#oh canon... the horrid beast that you are... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twilight-skies · 14 days ago

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A copy of my liveblog on discord through the entire DSMP portion of Jack’s stream. If you can’t watch it, this give you the gist, and every piece of lore.

Okay I’m ready

Jacks getting himself into lore mode

“Wiki updaters get ready. Play some jump in the cadillac”

Surreal

Okay he just got distracted by a tweet apparently rosanna pansino is siccing the FBI on mr beast

It’s happening

HES IN PANDORAS VAULT

elder guardian jumpscare

My god the last time I saw this room technoblade was streaming

Disclaimer I was not interested at all in jacks pov so I will not be understanding any references to his own lore. Manishroom. Appears to hold emotional weight

“Wonder where all my friends are (opens tab) ……..oh. Guess I’m here alone.”

“Legitimately emotional. God this is so fuckin’ stupid bro…..I actually got sad. Toby gave me this mushroom on [my] very first day [on the server]”

Calls joining the dsmp as the beginning of the career he has now (affectionately)

Does not know how he got in this prison or how to get out. Trying to remember Sam’s secrets /hj

HES CALLING TOMMY OJ THE PHONE FOR HELP. Tommy is in the bathroom

The phone at the mic. We’re truly back

Jack lost a bet to Tubbo (You Laugh, You Loose) and that’s why he’s on the server now

Surprised that it survives intact to this day. “So I’m actually uh. Trapped in the prison. And I think [Tommy] had OP— not to spoil the illusion”

Tommy never sucked up enough for OP. He was a true bad boy

“Fuck me, man” -Tommy realizing he’s gotta log on to the dsmp

“It’s like looking a dead child in the eyes” -tommy

“Yeah I expected to laugh at that dead child! And now here I am feeling real remorse” -jack

“Oh, christ…….” -tommy getting on

Jack very nearly leaked the dream smp IP in the year of our lord 2024

Tommy was in fact getting ready for bed and has been thrust back into the horrors of his OC

I can’t tell if this horrid audio lag is legit or intentional for lore. The dsmp streamers have returned to gaslighting— oh no it’s legit he’s trying to fix it lmao

Tommy does not have OP on the dsmp but Toby does

Jack is ringing toby

Toby is not picking up

Near leak number 2

TUBBO ACQUIRED

Toby is coming

The DSMP remains a viewer spawnrate hack

The prison has been broken for ages

TUBBO ONLINE

“Everyone’s logging on to break me outta the prison. I gotta put on my lore music”

He has initiated his lore music

Toby is experiencing technical difficulties

Best lore stream ever

Discussing the ending. Mixed feelings on it

This server is so laggy

It will not let Tubbo in

Jack is mortified at pinging the DSMP discord server. However he is threatening to dm badboyhalo to get out of this place

TUBBO LOST HIS OP

toby has departed.

Bad is busy. Jack is dming a secret server operator guy that he hasn’t talked to in years

“We can at this point only pray”

“Get Phil do it” -chat

Jack is refusing. I would die. WAIT HE IS

SECRET GUY PULLED THROUGH

HE HAS BEEN TELEPORTED

WE ARE BACK

Man. The random messes in the sky…..

“IT WAS COOL?!” Jack seeing Las Nevadas

The lag is insane

I’m not being dramatic this is literally the first time I’ve ever seen the inside of the casino

Tommy has rejoined

I think they’re entering lore mode

It’s begun

Jack has canonically been alone at the casino this entire time

“We can make it canon that I’ve been here the whole time” -jack

“Chat, L’Manburg doesn’t exist anymore. We can’t go back there. Now let’s win big” -jack

He has semi broken the roulette wheel. He freaks out, like man who’s lived his life in solitude at that table for years. He walks outside. He gasps,

“Is that…t-t-t-tommy?” -c!jack

c!tommy has arrived.

c!tommy is asking “seriously, what happened”

c!jack is having him fix the wheel

All Jack cares about is the wheel. You can practically hear Tommy. They (characters) are back

He’s following tommy somewhere

“I have a house. It’s nice.” -c!tommy

c!Jack knows he could just take the money but he’s been surviving off the thrill of gambling

c!Tommy moved far away from the central zone. Brings back too much. Feels unreal seeing it again

“Joy, fun, sadness, pain, too much of it all” -c!tommy

They’re approaching the community house.

Oh my god

Are they going where I think they’re going

I know this path

I’m going to explode. Jack doesn’t know where they are

c!tommy doesn’t live here

“No. Oh god, no” - c!tommy at the idea of living here

HE COMES HERE A LOT THOUGH

Sidenote what’s crazy is the server remaining intact yet abandoned and tommy just living here in peace, with everyone just gone and jack being surprised to see him here, fits perfectly with my own headcanon of what happened to the group in the end

c!Jack jokes about buying c!techno’s house. Is told it’s techno’s house. Immediately, comedically, backtracks

c!Technoblade doesn’t even live here but c!jack knows to still put respect on that man’s name

He calls techno living here ‘cultural significance’ this is hilarious from a character pov

he looked at the compound and types “o7”

tommy just sure here outside the fence and sits here “as long as he needs to. Sometimes minutes, sometimes hours”

This is making me ill in every context including that of my headcanons

It appears tommy was for retconning the nuke but jack would rather keep it

Jack’s officially called it the epilogue

The nether……

Hes realized his mistake of sprinting on the prime path. Everyones subbing

Bench spotted

SNOWCHESTER.

Reminiscing in his old house

Looked through the nuke lab. Chat is screaming because he didn’t check on Micheal (guys he’s with his honey-vendor dad of course)

Walking through the battlefield of the prison escape. Like he’s trying to murder me

………

Disregard that. Death begins now.

“There it is! The first place I was a part of. Then technoblade nuked it”

“And now I’m here. And this is the ruin.”

To paraphrase: he really came here expecting to make fun; he’s thought of the smp as something behind him, and it is. He came here to have a laugh but it’s…nice. This arc is finally, fully closed. He is planting the Manishroom, the one thing he’s maintained since day 1, in his original L’Manburg house.

“God just— picking through ruins to make this. So…poetic”

“Not even a lore-bit, this just feels like a nice way to close it out. That feels important to me. Thank you for being here,”

“I always felt like part of the [dsmp] group. Now I feel like my own guy. Really is a new arc”

“I didn’t like letting go of the mushroom. Felt like I wanted to cling on to it forever. But I feel like this was the right thing to do.”

Some more personal reminiscing at the end

Returning to the roulette wheel at Las Nevadas; c!Jack Manifold’s final resting place. Getting that big win; all in on red!

#It’s 3am plz appreciate this. No alt for that reason; sorry #dsmp #Dream smp #Jack manifold #c!tommyinnit #c!jack manifold

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thebelladonnaofbuffoonery · 11 months ago

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❀ BANDAGES ❀

i HATE reading angst but oh lord do i LOVE writing it -especially for dazai.

CONTENT: one shot, dazai x reader, 902 words, hurt-comfort, canon relevant self harm, insecurity about said sh, real men cry, slightly ooc

you’d never spent much time wondering what dazai looked like without his bandages. admittedly, earlier on in your acquaintanceship, you had thought about it but quickly felt ashamed at how intrigued you were about something so personal to him -about someone you barely knew.

though you didn’t “barely know” him anymore, your intrigue had not resurfaced, but a desire for him to understand that you still cared about him grew daily. he shied away from your touch if the bandages were loose, had anyone but you dress his wounds after a fight, ran you countless baths but always sat on the cold hard floor beside it… you were starting to worry he might never trust you enough to relax completely around you.

“dazai,” you asked softly, one day as you’re laying against his chest while he’s tracing your palm.

“hm?”

“you know you can trust me, right?”

he chuckled and nuzzled his face into your neck, “why, i trust you with my life, my darling! honestly, i’m offended you need reassurance.”

you smiled, a warmth growing in your chest, “it’s just, i want you to know… well i feel like you don’t, sometimes. not with everything.”

he sighed, his patterns on your skin slowing to a halt, “is this about my bandages?”

“well, yes, but i don’t want you to think i’m saying this because i need you to take them off in front of me–”

“no, i understand that,” he said, returning to drawing in your palm with his slender finger. “in truth, i am a horrid beast underneath it all, i might turn you to stone if you saw my true form.”

you huffed, but couldn’t fight the smile he brought to your face, “dazai.”

“no it’s true!” he insisted.

“nothing about you could be so horrid,” you reasoned.

“you’d be surprised.”

it fell into a comfortable silence once more between you before you finally suggested what you’d been yearning to ask for months.

“let’s have a shower.”

“...together?”

“yeah.”

“i didn’t know my mere presence turned you on that much.”

“not like that,” you clarified, rolling your eyes at his playful nature, “just… come on.”

and he let you. he let you get off of him and pull him to stand, your gentle force guiding him to the bathroom.

“you don’t have to do this, if you really don’t want to,” you said, meeting his eyes as you shily took off your shirt. they softened under your gaze. he brought his large hand to the back of your head and pushed your forehead to his lips.

“i must warn you,” he said, drawing back and beginning to unbutton his shirt, “i’m a ghastly looking bastard.”

you merely rolled your eyes and helped him finish unbuttoning, meeting him halfway and allowing the garment to fall away. his bandages ran from his palms all the way to his chest and up his neck, held together at various points by elastic clips.

you took a step back, allowing him to undress them himself, one by one placing the little metal hooks on the bench and loosening the bandages.

he met your eyes only once, a shaky glace before the white fabric began to slip away.

underneath it all was nothing you hadn’t already expected; various types of burns, cut scars and marred skin. the amount of damage littered across his skin did surprise you a little, knowing dazai as someone without a tolerance for pain.

“hideous i know. most are from a time where i cared little for my comfort,” he said softly. you didn’t know how to respond, what else could be said that was not either glaringly obvious or out of touch at best? instead, you just continued to undress, taking garment after garment which soon dazai followed with.

wordlessly, you turned on the water and gently pulled him in with you until your back was pressed against the tiles and you could see him, all of him, in front of you.

“you’re handsome, dazai,” you told him softly, letting go of one of his hands to push his dampening hair from his eyes.

“i know,” he said deflective with his charming smile.

“you’re handsome,” you repeated.

“i know,” he said again.

“all of you,” you said.

he looked down at you, watching your eyes rake over him and sighed. he leaned into your touch, arching to rest his head on top of yours as your hands made their way up his back, fingers gently dragging over his damp skin.

you turned your cheek to place delicate little kisses over whatever skin you could in your position, his chest, his collarbone, his neck… painting his skin in a layer of affection. his hands squeezed your shoulders tighter and his body shuddered as you continued to place kisses against him, until finally he relaxed under your touch, and his arms dropped to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

his body shuddered again and you realised, much to your dismay, he was crying. you tried to pull back but he just clung to you tighter. so instead of questioning it, you welcomed his hold, your hands continuing their motion across his back, running over his skin in soothing movements as he silently cried into you. the two of you stood in each other's arms for what felt like forever until dazai muttered in a deep, quiet voice,

“thank you.”

a/n: i was so worried this would turn saviour-complexy so i really hope it didn’t come off that way. i just tried to think about how i would respond if someone did what the reader did, hopefully that was sensitive enough.

#bungo stray dogs #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x you #dazai x y/n

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ddelline · 1 year ago

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wip wednesday

blurb | possibly COVID-induced fever and subsequent isolation helped break the deadlock I was stuck in w time loop!fic, namely how tf to structure it, since it’s getting..... long. we’re up to three parts, but down to a 6 part-first chapter (so og outline minus five), which is so close to being finished I can taste it!!! getting ready to unleash (part of) this beast, is what I’m saying

premise | the premise of this part is essentially ‘how’s about we take a really dark moment in canon and kinda sorta skewer it into a weird humour-adjacent place’. I did that for some reason. and I stand by it. a teensy tiny first glimpse of goyuu!!! like. teensy tiny. not exaggerated. but if you spot it, then yes, in the immortal words of kugisaki nobara: it’s like that. shibuya setting feat disaster curses, satoru, kenjaku, mei mei, ui ui and ofc yūji

“Suguru,” says Satoru, as shadows part and what light remains trains on decidedly not-Suguru, “or not. Whoever you are.”

Not-Suguru looks—bitten together. Suguru’s brow is furrowed, irritated. It’s an expression Satoru knows well. “Yo, Satoru,” they say, echoing that horrid, gut churning greeting they’d once used to freeze Satoru well in place, to make him forget about space and time and to doubt himself, seemingly so long ago. “Long time no see.”

“Not as long as you think,” says Satoru.

Not-Suguru raises a pinched eyebrow. “Oh?”

Satoru knots his hands at the low of his back and leans into the closest wall. Does his utmost to appear as assholeish, as above it all, as his reputation makes him out to be. “So, what’s next? I assume you’ve got something to pull out of your ass.”

Not-Suguru tsks. It’s so like Suguru, all together chiding. “You have to be so crude,” they sigh, “Who broke rank, I wonder? An unknown circuit breaker that we’d failed to account for with Muta-kun?”

Satoru chuckles. If only. “I could tell you, and you’d probably believe me. Fuck if I’d give you the satisfaction though.”

Not-Suguru tilts his head. Satoru feels like he’s seen it before. Like he’s stuck in a temporal loop. Hah. Imagine that. “Being obtuse for the sake of it does match up with your personality,” they say, “But this is being deliberately obtuse for the sake of obfuscation, isn’t it?”

“Being the smartest person in the room was always a neck-and-neck race between Suguru and I. I think you’re used to winning that. You have to give me some credit: this is a real mindfuck, right here.”

Not-Suguru’s expression contorts into something vaguely adjacent to amused, if amused was something entirely knife sharp. “I have to admit to being caught off guard,” they offer.

“Because I’m not?” Satoru guesses, “It sucks to be one step behind. Trust me, I know the feeling.”

A loud crash, a screech and a metallic ban interrupts whatever not-Suguru is about to say next. Footsteps, several in tandem, soft against the tiles but loudly echoing, approach them. Not-Suguru shrugs. “A plan is thwarted only if you’ve bet all of your winnings on a single outcome.”

Satoru presses a soundly tch between his teeth. “Obtuse for the sake of being obtuse, huh.”

Not-Suguru smiles. It uproots something in Satoru, seeing a smile so wholly and fully Suguru, on Suguru’s face, despite the fact that it is not in any shape, form nor capacity actually expressed by Suguru. “Let’s meet again, Gojō Satoru,” they say as they turn away.

Satoru doesn’t make any attempts to stop them. Next time, he thinks, a threat shaped around a promise.

He meets Mei Mei, Ui Ui, and Yūji farther down the southbound subway tunnel. He would’ve opted to take the stairs leading up from the platform, but even Satoru’s stomach isn’t steel-lined enough to deal wholly and fully with the consequences of his actions. Not yet. Not when there’s still work to be done.

“Sensei!”

Yūji grinds to a halt in front of Satoru, who doesn’t really have it in him for theatrics or masking, but nonetheless raises and swipes two fingers out from his brow in salute. “Yūji,” he says in turn, “You’re looking none the worse for wear.”

“Sensei—we were told—” Yūji has stopped just in front of Satoru, both arms raised and hesitantly wavering just outside of Satoru’s usual autopilot-Infinity radius, on the cusp of fretting, but seemingly reigning himself in. “We were told you were sealed—Mechamaru?”

Ah, Muta Kokichi, thinks Satoru, aborted sentences and things ultimately unsaid stringing together to make parts into sum. He shrugs, “No harm, no foul. I’m fine.”

Yūji’s cheek is streaked with curse matter. His knuckles are swelling marginally beneath the strain of battles past. He doesn’t look worse for wear apart from that. “I—” he says, then no more.

Satoru’s fingers twitch where he’s buried them in his pockets, an alien instinct to rub his thumb across the darkening streak bisecting Yūji’s left cheekbone manifesting at the fore of his mind out of nowhere.

“Is that all taken care of then, Gojō-kun?”

Satoru puts weight into his heels, rocking aborted back and forth. “Mei-san,” he complains, “We’re a few years past that, aren’t we?”

Mei Mei smiles, “Forgive a senpai for her transgressions. Gojō-san. It’s the angelic features. Though if I’m not mistaken, you do still rank below me in hourly rate.”

Satoru snorts. “If we’re talking about money, I think Mei-san surpasses us all. I will take the comment about ‘angelic features’, though.”

To Satoru’s left, Yūji emits a pitched sort of exhaust-sounding noise.

Mei Mei’s smile grows sharper. She tips her head in the direction of where the light is sparse, but nonetheless bleeds through the darkness of the underground. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

#work: fic #fandom: jujutsu kaisen #goyuu #fic: cv/sm #first time wip posting wherein the goyuu tag has been accurate

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otnesse · 1 year ago

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Had a feeling Belle wouldn't be a princess and that the Beast wasn't an actual prince (especially when they didn't use titles befitting a prince). And have to admit, had the events of the film taken place between 1890-1891, it actually is a bit of a relief for me since that would mean Belle wouldn't have to sit through the French Revolution and go insane with Voltaire's ideology (long story short, Glen Keane implied that the setting of the film was pre-Revolutionary France).

