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wutheringmights · 3 years ago

Note

Can I be greedy and ask for all of the boys ? And any characters you have strong opinions on? Pretty please? With lots of cherries and chocolate on top? ( for the ask meme ofc)

Anon, I'll finish up all of the boys in the Chain just for you. And trust me, I have an Infinite Amount of Strong Opinions. You have no idea how Opinionated I Am.

If anyone is coming in late to this, here are the boys I have done already and a short summary of my thoughts (click the hyperlinks to get the full Opinion):

Warriors: he's best when he's the trashy anti-Link, and I like him so much

Twilight: kind of boring, but I have a soft spot for him anyway because you never forget your first

Wind: should have been aged up a little so that he can have that identity crisis I'm craving

This... gets long. Really long. 3-hours-of-work-long. Before you read, please note that even when I speak negatively about something, it’s not to diss anyone who does like the thing. I’m not vague posting or being passive aggressive. This is all written in good humor and good faith.

That being said, let’s a-go!

-Sky-

What I love about them: He has one of the best character arcs of all the Links. I love that he starts off being lazy and kind of a jerk, but grows as a person because he wants to save his friend. And I love that he's truly the most courageous Link. He has no other successful hero of past or legacy to lean back upon to reassure him. He walked into that fight with Demise with no assurance from anyone that he would succeed. Yet, he does it anyway. Because he's a true hero and someone had to be one. And he's rewarded with a curse that he does not initially take seriously. He thinks he's saved everyone, yet he's cursed his spirit, possibly his bloodline, and his entire legacy of the kingdom of Hyrule into a doomed cycle of destruction. All because he dared to face evil incarnate. I love him.

What I hate about them: You know how I called Twilight boring? I should have saved that critique for Sky. LU Sky is actually the most boring interpretation of his character. All of his negative traits? Gone. All of his positives? Also gone. He's the blandest version of himself, and like Twilight, I now feel like I gotta add some spice to him to make him more interesting while still keeping him recognizable. Even so, he's still one of my favorite Links.

Favorite Moment/Quote: When he kicks Twilight's ass at sword fighting. That's stuff is *chef's kiss*

What I would like to see more focus on: You would think that there would be more angst out there about him realizing that he's actually been cursed, but it's still kind of hard to find. He's the Cursed Knight! The beginning of a terrible legacy! Imagine meeting a bunch of heroes for the first time, and instead of being relieved at having someone who understands your experiences, you're filled with horror at realizing that your victory was a false one. You didn't win. Your spirit will never be at rest. Imagine dealing with that realization for the rest of your life. You could never be at peace.

What I would like to see less focus on: I love that he loves his wife, but he's more just the fact that he's married, y'know? I would like to see a little less blind devotion to Hylia and Zelda, and more complicated feelings about being manipulated into being the hero.

Favorite pairing with: Sun/Link/Groose OT3! I have no reasoning behind this other than I like Groose and Groose definitely had a crush on SkSw Link.

Favorite friendship: I won't answer Groose again even if I want to, so I'll say Warriors. I cannot begin to describe how elite this friendship would be if you gave it a chance. They're just two boys dealing with unique positions of leadership and responsibility. They would probably even bond over being shitheads at different ends of the shithead spectrum. It's so good, okay?

NOTP: Ghirahim. I'm not too adverse to this one, but the ship hinges on whether you can redeem Ghirahim or not. In my opinion, Ghirahim is awesome because he's such a fun villain. Redeeming him ruins the fun.

Favorite headcanon: I have a whole life story planned out for Sky. Basically, he lives to be close to 500 years old by the power of the Triforce. He is the Link throughout the Era of Chaos who banishes the Dark Interlopers to the Twilight Realm and seals the Triforce in the Sacred Realm. He actually seals himself in the Sacred Realm as well to keep the Triforce safe, and he fought Ganondorf in when he broke in. Sky, like Time and Wind, does not get a happy ending.

-Four-

What I love about them: Four is origin of the heroes of Hyrule being known for being children. What a legacy to leave behind. He's such an interesting case of an incarnation of the Hero's Spirit, too. He fought Vaati, and he did his job so well that Demise's next incarnation had to be Ganondorf. Four did his job the best out of everyone, and it came at the cost of creating a magic sword that changed him permanently. I like to think that the Four Sword was not meant to split him, that it was a mistake he made with the design. And it's sad, isn't it? You made a defective sword, and like any good sword, it has a symbolic double edge. It gifted you with so much, and yet he can never be the same again. And his story is never well-remembered because it is overshadowed by the Links who fought the King of Evil. He's does so much, yet his legacy is underappreciated.

What I hate about them: I want to prepare you for this Opinion, because I know it's unpopular. Are you ready? Okay. I don't like the Colors. I'm sorry. I want to like them, but they don't interest me at all. Because they are parts of Four’s personality, they have to be one-note archetypes which does not make for exciting storytelling. I also haven't found a fic yet that has been from Four's POV that did the internal monologue of the Colors in a way that wasn't a pain in the ass to read. Maybe if someone can figure out how to do the Colors in a way that doesn't feel like a drag, I would like them more. But in the end, I think Four himself is more interesting than the Colors.

Favorite Moment/Quote: The fact that he didn't want to touch the Master Sword because he doesn't trust magic swords. That is every I need to know about his opinion on his own adventures.

What I would like to see more focus on: I want more of Four as Four. It's getting harder to find content of Four being his own person first and the Colors second.

What I would like to see less focus on: Four being the Colors first and his own person second. There is something about viewing Four as this cover identity for the Colors that doesn't feel right. There's a balance that needs to be strike between his ability to split, how that affects his every day life, and his own identity of being Four. I think I may have read one fic that hit that sweet spot for me, but still.

Favorite pairing with: Shadow. I'm such a sucker for befriending and falling for the enemy. That is all.

Favorite friendship: Dot! Their friendship is super cute. I like the idea of them being super close when they were younger and struggling to keep the friendship going as they age due to how much their paths in life diverge.

NOTP: This isn't necessarily a Four or an LU problem, but people who ship the Colors together? Bro. C'mon.

Favorite headcanon: I'm torn between two different Four and the Master Sword headcanons. On one hand, Four thinking that the Master Sword is just legend until he meets Sky and everyone else is just a fun idea. He sees the legendary sword for the first time and his mind is blown. On the other hand, I also like my Four with a side of hubris. What if he had the option on his quest to draw the Master Sword himself? What if he could tell that if he did that, the consequences would be terrible. He's not sure what would happen, but he knows it would be terrible. So he decided to make his own sword instead to disastrous results. Wouldn't that be tragic or what?

-Time-

What I love about them: Last winter, I did a two hour powerpoint for my friends about the Legend of Zelda timeline. During that powerpoint, I was rating every iteration of Link. What I said about the Hero of Time then holds true to my thoughts of LU Time now. Time is the original Link, more so than Sky in the lore and Legend/Hyrule in real life. Every other hero is a reflection of him. So the fact that his story is about the loss of childhood and the tragedy of that is incredible, and you can see those themes reflected in every other game. Moreso, he’s the only Link with a confirmed tragic ending. Not only does he end his life unsatisfied, but his adventure is failure on every timeline. In the adult timeline, Hyrule is swallowed by the sea. In the child one, Ganondorf returns again. In the fallen timeline, Hyrule fell. I like the idea since that the games themselves are the legends that are past down about each hero, Hylians have also remembered Time as a tragic figure. Yet, they also remember that the happy moments for his life come from small acts of kindness. Even someone as sad as him finds joy in helping others, even if it’s just to small deeds that will not be heralded as grand heroic quests. It’s beautiful.

What I hate about them: This is more about Mask than Time, but Mask is not an adult in a child’s body. He did not rewind time in Termina enough to be considered mentally an adult. He’s a young teenager at best, and that’s me being generous. He is a child who was forced to be an adult and despite the gods being done with him, he cannot conceive of ever having a childhood again. So he can say all he wants that he’s an adult, but he is not. That’s just what he thinks he is.

Favorite Moment/Quote: Anytime we get a flashback to him being a younger adult is great. I want to see more of his in this his early adulthood.

What I would like to see more focus on: I think I just want more of Time being... not a bad leader, but being an imperfect one. I honestly think he’s only the leader because he’s the oldest and enough of the heroes recognize the title of Hero of Time. But he is not the leader type, and he is struggling to keep it together and has to defer to Twilight and Warriors for help a lot.

What I would like to see less focus on: I’m not the biggest fan of Dad!Time for any of the Links. He’s not emotionally ready for it. And I think he defaults to treating the boys like adults because that’s how he wanted to be treated when he was their age.

Favorite pairing with: Malon. He has this great partnership of equal respect with her and it’s just. So good.

Favorite friendship: Linebeck. I know. This exists only in my head. But if these two ever meet, you cannot convince me that they would not get along swimmingly. It would be so good (once Linebeck gets over his crush on Time and stops hitting on him, of course).

NOTP: Child Timeline Zelda. Let me explain: I fully believe in Bi Time supremacy, and when in OoT, he definitely had a crush on Sheik. However, one of the worst parts of rewinding time and being in the child timeline is that Zelda is a completely different person now. They may have been friends in the other timeline, but her life experiences are completely different now. She is not the same person as he once knew. And it’s tragic to know someone as who they could have been, not as they are.

Favorite headcanon: After Termina, Time spent a lot of time with the Nabooru because out of everyone he knew, she’s the only who took him seriously even as a child. She has big older sister energy, and he considers her a part of his family. However, being treated as such made it easier for him to ignore his issues and put off his healing process by a few years.

-Legend-

What I love about them: Veteran of Heroes! What a freaking title. I love that he keeps on finding adventures, and that he keeps hustling. Even if he complains about never getting a break, you can tell that he loves helping others. He loves being on the road, never settling down, and finding adventure after adventure. Honestly, if any of the Links had a calling to be a hero, it’s him. Is he tired? Sure. Is he a little jaded after having saved Hyrule and a bunch of other kingdoms multiple times? Yes. But at the end of the day, he likes being a hero. This is who he is. His complaining is not genuine; he just plays the martyr because, at this point, he’s earned the right to.

What I hate about them: If you can’t tell by now, I have a, uh, different interpretation of Legend from popular canon. Fandom Legend is not right to me. He is unrecognizable. It is hard to write him because I feel like I have to balance what other people think Legend should be versus how I think he is. The people who are big Legend enjoyers probably feel the same way about my version of Warriors, and that’s fine. I’m not going to gel with every character and I don’t expect everyone to gel with how I see characters either. It’s goes both ways, y’know.

Favorite Moment/Quote: I like how subtly he tried to approach the Wolfie problem at first, trying to ask questions and get more proof before confronting Twilight. It’s a good touch.

What I would like to see more focus on: If I had to choose one thing, it’s this one throw away line about him never wanting to settle down. I’m telling you, folks! He likes his lifestyle! And did you see him when he does presenting the origins of the hero? He’s not bitter about being a hero! Legend is moody, but he is not angsty about the whole hero thing. Have fun with him please!

What I would like to see less focus on: If you can’t tell by now, Legend is my least favorite Link. There is a lot I want to see less of, but just to name one thing, it’s the headcanon that Fable is his sister. I live and die by common born Link, and whether he’s a legitimate heir or the royal bastard, I am more than bored with the persistent Prince!Legend content.

Favorite pairing with: Marin. It’s a good tragic story and I like it well enough. She’s cute, and he’s cute with her.

Favorite friendship: Warriors. I’m with everyone else on these two have peak sibling energy. They tease and pick on each other, but only they are allowed to mess with each other. They’re each other’s bully, and it’s always good to see.

NOTP: I do not have enough energy to have a lot of strong opinions about Legend’s romantic relationships, but I will mentioned that I have lost a lot of love for Ravio recently and am liking seeing him with Legend less and less. I have no better reason for this than the fact that I finally played ALBW and hate how many of my hard earned rupees he’s taken from me by withholding important, lifesaving items. Rat bastard.

Favorite headcanon: Remember my headcanon about him being the coolest bad boy folk hero on the block because everyone thinks he kidnapped Zelda? Yeah, I still stand by that one. I did good there.

-Hyrule-

What I love about them: If there is any Link that I would call a gutter rat, it is this one. I struggle a bit to talk about Hyrule since his games gives us so little, but in the end, I always fall back on him being a hero of the people. He is the one who has nothing and relates the best to people who are at their lowest. Yet, he is still a hero. He earns the right to be a hero because he helped Impa in her time of need. He’s selfless and competent. Even if he never got a traditional education, I bet he’s wicked smart too. He is the Link that symbolizes all of the parts of the Triforce the most. And, god. I cannot talk about him without mentioning the blood sacrifice part of LA. It’s such a cool concept, and I cannot imagine what it must be like to go from being the rough and tumble, win-at-all-costs fighting to protecting yourself first because if you don’t, the consequences are disastrous. It’s paradoxical, and it must be such a different mindset to fall into. But it must also be a blessing in disguise since now he has a reason to finally care about himself.

What I hate about them: Who started the Hyrule is innocent headcanon? Come over here because we need to exchange some words. If there is anyone who would be a realist and know how the world works, it’s this guy. And while we’re here, who came up with the Hryule is always lost headcanon? I also have some words for you. And you know what? WHILE WE’RE HERE, who let him be named Hyrule? I’m have more than choice words for you. His name scheme is the bane of my existence and the express reason why I don’t write him more. God.

Favorite Moment/Quote: That one panel where he takes utter delight in Warriors hiding from his scorned lovers? That is a central pillar in my understanding of Hyrule.

What I would like to see more focus on: Again, his relationship with other people. Even if his games are lacking in NPCs, we know from lore that he’s a good guy who will jump in to help others. He must know plenty of people, and I want to see who exists in his world with him.

What I would like to see less focus on: I have an on-going joke with my brother that certain characters are Catholic, even if Catholicism does not exist in the world of the thing we’re watching or playing. Of course, we’re not being serious. we’re just joshing around. So imagine the gut punch I feel whenever I see people say Hyrule is Christian and realize that they’re being serious. I just can’t take it seriously.

Favorite pairing with: Aurora. It’s cute and I’m a sucker for that hero and royalty dynamic, especially when the hero is a peasant. It’s so cheesy, but I love it.

Favorite friendship: Legend. But not the way everyone else pairs them up as the grumpy one and the sunshine one. I think of it more as them being the pinnacle of boys being boys. They’re shitheads. They do stupid shit together. They both have a dark sense of humor. They joke that they’re practically the same person sometimes.

NOTP: uhhhhhhhhh.... Is he paired with anyone else?

Favorite headcanon: I love the idea that he just likes his way of life and refuses to accept anyone saying otherwise. Legend wants to teach him to read? Sorry, but he’s never had to read before in his life so he’s pretty sure he’ll never need it anyway. Want to participate in the treasured Hylian tradition of piercing your ears when you come of age? Why would he ever do that when a monster could rip those earrings off? He’s stuck in his ways and it frustrates everyone else to no end, but he has no interest in ever changing.

-Wild-

What I love about them: When I was 9, I spent my time online on Legend of Zelda forums. I remember one of my forum friends saying that they wanted a Legend of Zelda game where Link lost. And I think of that friend whenever I think about Wild. BOTW Link is the best Link that has ever been. He is the epitome of every trait we associate with any Link. He’s smart and sassy. He’s hard working and kind. But underlining all of that is the fact that he’s still the one who failed. If Demise’s Curse in SkSw is the set-up, the Great Calamity is the payoff. And I haven’t even talked about how confirming him as being non-verbal before the Calamity does so much for his characterization. I don’t even know where to start or how to articulate it. By game storyline alone, Wild is one of my favorites.

What I hate about them: You guys knew this one was coming, but I’m going to have to say it anyway. Fandom Wild.... not good. I’ve said it for half of these boys so far, but god is it true. I have a way I see Wild that is rarely done in the fandom. Fandom Wild has a lot of the traits I also see in Wild, but to all of the extremes. I will mention one thing in particular as being a pet peeve, and it’s how some people headcanon him as always being nonverbal. I know what they’re trying to do, and I think they’re on to something, but they’re also missing the point of what BOTW Link’s character arc is. I just wish more people would forget fandom and work more off of the games for how to characterize him.

Favorite Moment/Quote: Weirdly enough, my favorite moment is when he got mad at everyone for making fun of his Gerudo outfit, so he dumped Goron Spice in his cooking. It’s encapsulates a part of his character I think a lot of people forget about.

What I would like to see more focus on: I think he has a really complicated relationship with his past. He said himself that his old self felt like a different person, and I think that should be explored a lot more. That idea actually fascinates me so much that instead of CTB, I almost wrote a character study fic about Wild. His emotions are not as simple as feeling guilty about letting his friends die and not preventing the Calamity. His emotions would be so complicated and because I don’t have the time to explore it, someone else needs to do it for me.

What I would like to see less focus on: There is a weird fascination with Wild having memory loss and essentially being like a kid again. And this feels infantilizing to me. It honestly bugs me a lot every time I see it.

Favorite pairing with: I can’t decide between Zelda, Mipha, and Revali. They’re all different dynamics and they’re all good.

Favorite friendship: Paya. I firmly believe that Paya is Wild’s best friend. I am the only one in the world who believes this. But I am also the only one in the world who is correct.

NOTP: Wild is good with everyone. Good for him!

Favorite headcanon: An essential scene of my Wild character study I will never write is one where his horse dies. He goes into shock and walks back to Kakariko to talk to Impa. But once he goes to her, he breaks down in tears and has an absolute melt down over the horse. And Impa sagely says, “It’s not about the horse, is it?” She’s implying that he’s actually mourning the loss of his friends, Hyrule, his life, everything-- but through his tears, he keeps tell her that she’s wrong. He barely remembers them. He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t have any feelings about them. He just really loved that horse. But Impa refuses to listen to him, just repeating over and over again: “it’s not really about the horse.”

And that’s it! That’s all of my opinions! I know a lot of my opinions are polarizing, but everything I said is in good faith, and I am not trying to diss anyone for how they approach these characters.

I welcome you to send me your Opinions on the Links, even if it’s just to disagree with me. I’m cool with it, and I like knowing what everyone else thinks!

#so there are my polarizing opinions #heed my note at the beginning and end about acting in good faith #anyway if you read all of this you are obligated to tell me some of your headcanons and opinions #sorry i don't make the rules except i actually do #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu sky #lu four #lu time #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu wild #lu twilight #lu wind #lu warriors #me rambling #ask #anonymous

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sparetimeimagines · 4 years ago

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Hi so if your requests are open can I request a oneshot from death note nsfw were it’s after Light’s father’s death and the reader usually doesn’t like Light but starts to feel sorry for him and later that day decides to visit his apartment to help him deal with his grief and ask if there is anything she can do for him and he very subtly implies that she can help him by giving herself to him and although the reader is tempted to doesn’t want to because it’s wrong and he has a girlfriend but eventually agrees to it?

Skin | Light Yagami

Tags: Smut, Oral Grief, Character Death

Masterlist

Your fingers trembled holding the dish just along the tips. It was a basic casserole, something your mother suggested you’d always make for the grieving.

