#really this could apply to any of the papa's | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starryevermore · 10 months ago

Text

the house of snow (8) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: sejanus crosses a line.

word count: 5,961

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: scheming sejanus, jealous!coryo, angry!coryo, arguing, threats of execution, pet name (petal), not proofread

Thank you for the invitation. Though it was signed by Coryo, I imagine that you are the one who advocated for my presence at tonight’s opera. I appreciate that you hold our friendship in such high regard. That is why I write to you now. Ma has already confirmed our attendance for tonight, but I was hoping that I might be able to speak to you in private. During intermission, please meet me—

A knock at your door startled you out of your thoughts.

“Are you nearly ready?” your father asked from the other side of your door.

“Just a moment more!” you called out, hurrying to return the letter to its envelope. You rose from your seat at the vanity, sparing a glance at your reflection to ensure nothing was out of place, before tucking the letter in your trunk at the end of your bed.

When you reached your door, you took a breath. Your father was a perceptive man. If he saw your nerves were jumbled, he would have questions and you could not handle questions at this moment.

Your father smiled as you opened the door. Then he frowned, glancing around the room behind you. “Where is your lady’s maid?”

“I dismissed her after I finished getting ready. I wanted some time to go through my correspondence.” It was perhaps best to tell the truth in that regard. What your father didn’t need to know what that you were just reading the one letter, over and over and over again, trying to surmise if it was real, if there was a trick being played against you.

“I should hope you were not writing any replies. The last thing you need is to get ink everywhere.”

“No, Papa, I was only reading them and sorting out which ones needed to be replied to first.” Well, that was a lie. But it was harmless enough. You hoped.

When you received Sejanus’s letter in the mail, it confused you. You were never the sort of friends that wrote to each other. It certainly would have been presumptuous if you had. But when you read the contents of the letter, learned of his proposed plan, it only served to confuse you further. You had spent the entire day reading the letter as your lady’s maid pinned your hair into an elaborate updo, applied your makeup, and even as you dressed. You were half sure that if you read it enough times, Sejanus himself might materialize to tell you it was all just a clever joke. That he didn’t really mean it. You knew Sejanus well enough, though, to know that he was quite serious about these sorts of things.

Your father nodded, then extended his arm for you to take. You slipped your hand around his arm and allowed him to guide you downstairs. He was silent for a moment while you walked, but when he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked. Had he already caught on to your ruse? Would he demand to see the letters and know that there was only one? Would he tell Snow?

“I wanted to thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “I know this match was not what you hoped it to be, but I swore when you were born that I would do everything in my power to ensure that you are taken care of for life. You may not have gotten the love match you wished for, but you will be marrying into a reputable family with the resources available to provide you the best life imaginable. His Majesty will take care of you. He will be a good husband to you.”

“You cannot possibly know that.”

He sniffed, then conceded, “No, I suppose I don’t. But His Majesty was incredibly persistent. He had been asking for your hand for some time—”

“What?”

He blinked, as if he was surprised you didn’t know. But how could you? How could you have known? “When you graduated from the Academy, he asked for your hand. I suppose he hoped for you to join him on base while he served as a Peacekeeper. That certainly wouldn’t have been an appropriate life for you, so I told him no. Then when he returned, he asked again. I told him I wished to see him prove himself to be a worthy husband for you. I never imagined that he would become King, of course, but it was a pleasant surprise. A welcome one, really, all things considered. Just before the season began this year, he asked again. I had no reason to tell him no, except that I wished for him to properly court you before we reached any firm agreement.”

You did the math in your head. If what your father said was true… “I’m four and twenty. If he has been asking since I graduated, then he has wanted to marry me for five years.”

“Longer, I presume. He already had a ring when he asked for your hand the first time.” He looked down at your hand. “The same one, if memory serves well. Cleaner, though.”

That…You didn’t know what to do with that. How long had Snow been vying for your attention? Even with Sejanus’s revelation that Snow’s feelings for you had been genuine, you assumed it was a recent development. Certainly not something that extended back to your schooldays. Had the bickering always been one-sided? No, that couldn’t be…

“We hated each other in school. We tormented each other,” you said, more to yourself than your father.

But he laughed as if you spoke to him. “Sometimes, boys are mean to the girls they are interested in. Any attention is better than no attention, in their eyes.”

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you admitted.

“Know that you will be loved. I have never seen any man be so dedicated to something, someone, for it not to be done out of love.”

Downstairs, the butler announced Snow’s arrival. Snow entered the room, his blue eyes immediately finding yours. Your father moved to start down the stairs, but you remained planted firmly in place. A question nagged at your mind. If Snow had been asking for your hand for five years…

“Why did you act like I had to convince Snow to marry me when the season started? If you all but promised him my hand?”

His eyebrows raised. “My little dove, you have never done what you were told. If I said that you were to be wed to His Majesty, you would have all but runaway to avoid it.”

“But why act like it was my responsibility to get his attention? To throw myself at his feet when he already wanted to marry me?”

He was silent for a moment, contemplating his words. Finally, he settled on, “If you thought that you were serving your family by pursuing His Majesty, I had hoped that you would have seen his intentions were pure and good. It might not have been a love match in the traditional sense, but it would not have been a loveless arrangement.”

Nothing, you thought, about Snow was pure and good. “My fate was already set in stone. It didn’t matter what I did, you would have married me off regardless.”

“Don’t put it like that, little dove—”

You dropped your father’s arm, gathered your skirts, and walked down the stairs alone as Snow moved to wait for you at the bottom. A smile grew on his face as he watched you. It looked so genuine. You supposed it was.

Snow held his arm out to you as you reached the last few steps. You slipped your hand into his, letting him guide you down the final steps, before holding onto his bicep when you reached the ground floor.

“I like that color on you,” he said, eyeing the blue fabric.

“You should. It took Tigris hours to find the shade closest to your eyes.” Your mother was insistent that, as the future Queen, you should build your wardrobe to complement your future husband as much as possible.

“I shall send her my compliments then. Are you ready to leave?”

You nodded.

“Good. We shall be riding alone this evening. Will that be alright?”

It wouldn’t have mattered if it did. Everyone else in your life was making decisions for you. Choosing what was best for you without ever asking what you wanted. What you desired. But you were angry at your father. Angry at both of your parents, because you were sure your mother knew something about this, too. Angry that they both would keep this from you instead of just telling you that you were to marry the King. You might have respected their decision more if they had.

“I should kill my parents if I have to spend a moment with them tonight.”

Snow blinked. “Should I be concerned?”

“If you value your life, then you shouldn’t be.”

At that, Snow let out a huff of a laugh. “To kill the King would be treason.”

“Is a threat worth the same weight?”

“I would imagine so.”

“Then string me up at the gallows.”

He shook his head at you. He looked amused, like he didn’t take your words seriously. He probably thought you were just bickering to get on his nerves like you always did. “I would make an exception for you, petal.”

You turned your head, looking back up at your father, who still stood at the top of the stairs, dumbfounded. You turned back to Snow. “I wouldn’t kill you, for what it’s worth. As it turns out, you are the only person who has been honest with me recently.”

A frown settled on Snow’s face. “Is everything alright?”

You rolled your tongue over your teeth, contemplating whether you should tell him or not. It would be nice to vent, even to someone like Snow. But you didn’t wish to do it in front of your father, the source of your ire. And you weren’t sure you wouldn’t cry if you did talk about it. “I don’t wish to ruin my evening any further. Shall we go?”

Snow looked you over. Seeing nothing that would demand his immediate concern, he said, “We shall. But if you change your mind…”

“I will tell you if I do.”

The ride to the opera house was quiet. You weren’t sure if Snow was silent because he was giving you the space you asked for, or if he was concerned that your ire might soon turn on him. But he held your hand the entire time, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. Ordinarily, you would have been annoyed at the action. It was merely another way for Snow to exert a level of control over you. This time, however, it brought you some modicum of comfort.

“I invited the Plinths per your request,” he murmured.

That should have lifted your spirts, but it only made your stomach churn. You couldn’t let Snow know that, of course. As hard as you fought for the Plinths’ presence, he would be less than pleased if you revealed you wished he hadn’t extended the invitation. “Thank you.” You squeezed his hand, more for your comfort than his own. “I appreciate that.”

Even if you didn’t appreciate it in the moment, you probably would appreciate his willingness to abide by your wishes in the future (though, you supposed you did have to coerce him to do it).

Snow smiled and squeezed your hand back. “And I appreciate your vivaciousness. Even if it makes me want to pull my hair out.”

“That would be a shame,” you said before you could really think.

“What?”

Well, you already got this far. You might as well finish the thought. “The nicest part about you is your hair. If you pulled it all out, you wouldn’t have anything going for you.”

Snow laughed—a genuine laugh. “If my hair is the key to gaining your affections, then I shall be sure to not pull it out.”

You laughed, too. It was…odd. How light you felt with Snow now. Though you still objected to how he asked for your hand, how your father gave you no choice in this matter, it was different knowing that Snow might not be doing all of this as some way to spite you. To get back at you for all the fights you had with him over the years.

The pit in your stomach burrowed deeper. If Snow found out about Sejanus’s letter, Sejanus’s plan, you could not imagine it ending well. Any semblance of goodwill he held for you could be ruined in a matter of minutes. Would you be set up for a miserable marriage if you withheld the information from him?

“Snow, I—”

The carriage lurched to a halt. Your words died in your throat as the door opened. Snow stepped out first, then held a hand out for you to take. He helped you out of the carriage, his hands settling on your waist as you gained your footing. Your breath caught in your throat at the feeling.

As you moved to take Snow’s arm, he asked, “Would you like to wait for your parents or would you like to go our seats?”

You glanced back, seeing your family carriage in the distance. The idea of seeing your father again made you grind your teeth together. “Let’s go inside.”

Snow led you to one of the Lord’s Rooms where you would sit in the upper balcony of the opera house. It had been some years since you had been able to sit in one of the Lord’s Rooms. Since your time at the Academy, you supposed. These seats were saved for the upper echelon of the Capital’s elite. While your parents certainly were wealthy and titled, they could not quite afford such expensive seats. Truthfully, for a long time after the war ended, only the King and some dukes could afford it. It was only in recent years that marquesses, earls, and viscounts could begin sitting there again.

You took a seat front and center of the Lord’s Room, Snow taking the seat to your left. A smile tugged at his face as you tried to not let your jaw fall slack.

“Are you pleased with the seats, petal?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” you admitted, because it was.

When you looked over at him, his smile had grown, his chest ever so slightly puffed out. Oh, he was proud of himself for this. You supposed he should be. If he had been vying for your attention for as long as your father insinuated, you imagined there was no limit to the lengths Snow would go to make you happy.

“Good.”

You were curious, though, to the lengths that Snow would go. “What would you have done if I was displeased?”

“Erect an opera house to your exact specifications.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. To suggest such a thing was absurd. You were an intelligent young woman to be sure, but you hardly had the education required to design an opera house that both functioned as necessary and would not topple over in a gust of wind. “Then we should be thankful I am content here or else we might have to test the limits to the royal family’s protection from liability.”

Snow waved that off, though he still smirked at you referring to yourself as part of the royal family. “I would send anyone who would even think to sue you to the gallows.”

“So protective,” you teased. There was silence, for a moment, as you looked at Snow. Conversation was flowing easily, with none of its usual bite. Perhaps talking about your conversation with your father would be nice. To at least alleviate the stress you carried in your shoulders. “I am upset with my papa because of you.”

And that, perhaps, was the worst way to begin the conversation when you saw the way Snow’s smile turned into a frown. Oh dear, he probably thought you were trying to pick a fight. “I beg your pardon?”

“What I mean to say is, at the beginning of the season, when it was announced you were seeking a bride, my papa told me that I had to do whatever it took to win you over, even sacrifice my ideals. He made it seem as if it was something I had to do for the family. I refused, of course, but that did nothing to stop you from seeking me out. I wondered why for a long while, spent a long time convinced it was because you were trying to get back at me for all our quibbles over the years. But then I remembered Sejanus had told me that you were interested in me when we were children.”

Snow’s jaw ticked at the mention of Sejanus, so you quickly continued before he could spit some vitriol about your shared friend (for now, at least).

