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kamiversee · 8 months ago

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ F*CK THE LIST

✧.* CHAPTER 2 || Fuck The Foolish Mistakes

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A continued tale after Gojo Satoru's blackmailing seemed to have much more to it than meets the eye.

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, masturbation, pervy!gojo, tw; mentions/hints of stalking & obsession, some heinous activities, dark themes, disturbing actions, etc.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.2k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——THE SUMMER BEFORE everything went to shit for you was the same summer in which you and Shoko decided to move in together. For two months of break, it felt so much longer than that. It was a time in which you spent getting closer and closer to Shoko, so much so that it was only natural that you would call her one of your closest friends.

Although, said friendship seemed rather one-sided. Sure, you both got along pretty well but from what it seemed— Shoko had plenty of other friends to run to whenever she wished. So, after you realized that, you got a bit more real with yourself and dubbed her as simply your roommate. Closest friend, but roommate nonetheless.

This summer was also spent single after you’d gotten dumped a few weeks before the last semester ended. You were sad about it for a while but Shoko was there to cheer you up. Meanwhile, the other people you thought were your friends steadily started to showcase their truer colors, revealing how they never really cared too much about you to begin with and dropped you just like your boyfriend had.

Ah, whatever, that’s all old stuff anyway. It took you maybe a week to get over all that foolishness. So by the time summertime came around, you thought things would get better for you. Instead, you lost your job and that’s where your struggle began. You may have picked up one or two during your summer break but ultimately, none of them stuck long enough to trickle over to your final two semesters of school.

And as you went through such things, a certain someone was keeping track of it all like some fucking stalker. This person in question being none other than Gojo Satoru himself. Unlike you, his summer was rather pleasant. He started babysitting due to his not-so-hidden love for children, he went out a decent number of times, and he heard things about you without even asking.

Why? Because he had a wonderful friend who talked about you to no end— Gojo became very thankful for Shoko because it’s due to her that the pages of his notebook began to fill with endless entries about you. Perhaps journaling you became some kind of hobby for him.

Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t see you as much since it was summertime so he treasured every bit of information he got on you. Why was he so hooked on noting it all down though? Was it really curiosity at this point or, was it something so much more? He’d long since labeled it as a crush but that doesn’t excuse his journaling.

Hell, at one point Gojo found himself mindlessly writing down vivid details of the way your laugh sounds— from any pitch that’s ever grazed his ears, to the number of breaths taken before and after. It was then that Gojo dropped his pencil and read over what the hell he’d written down.

His hand shot up to his forehead and his fingers went to soothe his temples, brows tensing, and eyes narrowing at his own words. Did he… Did he really just sit here and describe a woman, who he’s never spoken to, and how her laugh sounds? At the realization, Gojo had to close his journal and push it away from himself.

Sometimes, he may try to pretend like he doesn’t see any harm behind this journaling thing of his but at moments like this… He nearly creeps himself out. Imagine if you were to ever stumble upon such a thing. Gojo’s almost disgusted with himself. Not even a hi or hello has ever been spoken to you and yet here he was printing the details of that joyful sound you make when you find something humorous.

Gojo was very self-aware by that point, mentally telling himself that he needed to stop this madness and just talk to you like he craved. Maybe Suguru was right, maybe your having a boyfriend didn’t matter.

On that day, Gojo should’ve listened to his own warnings. He should’ve taken care of his own red flags right then and there.

But instead, he only got worse.

—--

Depicting the details of your laughter was one thing. But going out of his way to print out photos of you he’d found on Instagram was an entirely different level of crazy.

Okay, so perhaps this was no longer just some cute lil’ crush… Gojo doesn’t know how his… curiosity got so dark. He doesn’t know where or when it really started but at some point, he thinks he became aware that this wasn’t exactly normal. Eventually, Gojo realized this was more of an obsession— you were an obsession.

A scary one too. Even scary to himself. The mere mention of your name would make Gojo’s heart race, whenever Shoko came around smelling like you in the slightest bit, Gojo could feel his mind blur and his thoughts instantly run to you.

One time Shoko, who was just as oblivious to this as everyone else at the time, showed the man a video of you and her trying some challenge together. Gojo doesn’t remember the challenge at all or even what either of you was doing in that video but he does remember having his eyes all over you.

He remembers seeing you hug Shoko by the end of the video and the feeling that burned in his heart. Such a deep form of jealousy swirled inside him and he couldn’t understand it. He never cared about Shoko being close to you before but now, it had pained him to watch his friend have the opportunity to feel you– to talk to you.

Something that Gojo told himself he no longer deserved to do. Yeah, he knows it was even more foolish but he felt as though he should be self-punished for his strange actions in regards to you.

Those photos that he printed of you went right into his journal, along with an entry about how he wonders what it’s like to feel your touch. He wonders what holding a full conversation with you would be like. Would you laugh at the things he says? Would you playfully hit him if he utters something ridiculous? Are your hands soft? Would they feel soft wrapped around his cock-

Yet again did Gojo find himself dropping his pencil. Though, he doesn’t know which reason was worse. The fact that he really wrote that question down or the throb he felt in his cock at the mere thought of said question. Gulping, he told himself for the millionth time that he was losing his damn mind.

So much so that he had to push his journal away and really think about what the hell he just asked. He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh at himself. He’d lost it, hadn’t he? Thinking about you in such a vulgar way without even knowing what talking to you is like is the very definition of insanity, yes?

No, this is just his obsession. He’s not insane. But hey, maybe the two go hand and hand— maybe there’s no difference between being batshit crazy and obsessing over someone…

Either way, Gojo tries to collect himself, moving to look down at his current state only to find that his cock didn’t just throb, instead the damn thing got hard. The sight was disappointing, to say the least. Gojo stared at the outline of his dick, wondering what the hell is wrong with his body and how the fuck he got hard so damn fast. All he did was think about you…

He moves to part his legs a bit more, trying to comfort himself and deciding he was going to ignore his boner and just return to writing. Though, as he leans up and pulls his journal back toward himself, his cock aches yet again. Gojo lets out a little groan, somewhat scolding himself for being like this.

And then he manages to ignore himself for a bit longer. At least, up until he does nothing more than read your name on his page. His focus narrowed in on the letters of your name, the sound of it echoing throughout his brain before his lips parted and he let out a sound.

His hand shoots up to his face and he covers his mouth, completely confused as to what the hell he’d just done. There was absolutely no way he’d nearly moaned at your name alone. Oh this was… No, he was losing it-, not even, he’d lost it already.

Gojo steadily wiped his mouth, fingers rubbing over his jawline for a moment before he looked down to his crotch. He could now feel how stupidly wet his tip was. Was he in heat or something? How the hell did he get so horny from… reading your name? Thinking about you? Hell, he doesn’t even know where to pinpoint the cause of all this anymore.

Shaking his head, his first thought was that he was in no way going to touch himself to the thought of you. Absolutely not. Fuck no. He may be obsessed but he’s not a… actually, there’s really no word he could use to describe what he’s not right now because he pretty much checks every box for an obsessive pervert.

“Shit,” Gojo huffed, glancing over to his wide-open room door. A second passes, then two, then three before he’s standing to his feet and walking over to the door.

The man glanced out into the hall, finding no signs of Geto anywhere before he shuts his door. Then, he pauses and stares at the lock. He’s not really about to do this, is he?

…

He locks the door and rushes right back over to his seat. Gojo slouches back a little this time and his legs part, his eyes low on his hard cock resting against his thigh and how painfully it was bulging against the fabric of his clothes.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He whispers. There’s no way you’d gotten him this hard…

You and your… everything. The very idea of you made Gojo roll his hips upward, causing faint friction against his clothed cock. Then he shook his head and looked away from himself.

“Nope, I’m not doin’ this shit,” He whispered. He can’t jerk off to some girl he doesn’t even know. He shouldn’t.

It’d be different if you were some pornstar he was infatuated with, then he could jerk off to you and there’d be no issue. But when you’re his friend’s friend… it’d be so weird of him to do so.