“It’s common here in the US to bring a dish for the mourning.” You set the dish on the counter watching Light continue to stare out the window. The least he could do is acknowledge your presence.

“Is there anything I can do?” You politely ask him, though your last nerve was being worked on quickly.

The shrug that rolls off his shoulders was enough for you to lose your patience. His old ways have returned and honestly you’re over it.

“Alright. Good talk. Hope you feel better soon, Light. Sorry for your loss...”

You turn to the door, your hand balancing on the handle when the lock notification chimes.

“Stay.” He finally speaks up, you looking over your shoulder to reveal the brunet closing the distance between you two.

He’s close enough you can smell his cologne, feel the cold of his skin. If anything it was too close for comfort.

His sharp tone made chills rise up your neck and a jump in your stance as he speaks once more.

“Why so nervous?” The ice in his voice makes you shiver once more. “Oh.. I see. You think I’m Kira.” He smirks rolling his eyes. “You’ve known me for so long. Don’t you believe I won’t hurt you by now?”

You swallow hard and he takes a step forward, his fingers hardly touching you. Piercing cold fingers glide across your skin as his hot breath caresses your neck.

“I’m feeling a tad bit overwhelmed. I’m sad really. Will you stay?” His arms close the barrier between your bodies as his chest presses firmly against your back.

He doesn’t wait for your response as his fingers slide up and now along your skin.

“L-Light I-” you choke on your words, letting his touch speak for you.

“Please, I don’t want to be alone.” His hot breath leaves you with a shiver.

Cold hands massage your shoulders with a longing touch, when finally his lips meet your skin.

A sensation like ice burning your flesh. Cold lips piercing the soft outer coat as the burn of his teeth overstimulate your nerves.

“Light... I- isn’t this bad timing?” Your tone wasn’t as reassuring as his touch, when he pushes you back against the couch, lowering your body with his lips finally move to your own.

“You talk too much.” He silences you, his hand sliding under your shirt before you can react. “All I need for you to do is be my pretty distraction. That’s it.” He palms your bra leaving you with a gasp of pure surprise. “Take your shirt off.”

Light’s demands are strict, his face far from playful. “I’m serious. Take it off. I know you don’t like me. But I know you want to fuck me.”

“Fuck you?” You scoff, rolling your eyes in any direction but him. “I don’t even want to be in the same room as you.”

The displeased look on your face makes him laugh, his fingers circling around your erect nipples.

“Yeah, keep holding back your pathetic moans. You love my touch. You want me to fuck your pathetic cunt until you’re trembling.” His smirk is mocking as you close your eyes.

“Look at me.” He pinches your nipple forcing a gasp from you. “Mmhm. That feels good doesn’t it. You’re so touched starved.”

You hold back a moan and it shows across your cheeks, they exposing you with the brightest tone of rouge.

A mocking chuckle taunts you from the towering brunet.

“See. You’re pathetic. Just take your shirt off.” He leans back, watching your fists remained balled at your side.

“Stop fighting it. Look at you.” He grips your wrists, making your arms rise above your head. One of his hands grasp both yours when he lightly runs a finger along your clothed shorts.

“I can feel you. You’re sobbing. You’re literally drenched.” Light dips his fingers into your shorts from the leg, parting your panties until he meets your slick coating. “I love it when I’m right.”

His large fingers burrow into your sticky swollen walls; an untamed moan leaving your lips faster than you could control it.

“Fuck... turn over. Let me see that ass.”

He wasn’t asking, but telling, as his hands grasp your hips and pulls your bottoms off in whole, letting them dangle at your knees.

“Mmm Fuck. It’s perfect.” Light’s hand smacks the side, allowing your skin to bruise by contact. “Mmm. You’ve been hiding this the entire time from me?” He smacks your cheek again.

“You know, that makes me really annoyed, Y/n.” He draws circles into your skin as your heart rate accelerates. “It makes me feel really bad. You know my dad just died right? Yeah. So I’m already upset, and with this on top of it... I feel like need to relieve some tension.”

He shifts behind you, however you’re left blinded facing the wall behind the couch.

“Yes. I’m overwhelmed.”

Pressure and a warm sensation is left from him tracing your core. You bite your lower lip, not wanting him to know how many times you have thought of hate fucking him in one of the back rooms of your office.

The way his cock slides along your folds, your moan hitches in your throat and it’s your instinct to let him know how badly you want it.

But you won’t.

“You’re so stubborn...” he groans getting his cock drop from your core.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Light reaches for his cock, pushing into your folds enough to tease a moan from your pursed lips.

“Mmm. I’d rather think about you. How tight your pussy is... how badly I was to know what your insides feel like.” He slides in deeper, his breath triggering the nerves along your neck, your head jolting up in reaction. “Mmm you’re such a bad girl.”

Light rolls his hips into yours when finally he bottoms inside you, a long loud moan releases from your lips.

“Fuck... You’re so tight.” He gasps with his breath caught. “God damn.” Pulling your hair into a bundle in his palm, he begins thrusting into your swollen cunt.

“God...” you gasp and he tugs at your hair straightening you out.

“Yeah? Don’t act surprised... you’ve been thinking about my cock for a while... haven’t you?” He pulls himself out of your body, soaked from your juices before returning to stuff you whole. “I’m just a grieving soul here.” His hands pull you closer into his body, grasping your neck with a firm grip.

“I’m just a little sad. A little depressed, shall I say?” His hot breath dresses your neck whilst he begins his cycle of pumps with pure lust into your cunt.

“You don’t...” raspy moans leave your lips. “Even like me.”

The smacks of his hips into your sobbing cunt leaves your breath caught.

“Shut up. I don’t have to like you to fuck you like a whore.” A sharp whisper against your ear has your heart pounding against your chest.

Light’s fingers tuck into your lips, pressing against tongue as the hand lowers to your clit.

“Mm fuck.” The whimper below his fingers him pulling out, flipping you to face him.

“Get down here.”

On your knees, he cups the back of your neck sliding his cock past your lips.

“That’s right. You fucking whore. Make me feel better the only way you know how.”

Light thrusts into your mouth as your hands balance on each hip. “Look at me... that’s right... fucking your boss’s son. Jeez do you have some pride.”

The gulps of his cock filling your mouth and the look in your eyes has his peak filling. Beads of precum weld on his cock on he pulls away from your lips.

“Mm... I should cover you in my cum.” He smirks rolling his hand over his head. “Mm how slutty you look, such a perfect distraction.”

He jerks his cock over your head and sees your frown.

“What? Did you think you were going to cum? No.” His cock grows red. “You’re only here because I told you to be. The only reason I’m allowing you to be anywhere near me is because I need to get off. You need to make me cum.”

The speed of his hand glazing his cock with your spit grows and his knees begin to buckle. “Yes... my little slut. Yeah I should keep you around. Have you here to be my little cum dump. For whenever I want to get off, have this slut here to suck me off.” He’s panting pulling you on your knees.

“What about your girlfriend?”

“Mesa? She’s useless. Has no idea what she’s doing. Talks too much. But you... fuck come here.” He grabs your neck, guiding it onto his cock for him to fuck your mouth.

“Yes. Good girl.”

The motion of his hand along his cock doesn’t last long as he uses you to finish his needs.

“Good little slut. That’s right.” He releases himself into your mouth. “Take my cum. Show me your worth.” His hot seed spews down your throat as attempts to keep his composure. “Mmm. Fuck. Yeah you’re gonna stay right here and suck me off everyday. Pretty little slut can handle two jobs, right?”

His thumb handles the dribble of loose cum escaping your lips, guiding it onto your tongue.

Nodding, you suck his thumb while keeping those innocent doe eyes watching him.

“Good girl. I’m sure you’ll be trained just fine.”

He slips his thumb from your mouth and returns to his cock, tucking it back into his pants.

“Now get cleaned up, I have guests arriving soon.”

#yandere light yagami #death note yagami light #light yagami smut #light yagami imagine #death note

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rumblelibrary · 4 years ago

Text

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster. The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler. This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others. Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies. John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven.

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together. He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it. A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp. Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention? To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one. I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon?

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch. I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice. I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts. I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat. The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man.

#dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist fanfic #victorian age #v writes #the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

Mc gets stabbed and shows up to vincas house only having the strength to say hey before collapsing?! And vincas thoughts while she has to take care of her can you write this please?

Combined with: Can you do vinca POV of swm mc almost dying? Maybe she got stabbed or something and they had to rush her to the hospital? Written by @cute-ogre

Warning: Mention of blood.

...

Vinca's day was going well. She helped Yvette with a new trick for the show, beat the shit out of some demons that had started to behave a little bit unruly and saved the world from another potentially-apocalyptic situation, insulted a gross man that was being creepy towards Trudy and threatened him with endless torture. And now, she is having her sacred skin care routine time.

Overall, it was a great Thursday, calm and smooth, even.

For her standards anyway.

That is until someone decided to knock her door down with their bare fists.

“I'm coming!”

Vinca sighs, putting her moisturizer down and making her way to the door, preparing herself for what could be behind it.

Nothing good ever comes from someone knocking at you door this late.

And she is right, of course she is, because what she found on the other side of it was beautiful, sweet, brown eyes looking at her with pain. And a pale face covered in blood that made the Pride assassin stop in her tracks, eyes widening with shock.

“What the hell happened to you?!”

“Hey...”

Nico whispers, attempting a smile, and starts so sway a little bit, almost collapsing just as Vinca rushes forward to hold her by the shoulders, scanning the girls face with laser focus.

“Nico! Come on! What happened to your head?”

The girl just mumbles something, taking deep breaths and trying to get her balance back.

“I... may need some help?”

“Oh, really?!”

The blonde holds her chin and tries to analyze the head injury as best as she can in the dim light of the corridor and is relived to see it was just a shallow cut, she tries to direct the girl into the apartment, until another thing catches her eye, a blood patch in her torso, hidden by her hoodie and a bloodied hand holding a knife there.

For a second everything stops, the despair punching her in the chest with a oppressing force that makes her feel weak. She balances herself on the doorway, taking a deep breath, and try to lock eyes with the small woman. When she does, she is only able to say one stiff sentence.

“Stay calm, everything is gonna be okay.”

It's not exactly the most comforting thing to say to a person in a situation like this, but then she doesn't quite know if she is saying that for Nico's benefit or for hers.

She screams for Yvette, the woman appearing from inside her room with her cane in hand, taking a quick wide eyed look at the scene for a heartbeat before adopting a determined expression and rushing back inside, throwing one last look at Vinca over her shoulder.

“I'm driving.”

The whole ordeal to get the bike mechanic to the garage and inside her car was just a blur, they had to be careful with the injury since any wrong movement could make it worse. Vinca was on the back seat with her, trying to make pressure on the wound, and keep the Chinese woman awake.

“You are going to be alright, okay? Soon they will patch you up and you will be as good as new, you will see.”

Nico hesitates, then nods a little. Blood slowly dipping from the wound and falling on the car seat, her eyes unfocused as she gives a slow answer that is barely audible.

“...didn't have that big of a blood loss...The head wound probably looks way uglier than it is.”

She pauses for a little bit, shivering, pushing her bangs out of her eyes, and when Vinca rushes to clean the sweat from her forehead with her free hand, she smiles weakly.

She is toning it down,trying to comfort me.

Vinca realizes, throat suddenly dry.

She keeps her hand on the woman's cheek, caressing the cold skin softly.

I can't freak out now

She looks even paler now, the blonde notices, seeing the repressed, labored breaths and how the shorter woman keeps her free hand wrapped firmly against something.

The locket.

Vinca realizes, with a gasp, feeling a numbness start to take possession of her body, her chest tightening with horror. Nico seems to take notice of her reaction, eyes darting from the locket to the shining blue eyes in front of her.

“The demon...thing. Wanted it... and my blood...” She pauses for a second, blinking a little, as if she had forgotten what she was talking about “...they didn't ask nicely.”

It's my fault. I did this. I shouldn't have trusted demons to keep her safe, I should be there protecting her myself.

Taking a deep breath, Vinca adjusts the tick blanket on top of Nico's tights, and tries to keep the storm inside of her at bay. Grabbing the locket that was being offered to her and shoving it into her purse more aggressively than necessary.

“Shhh, that's not important right now, you are.”

“...who knew...you were such a good nurse, huh?”

Vinca's eyes dart to the woman's face at the barely understandable speech, noticing that her lips are now painted with a slight shade of blue.

Fucking hell, that's not good.

Yvette's eyes meet hers in the mirror, equally worried as she makes the last turn,the hospital coming into view. And, as if sensing it, Nico's body goes slack, not even Vinca's hysterical little shake drawing a reaction.

Oh, so this is what pure despair feels like. Great.

She presses her finger to her neck, finding a slow pulse.

“Oh no, don't you dare die on me, you brat.”

Getting the barely conscious woman into the hospital was fast with the help from the hospital staff, and Vinca almost rushed into the O.R with her before being stopped by a nurse that the blonde vaguely remembers having threatened before being pushed by Yvette into a uncomfortable plastic seat.

The doctor - that she also may or may not have threatened - appears three or four hours later, but it could also be five or six, the pride assassin doesn't quite remember, or care. What she does know is that she talked with Yvvete, and that the blood in her hands is already dry and that there's a ugly mismatched change of clothes brought by Trudy siting in her lap in a plastic bag.

The woman in a white coat talks about things like "blood loss", "shock" and "internal bleeding".

Which is just great. Nothing like a little blood where blood isn't supposed to be.

But what really catches her attention is the words "stable", "should be able to make a full recovery" and "You be able to visit her in two hours or so"

The Pride assassin closes her eyes with a tiny relived sight, hearing Trudy's exited commemoration and the tsunami of inquisitive questions coming from Yvette's lips. She gets up slowly, nodding in the doctor's direction and ignoring the worried looks from her friends as she smiles at them and claps her hands.

“Well, now that I know that everything is fine, If you don't mind, I will just go wash the bloody gooe gooe from me.”

She turns around without waiting for a answer, and with a fast, firm pace she gets to the bathroom washing her hands slowly and staring at her own unbothered face on the mirror.

With a calming breath she enters one of the stalls, and just then, hidden from everyone, she gives herself permission to think about what happened, a building pressure behind her eyes.

If I cry now, I will still be able to smile when I see her.

#anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #vinca wren #vinca x mc #sin with me #swm #swm vinca #sin with me vinca #light angst #slight angst

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mrsgiovanna · 4 years ago

Text

The Reunion (Don Giorno x Fem!Reader)

The cutest scenario requested by @squigglylungs, I hope you enjoy reading this my sweet. 🐞💖💕🥰

TW: None, just F L U F F

Word count : 1.2 k

“Gio? Gio? Gio!”

“I’m here! I’m awake cara… go on, you were telling me about what happened during your class,” the raspy edge to Giorno’s voice, and the fact that the last thing he could recall from your conversation was from 10 minutes ago told a different story.

“It’s alright my love, get some rest, we’ll talk in the morning,”

“I’m sorry cara, I just had a long day, but I’m awake now, please continue…”

“I was just talking about my boring day… how have you been though my love? You said you had a busy day?”

“Just long… overall I can’t complain though, I get to see you in just a few hours. Have you finished packing already?”

Staring at the mess of partially folded clothes and accessories you sat in the middle of, you answer a little too quickly, with a little too much fervor, immediately alerting your boyfriend to your little fib.

“(y/n) … If you oversleep, you’re going to miss your flight tomorrow, I haven’t seen you in almost a year…”

“And now? What’s this? If anyone had to hear the mighty don of Passione pining like this, what would they think?”

“I’d deny it entirely” he said, laughter echoing through his words matching your own. You were still confused by his uncanny ability to pick up even the tiniest change in your voice, even through the distortions of the long-distance call.

“I’ll be landing around midday though, I can’t wait to see you Gio, by the time I go home and get settled in it should be midafternoon and perhaps we can do something then?” you proposed, knowing how consumed Giorno gets with his work.

“Of course bella, I’ll send the driver to fetch you, let me know if there are any changes to your flight. I’ll leave you to carry on packing or it’s never going to get done… and stop pouting, you know you’re in this situation because you left everything for the last minute,”

Gasping in fake derision you retort, “If you’re going to be this awful to me, I might have to look for another cannoli-haired trickster with a dream to be my boyfriend… applications are open,”

“Good luck in your endeavor, cara, when you get your list of applicants, send it to me, I’ll even screen them for you,” you couldn’t contain your laughter at his remark. After a few more moments of witty bantering followed by sweet affirmations of your love for each other, you both said your reluctant goodbyes, and ended the call.

The excitement of knowing that you were only a few hours away from seeing the love of your life fueled you with the energy you required to complete what you needed to do before your flight. Slowly creeping into bed, you went over your mental checklist and eventually drifted into a dreamless sleep.

To an outsider looking in, you two probably sounded like overly dramatic kids, but your path was fraught with difficulties. You and Giorno had known each other since middle school, just pair of ragtag kids existing around each other, however, as the years went on, you had become unlikely friends, sharing a few common interests and a dessert here and there. It wasn’t until after he had disappeared in your second year of high school that your friendship bloomed into something more. When he finally sought you out a few weeks after his vanishing trick he poured out his heart to you, recounting a whimsical tale of loss and gain and dreams realized. He was incredibly busy with Passione’s reform, and you had thrown yourself into your studies, but had somehow still found time for each other, when it dawned on you both that perhaps the affections ran deeper than you initially thought.

With an emphatic confession and dozens of your favorite flowers strewn across your doorstep, the rest was, as they say, history. Your young love was put to the test when you had accepted an offer to study at your favored university… in an entirely different region. You had worked hard though, balancing everything, and your efforts were matched in no small part by Giorno who used his resources whenever and wherever he could to make your life just a little bit easier.

As you slept peacefully on the other end of the country, Giorno laid awake in bed thinking about how best to surprise you at the airport. He had lead you to believe that he was too busy to welcome you back into Naples. Your thinly veiled disappointment almost caused him to scrap his plans, but imagining how happy you would be to see him steeled his resolve. He would have loved to see you more frequently, but between your hectic class timetable and his erratic schedule, an opportune time could not be found until now. Turning to his side, knowing you were just a few hours away, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

“Oi Giorno… wow, that’s a blast from the past. How does that suit even fit you anymore?”

“It’s not the same suit Mista, I had this one made to look like the other one,” explained the young Don, expecting the young gunslingers surprise at his choice of outfit. The combination of an unexpected growth spurt, combined with his fitness routine resulted in him building a physique that towered over his former self.

“Are you ready for today? Between Fugo and myself we’ve taken over all your engagements for the next few days so you’re free,” Giorno was thankful for his underboss and consigliere, and nodded with a small smile as Mista countered his thanks with requests of his own.

Glancing at his watch, Giorno decided that it was time for him to leave. The drive to the airport was shorter than expected, leaving him with some time to just walk around and take in the sights and sounds of the bustling crowds of curious tourists, travelers returning to their loved ones, naïve foreigners… he smiled to himself, remembering a time a few years ago when he walked around in a similar magenta suit, looking for similar people to prey on… it felt altogether like another lifetime.