“That made no sense to me at the time he told me, of course, but the longer we courted, it started to feel real. Then, this evening, my papa told me that you had asked for my hand three times before. That you fought with me because you liked my attention, not necessarily because you had substantial disagreement with me. And when I asked, he said he lied to me about my needing to sacrifice my ideals to win you over, because he knew that I was already going to be your bride by the end of the season. I cannot respect a man who withholds things from me.”

“I apologize if I disrespected you, but—”

“Not you, my papa. It is clear now that, as far as this season was concerned, you had always made your intentions known. I can admire that. But my papa…I don’t know if I can trust him again. Or my mama, because I am sure she knew something about it, too.”

Snow considered you for a moment, before admitting, “If I had known you were kept in the dark, I would have told you. I assumed you knew I had spoken with your father and that that was part of the reason you kept fighting me. Telling me that you would rather marry anyone else but me.”

“No, I was, for once, clueless.”

He reached over for your hand. You allowed him to take it. “Well, you can rest assured that I will not let you be clueless as long as I can help it. We are to be partners in this marriage. There is no one that I could trust more to run this kingdom and raise our family than you.”

Your stomach twisted. All of this talk of honesty…It made you feel ill. You knew you should tell Snow about Sejanus’s letter. If he ever found out, any trust he had in you would easily be broken. You imagined he would lock you away in the palace, never let you see anyone but the staff and the heirs he would have you produce. And Sejanus…You shuddered at the idea of what Snow would do to him. It would make isolation look kind, you were sure.

Knowing you had no other choice, you tried again to tell him. “Snow, I wish to tell you one more thing—”

You were cut off by the sound of Sejanus greeting you and Snow. You prayed you did not look as ill as you felt.

“You look radiant this evening,” Sejanus said to you as he came to your side. Oh, Sejanus, he should not say those sorts of things. Not in front of Snow. Not when you knew how he felt.

Snow rose to his feet, dropping your hand. It was the polite thing to do as a gentleman, but you knew it was more a power play than anything else. And, though Sejanus towered over Snow, something about the way Snow held himself made him seem like the giant. “She does, doesn’t she? It must be the pre-marital bliss.”

You ignored Snow. Well, if you couldn’t tell Snow about the letter now, you might as well make polite conversation until the next opportunity arose. “Thank you, my lord. You look quite dashing yourself. Did Tigris design your suit?”

“She did,” he beamed. Oh, Sejanus, don’t smile at you like that. “She is the only one I trust to not make me look like a fool.”

“Funny,” Snow muttered.

You looked at him, your brows furrowed together. Was he trying to suggest Sejanus was a fool? Did Snow know something you didn’t? Your heart skipped a beat. Did he somehow already know of the letter? “What is?”

Snow blinked, as if he hadn’t expected you to hear him. A smile twitched at his lips. “You had said something similar, once.”

“Ah. Well, she is the best. Many people feel quite strongly over her,” you said. You smoothed a wrinkle on your dress. All of the kind talk between you and Coryo made you feel uneasy now that Sejanus was here. “It must be infuriating to know people like Tigris while they tolerate you.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Sejanus chided as Snow’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Don’t join in on the teasing. It will only make things worse.

“But it’s so easy.”

Sejanus took the seat to your right. From the corner of your eye, you watched as Snow’s hands flexed, as if he was restraining himself from lashing out at Sejanus. Knowing that no one could see your face but Snow and Sejanus, you allowed yourself to roll your eyes. The corner of Sejanus’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. In any other circumstance, you might have been laughing with him at Snow’s expense. This all felt too confusing for you—something you would rather attempt to process in private rather than search your feelings in the moment. So you moved to the edge of your seat, propping your arm against the railing, leaning your cheek against your palm. Snow, as he sat back down, reached for your other hand, and you allowed him to take it. Jealous little thing, he was. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind.

The performance soon began with little more spoken between you, Snow, and Sejanus. Mostly talks about your upcoming nuptials, which made it feel like a knife was being twisted in your stomach. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought that Sejanus was trying to be cruel. Sejanus, though, was something of an angel, and you were sure he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Perhaps that was why you were so nervous about this. You knew how Snow would read Sejanus’s actions. You knew it would be far from good.

You tried to push those thoughts away as the performers sang. It had been so long since you had been able to go to the opera, and you wanted to enjoy this moment. Snow would likely bring you to more performances, but just in case, you wanted to have fun while you could. Yet, Sejanus could not leave your mind. He felt entirely too close. It was almost suffocating. And when you dared to glance at him from the corner of your eye, and you saw the way his hand was placed on the arm of his chair, his palm face up, you felt ill.

So ill, you could not stand it.

When you dropped Snow’s hand, moving to leave the Lord’s Room, Snow rose to his feet. “Is everything alright, petal?”’

“I’m not feeling well. I just need to step outside for a moment,” you said.

Sejanus, too, stood. “What’s wrong?”

Oh, don’t do that. Don’t give Snow anymore reason to get upset or concerned.

You waved Sejanus off. “It’s too stuffy in here. I just need a moment.”

Snow watched you, his brows pinched together. You again wondered if he could read your mind, if he knew what you knew. Or perhaps he was acting as if he cared in his own weird way, trying to ascertain if he needed to go with you just in case this was something more serious. “If you wish to leave early, we can. I don’t want you to feel as if we must stay even if you are ill.”

Don’t be kind. You’re not sure you deserve it. “I don’t believe it’s that serious. Please, sit. I shall be back before you can even think to miss me.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Snow sat down. Sejanus remained standing, watching as you turned to leave. It was not until you left the Lord’s Room, sparing a glance over your shoulder, that you saw Sejanus sit down, too.

It was easier to breathe outside of the room. Not much by much, but certainly easier. Being sat between Snow and Sejanus, even if had been something of your own doing, had become something of a personal hell. Damn Sejanus. Damn him. This evening wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to have a nice evening at the opera. You were supposed to get on Snow’s nerves. You were supposed to laugh with Sejanus and not worry about his insane ideas. It was supposed to be nice, not…whatever it was about to become.

You found a somewhat secluded area of the foyer and leaned against the wall, trying to steady your heartbeat. You did not know if Snow or Sejanus or both would follow you. If they did, you worried about the other people who were invited eavesdropping on the conversation, realize that there was more than meets the eye regarding your betrothal to Snow. Oh, you would not be able to handle that scandal.

After a minute or two, the sound of the opera singer ringing in the background, you pushed yourself off the wall. It had been long enough that Snow would become concerned and come looking for you. And it was close enough to intermission that Sejanus—

“You look like you’ve seen death.”

You sucked in a breath. “You need to leave.”

Sejanus stepped closer to you. Too close. He reached out, brushing a loose curl away from your face. You fought the urge to flinch away. “We can go—”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You cannot truly believe I would leave with you, can you? Sejanus, Snow is the King. He would do everything in his power, utilize every resource at his disposal, to find us and bring us straight to the Capital. You would lose your head, and I would never see daylight again.”

“That should not matter if we love each other. We could find somewhere no one could ever find us. We could live a life all of our own, never have to worry about anything else.”

“But I don’t love you.”

“Coryo told me that you would rather marry me. That you thought I am an easy man to love. Is that not enough?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. It was so hard to look at him and not cry. Why was he making this so difficult? Why was he putting you in this position? “I might have loved you. In a different life, maybe. But I do not feel what you feel for me. I will not risk my life and yours for a maybe.”

“But you will risk a life of unhappiness with Coryo?”

Why did no one listen to you?

Why did no one care to ask you what you wanted and actually listen?

“It is not as if Snow hates me. He cares, in his own way. Even if he shows it in his strange ways. I would want for nothing with him.”

“Can you love him?” Sejanus stepped even closer to you. He cupped your face in his hands. You squeezed your eyes tighter. “Tell me you will be happy with him, and I will leave you alone. I won’t bring this up ever again. I will leave—”

Sejanus was ripped away from you before he could finish speaking. Your eyes flew open. What was happening? Why—

Oh.

Oh no.

Snow’s face was blood red, his knuckles nearly matching as he gripped Sejanus’s jacket. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he spat.

“Coryo, I—”

“You said you didn’t wish to marry her. You said you wouldn’t try to take her from me. Was that a life? Were you trying to catch me with my guard down? What happened to not wanting to hurt me?”

“Please—”

You had never seen Snow so angry in all your life. Not even when you would spend every day at the Academy arguing with him. Not even when you had told him that you considered marrying Sejanus. Was Snow going to hurt Sejanus? He looked angry enough to kill. You couldn’t let that happen.

“Snow—” you tried to say, but he did not hear you.

“I should have the Peacekeepers drag you through the streets, throw you in a cell, and let you rot. I should have you executed,” Snow hissed. “This is treason.”

“Please, Snow—” you tried again.

You tried to think. Tried to figure out something, anything, to say that could quell Snow’s anger. But you couldn’t even get through to him. It’s like he didn’t even realize you were speaking to him. Oh, what could you say?

“I should make your execution a fucking spectacle. I should make everyone watch as you are hung—”

“Coryo, stop!”

Snow’s head snapped to you. His pale blue eyes looked you up and down, as if he was trying to determine if he should direct his ire to you. He let go of Sejanus’s jacket with a push. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have made Sejanus stumble, but the sheer weight of everything brought the man tumbling down. Snow took a step towards you, his voice dangerously low as he asked, “Why should I?”

“I was telling him no. I don’t want to go with him,” you said, careful not to say Sejanus’s name. Saying his name in ordinary circumstances drove Snow insane. You hated to imagine what he might do if you did so now. He might just kill Sejanus with his bare hands. His hands. You glanced down, then reached for one of Snow’s hands. It was clenched into a fist, but he allowed you to open his hand, intertwine your fingers with his own. “I want to marry you, Coryo. I want to be your wife.”

Snow stared at your connected hands. He squeezed your hand. It looked like he couldn’t believe this was real. “He followed you out here. Were you planning to run away?”

You couldn’t lie to him. Not now. “He sent a letter this morning. He wanted to run away at intermission, when it was easy to disappear in a crowd. I…I tried to tell you, before he arrived this evening. I never intended to go with him.”

“He followed you.”

I didn’t ask him to, you wanted to say. But you knew that wouldn’t do anything to diminish Snow’s anger. Instead, you said, “I wish you followed me instead.”

When Snow looked at you, you could see his eyes softened ever so slightly. “I thought you might want some space.”

Though you did not wholly believe in what you were saying, you knew it was working to calm him down. “All I want is you, Coryo.”

For a second, a smile began to tug at Snow’s lips. But it vanished all too quick as he heard Sejanus begin to rise to his feet. “He needs to be punished.”

“Don’t have him killed.” When Snow’s eyes narrowed, you quickly added, “I don’t want the death of your friend, your best friend, to weigh heavily on your conscious. I-I know you’re upset now, rightfully so, but that should not mean you send him to the gallows.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched as he weighed your words. “Then what do you suggest I do? If we are to be partners in life, you shall have a say in carrying out punishments.”

Oh, he was being cruel. Perhaps rightfully so. Snow would not harm you physically, but he would not be so above hurting you emotionally. You had not told him about the letter, and in his eyes, you were sure that put you on a similar level of treason as Sejanus’s actions.

You fought the urge to look at Sejanus. “He shall enlist in the Peacekeepers,” you decided. “You can ensure he has an assignment far away from the Capital. Give him time to consider his betrayal.”

Snow said nothing. You worried he would dismiss your suggestion and call for the Peacekeepers anyways. That he would force you to watch as Sejanus was hung. You stepped closer, pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Please, Coryo?”

When you pulled away, Snow was blinking a mile a minute. You prayed that was enough to convince him, to show him that you were loyal to him. To spare Sejanus’s life.

“Go,” Snow spat at Sejanus.

Sejanus gave a shaky nod. He dared to look at you, his mouth beginning to open. Whatever he intended to say, though, was lost.

“If you are going to say anything, it should be to express your gratitude to her for sparing you from an execution.”

Sejanus swallowed. “Thank you.”

“If I learn that you have not enlisted by morning, however, I will follow through with stringing you up at the gallows.”

Sejanus nodded again and quickly left before more could be said. For his sake, you prayed he went straight to the enlistment offices. You weren’t sure if they were open at this time of night, but if he went now, he might be able to enlist first thing in the morning when they did open.