Even if you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Despite your laugh leaving him in some kind of trance. Ignoring the way your voice sounds. Disregarding how kind you seem from afar. Nevermind the way you walk, the things you wear— and how the first time he saw you, you were in a skin-tight blue dress-

Gojo’s jaw drops a little, “Oh fuck,” His voice is already breathy and his hand has found its way to his aching cock, groping himself through his clothing.

He looks down at himself all over again, body hot and breath unsteady already. He swallows thickly and finally lets out a groan before moving to tug his cock out, watching how it slaps against his abdomen and letting out another heavy breath of air.

Gojo moves his hands to his thighs and just gazes at his cock for a moment, seeing how it twitches so desperately-, desperately for you, and how his tip is leaking with precum already. Hell, it look like he came already, cum leaking down along his dick so lewdly.

What would anyone think if they found him like this…

One of his hands moves to grab his journal and he flips to the page with your pictures on it. He shouldn’t do this. This is wrong-

A whine slips past his lips the second his eyes are met with your face. Then his fingers are wrapping around his shaft and he’s jerking himself off without second thought. “Fuuck,” He moans, tossing his head back with his lower lip beginning to tremble already.

His hand was working the length of his dripping cock furiously, back arching ever so slightly in pure desperation and utter need. Oh how he wished it was your hand here instead of his. Fuck, what would your mouth feel like? Hell, how are you during sex? Are you the submissive type? Would you let him have his way with you? Fuck that pretty mouth of yours like he wishes to?

Or are you the more dominant type? Would you have his legs shaking from sucking him off? You probably would. He can only imagine what your lips would look like wrapped around his cock— already wet with spit and dribbles of his cum. Your face would probably be all messy but you might like that kinda thing, right?

Gojo whines, his eyes flickering and hand not slowing for even so much as a second. Shit, your mouth is probably heavenly but what would your pussy feel like? How wet would you get for him? Would you take him all in one go? Beg him to fuck you faster?

Fuck, would you get on top of him? Take control? Ride him til’ he’s the one begging you to stop? Again, Gojo moans into the air, a few times actually. His wrist rotates as he fists his needy cock, veiny length aching for anything from you.

He wonders if you’d want him to talk you through it. Or if you’d talk him through it. Would you be mean? Nice? Fuck, his thoughts are driving him crazy. In all honesty, he’d consider himself a complete slut for you. He’d do whatever you wanted him to.

Gojo ends up shifting, moving to hunch forward as he grows a bit overwhelmed. “Fuck, fuck-,” He gasps and chokes out a whimper of your name. Would you let him be some little slut for you? Because he would be, with zero hesitation. “Fuck me,” Gojo mumbles, watching as his cock twitches in his hands.

You’d probably praise him, wouldn’t you? Tell him how good he’s doing for you, encourage him to keep going-, or maybe you’d do the exact opposite. Perhaps you would degrade him.

Gojo’s eyes roll back at the mere imagination of you ever degrading him, calling him pathetic for being like this, a slut for shamefully jerking off to you, or even a bitch-

He’s cumming before he even realizes he is, moaning and moaning after the thought of you ever calling him such a thing. He doesn’t even know why that turned him on so much, he’s never been into that kinda thing before but when it’s you, shit… he can’t even control himself.

Messing up his hand, groaning out your name, moving to stand up with shaky legs, and continuing as his cock doesn’t go down. Then Gojo looks at the picture of you again, aligning his cock with the image and stroking himself angrily. He cannot believe himself right now but it’s much too late to care.

The damage is beyond done as he starts moaning again, small whines of fuck leaving his wet lips over and over the more he stares at your picture. Then he’s thrusting his hips into his hand, moving his free hand to grab ahold of the desk in front of him as if to brace himself.

Gojo heaves as he gets himself off. Tears well up in his eyes and he just knows he sounds so stupidly desperate right now, moaning, groaning, whining, and even whimpering for you whilst he fucks his fist. Eventually closing his eyes, he imagines you there with him, mentally illustrating the way your face would twist up every time he thrusts his cock deep inside you.

He could make you feel so fucking good if you ever let him. He’d treat you so well, give you anything and everything under the sun, make sure there’s always a smile on your face, and prioritize your needs over his own at all times.

By that point, he’s chanting your name in mindless little whispers, feeling his balls ache before the tip of his cock spurts out thick and hot ropes of cum— all over that same picture he’d been staring at.

Left panting, Gojo had to deal with the aftermath of his high. His eyes were slow to open and when he realized he came all over one of his pictures of you, he was even more disgusted with himself.

It took him a moment to gather himself after his actions but when he finally does, he cleans the filthy mess he’d made of himself and that damn photo before closing his journal and putting it away— telling himself he’d never do that again.

—---

Although, his little declaration didn’t last very long. A week later and he was jerking off with you in mind yet again. The same guilt and disgust follow afterward and Gojo tells himself he needs something else to put his focus on that’s not you.

Like his job for example; babysitting. What better to put his mind on to distract him from the way his mind, body, and soul crave you so desperately?

With that in mind, Gojo started with his scheduling. As time stood, he had roughly three different kids he babysat on a regular basis, all of which were looked after separately but looked after nonetheless. The first was a girl, whose name was Nobora. She was rather bratty in Gojo’s opinion but he didn’t mind, he liked how having her around reminded him of having that of a little sister.

Then there was Megumi, a child who so clearly hates him but is forced to be around him anyway. That hatred got even worse when the kid broke his leg while on Gojo’s watch— an event in which Gojo will forever find strange because the two were at a park and he swears he looked away for two seconds only to hear screaming moments later by nearby children.

By the time he made it to Megumi, his leg was broken and Gojo was to blame.

Aside from that, the last kid that Gojo found himself watching over sometimes was Itadori Yuji. Now this, this is where things got interesting.

For starters, Gojo never understood why he was hired to watch over Yuji when the kid had a perfectly capable older brother to do so. Then again, he didn’t question it once he saw he got paid quite handsomely for it.

Sometimes Gojo went over to the Itadori residence and others he picked Yuji up. Either way, the number of times Gojo encountered Sukuna was rather slim. They only ever interacted when it was time for payments to be made. Outside of that, Gojo knew little of Sukuna (his school reputation for being a major partier aside).

Any other information he got from the man came from Yuji, who Gojo would randomly question every now and then. Though, Yuji never spoke much about his older brother— only that he’s a bit short-tempered. Given that, Gojo had no reason to think twice about their family or relations at all.

Even when Yuji would appear with a bruise or two, Gojo didn’t put two and two together until it was much too late. The first few bruises, Yuji said he got them from playing around too much and falling, to which Gojo believed since he’d seen how clumsy Yuji could be firsthand.

As such, this went on for weeks and weeks but the day Gojo finally started realizing something was up, was the same day in which he’d finally meet the consequences for his previous actions.

On that day, before Yuji was dropped off to be babysat, Gojo was busy making vows to himself. The first being that he’d finally man up and fucking talk to you. He doesn’t really know what finally came over him but he felt as though it was time. Something, perhaps the universe, told him that after today— he’d grow some balls and hold a genuine conversation with you.

Only a few days ago had he learned from Shoko that you now resided with her so things were going to be rather easy. There was about a week and a half of summer left, giving Gojo some time to not only talk to you but also get to know you firsthand.

His self-revelation came about after he reread every journal entry he had of you, jotting down one final entry of how he planned to talk to you. It was supposed to be casual, he would ask for your number, become friends with you, and go from there based on whether or not you showed any attraction toward him.

With such plans in mind, Gojo thinks it is safe to say that his obsession is finally being tamed. He was getting in control of it after having had such lewd thoughts of you multiple times within the past month and making entries of how he was left feeling in his journal.

That may have been what his last straw was— the whole pervertedness of it all. He was getting weirded out by it himself. Maybe once he started talking to you, his obsession would completely die down. Perhaps the reality of you would help ground him from this fictional high he’s had himself on ever since his obsession was born.