Snapped out of his reverie by the sight of you, he hastily walked up to you, your back still facing him.

“Do you need a taxi signorina? I can give you a very good rate…” he jested. Your head whipped around meeting the sight of a beaming Giorno. Being altogether too excited, you threw yourself into his open arms, a few happy tears escaping your lovely eyes. The pure display of unbridled love and affection attracted warm gazes from a few kind onlookers.

“Gio! I missed you so much, I thought I was only seeing you later today!”

“Surprise! I missed you so much too amore, your expression right now, makes it all worth it. Come here,” said Giorno, wrapping his arms around you once again, then drawing back to place soft kisses on your lips. “Come bella, let’s get you home, I can’t wait to start my break with you…”

“Of course my love, let’s go…” with a dreamy look in your eyes and a pure smile on his face, you walked hand in hand, falling perfectly into step with one another, as if you had never been separated at all…

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bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

Note

Dick has said it out loud explicitly, to Damian, that the mantle of Robin was his to pass on. Why do people still feel entitled to talk over him?

IMO? For the exact same reasons that people harp on so much about it being a retcon that Robin was Dick’s mother’s nickname for him and that originally he based the name on Robin Hood. To be perfectly honest that doesn’t make a damn bit of difference in regards to the fact that either way the point is still that Dick created Robin and it wouldn’t exist without him.....but the constant attempts to minimize its emotional significance to Dick and any kind of special attachment to it that he has and that the others can’t claim to share....

IMO these are just attempts to distance Dick from the mantle and make him seem less relevant or important to its very existence....freeing up people to focus on the importance of Robin as a symbol and a mantle to everyone else but without having to attribute any special credit or significance or respect to Dick as the originator of the mantle and the character that the other Robins are literally the legacy characters of.

It’s pretty annoying and very shortsighted IMO as actually, emphasizing the connection Robin has to Dick’s first family just enhances the weight and poignancy of Dick ultimately giving each of the other Robins his blessing when he didn’t have to and thus literally choosing them as his new family even without having to rely solely on a connection to each other via Bruce.

Of course people don’t seem to really want to do that either....given how rarely Dick’s blessing even gets acknowledged amid all the angst about who replaced who and who was fired and who wasn’t. It’s kinda ironic...I know so many fans HATE the version where Bruce fires Dick and so whatever they can not to acknowledge it and dismiss it as a retcon....and the ironic thing is? I get it. I totally see why it’s not something they want to run with and to be quite honest I can take it or leave it myself. I like exploring versions of events where Dick was fired, I like exploring ones where he wasn’t. Both have room for digging and delving imo.

My only beef with people who are soooo loud and quick to always dismiss the firing as just a retcon that doesn’t count.....is that in the pre Crisis version of events where Dick voluntarily gave up Robin and decided it was time to move onto a new identity....he gave Robin to Jason himself. The significance of that version of events isn’t JUST that it was Dick’s own choice to move to a new identity and that there was no conflict between him and Bruce about it...it was equally of significance that the Robin mantle was still viewed as inherently his, made by him, and his and his alone to pass on to a successor.

There is no version where Dick gave it up voluntarily but had no role in choosing Jason. The very premise of that mix and match honestly makes no sense because why make such a fuss about Bruce not having overstepped and fired Dick when it was never his place to say what he could claim as his identity or mantle on his OWN (fire him as his partner, sure that was always Bruce’s right, but tell Dick he couldn’t be the hero persona he created for himself? Fuck off Bruce LOL).

But my point is that mix and match makes no real sense because why preserve Bruce’s character from stepping between Dick and the mantle he created to honor his first parents....only to then turn right around and have Bruce still treat it as a Wayne family hand me down that Dick had outgrown when it was only EVER a Grayson family hand me down whose only connection to the Wayne family was through Dick being a member of both families and a bridge connecting them?

Whether Bruce fires Dick as Robin and gives it to Jason or JUST gives it to Jason without Dick making that choice....the one isn’t any better than the other because in both cases the actual offense is still the same: it was never Bruce’s to do ANYTHING with other than what Dick wanted done with it. Take on a new partner? Sure. But give him the mantle made of Dick’s work, Dick’s past, Dick’s every action as Robin? Nope.

So really the mix and match only serves one real purpose, for anyone who is intent on dismissing the firing as just a retcon but sees no need to uphold Dick choosing to give Robin to Jason instead of Bruce doing that...when Bruce doing that is literally part of the exact same retcon they’re so intent on discarding!

The only real purpose that mix and match serves is to keep Bruce centered in the Robin succession with his choice to give it to Jason being the basis of Jason associating Robin with Bruce. It keeps Bruce as the person Jason thinks of and feels connected to every time he thinks of why he’s Robin at all....because Bruce is the one who gave him the symbol that was already well known and full of meaning when Jason stepped into those shoes.

And then of course at the same time the mix and match also ‘lessens’ Bruce’s offense to Dick in taking Robin against his wishes WHILE also suggesting that Dick has less basis of feeling resentful of Bruce passing it on to someone else without his say so because it’s not like he was using it anymore right? And that was his own choice right?

But so what if it was? That doesn’t make it any less his creation and his legacy. It doesn’t make it any less a Grayson family connection and somehow more a Bruce Wayne family connection.

And that’s my beef. That’s the big irony of how flat out counter intuitive the mix and match retcon thing is and always has been. It only accomplishes half its objective....keeps the later Robins more connected to Bruce via it than they are to Dick via it....because it ultimately still runs through Bruce. But it fails to accomplish its secondary objective simply because refusing to acknowledge that Robin is intrinsically tied to Dick Grayson and not Bruce Wayne like....doesn’t actually make it any less true.

And that’s why imo the question should never have been “does your fic go with the version where Dick gives up Robin or the retcon where Bruce fires Dick” ...no, the right question in my mind should have always been “does your fic go with the version where Dick gives Robin to Jason or the retcon where Bruce gives it to Jason.”

And here’s the sticking point:

People always point to Bruce and Dick’s initial connection as the basis of their entire Dynamic Duo partnership. They understood each otrher via their parallel experiences losing their parents to murder. Bruce saw himself in a young Dick Grayson and he wanted to help Dick figure out a way forward to life after his parents’ death by drawing upon his own experiences.

But at the same time, they aren’t the same. Even with Bruce guiding Dick forward through his trauma and grief by following a map made of his own prior experiences, the end result was not the same for both....but it still used some of the same road marks on their respective journeys.

And this is why the Dynamic Duo were always emphasized as partners, as complementing each other, balancing each other....things they could only do because they were not the same and even using similar coping mechanisms to deal with their PARALLEL tragedies....produced entirely different results.

Both used their tragedies, their traumas, their PAIN to fuel their pursuit of justice and desire to help protect people. Both built new personas for themselves to use in their shared missions here....personas which embodied what they wanted to accomplish in these guises while at the same time reminding them why they were doing this.

But the personas they created ended up looking very different despite being born of similar crucibles...because they prioritized different things....and because they were honoring different people.

No matter how much Bruce and Dick have in common due to circumstances they are very different people who are both products of the families and places they come from....and thus even when using similar PROCESSES to build something out of their parallel tragedies, what emerged from the fires once they were done creating from their traumas.....don’t look the same. Aren’t interchangeable.

And neither are their creators.

Bottom line, it in my opinion flat out does not work to attribute more connection to Robin and the succession of that mantle to Bruce than Dick.....because Bruce would never, COULD never create that specific mantle out of his grief and pain any more than Dick ever would or could have created Batman out of his. Because they are too different. They needed different things out of their journeys forward, they were commemorating having had different journeys behind them, they were walking a shared path side by side but you can’t switch the clothes they made to wear going forward anymore than you can switch their footprints beneath their feet....they don’t fit into what the other made because it wasn’t made BY them and it wasn’t made FOR them.

So riddle me this, Batfandom: how does it make sense to focus on their parallel tragedies and how they moved forward from those in similar ways and on a shared trajectory, emphasizing how this is the entire basis of the Batman and Robin partnership from its very inception.....

Only to then view the role Bruce’s grief, his loss, his pain played in birthing the Batman mantle as something sacrosanct, undeniable....these things go hand in hand, there’s no separating them even when others end up wearing the Batman mantle as well, even through multiple generations....

But at the EXACT SAME TIME....treating Dick’s grief, HIS loss, HIS pain and the role all THAT played in birthing the Robin mantle....as something that barely comes up as a footnote the second you put the costume on anyone other than Dick? Something the others never even feel inclined to THINK about when reflecting on the mantle they’re wearing and where it came from and why it exists?

Why is the one rated as so less significant than the other....if the entire point of Batman and Robin is that both heroes were born from the ashes of tragedies so similar they understood each other in ways most other mentors and sidekicks never came close to?

How’s that work exactly?

Look, you’ll never catch me arguing that Bruce isn’t and shouldn’t be central to the Batman mantle, mythos, succession, etc. And I loved Dick as Batman too. But it ultimately should always come back to Bruce no matter how many people add to it in their own ways. Because it’s not just about what Bruce made.....it’s why he made it that matters too. The act of creating Batman is as important to the story of Batman as the created Batman.

And those very same reasons are precisely why Bruce shouldn’t be regarded as central to the ROBIN mantle, succession, etc.

To dismiss the Graysons as not being definitive to the greater Robin mythos is to say Thomas and Martha Wayne bear no special significance to the Batman mythos.

I love that being Robin connects these siblings and ties them all together as part of the same family. I love it being a shared family tradition that encompasses all of them and marks this family of choice as having been specifically chosen by not just it’s patriarch but each other.

But it’s not Bruce’s family tradition and it’s not a Wayne or even a Batman hand me down.

Because it doesn’t even come from Bruce’s family.

It comes from Dick’s. He brought it with him. It’s what connects him to what came before life with Bruce because as everyone knows but so many people often forget to give MEANING....

Dick Grayson, for as much as he is Batman’s son and is undeniably Bruce’s family, had a life of his own before he ever met Bruce.

He didn’t begin with Bruce Wayne. He didn’t come from Bruce Wayne.

And neither did Robin.

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ashxketchum · 3 years ago

Note

For the handholding prompts! Taiora + 37? :3 Have a lovely day

Hello! Sorry for such a long wait, at first I was really confused by what I should write for Taiora with this prompt, and by the time I got around to outlining the scene, life happened 😔

But finally today I was able to sit down and get this out of my brain! This is set right after the battle with Ordinemon in Tri Part 6 and is mostly canon compliant. I hope you enjoy it, thank you for requesting 🧡

37. not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out

Taichi’s gut kept telling him that he was missing something, but he brushed it away. What could he be possibly missing when he was sitting with a wall of comfort surrounding him? That’s why even as the thought continued to gnaw at him, he refused to open his eyes and acknowledge the problem, it could be dealt with later, when his nap would be over and he would wake up feeling well rested and refreshed. For now he wanted to bask in the feeling of floating in sunshine, with every aching muscle in his body being cured of it’s pain, every tired fibre in his body being refuelled with energy. He wouldn’t dare open his eyes right now, not when he could hide under this umbrella of comfort for a little while longer, because who knew if it would still be there to shelter him from the stinging raindrops of reality when he woke, or if it would leave him drenched and broken, as it had once before.

NEXT STATION-

The words rang in his ears like a blaring alarm and suddenly Taichi was very much aware of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes jolted open and he made to get up, when a familiar weight on his shoulder made him halt as realisation dawned fully upon him, of course the warmth had belonged to Sora who still slept quietly with her whole body leaning on him and her head resting on his shoulder, just like two puzzle pieces perfectly aligned.

The announcement echoed again throughout the train compartment and Taichi broke out of his daze, deciding that now was not the time to marvel over these little things, he quickly stood up. When he did so, Sora woke with a start, her eyes fluttering open in slow motion, but as they didn’t really have time for her to be fully awake, Taichi grabbed her hand in his and pulled her onto her feet, dragging her behind him as he rushed to get out of the train just as the doors slid shut.

He turned to face Sora and ask her if she was feeling okay but saw that her eyes were still drooping low and she held on to his grasp on her hand tightly for support as her feet wobbled out of balance. Taichi couldn’t really blame her, in fact he was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who felt like they had been made to run a marathon for 1000 years without a break. The visits to Digital World, the adventure and the battles had always been exhausting, but today their strength had been put to test in a way that none of them had ever expected to encounter, and the price of overcoming it all was pure exhaustion, both mentally and physically.

So Taichi kept quiet and gently pulled Sora along with himself across the mostly empty platform, glad that he had been the one to volunteer to take her home as he was so familiar with the route that he could probably reach there even with his eyes closed. He also didn’t mind the silence that had settled between them as they walked slowly but steadily, as Taichi wasn’t sure if he had anything left to say to anyone after the lengthy interrogation him and his friends had been subjected to by the authorities right after Ordinemon had been defeated, without so much as a moment spared for them to deal with the loss of their Digimon friend.

Even though Taichi’s session had lasted the longest as he was the only one to witness Nishijima’s demise he still felt that Sora had been subjected to a more difficult task, which was consoling not just Meiko, but also Hikari and Mimi as they had sat in the room waiting to be called in for questioning. As always, she had given every bit of her energy into taking care of others rather than herself, so Taichi attempted to make things easier for her the only way he knew how to, by keeping quiet and giving her the space to deal with everything at her own pace.

It was when they reached her home and rang the bell that Sora finally looked like she was awake, right on time Taichi thought, as at least he’d be able to tell her to take care of herself and have her actually retain those words in her head. So he turned slightly, hoping to bid her goodbye before her mother opened the door, but as tired as he was, he missed his chance to make a quick escape. The door swung open before he could open his mouth and a bright light was cast upon them and the dimly lit hallway.

Mrs. Takenouchi stood behind the door, looking like she had rushed to the door in a hurry that was uncommon for her, her face an odd mixture of relief and concern as she studied her daughter. Then her eyes travelled down and she raised them in mild surprise, another thing which was unusual for the stern Mrs. Takenouchi, so both Taichi and Sora followed her astonished gaze and experienced a rude awakening themselves as they saw that their hands were still tightly clasped around each other’s. They quickly pulled their hands away and shifted a few steps away from each other to put some distance between them.

Taichi was amazed by how despite of being so tired, his body could still find the energy to turn his face into a heated mess, and smoke coming out of his ears now wouldn't come as a shock to anyone.

“Good evening, Mrs. Takenouchi.” He mumbled awkwardly to fill the silence and draw attention away from the fact that he had been unknowingly holding onto Sora’s hand for who knows how long now. He could only hope that Sora too knew that it had been unintentional, and that he hadn’t meant to overstep his boundaries.

“Good evening, Taichi. I am relieved to see that you’re both okay, though you do look like you need a few days worth of rest.” She smiled softly at the two teens, turning to face her daughter with an affectionate gaze, she added, “Sora, welcome back.”

“I’m home.” Sora replied almost automatically, and satisfied with the response Mrs. Takenouchi passed a peculiar look to her daughter before she headed back inside, leaving the two of them alone to say their goodbyes.

Sora took this chance to move inside her house, now taking Mrs. Takenouchi’s place in the doorway, finally facing Taichi with her eyes wide open, though they were still filled with reflections of what had transpired in the past few days.

Taichi remembered that he had been meaning to tell her to take care of herself before her mother had arrived at the door, but when he looked at Sora now, with her figure illuminated by the white light coming from inside her house, her vermillion eyes shining with tears that were being kept at bay with every bit of remaining energy in her body, he lost the words he had so carefully selected a few moments ago. He wished instead that telling her how much he cared for her and her wellbeing could be as easy as taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. He knew he had to say something however, because not only had the silence between them become suddenly deafening, but also because he couldn’t possibly leave without a word of appreciation or gratefulness for all that she had done for Hikari and the rest of them today.

“Don’t forget to eat dinner,” He joked, hoping to lighten the mood enough to easily slip the words he wanted to say out of his mouth, but his half-grin seemed to light something in Sora as one lonely tear slipped down her cheek slowly despite her strained efforts to keep it from happening.

“Don’t ever disappear like that again, Taichi.” Her voice trembled as she spoke and Taichi felt a pang in his chest at her tone, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come back. You can’t leave me behind just like that!”

“I’m sorry.” Taichi muttered quietly, that was all that he could manage to say out loud.

In reality he wanted to remind her that there were other people in her life who would easily be able to fill the gap he would leave, that it was not fair for her to stand there and tell him this, knowing well enough who he had meant to save in that moment. But he held his tongue, it had been a long few days for both of them and now was not the time to turn regrets of the past into bitter remarks that he may never be able to go back from.

“Please. Promise me, you will never do that again.” Her pleading voice was just above a whisper and it was a miracle that it even reached his ears.

“I will, if you promise something in return too.” Taichi replied in a determined tone, his hands balling up into fists on their own as he fixed her with an intense gaze. Sora looked at him with doubt at first, but eventually nodded at his words tiredly, “You have to promise to start putting yourself first from now on, no matter what.”

“That’s a difficult promise to make.”

“So is what you’re asking of me.” Taichi refused to back down.

“I’m asking you to take care of yourself, that isn’t too hard.”

“Likewise.”

And silence settled between them once again as Sora glared up at him and Taichi returned the favour with equal vigour. He had no idea how either of them still had the energy to keep this up, but even if it meant sacrificing being closer to his bed for a little while longer, he would gladly do so to get Sora to treat herself better. If he had learned anything from what they had all been through in the past few days, it was that change should always be embraced, for better or for worse. He didn’t know just how much Sora could change her ways or how it would affect her presence in all of the Digidestined’s lives, but he knew that if she didn’t start now then she wouldn’t start ever and he was tired of seeing her be the victim of her own labours of love.

“Okay.” She sighed in defeat, as her glare turned into an exhausted and disgruntled stare, “Okay, I promise to put myself first from now on, no matter what.”

“And I promise to take care of myself and not jump headfirst into danger without a second thought.” Taichi chimed after her, a smile spreading across his face as he realised that he’d actually gotten Sora to bend to his demands.

There was a first time for everything, he thought to himself, and secretly hoped that this wouldn’t be the last of it either.

#taiora #taichi yagami #sora takenouchi #digimon #digimon fanfiction #digimon adventure tri #writealot #you know a taichi pov was pending from me when I inserted him in literally all the mimato oneshots lol #one more request to go from this series and i hope to get it done soon!

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mandakatt · 4 years ago

Text

DMC Fic - Feeling of Familiarity - Dante Sparda & Nero Sparda

A/N: Here's the piece I did for the @jackpot-dantezine and since bundles are being shipped, I get the chance to share this one with you!

Characters: Dante Sparda, Nero Sparda, Trish, Credo, Vergil (Mention) Word Count: 2474 Warnings: Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant (I guess that's a warning? XD) Summary: Dante had come to Fortuna to 'check' into the collectors he'd heard about, and while he's taking care of that problem, he finds himself face to face with a young man that makes him think of Vergil.

Why though?