Not to mention, since that would also imply Belle and Adam would be contemporaries for Jean-Paul Sartre at the height of his prestige, that actually has the potential to be EXTREMELY cathartic since I'd suspect Belle and Adam would probably have some choice words for Sartre (maybe even have Belle posthumously "forgive" Gaston for his earlier treatment of her largely because she realizes that, as bad as Gaston was, Sartre's even WORSE. Maybe Belle says something like "Monsieur Sartre... I thought I came close to experiencing a woman's worst nightmare with Gaston, but I just had an epiphany... You, not Gaston, are a woman's worst nightmare. Sure, Gaston was a chauvinist pig in life, but at least he was honest about his views on us women and ultimately did wish to form a family with one, even if for conceited reasons. You, on the other hand, claim liberation for women from their responsibilities, and treat them as disposable commodities, and even have the gall to use your deformities as a shield/cloak, even force women to kill their babies so you wouldn't take responsibility for raising them." Oh, and Adam also making a reference to his earlier cursed state courtesy of the Enchantress and implying that had that happened to Sartre, that would have been closer to a reward for his horrid behavior rather than a punishment, implying that even being cursed into becoming a Beast would have been too good for a cretin like him. And as an added bonus, the triplets could join in on the fray and, for once, manage to explicitly recognize a guy as ugly on the inside as well as out.). Considering Sartre did far more than anyone to treat the very moral of "True Beauty Comes from Within" into a complete joke with his rather appalling treatment of women (and all while said women tried to follow Belle's example by ignoring his physical deformities. Had they followed the triplets example, they probably would have had better lives in the end.), seeing Belle and Adam call HIM out for it in their lifetime would definitely be a case of Christmas coming early for me.

Of course, that doesn't quite absolve Belle of her awful writing in the original movie ultimately courtesy of Linda Woolverton the feminist hack (I'm considering doing a post showing a rewrite for Disney's Beauty and the Beast that actually does utilize it's full potential as a true Disney flick and not a socio-political movie). But at least it might mean she won't end up turning into another Sephiroth down the line, especially if 1890-1891 is indeed the canon date.

Dating Disney: Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast features my favorite love story and my favorite Disney Princess, so it holds a very special spot in my heart. So, it’s worth looking into the film to decide when the Movie is supposed to be set.

During the opening musical number “Belle”, Belle is telling the Baker about the book she’s been reading. She’s clearly describing Jack and the Beanstalk, the earliest version being the tale of “Jack Spriggins and the Enchanted Bean” in 1734. But she also deliberately mentions an ogre, not a giant. Near as I could find, the only version with an ogre was written by Joseph Jacobs in 1890, making Belle nearly contemporary to modernity. Belle’s excitement over the book is likely a sign that this is a new story.

During the same musical number, we see a sign depicting a tobacco pipe, but unlike with the Calabash pipe from the Little Mermaid movie. I could place it to possibly be a Billiard type, but the exact era of creation escapes me. However, tobacco pipes have been around as long as Tobacco has been introduced to European trade, starting in the 16th century.

The history of colored printing goes as far back as the 16th century, and there are illustrations from the early 1700s with an impressive variety of color that help establish a stronger time period. The book also shows the words Le Prince Charmant or Prince Charming. Prince Charming started being used in 1697 in Charles Perrault’s version of Sleeping Beauty, although there, Prince Charming was not a name. Rather, Perrault stated that the Prince was charmed by her words. The first story to use Prince Charming as a name is the Tale of Pretty Goldilocks. It was written at some point in the 17th Century by Madame d’Aulnoy, but in her version the hero was named Avenant. It wasn’t until 1889 when Andrew Lang retold the story that Avenant was dubbed as Charming. One year later in 1890, Oscar Wilde used the term “Prince Charming” sarcastically in his novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray”, meaning that the term had gotten its more modern meaning by this point in time.

Gaston’s musket is a Blunderbuss, which was invented in the early 1600′s and remained popular through the 18th century before falling out of fashion in the middle of the 19th century. However, considering Belle states that this is a backwards town and Gaston is an old-fashioned, Primeval man, it’s possible he’s using a largely outdated weapon.

While there are no street lamps in the city, we can see in the background lanterns on the sides of buildings, which might allude to the movie taking place before the invention of gas lamps. However, gas lamps were invented in 1809, and if the version of Jack and the Beanstalk is from 1890, then by all accounts the town should have gas lamps. What this amounting evidence is leading me to believe is that the film is directly following the plot of the original fairy tale.

In the story, Beauty’s father is a merchant who loses his fortune due to a storm destroying his cargo. They’re forced to live on a farm until the merchant stumbles upon the Beast’s castle and kick starts the plot. In the opening song, Belle says “every morning’s just the same, since the morning that we came, to this poor, provincial town.” This could mean that she grew up in a much more modern, urban, and progressive town. Possibly even Paris. But that after Maurice suffered severe financial trouble, he was forced to move them to the small, backwards town that was practically living an entire century behind the rest of France, which is why she’s so bored and unimpressed by the little town. It helps explain why she’s so eager to want to get out of this town and see the world. She wants to be part of the modern world again.

Interestingly, I can support this theory with background information. According to some of my research, Belle’s village was based on the little town of Riquewihr, France, which still looks like it did in the 16th century to this day. So the idea that Belle’s little village lacks so many modern elements could be a nod to the architecture of this sleepy French village that has remained largely untouched by the march of time. Hence why it looks more like something out of the 1700s despite the many elements from the 1800s being present.

During the song “Be Our Guest”, Lumiere dances with a match stick. Match sticks were invented in 1805. Assuming the film still takes place in the 1890s, this would be concurrent with the other evidence we’ve seen thus far. Later in the same song, the silverware makes an Eiffel tower, which was constructed in 1889. Since Jack and the Beanstalk was written after that, it still fits within the suspected time frame.

During the climax of the battle, Cogsworth is wearing military garments reflective of Napoleonic styles. Napoleon was coronated in 1804 until 1814, had a brief return to power in 1815, and eventually died in 1821. So this is also congruent to the established time period.

In the Youtube Video “Fashion Expert Fact Checks Belle from Beauty and the Beast’s Costumes” by Glamour, April Calahan, a Fashion Historian from the Fashion Institute of Technology directly noted that Belle’s yellow gown lacks the shape of a proper 18th century dress, and more closely resembles the shape of 19th century dresses, fitting into the evidence that’s been mounting in support of a late 19th century setting.

As a part of his primary costume, Lefou wears a waistcoat and tailcoats, which came into vogue in the 1800s, namely from the 1840s through the 1850s.

But if the film is set in the 1800s, how can the Beast still be a prince after the French Revolution? Well something worth noting is that when he finds out that Belle isn’t coming to dinner, the Beast storms through the halls to her room as Cogsworth calls after him as “Your Eminence” and “Your Grace”. The address of “Your Eminence” is reserved for Cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church, and is an ecclesiastical style of address. “Your Grace” is noticeably an English style of address, but it’s being used by Cogsworth who is British, so I can chalk that up to just part of his culture. Although it was used for British monarchs, it fell out of use during the reign of King Henry VIII (1509-1547) and after that, the use of “Your Grace” became used to address archbishops and non-royal Dukes and Duchesses. Now clearly the Beast is not a cardinal or a bishop, especially if he is looking for the love of a woman to make him human, since it’s forbidden for Catholic priests to marry. So clearly that is not what is meant here. But the other answer actually does hold a bit of weight. Beast’s father was in fact, a Duke. So how is the Beast a prince? He’s not. Not entirely. See, there’s more than one kind of Prince in French nobility. There’s a Prince du Sang, or a Prince by Blood. Effectively, the Crown Prince, the sons of ruling monarchs. But the title is also given to lords in charge of a Principality, one of the smallest territorial sizes. The Beast’s principality probably only extends to having power over the little unnamed village. And with it being after the revolution, Beast might not even have the proper use of his title anymore. He’s effectively a rich kid in a fancy house with no real authority or power. He’s just old money from a by-gone era of human history. But if Beast’s address of “Your Grace” is accurate, that would mean that he’s a non-royal Duke, meaning he would not likely have been executed during the Revolution, as his family would have essentially been governors or senators than actual monarchs. They just had jurisdiction over a small piece of the Kingdom of France and reported back to and obeyed the orders of their King. Thus, he would not have been important enough to be killed or chased out of power by the townsfolk.

CONCLUSION

The movie is set between the late autumn and early-to-mid winter of 1890. Although the snow is gone when Belle returns to the village, the trees are still bare, signaling that it may just be unseasonably warm, though it could be the very early spring of 1891 between the receding of the snow and the blossoming of new spring foliage. Between the books, clothing, and references made, my conclusion is that Belle is a very modern girl living in a backwards little town stuck in the past, thus why a village in 1890 looks so completely lacking in modern technology despite the era. The Prince is nothing more than a fancy title as the son of a Duke, and he likely has very little if any actual government authority. Essentially, Belle married into wealth, not power, and will never be a proper queen, and I’m not sure if the wife of a lord ruling a principality is a princess or not, but I suspect the answer is no. Making Belle, like Mulan, a Disney Princess who did not marry royalty, was not born royalty, and thus, cannot be called a Disney Princess. She’s definitely a noblewoman, but she’s not royal by any means.

SETTING: Riquewihr, France

KINGDOM: The French Republic (France)

YEAR: Autumn, 1890 - Spring, 1891

PERIOD: The Third Republic (1870-1940)

LANGUAGE: French

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plutodetective · 2 years ago

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I finished my Gothic Heroine Support Group Featuring Jonathan Harker fic! :) It’s extremely self-indulgent, but I hope you like it. ^^

Content warnings: Jonathan does not remember what happened after he swooned, and fears he may have been raped. There’s some internalized victim blaming and biphobia, both of which Psyche shuts down. And there are mentions of canon to the other stories incidents of adults preying on teenagers (Erik on Christine and a fairy on the Beast.).

As goddess of the soul, Psyche has soothing abilities, especially towards abuse victims, because I said so.

Yesterday, for I now sleep during the day in fear of what horrors may be awake in this horrid place by night, my mind has made a strange attempt to soothe my fears. Terrified as I have been of three monstrous women, the last time I managed to get some rest I dreamt of three much gentler creatures.

I was lying on the ground, only semi-conscious, and they were grouped around me, but there was no threat in their voices. Instead they sounded alarmed by my presence, and concerned for me.

“A gentleman! He looks as if he’s been through a war.”

“There has never been a gentleman here before, has there?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Gentlemen can be prey and, for that matter, ladies can be predators.”

“You are right, Belle, I’m sorry. Oh, look! He stirs!”

I opened my eyes and saw before me three young ladies, one dressed in clothes much more ancient than those of the three demons that had attempted to suck my blood, and two in what appeared to me to be French fashion. Of these, one was a child of no more than 15, while the other, as well as the one in ancient clothing, appeared to be close to my Mina’s age.

Harmless as they seemed, I have had no reason to trust in strangers lately, and so my first impulse was to put as much distance as possible between myself and these strange new visions. They exchanged concerned glances, and then the one in ancient clothing began to approach me slowly, crouching as if to convince a startled animal that she represented no danger.

“Please, do not fear,” she said, and there was some power in her voice that went right to my tense nerves and appeared to somewhat soothe them. “You are safe, among friends. Won’t you tell us your name?”

“Jonathan Harker,” I faltered, my voice still weak and distrustful.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jonathan. My name is Psyche, and these are my friends, Belle and Christine.”

I was surprised to hear that Belle was the child. What had she seen of the world, to know at such a young age so much about predators and prey?

There again, how could I know that she truly was 15, and had not simply been maintaining that appearance for centuries, like the monsters I encountered but a few nights ago? The thought made me fearful, and I once again backed away from them.

“You’ve been through much, I can see,” said Psyche, her voice once again managing to somewhat soothe me. “So have we. Won’t you sit down and let us tell you about it, my friend?”

I saw not what else I could do, so I reluctantly took a chair. They pulled other chairs close to mine into a circle and all sat down.

“I’ll begin, since I’m the oldest.” Said Psyche. “Once upon a time, I lived with my parents and sisters, and through no fault of my own men would worship me as I passed.”

That I could believe, for (forgive me for noticing it, Mina!) she was indeed of a surpassing beauty. She continued, in her ever soothing voice:

“But time passed, and though men told me I was more beautiful than even the goddess of love, no proposals came. Worried, my parents took me to an oracle, who said I was to be bride to a terrible monster.”

At this, I cried out.

“Am I dead?!? Is this where the souls of those devoured by terrible beasts come to find their rest?”

“You are not dead,” Christine rushed to assure me. “We are not certain what this place is. We only know that we sometimes find ourselves here in our sleep, and that here we meet those who have been through troubles similar to ours.”

“I believe it to be the work of fairies,” said Belle, “but they will neither confirm nor deny that.”

“You… Communicate often with fairies?”

“All in due time, Jonathan. It’s still Psyche’s turn.”

I nodded, for I knew not how I could refuse their wish to explain everything in the manner they were accustomed to, but with the talk of fairies I began to fear terribly for my sanity once again.

Psyche kept talking, telling a wondrous tale of an invisible husband and a house with invisible servants, and of how, through her sisters’ treachery, she found out that her husband was Eros, the god of love. At this I made a face, and she smiled at me.

“I take it that you believe only in one God?”

“With all due respect, I do.”

“That does not matter at the moment, as long as you can believe my husband was far more than a mortal man.”

How could I doubt that, given all that I myself had recently experienced? I nodded, and she continued, talking of how her husband abandoned her while expecting a child, and of the trials her mother in law put her through so she could be reunited with him and ensure her child’s safety. I was horrified. How could a man thus treat the woman he claimed to love?

“I know,” said Christine, correctly reading the expression in my face. “We have told her that Eros does not deserve her, and that she was justified in wanting to know who she was married to. It’s… An ongoing process.”

“He has recognized his wrongs,” said Psyche, “and admitted that his desire to keep me safe from his mother’s jealousy did not justify the misery he initially kept me in. He has also apologized for leaving me at my most vulnerable. He is a god, and that means he didn’t grow up with the best examples. Given Zeus, I think my Eros grew up relatively well.”

“We agree to disagree on that,” said Belle. “I believe exchanging these experiences and giving each other perspective is why the fairies set up these encounters.”

“Why do you believe so strongly in fairies?” I asked, for her insistence on the matter was driving me insane.

“I believe it is my turn,” replied her, and began her own fantastic story. She spoke of how her father set off on a business trip and returned talking about a horrible Beast that had demanded one of his daughters in return for a rose the father had plucked from the monster’s garden. I gasped in awe of her bravery when she spoke of deciding to sacrifice herself to save her father, for the monster had threatened his life should he not send one of the girls. Internally, I judged her father for not dying himself, but the child seemed to love him so much I held my tongue on the matter.

She spoke of her fear when she first saw the Beast, and believed she would be devoured, and of her even stronger fear when he first proposed to her, and she believed her honor was to be lost. I trembled to hear it, my own fears taking over my interest in the story for a moment, but Psyche laid a gentle hand on my shoulder and I focused back on Belle’s words.

She spoke of a handsome Prince that would visit her in her dreams with words of love, and of how the Beast’s kindness, combined with her father’s words when the Beast allowed her to go home for a visit, convinced her to accept the monster’s proposal. And of how he then transformed into the very Prince from her dreams!

“And that is when the fairies enter the story.”

She spoke of how her Prince had been raised by a fairy, who began advancing on him once he was 16. Of how she turned him into a monster when she realized she would never have him, and how everything he had done since had been under the instructions of a good fairy that was helping him fulfill the extremely convoluted conditions to break the curse.

“Once I heard the story, I fully forgave him. How could I not? He was but a plaything of the fae.”

“And all of that at only sixteen!” I said, horrified.

“Precisely,” she replied. “But the fact that I forgave him does not erase the horrors I went through. It does not erase the time my family thought I was dead, or the nightmares I still have about the Beast turning out to be what I at first feared. I blame the evil fairy, not him, but those things still happened. And I believe this is why we are all here. Perhaps as a compensation for what I went through, the fairies, who did, after all, have the power to send me the Prince in my dreams, are sending me companions who I can share experiences and identify with.”

“But if that is the case, I’m afraid your fairies made a mistake. There are indeed similarities between your stories and mine, but I have no intention to be with my captor! My heart belongs to another, and Count Dracula has committed atrocities for which there can be no justification.”

“That is where I come in,” replied Christine. “I am sorry for your troubles, Jonathan, but I must admit I am glad to hear you speak so, for it means I am no longer alone. I have not stayed with my captor either, and I have achieved a happy ending with another. Let my story be a comfort to you in your time of need.”

She then told me of how her father, a musician of high talent, used to tell her tales of an Angel of Music, and of how he promised in his deathbed to send the Angel to her. Of how a man who spied on her innocent prayers pretended to be this Angel and thus acquired influence over her naïve youthful self.