Though, it seems the world finds humor in the suffering of people and Gojo was forced to learn this the hard way.

Of course, as soon as he tells himself he’s gonna clean up his act and do what’s right, his punishment shows up in the form of a person who finds joy in watching others struggle. This person is none other than Sukuna himself, who shows up at the worst time imaginable.

Amid pure stupidity and thoughtlessness, Gojo quickly found himself in a situation in which could not be undone.

—-

After babysitting Yuji for maybe two hours, there was a knock on Gojo’s front door. Yuji sat on the living room couch, watching some cartoons as he swung his feet back and forth. Gojo was in the nearby kitchen, journal in hand before he went to answer the door.

That wonderful journal of his was left sitting on the kitchen counter, right in the open for anyone to see.

That aside, when Gojo opened his front door, he was met with Sukuna. The two barely even greeted one another before the tatted man reminded Gojo it was payment day. The transaction was meant to be done inside so, Gojo allowed Sukuna to enter the apartment.

Yuji hardly glanced over to the two men before Sukuna nodded his head back, silently telling the kid to go ahead and make his way to the car. With no argument, Yuji sighed and grabbed what little of his things before he walked over to the two, briefly said bye to Gojo, and then made his way outside.

Gojo was going to question why Sukuna let the kid go out by himself like that but, he’s made his mistakes of asking too many questions in the past and has suffered the consequences. Not wanting to deal with a mouthy Sukuna, Gojo remained quiet until Yuji was gone.

Phones were pulled out and the two men moved to make that transaction of theirs. Sukuna had strange tendencies and rules, one of them being that Yuji wasn’t allowed to be present for what Sukuna considered adult business. It was something Gojo didn’t understand but, nothing crazy to really bat an eye at.

Just before Sukuna gets ready to send the money to Gojo— something in which he requires Gojo to be present to make sure nothing goes askew, Gojo starts noticeably squirming all over the place.

Sukuna raises a brow, “Fucks wrong with you?”

“Gotta use the bathroom,” Gojo huffs out without moving from where he stands.

The pink-haired man tilts his head, “Then go use the bathroom? I’m not gonna leave without paying you so relax.”

Gojo stands there a mere moment longer, contemplating a few things. The transaction could’ve been done by now but he felt like he was two seconds away from embarrassing himself so he just let out a long sigh before running off to the nearby bathroom. Thus leaving Sukuna standing there alone.

Now, Sukuna doesn’t consider himself to be a nosy person— he could usually care less about what others had going on in their lives unless it affected or entertained him. And where Gojo’s concerned, he honestly did neither at the time. He was just Yuji’s babysitter so Sukuna didn’t see much interesting about the guy.

That was, until he took his time alone to glance around Gojo’s apartment. Sukuna’s eyes wandered, studying the plain attempts at decoration and how utterly unstructured Gojo’s apartment appeared to be. Well, aside from some spots, it was rather clear that two people were living here, one more cleanly than the other.

Even so, Sukuna remained uninterested until he spotted a single book on the nearby kitchen counter. His eyes narrowed and he found himself surprised someone like Gojo would ever pick up a book. Again, the two knew little of one another aside from whatever school reputations they had— Gojo being known as some praying fuckboy and Sukuna being known as some hotheaded party-thrower. One could’ve assumed that the two would get along considering how their interests seem to align.

With that being said, Sukuna found himself walking toward this book without a second thought. The cover was completely blank and he realized it wasn’t a book at all. It was a journal.

Intrigued, Sukuna picks it up and does nothing more than pick a page at random to see if he’d find anything amusing, perhaps something to taunt Gojo with. Y’know, something to get a laugh out of.

The very last thing Sukuna expected to see was a page with a picture of some girl on it in the middle, surrounded by rather… creepy depictions of the woman. Details on the clothing in the picture, how much it cost, where to find it, depictions of where the woman went on that day, whether or not she seemed happy or sad, how many times Gojo heard her laugh-

Sukuna found himself disturbed instantly as he skimmed over the page. Though, not enough to stop him from turning the page. It seemed that such a creepy entry was one of many. Although, the first page he saw was definitely the creepiest. What ended up becoming the cherry on top was when Sukuna read over the fact that Gojo’s never spoken to you.

At that point, Sukuna scoffed, finding Gojo nothing but a fool for writing about a woman in such a way without ever talking to her. With dates, times, etcetera, Gojo had a ridiculous number of entries on this woman, so much so that it actually left Sukuna both curious and… entertained.

So when the sound of Gojo coming out of the bathroom hits Sukuna’s ears, he doesn’t even flinch or attempt to act like he wasn’t looking through the journal. Instead, Gojo walks out of the bathroom and finds Sukuna with the item in his hands.

It was at that very second that Gojo felt his heart sink to his goddamn toes. His eyes went wide and he froze in his steps, Sukuna not even so much as glancing away from the journal in his hands.

Gojo swallowed the overwhelming lump in his throat and attempted to say something-, anything, “What-”

“My my, what a fucking pervert you are,” Sukuna hummed enthusiastically, finally flicking his maroon gaze up to a dumbfounded Gojo. “This is disgusting, really. I mean,” Sukuna glances back down and smiles, “You love this woman and you’ve never even spoken to her?”

All wide-eyed and practically speechless, Gojo fumbles for a way to explain himself, “I-”

“And you fantasize about fucking her quite often,” Sukuna scoffs, tongue seeping out to lick his lips for a moment, “I can see why but shit… You’re a fuckin’ weirdo.”

“You-,” Gojo cocks his head back and blinks, the slightest mention of Sukuna taking interest in your appearance causing him to go right back to that not-so-rational state of his. Blinded by a deep obsession toward you, Gojo is slow with his words, “...You can see why? The hell does that mean-”

“She’s sexy, I get it. I see the lil’ pictures of her you’ve put in here,” Sukuna comments nonchalantly, “And yet, what I don’t get is this uh,” He clicks his tongue and smirks, “Obsession you have with her. Especially without talking to her? That’s…” He trails off for a second, his expression fading into something Gojo can’t quite read.

Gojo gulps and again attempts to defend himself, “I know it’s weird, I… I told myself I’m going to stop-”

“When?” Sukuna interrupts, voice rough, “When you’ve already got her wrapped around your finger and refuse to let her go because of the attachment you’ve created?” He questions the man almost as if he’s speaking from… experience.

“W-What?” Gojo’s brows push together. He never had any intentions of manipulating you in any shape or form, “No, I-”

“Would you tell her how you’ve been stalking her for months-, shit maybe even years based on some of these entries?” The way Sukuna takes a step toward Gojo lets him know that something about this seems to bother the pink-haired man.

“I haven’t been stalking her, I just-”

Sukuna looks down at the open page, “‘I especially liked how happy she looked today, when she smiles, she blinks about five times and when she laughs, it doubles.’ What sane man writes this shit about a woman he’s never spoken to, huh?”

“Sukuna just…” Gojo sucks in a crisp breath of air and attempts to plead with the male in front of him, reaching his hand out for his journal, “Just pretend like you never read that a-and give me the-”

“Aht aht,” Sukuna’s quick to swat his hand away and he nearly laughs at the way Gojo frowns frustratedly, “Did you really think I wouldn’t keep this little gem? Hm? See, you must be a bit confused about how this is about to go.”

For a moment, Gojo just stares. He never imagined this would happen. Hell, he wasn’t exactly careful with his journal but the last thing he expected was for Sukuna to pick the damn thing up. Fuck, he should’ve never left it on the counter.

He lets out a sigh and his voice is small, laced with fear, “...Are you gonna tell her?”

“Am I gonna tell her?” Sukuna simply bursts out laughing, “Ha! What do I look like to you? Some simple-minded fool? No, I’m not gonna tell her.”

Gojo lets out the most thankful sigh of relief, “Thank fuck-”

“You are,” Sukuna states.

And at those words, the room goes silent. So silent that one could hear a pin drop. Gojo felt as though his blood ran cold and Sukuna had this overly smug look on his face.