You let your head fall against Snow’s chest. His heart thump’d, thump’d, thump’d quickly. You wound your arms around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. And as he hugged you back, you added, “And I apologize for not telling you of his plans. I…I didn’t think he would be so foolish to try to follow through on them. Or, I suppose, I hoped he wouldn’t.”

“You truly wouldn’t have left with him?”

“I only want a life with you, Coryo. You…may not be an easy man to love, but that does not mean I cannot love you.” Maybe if you said it enough times, you mused, it would become true.

Snow pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “I want to move up the wedding date.”

You shut your eyes. “You’ll work poor Tigris to the bone trying to finish my gown in time,” you tried to tease. Your heart wasn’t quite in it.

“You could show up at the altar in a dressing gown for all I care. I don’t want anyone else trying to steal you away before I can make you mine.”

If this was the sort of anger you would have to grapple with should anyone else try— “Nor do I.” You pressed a kiss to his chest, just over his heart. A print of your lipstick left behind a stain. “I truly am sorry, Coryo.”

Maybe if you called him by his pet name enough times, he would forget this ever happen.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

As you stood there in his tight embrace, people began spilling out into the foyer. Intermission, it seemed, had arrived. And not a single one of them were aware of events that just transpired.

How lucky they were.

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

290 notes · View notes

greedyhoneyz · 2 years ago

Text

Dance Of The Little Swans

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: dad!kylian mbappe x reader

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: two little ducklings have bloomed into swans.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･cw: fluff. lots of fluff.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･authors note: this is a lengthy one. im not really happy with this might rewrite but enjoy anyways!

“Stay still, sweetheart.” (name) affirmed softly. The digits of her fingers carefully carved over her daughter’s head, applying as little pressure as she could, to fix the little hairs fighting the gel she had applied to her coily hair.

Perched on her knees, (name) rigidly groomed her daughter to swanlike perfection. Littered at her feet were hair products, combs, makeup palettes and glitter. Once fresh out of the packet— all items alike had been battered beyond recognition for today’s recital.

Giving her daughter a once-over, her gentle eyes frantically searched over her face and tutu, (name) helped her down from her chair.

“There,” she whispered, her fingers tenderly picking out her tutu. “All done.”

With bright eyes and a smile stretching from ear to ear, Maya waddled towards her sister.

“Rena,” she shrieked excitedly, catching her sister’s attention. Seated in her grandma’s lap, Rena fixed her gaze to her twin, her curious fingers caught between her hair. “Do I look pretty?”

Rena blinked blankly at her sister and pondered only for a few seconds before an identical smile painted her features. She nodded frantically and wiggled free from her grandma’s lap, and met her sister half way to respond in a tone similar to her sister’s. “You look like me!”

Maya squealed with delight, pulling her sister’s hands into her own and bounced ecstatically, her tutu fluttering in the air.

Standing back on her two feet, (name) brushed away the dirt on her pants. She pulled at her top, stretching out its creases and smiled warmly at her mother-in-law.

Backstage, frantic mothers and their daughters— nervous or scared, sat amongst each other. The twins were the latter.

They were excited.

Perhaps, it was the comfort and safety that came with having another half that flushed away any fear or fright they would have felt. Needless to say, (name) was glad she wasn’t wiping away tears.

Though, there was a lingering spec of jealousy that stinged (name’s) heart— she envied the fondness the twins had for each other, she never had that as a young dancer.

Wiping her hands clean from gel residue, (name) cooed her daughters over. “Girls,”

Hand in hand, the twins rushed towards her, peering up at her with smiles stretching from ear to ear.

Crouching down, (name) grabbed their hands. She engulfed their hands into her palms, squeezing it tight and beamed. She took in the sight of her children, the glee that transformed their features and blew a breath. “Are you two excited?”

“Yes!” The twins shook their heads happily.

“Okay, do you remember your steps?” (name) asked.

“Uhuh!”

“Show me!” The twins quickly shuffled into position, angling their hands above their heads and rising to stand on their toes in their nude slippers. They twirled around with no sense of unison and dangled their legs in the air before returning to ground. And when their performance came to an end, the twins posed like graceful swans intoxicated by laughing gas.

Standing back upright, (name) clapped and cheered, Fazya following her motions. “Bravo!”

“Well done,” (name) cooed affectionately, landing a kiss on her daughters’ cheeks. “Your papa is going to be so surprised watching you two dance.”

At the mention of their father, the twins immediately buzzed with an electrified excitement, scratching at their mother’s legs.

“Where is papa?!”

“Is papa coming?!”

“Papa’s coming, don’t worry.” (name) assured gently, reclaiming their hands into her own.

It was a while before the girls were called in, their teacher kindly instructing parents to take their seats in the auditorium. (name) and Fazya quickly gave their goodbyes; kisses to their cheeks and a curt wave, and retreated into the auditorium just as the girls’ dance teacher rounded them in. “Mes enfants….”

The auditorium was sparsely filled as parents began to file in and take their seats. Chatter hung amongst them— talks of pictures, videos, costumes and at-home practice.

(name) aimlessly followed behind her mother-in-law, rapidly padding her fingers against her phone. She drew her eyebrows together and narrowed her eyes, gnawing at her bottom lip.

Repositioning her purse over her shoulder, (name) pressed through her phone, swiping through her call logs. She tapped her finger against Kylian’s name, and raised her phone to ear. It rang for a few seconds before he answered. “Yes?”

“Where are you? It’s starting soon.” Plopping down into her seat, (name) turned her head from left to right, scanning the room.

“I’m here.” Kylian replied curtly, the slamming of a car door could be heard through the phone.

(name) breathed, sighing in relief. “Okay.”

She settled into the cushion of her seat, ending the call and turned to her mother-in-law, joining her conversation.

And when Kylian finally arrived, his father and brother in tow, he sat himself beside her and kissed her cheek.

Jeering her head, a small smile found its way to (name’s) lips as her gaze settled on Kylian. She watched his face mimic her hopeful expression and whisper. “Hey.”

He reached for her hand, settled on top of her purse and pulled her fingers between his. Her hand rested in his lap, wrapped beneath his own as his thumb soothed the back of her hand.

Row by row, the lights above dimmed, a suspenseful silence casted through the auditorium as all attention settled on the grand drapes illuminating beneath spotlights.

A classical symphony sung quietly as the drapes drew back, unveiling the stage. The stage was empty— except for the few props decorated in each corner and the backdrop.

The symphony, a light hearted tune grew louder just as the swans fluttered onto the stage. In identical fluffy, white skirts, they smiled, their tiny arms held above their heads.

The piece shifted, and a much cheerier and upbeat symphony began to play. The girls, the swans, moved in ‘almost’ sync. Some were fast, some were slow and some others followed the tune with complete grace.

The twins, Maya, was fast, and Rena, was slow. Yet, the two wore grins that stretched across their faces, with eyes that glimmered as vividly as the spotlights hanging above them. They moved their tiny slippers, balancing on the tip of their toes, fluttering from corner to corner, twirling in imperfect circles— all with joy riddled across their faces.

The classical symphony, once grand and cherry, eased into a halt, and the dance of the little swans came to an end with a graceful bow. The auditorium filled with applause and cheers from proud parents and spectators as the overhead ceiling lights illuminated the room once again.

“Papa!” Kylian held his arms out wide, a grin painted his features as the twins scuttled into his arms. He heaved, clutching them at the hip and hoisted them to his chest. Kylian huffed, letting out a winded breath and peered down at his children.

They flooded him with loaded questions as their sticky, inquisitive fingers explored his face and ears.

“Papa, did you see me? I spun around really good.”

“Do you like my hair Papa? Mommy did it for me!”

“I’m so proud of you two,” He began, pressing a hard kiss to each cheek. “You did so well.”

Kylian see-sawed his children from side to side as their rambunctious giggles filled his ears. Their legs swung freely in the air, oblivious to their father’s weakening grasps. Slowly but steadily, the twins slid from their father’s arms, their feathery tutus rumpled between the friction.

Planting the twins on stable ground, Kylian took hold of their tiny hands. They fidgeted and crawled between his legs as he offered greetings to parents and their little ones who passed by until (name) returned.

“Babe,” she began, lightly pulling at the twins' cheeks. “Your mom wants to take pictures….”

Kylian nodded and peered down at his daughters. “Do you girls want to take some pictures?”

The twins both nodded eagerly, their soft brown eyes twinkling before shooting off. Their little tutus bounced and fluttered as they disappeared into the merge of people and children.

By the time Kylian and (name) found them, hand in hand, Maya and Rena had accustomed themselves to a wall whilst Kylian’s parents captured pictures.

The twins smiled from ear to ear, wrapped in a tight embrace as bright flashes glared. A minute had passed, with Kylian and (name) capturing their own pictures of the twins before they situated themselves towards the wall.

Holstering each twin on their hip, Rena on (name’s) and Maya on Kylian’s— the family beamed.

(name) pressed the side of her face against Rena’s, her little arm wrapped around her shoulder. The corners of their mouths turned up as their eyes glinted, (name’s) affectionate hand raised to the back of Rena’s head. Both Kylian and Maya shared a closed eye smile, their pearly whites showing. Kylian cradled her tiny hand in his and held it to his chest.

“Say cheese!”

Kylian held his breath, edging closer to (name) and stared ahead, resisting the urge to blink. He settled to find comfort between his family, his daughters to his right and left and his wife, beside him. Kylian's grin grew wider, his eyes filled with stars just as his mother’s phone emitted a flare, forever capturing this moment with his family.

#kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe x black!reader #black!reader #football imagine #football x reader #football fanfic #football fanfiction

531 notes · View notes

youareiron-andyouarestrong · 2 months ago

Note

Ooh if you’re still in your jyncass era prayer beads for the November prompts? If not feel free to apply to any pairing you like

Kassa remembers Mami's beads.

A multi-strand bracelet wrapped around her wrist, made out of smooth, dark brown wood, each one lovingly carved by Kassa's bisabuelo, handed down from father to father to daughter. Each one knotted on the long, tough fibers they used to weave their cloaks. Mami would thumb off each bead and say, Stella. Benedicíon. Rosa. Teo. Benedicíon.

Depending on the family, some bead strings would have twenty, thirty, maybe even forty. Kassa's family was the only one in the whole village that had fifty-five. He'd been so proud of that, fifty-five ancestors, and each name spoken like a blessing.

The beads were beautiful, but they weren't meant for just prayer. Mami could flick her wrist and snap them out like a whip; wrap them twice around an opponent's neck before they could make a step towards her. Once they were older, Mami had promised to teach him and Kerri how to use them. The day the Imperials came to Kenari, Mami had unwound the beads from where they lived around her wrist, and prayed through gritted teeth: "Franco. Ayúdanos." Franco had been the name of Kassa and Kerri's abuelo. That's when Kassa truly understood the trouble they were in. You only ever called upon the ancestors if you were in the direst need.

Mama had been wearing the beads when she and Papa had been killed. Kassa had unwrapped the beads from around her wrist and taken them back to the remains of the village, now the camp where and all the other children and teenagers slept. Between him and Kerri, they slept with them shared in their clenched fists every night.

He'd given the beads to Kerri right before he left for salvage. Mostly to stop her fussing at him for going out and leaving her, again, but also because he was the oldest, and that meant, Papa told him often enough, making sacrifices. For your sister, mijo. A calloused, gnarled hand, but still so strong, gently ruffled his hair. He'd wrapped them around his sister's wrist and said, "Keep them safe for me, si?" She nodded solemnly, awed by the responsibility.

He never saw those beads again.

Cassian didn't touch the beads, Jyn noticed.

They jumbled together in the trappings of a cover identity Command had worked out for them, a laborer couple out to make a few credits in an Imperial factory. The quartermaster had given them a hastily assembled bundle of clothing, accessories and other such things and Cassian had looked barely concealed disapproval. "It's got to have continuity," he muttered, going through the mismatched contents of their go bags.

Jyn followed his example, but honestly, she didn't really care. She learned how to make do with almost nothing in the last fifteen years. Being handed an entire bag worth of clothes, shoes and gear felt like the height of luxury. The beads slipped out of the tangle of items, falling amongst the scarves and layers they'd been given. Jyn was surprised--jewelry wasn't common item in the quartermaster's supplies--but Cassian saw them and just--stopped, for a second. As if recalling something.