“He taught me how to sing like the angel I thought he was, and I became a sensation at the Parisian Opera. But then, when a rival appeared, he kidnapped me.”

And there it was, the similarity between all of us. We had all been kidnapped, kept in captivity by monsters from who we feared harm and who- God help me!- seemed to desire us.

And who, by the way Christine spoke of her captor shopping for groceries, all seemed intent on overseeing our domestic wellbeing, for so had been the case with Psyche’s invisible servants and Belle’s animal ones.

But such a terrible tale was Christine’s, made all the more horrific by the fact that her tormentor was a mere man! All of our other stories were so fantastic in nature that there was something abhorrent in the fact that one as mortal as I could have put a poor girl through so much.

And yet, somehow it ended happily, for she managed to escape and be with her Raoul, and oh, how I hoped to achieve the same and see Mina once again!

“And now, dear friend,” concluded Christine, “it’s your turn. Tell us why Belle’s fairies have sent you our way, and how can we be of help.”

And so I poured my heart out to their gentle souls, telling the story from the moment when Mr. Hawkins called me to his office to inform me of the business trip and keeping from them nothing but that which was not fit to discuss in front of ladies. They heard me with much consternation, and all three gasped when I spoke of the monstrous women’s terrible meal.

“You are right, Jonathan. There can be no excuse for this monster.”

“Is it in your power to help me escape?”

“Unfortunately not. But we can give you solace and comfort, as we do for each other, and be a reminder that escape and happiness are still within your reach.”

My heart sank at the negative, but I nodded my appreciation for the help they were able to give.

“But Jonathan,” said Psyche softly, “I believe you are keeping something from us. We would not force you to talk, but if speaking of it could ease your heart, we would be glad to hear, no matter what it is.”

I startled. How could this woman be so perceptive? I believe firmly in one God only, but I had seen proof that there are beings that are more than human, and though I could not believe her a goddess, I could easily believe she was not simply what she appeared to be.

“I would not trouble you with this part of the tale,” I said resolutely, and she seemed pensive.

“What if the other girls left? Would you be able to confide solely in me?”

I was surprised to realize that suggestion did not strike me as absurd. A lady she could be, yet that something about her that seemed to make her more than human made it so that confiding in her didn’t appear to be as sinful as speaking to the other two. I nodded hesitantly, and Belle and Christine rose without any hint of disappointment for being excluded.

“Call us when it is alright for us to return,” said Belle, gently, and they left the room. I turned to Psyche, beginning to tremble.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Jonathan,” she promised. “You may think of me as an older sister, if it helps.”

It did. Looking at her in this light, it suddenly became easy to unburden myself to her.

“The night after I met the women… I do not remember much of it, but I have some flashes, and I fear the Count may have… Used me.”

Anger flashed in her eyes, immediately replaced by concern.

“Jonathan, that is a line none of our captors has ever crossed. I am so extremely sorry. I hardly know what to say… I wish I could kill him.”

“But that is not all…” I faltered, feeling I had come too far not to say all. “I… I must admit I felt drawn to him. So I am partially to blame.”

I waited for her concern to turn to disgust, but instead she appeared more compassionate than ever.

“Jonathan, listen to me carefully: nothing you could have done or felt makes what may have happened your fault, in any way.”

“Did you not understand me?” I asked, confused. “I find him attractive! Dear God, how can a man think that of another man?”

“Very easily,” she said, and although her tone was still gentle, it was also closer to stern than I imagined it could be. “There is nothing wrong in a man feeling drawn to another man, or a woman to another woman. Once you are safe and sound, and therefore in a better place to hear tragic tales, I will make you weep with the story of the love between Achilles and Patroclus. Believe you or not, the factual truth is that I am married to the god of love, and am therefore somewhat of an expert in these matters. I am sure that if you truly look through your sacred texts, you will find that your god doesn’t condemn any form of love either. You committed no sin, Jonathan. Were you not engaged, it would not have been wrong even to have voluntarily lain down with him, if you so desired.” Here anger returned to her features. “But you did not consent, and for that I curse that fiend. His is one of the worst crimes one can commit.”

Her compassion broke through my fragilized nerves, and on the next moment I found myself sobbing in her gentle arms.

“I was saving myself for Mina. Some might laugh at me for that, but I always believed in waiting for true love.”

“And you have waited, and still are,” she said, using the full power of her soothing voice. “You may return to her feeling as pure as you left. Nothing was your fault, and you have done and felt nothing to be ashamed of. It is not wrong to find people other than your betrothed attractive, regardless of their sex, as long as you don’t act on it. And you haven’t. Mina is a very lucky woman.”

“Thank you,” I gasped, pulling away from her. “I wish I could fully believe you, but even though I don’t, your words are still soothing.”

“You will believe them fully in time. This won’t be our last meeting, Jonathan. Belle’s fairies, if that is truly the reason for these strange meetings, won’t stop arranging them for as long as we can bring comfort to each other, and as long as there are new people entering our group.”

“Is it common for new people to appear? Has… Has anyone ever just stopped appearing?” I asked, fearful that someone in the same place I was might have met a dreadful fate.

“Only one girl, and it was not for the reason you fear,” Psyche assured me. “Her name is Jane. She found herself newly employed under circumstances very similar to yours, working for a man not without resemblances to your Count. But Jonathan, she married him. She recognizes he has done wrong, but believes a physical injury he suffered has been atonement enough, while he continues to treat her with condescension and think of her as something belonging to him. I believe she stopped appearing because she simply did not wish to continue to hear us, which I am sure will not be the case with you.”

I nodded. It was so comforting to be around these women, so opposite in every way to the last feminine trio I had encountered, that I could not imagine myself ever not desiring their friendship.

“Now, would it be alright for me to call the girls back in?”

I said yes, and she did. Belle and Christine entered giving me concerned looks, that turned into sympathetic smiles. Even without knowing what had happened, it was clear I had their full support.

“I’m afraid this meeting is drawing to a close. The time to awake approaches,” said Belle.

“Jonathan, think of us and despair not. I am sure you will escape, as I did, and live happily with the one you chose,” said Christine, taking my hand. I nodded, and suddenly, all three hugged me.

It was far from being unwelcome. I would describe it as sisterly, for its chaste nature, but the word does not sound correct. There was between the four of us a connection that ran even deeper. I belonged with these women, I realized, I was the same as they were, and the thought brought me a peace I hadn’t known since the Count had thrown my mirror out of the window.

“We will be here whenever you need us,” was the last thing I heard in Psyche’s gentle, soothing voice before my eyes opened and I found myself once more in the chamber of horrors my host called my room.

Encouraged by my new friends, imaginary or not, I decided to spend the day thinking of a plan. I must escape, like Christine did. Wait for me, Mina! I will find my way back to you.

#dracula daily #Gothic heroine Jonathan Harker #in this house we protect the og Beast #arg why is posting in a new fandom always so nerve wrecking

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inukag-archive · 3 years ago

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Hello! I’m looking for recommendations for a particular trope/genre: Feudal Era AU as @superpixie42 would say. Fics that are Canon-era (Inuyasha-world without Inuyasha plot) but are not quite canon-divergent or fix-it? I’m thinking along the lines of Out of The Woods (Miss_Dyana), Kintsugi, If We Fall Anyway (both Evilillusions), for example. Any other genre/rating is good. Thank you! 💓

Hey @anisaanisa, it's no secret this is one of Mod Pixie's favorite AUs, so thank you for the chance to put this one together!

Shelter by @lavendertwilight89 (E)

Summary: Song fic inspired Stuck with You and Shelter. Inuyasha has been alone most of his life and one moonless night he gets caught up with a young priestess. She saves him and he, in return, helps her. What he doesn't realize is, this priestess holds a lot of secrets which may or may not cost both of them their lives...

Demon Nature by @shardetector (E)

Summary: He spoke low and gently, although his voice was gruff with his demon still so close to the surface, “You saved me wench, now I’ll repay the favor.” With that, his muscles bunched in his legs as he sprung up and out of the well, a red blur in the night as he made his way through the forest to his destination. His precious cargo held safely to his chest, as he raced to save her with his demonic speed.

there's no place (for us/like home) by guardianKarenterrier (G)

Summary: Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Inuyasha starts to creep closer to the fire at night. Now that he's not so injured, he's begun to vanish into the woods and come back to throw down rabbits and once a badger at the side of the hut, and Kagome hasn't had to worry about finding enough to eat as the air starts to turn colder. He hardly ever talks to them, or at all, and he won't come close enough to touch- he never comes as close as he had that first day again, but he stays. She's not sure why he stays, but she's glad that he does.

Comfort Food by @splendentgoddess (E)

Summary: Feudal AU one-shot. An ex-miko-in-training stumbles upon a seemingly human man alone in the woods during the moonless night. He seems all alone in the world - just like her. Goodness, when was the last time he had a decent meal?

Half-Breed’s Wife by @gypsin (M)

Summary: On the night of the new moon, a runaway girl stumbles into Inuyasha's life. Little did he realize then what he would be undertaking by saving her. But when Kagome has nowhere else to go will he leave her to her fate Or will he rise to the occasion? And what will the humans think?

Your Lying Smile by @dawnrider (M)

Summary: A beautiful day by the river quickly takes a turn, taking control of her life completely out of Kagome's hands. Her "rescuer" becomes something else entirely before she can get a word in edgewise. A Feudal-esue AU

We Are Family by @theladyofthewest (T)

Summary: Imagine a world in which the Inu No Taisho lived to raise his sons together, as brothers. Inuyasha never had to learn to survive on his own, he never met Kikyo, never heard of the Shikon Jewel. Now imagine if Kagome fell into this world instead of the one she did in canon. Imagine if she and Inuyasha had ... parental supervision.

Oblivion @meggz0rz (M)

Summary: Feudal-era Japan. A war to the death between youkai and humankind. Kagome, rebellious daughter of a noble family, is not about to let her grandfather sacrifice himself in battle. So she takes his place, dressed as a boy and ready to fight to survive. But in love and war, things are rarely as they seem, and there is a spy in the army ranks who just might be Kagome's downfall...

Everybody Wants To Be An Inuyoukai by @superpixie42 (T)

Summary: A birthday one-shot for kstewdeux very vaguely based on the plot of the Aristocats. When Kagome, newly widowed with a newborn son, is named the heir of her mother-in-law's enormous estate things suddenly go from bad to worse. She's drugged, kidnaped, and left for dead on the side of the road. With the help of some unexpected new friends, Kagome finds herself questioning: does she even want to make it back home?

The Shogun’s Daughter by @shnuggletea (E)

Summary: Kagome's father passed away when she was just a child but his Shogun status still makes her a valuable bride to a Lord of lands that border their village. Lord Inuyasha Tashio is pushed by the council into marriage, assured his new bride was an excellent choice. All their fears and anxiety are amplified when they meet.

Timeless and Forbidden Love by lunalibro (M)

Summary: Once, a long long time ago in Japan, demons and other horrid monsters out of nightmares roamed the lands. Wars were never-ending, famine, death and bloodshed abound. Admist this chaos, there lived a great priestess named Midoriko who was renowned throughout for not only her incredible power and fighting prowess, but also for ethereal beauty. She defeated countless demons and staved off many dark evils as the protector of humankind. Eventually, Midoriko fell in love and birthed twin daughters. The eldest was named Kikyo and the youngest was named Kagome, While alike in looks, the sisters were complete opposites. Naturally, these girls inherited their mother’s immense powers. From a young age, Midoriko trained them in combat and in the spiritual arts. The sisters grew in strength and looks. However, Kikyo’s powers had matured far greater than that of her sister’s. Midoriko decided Kikyo shall be the one to take her place as the new protector of Musashi. From then on, Kagome would find herself living in her sister’s shadow. Maybe with the help of a young half-demon named InuYasha, Kagome could realize her worth and possibly fall in love in the process. A forbidden love that will last throughout time.

Beauty and the Hanyou by mishelledor23 (M)

Summary: Inspired by Beauty and the Beast, but Inuyasha style! The terrible half-demon prince Inuyasha is under a fifty-year old curse that keeps him trapped inside his castle. Can Kagome, the reluctant miko-in-training become his friend? Maybe even his love? InuXKag, MirXSan. Lemons and language in later chapters!

For Better or Worse by Anime Wildfire

Summary: Kagome, priestess in training, turns her life upside down when she saves the life of the half demon Inuyasha… and accidentally finds herself bound to him via pesky subjugation beads. This is not how she thought her day- or her life- was going to go.

By the Match, Not the Flame by @goshinote (M)

Summary: Inuyasha is a hellbent hanyo on a mission for revenge. Kagome is a wanted miko on the run. Their intentions align in more ways than one, but secrets abound between them as they partner up during their travels. With an inevitable and impending betrayal looming over them, the pressure rises with every day they spend moving closer to the enemy’s clutches.

A Private Affair by JeremyMarsh (T)

Summary: During a simple patrol operation, Inuyasha, a general in a war between demons and humans that has been going on for two years now, goes all the way across enemy territory to reach the village where his betrothed lived before the conflict broke out. Here he is discovered by her younger sister who intentionally reveals something to him that she shouldn't have.

Shocked, Inuyasha decides to embark on a new and dangerous mission that could cost him his life or worse.

Koi no Yokan by @keichanz (E)

Summary: Koi no Yokan: The feeling when you meet someone that you’re bound to fall in love.

A prince discovering a deeper meaning to seemingly random hordes of bloodthirsty demons. A young woman unwillingly sold to a brothel by uncaring relatives, frightened and alone. How could these two circumstances possibly be related?

We are also including the works Anisa mentioned in the ask for those who are unfamiliar

Out of the Woods by @dyaz-stories

Summary: After the murder of Kikyo, the local priestess, the villagers start leaving offerings to the forest's god, who they think they've angered. Kagome, called to the village to replace her cousin, finds out, too late, just how far they're willing to go when they use her as the month's sacrifice. She decides not to go down without a fight — except that, instead of an angry god, she finds herself faced with a hungry half-demon, who's very annoyed he won't be getting a food offering for the month. “What the fuck are you doing here? Where’s my food?” “Oh I’m sorry, am I not a sacrifice satisfying enough?”

Kinstugi by @soliska

Summary: AU. Failing to be chosen as her village's miko, Kagome had resigned herself to a humble life. An unexpected summons returns her to the city where she's forced to reconcile the taught virtues and the spiralling, warped reality created by those that abuse their power. She holds the key to repairing the fracture between humans and youkai, and the freedom of her new hanyou friend.

If We Fall Anyway by @soliska

Summary: What if the shikon jewel didn’t exist and Naraku never came to be? What if Kagome fell down the well anyway and met a gruff, young inu-hanyou. Would they still become friends? What would be their story? A tale told in snippets.

#inukag archive #feudal au #inuyasha #inuyasha fanfic #inukag fanfic #fic rec #anisaanisa

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amphxtrite · 4 years ago

Text

what I miss most // c.d

cedric diggory x slytherin! reader

warnings: swearing, spelling/ grammar mistakes.

summary: the reader is chosen for triwizard tournament instead of cedric. He helps you with the first task and finds himself at the bottom of the lake.

a/n: thank you to anon for sending this request, I absolutely loved writing this, but I apologize if it’s kind of shit.

tag list: @cupidpoison @wonderful-writer @inglourious-imagines @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @cedricsyellowscarf @coldlilheart @glossierkisscs @hoe4cedricdiggory

word count: 3.9k

enjoy <3

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“And the Hogwarts champion for the triwizard tournament is.” Dumbledore’s voice booms as the entire student body sits on the edge of their seats waiting patiently as the goblet of fire spews out a sheet of parchment. “Y/n L/n of slytherin!”

The entire house of black and green shouts in excitement as you stand and make your way to the front of the hall, accepting pats on the back and high fives your entire way down.

Cedric Diggory sighs in defeat as your name is called instead of his. He slowly raises his head from his arms to take a look at the girl who would be in the tournament instead of him. He doesn’t know what to expect as he finally finds you in the crowd, but needless to say he’s surprised. Beautiful cascading h/c hair, bright eyes, a playful smirk resting on your face and a loose green tie adorning your neck. He could barely take his eyes off of you as you shake hands with dumbledore and enter the back room, his eyes trailing after you until you’re finally out of his line of view.

“She’s gorgeous.” The hufflepuff sighs, resting his chin on his hand.

“Ced, she took your spot!” Ernie Macmillan calls, shaking his head at the star struck brunette.

“Who cares mate?” Cedric laughs, wrapping an arm around the younger boy with a smirk on his face.

Your confidence seemed to double as you walked up to Dumbledore and shook his hand, but sitting in the waiting room with the other champions grew rather awkward and you knew you’d have to be the first to break the ice.

You turn and wave to the Beauxbatons girl and introduce yourself. Fleur seems happy to have someone to talk to and you eventually pull Viktor into your circle, talking about your schools and your excitement for the tournament. A shuffle of shoes is heard and you turn, expecting Dumbledore, but see Harry Potter’s mop of brown hair and glasses instead.