It was from there on out that Gojo was set to face the consequences of his actions.

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tags 1/4; @lavnederr @stopmila @chelsea14 @hillmiaxoxo @choso-enthusiast

@chososdisciple @suguruologist @mitzkooni @annananamin @jakeywon

@thvema @uranometrias @gigiipeaches @isawrd @bored--boring

@soonyoung-park @oidloid @you-make-skz-stay @haesify @paintedcans

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@chosomi @gentle-roxyboo @teonawrites @interludered @wannabeotaku

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tgcg · 11 months ago

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==> listen here on youtube

4K+ follower special... & upon request by a few peeps

i enjoy underground hip hop a lot, & i'm rlly excited 2 share some of my favs ive found recently that really remind me of dave in particular. some r also in there because theyre just cool tho heheh. it's got a variety -- old school, modern, abstract, experimental... just a lot goig on.

i ask that u listen to it in order 🙂 i gave this a rlly deliberate track order heheheh. it has inspired segments.

CONTAINS:

(1-28) a superhero-vibe 2000s hip hop region, got temporal themes. gets kinda hype & intense at parts. starts with a 6-song bang.

(33-41) a doseone/yoni wolf/clouddead segment, experimental & vivid & depressing. cw for death and self harm mentions here.

(42-56) THE DIRKALUDE: aka the splash zone. a slightly more modern & art rap segment, getting reflective, chill&silly (chilly), bit "pretentious". kinda wett.

a primetime early serengeti sample platter

same with open mike eagle. because. i love him.

healthy sprinkling of odd nosdam beats throughout 4 daily vitamins & wellbeing

thank u guys so much for all your sapport & for engaging with me on things like this. i rlly hope any who listen enjoy da playlist & find some new artists u can vibe with 🧡 it's really a passion thing, so thank u to anyone who checks it out

the art is 100% based on serengeti's album dirty flamingo

love u all

#dave strider #homestuck #playlist

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scariusaquarius · 26 days ago

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rehab. 5.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: This chapter is going to contain some very dark and graphic scenes. Please read carefully. I'm really happy that you guys are enjoying the story! The comments are feeding me and motivating me so much, I really do appreciate the support. Also, you can read it here on my archive account as well!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4

All through the night, Shuri had worked on dissecting the Winter Soldier's brain. When Bucky had swung by the lab in the morning, it seemed as though Shuri hadn't slept at all. Her space buns were now down, the freely-hanging braids swinging wildly as she walked around the cryostasis pod with quick paces.

Her brows were furrowed with annoyance, the princess cursing to herself in Xhosa as Okoye stood by, raising a brow at the profanities Shuri was listing off. Bucky was concerned, greeting her with a tilt of his head and holding out a cup of coffee for her.

"Good morning. Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I admittedly lost track of time, but the programming is proving to be difficult. Every time I seem to get past the encryption, another layer pops up and tries to activate her. However, since she's in cryostasis, the activation is failing."

Bucky nodded, humming thoughtfully as he stared at the woman within the pod.

"Seems like they updated their programming to avoid another...well, me."

Shuri nodded, huffing as she glanced back at him.

"Exactly. I knew that she was going to be complex, but I didn't think to realize that they would install safeguards in such a way. I can do it, it's just frustrating."

Okoye hummed, quirking her brow slightly before snorting in amusement when Shuri glared back at her.

"She has been yelling profanities for the last two hours."

Shuri waved her off, not even gracing Okoye with a response. Instead, she gestured Bucky over, expanding the hologram of the woman's mind. Throughout her mind, Bucky could see pulses of...something...happening, and he glanced at Shuri when the woman asked.

"What do you see?"

"Um, it looks like there's a lightning storm flashing through her mind."

Shuri smiled, nodding.

"Precisely. The synapses of her brain are firing rapidly despite her being in cryostasis. Do you understand what this means?"

Bucky was quiet, shrugging slightly, and Shuri rolled her eyes before saying.

"She is dreaming, White Wolf."

Bucky was surprised, asking Shuri as she began to poke around the hologram, pulling up a couple sections.

"Wait, she is?"

"Yes, and with my technology, I've been able to see into these dreams."

Her expression became grim, eyes darting away from Bucky, and Bucky understood what her expression was saying. Whatever Shuri was able to see hadn't been pleasant in the slightest, which in a morbid way, Bucky wasn't even surprised. Almost wordlessly, she pulled up a particular image, explaining.

"I was only able to get glimpses and small portions of dreams due to HYDRA's programming kicking me out repeatedly, but from what I saw...it was truly horrific. The things that HYDRA did...the things it seems that she is remembering, or perhaps never forgot, are...they are horrific, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky frowned deeply as looked at the images that Shuri was showing him. Some were of a familiar cell wall, some were of blurred faces that were familiar yet unknown at the same time, and there was one that made his stomach churn.

Blood. There was so much blood covering her naked thighs and pooled beneath her. Shuri had taken the time to carefully blur the soldier's vagina from view, but Bucky didn't even need to see it to know what they had done.

You're a super soldier, they would say. You can take it.

Bucky bit his tongue while his back stiffened considerably, and Shuri brought up a clip that began to play automatically. It seemed to be of a previous killing, the man on the ground looking up at the soldier fearfully as a bloody hand came into view.

He seemed to be begging, crying hard as the body of a child whose head was crushed and gushing with blood and destroyed brain matter laid within his lap. The soldier was holding a gun, and when the gun was fired, the clip ended.

"Were you able to do this with me as well?"

Bucky's tone was quiet, his words almost a whisper as he looked away from the clip, his breathing starting to accelerate slightly as Shuri swiped the clip away quickly.

"Definitely, but not to this extent. However, our work together helped to shape my technology into this."

Shuri gestured to the hologram with her hand before she glanced back at Bucky, pursing her lips as she grabbed another image and maximized it, showing the image of a blurry paper-crochet butterfly and small hands that were in the process of decorating the art project.

"There are a few memories that I was able to get to, though they are slightly miniscule; almost useless to us in figuring out who she is."

Another video came up, a short 10 second clip that showed the soldier in what looked to be a graduation or awards ceremony. There was an elderly-looking hand that was lifting a medal before pinning it to her chest, and Bucky's eyes widened.

"Wait a minute...that looks familiar. Can you clear up the image a bit?"

Shuri looked smug before winking as the image cleared, showing a medal that had an inscription engraved onto it. Bucky shook his head in surprise, saying as he uncrossed his arms in surprise.

"No wonder she's a ghost. She worked for the CIA."

The medal that the soldier had been given was for Career Intelligence, a reward that came from exceptional achievements and, if Bucky remembered right, the length of service. Shuri hummed, stating as she crossed her arms and glanced at the woman.

"Not all ghosts are completely untraceable. If I can get deeper into her mind and get more parts of her memories unlocked, I can attempt to figure out who she is a lot easier and faster."

Shuri then shook her head, huffing with frustration.

"The risk that comes with doing so, however, is that once she awakens and her mind is able to be more active, these memories have a chance of coming to her all at once. It will be an overwhelming and horrifying experience for her."

Bucky sighed heavily. If that happened, there was a risk that it could reactivate HYDRA's programming and she would become an active threat, and nobody wanted that.

Hell, his temple was still throbbing.

Bucky then glanced over at Shuri again when Shuri pointed to a hologram of a document with the CIA's official seal, maximizing the image and swiping a few of the scanned documents away.

"Because we know our soldier was a part of the CIA, I scanned through their database to see if I could find anything akin to the Winter Soldier program. While the CIA is involved in a super soldier project, I haven't found anything of use yet. And don't worry, I erased my tracks as soon as I made them."

Shuri smirked with a haughty glint within her eyes, and Bucky chuckled at her. He hummed after mulling through his thoughts for a moment.

"It's nice to know that we're getting closer to knowing who she is, but if you can't get past the firewalls of the algorithm...how would we reactivate her without wiping her?"