Why does this young cocky kid get his blood to sing with the feeling of familiarity?

And why does he want to protect him so badly?

“‘See you there’, she said. ‘This will be fun,’ she said...”

Dante grumbled softly to himself as he perched himself over one of the many stained glass windows of the opera house to look down at the congregation below, and he couldn’t help but huff out a little laugh.

"The Order of the Sword huh? Well...so much for hoping you were just a bunch of collectors.”

With a sigh he crouched himself down to listen for a moment, and he couldn’t help but cringe as he wiggled a finger into his ear. The Vicar, or whatever this demon wanted to call himself, was rambling on about a Savior, and it was totally getting on his nerves.

“Geeze, this guy can talk…”

He can feel the call of the Yamato nearby but it’s very distant and dulled, almost as if it was buried underground. It reminded him of how one felt when waking up from an all night bender, and he sort of huffed at the irony of the thought, considering the way the shop looked when he left.

With a sigh he stood up, and rolled his shoulders. “Well, no time like the present…” with a smirk he decided that a grand entrance; like always, is the way he should get things started.

Crashing into the opera house like a damned vigilante, he manages to shut up the Vicar himself with one very well-placed and up-close shot to the head. With that out of the way, Dante stands slowly, feeling his blood singing again as he turns his head to look around at what could be calling to him only to go wide-eyed as his gaze falls on a young man with stark white hair and the first thing that comes to mind is the word family.

But before he can figure out who or what he’s really looking at, he gets swarmed with demons, and with humans scrambling around and screaming to flee that makes this a bit more difficult. Immediately he considers how best to keep these things distracted long enough for the humans to escape, but then that familiar scent of fear fills his nostrils. His head snaps down to look at the woman at his feet, to tell her to not be afraid but the next thing he knows he’s got a pair of boots in his face. It takes all of his self control to not burst out laughing as he rights himself and draws his guns, giving off a soft huff he smirks as he stares this kid down, only to feel like he’s looking at a much younger version of his brother.

Well now...

It isn’t long before he finds himself clashing swords and once again he’s hit by a sudden rush of familiarity, as if there’s something about this cocky, loud, hot-tempered kid that makes his blood sing with the memory of Vergil, and he finds himself pushing this kid to the brink just to truly see what he’s capable of.

Suddenly the overwhelming need to protect this kid slaps him in the face.

He wants to help him redirect that anger into something more powerful. Guide him and teach him things that he was positive he didn’t know he could do already. Things that no one ever taught him when he was his age, and alone.

Yet those rambling thoughts are what distracts him enough that he’s suddenly taking several punches to the face. The devil in him grows angry at the situation and he feels the want to shift, and actually partly does so.

Alright Kid, you’ve made your point. Seems—

Suddenly, he’s weightless, and right after the wind gets knocked out of him, the Rebellion rips through his chest and he slams against the statue of Sparda. He stares down at it in disbelief for a moment before he lets his arms droop down to his sides with a soft sigh.

—Heh. Well that’s a case of some serious deja vu. And with my own sword no less!

Okay. So he might have just underestimated this kid just a little bit.

With a grunt he pushes himself free of the statue and lands on his feet to slowly pull the Rebellion free from his chest. He finds himself sort of encouraging this kid, explaining that he’s sure that he and this kid are the same, yet different from the demons that litter the floor around them, and when the kid turns to look he leaves the same way he got into the opera house, giving the kid a cheeky salute on his way out.

When he meets the kid again he can feel the anger radiating off him in waves, see it in the way this kid’s arm glows with power, and he knows that the Yamato is feeding from that anger. In the short time he’s followed this kid around, he’s never seen him be this sloppy, and it irritates him at how easily he knocks this kid off balance by preventing him from pulling his arm away.

They clash swords and Dante doesn’t feel the same adrenaline rush as when they met, he knows there’s too much anger running through this kid’s head.

“You cooled off yet kid?” he pants softly as he looms over him. “What’s the matter? Why the glare?”

“You look as if you’ve just been playing me from the beginning.”

And Dante swears that hurts almost as much as when this kid pinned him to the stature in the opera house. He immediately backs off, resting the Rebellion on his shoulder as he tells him about the Yamato.

How it needs to stay in the family.

And when this kid desperately says that he needs it...

Well shit, you’re not making this easy on me are ya Kid?

“Then keep it,” Dante tells him with a smirk. “Now that you’re calm and cool you can get goin’...”

The kid stands there for a moment before moving past him, but before he gets too far he calls out to him.

“Hey! What’s your name?”

“Nero…You’re Dante right?”

With a light nod of his head he knows this kid—Nero—doesn’t see he watches him stalk off before he’s met by Trish, and he can’t help but tease her on how she’s dressed.

“Are you sure you wanna let him go?”

“Yeah...I figure he can bear the burden.”

His father could handle that blade without a problem.

“Well, if the kid screws up, then I’ll just have to kick his ass.”

Though the next time they cross paths his heart leaps up into his throat when he hears Nero’s desperate anguished cry for Credo. It’s a familiar sound as he knows he made a similar sound when he lost Vergil, and he finds himself catching Credo out of the air as gently as he’s able.

The Vicar rambles on about how ‘Gloria’ didn’t anticipate a descendant of Sparda’s blood, and his own sings with anger, and now he’s going to distract the Vicar just enough to give Nero a fighting chance.

“Hey Kid! You giving up so soon?”

“My options...are limited…”

Dante scoffs. “So melodramatic.” C’mon, don’t give up Kid... “Besides, if you die without giving my sword back, I’m gonna be pissed!” You’re not beaten yet!

He finds himself taking several steps forward with the want to save him only to blink as Nero gives him the bird and tells him to come and get it. Blinking in disbelief, he stares at the Savior where Nero was, before a smirk pulls at his lips.

“Heh, what a punk…” and a moment later the statue rises into the sky and he finds himself huffing out a laugh at the size of the Savior. “Check it out, it’s got wings!”

The groan and cough behind him causes him to turn to look at Credo, and he knows sadly that there is no coming back from a wound like that, but first, he’s hoping to get some answers.

“Hey. Where’s that thing going? It’s not complete yet is it?” he crouches down near him.

“It is in his heart to save the world from chaos...He will begin by driving it out.”

I see this is another familiar song and dance…

“Now he has what he needs. Yamato.”

Dante sighs as he looks from Trish back to Credo as he tells him what they want to use the sword for. How the Vicar wants to use the Yamato to open the Hell Gate, the real Hell Gate that lies dormant beneath the city, and Dante finds himself looking up at Trish.

“I think you...the son of the Dark Knight Sparda...are the only one that can stop the Savior now…Dante...”

Sighing a little through his nose as Trish starts to tease him about his reputation, he looks up at the Savior with his hands on his hips and huffs.

“Looks that way…” and he turns to look as Credo struggles to get to his feet, pain and loss all over his face and Dante’s heart goes out to the guy. He understands that he never wanted his sibling involved in any of this. He understands what it feels like to lose your family.

“Please… honor one last request…” Credo pants softly, groanings between words. “Save them. Kyrie and…Nero…” he moves to step forward as if he means to chase them when his body gives out.

Dante gently reaches out to place his hand on his chest to stop him, only to sigh and slowly sink down to his knee as Credo’s body dissipates. Instead of it being an energy that he’s used to, that colorless sort of dark matter, this glows warm and floats up into the sky. He feels a sudden sense of loss, and a twist of anger in his gut as he stares at his hand.

“I’ll do it…” he growls as he takes a deep breath and his tone changes as he gets to his feet. “I wouldn’t want to deny anyone their dying request.”

“I’ll sweep the city and evacuate the people.”

“Hey! Is this your way of ditching and dumping this mess on—”

“You wanna switch?”

When Trish rounds on him he stands there, his mouth agape at the look she gives him and he lifts his hands in submission. He knows that she really can tell how angry he is at this whole thing. Because no one else, family or not, should have to go through what he and his brother had.

“It’s cool!” Dante finally relents as he turns to leave. “Let’s stick to the plan.”

He goes after Devil Arms, and hell gates, and when he uses the Yamato to split a hell gate in two he knows it won’t be long before the Savior is focused on him.

“You get it back?”

Dante lifts the Yamato up, showing Trish the blade.

“That’s one sword....” he sighs and sounds almost weary.

“And one to go.”

With the Savior now looming closer he scowls, he knows that Nero is still in there somewhere, he can feel him, but he can’t tell exactly where the kid is and despite wanting to use the Yamato to destroy it he knows if he does, he’ll lose Nero in the process.

He can’t lose him too.

He can’t.

He has Trish go after the others, asking her to make sure they are safe as he starts off after the Savior, and he loses himself in the fight. It isn’t long before he sinks the Yamato deep into its chest, then calls for Nero.

“Time to wake up Kid! You’re missing out on all the fun!” and when he can’t feel him for a brief moment, his heart stops.

“Nero!”

Ah! There you are. Shit. Don’t scare a guy like that.

“Do what you gotta do kid, cause I’m about to send this guy on a one way trip to Hell!”

A fight with something so large is more annoying than anything, and he can feel Nero growing stronger with each swing of the Rebellion, almost as if he is empowering each step that Kid is making. He finds himself smirking a moment later when he realizes that the fight is over as he watches Nero land on his feet, with Kyrie in his arms.

“Took your time.”

“What, you looking for an apology?”

With a smirk he turns to face him and gestures with a flourish. “Well, how long am I going to have to wait for it?”

Only to scowl when the Savior moves again.

Dante turns to finish it off when Nero prevents him from doing so by passing him the sword of Sparda. With a smirk he stands there, keeping a simple vigil over Kyrie as his blood sings again with familiarity as Nero’s devil side awakens further and he watches with amusement as this kid crushes the Savior’s skull.

“I guess I should thank you…”

When Nero walks up to him again with the Yamato in hand he feels the want to protect ebb a little as he turns to face him.

“But that would be out of character,” Dante smirks. “Maybe you should just throw an insult my way instead.”

“Yeah, that sounds better, but still, I owe ya.”

Dante finds himself wanting to tell him about his Father, his family, of how damned proud of him they all would be, but the words die in his throat, and with a bit of a smile, he tries to act nonchalant.

“Ah, don’t sweat it, I had my reasons for helping.” with a gentle pat on Nero’s shoulder he starts to leave. “Take care of yourself.”

“Wait, you forgot this.”

He pauses and turns to face him with a slight smile. “Keep it.”

“What? I thought this meant a lot to you..?”

“Well, that’s the only type of gift worth giving.” Dante’s voice grows soft and fond. “I want to entrust it to you, so I am.”

Your father would want you to have it.

Before he gets too emotional he becomes aloof and takes a step back from him with a grin.“What you do from here, is your call.” He turns to leave.

There’s still demons on the loose in Fortuna; he can’t just leave them to run amok after all.

“Hey Dante? Will we meet again…?”

With a gentle wave over his shoulder as he heads back toward the city to catch up with Trish, he knows that he won’t be letting Nero out of his sight for too long. Not just because he knows he has a thing or three to teach this kid about hunting devils, but because you stick with family, no matter what.

“Don’t worry, Kid,” he mumbles under his breath. “Your Uncle Dante will watch out for ya...”

#Meraki #Dante Sparda #DMC Dante #Nero Sparda #DMC Nero #TW Blood #TW Injury #Dante Zine #DMC Fanzine #Jackpot a Dante Fanzine #Uncle Dante

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Chocolate Thief

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Virgil, Scott, Gordon, Alan, John

Scott’s on the warpath.

It’s 5am, this is not proofread. This is also thanks to a random comment from @gumnut-logic (again) regarding missing chocolate and siblings... I just turned it into some sort of TAG mess. Oops :P I’d call this a birthday fic for Scott, except I don’t think he wants this as a birthday present (and also it’s technically the 5th here now...)

The sudden sounds of outrage from the kitchen yanked Virgil out of his painting zone and rudely deposited him back in the den, where he clearly had one fuming brother the floor below him. He eyed his painting for a moment, wondering if it was worth investigating or if he should just leave his brothers to their mayhem.

Then something went crash and the medic in him reluctantly gave a nudge. Someone had to make sure no-one was injured, and summoning Grandma in the direction of the kitchen… His stomach made a minor noise of fear. Yeah, no. It was going to have to be him.

With another sigh, he gently set down the palette and brush and made his way to the warzone below.

The fuming brother was Scott. That was only marginally surprising; his eldest brother did have a bit of a temper – more than a bit, if Virgil was honest – but he tended to keep it on a firm leash around family. The defiant Terrible Two standing opposite him, arms crossed and faces a matching disgruntlement, seemed to be the targets of his ire.

A stool was overturned. Presumably that was the source of the crash. None of his brothers looked injured, though, and Virgil surmised that it was probably just knocked over.

Whatever had upset Scott, big brother clearly wasn’t running out of steam any time soon. Virgil considered interrupting to get some sort of explanation for the sudden rage, but decided it was probably best not to draw attention to himself. There was a high chance that Scott would just turn on him, and as Virgil knew he was innocent of whatever crime had apparently been committed, he wasn’t interested in opening himself up for the firing line.

Besides, neither Gordon nor Alan looked like they particularly needed his help. Scott on a rampage could be a terrifying sight, but in this instance, neither of Virgil’s little brothers looked particularly cowed by it. Alan was pouting and Gordon’s mulish glare said that he was just waiting for Scott to pause for a breath.

Unfortunately for the squid, Scott seemed to have forgotten the need for something as simple as breathing as he continued to snarl about… chocolate?

Oh. That explained things.

Scott was barking up entirely the wrong tree; Virgil wasn’t the guilty party and had not snaffled any of his brother’s chocolate stash when his back was turned, but he had a pretty good guess who it was.

There was a member of their family who was very conspicuously absent.

It was also a member of the family Virgil didn’t feel like getting on the wrong side of. He certainly didn’t want to be between them and Scott, so with the mystery solved and enough faith in his little brothers to handle the false accusations of an upset big brother without his intervention, he made the decision to retreat back to his painting.

Maybe he’d relocate to the studio, away from the ruckus of Storm Scott.

He’d made it up all of two steps when there was the sound of a scuffle, and the medic resurfaced. It wasn’t like his brothers would actively try to injure each other, but accidents happened…

With a groan, Virgil reversed course and trudged back into the kitchen.

Gordon and Alan had clearly decided they’d had enough of the accusations and had jumped Scott.

On the plus side, it had worked to silence him momentarily as he staggered under the weight of two little brothers in his arms. There were some flailing limbs, and with some alarm, Virgil realised Scott was losing his balance.

Reflexes honed from rescues had him across the kitchen floor in moments, grabbing Scott from behind and steadying him before he toppled.

Gordon had a hand shoved over Scott’s mouth – or rather a fist stuffed in it, which was both gross and rather impressive. His arms full of little brothers, Scott had no way of forcing him to retract it, either.

With a sigh, Virgil decided that maybe it was time to play family peacemaker.

“You really think those two stole your chocolate?” he asked Scott.

The muffled noise said yes, he did.

Virgil wasn’t about to endanger himself by pointing out the real culprit, but thankfully he didn’t have to, because the two blonds decided that was the perfect cue for them to start proclaiming their innocence.

Loudly.

Virgil left them to it, glancing up at the balcony attached to the den, where someone was stood watching them. Green eyes met his, one eyebrow raised, and he shrugged them off.

No, he was not getting in the way of that. He quite liked not having to look over his shoulder constantly inside his own home, thanks.

He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what Scott had done to have his chocolate stolen in retaliation. Then again, sometimes boredom or mischief was enough of a motivation.

Messing with Scott was like poking a hive of wasps with a stick, but not everyone was particularly worried about the retaliation. Some people even found it amusing. Gordon was also on that list, admittedly, but stealing chocolate wasn’t normally his style.

Deciding that Scott was well in hand – the blonds were small but mighty, and big brother didn’t stand a chance even if he liked to pretend he did – Virgil released him and once again headed up the stairs, away from the fallout.

“You know he’ll want revenge,” he pointed out as he reached the balcony and paused to observe the kerfuffle from a safe distance. Gordon’s fist was no longer in Scott’s mouth, but he was still yelling over anything Scott might be trying to accuse him of, and Alan was like a terrier puppy as he clung on for dear life, his own protestations of innocence interjecting between Gordon’s declarations.

“I’d like to see him try.”

The tone it was said in informed him that boredom was the motivator. Virgil would have winced, but at least it wasn’t aimed at him. Then again, it never was. The schemes only ever targeted Scott, or very rarely Gordon. He and Alan tended to remain in the clear, or as occasional accomplices.

“Chocolate?”

A bar was offered, and Virgil eyed it for a moment, before glancing back at the trio of brothers in the kitchen – now leaving the kitchen and heading in the approximate direction of the pool. One or more of them was going to get a dunking for sure.

“I’ll pass.” Not that he didn’t want chocolate, but he knew that was the very same chocolate Scott was flailing about, and if he ate it he would become an accomplice, if not a full-blown scapegoat.

Neither of those particularly appealed.

“Suit yourself,” John shrugged, tearing the wrapper open and biting off the first few squares. “Your loss.”

He let the wrapper drop, the sea breeze light enough that it carried straight down, landing in the pool at the same moment an almighty splash indicated that all three brothers had ended up toppling in together in a mess of limbs.

Virgil hurriedly retreated, out of sight, as Scott caught sight of the wrapper and let out a deafening roar.

“JOHN!”

Green eyes glimmered in amusement.

“I’d say that’s my cue to get back to the office,” Virgil’s trouble-making big brother commented as though there wasn’t a sopping wet eldest brother on the warpath for him. “See you later.”

“Bye,” Virgil said automatically, watching as John strode over to Scott’s launch chute and slipped inside just before a dripping Scott Tracy thundered up the stairs and into the den.

“Where is he, Virgil?” Blue eyes sparked with fire and, knowing neutrality wasn’t going to work in his favour against Scott, Virgil pointed at the chute.

A second roar and Scott tore for the stairs to the hangar, even though Virgil knew full well it would be too late. By the time he reached the hangars, the space elevator would be halfway back to Thunderbird Five, John and his stolen chocolate safely aboard and out of Scott’s reach for the foreseeable future.

Shaking his head at his brothers’ antics, and resolving to stay out of the way of whatever feud this was going to start between his big brothers – John seemed to enjoy provoking Scott when he was bored, and the youngest three had all learnt the hard way that it wasn’t worth getting caught in that crossfire – Virgil returned to his easel and paints.

One thing was for sure. Life with his brothers was never boring.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #thunderfluff #chocolate thief

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secret-engima · 4 years ago

Note

Here I am. The anon who enables. The enabler anon. Send forth your RWBY verses' rambles *opens arms wide to receive* (only if you want to of course)

ANON WHO ENABLES. ENABLER ANON. BLESS.

Wolfcury:

-Blake isn’t sure what to expect of her new teammates, but Ruby having a GIANT WOLFDOG is not one of them. It takes- a long time for Blake to not flinch and throw herself onto something high whenever Mercury shows up, even though he TRIES to not be a gremlin and bark or prank her.