“Harry what are you doing here?” You question, walking up to the shaky boy and putting a hand on his shoulder. Harry was like a younger brother to you, and you’d grown rather fond of him despite your house.

“I-I don’t know! He just called my name.” He stutters, looking around anxiously and fidgeting with his fingers.

“I didn’t put my name in, I swear!” He rambles on, taking hold of your sweater.

“I believe you Harry, there’s no way you could’ve made it past the age line.” You state, ruffling his hair and sighing.

“You know you should really get this cut.” You laugh, pulling him towards the other champions.

“Really y/n, now?” Harry rolls his eyes, but cracks a smile, allowing himself to be dragged over and introduced.

Days pass and you grow more and more excited for the first task, you get close to the other champions and you have overwhelming support from even peers you’ve never talked to before, but as more people support you, they seem to turn on Harry. Badges with the phrase ‘Potter Stinks.’ And ‘Support y/n the real Hogwarts champion.’ Begin popping up everywhere and despite your pleas for people to take them off more and more people continue.

“Please Draco, I know you don’t like Harry, but I would really appreciate it if you and your friends stopped wearing them.” You try to reason with the young slytherin, but everyday is the same response. “No need to be modest y/n! We all know it’s true!”

You sigh and shake your head turning back to Fleur and her friends as one of them shakes your shoulder. “I think you’ve got yourself an admirer.” She smirks pointing behind you.

“That’s very sweet Claire, but I don’t want to see anymore badg-“

She cuts you off. “Non, no badges, that boy is gazing at you!” She squeals, shifting your body so you’re facing the other direction. Your eyes lock with a pair of grey ones and the owner immediately drops his gaze. Your cheeks flash a light pink as you smile at the adorable boy, but you’re pulled from your little moment by a tapping on your back.

“Um y/n, c-can I talk to you?” Harry’s shy voice calls out. “Read the badge Potter!” Draco’s distinct voice responds as you turn to shush him.

“Of course Harry, lead the way.” You smile.

“Listen I’m sorry about the badges. I’ve told them not to wear them, but” Harry lifts his hand to stop you.

“I know, it’s alright. I just wanted to warn you. The first task is dragons.” He whispers before scurrying off to find his friends.

Nodding your head in disbelief, you run back to Fleur’s group and apologize, telling them you’d be in the library if they needed you.

Dragons. Why did it have to be dragons? You sigh in frustration as you open another book on the fire spewing reptiles, your eyes fighting to stay open. “H-hey, do you need any help?” A low voice wakes you from your half asleep trance and you snap up. “What? Um, yes. Please. What was the question?” You lift your hand to your mouth to block your yawn as the voice comes closer.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bother.” A boy comes into view. “Oh, you’re the hufflepuff from the courtyard!” You smile, motioning for him to take a seat next to you. “Yeah that’s me.” He chuckles, placing his book bag down and falling into the chair. “I just noticed you in here and was wondering if you wanted any help?” The hufflepuff sighs, scratching the back of his head in a nervous manner.

“Yeah! I mean that'd be great!” you grin, picking up your pen. “Does the hufflepuff have a name?” You tease, pulling a textbook towards the two of you. “Yeah, Uh- Cedric. Cedric Diggory.” He smiles extending his hand.

“Well Cedric, I’m y/n.” You respond, taking hold of the brunette’s hand. “I know.” He nods before blushing and shaking his head.

“That seemed really creepy, I didn’t mean anything weird.”

You laugh and for a moment Cedric is sure he’s in the presence of an angel. Your face lighting up and the sound of your voice reminded him of something divine, and Merlin did his heart soar.

“Alright Cedric, let’s get down to business.”

You spend the afternoon and most of the evening researching all you could about dragons. You had explained the situation to Cedric to give him a better idea what to look out for and he’s had his nose stuck down a book the whole time looking for the right way to succeed.

“You could try flying?”

“I’m horrid on a broom Ced.”

“Stun it?”

“That’ll only make it angry.”

“Freeze it?”

“It’s a fire breathing reptile Ced.”

“What about a distraction?” Cedric suggests, reading over a line of text.

“It won’t anger the dragon, there shouldn't be any need for fire, you just need to transfigure a distraction.”

Your lips pull into a smirk and you wrap Cedric into a hug.

“That’s brilliant! How did you know Transfiguration is my best class?” You laugh.

“Lucky guess?” Cedric smirks in response, returning the hug with a huge smile.

“You’re the best Cedric, I’ll see you later?” You pack your bag and squeeze the hufflepuff’s shoulder before walking away.

“Yeah, see you later!”

One by one at the sound of the canon the champions before you face their dragons. Sitting in the tent in your sports wear, anxiety floods your veins as the sounds of thrashing mixed with ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the audience ring in your ear and cause your heart to race. Harry does his best to reassure you, but it seems more like a comfort to himself than you. You couldn’t blame the boy, a fourteen year old who had faced Voldemort, a basilisk and now a dragon.

The canon bangs again and someone enters the tent to retrieve you.

“This way please miss l/n.”

You stand and take a deep breath, smiling to Harry before following the man through the curtains.

You begin stretching out your arms and giving yourself a pep talk. You were smart to have taken the time to study dragons, because you didn’t know the first thing about Swedish Short- Snouts before your study day with Cedric.

You begin your walk into the stadium and the rocks begin to come into view.

The chanting of your name is distinctly heard and a silver dragon resting on a stone perch greets you, it’s yellow eyes piercing into your heart like a sword. You swallow and take a deep breath to calm yourself, pulling your wand from your pocket and putting on your brace face.

Students scream as you are finally visible and you can hear bets being made, the dragon stands from the stone and growls.

“Let’s do this.”

You slowly pace towards the dragon as it shoots a flame out towards you. Quickly rolling out of the way, you cast the rock to dog transfiguration on a medium boulder before crouching behind a large rock.

The dragon curiously follows the dog with its eyes before stepping from its nest to follow it, the scraping of chains being your cue to go. The dog begins to run and you quickly sprint in the direction of the eggs, the golden one shining in the centre must be your goal.

As you approach the nest, a brilliant blue flame shoots from beside you, barely missing your body, but burning you down your arm. The dragon begins bounding towards you, and with pain coursing through your left side you scoop up the golden egg and loudly cast the sleeping charm multiple times on the silver beast before it finally falls to your feet in a low slumber.

The stadium erupts in excitement as you walk out with the egg in your arms, as you scan the crowd for your hufflepuff helper. You spot the brunette in the stands and throw him a thumbs up and a huge smile. He grins back at you and mouths congratulations as you are greeted by medical assistance and pulled into the hospital wing.

You’re laid in a white bed as Madame Pomfrey treats your burns. The medicine does cause you to flinch and your arms turns a strange colour, but it does seem to cool after it’s finally wrapped up. You’re about to fall asleep when a flash of red and brown enters your line of sight and begins to chuckle and stutter with a huge smirk.

“Heard you pulled quite a stunt in the arena.” You grin at Harry with a light roll of your eyes.

“It was amazing y/n! You should have seen me fly up and around the Horntail!” Harry gushes, explaining every moment of his first task in great detail. Pomfrey begins bandaging his scratchers as he begins swinging his arm around explaining the great chase.

“And then I flew up and back down right past the dragon’s spines!” He lifts his hand up and drops it back down.

“Then-”

A boy in a yellow tie pulls open the curtains to your bed and steps inside.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” He grins sheepishly, pulling two bouquets of flowers from behind his back.

“Of course not, you don’t mind do you Harry?”

You smirk at the boy and he shakes his head.

“I was just stopping by to drop these off from the judges.” Cedric explains handing a bouquet to you and Harry.

“Great job out there by the way. Both of you.” Cedric compliments, placing the flowers on your bed before stepping back out again.

Months passed and the buzz from the first event had still not diminished, so when the Yule Ball was announced, the entire school went absolutely crazy. People you’d never seen before began confessing their ‘undying love’ for you and asking you to accompany them to the dance. You almost felt bad denying them a date, but the truth was you only had one person in mind who you wanted to take you to the ball, the hufflepuff brunette who had helped you conquer your first task.

Cedric had been planning on asking you to the Yule Ball, but as he watched people swarm you, he lost hope that you’d still be single for the dance. He felt it was rather useless to try, but Harry wasn’t going to allow Cedric to give up.

“She likes roses. Yellow ones with red tips are her favourite. She grows them at home.” The gryffindor shrugs nonchalantly, nudging the hufflepuff in the shoulder.

“Okay?” Cedric shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “She doesn’t have a date you know. She rejected everyone who’s asked.” Harry continues.

“And how is that supposed to make me feel better?” Cedric sighs, poking at his food.

“She’s waiting for you.” The gryffindor finishes, turning over and noticing a sparkle in Cedric’s eyes. “Just thought you’d ought to know.” Harry smirks,standing from the hufflepuff table and wandering over to his.

Cedric made his way to professor Mcgonagall right after that to ask how to transfigure the exact form of those roses and worked at it till he was sure he’d mastered it.

He found you reading on special charms in the library with the girl from Beauxbatons, and taking a deep breath he summoned the flowers from the top of his wand and presented them to you.

“Y/n, I-I know it’s not much, but I was wondering if you would go to the Yule Ball with me?”

He almost toppled over when you jumped up to hug him, he had to pinch himself to make sure this was really happening. That you had actually said yes.

The ball arrived and it was absolutely magical. You and Fleur were gushing over each other’s dresses as Viktor talked to his date and Harry stood awkwardly in the back. Cedric arrived and together you made your way into the ballroom.

You danced for hours, anything from waltzing to just jumping around until you pulled Cedric away from the dance floor and into the courtyard.

“I see you’re wearing my flower, love.” Cedric grins, looking down at you as you swayed in his arms.

“Of course Ced, I love it.” You respond, a smile growing on your face. “I grow these back home, they’re my favourite.” You smirk, pulling the rose from your hair and holding it up to your nose.

“Do you know what they represent Ced?” You raise your eyes to meet Cedric’s dazzling grey ones.

“No I do not, Care to enlighten me?” Cedric grins sheepishly, twirling you in the light snowfall.

“Yellow roses with red tips, mean friendship and-” You pause looking up to the falling snow and back into Cedric’s eyes. “Falling in love.”

Your lips had almost met that night, but the sound of footsteps pulled the two of you apart and the two of you parted not long after.

When the second task arrived you were ready. You had figured out the egg and had given Harry a hint to figure out his as well. You had managed to find a spell on your own to help you in the underwater field, but on the day of the event you couldn’t find Cedric anywhere. No matter where you looked or wandered the boy in that yellow tie was nowhere to be found. Lined up on the wooden deck, you pull yourself together, shaking Cedric from your mind to grab your wand from your jacket pocket and shrugging off your outer layer, leaving you in your bathing suit in the unforgiving winter air.

They sound you to begin and you cast the bubble head charm on yourself before diving into the freezing water. You swam as fast as you could, dodging the grindylow as you made your way through the tall underwater foliage. Wandering further into the dense green, you were sure the water was playing tricks on you because tied to the bottom of the lake was Cedric, still clad in his full uniform. You spot Harry gazing stupidly at the victims and you nudge his shoulder. shooting a spell at the weed tied around Cedric’s leg before tapping your wrist in the universal sign for ‘time.’ You grab around Cedric’s chest and push his head down as you surface through the waves, The brunette’s head popping up as soon as his head breaks through the lake. You gently pull him back to the docks and wrap towels around your arms and his as people flock to you and congratulate you on your victory.

“W-What happened?” Cedric stutters, his teeth chattering like crazy.

“You were at the bottom of the lake Ced. Do you not remember?” You giggle.

“No, I-I just remember being told to go to the office and when I got there, everything went black.” Cedric shivers as you scoot closer beside him.

A line of the poem from the golden egg bounces through your mind.

“We’ve taken what you miss the most.”

Cedric glances at you in confusion, but a smile dawns on your face.

“I missed you the most Ced, that’s why they chose you.” You laugh, wrapping the hufflepuff in a hug as his eyes widen in realization and his cheeks heat up.

The third task arrives and you and Harry are tied for first. The two of you enter the stadium together and stand in front of different entrances to the maze. You nod to Harry, wishing him good luck and he does the same. Dumbledore finishes his speech and the task has begun. You start slowly, walking with slight hesitation as the maze walls swallow you whole. As soon as the cheers of the student body are no longer heard, you pick up the pace, dodging magical creatures and running around blocks and dead ends. You had the feeling you were close when you noticed Viktor prowling in the opposite direction.

“Viktor! The cup’s that way.” You nudge him on the side as in a flash he turns and grabs you by the throat.

“Finally I’ve found you.” He smirks his usual accent disappearing as his glassy eyes look you up and down.

Clouded eyes and a voice that wasn’t his, there was only one explanation. “Let Viktor go!” You squirm in his grip as a devilish smile descends his face as he chokes you out and lifts his wand. “That should be the least of your worries y/n.”

His lips just form a curse when a loud “Stupefy!” Is heard.

Viktor falls back and Harry comes rushing to your aid.

“Are you alright?”

You immediately begin taking deep breaths of air and turning to face Harry.

“The Imperius curse. Someone cursed Viktor.” You mumble in between gasps for air.

Harry helps you up and pulls you forwards through the final part of the maze, finally finding the glowing blue cup.

“Go on, you did save me.” You smile, pushing Harry closer to the cup.

“Nonsense, you were closer. You should have it.” Harry argues, pulling you further up.

“Together?” You grin taking a step closer.

“Together.” Harry agrees.

You reach up to the cup and at the count of three you both place your hands onto the trophy.

The world begins to spin and contort. You begin to feel dizzy as Harry’s shape begins to swirl and his loud breathing is the only thing you hear.

You land on a field and the two of you stand nauseously. You hold your head in your hand as you hear Harry utter the word ‘portkey’ and you turn to access your surroundings.

“It looks like a graveyard.” You sigh, turning back to Harry. “Is this like a joke or somethin-“

“Look out!”

From behind you a hidden figure emerges and pulls out their wand.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Your body seizes up and you fall onto Harry’s chest. “Avada Kedavra!”

“No!” Harry jumps and tumbles down a hill with you in his grasp, running and placing you behind a tombstone to face this opponent.

You can only lay there frozen as Harry screams. The bubbling of a cauldron, cackling, multiple voices, and a hiss of a snake is heard. Your bonds seem to break for a second, perhaps the person had just transferred their wand to someone else. You slowly turn and peak over the grave, a scream of fear nearly leaving your mouth at the sight of Voldemort and his death eaters.

Voldemort begins throwing the gryffindor to the sides like a ragdoll as he begs Harry to duel, Harry tries to counter the killing curse with expelliarmus, a thick veil of light emerges from their wands and soon the two are hidden from view. For agonizing minutes you sit there in fear for your friends life. Hoping and Praying Harry would be alright.

The light disappears and Harry emerges, throwing back the band of death eaters before you stand and run over to him.

“Let’s Go!” You pull the dazed gryffindor from his trance and run towards the portkey as Harry yells spell after spell at the oncoming line of Voldemort’s followers. You quickly clutch onto the handle of the trophy and close your eyes as the world begins to spin again.

All spectators were frozen as Harry Potter and y/n l/n exit the maze screaming bloody murder. “He’s back! Voldemort’s back!” Harry cries, clutching onto Dumbledore and being grabbed by professor Moody. Your voice is quiet and pained as you wrap yourself in a blanket and explain in full detail what happened when that cup turned into a bloody portkey. Dumbledore sat stroking his beard and nodding before quickly walking off to find Harry. You sit and hang your head down, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart. In and out, it was going to be okay.

“Y/n, are you alright?” The worried voice of the grey eyed hufflepuff comes crashing through your ear and in a second you had engulfed him in a hug and begun crying into his shoulder.

“H-He’s back. He’s back and I didn’t do anything.” You whimper into Cedric’s scarf.

“Hey, darling look at me.” He tilts your chin up and his voice turns serious.

“Voldemort is a mass murderer. He’s killed almost everyone he's come in contact with. It’s not your fault, love he would have killed you.” Cedric sighs, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“What matters is that you’re back, you’re safe and we’re together.” Cedric smiles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Congratulations on the win by the way.” Cedric smirks, looking down at you.

“Win? But Harry.”

“He told Dumbledore you were the rightful winner of the cup. It’s already been announced darling. You won.”

Cedric follows his congratulations by pressing an overdue kiss to your lips. Your mouth drops open and a smile widens on your face as you jump up into Cedric’s arms and he spins you around.

“I’m so proud of you, love.” He chuckles, placing you back down again and holding you close.

“Just don’t do that again, alright? You scared me.”

You laugh and begin peppering kisses on Cedric’s warm cheeks as you punch your fist into the air and cheer. You had done it. You survived and conquered the triwizard tournament. Though you had to talk to Harry about splitting the winnings. There was no way he was getting away with this.