"I can put a temporary lock upon her most recent memories from the time she was awakened until now. That lock will slowly deteriorate over time, almost like a dissolvable suture, so it won't be permanent."

That was nice to know, at least. T'Challa's voice made Shuri and Bucky jump from the surprise, the two of them looking back at him as he walked inside of the lab.

"If our Isithunzi worked for the CIA before she became a Winter Soldier and was awarded for her work, then perhaps the next step would be to look at every single employee that was in service within the last 50 years that received recognition from the agency."

He was holding the black book within his hands, and T'Challa placed it down on a table beside one of the original Black Panther suits, the king regarding the two of them with a tired look. Shuri scoffed, waving him off before doing the Wakandan salute.

"Please, you always think so lowly of me. When I discovered this particular memory, I downloaded as much information as I could without tripping the CIA's cyber security systems. There's at least 75 years worth of information here. If we filter out employees that hadn't specifically received a Career Intelligence reward, we lower the number to at least five to 10 years."

Bucky was impressed, and he joked gently.

"You ever thought of becoming a spy?"

T'Challa pursed his lips in annoyance when Shuri laughed loudly.

"Not in your life, White Wolf. I like being my own boss."

"Unless the king says no."

Shuri didn't even grace T'Challa with a response, making the man roll his eyes and shake his head. T'Challa regarded Bucky with a hard gaze, asking him.

"Have you gotten in touch with the Captain to see if Tony or Natasha have found anything as well?"

"Not yet. I was kind of waiting on them to get in touch with me."

T'Challa nodded, and he suggested.

'You should tell the Captain what you have found. I am sure that he is eager to know what we have uncovered."

Bucky nodded despite the cryptic feeling that was twinging T'Challa's words, and he walked out of the lab into a deserted hallway, a couple of the Dora Milaje standing guard. Awkwardly nodding to them in greeting as he walked down the hallway, Bucky slipped out the phone within his pocket and frowned.

Despite the fact that he'd had the thing for a while, Bucky still couldn't quite grasp the fact that touch-screen was a thing. Hell, the last time Bucky had ever used a phone before HYDRA, it was to call his little sister, Rebecca, before he went to Europe with the 107th.

He could still remember the number for the Shelbyville operator, the specific number for Rebecca's telephone, and how calls were logged and billed for at the end of the month. Now, it took just dialing a number directly. Bucky's mind was still having a bit of trouble wrapping around the idea of call operators not really being a thing anymore.

Shaking his head slightly, Bucky called Steve, a quiet part of his mind wondering if Steve had felt this way before as well. The meaningless thought was squandered when Steve answered, sounding a bit out of breath as he spoke.

"Hey, Buck. Any progress yet on the woman?"

Bucky hummed, leaning against the wall as he glanced in the direction of the lab, replying.

"We got a bit of good information. Shuri's technology was able to get through to some parts of the woman's brain and reveal some memories of her. Apparently, she was a part of the CIA before she became a Winter Soldier."

Steve made a noise of surprise, stating.

"That makes things a bit easier. Tony wasn't really able to find a lot, and Natasha hasn't even combed the surface of the databanks we acquired."

"She's a complete ghost, so I don't know if it'll help. There's something else, though..."

Bucky's voice trailed off for a moment, his surprise hitting him again before he informed Steve.

"...the woman's dreaming. Shuri had a live hologram of the woman's brain up, and she said that the synapses of her brain were firing in a way that was common with dreaming."

"Which means the woman might be remembering things...that's good, right?"

The image of the woman's bloodied legs came to Bucky's mind, and he tightened his grip on his phone, muttering.

"I don't...I don't know. Some of the images that Shuri was able to capture of the woman's dreams and memories...they weren't pleasant."

Steve was quiet for a moment, and he replied with a stern tone of voice.

"We'll get this figured out and we'll find out who she is. If not...then we can help her become a new person...a completely clean slate."

Bucky didn't comment on the way that Steve said 'we' and instead rubbed a hand over his face, muttering.

"The CIA seems to have a super soldier project, but it's not confirmed that the CIA had any volunteers that we know of...it's mainly rumors and ideas."

Bucky added as he watched T'Challa and Shuri leave down the opposite hall, their steps quick and purposeful.

"It's possible there were HYDRA agents within that stole information on the serum, or the serum itself, that the CIA was concocting and grabbed some random woman off of the side of the street. They, as well as HYDRA, have the ability to scrub a person completely off of the radar, and nobody is gonna be looking for a nobody."

Steve was firm, and Bucky knew the man had to be shaking his head at him as Steve slightly scolded him.

"That's not true. There's always going to be someone...we just don't know if that someone is alive or dead. According to that book we found, she's been an active soldier for HYDRA since 1985, and who knows how long she was there before she was created. 30 years is a long time."

"Yeah? Try 70."

Steve was quiet, and Bucky apologized quietly, revealing gently.

"Sorry...I'm sorry...it's just...it's a lot."

Steve's voice was gentle with patience, making Bucky furrow his brows as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I know, Bucky, but I'm with you till the end of the line. You know you can call me at any time and talk to me."

"I know. I'm with you till the end of the line, too, pal."

Steve then groaned gently when the sound of an explosion went through the phone, and he was quick to inform Bucky.

"Hey, I gotta go. Queens just crashed in. Literally. Call me if you get any updates, and I'll call you if I get one first."

Before Bucky could respond, the line went dead, and Bucky shook his head and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Walking back into the lab, Bucky came to stand in front of the cryostasis pod.

Hands within his pockets, he stared at the woman, gazing at the scars that covered her lower jaw and neck, and he watched as the live feed of her brain began to become active again.

An alert showed up along with a video, and Bucky was astounded to realize that it was a live feed of the dream the woman was currently having. It was a bit jarring to watch, bits and pieces becoming jumbled and blurry, and then it began to become clear.

The woman was standing before a man that Bucky knew very well, his face crystal clear to him and sparking rage deep within his chest. Bucky watched as Rollins spoke to her, and though there was no audio to be able to hear what he was saying, Bucky knew it wasn't pleasant.

Rollins seemed angry, walking back and forth in front of her before striking her down with a baton, the view shifting to the floor as the soldier fell and blood splattered onto the ground as if the woman had coughed.

From there, it only got worse, and Bucky had to turn away the second the soldier began to unbuckle the man's belt with bloodied hands, his anger becoming too much. Anger, regret, recognition, it was too much for Bucky to handle.

He could feel his chest restricting, could feel the oxygen becoming harder to breathe, and a tingling sensation began to grow within his toes and fingers.

Flashes began to appear within his own mind, images of the Enforcer's hosing his naked body with ice-cold water before they began to touch him; reaching for places he didn't want to be touched.

He could feel their teeth in his flesh, could hear the echoes of their taunts as they laughed menacingly, and Bucky squeezed his eyes shut as he began to tremble and feel disgusted by his own body. A voice within his head began to speak to him gently; familiar and comforting as it guided him.

Breathe, Bucky.

In and out. Slowly. You are not their tool anymore. They can't hurt you. You're free.

Bucky repeated the words in his head over and over, as many times as he could.

I'm free. I'm free. I'm free. I am James Buchanan Barnes. I am Bucky.

Swallowing thickly, it took a little while for his heartrate to settle, and he stood upright, rubbing his chest slightly. Closing his eyes, Bucky could feel the tears starting to well up within his eyes, and he took a few more deep breaths.

Turning back to the screen, he was thankful that the image was gone. Instead, the woman seemed to be dreaming of a wooded area, the point-of-view looking down at a plaque that was placed within stone In the peripheral vision, there was a little kid's hand that was grabbing at one of the flowers that was surrounding the plaque.

It was so peculiar to Bucky to the point that he was completely jarred out of his panic. Squinting, he began to realize that this plaque was familiar, especially when the name on the plaque became clear.

Meltzer Woods.

He knew that name and place. In fact, Bucky could recall the trails like the back of his hand, could still smell the wildflowers, and if Bucky really thought hard enough, he could still hear the way his mother scolded him as Rebecca became upset by Bucky teasing her.