"Oh," he said, looking at the beads. "Where did--?" he looked around the bunk where their items had been laid out by the two of them. "Did those come with the clothes?"

"They did," Jyn confirmed. "Do you know what they're supposed to be?"

Cassian paused, still looking at the beads, his normally quick hands still. "They're--they're an ancestor strand. Or beads. Each bead means a family member who came before you."

Jyn glanced down at the necklace. There had to be at least thirty beads on the cord. "Did this belong to someone?"

"It must've," Cassian said, his tone oddly blank. "Most--most of the effects are donated, or--if a member of the Rebellion is killed in action...they're asked, beforehand, if they want their personal effects want to be donated to the stores so it can be reused or repurposed, or sent back to their families, if we can manage it. Most choose to donate."

Jyn's hand closed around her kyber crystal unthinkingly. Each bead on the strand meant someone's family. Fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles. Grandparents. "Then...whoever this belonged to..."

"They might not have had family to send it back to," Cassian said. His voice was quiet now, just stating a fact they knew all too well.

The beads lay on the bunk innocuously. Each one had been carefully, precisely carved. Dark brown wood, well-polished from years of use. "Do--do you want them?" Jyn asked uncertainly. She didn't think it would be right for her to use them.

Cassian looked at the beads. His voice grew strange, distant. "My family had a strand of beads like this. Fifty-five on a cord. " He gave himself a slight shake and carefully picked it up, wrapped it multiple times around his wrist. His movements looked like something he had seen done a dozen different times. "It will come in handy if others have them," he told Jyn, steady again. "That way they can recognize us as someone they can trust."

Jyn nodded slowly, seeing the sense of that. They gleamed on Cassian's wrist, an unbroken line. "Who will they be?" she asked. "The beads?"

Cassian glanced down at his wrist. "They'll be my family," he said simply. "Everyone who came before me, and..." he glanced at Jyn, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. "Everyone's who with me now."

That pleased Jyn inordinately, so she ducked her head to hide her own small smile.

#star wars #rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyn x cassian #cassian x jyn #prompts #philtstone #thank you friend this was great #i haven't written anything in so long #my writing #otp: and make death proud to take us

33 notes · View notes

ramblingoak · 1 year ago

Note

Got any wholesome papa head cannons you wanna ramble about?

So this is kind of a sequel in a way to Dumbasses which I wrote many, many moons ago about Cardinal Primo trying to navigate being an older brother.

Also apologies because this definitely got away from me...but here's some wholesome thoughts (maybe a wee bit of angst) from Primo about his younger brothers. No warnings, about 1,300 words and not proofread 💙

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Primo is very proud of his brothers.

It's no secret that Nihil was a shit father, absent even when he wasn't touring. He never spent any more time than was necessary with his boys. Nihil paid various Siblings of Sin to do that for him. That job fell to Primo when he was old enough. Primo who had recently been made a Cardinal and given more responsibilities than he really was prepared to deal with. Being a father wasn't really ever something Primo had thought about but here he was with three younger brothers all looking to him for guidance.

Secondo had been the toughest to take care of. He had already been a bitter old man even as a teenager. Just another thing Primo could blame on Nihil. Primo tried to act like more of an older brother to him than a parent, Secondo didn't react to authority figures very well at all. Primo had lost track of how many flowers and fruits baskets he had sent to traumatized Sisters who had barely survived having Secondo in their classes.

But his brother had come out of it all a brilliant, strong young man. He moved up the ranks of the church faster than even Primo had. Despite Nihil's attempts at making it a contest Primo tried to not feel like Secondo was biting at his heels. Secondo was ambitious, that was all. He had come to Primo before he reached each new position in the church, wanting the blessing of his fratello before he continued his rise within the clergy.

The night before Primo's final ritual, when Secondo was set to become Papa Emeritus II, they had shared a few drinks in silence before Secondo asked for Primo's blessing. Secondo wanted to be Papa badly, so very badly. He wanted to show Nihil what he was capable of, he wanted to show the old bastard what he could do while in charge of the church. But he wasn't interested in doing any of that without Primo at his back. They had both shared a rare embrace and Primo had promised Secondo, who in that moment looked far younger than he actually was, that he would always be there for him.

Lucifer himself wouldn't be able to drag him away if Secondo needed him.

Terzo was in many ways the complete opposite of Secondo. There wasn't as much ambition, as much desire for power. Terzo was gifted and incredibly smart, much smarter than most gave him credit for. When he applied himself he got high marks from the Sisters and Brothers in charge of the classes at the abbey. The issue was Terzo often didn't want to apply himself. He preferred indulging in sin rather than learning about it. The older he got the more this became true and when Terzo achieved the rank of Cardinal well...

Let's just say Cardinal Terzo's favorite sin was lust and leave it at that.

Primo really didn't really care what Terzo got up to and he certainly didn't want to hear any details. He just wanted Terzo to be happy and safe. Every time he saw his little brother he couldn't help but think of that scared little boy that trailed him everywhere. The loss of his mother had hit Terzo extremely hard and Primo had done his best to fill both parental roles for him.

It was hard for anyone else to tell, but Primo could see it. He knew that despite the companions Terzo always had his little brother was still lonely. Still looking for someone to fill a void by his side. Primo remembered the night when Terzo ascended to Papa, when Secondo bowed on stage to him and let Terzo take the spotlight. The two older Emeritus's had watched off stage as Terzo expertly performed the ritual as if he was born to be up there and in the spotlight.

In a way he was, this was what the Emeritus's were all aiming for. To be Papa, to lead the church to greater things. Primo could see all of that happening under Terzo. He was talented, handsome and charismatic, a true leader. Primo couldn't help but worry about his little brother though, especially as he prepared to hit the road with his ghouls. Touring could be brutal and Primo was concerned that Terzo would be overwhelmed with indulging instead of focusing on what he was supposed to be doing.

It took him witnessing something he probably shouldn't have for Primo to feel better about Terzo leaving. He had been trying to track down his younger brother the night before he was set to leave and had finally found him out in the gardens. Right when Primo was about to walk up he was stopped by another figure joining Terzo. One of Terzo's newly summoned ghouls, Omega he believed was his name, had placed a clawed hand on his brother's shoulder and Primo watched as it trailed up to Terzo's face. Omega had brushed the back of his fingers across his cheek, letting them move back into Terzo's hair, gently combing through it. Terzo had said something Primo couldn't hear before he'd risen up on his toes and placed a kiss on the mask covering the ghoul's face.

Perhaps Terzo wouldn't need his help after all.

Little Copia had been a surprise and at first, not a good one. Primo hadn't been happy to have another Emeritus heir dumped at the church door step. At least this time it wasn't just Primo yelling at Nihil because Secondo and Terzo were there as well. Poor Copia had been scared out of his mind. It was rare for Primo to let his anger get the best of him and even a teenaged Secondo had been surprised at his outburst. When Primo felt like his point had been made, not that Nihil actually gave a fuck about anything that had been said, he had left the old man's office to take Copia around the abbey. However the sight he saw let him know that he was too late.

Primo hadn't even noticed that Terzo had left the office, although he supposed it made sense. Terzo always quickly grew bored when "the adults were yelling" and his new little brother was much more interesting to him. The two of them were deep in a conversation, hurried Italian mixed with English being thrown between them. Primo had walked up and was about to tell Terzo to get back to his lessons, but before he could even open his mouth Terzo had latched onto Copia's little hand and the two had taken off down the hallway.

He knew he should have stopped them, at the very least he should have gone with them. Primo had turned to Secondo and was about to ask him to chase them down, but all he got was a sneer in response. Secondo promptly stalked off the other direction leaving Primo desperately hoping that Nihil didn't have any other little Emeritus's that might show up. Three was more than enough.

As Copia grew up and began to achieve great things Primo couldn't help but still see the nervous little boy in him. Although he could definitely be a smart ass he was probably the sweetest of the four brothers. He treated the entire congregation with care from the siblings to the ghouls and even to the rats he would save from the traps in the kitchens. Copia was special and Primo couldn't wait to see how the church would flourish under him.

Primo was proud of all of his brothers. Each of them had their faults of course, but one of them was always there to pick up the slack and help. They wouldn't do it without giving each other a hard time, but that's what brothers were for. Primo had done his best to teach them that they were all in this together, that the church was theirs. They had to help each other to bring the church to greatness in the name of Lucifer.

Even when they were acting like dumbasses.

(also P.S. Primo has kept every drawing his little brothers ever gave him)

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist

my archive of our own page

#message box #apologies for the rambling i hope this is what you wanted #the band ghost headcanons #the band ghost fanfiction #primo fanfiction #secondo fanfiction #terzo fanfiction #copia fanfiction #ghost band fanfics #ghost band headcanons

177 notes · View notes

crj-online · 7 months ago

Text

Art for a flashback in Chapter 4 (coming soon)

Flashback HERE :

“GUYS, GUESS WHAT I JUST LEARNED ABOUT!” Leo came rushing in, having a little piece of paper in his hand as he ran to the others.

“Wha’ is that, Leo?” Raph asked, staring at the piece of paper as Leo came to a halt.

“This dear bro is a pam-ph-at…ya, a pamphat!! It help older kids, like teenger apply for a place called…co-leg…ya, coleg.” Leo said with a big smile on his face.

“First of all, it's a ‘pamphlet’ not whatever you just said and its ‘college’...like you didn’t say. But, that’s beside the point, where did you even get that?” Donnie correcting Leo’s language was something he would do a lot when they were all younger, it was just something he liked to do.

“Ya, whaever you say, Dee. Anywhizzle, me and papa were on the surface, that's how I found the…um.” He paused, trying to remember how Donnie said it.

“Pamphlet, Leo. It’s not that hard.” Donnie pointed out, making it seem pretty obvious.

“Ya, tha word. Now, papa said if we were good, he cou’ possibly get us into this…college? Is that how you say it…ya, tha’ right? Ya, bu’...papa also said we need to be older, so we still have time to be good turtles.”

“You really think we cou’ go to college, Leo? It seems to be mor’ for human teens.” Raph pointed out, looking at the pamphlet with a picture of happy humans on the front.

“Of cour’ we could, Raphie! How has dis whole situatian stopped us before? Just like how Dee could be in college beca’ he is big-brained. Mikey is still too young, really too young. You Raphie, you could go too before any of us, sine you oldest.” Leo pointed at each of his brothers with a big grin.

“You really think…we could go to college?” Donnie had some doubt in his voice but it also had some hope in it.

“Of course, Dee. We could all make it, togeder.” Leo wrapped a hand around Donnie’s neck and leaned a little on him.

The four of them the rest of the day talked about their future, together in college, even if they didn’t truly make it.

#SBHTBF #artwork #rottmnt #rottmnt au #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #disaster twins #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #turtle tots

42 notes · View notes

redbullgivesyouwingedkuriboh · 11 months ago

Text

Since y’all liked me getting beaten down by GX characters so much, here’s:

Yu-Gi-Oh ARC-V Characters ranked by how easily I could take them in a fight

same rules apply: fisticuffs only and my personal feelings about the characters do not matter

also since ARC-V is WEIRD AF when it comes to characters this will be characters that are exclusive to ARC-V. so no repeat of Asuka. We already know I bite harder than she does.

without further ado, here we go:

Reira Akaba. No shit. is literally a baby. if I was a baby kicking kind of person I could punt her into the sun. However as I do not kick babies I am more inclined to wrap her in a lil blanket and put her in the corner.

Yuya Sakaki. Bitch. One good step on his toes and he’s going “reaction shot?!” I pull on his stupid fuckin goggles and snap them back onto his face. he’s down. count to ten.

Yuzu Hiragi. Canonically the bracelet girls really suck at holding their own at any given moment. Yuzu is the weakest physically because she has never seen war or hardship to the level of the other three. I could take her in four seconds. pigtail tug time.

Yuri. The second weakest physically of the Yu boys. has been coddled by Leo for years. probably sparred with Sho at the academy to make himself feel better about having 0% body weight from muscles. eat shit you purple motherfucker.

Dennis McField. not only would I beat him, I would enjoy doing it. I’d love to curbstomp that motherfucker off a boat, except he already did that to himself. physically he is a fuckin twig and I am five feet seven inches of pure unadulterated god complex. he’ll wish I turned his ass into a card.