-Weiss lasts maybe three days before she breaks out the baby talk. Because while Mercury is big he’s still a dog and we’ve seen how Weiss responds to Zwei. Mercury is annoyed by the baby talk and ignores her until Ruby convinces Weiss to “please just talk normally”. Then he will permit the scratching of ears.

-Weiss and Blake are both going to be SO SHOCKED (and upset) that Mercury is actually a person and they were never told.

-Ruby gets super into prosthetics and the building of them because of Mercury. She knows they can get him a prosthetic human leg, but it’s not going to transform into a wolf leg when he does. That technology just- doesn’t exist in that specific way yet. So Ruby decides at age ten or so that she’s gonna make one.

-Ruby: It’s transform when you do and it’ll be great and it’s also gonna be a *gun*.

-Mercury: Ruby I have teeth and claws, I don’t need a gun for a leg.

-Ruby, excitedly drawing prototype blueprints: GUNLEG.

-She does in fact build him a transforming gunnel with Velvet’s help. Mercury is a goodnatured Sigh.

-MercuryxEmerald is the eventual ship planned, and Yang teases him mercilessly for it once she’s sure Emerald is serious about defecting to the good guys. I’m also dabbling in Rosegarden (is that the ship name? OscarxRuby) because the idea of Ruby going from “ew crushes” to having one of her own amuses the heck out of me.

Always I Dreamed (Raven AU):

-Raven has a propensity for adopting things, as evidenced by Ozpin and later Emerald. But it doesn’t stop with them, and her habits are infectious. At various points in Yang’s childhood, she gets a gruff ex-assassin sibling from Mom (Mercury), two adorable cousins from Uncle Qrow (Ren and Nora), one angry older sister bandit (Vernal), a Cool Big Sister Figure with Fire Powers (Amber), and of also another Big Sister with Many Issues of The Anger that Raven carefully helps her work through. This particular big sister is a fav of Ruby’s because she can make cool toys from black glass.

-Yes Raven is fixit adopting Cinder

-No I didn’t see that coming either, neither did Raven. It just kinda- happened.

-Raven absolutely sings RWBY songs sometimes. Usually “Home” as a sibling lullaby for Qrow and later Team STORQ, then later All Our Days for her kids. But sometimes she can be heard humming other themes under her breath.

Azur verse:

-I’ve mentioned that Ozpin is a former Khara and proceeds to adopt Azur the feral Khara child, but I can’t resist touching on how Azur and Qrow meet.

-Azur is feral bby. He woke up in this world in the wilds and his Semblance (or magic, Oz is still not sure which it is) saved him from Grimm, and Azur tended to follow Grimm everywhere because they kept the other predators away. So this child is very feral when Oz finally coaxes him into his house. Azur is also protective and dedicated and knows that the only two people who come here are Ozdad and Housekeeper Lady.

-So when Qrow, very drunk and newly returned from a mission, decides to crash on Oz’s couch, Azur doesn’t have a clue that this is normal and fine. Cue Qrow being attacked and knocked out by a very persistent and angry 7-10 year old.

-Ozpin comes home to a trashed living room, a very proud Azur, and a Qrow who has been tied up using every bit of rope, string, or wire Azur could find and is nursing both a concussion and a hangover.

-Ozpin unties Qrow and explains he’s welcome here once he’s stopped laughing himself sick.

Dragon Yang:

-Yang really likes Ozpin. *Really* likes him. It’s not a crush or anything, but she went from a world soaked in magic to Remnant which has barely any left and it makes her feel off balance and numb. Then she goes to Beacon and the Headmaster HAS MAGIC. She can feel it. So she starts to heavily gravitate toward him when possible because he feels “normal”

-Ozpin, who has been the object of many school hood crushes, takes a bit to realize that Yang is not yet another student with a crush. And then he’s confused on why she keeps falling into his orbit when possible.

-He has no idea that in this magic-starved world, he is basically the living equivalent of dragon slayer catnip.

-Oznip.

-Ruby also thinks Yang has a crush and is thoroughly grossed out because *Yang he’s a TEACHER*. Yang just laughs at her baby sister’s discomfort.

Noctscar:

-Luna wakes up slowly, in fits and starts and dreams of rain and a knife in her side. She wakes up to the cold, to the loneliness, and then wakes up further because no child should have to deal with this.

-Luna wakes up when she is once again eleven years old and stares at herself in the mirror.

-Weiss Schnee, second daughter of Willow and Jaques Schnee, looks back. And looks *tired*.

-Her sister has already joined Altas academy and is on the fast track to the military, and though she loves her sister, it smacks greatly of Ravus from a lifetime ago and Luna cannot bear to look at Winter sometimes because of it.

-She dotes on her little brother, on poor Whitley who is neither stubborn like Winter or an old soul like Luna and yet is stuck in this abusive, neglectful household. She tries to shield him from mother’s blank stares and father’s sharp bursts of temper. She has lived with bruises like this before, better she take it than Whitley.

-When she is young, she hears on the news in school that there was a mining accident, that a great many Faunus died. While the rest of her classmates titter, one girl who Luna always avoided because she hung out with a crowd Luna didn’t trust, bursts into tears and turns bright blue. The other girls recoil. Luna sits down next to the girl and holds her hand, not hiding the tears falling from her own face at the thought of such massive loss of life.

-She never sees the Faunus girl again, but it is a wake up call. A reminder that something is very likely *wrong* with her father’s company. So she investigates.

-She is twelve the first time she sneaks out in a hoodie and a little painted theater mask. She makes it all the way down to Mantle, and there she reaches for blistered hands and weary souls. She is no longer an Oracle, but magic is of the soul and she remembers it well. When she calls, golden magic answers. She heals until she is exhausted, and somehow she manages to make it home without falling over or getting caught by Klein. She does it again, in between recitals and school and taking care of Whitley, she continues to sneak down to Mantle. Never speaking, never showing her face (they would hate her for her blood if they knew, she knows, reject her help if they saw her white hair and blue eyes), but always helping and healing where she can.

-The people of Mantle name her. Ghost, they call her.

-Moon Angel, the Faunus whisper. Helper, healer, lost soul.

-When she is thirteen, Luna signs up to a combat school despite her father’s disapproval. When Whitley clings to her in fear that she too will abandon him as Winter has (Winter visits to rarely, and always her attention rests solely on Weiss when she does and it makes Luna so *angry*), Luna tells him her plan. She will become a Huntress, and when she has her license, nothing will stop her from coming and taking him away from this place. She will be able to make money to provide for them, to free them from this cold palace of finery and recitals and empty wine bottles and bruises under their clothes in the shape of a man’s hands.

-When she is seventeen she applies to Beacon rather than Atlas, in defiance more than desire. She bids Whitley goodbye and promises once again to come back for him, he just needs to hold on a little longer.

-There is faith in his eyes as he waves her off. Luna died keeping her word, her duty, in another life. She will do no less here.

#SE asks #anon asks #Always I Dreamed verse #Run Wolf Warrior verse #One in a Hundred verse #Through the Dark verse #Dragon Yang verse #Secret Engima Rambles

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willowbleedsonpaper · 5 years ago

Text

Beside You

Theo Nott x Healer!Reader.

W.C. : 5180

Requested by the lovely @herstory-study: Hi again! I have another request for Theodore Nott if possible (bc I always imagine him to be like an absolute babeeee)... anyway, I was wondering if you could do a post war one shot where Nott is just trying to overcome him being on Voldy’s side and the reader defending him against assholes who judge him and helping him move on pleaseeee

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of blood, torture and death. I think that’s it.

The war was over, it was finally over. Years of fear and torment at the hands of Voldemort and his followers were just a bad memory you and all your friends could finally start healing from. You had been on the easy side of the war, or more like the least damaging. Staying at Hogwarts and studying under the rule of Snape and the Carrows, although traumatic was nothing compared to what Harry, Hermione and Ron had to go through, as well as his more closest friends like the entire Weasley family, Neville and Luna. They had taken upon themselves to go and find the way to defeat Voldemort and they had done it successfully, after enduring some not so enjoyable moments and the loss of many loved ones.

You had been there when Harry revealed himself to Snape, Professor McGonagall stepping in his defense as the crowd of students from all houses cleared the way with gasps and heavy breathing, you had been there when Professor McGonagall sent the entire Slytherin house to the dungeons as the rest of the houses helped clear the younger student and prepared for battle.

You saw students fight, using all the training provided by Hogwarts and Harry himself against Voldemort forces. You saw people cry, laugh, scream, die and run. You had seen things that were now burned into your mind, waking you up in the middle of the night with a choked scream as cold sweat rolled down your forehead.

You didn't even want to think what Harry and his friends woke up to in the middle of the night.

But more worrying, you didn't want to know what the Slytherins woke up to in the mornings.

Two year had passed by since the battle of Hogwarts, you had your life more or less back to normal. Whatever normal meant this days. You were training as healer at St. Mungos, not the easiest job but it payed off for food and your apartment besides the fact that you actually enjoyed it. It was full of surprises.

"Morning, Y/N." said one of the healers as he arrived to the desk, greeting you with a peck on the cheek as he sign in for the day.

"Dr. Williams," you said back, pointing to one of the rooms with a file in your hand "You arrived just in time," you handed him the file with an innocent smile "Julie, eight years old. Fell of her broom and broke her right arm."

He sighed, taking the file from you "The day we get more than broken bones I'll buy you dinner." he winked your way, turning away before you could answer.

Your shifts usually started at noon and ended late at night. It was going to be a long day.

And just as you thought the day stretched out like it was a boring class at Hogwarts, the day slow with only three patients, giving a lot of free time to Dr. Williams to shamelessly flirt with you.

"I've told you before, it's Jason." he said with a smirk, leaning in the desk as the other Healers stared at you two "Dr. Williams sounds too serious." he shrugged, like his title was something he was ashamed of.

"Well this is a serious environment Dr. Williams, you are technically my boss." you said, not looking up from the papers you had to fill before the end of the day, which was in 30 minutes.

"Oh, c'mon Y/N!" he exclaimed, a smile always in his face as he took the quill from your hand.

You lifted your face in annoyance, trying to reach for the quill when he lifted his hand above his head "Jason, I need that." you grumbled tiredly, opening your palm for him to return it.

He grinned "See? Wasn't that hard to call me by my name." he placed the quill back in your hand, finally finishing the papers.

You shook your head, gathering everything in your arms to take it back to its place. But the sound of the door bursting open caught yours and everyone's attention, a gasp leaving your lips as you saw the group of people entering the hospital.

"We need a healer!" said the girl, two man carrying one that could barely stand. He had blood dripping from his forehead and nose, a bruise in his cheek.

You analyzed the other two as the healers there took the man from them. Clothes blood stained, some parts ripped as if they had pulled harshly from them. They had certainly been on a fight.

"This isn't the emergency room," muttered Jason as he neared the bed where they had laid the man. He was unconscious, but you were sure he would wake up to a lot of pain.

"Just shut up and help him," you hissed, starting to prepare him for the healers.

Jason stared at you in shock, taking a second to react as he draw his wand, muttering healing spells that started to make him regain some color.

You cleaned his face, his features becoming more visible as you froze "Malfoy." you whispered, capturing Jason's attention.

"What?" he growled, moving your hand that was brushing his dirty hair out of his face, leaving his pale face out in the open. "Bloody hell, a fucking Slytherin.“

You glared at him, fire burning inside of you as you pushed him with all your force "Get away from him." you growled, drawing your own wand as everyone stared at you, only one of the trained healers kept on working beside you.

"What the hell, Y/N?!" shouted Jason, slamming the door to the room they had moved him close "You are not a trained healer, I am."

You made as kind with your throat, swallowing all the words you wanted to scream "At least I'll try, you're going to let him die because of his Hogwarts house." you muttered bitterly.

You heard him grunt, pacing in the room as the door opened. Your actual boss, Healer Whitethorn examined the room with a glare "Williams, out." she ordered, a smile on your face before she set her eyes on you "You too, Y/L/N." she said, stepping in with wand in her hand.

"But…"

"Out!" you flinched at her loud voice, her eyes meeting yours "You are on Williams team, he's out and so are you. Check on the other that came with him."

You huffed, reluctantly going outside as you threw away your lab coat on the chair. Your other coworker ran at your side, giving to a reassuring look before she settled on the three defeated persons at the waiting room.

"I'll take two of them," she murmured in your ear "Take the bleeding one, I'll take the girl and Mr, Bruises over there."

She didn't wait for your answer, calling to girl for inspection as you stared back at the bleeding one, according to her.

"Come with me." you said standing in front of him, his head low and only lifting slightly to look at you when he noticed your there.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, shaking his head at you.

"Sir, you are dragging your words and your head is bleeding," you told him matter of factly "I can't let you go if you don't let me at least clean the wound."

The man at his side nudged him, giving him a small smile "Go on mate, you took one blow for Draco, I just held Pansy back. We need you alive to go find them later."

He looked at him incredulous, his mouth slightly open with a thousand words he wanted to say at the tip of his tongue but decided against it. He sighed, slowly standing up when he stumbled slightly, eyes wide as he tried to focus on something, anything. The only thing he could found was you, both hands gripping tightly at his forearms making him regain his balance.

"Thanks." he breathed out, returning the safe grip on your arms.

You nodded reassuringly, taking slow steps backwards and into one of the examination rooms. He made it with little problems, slumping on the bed.

"Do you know your name?" you asked, putting on a new pair of gloves.

"Theodore, uh- Theo. " he said lowly, not meeting your eyes.

You hummed, starting your work on the gash in his head. "Last name?" you asked, ignoring the hissing sounds the alcohol pulled from him. He had his eyes closed, and you pulled a chair for you as you stared at him. "Theo?" you called again, fearing he wasn't listening to you.

You breathed out in relief when one of his eyes popped open, looking at you before he sighed in defeat "Nott." he said, watching you carefully for any reaction.

He hadn't seen when you pulled a file, writing down his answers "Theodore Nott," you repeated as you wrote it down "Head injury, possible concussion." you said out loud, closing it and looking back at him, clearly he wasn’t eager to answer the questions.

"You're going to have to stay the night just to be sure that the head injury is nothing more than that." you told him, handing him the a bag for his clothes and the hospital gown, closing the curtain so he could change.

Theo reluctantly changed, doing quick work in his clothes to not keep you and his friends waiting. Luckily for him you looked nice, kind. You hadn’t reacted to his name and your attitude towards him was completely professional, not a single hint of judgement in your eyes .

“Mr. Nott?” he heard you call, the door of the room opening with your voice following “Do you need help?”

He breathed out, opening the curtain with his bag tucked under his arm “Ready.” he said lowly.

You took the bag from him, taking his arm again “Can you walk?” you asked him, standing in front of him he gave you a soft nod and you began walking slowly. The silence was peaceful, but you has thing to tell him, breaking the much needed peace.

“Technically I should place you in this floor,” you told him lowly, avoiding the looks of any Healer you passed, keeping your chin up and up front “But since your friend is more injured and you are staying the night, the fourth floor is going to be where you stay. I've informed your friends you are staying the night and they said they will be here in the morning.”

He gave you a questioning look, clearly they were close to each other to be involved in fights together. Or maybe fate wasn't that fair to them but from their interactions you saw before they seemed friends. You could only assume.

"I sent them home," you explained "They might not be that injured but they will need the rest."

He looked down at you, the height difference more notorious now that he stood next to you. He gave you a small smile, not one that you saw, your eyes staying in your path at all times.

“Here,” you whispered for him to turn, the room poorly lighted until you could get your wand out, a flick of your hand and the place was properly lighted. “Malfoy would be across the hall. As soon as he wakes up, you and your friends can go see him.” you informed him, helping him get under the covers.

You made sure he ha anything he might need, a glass of water and another blanket close by so he wouldn’t have to move. “Is there anything else you might need, Mr. Nott?” you asked him from the door.

He looked at you, his eyebrows knitted in his forehead “Theo,” he said “Call me Theo, Mr. Nott was my father.” he told you, a nod from you as you neared his bed again.

“Forgot to introduce myself,” you laughed nervously “Y/N Y/L/N, I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here.” you said, getting a positive response from him.

You made your way out of the room without another word closing the door softly behind you, the last thing you saw being him letting his head fall softly in the pillow, almost in defeat.

“What the hell was that?!”

You snapped out of your head, tuning in your place as you saw Jason practically run towards you with a glare that you mirrored, turning in your heel and away from him. But he was taller and faster, catching up with you fast as he grabbed your arm forcing you to face him “Answer me, Y/N.” he growled, his face inches from yours.

“Like you don’t know,” you spat, your eyes roaming angrily all over his face “We all know you’re the proudest Gryffindor here, you take the rivalry with Slytherin to a whole new level.” you took his hand with all the force you had, pulling it away from your arm.

He stared at you, saying nothing and you laughed bitterly “What is it, Jason?” you said with a sardonic smile, saying his name with all the anger you had “You think I haven’t noticed how you change cases with Adams so you don’t have to treat Slytherins? I literally work for you and notice all, listen to everything that comes out of your mouth.”

“You better stop now.” he warned, his eyes hardening.

“Or what?” you dared, taking a threatening step towards him “You’re going to tell Whitethorn? Let’s go now, maybe you can tell her too why Marie, a Slytherin, hasn’t worked with you and only with Adams.”

He stared at you, his jaw clenched as he physically fought the shaking anger you produced on him. “Fucking hell.” he muttered, slamming his hand on the wall beside your head before he walked away, your lips letting out a shaky breath once he turned on the corner.

You stayed there, back against the wall as you slide down to the floor with your eyes closed, trying hard to even your breathing but failing.

“Y/N?” you heard Marie, her light steps sounding closer untils she was next to you “You okay? What happened?” she asked, taking your hands from your face and pulling you to your feet.

You shook your head, keeping it low as you cleaned the single tear that fell from your eyes “Williams is an asshole, that’s what happened.” you said, your voice cracking a little when you said his name.

She gave you a sad smile, knowing exactly what you meant “It’s late, do you wanna stay with me tonight?” she asked.

It wasn’t unusual for you to stay at each others places, your shifts were practically the same and you lived relatively close. But then your eye catched on Healer Adams getting Draco Malfoy to his room, you thought that maybe staying back with your own patient wasn’t a bad idea.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna stay here for the night,” you told her, pointing to the door behind you.

“You sure?” she asked you with the raise of her eyebrow “I got your favorite waiting for you.” she sang, but you only shook your head and she nodded with a knowing look “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.” she said giving you a quick hug before walking to the stairs and disappearing from your eyes.

You took a moment before walking back to Theo’s room, making sure you weren’t too loud. What you weren't’ expecting was for him to be awake, lazily staring at you as you walked inside.

“Mr. uh- no, Theo.” you said finally, memories of Hogwarts when you had the answer at the tip of your tongue but your brain was going faster than your mouth could and you ended up blurting everything but the right answer came back to you.

“Did I wake you?” you asked with a tight smile.

He shook his head, pointing at the sofa at the corner of the room “Please, sit.” he said, waiting for you to do so “There was a loud noise and I rarely can sleep this early.” he said.