#harry potter imagine #cedric diggory #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter #cedric diggory fluff #cedric x y/n #cedricsbrowncurls #cedric fluff

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free-pancakes · 3 years ago

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Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 3/? Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

Notes: meeeeeep another chapter here ya go

CHAPTER 3

Levi paced back and forth, looking up every so often to stare out at the ocean. He came out to the shore every day this week. Living here on the outskirts of Marley had been pretty jarring, unfamiliar. But the sea was the one thing that brought him at least a little bit of solace. It used to be something quite terrifying to him, but Hange showed him that it wasn’t so bad. She really did have a way of making any situation feel at least a little brighter and a little less hopeless, he thought.

Onyankopon had urged him to relax and not to worry, assuring him that he’d look after Hange for him. Meanwhile, Armin assured him that he deserved to rest and did not need him to help out with his commander duties this week. But Levi knew he wouldn’t be able to rest or relax—how could he?

He held onto what little hope he had—Armin said that Bertholdt’s memories bothered him only a few times, and then they were gone. Maybe it would only be temporary. Levi had scared Jean into telling him a little bit about how Hange was over the past few days, and he mentioned that her biggest concern was that the memories would be enough to cause her to hurt Levi. But Armin had said that his titan shifters memories only ever affected him in his sleep, and the feelings never carried over into action. Again, it made Levi a bit hopeful.

However, his fear that Hange might never recover lingered in the back of his mind—and with that, he still kept that pact he made for himself. If his presence would continue to make her recoil and fall apart as she did that horrible morning, he would leave, so she could live happily. He sighed—he’d find out soon enough if this was the route he’d have to take.

It was just one more day. One more. And he’d find out if…

If he would ever get the chance to hold her again.

That night, Levi tossed and turned even more than usual, so he began wandering the complex in hopes that it would tire him out a bit. But, he soon found himself standing right outside Hange’s door. He stared at the doorknob and reached his hand towards it, and only then did he realize he was shaking from the nerves. Lowering his hand, Levi hung his head and sighed. Before he could walk away, he heard foot steps approach and come to a sudden stop.

“Levi?”

He turned quickly to see Hange standing at the end of the dimly lit hallway, a surprised look on her face. Levi saw her squeeze her eyes shut and grit her teeth, and watched her hands ball into tight fists.

Oh no.

“Hange, I’m sorry, I was going to wait, I swear, please. I’ll go get Jean—“

He paused to wait for an answer, but none came. Instead, Hange came running at full speed towards him, jumping straight into his arms, burying her face into his chest. Levi’s heart raced, afraid to lay a hand on her in the chance that it might frighten her again. But he stared down at her face—her eyes were still squeezed shut, but she seemed okay. He carefully wrapped his arms around her and placed his forehead on the crown of her head.

The subtle scent of coffee and lavender shampoo reached his nose, and like clockwork, Levi felt all the tension in his muscles release.

Hange.

———

Hange held Levi tightly, her mind focused on the feel of him, his rough hands gently rubbing at her back, the smell of his honey-based soap filling her with comfort. The sound of his breaths lulled her into a sense of calm. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused—and it was working!

All week, Armin and Jean had told her to simply relax and rest, but how could she?

Onyankopon shared the same opinion, but he gave in. Hange couldn’t just... lie there. Doing nothing? Preposterous. By her request, he brought her all the Marleyan books and journals he could on memory. And with that, she convinced him to sneak in Annie and Reiner behind Armin and Jean’s back—Hange was that desperate. She only had a week to make progress.

Unfortunately the literature didn’t come with too much more than what she knew already, and she was in a bit too unique of a situation—Annie and Reiner didn’t know their previous titan shifters too well, nor did they have any connection to any of their loved ones. Hange was going in with very little, but she was determined as always. Nothing would stand between her and Levi, not after surviving everything that they did up until now.

She tested different techniques for herself to help rewrite her memories over Zeke’s—essentially focusing on happy memories of Levi along with what she had seen. It was grueling work, she was emotionally wrecked every night that week facing Zeke’s fears again and again, playing it over and over, hoping it would become less menacing with each time she tried. What worked the most for her in the end was closing her eyes and focusing on one object in her hand. For example, she would hold a flower as she sprung herself into remembering Zeke’s fear, honing in on the smoothness of the stem, the softness of the petals, the sweet smell of its nectar. And it calmed her.

And with this trial, it was indeed working. She held Levi and wanted to scream with joy and relief and excitement and a multitude of other feelings she couldn’t even verbalize while hugging her beloved shorty with a clear mind, only her own.

Eventually they both fell tired, as it was the dead of night after all. Hange brought him into the room with her, and patted the bed next to her.

“Hange... are you sure you’re okay with this?” Levi wasn’t so sure this was a good idea.

But with this big victory won, Hange was quite optimistic. She was able to hug him and talk without feeling that same horrid rush of fear and pain like before. And on top of that, she hadn’t had a nightmare since. Dreamless sleep, calm and restful.

It was over, Zeke didn’t have a hold on Levi anymore, and she was grateful.

She gestured Levi to lay next to her once again. But as he put his hand on top of her, she felt a fleeting urge to pull away.

But, she was able to suppress it. She peeked at Levi—he didn’t seem to notice. So, she fit her head right into the crook of his neck, perfectly snug like a final puzzle piece being snapped into place. She focused on his breathing and the sound of his voice nagging her not to drool all over him tonight. She drifted off to sleep, a tiny smile lingering on her lips as he hugged her tight.

———

The sound of ODM gear reeled, echoing into the air. Hange was running through the thick foliage, deep inside a forest. Fear bubbled up inside her and anxiety spread like wildfire all over her skin. Loud thuds echoed through the forest as titans dropped left and right from all sides. She felt the fear increase even more, it’s like she knew only person was taking down all these titans. Oddly enough, the smell of wine also lingered in the air, and Hange wondered why that was.

Suddenly she felt blades slash at her legs, an insane amount of pain zapping through her. She fell, almost in slow motion, and saw the culprit before her eyes.

Levi descended from the trees above, his face showing nothing but determination to kill her. She felt herself wanting to reach her Beast Titan arms forward and strangle him.

——- “Four-eyes!” Levi gasped.

Hange suddenly felt herself holding down Levi under knee, one hand pushing on his throat, and one hand held in a fist in the air, blood dripping over it.

She gasped and saw Levi beneath her, his face bloodied, his eyes wide as he coughed and inhaled sharply.

Hange felt arms grip at her shoulders and pull her back, restraining her.

“Hange! Are you awake?!” Jean yelled.

Hange stared, dumbfounded, trying to make sense of what was happening. Jean figured she wasn’t going to move, and ran for help as Armin stood over Levi trying to keep a compress on his wounds.

Hange felt tears streaming down her face, and she stared down at her hands. She was trembling and her vision was still going in and out of focus. She saw the color red all over her hands, and some splattered over her shirt. She stared at Armin who stood above Levi laying in bed, asking him if he could hear him. Her eyes glazed over the floor, a smashed mug and coffee over the floorboards.

Hange slowly put everything together. But the worst part of it was, Levi easily could have overpowered her—but he probably tried to figure out a way to wake her up without hurting her. He took the beating just so she’d go unscathed.

Jean ran in with Onyankopon and they came to check on Levi while Hange slowly backed out of the room. And then, she ran.

Zeke’s memories had a stronger hold on her than she had thought—one simple dream was a enough to set her off in real life. And it was her fault. Why did she let him sleep next to her? She scolded herself, wondering why she could have been so selfish.

More tears welled up in her eyes and she ran outside, and collapsed on her hands and knees, right onto the grass. She let out a scream and cried out—her worst fear about all of this had come true.

She hurt Levi, and she’d never forgive herself for it.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #snk #aot #jean kirschtien #armin arlert #onyankopon #zeke yaeger

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chainsxwsmile · 4 years ago

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What if, instead of meeting Gollum in the caves, Bilbo meets a certain Troll? (Not much is changed in canon, but this is my first fanfiction!)

---

He had landed on something soft; at least Bilbo had enough self-awareness to be grateful for that. The ample colony of sizable mushrooms softened his fall down the cavern yet the same couldn’t be said for his goblin assailant. Despite Bilbo’s own knuckles skinned raw, his hip throbbing from the fall, and all sorts of grime gathered upon his clothes, his injuries couldn’t hold a candle to the unfortunate goblin who had taken a tumble alongside the hobbit. The creature wheezed, with barely enough strength to move its head about the darkened crevice surrounding them both. Bilbo had half a mind to pity the creature, even if he had only felt its rotten teeth sink into his neck just a few moments before their fall. The edges of Bilbo’s vision still blurred, and he squinted against the lowlight— and jumped as a pair of uncannily massive eyes met his own. A skulking being, vertebrate protruding from its arched back as it stalked forward on all fours, slunk into the dim light. Instinctively, Bilbo stilled within the cover of the mushrooms, and he held his breath as the creature’s raspy voice echoed across the chasm.

“Yesss. Yes! Yes,” the creature grinned terribly, before something between a cough and choke rose from its throat. “Gollum. Gollum!” it hissed, and its spindly hands snatched the ankles of the dazed goblin. The sudden movement launched Bilbo’s former assailant into a frenzy and the goblin thrashed about, shrieking and clawing. The gangly creature returned the blows, stone in hand, strategically smashing in the goblin’s skull; the goblin went limp and the shrieks died in its throat. “Nasty goblinses are better than old bones, precious,” the spindly creature mused aloud, grunting as it dragged its prize behind it. “Better than nothing.”

Only when the horrid creature and its prey slipped from his sight did Bilbo finally remember to breathe. It came out in a shudder, and the hobbit scrambled to his feet; and quite grateful beyond doubt that his sword—still glowing a dazzling blue— buried itself beneath a mushroom cap, hidden from the terrible creature. As Bilbo’s hand steadied the weight of the sword, a metallic flash on the cavern floor caught his eye. He bent down and retrieved in his hand a ring. Golden and simple, yet starkly elegant against the cavern walls. A screeching wail far off in the distance snapped Bilbo from his thoughts, and he trekked forward, pocketing the ring and keeping his glowing sword low. “Aah, too many boneses, precious! Not enough flesh,” the gangly creature cried, and then in a harsher voice; “Shut up! Cut its skin off! Start with its head.” Against his own instincts, Bilbo slunk past the piles of bones that haphazardly littered the cavern floor, his eyes fastened to the creature perched atop a sharp rock protruding out from the cavern lake. “The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet, for rocks and stones are like old bones all bare of meat, cold as death, without no breath it’s good to eat.” In every beat of the song, the creature’s hands—armed with a sharp rock— descended upon the goblin’s head. Bilbo winced visibly at every strike and each sickening sound the blows produced. At last, the rock smashed the goblin’s skull once more that Bilbo’s sword flickered like candlelight before being snuffed out, dead.

Suddenly a booming voice growled from beyond the rock, and Bilbo watched silently as the horrid gangly creature scattered from his sight, frightened off by the owner of the voice. From the shadow beyond the lake drew a hulking figure; so large Bilbo wondered how it had managed to get into the caverns in the first place. Nearly five meters tall, the being towered over the fallen, dead goblin, sniffing it shortly before giving what Bilbo presumed was a disgusted growl. Then two glowing, beady blue eyes met Bilbo’s and the hobbit saw the beast’s posture straighten in mild surprise.

It had seen him.

The hobbit scrambled back from the water, back against the rock, and lay still as he could, hoping that the beast would either lose interest or leave. Yet not even a moment went by that Bilbo felt any icy droplet of water on his curled locks. And then another. And as his eyes glanced upward— and upward and upward more— Bilbo felt his heart stop. The beast had silently crossed the lake and stood over the poor frightened hobbit, who gaped helplessly at the enormous foe. The beast quickly lumbered down from the rock formation, hastily putting itself between Bilbo and any means of escape; the behemoth’s movement so eerily silent, Bilbo couldn’t help but start to shake. But that wasn’t even the worst part; as the beast faced the hobbit, a terribly wide grin stretched across its scarred lips. If there was any breath left in Bilbo, the sight of the toothy smile snatched it from him. Canines the size of the little hobbit’s legs flashed a deadly white alongside each pointed, razor-sharp tooth. Heavy brows lidded the beast’s beady eyes in what Bilbo could only assume to be a ghastly intrigued expression. Like a cat licking its maw and readying itself to play with a poor mouse until it was beaten dead. The thought only escalated Bilbo’s shaking, and he was quite surprised he hadn’t dropped his sword yet. This close, Bilbo could see with what he was dealing: the beast was a troll. Not a stone troll; a slate-blue color graced the creature’s rough skin, and a black mane ran down its thick, muscular neck. Its broad nose was shaped like that of a great cat’s and it idled naturally on all fours. Then it spoke, in a deep, rumbling voice that sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine.