Reiji Akaba. the scarf works to his detriment. I do two laps around him holding the end of that thing and suddenly his face is turning blue and he’s calling for papa. unfortunately for him I have zero mercy.

Rin. again, the bracelet girls are notoriously bad at being strong independent women. we literally don’t see Rin for most of the series because she got herself kidnapped off the cuff. that being said she could probably hold her own against me, but I think she’s too sweet for that.

Z-ARC. We’ve established I bite. even outside of human form, if you look at him, he’s got a fuck ton of exposed veins, both as regular Z-ARC and Yuya Z-ARC. chompy chompy motherfucker you’ll pass out from the blood loss before I can kick your ass properly.

Yugo. Canonically relies on his motorcycle for fuckin everything. lost to Yuri because he rolled a nat one on his constitution saving throw. even though he’s probably physically in shape from motorcycle stuff I could flick him in the forehead and he’d be whining like a baby. If I got the first shot in, I’d have a 99% chance of winning. If he got to me first it would go to about 60%. again, I bite.

Leo Akaba. Here’s where we get into characters that have a greater than 50% chance of beating me. Leo is canonically ripped and also has zero emotions. I would only win if I got close enough for a nut kick, but there’s only one person who wants to be that close to Leo Akaba and it sure as hell ain’t me.

Sora Shuin’in. Holy fuck who let their feral cat off its leash. Sora is literally insane and I am requesting backup. He’d shove that lollipop so far up my ass that I’d be able to tell whether it was lime or green apple. I live in fear of Sora suddenly materializing in my room

Ruri Kurosaki. Remember how I bite? She bites harder. She puts up with No Shit and also has No Fucks To Give.

Serena. No further explanation needed. I fear that explaining it further would cause Feral Child #2 to burst into my brain and start kicking.

Yusho Sakaki. Sweet mother of blue eyes white dragon. remember how I said my personal feelings don’t matter? now they do. smash. next question. wait what were we talking about?

Shun Kurosaki. kinda lost the plot on Yusho but we’re back on track now. Shun canonically took out armed guards by Batmanning his ass up a wall. There’s posters up for him that say “lost dog” and the caption is just “if you find him please keep him”.

Yuto. Everything that Shun is + Ruri taught him how to effectively bite.

Noburu Gongenzaka. he is actually ripped and wears cement shoes for funzies. he could probably just stomp once and my shaky joints would give out on their own. bye.

Yoko Sakaki. canonically beat the stuffing out of people in her past life and I would let her. angry mom energy means I barely make it out alive. smash. wait— shit—

54 notes · View notes

slavghoul · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Slav, this maybe isn't ghost related, but perhaps more personal. Often times when I read through your posts, I find that we share similar thoughts or preferences. For example, I find it very very odd when the papas are referred to as Terzo or Secondo etc in serious conversation because that isn't how it was when I joined, and it's just not how I enjoy the band. But, I don't want to be someone who perpetuates the new vs old debates. I actually really value and respect your take on things because you're able to inject your opinion in a way that doesn't alienate anyone or make anyone feel stupid. I however feel as though I cannot let go of the frustration I feel when I engage with the fandom. I dont participate much at all because I dont jive with the current culture, but when I do indulge I just feel discontent and disgruntled. It's like I can feel myself becoming the jaded old man. I'm not super hung up on it, it's not really something I think about often. I usually just use the walk away method the moment I start to feel irritated. I got other things to do besides get mad at things I cannot change. But it still sucks

Preamble out of the way, how do you stay so calm and chill and remember to be considerate when you feel your enjoyment of things doesnt align with the vocal majority? How did you acheive your current mindset beyond just learning to let go or not engage with things that might lead to feelings like this? I'm using ghost as the base for this question, but I'm really asking for some general wisdom. I apologize if that's a little loaded.

Jokes aside, this is a lovely and thoughtful question, thank you, but I’m not sure if I have any advice, other than „create your own bubble and live in it because the outside world is a terrible place.” I have my own Ghost-bubble that I very rarely step out of. When I do, I sometimes regret it. You must remember that what thoughts I decide to share here are not all of the thoughts I have. I go through those same moments of disillusionment as you do, it’s just not something I necessarily want to burden others with, so you don’t see me talking about it. I always tried to make this place, to the extent I could make it so, positive and welcoming to everyone, so I keep my personal frustrations on the down low. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, though. Yes, learning to let go and not engaging with matters that leave you feeling like this is possibly the only solution with any viable effects. I try to keep in mind that my enjoyment of the band is my personal experience. What others think and how they behave or interpret things doesn’t define the true essence of what I hold dear. Ask yourself: what was it that made you fall in love with the band? What brings you real joy? Then focus on that. This won’t apply to everyone, but a lot of what brings me joy in relation with the band are things I do on my own, e.g. writing with no intention to share the texts with anyone, collecting, archiving, keeping stats on things that probably only I care about, etc. That’s my happy Ghost bubble, mostly a lone but peaceful place. I think it’s absolutely crucial to craft your own fandom experience, one that suits and satisfies your needs while also keeping you sane. This is meant to be a positive experience after all. But sometimes you gotta make effort to make it so.

85 notes · View notes

brainysmurfofficial · 7 months ago

Text

Evolution of Brainy Smurf, Part 6

Years covered: 1986-1989

Picking up our Brainy Smurf journey from where it left off, we can now have a look at the latter seasons of the cartoon show!

You know that phrase, “jack of all trades, master of none”? Well, Brainy likes to style himself as a “jack of all trades, master of all”, but in the end, it just means he’s not actually good at anything beyond forever exhibiting severe cases of the Dunning-Kruger effect. One might be tempted to claim that the only thing he’s actually good at is pretending to be good at things, but in reality, he’s not even good at that, because everyone is almost constantly seeing through the illusion.

There have been a minority of occasions where other smurfs have taken Brainy at his word – and in practically every instance, they have quickly learned their lesson – that their trust is misplaced. Anything from other smurfs trusting Brainy’s insistence about knowledge of which way to go, to the smurflings trusting that he knew what he was doing with Grandpa’s hot air balloon.

The veneer, the illusion of expertise, is what seems to matter to Brainy – the notion that if he could simply get others to believe he’s an expert, it would automatically bestow legitimacy and corresponding skill upon him.

In fact, these tactics can work quite well in the Real World if applied effectively. Someone who is genuinely very good at something but doesn’t know their own worth or how to market themselves generally isn’t going to receive the recognition of someone who is constantly putting themselves out there even if their skills are significantly less than that of others in the area.

But that isn’t really applicable to Brainy’s situation. His sneaky tactics may work on occasion – see what I mentioned above about others extending their trust to him sometimes – but they just about always pay the price for it. Everyone ultimately knows the score.

Brainy Smurf is incompetent.

And he’s incompetent at covering up his own incompetence.

In All The Smurf’s A Stage, he dubs himself as “Brainy Smurf: Manager to the Stars!”. He promises much, but doesn’t exactly deliver. When it comes to undertaking negotiations in his managerial role, Brainy instantly falls flat and fails to secure any kind of good deal, instead declaring, “I’ll make you all stars of the play, but that’s my final offer!”. (“Final offer”… as if it’s any kind of hard sell!). That is not how you negotiate, Brainy! The others already weren’t going to put up any fight or seemingly make any demands at all, and then you went ahead and promised them above and beyond what was needed, not to mention that the play didn’t have three starring roles to spare. And yet, he’s totally clueless about all this. He thinks he’s doing a good job. He’s unable to properly step outside his own mind for a second and properly survey or even understand the situation. The scene is very deliberately written this way, of course – that’s the entire joke. The writers know exactly what they’re doing and they know Brainy tends to be rather hopeless in the skills department, in contrast with what he’d like to believe.

In Sassette’s Tooth, when the other smurfs find out about Gargamel’s plot, Snappy wonders: “But who’d be silly enough to fall for a trick like that?”

Cue the group collectively exclaiming in realisation: “Brainy!”

Yeah, they know the score.

When Brainy Smurf, by some miracle or other, is actually able to get his way, his suggestions, when implemented, do not work.

In The Answer Smurf, when the smurflings follow Brainy’s advice for building their treehouse, it’s obviously structurally unsound and readily crumbles. (Handy’s machine is also having issues thanks to Brainy’s input. Brainy’s advice backfires. A lot.)

And let’s not forget Papa For A Day. There is a rather amusing set-up wherein the ironic words of “how much worse can it possibly get?” are voiced. And then, of course, this is immediately followed by...

...Brainy taking his turn in the role of Papa Smurf. This juxtaposition between scenes is very intentional.

Brainy’s supposedly “easy, step-by-step” plans are contradictory, self-defeating nonsense. Nails are to be hammered into the very same place they are to be removed from – instructions that undo other instructions. It even proves to be dangerous, with his own instructions sending him hurtling to the ground!

“Oh, well, it looked good on paper…”

This is a smurf who really doesn’t know what he’s doing.

In Predictable Smurfs, we’re also treated to a scene where Brainy states: “Using Brainy Smurf’s Boat-Building Bible, I have perfected a pod totally impervious to water penetration! In short, this boat is –” (at this point, Brainy notices with some alarm that his boat is sinking) “-Unsinkable!”

Grandpa chimes in with the following response: “Yep, just like last year!”. Not only does Brainy run rampant with making mistakes, but he doesn’t seem to learn from them (and this is widely known and understood by other smurfs). He’s prone to making the same mistakes over and over. An example of this kind of thing which I especially liked can be found in The Smurf Who Could Do No Wrong:

“Face it, Grandpa, you were just lucky in our first 326 games, but now, I, Brainy Smurf, have finally come up with a foolproof strategy to win!”

THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX GAMES. I love that. I tend to forget just how large the amount of games that have already taken place actually IS. And then the sheer size of the number always leaves me taken-aback. He seemingly didn’t win ANY of those games?? It certainly rules out Grandpa merely being “lucky”, but that doesn’t deter Brainy from claiming luck as a paper-thin excuse anyway, of course! (An additional fun thing to note here is that Brainy’s comics counterpart has also been depicted as losing at chess, but I digress!)

How informative do you think his endless supply of books on any and every subject really are? Not very. In Land of Lost and Found, he makes basic mistakes e.g. looking through the telescope incorrectly, despite having authored a work titled “Brainy Smurf’s Guide to the Stars”. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Brainy boasting about authorship of a book with a subject matter he’s clearly inexperienced with is very par-for-the-course – we are especially stripped of any benefit of the doubt when he’s writing or in the process of writing book(s) on topic(s) he cannot reasonably know about if he has only just become acquainted with the subject at hand. Brainy’s vast library of literature writ by his hand is not indicative of knowledge (as he would be wont to claim), but is instead indicative of a kind of graphomania.

To help illustrate this, we can talk about Archives of Evil.

I don’t just want to talk about how Brainy’s typical approach of “doing things completely wrong/incorrectly with total confidence” is on stark display within this episode, I also want to discuss what the episode seems to (try to) do with its ending – the statement it seems to be making.

First, though: we are treated to some rather amusing scenes when Brainy misconstrues what he is reading, unable to realise that it’s not a book of spells, it’s a cookbook. One should think the difference would be obvious, but this is Brainy Smurf…

And then we get the ending, and the way that Nemesis is defeated. Papa Smurf bluffs about the value and power of the book in his possession, so naturally Nemesis steals it so that he can absorb its contents – this is precisely what Papa wanted him to do. The book happens to have been created by Brainy.

“I now possess pure-”

“-ignorance?!”

[...]

Papa: Nemesis thought he was absorbing powerful magic, but Brainy’s book was so full of, eheh…

Papa: ...pure ignorance, the evil knowledge Nemesis absorbed fled for its life!

Nemesis is defeated by none other than the sheer power of Brainy’s ignorance. That’s it. That’s the episode resolution. (I love it).

Brainy appears to remain largely oblivious (or should I say ignorant) to the actual implications of all of this. He puts on his usual self-aggrandising spin instead, choosing to proudly proclaim, “In other words, I, Brainy Smurf, once again saved the day! Naturally, I knew what I was doing all along!”

Brainy wants to be (perceived as) a fountain of knowledge, but in the end, he’s really a fountain of ignorance.