"Come, now, James. Leave your little sister alone."

He could still remember the way Rebecca had squealed, though time had taken away what exactly she had panicked over. He recalled that his mother had placed her hands on her hips, giving him a stern gaze when Bucky had talked back to her; exasperated as Rebecca began to cry.

"But Ma, we're in the woods! Of course there's going to be bugs!"

"Now, don't you give me that lip. You don't want your father to hear, do you?"

The memory slowly faded, but Bucky was too floored to care.

What had the soldier been doing in Shelbyville, Indiana? Did she know the place like he did? Was this from a time before she had been with HYDRA?

"You look as though you have seen a ghost!"

Shuri was back, giving him an odd look as Bucky stared at the woman in the cryostasis pod, and all Bucky could respond with was-

"I think I did."

STORY NOTES: Shuri has been working endlessly to get past HYDRA's programming. She is verbally and visibly frustrated, which Bucky becomes concerned about as he greets her. Shuri reveals that she had lost track of time because of HYDRA's programming continuously throwing up more firewalls that try to activate the soldier every time she managed to break through another.

Bucky comments that HYDRA seems to have updated their algorithms since his departure. Shuri then shows Bucky a live feed of the digital rendition of the soldier's brain, telling Bucky to list off what he observes. Bucky observes that the activity within the brain looks like a lightning storm, which Shuri agrees and elaborates.

It is revealed that the soldier is currently dreaming despite being in cryostasis, and Shuri reveals that she has developed a technology that allows her to be able to show what a person is dreaming about. Using this technology on the soldier, however, reveals the gruesome treatment HYDRA inflicted and the brutality of the Winter Soldier.

Shuri's technology is able to access and project dreams in the same way, and she shows Bucky a memory the soldier had about receiving a medal. Bucky recognizes the medal, and it's revealed that the Winter Soldier had been involved with the CIA at some point on a professional level.

T'Challa makes a recommendation to Bucky to get in touch with Steve, and Bucky agrees. He reflects on the advancements of communications technology and how he had to speak to an operator to call his sister when he was still int he ARMY. Bucky then tells Steve about what Shuri had found, and he also reveals that the woman is dreaming.

After his phone call, Bucky goes back to the lab and is angry when he is shown a memory that the soldier is currently remembering of her Handler, which Bucky recognizes as Jack Rollins. Bucky begins to experience a PTSD episode where he begins to remember when Enforcers sexually assaulted him during a hose-down.

Once he calms down, Bucky recognizes a place that the soldier is now dreaming of: Meltzer Woods. He recalls a memory of him, his parents, and his little sister going to the trails all of the time since Meltzer Woods is located in his hometown of Shelbyville, Indiana, and when Shuri comes in and comments about how Bucky looks as though he's seen a 'ghost', he comments that he might have. End Scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Isithunzi - Xhosa for [the] shadow/shade

TAGLIST: @mgchaser @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @aash3

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

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mysterylilycheeta · 12 days ago

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ONYX STORM REVIEW:

After 2 days of catching up on all the work I had postponed for the sake of reading OS, and organising my thoughts, I'm here with my spoiler free review of Onyx Storm. Please remember that these are my personal thoughts and opinions and you're free to agree or disagree based on your views

Rating: 3.25 stars

The Good:

The absolute lack of miscommunication between Xaden and Violet: This book is a gift for all those people who were annoyed to their wit's end by the repetitive stupid fights between Xaden and Violet in Iron Flame. They trust each other, communicate with each other and don't get mad about secrets. I was so pleasantly surprised

Ridoc: Ridoc went through such amazing character development, he easily became one of my favourite characters in the story. We saw him as only the comic relief friend till now but man, he shows such badassery in this book while still being his clown self. And, let's not forget his favourite dick jokes!

The Dragons: Anyone who knows me knows my favourite part about the series is Tairn and the other dragons. Love seeing my grumpy dad dragon, he's such a mood. We also have our sassy teenager Andarna to give him grief. I love all the moments Tairn started boasting about his lineage and his feat: he's such a dork!

Dain and Cat: I never truly hated Dain because I knew from Fourth Wing itself he never intentionally wanted to harm Violet. My only gripe with him was about breaking her trust and looking through her memories without her consent. But man, does he redeem himself. Needless to say, Dain is on my "need to protect" list. I really hated Cat in Iron Flame because she was such a stereotypical cringey evil ex and the way she attacked Violet was so crass and below the belt. She still has some shitty moments in the beginning of the book but she gets a lot better so much so that I want good things to happen to her in the next books. RY did a great job writing these two

Jealous Xaden: My o my was it a treat to see Xaden so jealous. RY fed us with those entertaining af moments. Read the book and you'll find out what I mean

Aaric: I was intrigued by Aaric in book 2 but he stepped up the game so much in this book. He is an amazing character and I'll throw hands if RY even tries to harm him in any way, istg.

The Bad:

Very mediocre worldbuilding: This might be just a timing issue, but the last fantasy book I read was the Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson, and every fantasy fan knows the kind of world-building Sanderson does. Onyx Storm tries to introduce us to new places beside the continent, but it is not well done. We spend half the book in the Isle Kingdoms, yet they're not even mentioned on the map. They talk about routes to get to the kingdoms, but how am I supposed to follow them if you won't even mention them on the maps? Every Island has a god it worships and things go according to that but I think we could've had a little more information about them beforehand instead of being presented basic info right before we arrive at the next island. "We're going to said island, this is the god they believe in, here's a five point bullet lost of their customs"- NO, THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DO IT! Like I said, it might be because my last book was by Sanderson so my expectations were higher but the world felt so lacking.

Lack of Glossary: A glossary should be a must in every fantasy book, especially if you're branching out and diving deeper into worldbuilding. We are introduced to gods, islands, uprisings and groups of people we haven't even heard of before and we get hardly one or two lines about them in a chapter and then they are mentioned again 2 chapters later and we're supposed to follow. There were so many new names in OS, it was difficult to keep track of them after a while. I still don't completely understand who the Krovlan people were and what was their deal.

Lack of Basgiath: My favourite book in the series till now has been Fourth Wing and one of the biggest reasons for that was Basgiath. I loved that place and the way it felt an actual character in the story. That Basgiath charm is missing in this book. Basgiath is the biggest strength of this series, it's the reason why FW was so successful, the war college and it's deadly atmosphere, the challenges, the interpersonal relations, it was entertaining af. However as the series is progressing, it's turning into another typical romantasy involving young adults leading revolutions, making alliances, fighting wars etc. I started reading Fourth Wing because of it's setting and yet with each new book, we spend less and less time in Basgiath and it's just dampening my mood.

No real surprises: Let me be brutally honest- this book felt like a filler. Of course there are a few shocking moments with new information but it hardly hit the mark like the previous two books. There were no moments that essentially packed a punch. It's just a bunch of random sidequests to gain alliances which didn't up feeling all that meaningful because of worldbuilding problems. It also seemed like fanservice because of a lot of reasons but I won't mention them as they can be accounted as minor spoilers. Some characters died but it didn't feel impactful at all. It seemed more like Ry was just filling up the death quota because we can't have a book where no one dies

Violet and Xaden: Okay so here's the thing, I like both of them as characters and I think they make a good pair. However, I didn't ever truly feel the romance and this has been a problem since Fourth Wing. They have a shit ton of lusty moments but hardly any soft romantic domestic moments that make the relationship feel organic. I have always been disappointed by the lack of proper romantic development between these two. The problem in this book however is the dialogue- they felt so cheesy and downright cringe at times. Maybe show more and say less?? The way they keep saying nothing else matters as much and I know people are feral for how Xaden and Violet are ready to throw off the entire rebellion for each other but it irks me so much. Xaden, you are leading these people and you have accepted that responsibility. Stop endangering the lives of people you swore to protect because Violet might be in danger. She has other people to support her. Violet, don't get mad when people tell you your needs and wants will come second to Xaden's duty towards the people. He is their leader, he has to make those sacrifices, If you think that's unfair then find someone else to fill his position. You can't have the leadership position yet be each other's top priority. It might seem unfair but that is the right thing to do. I really don't feel like the two of them are fit to lead people. Agree with @thequietesthing's review about Violet's god level power feeling over dramatic and out of character at times.