“Hello,” it— he— bellowed. For a moment, Bilbo could only reply with a squeak— as that was all he could get out of his throat, at first. “Y-Yes, hello,” he replied politely, backing against the solid rock and holding his sword out precariously before him. Much luck that sword would do; it looked like a toothpick to the troll! The beast neared closer again, placing his enormous face— and toothy maw— within touching distance. The troll’s nostril’s flared and a sharp exhale billowed Bilbo’s hair and elicited a rather pitiful whimper from the hobbit. Yes, this troll was much bigger than the stone trolls; and Thorin’s company was very likely on the other side of the mountain for all Bilbo knew. Oh, what terrible luck! “Never seen a tasty li’l bite like you b’fore,” the troll mused. A gargantuan hand rose up to prod at the hobbit, and Bilbo quickly reacted, swinging the sword at the giant hand’s threat. “Stay back! Stay back!” the hobbit warned sternly, though his knees shook, and the sword trembled in his hands. The troll blinked, and for a moment Bilbo wondered if the beast would decide to smash him with a fist and be done with it. Instead, a hearty — albeit blood-chilling— laugh rolled out of the troll’s cavernous throat and his terrible teeth flashed evermore brightly. “Easy there, li’l morsel,” the troll reassured Bilbo; or at least, Bilbo wondered if that was even meant as a reassurance. “Just wonderin’ what you are, is all. I don’t get much company these days.” Bilbo blinked, and then swallowed hard, his throat dry with anxiety. “My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he answered, suddenly feeling rather claustrophobic despite the enormity of cavern around them both. Suddenly the clawed hand shot forward again— and Bilbo braced himself to take its blow— until it stopped short before him, extended out in greeting. “Name’s Bruce,” the troll grinned toothily. Bilbo was fairly certain he’d have better luck fitting his whole body in the troll’s palm than successfully shaking the troll’s hand. Let alone wrapping one of his hands around the troll’s single finger. The troll— Bruce— caught onto Bilbo’s hesitation and, after a beat, retrieved his hand. “So, Bilbo,” Bruce continued, still towering over the poor hobbit. “Where’re ye from?” “I-I’m a hobbit. From the Shire.” Bilbo answered quickly, wondering when and if the troll would back away, and allow Bilbo a chance to escape. Or even just a chance to breathe. “A hobbit, eh?” The troll’s smile grew— if that were possible. “Well, I’ve never had a hobbit b’fore,” Bruce chuckled before adding, almost as an afterthought. “Well, never as company, that’s for sure.” With each morbid joke at his expense, Bilbo’s paralyzing fear metamorphosed to panicked irritability; his brows lowered and narrowed his eyes, and his mouth drew to a thin line. “Okay, look— I just want to get out of here, so if you could quit playing your games, I’ll gladly be on my way!” Bilbo pleaded. Well, if he knew how to get out of there. The various tunnels wound about the mountain in a cavernous labyrinth. “Games, eh?” The troll let out a noise which Bilbo couldn’t quite discern; it was either a low, lulling growl or a thoughtful hum. “Well, my li’l tidbit, why don’t we ‘ave ourselves a li’l wager, eh?” Bruce arched a brow. “A li’l guessin’ game, if ye will.” Bilbo furrowed his brows, tentatively. “What, like... riddles?” he asked. “Yeah! Just like that. Ye wanna get out so badly, why not make it fun.” Well, perhaps fun for you, Bilbo grumbled in his mind but considered the offer, silently. He hadn’t any clue this troll would keep his word. But if Bilbo didn’t play along... what stopped Bruce from killing him then and there? The hobbit cleared his throat. “Very well; if I win, you show me the way out of here.” “Ah, that’s the spirit, li’l bite,” Bruce grinned broadly before inching closer, ignoring the sword pointed at his face. “And what if I win, eh?” A short breath slipped out from Bilbo at the thought of such a grisly end; he wondered how this troll fancied to kill him. Perhaps like the stone trolls— maybe the giant brute would cook him alive, or sit on him and crush him, or tear the hobbit limb from limb. Bilbo shuddered before finding his words. “If you win, you can... have your way with me.” Perhaps Bilbo just needed to spare himself the details for now. “It’s a deal, then,” the massive troll replied before backing away; and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Bilbo finally grappled to catch a breath without the beast hovering over him. As Bruce backed off, Bilbo could take in the entirety of the troll without having to move his head about wildly. In the lowlight, Bilbo could vaguely catch traces of a dappled pattern along the troll’s back, shoulders, and arms that appeared like blots and splatters of ink. His toes were shaped more like plantigrade hooves than normal feet. His skin was bare, save for a weathered leather armored skirt that fell to his knees. “You go first, li’l morsel,” Bruce ordered, turning to face Bilbo before the troll reclined onto the cavern floor like a great big cat. Remembering his manners, Bilbo, in turn, sheathed his sword. The hobbit paused a moment in thought before beginning: “Thirty white horses on a red hill. First, they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.” Bilbo watched as the troll’s face took on a mildly puzzled expression, and Bruce’s beady blue eyes flit across the cavern floors as if the answer lay spelled out the piles of bones. Yet, not a second later, the troll’s face lit up and Bruce grinned toothily. “Teeth?” he asked, and Bilbo felt his own posture deflate. Bruce, however, took it rather victoriously, letting out another deafening laugh. “Hah! Good one, li’l hobbit! Guess it’s my turn, then?” Bruce cleared his throat. “My body is a tree and my teeth are from the ground. I’m carried by the millions, and I lunge to strike you down.” Bilbo wet his lips and nodded, trying to ignore the troll’s constant, predatory gaze upon him. Body is a tree; that means it’s made of wood. Lunging to strike. Not a snake. Teeth from the ground. Not a sword. “A spear!” Bilbo guessed. The troll scoffed, though the smile betrayed him. “What, am I makin’ this too easy for ye?” Bilbo blinked, mouth opened but couldn’t quite find the right, careful words to reply. So, he continued onto the next riddle: “A…a box without hinges, key or…or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” The troll’s smile faltered before a thoughtful expression—one Bilbo hadn’t imagined befalling the face of a troll—crept onto Bruce’s face. Bilbo leapt back as the troll rose from the ground; yet this time, Bruce did so slowly and nonchalantly—so much that Bilbo had half a mind to wonder if this was a trap. That the troll feigned disinterest in the hobbit and more attention to the riddles, only to turn around a snatch him up. Yet as Bilbo watched, the troll’s lips moved silently, as if reciting back the words of the riddle. The hobbit breathed shakily, impatiently. “Well?” “Didn’t think there was a time limit,” the troll retorted, arching a brow, and Bilbo drew back silently… until the troll’s eyes lit up suddenly again. “Eggs?” The hobbit sighed audibly, disheartened, and wondered how much time he’d been wasting trying to keep this beast entertained; Thorin and others were probably on the other side of the mountains by now, and presumably didn’t even notice his absence. The troll didn’t laugh this time at his win, which caused Bilbo to glance up, worriedly. Bruce lumbered back towards him, and the hobbit’s hand subconsciously reached for his sword. “My turn, li’l bite,” the troll purred, moving past Bilbo. A cloud of vocal, screeching bats suddenly took wing from the cavern walls and caught the hobbit’s attention, and he whipped around, momentarily distracted. Yet when Bilbo’s eyes returned to where the troll should have been, a gasp slipped from his mouth. How did such a massive creature just disappear? One moment, Bruce had been there, idling and hovering over Bilbo, and the next— From out of the various tunnels and shadows, the troll’s voice echoed once more, reminding Bilbo that the beast was still very much there. And watching him carefully. “The fallen li’l bat pup caught in the lion’s claws. The fledgling in a mist net. The minnow in gar jaws.” The hobbit felt his brows furrow in confusion; Bilbo hadn’t heard any of these troll’s riddles. “Well?” boomed the voice from the shadows. The hobbit shook his head. “Please give me a moment! I did give you a good long while.” Bat pup? Lion? Fledgling? Minnow? “I don’t know this one,” the hobbit confessed, in a voice louder than he anticipated. Again, the rumbling, growling hum echoed about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, unable to find the direction of the source. “Want three guesses, li’l morsel?” the voice crooned. Bilbo found himself nodding, against his better judgment. “Bad luck?” the hobbit guessed aloud. “Close,” the voice bellowed back. “But a bit too broad. Guess again.” Biting his lips, Bilbo racked through his brain, though anxiety threatened to cloud his thoughts. “Prey?” “Ye’re gettin’ there,” the voice crooned again. “Last guess. Last chance.” He was close—at least according to the disembodied voice echoing about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light. Trying to pick out the massive troll from beneath the shadows. The hobbit unsheathed his sword, feeling his heartbeat accelerating with every second. “Captured prey?” The voice gave a ‘tsk’ sound with a tone of feigned pity. “Wrong.” “Well, then what is it?” the hobbit turned and turned, sword out before him. Bilbo felt hot breath on his neck and a growl in his ear. “You.”

A giant clawed hand struck out. Before Bilbo could even process the sudden blur of movement, he was on the ground, tiny bones prodding into his back. He heard the distinct clatter of metal against stone and his right hand felt vulnerably empty; his sword glinted almost cruelly just out of reach. All breath left him as the clawed hand weighed down upon his entire body, pinning him to the cold cavern floor. His legs kicked futilely, and he squirmed beneath the troll’s grasp. Bilbo could barely remember his mouth opening, but found his own voice – “No, no, no, no!” – so very far away, as if it didn’t even belong to him anymore and he was dead already. Then the troll’s terrible grin suddenly filled every inch of Bilbo’s sight as Bruce’s face steadied itself half a meter from Bilbo’s own. The little hobbit prayed that it wouldn’t be the last sight he’d take to the grave. “Looks like I win, then,” Bruce grinned triumphantly. The troll didn’t even give Bilbo any time to respond or react before the massive hand flipped him over, and Bilbo could only watch from the corner of his eye as jaws descended upon him. The poor hobbit let out a strangled scream as the enormous canines slipped beneath his chest and above his legs, and he felt hot breath spread across his captured torso. Bilbo struggled and scratched and kicked with every parcel of strength left in his body. He watched helplessly as the ground fell beneath him, as the troll raised him into the air, and the horrid realization set in; Bilbo was held— captured— in the troll’s jaws. It was almost too much for the little hobbit’s heart, and the corners of his vision blurred. Perhaps if he were lucky, he would faint and miss the pain of being torn in two by the sheer strength of the troll’s bite. Seconds felt like hours as Bruce held the hobbit in his teeth’s grasp, and Bilbo glanced about his surroundings, dazed by the attack and partially awaiting the minute that the jaws would snap together, and he’d be reduced to cuts of meat.

But the agony didn’t come.

Suddenly, Bruce lurched forward. They were moving. Forward, he thought, though vertigo set in and, for a moment, Bilbo couldn’t quite tell up from down. He could feel the points of the troll’s premolars digging into both his chest and thighs; luckily, they hadn’t pierced the skin, but would most certainly bruise later. If Bilbo wasn’t eaten before that.

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” Bilbo asked, breathlessly. His hands grappled at the flesh along the troll’s chin and his legs kicked weakly in protest. “Ye’ll see soon ‘nough,” the troll replied, his words muffled; this close, Bilbo could feel the deepness of Bruce’s voice vibrating through his body and it did little to calm whatever nerves he had left. The edges of Bilbo’s vision blurred, then darkened, and the little hobbit slipped out of consciousness.

Bilbo awoke with a jolt and immediately felt the teeth digging into his chest once more. The hobbit gave a shaky sigh, disappointed that it hadn’t all been a nightmare and he’d been back in Rivendell this whole time. “Oh, good! Ye’re awake. We’re comin’ up to a dodgy part in the path ahead. If it makes ye feel better,” Bruce said, shaking Bilbo from his thoughts. “Don’t look down.” Don’t look—? In the dim light, Bilbo couldn’t quite discern if the ground had fallen away, or if the cavern floor were simply a pitch black. The troll’s claw dislodged a stream of pebbles that descended into the floor, swallowed up by the darkness below. Well, that answered Bilbo’s question. A sharp ravine wound beneath both him and his captor with a width large enough for the hobbit to slip and fall through. Yet the troll’s size was so great that it was nothing more than a furrow in the middle of the road; Bruce kept his arms and legs on each side, far from the middle of the path. After moments turned to minutes and fear dissolved into disgruntled impatience, Bilbo found his voice returning to his throat. “Why aren’t you telling me where we’re headed?” “Would it matter to you?” The hobbit sighed, dejected, and grew silent. Bruce was most certainly taking Bilbo to his hoard, or his part of the cave to devour. And Bilbo figured that the troll knew that the hobbit knew this. And he hadn’t even his sword to defend himself. “So ‘ow’d ye end up down ‘ere, anyway?” the troll asked, words still garbled from holding Bilbo beneath his teeth. Self-awareness nearly caused the hobbit to scoff with sickened amusement. Here Bilbo was, dangling from the mouth of a giant troll, and the troll wanted to know his prey’s life story. “Do you ask that question to everyone you eat?” Bilbo asked, impatiently. “Or are you just trying to fill the silence?” “The latter, usually,” the troll replied, with a shrug. “Might as well, while we walk.” “Fine,” Bilbo sighed, brow low as he squirmed with discomfort. “I… I was with a company, but I lost them in the mountains,” Bilbo said, shortly before adding, “But I doubt my absence will matter all that much.” The troll grew uncharacteristically silent for a moment and Bilbo chanced some movement to turn his head, catching a glimpse that confused him greatly. The beady blue eyes of the troll had softened, brows knit with an almost concerned expression. What was it spread across the beast’s face? Guilt that he was going to soon eat his company? Sympathy to Bilbo’s plight?

After a long moment, Bruce finally spoke again. “We’re ‘lmost there, lil’ morsel,” the troll said solemnly. “It’s just up ahead.” Bilbo turned his head to the side, in the direction of their path. A single thin line of light sliced through the darkness. For a moment, the hobbit could only see white through the shape; yet as his eyes adjusted and the troll drew closer, he could catch colors of green and blue, and caught the scent of pine trees and crisp air. The way out. He was so close. So close to freedom that he could feel the wind of the outside world. Yet, just as the realization had settled into the hobbit’s mind, Bilbo felt the troll lurch to a stop and his heart sank. It was right there. The door was right there! Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet Bilbo as Bruce lowered his jaws to the ground. The hobbit didn’t feel the teeth pull away from him until both of his furry feet were planted on the ground. Already, Bilbo could feel the wind on his face and the warm light from the outside world dip the stark, gray stones around the entrance into a honeyed glow. Even the troll’s features shone clearer; Bilbo noticed the various scars lining the troll’s body and the odd hue of blue in the troll’s skin. He also noticed that the troll stood in the sunlight, yet Bruce’s skin didn’t transform into dusty gray rock. Which meant— Oh, Bilbo’s heart sank suddenly. Even if he made a mad dash for the exit of the cave, the troll would catch up to him. Not even sunlight could save him.

“’lright, Bilbo. Ye ready?” Bruce’s voice bellowed from behind Bilbo, and the hobbit felt his face redden. So that’s how it was going to be, then? The troll would ask the hobbit to just hold still and snap him up, when Bilbo was inches from getting out of the horrid cave? Did the troll think Bilbo would react kindly—obediently— and go quietly as he was butchered? No! Certainly not! This was too much! “You— you absolute fiend!” Bilbo needn’t care about any insult thrown towards the troll; he was going to die, anyway. And Bruce’s treatment towards his prey couldn’t be any crueler. “Is this all a game to you? Taking me all this way out of caves just to eat me? Just to have freedom be right there and snatch it all away?!” Furious, the hobbit punched and kicked at the troll’s legs, thick as tree trunks. The blows did little to move Bruce, and Bilbo doubted the troll could even feel them. If only he’d still had his sword; at least he’d give the troll some pain for the hobbit’s trouble. Only when the hobbit’s attacks persisted did a giant hand snatch Bilbo up again. Yet anger had replaced any fear still residing in Bilbo and his mouth pressed firmly into a line, defiantly glowering at his captor. “I’m not gonna eat’cha,” Bruce confessed, a guilty expression spreading across his scarred features. “Never was.” Bilbo froze, blinked, and then sputtered indignantly. Not that he wished to be eaten or killed or mangled— heavens, no! “Then why didn’t you just say so?!” the hobbit asked as the volume of his voice rose, sternly. The troll heaved a heavy sigh. “I wanted to! I did, believe me! It’s just… I heard the little cave creature followin’ us—” Bilbo blinked in confusion before memories rushed back, of stone in gnarled hand and the goblin’s broken skull. “He was gettin’ quite close to you from the shadows; I needed to make sure he thought ye were a goner.” The hobbit recalled the spindly creature, its throaty, scratchy voice as it bludgeoned the goblin to death. Bilbo could barely find his own words, bewildered. “But you said— “ “You said I could ‘ave my way with ye,” Bruce grinned, yet this time his eyes were soft. Thoughtful, even. “Never actually said anythin’ ‘bout eatin’ ye, that’s for sure.” The troll then reached behind him along his leather belt and retrieved a shining object, pinched delicately between his thumb and index finger. Bilbo’s brows rose. His sword! All this time, he’d thought the troll left it behind them in the cave. With a strange gentleness, Bruce set the hobbit down and handed the sword back to Bilbo, handle first. “Might wanna hurry ‘long then. I smell yer friends up ahead.” The hobbit blinked incredulously before accepting back his sword and returning it to its sheath. He swallowed before raising his gaze up to the giant. “Thank you,” Bilbo said, quite sincerely. “Maybe we’ll meet ‘gain, li’l bite. Hopefully under better circumstances,” Bruce said, giving a nod to the hobbit before turning back towards the cave. Bilbo gave one last look at the troll before nodding in return; and he hurried along, racing down the hill in hopes of catching up to the company.

#bilbo baggins #Bilbo #olog hai #olog #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #Bilbo fan fiction #bilbo fanart #my art #my fanfic

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

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Day 5: “Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me.”

canon-compliant

“JASON!” Annabeth Chase screams, and it makes the rocks in the canyon shudder. But she doesn’t notice because she is too busy sprinting towards her friend who cannot see the monster sneaking up behind him. “JASON!”

He turns around, but it is too late. The monster lets out a vile screech and swipes its tail under his feet. She watches in slow motion as he falls to the ground, bouncing from the impact. And tears stream down her cheeks while she watches the monster lunge over him, a disgusting claw hovering at his neck. She is so far away, and he is going to die, and why the fuck is she so faraway. Something passes her peripheral vision but she doesn’t bother to look, her only focus is Jason, Jason, Jason.

“ANNABETH!”

The scream is enough to shatter the world, and it almost does as she is suddenly thrown to the ground, a heavy weight on top of her. She doesn’t even register what brought her down because her head is singing with pain and her vision is blurring into blackness. She can’t go like this. She refuses to go like this. Not while she has so many unknowns still controlling her life. So she shoves the great big hulking thing off her and swallows the nausea gripping her throat. With shaky hands she pushes off the ground, and stands on even shakier legs. But there still lying on the ground, next to already disappearing dust is Jason Grace.

With renewed adrenaline spiking her muscles she hobbles towards him, clutching the gaping wound at her thigh that she doesn’t know how she got. She finally collapses next to him, her knees hitting the ground so hard she has to bite back a scream. But a very real sob chokes her as she realises he isn’t moving.

“Jason,” She shakes his shoulders. Nothing happens. Her mind floods with overwhelming panic and it tastes like acid on her tongue. “Jason, please” She can feel the tears streaking through the dirt on her cheeks.

He stays perfectly still, chest unmoving, eyes closed. She wants to burn the world. She cannot lose another friend. She cannot lose him. The fates, it would seem, have other plans. Because before she can make sure, before she even has time to process the situation she is being flung so far across the canyon he becomes a dot in her vision. With a sickening crunch she hits a boulder and pain explodes at her back. She’ll be lucky if she can walk after this. Her vision swims as she tries to get up, tries to move into a sitting position. And finally the monster comes into view. The best way to describe it is a scorpion. Although this one had decidedly more eyes, two disgustingly lethal tails, and is the size of a truck, at least.

She squeezes her eyes as a fresh wave of pain cascades down her body, and when she opens them again the vile, smiling creature is right in her face.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Such vulgar words for such a pretty girl.” It clicks. The sound reminds her of typewriters, and nails on a chalkboard. It hurts worse than all her injuries.

“If you’re going to kill me just do it.”

“Are you trying to win the same fate as your friend?” She swears it’s laughing. She wants to rip its tail off and shove it down that hollowed throat.

“It doesn’t matter what happened to me because he is gone.”

“Ah so you loved him then.” It says it like a statement, no question in its horrid voice.

“Of course i loved him,” She glares and it glitters with vehement pain.

“As a friend or a lover?”

The question pierces through her soul like she had turned the dagger she had in her hand towards herself. Like she had plunged it deep and twisted until her insides were a mess of knots and broken fragments and golden promises and forbidden, forbidden, forbidden. The hold on her precious dagger is weak but it is better than nothing. She will end this now. No matter the outcome.