It’s interesting to note that in Reckless Smurfs, it’s Brainy and Snappy who are (initially) the only ones unaffected by the spell that makes smurfs reckless. As discussed in a previous post (when I talked about Love Those Smurfs), whenever the village falls victim to some magic or other, any unaffected smurfs will typically already exhibit the traits brought out by the spell in a significant enough capacity for ironic purposes, and this is no exception. Snappy in this episode had a clear theme/plot line of being too reckless as a tie-in to the overall story, but what of Brainy? Well, we already know Brainy has impulsive and reckless tendencies in general, but if that wasn’t enough, the story makes a point of calling attention to this – Brainy scolds Snappy for not thinking enough about the consequences of his actions, only to cause himself to become stuck and in need of assistance for failing to do just that. In fact, it seems that Brainy and Snappy remained exempt from the effects of the Daredevil Dust because of Brainy’s reckless lack of attention to his surroundings, as it is what causes their delay, preventing them from being amongst the victims at time of “infection”.

(And of course, Brainy’s self-perception continues to be hilariously inaccurate, as he can be found referring to himself as a “responsible smurf” in Jokey’s Joke Book, for example.)

Now let’s turn our attention to Brainy’s bureaucratic inclinations – this has been discussed in prior post(s), but these latter seasons of the cartoon show also offer up plenty more examples of it. In Smurfing For Gold, Brainy tries to deal with Gargamel by drawing up a contract.

(A side note, Papa also imagines Brainy trying to solve an issue through a contract (specifically, a treaty) in the season 5 episode Papa’s Day Off).

In Locomotive Smurfs, he writes a schedule for the train and checks tickets. In Gargamel’s Quest, he turns to petitioning as a means to attempt to achieve his goal at the time.

As also discussed previously, Brainy is someone who often likes to Get Involved with things (i.e. taking advantage of the latest fad in the village, so long as he’s not the designated naysayer for that episode), getting in on the “ground floor” and taking charge in some capacity – this is often combined with his bureaucratic leanings.

In A Hole In Smurf, Brainy doesn’t hesitate: he positions himself as an essential go-to, having a proper counter and set-up at the ready in no time to distribute the sheets that smurfs need to mark their golfing scores. He’s leapt at the opportunity to formalise it all, taking the idea of golfing that’s taken the smurfs by storm, and giving it more structure and sense of being official. He’s also involved in scheduling – what times courses are available, who golfs when, etc.

Unsurprisingly, he’s also taking the opportunity to hawk his new book on golfing as well.

In The Smurfy Verdict, it’s Brainy who takes it upon himself to start lawyering all over the place, etc.

He likes to be at the centre of things, such as the numerous instances where he takes on a detective role to investigate the latest mystery that has presented itself to the village. This allows him to take charge of a/the narrative, put a spotlight on himself while also trying to satisfy his own curiosity.

And in Season 9’s Like It Or Smurf It, we see Brainy’s sense of showmanship – something he’s exhibited before in the show, but it really comes out here, when he takes on a game show host-type role.

All in all, seasons 6 and beyond are very much a continuation of the character we have already been well-acquainted with from the previous seasons, and so we get to see more of the traits that have already been expressed before – such as carelessness, cowardice, etc. I’ve mentioned his tendencies towards melodrama and exaggeration before (just one example: in Smurf Pet, he claims, “I had to risk life and limb as I was attacked by vicious Nebbits”, which really goes beyond misconstruing what actually happened and reaches into outright fabrication), and this can sometimes combine with his naysaying – there are instances where he assumes The Worst in a given situation/crisis and reacts accordingly, assuming that they’re all doomed – in other situations his reactions may not be quite so severe, but he can still be quite negative in a more low-key manner, leaning into sarcasm instead to bemoan a given situation or other. He can be very cynical sometimes.

But all the groundwork has already been laid, in previous seasons. Seasons 6 and beyond are just a continuation. Brainy vies for power, Brainy is inclined to be sneaky and deceptive at times to try and get what he wants, he is unafraid to shift blame onto others for his own mistakes, etc etc etc.

Essence of Brainy is a great character study for how we can use it to reverse-engineer a description/analysis of Brainy Smurf. While stripped of his essence, he acts opposite to his usual self in order to serve as a narrative contrast, so by looking at his portrayal in the episode while stripped of essence, we can then ask: what does this tell us about Brainy in his usual incarnation?

Brainy as depicted without his essence is meek, lacking strong opinions on things, and polite.

So Brainy as a character is overconfident, opinionated, imposing, inconsiderate, overbearing and rude.

In the season 8 intro sequence, he really does just shove Handy out of the way so that he can look through the telescope instead, ahaha. And I just thought: isn’t that a small but good/accurate encapsulation of his character? He’s rude, he’s pushy, he’s self-serving, and so on and so forth. We know the routine by now, in the latter half of the show.

Take this exchange from Jungle Jitterbug:

Brainy: “[Vanity’s] back to normal, all right – the most self-centred smurf of all!”

Jokey: [chuckles] “Next to you, Brainy!”

Yeah, pretty much. :P

This post isn’t all-encompassing; there are many other episodes/scenes that could be discussed, but I’ve mentioned before that these posts are not meant to be a completely comprehensive rundown, but rather to provide more of a scaffold, an outline of the Brainy Smurf character and its evolution.

Finally, we have to mention the comics for a moment!

The Smurflings comic was released in 1988, and I daresay the influence of cartoon Brainy on his comics counterpart is quite palpable – for one, we get a being-tossing-out-of-the-village gag!

Brainy as depicted in this comic also seems to be quite mean-spirited in actively wanting the smurflings’ concert to flop.

And… Hmm, the vibes just feel different here compared with the earlier comics Brainy. I really think the influence of cartoon Brainy is seeping in – which would especially make sense considering that the episode of the cartoon introducing the smurflings came first, before this comic, so the situation is rife with opportunity for cartoon Brainy to have a bleed-over effect!

I just don’t think this would really be in the earlier incarnation of Schtroumpf à lunettes’s particular style/approach. I’m welcome to hearing other opinions on this, but yeah. (I think cartoon Brainy is a bit of a Bad Influence in this respect, ehehehe).

And… Well, I think that’s about it? Brainy’s famous 80s cartoon iteration sketched out – and a hint on how it’s even started to make an impression on other media he’s featured in, too!

The situation seems to call for some kind of sweeping summary/statement/conclusion, and there were some things I toyed with discussing, but ultimately, I really don’t know if I could do it all justice, so I’m going to be a touch light on closing off this post.

But this nevertheless certainly closes a huge and far-reaching, impactful chapter in the Brainy Smurf timeline. Next, we’ll take a look at how Brainy’s character/characterisation proceeded after the end of the 80s cartoon show! Thanks so much for reading! ^_^

#Brainy Smurf #Smurfs #The Smurfs #Smurfs 1981 #<- I'll throw this in there too I guess lol

39 notes · View notes

delusionalbitchinthehouse · 4 months ago

Text

Special angst. Featuring touch-starved Special, homemade quintessence fuckery and lore, basically Special can't touch anyone or they die, Omega and Delta try to help.

CW : Angst, like pretty heavy angst I think, Hurt/comfort, talk of death

Ghouls are social creatures. Not all to the same extend, not all in the same way, but the fact remains : ghouls thrive in eachother's company, in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is waiting for them, ready to welcome them.

And, ghouls are physically affectionate, as a result of this need to be close and feel surrounded by loved ones. Of course, it's a generic rule, and it doesn't applie the same way to each individuals, but, most of the time, ghouls live off of casual touch, hand holding, hugs, cuddles, clasps on the shoulders, arms slung around waists, tails intertwining.

It's Satan's best joke, really, that Special can't even have that.

That he's so fucked up that not only no one bears to be in his presence, but he could also kill the poor ghoul who'd pity him enough to try and give him a hug.

Because Special's elements are all pulling him in different direction, trying to evade the too tight confine of his body, weak fire sorrowfuly begging to be smothered out, destructive quintessence furiously grasping at every bits of vital energy it can find, literaly sucking the life out of anyone stupid enough to have any kind of skin-to-skin contact with Special.

At least it's vaguely less awfull now that he managed to contain the devastating effect of his quintessence to his body - the screams of agony of the people who tried to approach him after his summoning, Omega's pained grunts as he backed away, the soft blanket he had held out for Special falling at his feet, the sheer terror on the ancient ghoul's face as he watched the humans unfortunate enough to be in Special's quintessence's range dropping like fly, oh, Special remembers it all so well.

Six Siblings died that way, simply because they were standing too close to him. Omega was, too, and is only alive because of his highly resistant nature, allowing him to stumble back in time.

It took weeks of sitting across from Omega, safe distance between them, training relentlessly to try and tame his quintessence, before Special could evolve around people without draining them. But it worked.

Provided he stays dressed head to toe, not a silver of skin showing, of course.

Special could, theoretically, be on the recieving end of ghoul's typical affection, the soft nudges, pats and caresses rythming their lives, long as no one makes contact with his skin, long as all those displays take place through a layer of clothing.

But then again, Special can't blame them for being wary, and prefering to stay away altogether. They're right, after all. You never know what might happen, if Special won't suddenly lose control and kill everyone in a three meters radius just by existing.

Special hasn't see anyone in days. Omega said he'd come by, but he hasn't yet. Special vaguely remembers something about Delta the...water ghoul, right ? Well, one of them anyway. There's a lot of those around, Special keeps forgetting who's who, doesn't see them enough to properly remember. He sticks to the dark corners, only goes out in the dead of the night, only watches the other ghouls from afar, except maybe for Omega.

But Omega's not here, hasn't been here for too long, busy taking care of Delta, whatever that means. Special wonders if he'll come back. Special wonders why he needs Omega to come to his room, why he can't bring himself to get up and go find the quint by himself. It's not like it's forbidden or anything. He just can't do it, the thought of opening his bedroom door in the middle of the day strictly unfathomable.

No, Special, at least during the day, needs someone to open it, someone to drag him outside if he really is needed, like for interviews, because apparently he's the only fucker who agreed to do them when neither Papa nor Omega are free.

A third choice, that would probably be even further down the list of candidates if it wasn't for his uncanny ability to entertain humans, with jokes and crudes, snarky remarks masking the cracks of his shattered soul.

So Special waits, sitting motionless in the middle of his bed. He hasn't seen anyone in days. He hasn't been touched since forever. No, that's not true. Omega cupped the back of his head the last time he was here, protected by the mask and balaclava Special always has to wears, and pressed a kiss to the metal covering his forehead.

It had nearly unraveld him.

Special doesn't know why Omega still bothers with him, what sick sense of responsability pushes the quint to visit Special as often as he can bear, why he insist on being so patient, so gentle, smiling with sadness in his eyes.

Special doesn't want pity. But he could never tell Omega not to come back.

His hair is getting too long. It's itchy in the back of his neck, keeps getting stuck in folds of fabric. Special shifts uncomfortably, thinking about stealing a pair of scissors and chopping it off himself. It's always a delicate task, cutting his hair : he's not good at it himself, but whenever Omega's doing it, he has to be extra cautious, avoiding any contact with Special's scalp, not even able to properly run his fingers through it. Special's hair is never perfect, always a bit messy, as a result, but now it's even worse.

He really needs Omega to come back.

It hits Special like a freight train.

He needs Omega to come back. He needs to hear his voice, to see the lines and creases on his face, the tired slope of his broad shoulders, the softness of his eyes. Special needs his tentative, fleeting touches, needs to talk to him, needs to be carefully held, even if it's all tainted with Omega's guilt, obligation and pity.

He needs to know Omega hasn't moved on, hasn't chalked him up as a lost cause, that Special hasn't lost the only comfort life ever granted him.

A knock startles him out of his thoughts, his whole being shaking with relief at the familiar pattern.

"Spesh ? Can I come in ?"

Special nearly sobs. His voice scratches in his throat.

"Yes."

Omega slips in the room. He's maskless, and Special drinks him in like a ghoul starved. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in days, but. He's smiling. Omega is smiling, wide an bright, eyes gleaming. It makes Special's own lips pull in an unfamiliar direction, up up up, until concealed under the mask, his mouth weakly mimics Omega's.

"I have good news for you, Spesh. Really good news. Would you let me bring someone else in here ?"

Special visibly flinches, though still half frozen, cossed-legged on the bed. Omega's face softens in that way Special yearns for.