The Ending: If any of you have talked to me about the book in the last few days, you'll know I'm frustrated af with the ending. It doesn't exactly feel like a well done cliffhanger, it's just plain messy. A bunch of unanswered questions to keep the reader confused and hooked for the next book but it just ruined the whole book for me. I have no issues with cliffhangers but the book should feel complete. The way Onyx Storm ended, it feels there were at least two more chapters that got deleted. It's just all over the place.

That was the review guys. I'll still wait for the next book to get published but my excitement has gone down quite a lot. I was expecting more of a Harry Potter style story where the main still occurs in the school/college itself but it seems like that isn't gonna be the case. I honestly believe this series should've been just 3 books instead of 5 but oh well, what can we say. Really agree with @justallihere and @justascrollingghost. We have almost the same complaints with the books lol P.S: The best surprise in this book: Broccoli, the kitten

#rebecca yarros #fourth wing #iron flame #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #the empyrean #onyx storm #onyx storm review #book review

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1moreff-creator · 5 months ago

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DRDT Chapter 2 Episode 13: First Impressions

Woo! DRDT! It is time! Time for despair! Let’s go! My excitement has not faded in the slightest from last week; if anything, it’s stronger than before. Here are my first impressions of this week’s episode!!!

Spoilers for CH2 EP13

CW Suicide, violent murder, mafia mention, suicide, hanging, self-harm.

It’s starting! Levi’s got some explaining to do. Will someone (say, Eden) have an interesting reaction?

Alright, J’s not the one I expected to have first reaction, but cool.

“You…” Is Ace okay?

“Ah. I didn’t expect that.” Rose’s legendary reaction.

YOU CANNOT “THAT’S WACK” THIS SITUATION WHIT

Oh, so people know, but the court struck it. Interesting.

Ah, there’s the Ace reaction. Also, “no way Hope’s Peak scouted a murderer” but you have a poisoner on another secret and an art forger, at least. Not the same level maybe, but still.

“Don’t make the mistake of switching cause and effect.” Of course Hope’s Peak is responsible, that was my first gut instinct. God, it’s so shady in this universe.

Woo, Levi backstory! Three “old enemies?”

… Bro??? I don’t think any of us actually expected more than one murder, but I might be wrong on that. Self-defense, then two first degrees, huh?

“Were you in the mafia or something?” Thanks J.

“I don’t think I need to elaborate” No, you do. You really should elaborate. Please? For me?

“Who did you even kill?” And… Levi!Accomplice is looking rougher by the second. Then again, maybe she didn’t know.

Levi tracked two of them down, but doesn’t know who they were? How?

“That car I blew up once?” HUH???

“That’s… kind of a lot to admit all of the sudden.” True, Rose. I’m trying to see what he’s cooking, but I can’t tell.

How do you forget this? Jeez.

“How could you forget?” You know, Arturo, I was kinda irrationally worried Charles was about to throw in his secret phrase, but it’s cool that you avoided that. Thanks.

[For the uninformed; it’s theorized the characters will, at some point in the series, say the quotes hidden in the source code of their dedicated pages out loud, since Min and Arei both said theirs, and Xander’s could be in a flashback. That means that if a character says their secret quotes, their chances of dying go up drastically.]

“If you don’t care about murder, you could be the murderer.” (Paraphrased) Yes thanks Veronika not the point.

“Almost as if you don’t care…” Great. I didn’t know where Levi was going with this, now I don’t know where Veronika is going with her schtick.

I’m surprised Ace is taking it relatively well [as in, not outwardly terrified]. I guess near death does that to someone.

Woo! Time frame! Junior high school!

Interesting, so he didn’t start fashion because of the murder. That’s kinda what I was thinking, but I was wrong.

We’re getting our first crumbs of Hope’s Peak being ultra shady in main series! After Rose’s backstory ig. Unfortunately the “pretentious revolutionaries” aren’t here to “hand out tickets of lead” ← LGI brainrot

“It could also refer to the time I murdered my father.”

…

???????????????????????????

You didn’t lead with that?! Also, what?! I laughed out loud at the fucking absurdity of the statement, but what?!

“It’s a bit of a bother.” The bothersome part is that they’re phrased vaguely and not that they reveal you’re a murderer, got it.

“Go back!” Thank you J.

What do you mean I think. Bro how many people have you killed? What in the name of Kirisaki Shidou [/ref]?

“Not even the police cared about a man like him.” ??? Also, wasn’t your dad a bad influence? You’ve mentioned him before, it didn’t sound that bad- Wait, is he lying? No way he’s lying. Hold on, let me watch more.

[In retrospect, I doubt he’s lying, but his story is certainly weird]

“I see no reason to remain hung up-” Then why are you bringing it up. I still can’t fucking tell what you’re trying to accomplish here.

Eden’s reaction is… neutral, I guess? Makes sense either way?

Eden!Culprit has always been hard to maintain during the trial, huh… Still took the tape though. And I guess it’s potentially interesting she’s getting this much dialogue about Levi’s thing. Teruko’s yet to speak this episode.

“I wonder if I should really tell the truth…” Bro what do you mean there’s more truth to tell?

Oh, hey, speaking of Teruko. And it seems she and I share a mind.

“I don’t care about people at all.” Ooooh, I like this. Some kind of condition?

I feel a little bit like Veronika, interested in hearing his experience with this. Feeling like Veronika is probably a bad thing.

“You’re still a stranger to me.” Levi’s quickly climbing the ranks of fave characters, btw. This is super interesting.

“But you’re a good person-” DO NOT “good person” right now, Eden! That’s a point to Levi!Accomplice, maybe? Maybe not? I don’t know what’s happening. And I still don’t get what Levi is trying to do here.

Double “good person?” Bro what is happening.

“I don’t personally care what happens to Ace.” Mood (that’s a joke I like Ace).

PFT- Ace’s reaction lol.

“But it is “good” to make sure someone else doesn’t die-” Goodbye Levi!Accomplice! I liked you, but I’m probably gonna go try to find other theories after this episode :p (This is a joke, btw; if I didn’t discount theories like Hu!Culprit when the new alibis came up, I’m not going to completely abandon Levi!Accomplice over this. But, just saying, there might be a few revisions to be made)

“Haha. You…” Ace breakdown! Breakdown! (I'm absolutely acting like Veronika now).

“I was right all along.” Yeah, Ace ‘can tell a hawk from a handsaw’ Markey, nice one. (Does anyone even know/remember why I’m referencing that line or is LGI too far in the past for that?)

New Ace sprite! Cool one too. Clutching his heart, Acevi shippers eating ig.

“Good thing I didn’t fall for it. Not one bit.” Oh they’re eating GOOD good!

“There’s only one person in my whole life who I’ve ever been able to call my friend-” IS THAT A FUCKING TAYLOR REFERENCE?!?!?! Holy shit, I don’t know how many people are even gonna remember we have a canon name for that dude. I hope someone still has the screenshot of the deleted answer from the CH2 Part 1 Q&A.

“I really hope you fucking die.” We are active in Trial 2 Part 2, huh? Between Arturo telling him to “shut his whore mouth” and this, Levi’s getting verbally jumped!

“You’re quite the interesting person, Levi” Please Veronika, give me the psychoanalysis.

Dude, that’s three “good person” drops all on Levi. Chat the importance of this phrase may have been slightly overexaggerated by me (then again, the list of “good person” people has yet to grow from last chapter).

“You act like a big pushover because-” This is the psychoanalysis I came to see!

I don’t know if I’d call it “intuitive understanding” but I guess Levi’s not fully wrong about Veronika.

Four “good person.” And that’s not counting Veronika’s “good people.”

Five. Also, this continues to be interesting. Why did Levi bring this up again?

