely at Dandelion's face. By the stretching of his grin he no doubt thought her a suitable distraction. Ciri suspected she was just interested in the growing bruise.

She ignored them both to try the drink. Bitter and frothy, but it went down easier than most of what she'd had in the last year. Ciri took a long swing and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

"Which means," Dandelion continued, waving the barmaid away, "that we have more than enough time for you to tell me everything you've been up to. Don't spare the details! Though you may not have my knack for storytelling, dear, I know you're not entirely without talent. If you leave even a morsel out I'll be devastated."

"Well, far be it from me to devastate you."

"Precisely."

So Ciri told Dandelion all, keeping her voice low in case a room full of creatures didn't take kindly to a list of her contracts. A few had eyed her swords upon entry, but said nothing, seemingly content to keep out of her way provided Ciri kept out of theirs. It was only too bad she couldn't say the same of her travels. Drowner infestations were one thing, even if the sailors too often tried to get handsy instead of paying her in coin, but a pack of werewolves had given her trouble for a solid month. All born into the curse, they possessed the ability to transform at will and had used it to their advantage as bandits, terrorizing a collection of villages. Solving the problem without indiscriminate slaughter had been a tricky business, demanding that Ciri pull from her knowledge of negotiation and mediation: neither of which were her strong suits.

The werewolves at least would live out their days as members of a community. The rampaging godling out in Kaedwen was another matter entirely. Ciri hadn't had the privilege of meeting one until then — and she'd always assumed it was a privilege based on Geralt's teachings. "Not a beast to be put down," he'd say, eyeing the aggressive drunk. "Just mischievous. Respect them and at the very least you'll finish your contract without bloodshed. At best you'll come out of it with a friend." Well, she'd been more than respectful. Especially towards a being whose mischievous nature had resulted in families terrified of their own dreams, to the point where one newly minted wife had walked out her window. Another strangled her infant, thinking it an intruder. Ciri had tried to establish if the families had moved into what the godling perceived as her territory, if she had some sort of grievance towards young wives and mothers, even if it were possible for their species to fall under spells... all of it came to naught. Her inquiries were only met with laughter and, in time, more death. When a member of the Viper school had passed through and casually mentioned burdock root for navigating dreams, she'd bought him a drink, crushed a whole stem up in hers, and met the godling in another reality. Ciri couldn't swear she killed it, though as the Lady of Time and Space she suspected she'd had that edge. Either way, afterwards the women had slept soundly for a fortnight and it had felt safe to move on.

There were others, of course, though no encounter quite as thrilling. It seemed like no matter how much people sneered at the trade — Geralt for his yellow eyes, her for being born a woman — everyone had a nest of something in need of extermination. Or a haunting to be put right. Or even, on occasion, just a particularly nasty job that no one else wanted to do. Ciri didn't mind mucking about in the sewers, provided her payment got her a bath at the end of the day. As well as, weeks later, the humor in watching Dandelion's face twist in on itself.

"You didn't," he murmured, taking a large gulp of his drink. He swirled it as if to wash away an imaginary taste. "You drank from it?"

"It was either that or die of thirst. I don't have a witcher's mutations. Sometimes you've just got to make do."

"You poor, wretched thing."

“Oh I know. Buy a poor, wretched thing another drink?”

Speaking with Dandelion was easy. Even when he interrupted to supply what he considered to be the superior description, or went off on his own, thrilling tangents — forever stealing the spotlight. They were just the quirks of talking to him and after so long on the Path Ciri found herself welcoming the familiar. More than that, or the warm interior, or even the satisfying drink, she soaked up the feeling of family that permeated the air.