You looked in confusion at the clock on the wall, returning your gaze at him “It’s one in the morning.” you told him.

He smiled softly, lowering his head again “Still, I can’t sleep.” he whispered, breathing deeply “I would much rather your company, if you don’t mind.”

You smiled more relaxed, making yourself more comfortable "Your on luck, I have to take care of you for the night."

"The entire night?" he asked with a gasp, his eyes curiously roaming all over you.

Of course, you had your head elsewhere, his file in your lap. "I'm a healer in training," you said softly looking back at him "We get to the the work no one wants to."

"I'm glad is you." he mumbled, catching your attention with immediately "That other man didn't seemed… Nice." he finished, a little doubtful if he did right in telling that to his coworker, but the knowing nod you have him put him at ease.

You pointed at the wall "The loud noise was him." you said, voice shaky "He is a great healer, probably the best we've got," you paused, looking down at your hands as you bit your lip in thought "He cares very deeply for what happened at the war."

You saw his body stiffened, his arms coming at his sides as he subtly moved to the far side from you. You pursed your lips "I don't, really. I'm sure everyone played their part." you added more cheerfully "Now I need to film your file, do you mind if ask you some questions?"

"Okay," he said.

You nodded getting the paper and quill "Great, I have your name and why were you admitted." you said, tapping on the page before you lifted your face "Age?"

"Twenty," he answered.

You smiled writing it down "We're the same age. I don't remember you from Hogwarts."

"I-I wasn't that sociable. I mainly stuck to my house mates." he told you.

"Slytherin?" you asked, watching his eyes widen "Not everyone was friends with Draco Malfoy." you added, and he nodded.

"Yeah, Slytherin." he said bitterly.

The night was spent with you two chatting about your lives and the your time at Hogwarts. He talk about his favorite subjects, he's hobbies and friends, how he wanted to travel and get to know the world and maybe even move. He wanted a fresh start away from the war and what used to be his family. He wanted to go to a place where no one knew who Theodore Nott was.

You told him about how simple your life was, consisting of basic needs and your training as a healer. Free time was a forgotten concept for you, the few friends you used to have now married or being successful, your only friend being Marie.

You actually had made a day that night.

When the sun rose on the sky, it didn't long for the visitors to start arriving. Theo was discharged an o my changed rooms when Blaise and Pansy got there, going to see the Slytherin prince himself.

A few hours were spent with casual iochat and worried remarks when Healer Adam's told them they had to leave him to rest. Promises were made to return later that day or the next, and you watched from the desk of the fourth floor as they left, a sinking feeling in your heart as they descended the stairs.

Only they didn't.

"Y/N? “ your heard someone call softly, the voice that still was recorded on your mind from the previous night filling the air once more.

"Yeah?" you smiled, looking up from your food.

He looked nervous, the tiny smile appearing in his face "I was wondering if I could stop by someday? Maybe go out?" he asked, scratching the back of his head with a nervous yet charming smile.

You chuckled, covering the blush in your cheeks as you nodded "I would love that."

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

Accepting that date was the beginning of the best years of your life.

You went on that one date and connected instantly, even more than the few hours you talked at St. Mungos. One coffee date turned into dinner and surprise visits when you were working, soft smiles and holding hands while you walked turned into passionate kisses and falling asleep in each other's arms. Talking about your days turned into deep conversations about life and your future. Understatement turned into love.

Three years has gone by since that first date and you knew you never wanted to leave Theo's side. You knew who he was and were proud of him, even in the days that he wasn't.

"Theo?" you said loudly, his big mansion requiring the elevated voice for him to hear you from the entrance "I'm home, dear." you said again, paying more attention to the sounds in the house. Or more like the lack of them.

Your footsteps echoed the halls as the only sign of someone being there. You walked to the study where he usually was, empty with no book open or parchment over the desk. The kitchen was your second guess, his only house elf there welcoming you but saying nothing of the whereabouts of your boyfriend. You started to feel fidgety as you made your way to the stairs to go to his room when your eye caught the fire burning in the living room, the back of his head popping over the single couch there, the place he hated the most in the house.

"Theo?" you called again, walking slowly behind him. The glass in his hand making little flickers shine on the walls with the light of the fire.

He didn't answer you, barely gave you a side glance to acknowledge your presence before he took a slow sip of his glass.

You took a shaky breath, going to sit on the floor in front of him. You rested your arms in his lap, looking for his eyes with a small smile "What is it?" you asked him and he shook his head "Is something, you're in the living room. You hate it in here." you said softly.

He couldn't help but look at you, your voice sounding what he imagined an angel's voice was like. He wanted to smile, to reach his hand to your cheek and tell you he loved you. But the voice in his head was right, he wasn't worthy of it. Of you.

"It's nothing," he murmured, voice hoarse as he spoke "Just a bad day."

You nodded, taking his free hand in yours and intertwining your fingers with his "You want to tell me about it?" you asked.

He rose his eyebrows, talking about what was going on inside his head something still so foreign to him. He didn't want to burden you with his problems, even if you knew, knowing and actively being part of them was different. He had noticed how you have him his space, never forcing him to talk and instead taking his mind away from what was bothering him.

"I can tell you about my day," you offered when he stayed quiet, his eyes softening at your bright smile "You don't have to say anything, just listen." you said, crawling a little closer to him.

You looked like a little child, moving your arms and making voices and faces as you narrated your day at work. It wasn't even that amazing as you made it sound, but he still found it amusing how you made a harmless spell backfiring on someone sound like one of the trial Hercules went through.

You saw him smiling down at you, but never point it out and instead carrying on with the story until the end.

"That's amazing, love." he said, leaning to kiss your forehead softly, lingering there for a little more than usual.

You stated sadly at him, looking over his fallen features. It hurt you to watch him so defeated, to not be able to do anything for him. You wanted nothing more than to be able to take his pain away for at least a moment, to make him see what you saw. Not a bad man but a changed one.

"You know I love you, right?" you told him, caressing his cheek with your thumb. His eyes snapped at you both in shock and fear, but he nodded nonetheless and you smiled "And that there is no one I would rather have by my side?"

He took your hand, stopping your movement in his face "I'm bad Y/N," he said coldly "The things I did, what I became…"

"You did because you had no other choice." you said strongly, taking a kneeling position as you held his face in your hands "You did it to survive and you did."

"It was awful." he whispered, the images flashing in his head. The students and people that opposed to Voldemort, their bodies laying on the floor of the very same house he lived in, some still whimpering silently as they stated at the lifeless ones next to them. All the cries of pain and screaming begs for him to stop, the fearful eyes staring at his wand as he muttered the words. Those three words that should have him locked away in Azkaban to never see the light of day again, to never see his friend again, so he could have never met you.

He didn't deserve the happiness you have him when he had cause so much pain, so much suffering, so much death.

"I don't deserve this." he said, pushing your hands away from him as he stood.

"Theo," you whispered going after him and taking his arm in your hand "You do deserve it."

He looked back at you, eyes tormented as he tilted his head "You're just saying it because you love me, and that is exactly my point." he said loudly "Why do you love me? You know what I've done, what has happened in this house."

You bit the inside of your cheek to not yell, trying to keep clam for the both of you "I love you because you make me happy," you started to say calmly "Because you love me too and care for me as much as I care for you. Because even if you've done things you regret you aren't those things. You have been there for me in my lowest days and you never loved me less for that so I'll be damned if I let you feel like you don't deserve my love or the love of your friends." you ended up yelling, your chest moving fast with your breathing before it was crushed.

Theo had launched himself to your arms, silently weeping in your neck as you reacted with the same emotion, wrapping your arms around his chest. He lifted you slightly from the ground but you couldn't care less, he could damped your shirt with his tears and you wouldn't even blink an eye.

You brought one hand to the back of his head, slowly running your fingers through his hair. "You're a wonderful person, Theodore Nott. And I will make sure you now that every single day." you whispered in his ear, his embrace tightening.

You pulled from him after a moment, looking lovingly into his eyes, pointing to the glass he had abandoned over the table " Finish that up, darling." you told him.

He frowned but didn't fight you, downing the glass in one go "Why, where are we going?" he asked following you to the entrance as you grabbed your coat, handing him his.

"Comfort food." you said with a smile, opening your hand for him to take an apparating in Diagon Alley.

He had always compared you to a child, a very clever child in the body of a beautiful woman, he said. And you could see why, not fifteen minutes had passed and you were already holding two coffees and a lot of his favorite pastries.

You sat down on a bench, eating away without a care in the world as the people walked by.

"You are good with comfort food.' he said to you, a tiny smile playing in his lips.

"Only the best for you, my love." you told him stretching your neck as much as you could to kiss him. In the end he ended up leaning down and you smiled in the kiss.

Of course, the world hated you. The characteristic clear of a throat you had come to hate and despise making you pull with a glare.

"Y/N, is good to see you here."

"It's healer Y/L/N to you, Williams," you said, glancing at Theo when his eyes followed him.

"I see your still with the Slytherin coward." he said smugly, a grin as he eyes Theo "Did you enjoyed running from the battle, you snake? "

“I don't know Jason, did you enjoy hiding in the Great Hall while everybody fought?" he answered, not even looking amused his face looked void of any emotion a she stood up, standing face to face."You see, I was at the battle and I saw you. Never thought it was worth mentioning but you seem very eager to talk about it now." he told him.

Jason clenched his jaw, turning to you "You can do better than this." he grunted, with his hand pointing at Theo.

"Not possible," you said, staring straight into his eyes "Now get out of our sight before I hex you permanently to the fourth floor." you hissed, stepping between him and Theo.

He had turned furiously, storming away before you call "And Jason? Don't you ever dare say anything to him again. He might be a Slytherin but I am a pissed Y/H/H."

You left the threat hanging in the air, watching him go as you turned back to Theo. Your face changed so fast he didn't know if it had been real, your shaking face replaced by a sweet smile as you sat back down, handing him his cup of coffee.

"Theo, you can sit now." you told him, his eyes shining as he did. It took you a moment to realize he was staring at you, a chuckle leaving your mouth as you playfully slapped his arm "Stop looking at me like that."

But he did even listen to you, taking your hand as you looked at him in surprise "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." he told you, bringing your hand to his lips.

You smiled shyly, blushing slightly that it could be mistaken by the cold air in your face "I love you, Y/N." he said, bringing you to his arms.

"I love you too." you whispered, nuzzling your head in his shoulder as he held you close to him, and you decided then and there,

You never wanted to leave his arms.

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mybrothershands · 4 years ago

Text

MBH/Dumpling 2

second installment, same art because otherwise you'll be waiting on it all day tomorrow. Characters by myself and @diddlesanddoodles and editing by @thundering-susurrus

The giant pinched up his face as if he smelled something bad. He then prodded the lump in his chest-pocket. "Get up, you lazy fool."

Several emotions crossed Yale face all at once, from anger to confusion to relief. Now that he knew where to look, Yale could see a distinctive lump in the man’s front pocket and heard the smaller voice emanating from within. Well, if he had a human companion of his own, that was a welcome relief. But he still kept his hand on Nenani. Grinning, he jerked his head to indicate the lump on Ka's shirt. “Ah, well I suppose that answers that. He yer assistant then?”

"Parasite, more like," he said, fishing around in his pocket until he caught the man by the shirt and pulled his shoulders over the lip of the pocket.

"Why you little two-ton son of a hog-bellied cob, I ought to--" The human smacked the hand away.

A nervous laugh escaped the giant, and he clasped his hand over the smaller man's mouth. "Er, this is my brother. He took care of me when I was small," said Ka.

Yale had been watching Ka fish around in his pocket and smirked at the human’s grouchy reply. The human’s snark immediately reminded him of Farris, but upon hearing Ka call him his brother, Yale gave pause. His curiosity was piqued.

“Wha –? Really? Can’t say I’ve ever heard ‘a that. That must be one hell of a story,” he said and jerked his head towards Ka. “Ye must’ve had a time of it keepin’ ‘im fed and clothed proper.”

The giant paused, then seemed to draw back within himself and looked away. Cairo, however, had no such loss for words. "Got that right. Ungrateful, too. You should see the spot in my side where he--" The massive hand clamped over his mouth again.

"I, erm," Ka cleared his throat, worry painted on his face. "I was old enough to work when he took me in. I cleared land for a human farmer in exchange for food. Cairo paid for my clothes and gave me a place to stay."

Polly then decided to use his leg as a scratching post and began rubbing her face up and down the side of his pants, leaning into him. "Woah, hey!" Ka said as he was knocked off balance. Once he found his feet, he pulled her bridle back over her ear and straightened her forelock. "But yes, I'm," he waved his hand in a circle, "I can work with humans just fine. They just need to let me know they're there and keep away from my feet."

“Ah, well no worries there,” Yale said with a light laugh as he pulled his apron aside to reveal Nenani at his hip. “You know better than to be underfoot, ain’t that right Dumplin’?”

Nenani nodded while she observed the new giant and silently marveled at his height. Despite the way in which he towered over them, he had a kind face, and she was not afraid.

“Farris doesn’t like it if I’m on the floor,” she explained. “He doesn’t trust the footmen to keep a look out.”

Ka's expression softened. She was a little thing, even for her kind, with auburn hair that shone in the sunlight. Somehow she met his gaze without fear, and it gave him pause. "H-hello there," he said quietly. "I am Ka. It's nice to meet you, miss."

It took the giant a moment to realize that the young man must have been hiding her, and why he had questioned him so. Come to think of it, he had not seen a single small person, nor chest pocket since he had entered this town. Pieces began to fall into place, and he decided he should not stay here for long. Not with Cairo. Absently, his hand found its way to his pocket.

“Hi. I’m Nenani,” she replied back, trying to look friendly. He looked so nervous, she thought. Yale easily scooped her up and sat her on his leg. After getting comfortable, she gestured up at the cook and said, “And he didn’t say so, but this is Yale.”

Looking confused, Yale looked down at her. “I didn’t introduce myself at all did I?”

“Nope,” she replied. “That was very rude. Lolly would swat you.”

“Ah, well,” he said, giving Ka and Cairo an apologetic shrug. “She wouldn’t be too pleased with me bringin’ the lil’un on this errand either. So there’s that.”

Cairo grumbled as Ka fawned over this little girl. She seemed unafraid and even kind towards his brother, which he respected. Still, he regarded Yale with a critical eye. Hooking his elbow over the frayed lip of the pocket, the human raised his voice. "What kind of kitchen is this anyway, boy? It's a bit late in the day to be fetchin stuff. What are you doing out here now?"

“Best kitchen in Vhasshal,” Yale fired back with a smug grin. He pointed over his shoulder towards the castle behind them. “That being the royal kitchen.”

“But Gjerk didn’t clean the chimney and it ruined the luncheon roasts,” Nenani supplied with a frankness that made light of the true disaster. “Almost caught the whole kitchen on fire.”

Yale frowned and, blushing just a bit, agreed with a muted nod. “Aye. Well, even the best kitchen in Vhasshal can fall victim to inattentive tenderfoots. So we’re needin’ to shuffle things ‘round a bit. Headin’ to a merchant who raises and sells field rocs.”

Ka's face became a smiling mask with a blank stare. Royal kitchen? Was this boy not worried that some stranger picked off the street could poison someone Important? Even the king himself? What if something went wrong and he was blamed for it and put in prison? Even he himself was not sure he deserved such trust, and yet kept his mouth shut in hopes that there was something he did not know.

Cairo, meanwhile, looked the man up and down, and then the girl in turn. They seemed easygoing and honest, if not a bit frank. At last he nodded. "We will accept your offer."

The giant balked. "Cairo, I'm not sure--"

"Shut up," he said, waving a hand. "Your belly's been a'growling all day, and I'll have no more of it. This is an easy job, and you're gonna take it," Cairo barked.

Ka paused, a hint of frustration on his face. Still, this was Cairo. The giant seemed to let go of his worries and nodded. "Just tell me what to do," he said, fixing Yale in his gaze, "and I'll help as much as I can."

He seemed eager enough, Yale thought. And even if his kitchen skills were minimal, so long as he could hold a knife, he could find something for him to do. Ka’s human companion was clearly the more dominant of the two, which Yale found to be quite amusing. And even a bit refreshing. He was so used to humans reacting to him with fear or at the very least nervous suspicion. Not that they did not have a valid reason of course.

He decided he liked Cairo.

“Well, first we gotta go collect them rocs and scurry on back,” Yale said with a grin. “So if we just wanna follow along we’ll go get that done and we can get ye to work.” He paused as he considered Ka. “And get ye somethin’ t’eat. Farris might gripe at me fer it, but believe me. He’s gonna be thankful fer yer help. Even he don’t show it. Or say it. Or yells at ye.”

Yale flicked the reins to usher Polly forward, bringing a hand up to hold onto Nenani when she almost fell off his lap.

“Ah!”

“Oh, sorry there, Dumplin’.”

"Oh," said Ka as he backed away and let the animal slip past until he could walk beside the cab. This Farris fellow seemed a bit crotchety. "Thank you," he said above the creaking wheels. The mention of food set his mouth to watering. They had had so many good things down at the market, maybe now he could get his hands on something. "I can pay you, but I'm afraid my coin may just be trinkets to you."

From his pocket, Cairo squinted one eye, adjusting his position to better watch the small giant. "Why you call her 'dumpling,' anyhow?"

“It was a joke,” Nenani explained with a flat look. “Wasn’t a very funny one.”

“I dunno, I thought it was a pretty good one,” Yale replied with a knowing grin. He poked her belly and the girl squealed and laughed, batting at his fingers. She lost her balance and almost fell back off his lap, but Yale was quick enough to catch her and place her safely down on the bench beside him. He ruffled her hair into a bushy mess. “Anyway, I caught this one here after she’d nicked some fruit. And right in the middle of the King’s weddin’ feast too. Don’t think I’ve ever been that stressed in my life.”

“He threatened to eat me...” Nenani said with the same flat expression.

As lovely as he found the girl's laugh, Ka's smile quickly faded as the girl voiced the joke. He made a sound half way between a choke and a quack. "Hmm?"

Cairo looked more surprised at the noise his brother made than Nenani's admittance. "Oh he did, did he?" He sat up, eyeing Yale. "He looks like a pansy to me."

Yale could not help the smirk of satisfaction at seeing the way Ka reacted. But his focus drew to the man’s pocket and the human within. Leaning towards them and planting his hand on the other side of where Nenani sat, he grinned at the human man.

“Big words fer a fella who travels by pocket,” he challenged. “Why not come on outta there and I’ll show ye how much of a pansy I am.”

Nenani glared up at Yale and grabbed onto his sleeve and gave it a firm tug. “No fighting.”

Cairo merely laughed at the girl's reaction. "I ain't stupid. Think I'll stay in the pocket, eh?" He slapped Ka's chest.

The giant rolled his eyes. He kept pace with the cart fairly easily, even as the Svaldifari trotted. He cleared his throat. "Keep acting like that and I may just let him have you."