And then she spots almost imperceptible movement from behind the monster. It can’t be. But it is. There getting up, slowly, ever so slowly, is Jason Grace. Every chord in her heart soars and it feels like she’s injected herself with dopamine. Her grey eyes flash with something dangerously close to hope and her body gives her one more flood of adrenaline. The grip on her dagger tightens as she stares the scorpion in its eyes.

“You should never have touched him.” And with that she swipes her blade across one of its legs and relishes in the disgusting squelch as it servers the limb. Before the thing can react she’s moving to the next leg, and the next, and the next. Until it is barely holding itself up on the three remaining ones.

With a scream that echoes against the rocky walls it launches itself at her, trapping her against the rock and it. One of the tails slams against the wall, inches from her abdomen. She doesn’t so much as flinch. Her dagger drives into its skeletal hide. It retaliates by rearing the tails and piercing it into her. Or what would have been her if she hadn’t been yanked by an arm, straight into a hard body.

“You’re alive?” She is breathless.

“Barely,” He grunts, but her hand is on his heart and she can feel it beating and everything is going to be okay.

“Tell me you’re fine.” She demands, uncaring of the monster who is preparing for murder behind them.

“That would be lying to you.” His eyes are so blue, and he is fighting a smile, and he is still so beautiful.

“Then lie to me.”

He rolls his eyes, but it works because a smile tilts his lips and he nods. “I’m okay.”

“Good, let’s kill this bitch.”

They don’t need any more words. He gently turns her around, making sure her back is covered and they stand there like King and Queen, ready to conquer the beast. The monster is charging towards them, twin spikes pointed at them like poisoned arrowheads. With a nod to each other they split off and run along the monster as it barrels towards them. It’s moving too fast to stop, so when they dig their blades into its side and fillet it all the monster can do is screech. It slams into the boulder Annabeth had cracked against but still it doesn’t crumble to dust.

She lets out a scream of frustration. Jason is back at her side in an instant. He doesn't touch her, but he’s close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off him. His presence makes her heart rate lower. And then she’s looking at his crackling blue eyes and they reflect the same wild, raging, murderous look she’s sure her own have.

‘You okay?” He asks softly, and she doesn’t catch the way his fingers twitch.

“No,” She wants to break down right there. She wants to go home. She wants to be safe.

He brushes a hand to her cheek, and her whole body shudders. “Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me.” He says her words back, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and it is enough to undo her.

With a huffed laugh, and a shove at his shoulder she gives him a soft smile. “I’m okay. Now can we kill this thing so we can go home.”

“Anything for you.”

She looks at him, memorizes the strong jaw, and freckled nose, and the floppy blonde hair, and especially those cerulean eyes that never miss anything, even without glasses. “Let’s go home Jase.”

“Lets.” He wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest so her head rests against it. She can hear his heartbeat. She is safe.

“It’s coming up behind you. When i say so i want you to dive to your right and get behind it. I’ll distract it from the front while you cut off its tails. I think that’s the only way we're gonna kill it.”

“What if this is a hydra situation?”

“I guess we’ll have to take that chance. I’m all out of options.”

“I can’t think straight, I think I’m getting delirious from blood loss.” She sighs.

He nods at her thigh, where the stab wound is still weeping into her jeans. “Yea we really should have brought ambrosia.”

“Oh no I was talking about my period, but yea this is bad too.”

He laughs, squeezing her hand and then the plan is in motion.

“HEYO PIPSQUEAK!” Jason yells and Annabeth is already running, holding down the laughter that threatens to bowl her over.

The scorpion is well and truly agitated by his shouting so it doesn’t see her sprinting behind it. Her friend looks absolutely ridiculous waving his arms around, hair flopping everywhere, and shouting obscenities at a monster twenty times his size. She takes a second to watch before focusing on her task.

“Okay, let's do this!” And then she’s launching herself at the beast, landing directly on one of its tails and sliding down till she’s almost at its back. She feels the moment it knows she’s there because every powerful muscle in its tails go tense and she prepares herself to be flung to her death. But she hears another yell from Jason and the scorpion's back muscles tense. It is preparing to strike. She has to do this now.

So with a final glance back at the almost comical distraction scene and a prayer up to her mother that she survives this she slams her dagger into its tail, and ignores her blackening vision as the monster screeches in pain. Before it has time to react she’s cutting off its second one. For a second it goes completely still, half severed tails twitching, and she thinks it’s going to slam them both into the canyon walls. But then it does something else, and she wants to cry in relief. The horrible monster crumbles to the floor, ash coating the ground.

Annabeth falls to the dusty floor with nothing underneath her but Jason is there, lifting her up and to him before she can bruise her already torn knees.

“You did it.” His smile is so gentle.

“Not without you.” She returns his joy, “Did you tell the scorpion you hope its mother is disappointed in it?”

His golden cheeks blush bright red but he nods all the same. “Let’s go home Chase.”

She has never heard such beautiful words in her life. “Let’s.”

#day 5 #jasabeth #pjjg series #pjjg fanfic #12 days of fanfic #jason grace #annabeth chase

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whatudottu · 4 years ago

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Okay, final part now. Links didn't work when I edited on phone for some reason so I'll just quickly finish this off on my computer.

The Autobots

The Decepticons Part 1

The Decepticons Part 2 (you are here)

Right after Dreadwing from the last post is Airachnid. A lot of people don’t like her, some don’t like her because she’s a victim of bad writing. Now, I hope that this shattered version is enough to get you not to hate her, because despite what she did and represents, I don’t have any bad blood for her.

Checking out the tfwiki (before I realised fanwiki’s didn’t have vehicles listed for alts) I believe in search for backstory, I found that canon Airachnid transformed into a stylised RAH-66 Comanche instead of Fowler’s actual vehicle and I thought; ‘no wait, this is great’. I’ve already gone into some detail about how this Shattered Glass Airachnid works, a pessimistic mentally scarred arachnicon with PTSD and Survivor’s Guilt, but with this new alt it wraps her story up in a neat little bow.

Her new alt, based on the scan she should have taken, is based on a Bell 212 helicopter, and though I have initially used a cameo pattern to reference a daddy longlegs spider, this specific model is also used as a rescue vehicle. Why does that work? MEDIC TEAM, BABY! She probably has some lime green optics? Like more yellow than green but still with green.

And after all these characters, all the way in the third post, we finally get to our doctor duo. Our CMO Knock Out and his assistant Breakdown. Seeing as I mentioned Breakdown a little bit just before (though really vaguely so I mean...) I’ll talk about what’s going on with him.

I want to make this mech afraid of the quiet. Not to say he has paranoia like his canon version, but when there isn’t any noise he begins to think, and though not much of a thinker in a literal sense, Breakdown does not like to think about all the ways things can go wrong. So to compensate, he is also a loud mech, talkative and explicitly sociable. You think canon Breakdown’s chummy with the Vehicons? Check this guy out! Teaming up with Skyquake, he helps bring up the mood of the remaining Decepticon forces. Heck, just his presence encourages mechs to ACTUALLY get check ups instead of trying to soldier on. Best boy is also best nurse.

Not that this was an intentional comparison, but like Airachnid, Breaky’s got an alt to match his personality. The nerd boys came back to me with a Roshel Senator APC, and I mean, if you ignore the who Senator part, I’m sure you see the ‘Armoured Protected Carrier’ in the title. So yes, it’s perfect for this big tiddy nurse husbando (oh god that was horrid). Maybe also his optic colour is purple.

Getting to Knock Out now, he may not seem like he’s related to the original at all from initial appearance and characterisation. Instead of running his mouth like the suave flirt that canon Doc Knock is, SG!Doctor KO is rather silent, and far more in the brooding sense.

Decorated in scars; the ones I’ve settled on in a chassis gouge, a soldering scar on the faceplate, a scrape on his door and a mark on the back reminiscent of missing wing struts (oh yes I’m going down this route), Knock Out celebrates his appearance unlike other shattered alternates by caring about his appearance in a more... battletorn way. He has a name and face for every scar (but I don’t aside from definitely Ratchet and a debated between Wheeljack and Breakdown for some funky angst) and the only real time he speaks more than a few words is when he retells the tales of how he got his injuries... but he’s a little morbid to sorta reference his canon sadism so no little kids are allowed to listen in.

Despite still being an automobile enthusiast, he’s has too many looks when ‘disguised’ as an Aston Martin, so to compensate, he’s now a 1999 Honda Civic. Also, that’s what I mean by chassis gouge, just visualise the other scars haha.

imagine being such a dunce you delete what you wrote for knock out just as you were about to copy and paste it in haha

Because I don’t have an image for the Vehicons, I’m focusing on the Insecticons here instead. I’ve mentioned it once before but Airachnid isn’t the queen of the Insecticons, which happens because idk funky processor stuff I have the big fear of external content.

So, I needed to look for a horned beetle, and a beetle I found in the Hercules Beetle. Though still containing some of that Insecticon brown, I think the white-ish... elytron? The wing covers I guess.

Before I move onto Vehicons (‘Vehicon lives matter!’ You cry) I’ll talk a bit about the Predacons. Predaking, if given love and affection, is total baby. Predaking, if given the command to defend against the Autobots, would defend with dentae and claws.

With a mix? You get Merry Madness. Yes I am using Dead Sound to reference these ancient boys. Yes I am using this as an excuse to share my love of Dead Sound animations. So as a neat little twist, to show that Predacons are both the spark of hope and dangerous beasts, I wanna keep the browns and yellows and mix it with the purple. Hey! I think it’s a cool idea!

youtube

Vehicon time! There’s a little less colour variety in the Decepticons than the Autobots, but the Vehicons have turned themselves into a rainbow of a force. Sure, they might have originally been one colour scheme (red and black for general forces, white and gold for specialists) but now they have a myriad of different choices.

Some are one colour, some have two, others three. Some focus on patterns, others on flats and quite a few on lustre. Though they don’t have an unlimited amount of paint, the dwindling forces has allowed Vehicons to become whoever they want and Megatron can’t recommend it enough.

In contrast, Makeshift did his best to be the least stand-offish colour in the group. Before his untimely demise on his infiltration mission, the brief moments he was in his base form, he was adorned with the goldish finish of the Autotroopers.

May his spark rest in peace.

may my hands rest in peace jeez!

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lilydalexf · 4 years ago

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MaybeAmanda

MaybeAmanda has been a longtime participant in X-files fandom. She has 29 stories at Gossamer, the earliest being archived there in 1998 and the latest in 2012. I've recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including "Malus Genus" and "Snow in Alabama." Big thanks to MaybeAmanda for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It does, in a way. The feedback I get nowadays is either of the "I read this like 20 years ago and I just read it again" variety or the "I was too young back in the day but I have been watching the show in reruns/on XYZ streaming service/on the full-series of DVDs I got for $3 from the thrift store and I was THRILLED to discover fanfiction was being written even in the Dark Ages!" So it's a bit of a surprise, but it's a pleasant one. I answer every mail/comment because my mama raised me right!

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

It was great. It was fun. It was educational. It was a godsend. Even with the occasional bouts of back-stabbing and flame-throwing, it was mainly a welcoming, inclusive place to be. I made so many online friends who have turned into meat-friends (do they still call them that? Probably not). During the first run of the show I had small children and we had relocated for my husband's job. I had very little social life, but the fandom gave me a chance to meet and connect with people who liked what I liked. Then I discovered online fanfic, and it was even better!

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

ATXC I think. A lot of email lists - 5 or 6 or 7 or so over the years. Gossamer, of course, Ephemeral when that came into being. Haven discussion boards. My own websites.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

More than anything? I am a fangirl.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I have always been partial to sci-fi and speculative fiction, but it rarely makes it to the screen - large or small - without being trite, clichéd, or just plain bad. It's easy to forget that The X-Files was groundbreaking - smart, scary, funny, insightful, intriguing, complex plots, on-going mythology. It looked great. It sounded great. David Duchovny was pleasant to look at, too, and damn! Gillian Anderson is/was one hell of an actress.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I found XF fanfic - somehow - probably by accident, or by way of a recommendation - and it blew my mind. I had written fanfic (of a sort) with my friends in highschool, so I was familiar with the beast, but to find what amounted to excellent story after excellent story for free within (relatively) easy reach (because dial-up, right?) written by people who, for the most part, were thrilled you read their story and were happy to talk to you about it, about writing in general, about your shared obsession - that was amazing. As I am sitting here typing this I am feeling that thrill again - discovering Karen Rasch, Madeliene Partous, Paula Graves [Lilydale note: AKA Anne Haynes], Sheryl Martin and all the other early BNFs was, well, the only word is exciting. I felt like I was a member of a secret society and that I was sitting at the popular kids lunch table, all at once. (Don't forget, in the early days, shippers were considered delusional outliers - seriously!)

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Good? It's not as lively a place as it once was, but I haven't renounced my citizenship or anything. If I get a rec, I check it out. I know there are those who like to pretend they never had anything to do with the fandom, but why? I am still a proud XPhile.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Angel (a teeny tiny bit) while XF was still running, but those fans were - I don't know the word. Hardcore does not begin to do it justice. I wrote two short pieces at a friend's request then backed away slowly. Sherlock (a bit) - it is/was very LJ centred and that made it hard to find things. A lot of it moved to tumblr which made it harder, then to twitter, which - no. I was involved in one of the less fashionable facets of the Sherlock fandom, so I was really a fringe-dweller there, too. It seemed clique-ier than XF, and they all seemed so young, and they all knew EVERYTHING about everything, and every damned thing was political, and, and, and... GET OFF MY LAWN!

But maybe I am remembering the XF fandom wrong. ;)

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Like, all fiction? Mulder and Scully for sure. Arthur Dent. Sherlock Holmes in most of his incarnations. Spock. Winnie the Pooh. Why do I like them? They speak to me, I guess.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I haven't watched an episode in probably two years (back when it was on regular tv). Yeah, I think about them surprisingly often. Story ideas, weirdly.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic?

I finished re-reading The Iolokus Series a couple of weeks back, so yes. It's excellent comfort reading.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Lots! But as far as authors go, I hate playing favourites. I will miss someone I shouldn't and feel like crap. The Iolokus Series by MustangSally and Rivka T. is probably my all-time favourite fic because it's so very well-written, and so very fucked-up. Kipler's Strangers and the Strange Dead is also terrifically well-written and clever. For complex, interesting case files, you can’t beat syntax6 - pick any of them.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Oh geez. Seriously? I wrote a lot of collaborations and I love them - and my co-authors - all! Stuff I wrote on my own: Anniversary Waltz (first XF fic I wrote so it's sentimental.) Or Blue Patches. Or Epiphany. Or The Gifts of the Magi (On a Kaiser Roll). Or 221XF. Gonna stop now.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story?

Every time I thought I wouldn't, I did. I would never say never.

Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Nothing finished ever went un-posted. All the unfinished stuff remains unfinished.

Do you still write fic now?

Haven't for a while, but it's not as if I have said "I SHALL NEVER WRITE FANFIC AGAIN!" I just have nothing in the works at this moment.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

With fic, it's usually from canon - some question unanswered, some road unexplored, some "what if?" that needs iffing. With "original" fiction, damned if I know. A snippet of overheard conversation, an interesting photo, something a random story generator spit out at me. Sometimes things just click.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Okay so...many years ago I was on a (smallish) fic list with a friend. There was a challenge posted - a bad fic challenge. We knew we could write some truly bad fic if we really tried. One of the rules of the challenge was to post under an assumed name so no one would know who they were voting for. Well, my friend and I wrote something truly, painfully horrid and we were very proud of its ghastliness, so were brainstorming possible pseudonyms. She hated everything but had no real suggestions of her own. I knew that she was a bit of a Trekkie (like me) and I said - What about Amanda Greyson and Joanna McCoy? And she said - What?? Huh?? Why?? And I said - Spock's mother and McCoy's daughter and she replied, "Maybe Amanda is Spock's mother but on Star Trek there is not a Joanna." By this point, I was SO DONE, and I became MaybeAmanda and she became NotJoanna. Really.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

It took years for me to admit it, but yeah, they know. They didn't entirely get it. The reactions I most often got were:

"Ew! You write stuff without being forced?? Ew!!"

or:

"Is it smut? I bet it's just smut. You write smut, don't you? Pure filth, right? I can't believe you are wasting your time writing pornography! That's disgusting! You sicken me! Um, can I read some of it?"

And of course:

"If you are going to write anyway, why don't you get published and become fabulously wealthy?"

which is really two questions, neither of which is easily answerable.

Anyone who tracked my work down (because I told them I wrote, but not my pseudonym) usually said something like, "Hey! You're an okay/passable/decent writer! Why don't you get published and become fabulously wealthy?"

Yeah.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Same old email (maybe_a@rocketmail_dot_com). Gossamer, my site, my LJ and probably some other places. I can't lie - it's a bit scattered.

(Posted by Lilydale on August 4, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #maybeamanda #xf fanfic author interviews

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armahydrica · 4 years ago

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AJAX: KINDNESS, EMPATHY AND EMOTIONLESS CRUELTY - THE AMBITIOUS TALE OF A DREAMER -

Part ONE. - TIME IN THE ABYSS -

( Prone to change; canon-compliant till Patch 1.1 & all Friendship notes so far.)