It was a funny thing that, family. Funny, at least, if you shared her sense of humor. If anyone asked about her parentage (and plenty certainly had) they were in for quite the explanation. Born to the lovely Pavetta and Duny, though orphaned at a terribly young age. So really, in spirit Ciri’s parents were her grandparents, nothing less than the Lioness of Cintra herself and her devoted husband, Eist Tuirseach. But oh, haven't you heard? Her father hadn't really died. Why, he was no mere Lord, but the Emperor of Nilfgaard himself! Emhyr var Emreis, The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies and so on and so forth. Surely then he would be the one she referred to as 'Father'? Well, not when one considered a slew of complexities there, including her status as a Child Surprise. Duny, Eist, and Emhyr may have all vowed for the title of 'Father,' but destiny gave that dubious privilege to Geralt of Rivia and time proved one a wise man and the other a fool. So it was that Ciri found herself with three fathers, technically, though four if one considered the childhood emotions she'd attached to the Urcheon of Erlenwald. Two mothers as well, with the third arriving along with Geralt: Yennefer of Vengerberg. Sorceress. Visionary. Protector in the extreme.

Yet the irony was that it didn't stop there. Who were the other witchers if not additional fathers, given joke names like 'Uncle' and 'Brother' to avoid confusion? What else made up the Lodge but mothers when it was they who taught her everything from magic to the ungodly chore of managing her blood each month? For an orphan Ciri had an uncommon number of parental figures... including the man who sat across from her.

"Who's raising who?" she'd once heard Dijkstra mutter while Geralt and Dandelion had argued over her. It had been about something inconsequential, the disagreement lost to time, but Ciri, hardly a teen, recalled thinking that they were indeed like children in their bickering.

Now, as an adult, she was inclined to re-term such moments as... frisky. In the absurdly strange way of all witchers and bards. But really, what friends argued so strongly over the raising of a daughter?

Their interactions across nearly fifteen years hadn't exactly escaped her notice, even if childhood had often mischaracterized what precisely those interactions were. Nor, of course, could Ciri have missed how Dandelion kept speaking of romance without naming any new paramours.

"So," she said, leaning across the table. This time a young man passed with drinks and Ciri snatched one, enjoying the spicy scent. She dangled the brew before Dandelion's nose before taking a sloppy sip. She was no lightweight, but they didn't skimp on the alcohol here either.

Dandelion leaned forward to meet her. "So?"

"Don't tell me I've been blathering on and you haven't thought of a single thing to share? No exciting adventures of your own? No... new friends?"

In the shadows of the establishment Dandelion's face fell, then grew soft. In an instant the performer was gone and in his place sat a man closer to fifty than forty, a little tired, a little stressed, but more happy than anything else. He took the mug out of her hands and stole a drink for himself. "Can I share a secret with you, dear?"

"Always."

"Promise not to tell?"

"Witcher's honor."

"Your skillfully thrown punch may not have been the death of my career. I fear that's coming along just fine on its own."

"Come on."

He chuckled, so light and airy it floated away into the conversation around them. Ciri only knew he was laughing because of that smile and the shake in his shoulders.

"All right, all right. You've caught me. There are still many men and women alike who flock to my side post-performance. Even a few who have asked for a private staging, if you catch my drift."

"Dandelion. I've 'caught your drift' since I was fourteen and you gave me a lecture on avoiding venereal disease."

"Did I?"

"You were drunk."

He took another massive gulp from their shared mug. "Well, that would explain it. But yes, I'm still popular — thank the gods for that — but I'd be a fool not to acknowledge that most of that stems from my unparalleled musical talent and a hefty nest egg. I'm not as limber as I once was, dear. I have wrinkles." Dandelion shook like a dog shedding water.

Ciri smiled. Slow. Syrupy. "You're still the most handsome poet I know."

"Oh thank you. I should hope so! The others are all cads..."

"And you're dodging the question. Or the implied question, since I know you like to get technical." Dandelion scoffed. "No new friends? No last hurrahs before your golden years? Come off it, Dandelion. The last two times we've met up you haven't mentioned a single new 'acquaintance' and we both know you'd be talking up any encounters whether they'd been good or not. A girl's got to wonder."

"A girl's gotten nosy." He slammed the now empty mug back on the table. "Let's go."