"What!" he exclaimed, clutching a hand over his heart. "He might skin me, don't you think? You brute, you should protect your poor old brother."

Ka sighed, plodding along. "You can take care of yourself just fine."

“Smart man, your brother,” Yale said to Ka. “With him taggin’ along, ye might just survive a day in Farris’s kitchen.”

There was something very comforting about watching Cairo and Ka banter. It was all too easy for Yale to be drawn back to the horrible memories of the war and the way it seemed to him at the time that the bloodletting would never cease. Yet before him was a man who openly and easily called a human his brother.

“As fer skinnin’: nah. Too much of a hassle. Much easier to just toss ye into the stew and pop the lid on.”

Beside him, Nenani rolled her eyes. She had become nearly desensitized to all staff’s banter about eating and cooking people. Cairo didn’t seem like the sort to take Yale seriously. But Ka, she observed, seemed to not care for the jokes at all.

Ka lolled his head back, exasperated, then clamped his hand back over Cairo's mouth. "Ne- Nena-nani, er..." he chewed on his tongue for a moment, still trying to decide how many syllables the girl's name had. "Nenani," he said decisively. "He... Yale. He said he found you stealing?" said the giant, desperate to change the subject.

There were a few shoves and knocks on his hand before there at last came a double-tap and Cairo's mouth was freed. However, he kept his mouth shut for once and watched the road ahead. The mare seemed to need a bit of guiding, unused to going this way, but Yale was not quite paying attention. He peered ahead. Was this the way they had come before? Where was the market?

“Oh. Yeah,” she replied as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt in slight embarrassment. “But it’s not like what Farris and they all thought at first. I’m not from the Hill Tribe, I’m from the Southlands. They were loading a bunch of carts near the docks and I tried to sneak in and grab a persimmon before anyone noticed, but the basket was really big and I just...kind of fell in. And got stuck.”

Yale stifled a snicker as he corrected Polly’s path. She whinnied at him in annoyance. “I remember all them peels, lil’un. It was certainly more than one.”

“I was in there for three days,” she said and stuck her tongue out at Yale. “What else was I gonna eat? The basket?” When Yale only shrugged at her, she continued. “I grew up being told stories about Vhasshal and I was really scared. So as soon as the caravan stopped, I tried to run.”

“Caught her tryin’ to make a run fer it,” Yale added lightly pinching her arm. “Didn’t get all that far. Like...a half a dozen yards maybe before I got ‘er.”

Ka frowned. He did not like the way that last bit sounded. He steered away as they passed another cart on the road. He wanted to ask the stories about Vhasshal, and why she had been so frightened, but the girl had not seemed a bit embarrassed about that point in her past. Come to think of it, maybe he did not want to know. "Persimmons... have peels?"

The edge of the village was approaching, and Yale could hear the sound of the rocs long before their pens came into view. Their destination was a handsome little cottage just at the end of the tight clusters of row homes. Though was an older building and had but a thatched roof, it was well maintained and clean. Behind it were the roc pens. There were a dozen or so of the birds loose in the larger space, and Yale felt relieved. He was only going to need ten for the luncheon service, and he’d be able to get a few extra just in case anything else went horribly wrong today.

“Well, I think they’re actually husks,” she was saying. “They’re from overseas somewhere. But you’re not supposed to eat the outsides because it’ll make you sick.”

“Ye did get sick though. Just not from eatin’ fruit,” Yale pointed out. His eyes trailed after the other cart as they passed, having seen the way they had been gawking at Ka. Poor guy must get that a lot.

“Yeah, I had the red reap,” Nenani said. “It was terrible. But Farris took care of me and gave me medicine and watched me all night while I had the fever.”

Ka blinked, trying to make sense of this new information. He had no idea what red reap was, but then again, he was not familiar with most diseases. "It sounds terrible," he said, worry on his brow. The way she had explained it, it sounded deadly. He could not imagine having to care for someone through the night, not knowing if the little thing would make it.

Though he had not yet met the man, Ka found himself reconsidering this Farris guy. If he was the type to yell at someone new, it seemed a bit backwards that he would worry over a thief. He shook the thought away. He had not met him yet. Maybe he would understand later.

It was then he heard some bird-like squabbling, and looked up to find a pen with some frighteningly large feathery beasts. "What... are those?" He felt a bit stupid for asking, but then again, nothing was familiar to him here. Nothing at all.

"What, you never seen a chicken before?" Cairo butted in.

“Oh them ain’t no chickens,” Yale answered, giving Cairo an amused sideways glance. “Those are common field rocs. Those beauties eat chickens fer breakfast. Literally. They’re birds of prey. And they’re what we’re here fer.”

Yale maneuvered the cart towards the pens and when they were close enough, he pulled the reins lightly and Polly came to a gentle halt. She turned to her head back at Yale, expectation in her eyes. With a chuckle, he reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a pressed oat cake. Turning to Ka, he held out the treat. “Wanna give Polly her reward while I go spend the king's money?”