"It's okay, it'll be fine. I promise. Do you trust me ?"

Special doesn't need to think about the answer, nodding with more conviction than he ever displayed before. It gets a soft chuff out of Omega.

"Attaboy."

The quint moves with a grace Special envies, reaching for the door and opening it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Maybe, to him, it is.

The ghoul that steps in looks just as tired as Omega, if not more, but is also sporting a smile, hair an absolute mess, looking like it got chopped with absolutely no regard for the aesthetical result, as uneven as it is unruly.

"Spesh, this is Delta, remember ? Delta, this is Special."

Special blinks, unmoving as a statue, as he often is. Sometimes, he thinks that if he keeps perfectly still, the universe will forget that he is supposed to be, and simply let him stop existing.

Delta. Yes Special remembers. He doesn't smell like most water ghouls, though, it's quite disarming.

"Hello, Special," Delta breathes, barely above a whisper, "it's nice to officially meet you."

Unsure of what to do with that soft tone, with how genuine Delta apparently is, Special looks toward Omega, silently begging for guidance. The quint goes to sit next to him, one hand brushing his back ever so slightly. Special has to bite his tongue to contain a relieved whimper.

"He's here because we discovered something, and I have a theory," Omega explains.

Delta is standing straight, hands folded behind his back, withstanding Special's wary scrunity with an easy smile. Something about him is...off, Special notes. It's not necessarily bad, but it intrigues him.

Delta looks like a water ghoul. Blueish tint to his grey skin, gills, needle sharp fangs, webbed fingers, a few fish-like scales visible on his forearms. And yet...

Special doesn't realize he's leaning forward until Delta tilts his head in amusement. He leans back immediately, clasping his gloved hands tighter on his lap.

"I think," Omega goes on, "that he might be able to touch you without consequences."

It's instinctive, the way Special stiffens, shaking his head desperately at Omega, clearing his throat to find his voice again.

"No, no, no, Megs, it'll end up badly-"

"Listen- listen to me, Spesh, listen," Omega interrupts his panicked babbling, craddling his masked face between two big hands, "i'm not pulling this out of my ass, okay ? Delta here, well, we needed a new quintessence ghoul, at least for a little while, until we could summon a new one, and...Delta volunteer for an...elemental transition of some kind."

Special blinks, shaking in Omega's grip. Well, that explains the funny feeling, the strange scent.

"But...Delta's still water," Special rasps. Omega hums, nodding.

"Yes, but not exclusively. He's not...quintessence either. It's more like...he became a vessel quintessence can pass through. He can channel it from the outside, dig it from the source rather than something within him like us quintessence ghoul do, quite literaly pull it from thin air, let it flow through him, and release it."

Special frowns, trying to wrap his mind around all this.

"But...raw quintessence, the one that is everywhere, is impossible to access to unless you are a quint, because your quintessence connects you to it, opens you a door. Right ?"

It's more words than he's spoken in weeks outside of interviews, but excitement suddenly buzzes in his body, brain finally feeded something to think about, to analyse, to study. Special is a cerebral creature, no matter what people might thing, and such an incredible discovery makes him feel almost alive.

Omega laughs, a breathless, amazed little thing.

"I know. But, apparently, we managed to crack that door open for Delta. He doesn't have much control over the quintessence he releases, but it's enough for the Clergy, for now."

Special glances toward Delta from the corner of his eyes.

"That's...you wrote it down, right ? Records of this could be incredibly useful-"

The smile he gets makes Special's heart miss a beat. Omega looks so fond, so full of love, it's almost painful.

"I did. I'll hand you my notes. But, back to you. What your quintessence does, is devouring energy out of living things-"

Special hangs his head down, shame creeping up his spine, wrapping around his throat.

"Hey, none of that, Spesh," Omega soothes, pulling his head up by the metal point of the mask's chin, "let me finish. What if someone was full of an energy they can fully dispose of ? If someone could let your quintessence take without it harming them, that means they could touch you. Delta could touch you."

Special blinks.

"But...you can't touch me."

"Because your quintessence takes the one at my core - drains me dry of a source of power so entangled in my being that losing it would mean losing me. But Delta's quintessence doesn't come from him."

Slowly, Delta comes closer, kneeling by the bed, offering his bare hand to Special, smiling, and Special- can't understand why. Why anyone would willingly take such risks - first the attempted elemental transition, now this.

Omega brushes Special's shoulder.

"Please, try it. I know...how hard isolation is for you. Please, sparkle, try. If anything goes wrong i'll pull Delta away before any real damages can be done, I promise."

The coppery taste of blood hits Special's tongue, and it's the only reason he's aware he's biting his lip. Then Delta talks.

"I volunteered, Special. I know this is going to work. I trust Omega's theory, and. I think I can trust you, too."

This time Special does sob.

"If I hurt you..."

"You won't. Give me your hand, Special, it'll be okay."

And Special is terrified. Terrified that it won't work, that he'll hurt Delta, who seems the nicest ghoul you could ever wish for. Terrified that it'll work, that the one time he manages to touch someone without killing them will kill him, that all it would take would be a brush of skin against his own to destroy him.

Despite all that, Special slowly, oh so slowly takes one glove off, revealing too-pale skin and twitchy fingers. Delta' smile widens, then the air shifts a bit, starts blurring around him. One of his eyes turns purple, his skin shimering slightly.

"It's a bit like holding my breath," the water (?) ghoul explains, "i can't keep it for too long, maybe a couple of minutes, after, i have to release it. Open the valves, kind of. But, if I just keep them open, just let quintessence flow in and out freely, like this-"

Another shift in the air. The shimer on Delta's skin dims, his features relaxing.

"Then I can keep it that way as long as i like, effortlessly for the most part. That's how we can touch. I'm ready when you are."

He's going to do this. Special is going to do this. His hand is shaky when he wraps it loosely around Delta's - ready to pull away at any moment - but the second their skin makes contact, he gasps and can't help tightening it.

Delta doesn't flinch. His skin glints a bit more, but that's it. Special's quintessence is hungrily drinking in the one flowing though Delta, but he doesn't need it. He can let Special take it.

Salt. Salt on his tongue, now. Special is crying. Holding onto Delta's hand for dear life, shoulders shaking, Special is crying, the water ghoul shushing him softly, thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand.

Omega helps unclasping the mask, watching with tears of his own as Special takes it off, throws it somewhere, who cares, where the balaclava and second glove quickly follow.

Delta opens his arm, still not letting go. Special sobs so hard he's sure it's going to turn him inside out, slidding off the bed and into Delta's firm, tender embrace, burrying his face in the water ghoul's neck, finally able to touch, to feel, truly feel.

He can't see it, but Omega's crying in earnest now, Delta fighting tears as well.

Special isn't okay. Special might never be okay, Delta might be the only person he'll ever get to touch, it might stop working at some point, there might be a catch, but oh, Special doesn't care.

He'd trade his infernal eterinity for this moment in time, folded in arms that hold him like something precious.

#what special doesn't know is that the other ghouls constantly ask about him #even those who don't know him much #they think letting have some space is the best since he seems so keen on staying in his room #they don't know that his self-impose loneliness is killing him #and despite what special thinks #omega doesn't do any of this out of obligation #he cares #he cares so much #their relationship in this breaks me #i hope all the quintessence shit is at least half understandable #there's probably plot holes but oh well #delta is too good for this wolrd btw #i tried something different for his elemental transition #he's still water #but he can sort of #welcome quintessence i guess #anyway #hope that makes some sort of sense #special i'm so sorry for putting you through this #special ghoul #omega ghoul #delta ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

16 notes · View notes

ofbreathandflame-archive · 1 year ago

Note

Personally, I dnt see Nesta abusing Feyre because of how vague their history in their past home was like. They seemed on v equal ground wit the way they argued and fought. Feyre calls Nesta a burden then Nesta retaliates. Nesta warns Feyre about the old hag and Feyre brings up their past fight from the other night. Nesta tries to save Feyre and Feyre realizes there is more to her sister than she thought.

They always were at odds with each other but their never seemed to be any serious power dynamic between them. Neither was afraid of the other and both saw themselves in the other. I honestly think they both have stuff to answer for from their days in the cottage.

In SF, the book even says that Feyre wasn’t perfect and that she made mistakes but their past doesn’t have to define their future. Again, we dnt know what those mistakes could have been since there is such vague exploration of their dynamic back then. But passages in the books like these make me see that it wasn’t abuse between them. It certainly wasn’t healthy but definetly not so one-sided as many antis make it out to be.

hi anon!!

my response is loooooong 😭

i do really want to talk about this. i think the set up in the cabin is very important to the foundation of the sisters' relationship, and because its left as this gaping hole that lacks nuance and logic, it muddles the characterization going forward. a court of silver flames runs into trouble for this reasons, hence why is said it employs the use of 'placeholder' plotlines. to start, as many have stated before me, the set-up in the cabin makes no sense. none. not even a little. that matters for a lot of reasons but specifically because we can't really argue the validity of any of the sister's actions when the worldbuilding around them has none to begin.

its very hard to apply a real system of continual power, abuse, and neglect, when the circumstances around such dynamic is vague and uncommitted. the story doesn't want to commit to the consequences, but it also doesn't want to establish a relationship between the sisters without placing feyre as the permanent victim. so - it created an absurd scenario that doesn't make any sense. what i am saying is - the story has to go wayyyy out of its way to make elain and nesta 'villains' - to the point that the plot can't even support it. like for example, the girls live together in the cabin without feyre hunting for about a good 3-4 years. that means: someone clothed them, someone fed them, someone cleaned, someone took care of them. someone picked up the slack and its wasn't feyre. we know that mama archeron dies when the girls are 8, 10, and 11 - and the shortly after that, they lose their wealth. so - the girls are maybe 11, 13, and 14. literal children. and again - someone had to be taking care of them, a dynamic existed before feyre went hunting, but somehow never gets brought up. if the story is committed to this story, why doesn't it highlight nesta/feyre/elain's relationship in the moments where feyre isn't hunting? what was their relationship like? what was feyre like? these are perfect moments to establish the relationship. even if the sisters were lazy - what would they be doing all day? how would they even sustain themselves on meat all year long? even if the sisters were evil sisters there's little motivation for them to even be like this. the sisters are only three years apart. literally. when feyre was 8, elain was 10, and nesta was 11. thats not a big enough age-gap to even sustain partially of what the story argues about why the sisters have a disconnect. nesta would have been a BABY when feyre and elain were born - where is the motivation? how do elain and nesta develop a faction when they would have been mere toddlers when feyre came into the picture???

either papa archeron isn't a deadbeat or some mysterious force clothed, bathed, fed, and took care of them. like even the circumstances behind papa archeron being a deadbeat make no sense??/

and then there's the added layer of the suppose abuse the grandmother and mother were doling out to nesta, elain, and feyre. nesta was physically abused, and feyre was neglected to hell and high water - there's a plot pont to exploit right there. if the story wants to commit to nesta being abusive, but also wants her to be sympathetic, validating where her anger comes from, while acknowledging how it negatively affected her relationships with her sisters would be the perfect way to go. playing into the mirror sacrifices these sisters (youngest and oldest) made towards one another would have been *chefs kiss*. but again - the story leaned way too moral to even attempt a conversation like this. its willing to forgive the tamlins, rhys's and cassians, but not the women in the story. the thing is - the story doesn't commit to real faults with feyre - and it doesn't do that with nesta or elain either. they are only a standard to compare feyre against. and that's why the story cannot commit to a basic conversation between the sisters - there's nothing that exists between the except the drama. nesta has to atone for mystery reasons bc the story has rewrote their dynamic too many times. sjm acknowledges that the sisters are caricatures at this point of the story, but she doesn't rewrite the first book to accommodate her switch is plot direction.

nesta can't really tell feyre 'why she treated her x way ' bc the story doesn't know why either. a reason doesn't exist. elains book will probably have the same issue, on an even broader scale bc it doesn't actually have a reason these sisters chose to stare at a wall for 24 hours out of the day. the reason elain 'chooses not to help' is even more flimsy than the reason it gave nesta. esp bc the story later establishes that elain isn't even supposed to be a bad person, she can actually be caring. shes also a gardener so it also makes no sense that she would...cringe away from feyre bc of dirt???? that part makes no sense. she literally refused gloves at some point bc she liked to use her hands. she does so in the same book. and i don't even like this character but its the truth, and its why i cannot adequately take what the story argues about the sister seriously. nothing about what it argues makes any logical sense. it for this story...yeah that matters.

so....its valid that people don't take those chapters seriously. they are actually written with unserious intent. like how can i be angry at the sisters when the story argues they were essentially staring into space for eight years??? argues that papa archeron with 10000000 connections couldn't just....use those connections like he literally did near the end of tar and war? that the sisters could live off wild meat for years and still be alive? that toddler nesta and baby elain annexed toddler feyre??? its an unserious situation here. like feyre would rather -- @ 11, 14 or whatever age the story chooses to argue -- would immediately turn to the deadly woods and not yknow...an actual job??? mmkay.