"Ah — look. Sorry. If you don't want to talk about it — "

"I don't want to talk about it here." Dandelion rolled his eyes with such fervor that Ciri worried for a moment that they'd leave his head. "Come now. Have I ever kept things from you? I'll tell all with a master's flair, but I'm doing it out of their earshot. Besides, that headache’s starting up."

A few patrons cast them looks, which Ciri could only interpret as confirmation that they'd been eavesdropping. Then again, she'd been doing the same. There was a certain amount of camaraderie as they left the establishment, Dandelion passing a hand over all he knew (and dropping reminders not to mention him to Julia) and even she got a few nods of recognition. Changling, bard, vampire, or un-mutated Witcher, it seemed so long as you kept yourself to yourself all were welcome.

She'd have to come back sometime.

Ciri took note of the street as they ambled away, Dandelion's arm comfortably tucked into hers. They'd nearly reached the market before he spoke.

"I know I just promised a tale, but are you really going to make me explain this?" His petulance drew out a laugh.

"No," she admitted. "What's to explain? I’m not blind. You've spent the last twenty years following Geralt around and very nearly losing your head for the trouble. Or your voice. Your arm. Your balls, if some of those stories are to be believed."

"Oh, believe it, my dear."

"So I think that speaks for itself. Mere friends don't go to such lengths."

The toe of Dandelion's boot found a small stone, sending it soaring ahead of them. "Yet you forget one crucial detail."

"Enlighten me."

"Future loves do not have poetry worthy relationships with a sorceress."

She ground them both to a halt, the sudden loss of momentum drawing a curse from Dandelion. "Are you kidding me?" He squawked as Ciri reached up to knock some sense into him. Try to, anyway. "Oh, I knew immersing yourself in that exaggerated, destiny-laden, overly dramatic drivel would cause problems someday."

"One moment now! Drivel?"

Ciri ignored the outcry. "Yes, Geralt loves Yen... Just like Yen loves Istredd. Triss loves Geralt. Triss and Yen both had that weird thing for Philippa and don't even get me started on Fringilla. What do you think it means that Geralt spent months with Regis and Yen still dragged him up to that unicorn the moment he returned? Or that they casually talk about a 'sorceress' work' over the breakfast table? Dandelion, he's past his first century with so little family left. If you think that leaves less room for you in this mess than you're not nearly as smart as the masses claim. You’ve been listening to your own ballads too much."

She supposed this was some kind of accomplishment: leaving the most verbose man in The Continent utterly speechless. The alcohol still burned in the back of her throat and Ciri could admit that, in a more sober, everyday moment, she probably wouldn't have said as much as she had. But it was all true and dammit, if she'd learned anything since the Frost it was that a short life could be just as cursed as a long one. She was sick of people — herself included — letting things pass by.

"I don't know which is harder to believe," Dandelion murmured, raising a hand to his brow. "That you have twice assaulted me on this beautiful day. That I am being egged into a relationship with a witcher by his uncouth daughter..."

"Or?"

"Or that he remains that stunningly handsome at over a hundred years old."

Ciri snorted, tugging him along. Dandelion stumbled a moment, a testament to her words, but did quickly regain his feet. "You know we've never shied from discussions of sex in this family. Love though? Absolutely... so go slowly there."

A blush stained the great poet's cheeks, though no one else would have caught it on such a hot, sunny day. He delicately cleared his throat. "Any suggestions?"

"Hmm." Ciri pretended to think, tapping her chin. "We've been apart so long and really, our day has only just started, so I suggest that you come home with me. The three of us can start by having lunch."

The blush turned into a conspiratorial smile. "Where you will unexpectedly disappear, leaving the two of us alone?"

"But of course."

"My dear Ciri, I'll make a storyteller out of you yet."

A story she was more than happy to work on. How'd it go? Geralt would ask, trying to hide both face and curiosity. She'd done enough telling for today and Ciri looked forward to dragging Dandelion into their home, shoving him forward, and letting two of her dads work that out for themselves.

#witcher #gerlion #geraskier #Ciri #witcher fic

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