A grin spread across Ka’s face, and he chuckled. "Seems she's in good hands," he said, gently taking the biscuit from him.

~~~

Twelve common field rocs were in the back of the cart, their wings tied down to their sides and hemp sacks placed over their heads to keep them docile. Nenani hung off the back of the driver’s bench, looking down at the immobilized birds. They were as large as cows, and it was a little daunting to think that there were birds that big in the world.

The trip back was fairly uneventful, except that news of Ka seemed to have made its way around the village, They seemed to be getting more stares than before, but Yale made a point of staring down whatever gawkers he noticed. But he did not have the same presence as Farris did, and mostly, the people just kept on staring.

Nenani found it to be pretty rude, and to several she stuck out her tongue.

As they approached the back gate that led to the kitchen courtyard, the guards stationed there did double takes as Ka came into view, but Yale was quick to head off any questions. “He’s here to help out for the day. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Farris.”

There was enough of a threat in those words that they were allowed to pass without any form of harassment.

“Don’t let those guards make ye nervous none, lad,” Yale said to Ka. “Most of ‘em are real decent fellas.”

Yale was still looking towards Ka as he directed Polly along the road, around the last bend, and into the courtyard. He pulled the reins and was about to say something else when felt a tug on his sleeve and he looked down at Nenani. “Hm? What’s it?”

Nenani merely pointed further ahead of them and Yale’s gaze followed along. A large fire pit had been lit in the middle of the yard, and the largest of their cooking pans was placed over the top, with a sizable pile of pumpkins next to it. Saen and Avery were in the middle of carving a few up but had made little headway.

But what had caught their eye was none of them, but the solitary figure just a short distance away. Standing with his arms akimbo and looking very displeased was Farris. His green eyes narrowed at Yale.

“Yer fuckin’ late.”

Ever since the border guards, Ka had gotten increasingly fidgety. As soon as Yale quieted down, he slowed up and walked behind the cart. The castle ahead was bigger than any he had seen, especially this close up. He ran his hand up and down his sleeve, trying to create some warmth as his breath crystallized before him. Upon hearing the voice, the giant's first impression was how gravelly and frayed it sounded, possibly from overuse. The second was that it did not sound happy.

"What's it to you?" Cairo muttered under his breath. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction, than anything, but it was enough to remind Ka to keep an eye on him. The human's left arm and legs lolled out of the pocket. He picked at his teeth as the giant walked. "Move over, Ka, I want to get a look at this meathead."

Ka merely shook his head, hand straying up to cover the man. "Be careful here. We don't know for sure if it's safe yet." There came a grumbling and a shove at the fingers, but for the most part he kept his mouth shut.

Before Yale could even begin to explain himself, Farris caught sight of Ka, and the kitchen master’s eyes widened as his gaze traveled up and up and up until he met the taller giant’s eye. “And just who in the Seven Hells are ye?”

Before Ka could answer, though, Yale jumped in. “Came across him on the way to get the rocs. He was lookin’ fer some work, and I offered to let him help us today.”

All through Yale’s explanations, Farris sized Ka up with a critical eye, pausing at the distinct bulge in the tall man’s pocket. His eyes narrowed suspiciously before turning their vitriol onto his assistant.

“Oh ye did, did ye?” he demanded. “Are ye fuckin’ daft boy?”

Yale hopped down off the cart. “We need the extra help, and as mad as ye are, ye can’t deny the big fella could be of some help. Hell, he’d make short work breakin’ down the pumpkins.” Yale leaned around Farris to yell past him towards his fellow cooks. “A whole lot faster than them two knobheads!”

Saen and Avery looked up from their work to glare back at Yale. Avery waved his knife in the air, calling back, “Go fuck yerself, Yale.”

Yale was still grinning when Farris drew his attention back with a growl. “And ye think I’d let just anyone off the street come in and cook in my kitchen, do ye?”

Yale glanced over his shoulder at Ka and then back to Farris. With a shrug, he said, “Honestly boss, I don’t think he’d fit. Be a bit tight.”

Farris’s ever-present glare faltered as an amused smirk crossed his lips. With a grunt he looked back at Ka. “Ye have any experience in a kitchen there, son?”

The giant clutched his fists against his chest, shoulders hunched and brow scrunched with worry. Though the man was half his height, he scared Ka. He looked like someone who knew how to fight and just might if aggravated.

"Y-yessir, just a bit, sir." Ka stuttered, coming out from behind the wagon. "Look, I promise I mean no harm, sir. I just, well I- I- I was looking for some work is all. He was nice enough to give me a chance. I promise I'll do my best if you'll only let me help."

Farris was silent for several moments, eyeing Ka once more. “Where ye from?”

The giant straightened up a bit, a slight hope welling in his chest. "Benhyke, sir. I'm... trying to find my way back there, actually."

“Never heard of it. So ye mean to tell me yer as tall as a fuckin’ house with no proper sense of direction?” The kitchen master didn’t give Ka a chance to answer before walking over to the cart where Nenani sat. He laid his arm across the drivers bench and looked at the girl. “What say ye Dumplin’? Think he’s some sort of secret assassin tryin’ to worm his way into the castle?”

Nenani blinked and shook her head. “No.”

“Well, if yer so sure,” he said with a small smile and scooped her up. Tucking her into the crook of his arm, he turned back to Ka. The warmth he had spoken to Nenani with was gone and the harsher tone returned. “Ye got a name?”

He scratched his head, still harboring the initial insult in his mind, and had not quite heard him speak to the girl. "What? O-oh I am Ka. And this is--" he paused. At first caution took over, but once he saw the way he cared for Nenani, the fear melted. "--Cairo," he finished.

Upon hearing his name, a single hand came out of the pocket and gave a dramatic wave. "Evening to you, you motherless goat," he called, then the hand disappeared again.

Farris’s expression darkened and, behind him, Yale was making a frantic motion with his hands at Ka that translated roughly to “Bad idea. Stop.”

“I’ll give ye fair warning now, boy,” Farris warned as he walked towards Ka. Pressing further into his space, he stared up at the taller giant and pointed towards his pocket. “Keep that one’s mouth under control or I’ll be doin’ it fer ‘im. I’ve had plenty of humans toss out insults at me and, one way or another, they learn not to. If ye wanna work, I’ve got work fer ye. And you’ll be paid fair wages fer it. But if that one skulking in yer pocket don’t watch it, he’s gonna become intimately acquainted with the inside of a roasting pan.”

Ka's face paled and he backed away, clutching one hand to his pocket. "No! No, please, he's my brother. Y-you can't--I won't..." He seemed to get ahold of himself then, squared his shoulders. "Take that back," he said, regaining his ground. If it were not for the girl in his arms, Ka was not sure what he might have done.

Farris did not back away, and his only movement was to use his free hand to cover Nenani as though to shield her. He met Ka’s eyes with a firm unwavering stare. “I don’t take it back. This is my kitchen and my word is law.” Farris let a small smirk come to his lips. “Just keep in mind though, I didn’t say nothing about actually cookin’ ‘im.”

The giant blinked, relaxing a bit. "What?"

At this point, Cairo heaved a dramatic sigh and pulled himself up. He looked the man up and down and came to a conclusion. "Ugly lump."

Nenani poked her head out from behind Farris’s hand. “No fighting.”

At Nenani's word, Ka took a step back. There was still anger in his blood, and he elected to stay on his toes, but any hostility was snuffed out by the girl's voice.

Farris only adjusted his hand to ruffle her hair. “Well ye ain’t no Blue Thorn Beauty yerself,” Farris shot back at Cairo, then raised an eyebrow at him. “Ain’t ye a bit old fer being carried ‘round like a babe?”

Cairo raised a brow, then patted the chest behind him. "This one here's the baby when it comes down to it, little man. Now--" He cut himself off as if he had heard something. "Alright already," he grumbled at apparently nothing. "What do I have to do to get your sorry bag of bones to do something decent, eh? This boy's half starved."

"Cairo..." Ka hissed through his teeth. "I haven't done the work yet."

Farris huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yale,” he called without taking his eyes from the pair. “Go grab this one one ‘a the leftover meat pies.” He paused, reconsidering the man and his height. “Make that two.”

“Will do, boss,” Yale replied, flashing Ka a wide grin before running off towards the stairway that led into the kitchen proper.

“I don’t run a charity here,” Farris told him sternly. “But if yer gonna be any use to me at all today, it wont be with an empty belly. Ye’ll eat and then ye’ll work. Understand?”

"No," Cairo said blatantly before Ka had a chance.

#crossover with doobdles

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sneezefiction · 5 years ago

Text

dance with me

Bokuto x Reader - Scenario

event request: “Can you do prompt 2. Dance with me for Bokuto?? Congrats btw!”

a/n: i’m always down to write anything for Bokuto, bb. enjoy some fluffy, slow-dancing moments with your fiancé, Bo, for me please, love!!

warnings: mentions of marriage & engagements

wc: 1350

---

“Y/n, can you set that down for a minute?” Bokuto’s grin peeks over the top of your paperback book as he pushes it down with his hands.

“But Bo, I’m at the best part!” You whine, pulling it towards your chest, away from his grasp.

He’s leaning over you now, a signature pout adorning his expression. You try not to look up, but you can’t help it.

No.

Not those eyes.

His puppy-dog expression tugs at your heartstrings in the worst way. His eyebrows are knitted together with such sorrow, imploring you to give him your undivided attention.

“For me? Please.” He’s begging. Again, a puppy-dog.

“I just want to be with you…” His head is tilted, eyes pleading.

You sigh helplessly. So needy.

But you give him a soft smile, gently marking the chapter and setting aside your beloved book for the boy you love even more.

His eyes light up immediately, Bokuto’s smile is beaming at full-force once again. Just as it should be.

“Fine-”

As soon as he gets verbal confirmation, he’s grabbing you firmly by the underneath of your thighs and lifting you up off the couch causing you to gasp. Your balance is thrown completely off. He laughs as you frantically tuck your legs behind his back and throw your arms around his neck to keep yourself from falling backward.

With that, you give him a frustrated frown, but the moment his eyes crinkle with mischief, you know you’re in trouble. He squeezes your thighs, tickling you, which forces you to abandon your forced frown and sends you into a bout of bubbling laughter.

A peachy blush forms across his grinning face at the sound of your voice, even though he’s the one who’s supposed to be getting you flustered. Bokuto buries his face into the crook of your neck, drawing your body even closer to his. You tighten your hold around his neck, loving the way his soft, grey hair brushes against your face.

Bokuto is always trying to find new ways to incite that divine sound.

It’s like music to his ears…

Music...

“AH MUSIC.” He blurts out, jolting his head back to face you, a flash of excitement glimmering in his golden-yellow eyes.

His sudden movement shouldn’t have startled you since he’s almost never calm for more than a few seconds, but you still haven’t fully adapted to his chaotic tendencies.

“Babe, what?” You question, cocking an eyebrow at his goofy expression.

“Ahhh, just come with me!” He expresses impatiently.

“Bo, you’re literally carrying me.” You state, but not without a laugh.

So he sets you down gently, allowing your feet to meet the floor before immediately dashing to the next room over, leaving you confused and wondering what your boisterous sweetheart was getting you into this time.

But in all truth, you’ve never loved someone more.

Before Bokuto, you’d always fallen for short-term lovers. “Bad boys,” as Bokuto now cheesily refers to them as.

It was easy to fall for their mysterious, eye-catching personalities and attractive faces.

They promised you pretty things. Long, steamy nights in dim-lit hotel rooms. Flirty, messy kisses in darkened theaters. Yes, your past boyfriend’s showered you in dirty, devoted promises about what they would do to you.

But it was never about what they would do for you.

You would always end up wishing for more. For something beautiful to happen in the slower, cloudier moments of life. For someone to last longer than the sunny, sensual seconds…

Yet they never stuck around to share the little things. You were always racing against time. Any ounce of conflict or trouble would crumble the already shaky foundation of your relationship.

It was never like that with Bokuto.

It didn’t bother him if you were sick, blowing your nose for 4 days straight or leaning over a toilet seat. He was there. Never leaving you alone except to get groceries or medicine. Holding your hair back and buying you boxes of tissues and cough drops. He would gladly catch a cold for you.

It didn’t matter that you were trapped inside your apartment on your 2 year anniversary, sheets of pouring rain coasting across the window panes, the weather laughing at your attempts to go out. Bokuto was impossible to faze in moments like these. He lit candles across the kitchen counter-tops when the power gave out and wrapped his arms around your shoulders as you concocted a dessert of some sort. You two consumed ungodly amounts of cookie dough that night and shared in celebratory chocolate kisses.

It didn’t change when you were grief-stricken. When you’d locked yourself behind a closet door, sobbing and mourning your most recent loss. He would sit on the opposite side of the door. Waiting for you. Crying with you. That small space under the door? Bokuto used it to feel around for your fingers, linking them together with his digits when he found them. That day, and many times after, he coaxed you out of real and metaphorical closets with loving, gentle words.

It’s why you chose to set that precious book down today.

It’s why you let him hold you whenever he’s feeling needy or lonely, a knowing smile etched onto your face.

It’s why you decided to put on that gold-laced engagement ring. Why you accepted his teary-eyed marriage proposal months ago.

Because for so long, you couldn’t see yourself with anyone for more than a couple months at most. It always seemed to end no matter how much effort you put into your side of the relationship.

Yet Bo gave you every reason to believe that he would stick around, making you feel like you always had a place by his side. That you were always wanted. Worthy of a lifelong commitment.

And whether you liked it or not, he would’ve bugged you until you agreed to marry him, so it’s probably a good thing you accepted the first time around.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts because just as soon as he had raced out of the room, he’s back with a newfound energy, hands full with a massive Bluetooth speaker and a fully-charged phone.

The moment it’s set up, he’s choosing a song. His eyes dash through all of his beloved playlists labeled with strangely specific names. You peer over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the one he’s scrolling through.

The playlist is titled “Dance With Me.”

You burst into another soft fit of giggles over the lovey-dovey name, causing him to turn his head, much like a curious owl.

He had the makings to be a charmer. And a cheeseball.

Both, for sure.

“Y/nnnn, don’t make fun of me! I need to practice for the wedding, don’t I?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you like a schoolboy with a crush.

A smile silently adorns your features.

With the click of a song, your ears are blessed with the melodic flow of R&B, thick with bluesy guitars and lyrical loveliness. A true slow jam, perfect for rocking on heels and leaning into broad shoulders.

You roll your eyes, throwing your arms around his neck for the 2nd time today.

“We’ve still got 8 months til we’re married, baby.” You remind him, your heart jumping at your own words.

8 short months.

8 months until forever.

Forever with your favorite person.

And it doesn’t scare you. No, the flutters in your stomach are reassuring and brimming with excitement.

You couldn’t wait.

So you rest your forehead against his, staring deeply into his contemplative orbs.

As you two sway to the beat, you can tell he’s thinking. Pondering that sentence. Cultivating a response. You can feel it in the way his thumbs stroke the sides of your hips in deliberation.

He’s searching your gaze and his own mind. Drawing a conclusion.

You just wait. Swaying to the beat, drinking in his almond, vanilla scent, patiently watching his thought process unfold before you.

“I just wish it were sooner.” He whispers, eyes locked on yours.

Oh.

Oh Bokuto.

You release your hold around his neck, slowly drawing your face away from his and moving your hands toward his features. The slow dancing pauses, his feet subconsciously planting themselves on the floor in curious anticipation of what’s to come.

Your knuckles stroke his cheekbones, causing him to flush slightly. Fingers brush against his jawline, your eyes now concentrated on his lips.

How dare he speak such beautiful things with that mouth. Always so smooth when you least expect it.

You lean in, giving him a soft peck, lingering on his lips for just for a moment. Enough to tease him. Because it’s so unfair of him to say things like that...

When he knows full well that you would marry him right here, on the spot.

Under the broken chandelier in your dingy apartment’s living room, you would dedicate your whole life to him, vows and all, while twirling to a playlist called “Dance With Me.”

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @miss-rin

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

#haikyuu #bokuto x reader #bokuto kotaro #bokuto #bokuto fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq #hq scenarios #hq imagines #bokuto fanfiction #haikyuu headcanons #hq headcanons #600 follower event #sneezefiction

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elizabeth-mitchells · 4 years ago

Link

supercut of us - The Old Guard (2020) - TOGFemslashFortnight

@tog-femslashfortnight - Saturday's Prompt: Free Choice

This is especially for everyone at the TOG Femslash Discord <3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Andy | Andromache the Scythian/Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nile Freeman & Quynh | Noriko Characters: Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Quynh | Noriko, Nile Freeman Additional Tags: TOGFemSlashFortnight, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, ish, Headcanon, Friendship, Team Bonding, World Travel, Fluff and Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff Words: 3517

Inspired by 57 headcanons shared on the TOG Femslash Discord... (which you can find along with their creators here)

After Andy and Quynh are reunited they decide to travel the world with Nile. Andy deals with her uncertain mortality, Quynh deals with the twenty-first century, and Nile... deals with both of them. It's fun, exciting, sweet and never boring.

There was just something about the way Quynh was holding Andy’s hand, which was perfectly complemented by the exact pressure of Andy’s hold, but defied by the purposeful pattern that Quynh’s thumb was drawing on the back of Andy’s hand. Then, of course, there was also something else to be said about the particular arch of Andy’s eyebrow, or just a flash of a frown in Quynh’s face, followed by Andy biting her lip, and answered with a brief pout from Quynh. Which lead to-

“What are you guys doing?” Nile blurted out, finally exasperated by the way the two women had been silently staring at each other for four minutes doing nothing but exchanging microexpressions and holding hands. “Did you guys changed your mind?” she tilted her head.

“No,” Quynh replied slowly, “I was just asking Andromache if she’d like me to stab her just once more to check if she is still immortal.”

Andy rolled her eyes, not very happy to be reminded about the fact that she still couldn’t figure out if her immortality was back or not. She had scars now, but still healed much faster than she should. It was complicated. “We’re ready to go, Nile,” Andy grumbled, as they finally followed the younger woman to the plane. With just one look Quynh had let her know she wasn’t feeling particularly great about being locked in that small plane for a long period of time. Andy was comforting, and reassuring, let her know that she disliked it just as much. “It’s safe though, trust me, I’ve only crashed one without meaning to once, or twice. And it was back when they were considerably less safe,” she added.

“Without meaning to,” Quynh shook her head fondly, “And that wouldn’t even be you at your worst now would it, my heart? You love falling from high places.”

Before Andy could protest, Nile was exclaiming, “Oh you have to tell me about that Quynh.”

“Not again,” Andy groaned, falling into her seat in the plane.

Once inside, it was obvious that Quynh’s anxiety of the reduced and unfamiliar place was kicking in again. With a smile as kind and bright as ever, Nile offered her her phone and headphones and said, “You know what I think could help? Music. And I have just the right-”

“Just the right kind of meaningless, over simplified, repetitive-”

“Oh, excuse me, I forgot classic rock was the only valid form of music. Andy, you’re a cliche grandma.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Quynh agrees with me!”

Their always-loving, never-ending bickering stopped for a moment, so they could both look at the third member of their group looking for her evaluation of the argument. Quynh, who had been so completely engrossed in Nile’s favorite playlist of pop music that she had missed the take-off of the plane entirely, only looked up when she took notice of the silence around her. “Hm, what?” she took off one earbud, looking from one face to another and nodded, “Yes, my heart, you are too old to understand. And this is actually really good.” She went back to her music and, by the end of the flight, she may or may not have accidentally started listening to a jazz music playlist, and ended up absolutely loving that too.

During the first hour of their hike, Nile tried to remember that she was exploring the world with the two oldest women on Earth, women who could teach her absolutely everything, women with knowledge so invaluable it was difficult to comprehend. Women who, also, sometimes acted like annoying children.

“You slipped on a little bit of mud and broke your skull when you fell down, that’s worse,” Andy argued.

“Not as bad as dying because you failed to balance your own axe on your head! Even after I told you not to do that, Andy,” Quynh insisted.

Teasing each other like that was as natural as breathing, but that little detail of Quynh calling her just Andy, it had the oldest woman narrowing her eyes and suspecting it was better to give up the fight. “Anyway, it was Nile who shot herself in the foot for no reason at all,” she mumbled, attempting to change the subject.

Except, “Yeah, but it didn’t kill me,” Nile raised her hands in faked innocence while the three of them started laughing. As annoying as it could be to travel with the oldest couple on Earth, it was also a lot of fun.

Quynh had opted to stay behind to rest and look over their camp, so it was just Andy and Nile slowly riding their horses around.

“You’re doing great, kid,” Andy sent a smile her way, “Just a little more practice and you can join me on the Mongol Derby next year.” The younger woman replied with a genuinely frightened expression. She was just learning how to do that, she didn’t need to think about the absurd things that Andy, who apparently had loved and befriended horses before anyone had even thought about domesticating them, would do. Still, she knew she’d probably end up joining her and being dragged into whatever chaos that experience would entail. “I hope Quynh will join too, she’d be amazing. Though, I didn’t tell you this but, she used to be terrified of horses,” Andy finished with a soft chuckle.

Nile laughed along with her and as a reflex she looked back in the general direction of where they’d last seen Quynh. When she looked back at Andy she was surprised to find a not entirely unfamiliar look of melancholy on her friend’s face. Before Quynh came back, that was Andy’s usual look, but it had been a while since Nile had seen her like that. She took the risk to say, “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you, when you lost her.”

For a second, Andy looked surprised to hear those words. “Good,” was the first thing she replied, wholeheartedly hoping the young woman would never even have to imagine that sort of pain, that absolutely devastating loss of having your universe ripped to shreds, decades of looking over your shoulder to find out your better half is no longer there.

But, on second thought, she remembered how closed off she had been when they all first met Nile, and in a matter of months Quynh was back and everything had changed too quickly. Perhaps she owed her some part of the story.

“I never really stopped looking for her, you know?” Andy took a deep breath, her heart warmed by the genuine interest in Nile’s gentle eyes. “Just weeks before we found you I was still trying… It was hell though, back then, when it first happened. I got my revenge and a little too late I found out there was no one alive who could tell me where she was. Then I had to accept she was impossible to find, and accept I’d never be the same again. I shave this whole thing off,” Andy ran a hand through her hair, making the most of that brief moment to try to soothe her raging emotions, and remind herself she was just remembering, and this time Quynh really was back, waiting for her nearby. “I got into piracy for a couple of years, still bent on revenge and staying closer to, you know, the ocean. And a lot of regrets.”

“It brought all of us here though, right? She’s back,” Nile added with a smile that she hoped could cheer up her friend at least slightly. It worked though. Andy, not for the first time, found herself not only endeared by the young woman’s optimism, but surprisingly agreeing with her.

This time it was Andy and Nile waiting for Quynh by the beach. The island was just big enough for the three of them to hide without worrying that someone would figure out if was Quynh it was who had just killed one of the wealthiest men in the world. When she arrived at their spot on the beach and took a seat by the fire, she was still impeccably dressed, barely a hair out of place.

“Well, that felt good,” she sighed, getting comfortable in the sand, “Also, you’re welcome. Unless you had stock in his company. Actually, I don’t know how that works. It doesn’t matter to me, and I bet it doesn’t matter to any part of him left.”

Despite Nile’s shocked, slightly disturbed, and somewhat confused expression, Andy smiled, completely smitten by the woman beside her. “Take a look,” she told her lover, nodding her head toward the sky, not taking her eyes of Quynh, “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

“Mesmerizing as always,” Quynh replied in a whisper, leaning back on her hands to look up at the stars above them as the two of them always loved to do. “Always changing…”

“Wait, what?”

Smiling at the younger woman’s confusion, Quynh added, “Hey, Nile, bonfires are perfect for some good stories. What do you think, are you interested?”

Nile agreed immediately and Quynh expertly launched herself into dozens of epic tales that, with the power of only her words, took the three of them all over the world and all over history. She reminded Andy that this wasn’t the first time they took care of greedy dictators. She talked them through the discovery of lands for the very first time. She brought legends back from the dead and left Nile speechless. She even indulged herself in sharing one or two of her favorite stories of Andy and her, including her time spent as a sculptor with her obvious muse being Andy, and also all the myths she personally started with one of the many special swords Andy singlehandedly created for her.

A very important part of the stories was the interaction between Andy and Quynh. It didn’t take long for Nile to understand how whenever Quynh hesitated on some part of her magnificent stories, Andy was always there ready to provide the missing piece of the puzzle. It might have to do with some part of Quynh’s mind perpetually lost to the unforgiving ocean. But, judging by the way it looked like Quynh expected Andy to fill in the blanks for her, it suggested that this habit of sharing their memories as one wasn’t new at all.

Quynh was an expert in the art of storytelling. She knew exactly how to tease the knowledge only she had about Andy’s life before immortality, including their birthdays, and yet keep it all still a mystery. She knew just how to bring Nile close to tears with the tale of the Scythian warriors’ welcoming arms giving Andy her first family, and her longest-lasting name, and yet keep to herself the memory of it being just the last name Lykon got to call her.

When Nile can’t help herself anymore and falls asleep, Andy half expected Quynh to be just as tired, but she wasn’t all that surprised when instead the love of her life stood up and offered her a hand. “Are you joining me?” Quynh asked, nodding her head toward the sea, the gentle waves crashing on the shore.

“Are you sure?” Andy asked, but immediately took the hand offered and followed the other woman’s lead in taking off their clothes and walking to the shore.

“It’s terrifying, I admit that. I wouldn’t dare do it without you,” Quynh looked unusually bashful and vulnerable for a moment, the moonlight catching the precious light in her eyes just right, “But there’s just something about it… I need to prove I’m stronger, you know?”

“I am completely certain of that fact, my love,” Andy replied with a smile, taking Quynh’s hand and going into the water with her. And she meant her words. Five hundred years of torture beyond human comprehension, and Quynh was still here, still alive, still herself. There was nothing in this world stronger than her, Andy knew that as a fact.

Taking some time to finally stand still and relax in a safe house was a great idea for several reasons. Firstly, Nile would be lying if she said she didn’t miss a stable internet connection, which she made quick use of to sign up for an online Art History course. Plus, the isolated charming little cabin near the woods was the only place where Andy could possibly get away with adopting an actual wild bear cub.

“You stole a baby bear?!” Nile exclaimed, lowering the sword and giving up her training for a moment, because the sight of Andy arriving at the house carrying a bear in her arms was a little too much to easily comprehend.

“She lost her mother,” Andy shrugged, as if it was the most common thing to go around the woods picking up orphan bears to raise like pets.

“She does this often,” Quynh mentioned to Nile, lowering her own sword and instead picking up her recurve bow, “Personally, I prefer big cats. But it’s cute, isn’t it?”

Nile narrowed her eyes and looked at Andy. “I mean… look, that’s not normal. I love penguins, they’re my favorites and I’d love to have one, but they’re not pets. Dogs are my favorite pets, that’s normal!” Before she could get to her arguments about bears not being fit for keeping as pets, she was interrupted by Andy’s newest friend running toward her and instinctively hugging her leg. “Oh… okay, fine, it’s cute but…” But this was her life now, and she wasn’t exactly complaining.

Life in the various safe houses they stayed was fun, pleasant, and a very particular kind of peaceful that was only possible when living with actual immortal warriors. It was, at least, never boring. And sometimes it was also surprisingly sweet.

Nile had the brilliant idea of introducing Quynh to many, many things about modern culture. This included a quick review of the twentieth century, and Quynh reacted horrified by world wars, fascinated by 1920’s style, and skeptical about the moon landing. This, somewhat accidentally, involved introducing her to hitmen, leverage, other shows and movies that she passionately loved or disliked, and it was hilarious to watch Andy and Quynh bicker about how attractive or definitely-not-attractive the actors and actresses were. And there was also the occasional video game. Though Quynh definitely developed a love-hate relationship with Candy Crush, often saying to Nile “I’m your friend, your family, I teach you archery tricks that no other person alive knows, and this is how you repay me? You give me this devilishly addictive little game?!”

Later, Nile was pleased to find out that both women were skilled in doing hairstyles for her, and, even better, since they had learned with Lykon thousands of years ago, they knew ancient styles that thoroughly impressed the young woman. Cooking was, more often than not, a struggle for the three of them. Baking, on the other hand, was a wonderful experience. Maybe Andy didn’t do much beyond distracting Quynh and eating the majority of everything they made, even before it hit the oven. But it was still a good time and, judging by the way Andy nearly burst into tears whenever Quynh offered her any sweet pastry, it was easy to guess there was some sort of meaningful history behind it.

Nile was also lucky enough to witness the moment Quynh found out that same-sex marriage was a perfectly legal thing in some places. Maybe she couldn’t marry the love of her immortal life as soon as she would have liked, maybe they would need to fake a few documents or even try to take advantage of some odd American laws, but she couldn’t wait for the moment it’d finally be official. Andy perfectly understood how she felt. Maybe they had absolutely no need for anyone or anything to certify their love for each other, but it would surely be fun to get to do something that for centuries was denied to them. That was partly the reason why Andy had attended college a handful of times, as soon as it was legal for women to do so, just to proudly get kicked out.

As perfect as the dynamic between the three of them was, they all needed their moments to themselves, and Nile had learned when to give the couple the space they needed. Plus, she also got time to herself. This entire life was a, literally, never-ending adventure, but it was necessary to take the time to breathe, take a step back, and think about things. One of Nile’s favorite things to do to achieve some peace of mind was journaling. Truthfully, it started as a desperate attempt to write letters to her family that she would never send. But it soon became a helpful habit that kept her grounded. And also busy, on those times when Andy and Quynh disappeared for a handful of hours at a time.

It was starting to happen less and less, but it was still a common occurrence for Quynh to wake up feeling the weight of the entire ocean on her chest. She’d wake up startled, a desperate scream already halfway through her throat, and already halfway prepared to die again. Some nights were harder than others, some nights it took several minutes for Andy to convince Quynh she was safe and alive and far from the sea, and get her to calm down. But then, of course, there were some easier nights, when the warmth of Andy’s body beside her would quickly bring Quynh back to her reality. She’d be shaking, frightened, afraid. But she’d turn to Andy, even with tears and in her eyes and smile in relief.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe Quynh,” Andy immediately whispered in the softest tone she could manage, wrapping her arms around her lover, bring her closer, letting her find comfort in her touch and the sound of her heartbeat.

After a few moments, with her face pressed against Andy’s chest, Quynh wondered, “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Andy promised, kissing the top of her head, “And no, as a matter of fact, you didn’t. You fell asleep and I was just reading.” That got Quynh’s attention, getting her to finally meet Andy’s eyes. “It’s been a long time but… The Odyssey, remember that one?”

“Your favorite,” Quynh said softly, granting the other woman a genuine even if small smile, before cuddling closer to her. “Read it to me?” she asked, knowing nothing would make her feel safer, feel better than that. This moment, this connection brought by holding each other tightly, reminded both of them of a time in their past. Shortly after losing Lykon, they would embrace each other just like this, usually after a battle, and it was the only way to soothe their fears, it was a silent promise. The painful memory was gently replaced by Andy’s words recounting her favorite story, a different reassurance, a sweet gesture, and everything Quynh needed at the moment.

“You,” Andy said, and kissed her, “are wearing my shirt,” she added, kissing her again.

“Well,” Quynh returned the kiss, “It’s obviously not mine, Andromache,” she teased her, and bit her lip. Pleased with Andy’s eager reaction, Quynh continued kissing her, and let her hands start roaming her lover’s body. She was sitting on Andy’s lap, always more comfortable there than anywhere else. She kept one hand on the other woman’s short hair, since both equally loved it when she played with her hair, and with the fingers of her other hand she caressed Andy’s jaw, her neck, shoulders, and finally arrived at her upper arm. Then she pulled back from the kiss just enough to say, “You have a new scar.”

“Do I?” Andy replied and when she tried to go back to another kiss she was gently rejected.

“I notice, you know?” Quynh added. She had a somewhat complicated relationship with Andy’s scars. They represented a new and interesting part of her lover for her to cherish, so she enjoyed checking up on these small changes every now and then. But it was impossible to ignore that they stood for the love of her life getting hurt, and being, more or less, mortal. She still healed, slowly but surely, and certainly faster than regular people, but… Before her thoughts spiraled out of control, Andy’s gentle hand on her cheek brought her back to their conversation. She had been mindlessly tracing one of Andy’s scars with her fingertips, a new habit that turned out to be comforting for both of them.

“I know,” Andy said with a small smile that was quickly returned. There was more she wanted to say, both of them, but in their case, it could perfectly well be said silently. Starting with resting their foreheads together, taking a deep breath, and holding each other just a little tighter. It was enough, because their love was loud enough to fill the silence for thousands, and thousands of years.

#you guys said 57 headcanon i said YES #watch as i make a mess of myself trying to explain how andy is immortal but gets scars??? why oppossing hcs why??#anyway i really hope you guys like it!!!#the old guard #andy x quynh #andromaquynh #immortal wives #andromache the scythian #quynh #nile freeman #tog #the old guard fanfic #TOGFemslashFortnight

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