88 notes · View notes

deadbydangit · 1 year ago

Note

So I just read your Dbd Killers as parents and I was wondering if you could do the knight and the Oni too I'm sorry but I just love them so much and I just want to know what they would be like as parents you don't have to if you don't want to of course have a good day or night.

I absolutely can. I'm going to add another killer on there if that's alright. Please enjoy

Killers as Parents

Knight, Oni, Mastermind

Knight

First off, he doesn't really want to be a dad.

He never had any interest in children.

But he's also afraid he'd be an awful father.

He's terrible at expressing emotions other than rage.

The moment he lays eyes on the child, everything changes.

He'll become a papa bear.

His men are always around too, so the kids will have four 'uncles' to help out too.

God help anyone who lays a hand on this child.

Tarhos has very traditional views on what men and women should be doing.

So, if you have girls, expect him to be spending a little less time with them.

He will have a heavier focus on the boys.

From the moment they can lift a sword, they'll be trained.

If his daughter is interested in learning about the use of swords, he'll be hesitant.

You'll have to really prime him to understand that gender roles don't apply anymore.

If our son doesn't want to fight, he doesn't have to. If our daughter wants to learn how to use a sword, she can.

It might take him a while to understand, but he'll eventually get it.

He's not the most cuddly dad in the world.

But his children will always feel protected.

Even though he doesn't say it often, his kids know he loves them.

Oni

He's ecstatic!

Someone to carry on the family name.

Kazan never thought this day would really come!

He had a wife and son before, but he wasn't ready at that point in his life.

He's very ashamed at how little he paid attention and cared about them.

Now he's ready, and he's willing to make up for what he did.

He knows it won't change the past, but it at least brings him some solace knowing that he's really going to try this time.

However, he can't bring himself to hold the baby.

He's terrified he'll hurt them.

Just coach him through it and he'll slowly start to relax.

Kazan just needs you around to help him.

He used to be very traditional.

He had a very ridged view on what men and women should be doing.

However, after all he's seen in his life, his views have changed slightly.

If his son doesn't want to be a samurai, he'll be disappointed, but he won't hate his child.

But he'll still be teaching him basic self-defense, that's not up for negotiation.

If his daughter wants to learn how to use a sword, he'll be apprehensive, but he'll respect and teach her.

He's still going to want to put pretty clothes on her and put flowers in her hair.

He wants to see that beauty.

No matter what his kids end up doing (as long as it's something positive and productive to society) he's proud.

That being said, he can be very strict, but it's only because he wants to see his children grow up to be strong respectable adults.

But, in the end, it's because he truly loves them, just as much as he loves you.

Mastermind

Wesker is actually very excited to be a father.

Both of you, perfect beings, bring another perfect being into the world.

But he's also anxious about it.

He has so many enemies, and he's worried that you and the child will be a bargaining chip.

So, as much as he hates to do so, you both have to be a secret in his life.

It pains him to not be able to talk about how amazing his child and partner are.

But it's for your own safety.

He's often traveling for work, so he can't always be around

When he is able to be around, he's an excellent father.

He's willing to do his share of the housework, if not more, so you could get a break.

Playing with your children, teaching them skills, occasionally spoiling them.

He knows it won't make up for the fact that he's gone, but it's an effort.

No doubt they'll be athletically adept, so he would very much for them to find some physical activity to hone those skills.

His children will be respectful, polite, and well spoken.

He doesn't care if they go to work with him, or somewhere else to work (Just not the BSAA).

It's their lives.

As long as they make something of it, he'll be proud of them.

Those children will grow up to be honest, hardworking, intelligent people.

And, not for a second, will they deny that they had an amazing father.

#dbd imagines #dbd ask blog #dbd x reader #dbd killer #dbd knight #dbd oni #dbd mastermind

88 notes · View notes

gentlebilady · 6 months ago

Text

I Heard That There's a Special Place (Harringrove Pink Pony fic part 4)

Steve smiled tightly at the manager of the Dairy Queen, nodding his head, before ducking out the front door. Rejection number four. Rejection number four today. He’d lost track of the amount of No’s he’d received, not to mention that number of applications he’d submitted and hadn’t heard back on. He didn’t understand. He had work experience, he had a high school degree, he was a personable and friendly guy! He sighed, dejected, tired, hungry. It was Wednesday – the next day would make it a week he’d been in California. He had only paid at the motel for a week. He decided to take a break for the day – it was 3:00 pm. He’d head back to the motel, maybe talk to Sherri for a bit if she was free, pay for another week, and rethink his strategy.

He parked in his parking spot on the back of the building, grabbed the bag of day old pastries he’d picked up from his new favorite bakery (he’d applied there Monday, and during his impromptu interview the manager had offered him a Danish – Steve was a new life-long devotee), and headed to the lobby. It was empty, strains of the Beach Boys coming from a hidden radio.

“Sherri?”

“Just a sec!”

A moment later she wandered out from the back.

“Hello, Steven! How was it?” He grimaced. “Well, damn.”

He held up the bag of mixed pastries.

“Coffee?”

“Just started a pot. Only be a few minutes.”

Steve nodded, placed the bag on the counter.

“Be right back.”

He headed to his room, quickly changing out of his Job Search Suit and into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved polo, before heading back up front. Sherri was already sitting in one of the chairs, two mugs on the table, and the pastries arranged on a plate.

He sat down, taking his mug with a sigh and a smile, grabbing the apple strudel from the plate.

“Am I too old?” Sherri laughed outright. “I’m serious!”

She looked at him, really seemed to analyze him, a smile in her eyes.

“Well, hon, are you applying for jobs too young for you?”

Steve wasn’t sure he understood the question; apparently, Sherri could tell.

“You’re not too old, Steven. But a lot of these places are specifically looking for college students.”

“What?! Why? Don’t they want someone with experience?”

“I don’t know, hon.” Her lips screwed up ruefully. That took the wind out of his indignation. He blew air through his lips.

“So, how do I know what jobs will hire me?”

“If I figure that out, I’ll let you know.” She took a bite of a guava pastry. “Maybe just start by looking at jobs you might not normally consider.”

Steve didn’t know what that would be, but he nodded his head, lost in thought. The Mama’s and the Papa’s came on, and Sherri hummed along, her eyes closed, mug in her hand.

While I’m far away from you, my baby

Whisper a little, prayer for me, my baby

Steve stood up to grab the pile of papers from the counter – he hadn’t checked today’s yet, having gotten straight on the road after getting up this morning, a list of businesses from the day before he was still working on. He brought them back to the chair, drinking his coffee as he checked the Wanted Ads. He looked for something different, jobs he wouldn’t give a second glance. Most of them required certifications or degrees he didn’t have. Many of them he’d already applied to. He started again, going back to the beginning of the page, and tried to look at each listing with a fresh eye.

Comics/Records/Books.

Steve had initially skipped over it for a few reasons: he wasn’t really a reader, he didn’t have a record player, and his dad had always said reading comics “crafted an inferior mind”. Well, his dad wasn’t here now, and Steve was getting worried he was unhirable. So he jotted down the name and address. He found a few other possibilities – a veterinary clinic looking for a receptionist and a bakery asking for an opener. He looked through everything a third time, just to be sure he wasn’t missing any potentials, but nothing else seemed remotely possible. He set the paper down, leaning back in the chair and taking a deep drink of his coffee – it was losing heat and he did not want to be drinking hot coffee gone cold.

“What’d you find?” Sherri peered at him, a second pastry in her hand, coffee mug empty on the table.

“Book store, veterinary clinic, bakery.”

“You sound disappointed.”

Steve sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, pulling on it slightly – he was getting a headache.

“That’s only three.”

“Well, that’s three more than you had 20 minutes ago. That’ll keep you busy for a few hours tomorrow, and by then another paper will have come out with new ads.” She nudged the plate toward him, one pastry left on it. Steve smiled and shook his head.

“I think I need some real food.”

“Well, we’re having spaghetti tonight, would you like to join?”

Steve blanked – he hadn’t expected that. Sherri had been kind to him this past week (exceedingly kind), but he’d started thinking of her as a land lady, and, yes, he had no experience with that sort of relationship, but he had assumed there would be a certain amount of distance (coffee and pastry aside). His brain caught on spaghetti. Damn, that sounded good. He’d been eating mostly fast food, supplementing with whatever could fit in the tiny fridge in his motel room.

“Thank you. I would like that.”

Sherri smiled and said she’d come get him at the end of her shift. She produced the bag that the pastries has been in and slid the remaining bear claw back into it, handing that to Steve. Then she headed to the back, plate and mugs in hand.

Steve sat a few moments after she’d disappeared, feeling a little at a loss. He had about an hour to kill and wasn’t sure what he should be doing. Pastry in hand, he headed to his room, wondering if he needed to bring anything to dinner tonight. Beer? Wine? He wasn’t sure if Sherri drank. He got into his room, mind on dinner, and tripped over a pair of jeans. Were those dirty? He stared at them, unable to remember when he’d worn them. He looked around, startled by how messy the room was. It made the room feel small and close (well, smaller than it already was). He had never been a neat freak but he appreciated a tidy living space. He picked up the clothes strewn around the room, thinking he’d need to wash them soon. Then he had a moment of panic, wondering how he was supposed to wash them. Where would he find a washer and dryer? He’d have to ask Sherri. He looked around for something to put the pile of dirty clothes in and came up with nothing, so he dropped them in the chair by the window. Then he went to the counter and sink outside the bathroom and straightened up the few items there – hair products, mostly, some underwear and socks he’d missed on the floor.

Steve surveyed the room, hands on hips, feeling a little pleasure well up in him, then glanced at the clock. All that cleaning had taken ten whole minutes. His smile melted off his face.

“What the hell?” he whispered to himself.

He decided to take a shower. He took his time, leisurely washing his hair, letting the conditioner sit a little longer than usual, trying to relax and unwind; then he panicked that maybe he’d taken too long, and that Sherri was knocking on the door and he couldn’t hear her and she was gonna leave without him.

Steve stuck his head out of the shower, trying to listen for distant knocks; he even opened the bathroom door (the room was very small), focusing closely, but he didn’t hear anything. That didn’t mean she hadn’t already left. He hurriedly rinsed his hair, washed his face and body quickly (and less than thoroughly), and tripped out of the tub, pulling the curtain off a few rungs. He ran out of the bathroom wrapping a towel around his waist, eyes shooting to the clock-radio on the bed side table. 4:30. He hadn’t even been in the shower for ten minutes, Sherri wouldn’t been showing up for another half an hour.

“Harrington, seriously, get a god damn grip, man.” Steve shook his head out, then went to the drawers to find some clean clothes. Oh. Damn. He did need to do some laundry. He put on his last pair of clean boxers (guess he’d be skipping the shower in the morning), the jeans he’d been wearing earlier, and a (different) long-sleeved polo. He reapplied antiperspirant and spritzed some cologne before styling his hair.

A knock came at the door. The clock said 5:05. Steve’s brow scrunched.

“What?!” It did not take him over half an hour to get ready. Did it? The knock came again.

“Coming!” He grabbed his wallet and keys and opened the door, Sherri waiting on the other side with a tote bag, a colorful, nubby looking cardigan on he hadn’t noticed earlier. He smiled at her.

“Come on then, Steven. I’m starving.”

He checked that he had the room key before closing the door behind him and following her out into the evening.

#I LEARNED HOW TO ADD A READ MORE LINK #HAHAHA #UNSTOPPABLE #harringrove #steve harrington #my fic #stranger things #i heard that there's a special place

11 notes · View notes