Driven by the many tales he had dwelled in ever since his young childhood, Ajax has always felt that he belonged somewhere else – far away, still beneath the same sky yet seeing things no one else would dare to imagine. Truthfully, the life among his family had become quite dull over the latest years before he turned fourteen – feeling that he was now, perchance, old enough to follow his own path. Never being the one to properly plan ahead, his departure was all but sudden, hastily arranged and without any goodbyes. Sneaking away in the middle of the night, smelling the approach of a mild snowstorm to easily cover his tracks, he left for the nearest woods with naught but his father’s old short sword he had previously stolen and some leftovers of the simple bread his mother had prepared the day before.

However, having not expected for the snow to become as deep and the raging storm to hinder his sight as much as it did, the young Ajax merely kept walking forward in order to not freeze to death in the icy coldness. Drenched, with the coldness numbing all of his limbs and flushed cheeks, he could no longer recognize the path he had taken nor the one he had to take in order to leave the forest as soon as the storm ceased – filling his heart with fear for the very first time. In sheer panic, desperately attempting to find the way back on any road, he forgot what he had learned ever since he had been a young child – as it completely slipped his mind to always watch for any potential danger. And, ultimately, he had been found – by a pack of hungry wolves who chased him through the thick layers of snow.

No, the boy was by far not a proper fighter back then; not even knowing how to properly unsheathe the sword he had stolen – running for his life in sheer horror. His inexperienced slashes had done naught but to provoke the pack, howling in pure agony behind his back. Just as he thought to have finally escaped his pursuers, one gigantic brown bear found the exhausted and trembling boy, feeling endangered by his trespassing. Having barely any strength left inside his limbs, Ajax knew he had little hope to escape the sharp claws ready to tore his flesh apart – quickly deciding on the only remaining option he had to survive. Running over a fallen stump over an open chasm, he hoped the bear would either give up its pursuit or crash down into the depth by following him.

Yet the plan backlashed; and the boy lost his own footing, falling deep, far too deep. Closing his teary eyes, ready to die, he closed his eyes to await his death.

And yet the pain never came – the fall never ended. Feeling the already icy air becoming even colder and so much harder to breathe in, he reluctantly opened his eyes once again to see too many colors shimmering in front of his very eyes – seeing pitch black darkness surrounding too many wonders, too many horrid moments to never be told. And then, just as he thought he was lost in this madness for all eternity, his body met the cold ground, pushing all air out of his lungs. This was not his home – there was no pure white, no warmth, nothing but darkness and inhuman shades of beings he had never seen before.

Horrified, he ran as far as he could with his remaining strength – feeling the air burning his lungs and throat, threatening to suffocate him. And then the world turned black and cold. When he could finally open his eyes again, he was – as he believed – inside a cave; with a pair of shining eyes carefully watching him. The shade, as he was unable to see its face properly, belonged to a woman – a woman who would introduce herself as Skirk. She threw his father’s old sword in front of his still paralyzed body, asking why he carried a weapon if he had not the heart to use it. She sounded all too accusingly, almost bored.

Why are you running away from death if you are too scared to fight it, she asked in the same monotonous tone. Would it not be easier to just die now instead of tormenting yourself with this crippling fear?

Too afraid to speak for a moment, Ajax believed for a slight, threatening smile to form in the woman’s shade. She did not move for a while until he found the strength again to move his very fingers. Feeling as if he was seeing straight into the reaper’s dead eyes, the boy bit his lip and considered his chances to escape – and as the woman’s dark shade slowly rose in the shadows, revealing a long sword inside her hands, the boy’s fingertips tightly grabbed the grip of his sword in sheer reflex. Clumsily jumping back to his feet, he held his sword upright – just in the right moment to block her attack which was surprisingly weak.

Have you finally come to your senses to fight, she asked with a merciless grimace and an amused tone.

That’s right. The world will spit you out again if you are not strong enough to oppose it. The weak will always be eaten, only the strong will prevail. But if you are weak, how can you become stronger and oppose your fate? Do you know the answer?

Withdrawing her sword once again the shade watched him and the boy remained heavily breathing from the previous effort to block her attack. He remained silent for a moment, considering his chances to escape instead of wasting more time with her – but somehow he knew that she would not let him; that it would be in vain to even try to escape this nightmare on his own. His thoughts returned to his family – what would they think if he never returned? He thought of all those brave heroes his father had told him about whilst fishing with him from dawn to dusk – who always opposed their fate, fighting for something greater.

They became strong because they knew what they were fighting for, the boy answered surprisingly confident in his answer. They always knew that losing was not an option and that they had to win, no matter the price, he quickly added, uncertain whether his answer was deemed good enough.

Yet the weird grimace of the shade just grew until she left out a shrill laughter, too inhuman in fact.

Oh? You do not survive by just wanting to live and become stronger. Dreams are meant to be crushed. If I tell you that it would be all too easy for me to kill you now, what would you do? Will you fight for your reason to stay alive or will you fight to become stronger and take me down yourself?

The grip around his short sword became tighter, almost tearing his skin apart. And then the shade moved slightly, coming a bit closer so that he could stare into a dark pair of eyes – almost as if she could feel his hesitance.

I see ambition in your heart. I see the thirst to prove yourself. But you lack the courage and strength. If you are hesitant, I’ll kill you. But if you want to learn how to oppose all odds, how to become death yourself, follow me. I’ll teach you the ways of chaos.

And with those words the shade turned around, going deeper into the cave as if she awaited his answer. For a few minutes the young Ajax considered the possibility of taking a sharp turn and running away, but somehow he had been drown to the short demonstration of power he had seen – ultimately making him to follow her deeper into the heart of darkness.

Skirk was a merciless master – she cared very little for his wellbeing; whether his bones broke or whether he might be impaled by falling stalagmites. This was her ideal truly - if he was unworthy to be alive the boy would simply die and she would more than enjoy such sight. And yet she showed patience, begun at the basics and never for once attempted to truly end his life. Which would be, as he quickly came to realize, as easy as breathing for him.

As soon as he had mastered to use his father’s old short sword in one-handed combat, she begun to teach him how to dualwield – and as soon as he mastered this step as well, she showed him different types of weapons for him to choose from. Not a single day midst the coldness of the darkness passed when his face would not be pressed into the mud; when he would not stare up to see her smug grimace upon proving who was the strongest among them. In the end he was even strong enough to slay the beasts of the Abyss.

Ajax had never been able to even remotely match his master’s strength, however. No, until the very last day he had spent with her she never raised her sword again – nor did she ever used her second arm to defeat him. The months which had passed had left its scars on him, sharpening his gaze on the same when his master sent him back to his own world again, wishing him to bring havoc upon those who dare to defeat him. As he was, as she called it, destined to become the strongest among them all.

Only a few days had passed in his world when his worried family found him in the snowy forest, tightly embracing him albeit his glance remained cold and numb – hiding the rusty, bloody short sword inside his hands which had left stains of crimson red all over the pristine white where he came from. From the corpses of a pack of dead wolves who had made the mistake to cross him again.

#;long post #; HEADCANON.

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cinnbar-bun · 5 years ago

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To the Void (Lucilius x Oc)

Pairing: Lucilius/Oc (Luna)

Genre: ANGST ANGST ANGST IM A HORRID MONSTER ANGST ANGST TURN AWAY

Disclaimer: I really don’t think I need to mention this but due to how this pairing is, obviously some things don’t relate well to canon/would most likely never happen in canon. Lucilius would probably never have a lover. Lucilius would probably have a different motivation for his whole ‘destroy the world’ thing. I KNOW. I KNOW VERY WELL, AND I AM DOING MY BEST TO CREATE A STORY AND BACKSTORY, IT HAS NO BACKING IN CANON BECAUSE ASTRALS/LUCILIUS HIMSELF WAS NEVER FULLY DEVELOPED. PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND BEFORE READING. Also, a lot of my other friends’ ocs are in here as well, because I love them lol.

With that out of the way, please enjoy this???? And also please let me know if you like these things and wouldn’t mind seeing more for Lucilius/Luna, since I have plenty more for them!

Lucilius worked continuously in his lab. Even Belial was starting to get worried about his behavior.

“Listen Cilius, you can’t keep-“

“Quiet you!” Lucilius would snap back, thrusting his scalpel towards the brunette. He was breathing heavily and the bags under his eyes seemed to have gotten worse than before. “I told you I’m busy working!”

Belial clamped his mouth shut and nodded, leaving the astral to continue his work.

Lucilius furiously scribbled notes on a scroll before he growled and snapped his quill in two. He slammed his hand against his desk and cursed loudly.

“Damn it! Damn it all to hell! What good is this world? What use is there to a place where I am denied my dreams? How long must I suffer alone before you give me back my life?!” He yelled to no one in particular. “I don’t care anymore! I don’t care! Useless! Useless! Useless! This is useless!”

He chucked some of his work across the room and screamed into his hands. He was never good at dealing with emotions. Especially not something as intense as grief. Being this hateful, sad, repentant, and guilty had placed a heavy burden on himself.

Normally, his wife would’ve comforted him. Her sweet words and soothing touches would’ve eased the beast within him, and he found solace in being wrapped in her arms. Then again, if she were here, he wouldn’t be feeling this suffering.

Tomorrow would be their anniversary. But it would not be a happy celebration. It would not be a joyous occasion spent in each other’s arms and lips. It would be desolate, cold, and dark. It would be a constant reminder of what he had lost, and what he never could get back.

A hundred years have passed by. But they all melded into the same day. It was suffering just getting up to an empty bed, where the soft feel of her lips and her melodic voice would wake him up and tell him good morning. It was exhausting to remember to eat, drink, and clean, all things that seemed trivial and even more meaningless than before.

Existing was hard. So hard, and so painful that he wished to rid of it all. If he had to suffer through the pain of losing his only love, then the others should too. It was only fair.

He saw his children were grieving, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel angered and jealous of them. They looked to her as a mother figure. But they would move on. They had their own lovers and things to attend to. But him? Oh no, he’d be back to being absolutely, completely, utterly alone. They wouldn’t understand the desperation for literally anything to just end his misery, or for his wife to suddenly spring back to life.

No, they’d cry for a bit before forgetting. Their pain would be temporary. Simply because the bond they shared was completely different from the one he shared with her.

They already seemed to be getting their lives back together, continuing their work and jobs as if everything were normal. He wanted to scream. They should be in as much pain as he was. It was only fair.

He gazed up at the clock and noticed it was late evening. He sadly nodded before he crept to his room.

“Father, there you are, I-“ Astra began, but Lucilius was unresponsive. He couldn’t hear her. He just continued walking. Astra lowered her hands to her side and nodded. “A...alright...”

Lucilius closed his door behind him and struggled to his bed, where he laid down and curled into a pathetic ball. For thirty six thousand five hundred days, he had to sleep alone. People said time heals the pain, but he felt as if he’s gotten more bitter and emotional as time went on.

He was angry one of the few people who mattered so much to him had to die. He was depressed his wife was no longer there to love him and make him feel whole again. He was numb as he registered that the good times would not come back. He was alone again. This time, it was even worse, he was surrounded by people who just couldn’t understand how traumatizing it was to finally receive the love you craved, only to have it taken away from you.

He clenched his eyes shut.

He was not good. He would never be good. He was only good when his wife was there, who taught him how to be like that. But now she was gone, and he was a wreck.

That’s right, I was never good to begin with. Why should I pretend any longer?

In the hundred years he’s been grieving, he’s missed out on a lot of things. His kids would struggle to get him to come out, but after a while, they too gave up when he was practically catatonic. It was like he was a dead corpse.

He closed his eyes.

I’m not good. I’ve only ever been bad. Why should I stop now? Who’s gonna stop me?

An idea formed in his head. For once, he thought of nothing. The idea brought him comfort he hadn’t felt in eons, as he went into a dreamless sleep.

As morning rose, he quickly scurried to the middle of the garden where his wife lay. Her casket wasn’t to be buried, and Lucilius was grateful for that. She lay in the crystal coffin, dressed in all white and with a small smile on her face.

Lucilius loved her smile.

He couldn’t help but tearfully smile back at his wife. Seeing her smile almost made it seem like she was comforting even in the afterlife. She always was a faithful and devoted wife. He really wouldn’t be surprised to see her fight out of the underworld. That’s just the type of woman she was, and one that he loved with all his heart.

He rested his head against the glass and closed his eyes.

“My love...happy anniversary… I have a gift for you. You might not like the sound of it. I know, I know. But this is one I wish to give. It’ll be better for the both of us, and the entire world.” He whispered.

“I’m going to do something so big. For our ‘Big Finale’, if you will. You won’t understand until you see it. And when you do, I will be there by your side once more darling. We will be joined again, and you won’t ever have to feel pain. You will never have to watch anyone suffer. You will never have to bear the weight of my mistakes again. This time, we can have our own paradise as everything disappears. Won’t it be nice?” He cooed.

The corpse did not answer. But he smiled.

“I hope you’ll love this gift when it comes to fruition. I will begin working on it immediately. For your sake, and mines, I will complete it. I will allow nothing to stop me. Not even our children can stop this finale. It’s just too important to me. I will make you smile again. Once we are reunited, I will hold you close and never let go. My dream will come true again, and we can live out our days in nothingness.”

The wind billowed softly against the piles of flowers surrounding the casket, tickling Lucilius’ legs. However, he could not feel a thing, too caught up in the newfound euphoria at this idea.

“Please be patient for me love. Guide me to that place where I can be in your arms. I will take the world’s evolution into my own hands and start it over from zero.Wait for me, until then, when I am worthy of seeing you and holding you.”

He heaved a sigh, and droplets of tears flowed down his cheeks.

“I’m crying but...I feel so happy...is this your doing? Is this your way of telling me not to do it? Gods...I can’t just quit. I can’t quit, not when you and I are merely inches apart. I want your eyes to open again. I want to feel your warmth. My love, don’t you get it? You’re the only thing that can provide me that. Please...don’t stop me. Don’t tell me I’m a good man, that I don’t need to do this. You know very well I am no good. I am not nice. I have never been nice. I have never been good unless I was with you. Please, don’t tell me it’s fine the way it is. Soon you’ll be forgotten and-” He choked out a sob and collapsed against the casket, tearfully hiding his face in his sleeves.

“-What if the others forget you? What if I forget you? I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. I need you, just you. Please don’t deny me that. Please. I can’t continue without you.”

Lucifer, Stella, and Sandalphon quietly peeked their head into the gardens through the door and saw their father crying and pleading for Luna to come back.

“One hundred years…” Lucifer murmured.

“Should we...talk to him?” Stella worriedly asked.

“I don’t know if that’s the best. He nearly stabbed Belial and I for asking if he was alright.” Sandalphon shook his head.

“It’s so unfair. He’s...he’s suffering like this. Can’t we do something?” Stella pleaded.

“Unless you can bring our mother back, he’s going to unfortunately be like this.” Sandalphon grumbled, folding his arms and looking away.

“Can we get Mari to-”

“I had tried that, my love.” Lucifer sadly answered. “Primals do not have a soul. Only a core. And...it was destroyed.”

“I don’t believe it.” Stella shook her head. “I don’t believe that’s all we can do.”

“I want to believe, I really do. But it seems pointless here. Our mother is dead. And Lucilius has to accept it just like we-” Sandalphon choked, heaving until Lucifer placed a hand on his shoulder. “We did. Just like we did.”

“Sandalphon…” Stella whispered, before hugging both of them. “I know it hurts. I know.”

“Stella? Sandy? Lucifer?” A tiny voice called out. Aurora tugged on Lucifer’s pant legs as Stella and Sandalphon quickly rubbed their eyes.

“Yes, Aurora?” Lucifer bent down and smiled as best as he could to his baby sister.

“Have you seen papa? I’ve been looking everywhere, but everyone’s been avoiding my question.” She pouted.

“Oh he’s-” Lucifer cut himself off before he smiled again. “I think he’s coming in soon. He’s just taking a small walk.”

“But I think someone’s behind you-” She tried to peek but Lucifer held her down by her shoulders.

“Heh, no, it’s just Sandalphon and his bad allergies. Here, how about us four go and make some tea?”

“Oh! Yes please!” She grasped onto his hand and followed him, with Sandalphon and Stella sharing a worried glance back at Lucilius before they walked in.

Lucilius had stopped his crying and tried to calm his breathing.

“My love. I’m sorry. This is one of the times I cannot do as you say. Please, understand, this is for the better. Our children will not have to learn of suffering any longer, and we...we can be together. You can hate me all you want after that. I don’t mind. You can curse me, make me feel pain, I don’t care. I just want to see you one last time before we disappear.”

“I want to return to the Void with you.”

#lucilius #Lucilius x OC #lucyna #lucilius x luna #angst #granblue fantasy imagines #gbf imagines #lucilius (gbf)#gbf #granblue fantasy

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