“After looking at David, I thought being honest-” Okay that’s hilarious.

“Try looking in a mirror…” First David line of the episode, right? And it’s a nice one of course.

That’s six cases of “good person” in this chapter alone holy shit. At least it’s David, who still had counts.

“I apologize for this tangent” Then can you please explain why the tangent exists in the first place? Or is it really just because being honest is "good"?

[Spoilers. It really was because of that. What]

“I can’t believe there was a time I liked you.” Yeah Acevi is still eating good. I doubt the hostility is gonna drive the shippers away; that’s what they’re here for, right?

And of course Whit’s first line makes him look suspicious. Bro you have an alibi for the time of disappearance of fish and you didn’t take the tape from the gym, stop pretending to be the killer.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Thank you Hu, but let me jump to a conclusion. Is Levi not gonna explain why he revealed his secret beyond the honesty thing?

Okay J’s response is good too.

“No, [Arei] didn’t [talk to Levi about the secret]” Bro what the fuck are we even talking about anymore.

“I don’t have a defense” (Paraphrased) No but seriously what. I’m this close to ripping out my hair. What is he doing.

“We don’t have evidence [Levi is the murderer]” Thank you Teruko Tawaki for being one of three competent people in the building. This is affectionate, one of my favorite parts of the DRDT cast is that they all suck at class trials lol :p

Bro Whit is trying REALLY HARD to look like the murderer rn. I’m still not letting him convince me. Yet.

“I realized that motives alone are not concrete evidence.” Yayyyy! Progress!

“I feel a sneeze coming on…” Dude David and Teruko need to get into comedy, they’re fucking hilarious.

“One second please.” Hu I trusted you. Why. You’re revealing your secret, right?

“...I didn’t want you all to think less of me.” Aww, poor Hu. No one’s gonna think less of you, you’re doing awesome (I am assuming she has hopeless child btw).

“I wanted to believe the past never happened” Butterfly motif and “water as rebirth” symbolism go brrr.

“I’ve always been a selfish person, haven’t I?” Hu please, you’re really nice, even if you go overboard at times.

“I will share my secret if you promise to immediately move on.” (Paraphrased) Good idea. It would probably be good to talk about it if she wants, but this is kinda not the time.

“I have Veronika’s secret, and she has mine.” Okay I did NOT expect her to reveal she had Veronika’s, but alright! That’s two more on the board, and two more most of us got right! At least the theorists are doing well on the secrets.

[Veronika agreeing to the pact] Bro what pact, how did you communicate that? Also, “I have such little interest in both of our secrets” is wild, but it makes sense given her personality. Recap foils go brr, I’ll sit down and think about this later.

“My own so-called secret isn’t even the worst thing I’ve done.” Uh…??? It’s just bombshell after bombshell, these episodes!

Oh, we are questioning the pact. I kinda thought they’d managed to do that in the trial, now I’m really curious. Please tell me we aren’t gonna have to ignore that question because of what Hu asked of them.

Shit.

“We’re not gonna talk about me?” Oh, Vero, I would love for them to talk about you, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen.

“Arei– Achoo!” WHEN I TELL YOU I CACKLED LIKE A MADPERSON HOLY SHIT

“Bless me! Also, excuse me! Wow, thank you for your support everyone!” WAIT IT GOT FUNNIER.

“I have another interruption–” Either it just got even funnier or he’s about to reveal Teruko’s secret and shit got serious, let’s see.

Oh, right. But, dude, I’m relatively sure the last two unclaimed secrets can’t be hers. Maybe the survivor’s guilt one, even though that felt like Xander’s? Are you absolutely certain you don’t have her secret?

“My family.” Figured she’d try that one. [She probably feels it's true to some extent].

Oh, now THAT’S a David sprite alright. Pretty sure that settles it, the most common theories for secrets during hiatus were all correct.

I’m guessing David’s still not gonna reveal it. We still need to see a Teruko teacher CG, and I don’t think we’re gonna have time for that if he brings it up.

“We did it!” Yeah he ain’t revealing shit.

“Sir Light Pollution” is actually crazy. Do his eyes really emit light like a flashlight? That’d be really fucking funny actually.

Oh, it was actually funny because Whit is a boyfailure. Alright, joke understood. I smiled.

“I am truly impressed… by how bad that was.” And there I laughed!

“I’ve started to detect this trial isn’t about me.” Iconic of you, Sir Attention Whore /affectionate

Thank you J.

Eden bro can we please let Teruko speak. Also you are not helping the culprit allegations miss Tobisa.

“What happened between you and Arei?” Jesus, we really cannot get to the fucking murder, huh? Fair, though, I’m really curious about this too, though I feel we’re gonna skip past it without an answer or David’s just not gonna respond seriously.

“I know that she’s dead and that she’s never coming back.” We’re getting worryingly close to your secret quote wording here, Eden. You sure you wanna go this route?

What are we, on seven “good person”s now?

Oh shit are we actually getting an answer?

YES! YES! YES! LET’S GO! I wasn’t expecting this!

Eight. Though I think this one’s repeated, though I might be wrong.

Yeah, this is old dialogue.

Man, Arei’s and Eden’s VAs did amazing work this episode!

“That makes me feel really relieved.” Lie. She didn’t say that. That’s my gut reaction, anyways, I could be wrong.

“I was pissed at you for a bit.” Oh shit chat David’s not getting cut off. This might actually be true. What the fuck?

Oh, also. Nine. David again.

“There’s not even anything positive…” Okay this hurts a fucking ton. If David’s lying, I want him dead. If this is true, holy shit this is sad.

“A metamorphosis like that…” Jeez this is actually getting sad sad. Auch.

“I’ll never be a good person.” Ten, and the tenth hurts a LOT. I don’t think David’s lying, members of the jury. Holy shit this is sad.

“It turns out that you might be a total piece of shit…” Holy shit I miss Arei already.

Eleven.

“Like Santa Claus…” Didn’t Charles bring up something like that talking with Teruko in the computer room? Interesting connection. I guess not “all that glitters,” yeah.

“It’s okay that I’ll never be a good person, because no one else can be either.” Okay, first; twelve. Second, ouch.

[I know my commentary's not exactly thrilling. Forgive me, I'm suffering]

“Even Eden.” And what does that mean?

[Eden with blood on her hands CG]

…

HUH????????????????????????????????????????

I can’t- Words- Not working. Hold on, I gotta see what the fuck is happening here.

[Pan to fork]

I’M EVEN MORE CONFUSED THAN BEFORE! WHAT THE FUCK?!

It has four prongs, which matches the Xander one. Did Eden take out Xander’s eye? How in the actual fuck? No chance, right? I’m just going insane?

“I’m sure even Eden has hurt someone” (Paraphrased). Brain is still not working. Sorry.

“Even someone like her must have made a mistake she couldn’t take back” WE ARE GETTING DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO SECRET QUOTE WORDING!

We’re just moving on? That shit didn’t happen? I’m fucking sorry?

I can’t even- Does this imply fucking MM!Eden? I don’t think so, she doesn’t look like she wanted to- WAS it Xander she stabbed? Again, how? What? I’m so confused. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO US DEV! I NEED ANSWERS!!!

“Second ever friend…” Ouch ouch ouch-

Another “good people” btw.

[Arei CG] That’s the fucking- THAT LOOKS LIKE THE FUCKING GIRL FROM LGI?!?!?!

Like, obviously they look different, but that’s the same pose, with the hand and everything- WHAT?!

Is Arei/David a ship? It’ll probably be one after this.

“Nothing-” You absolute piece of shit. Holy shit David, when I get my hands on you David…

“Nothing else happened between us, I promise.” Wow. Who would’ve thunk this is how I come to fucking despise a man so much while he simultaneously rises in my fave characters ranking, huh? Holy hell.

“One hundred percent promise-” I get more mad every line. That’s good character writing, folks. Jesus.

I can’t read Eden this episode. Still think she’s the culprit lol.

“Finally.” Yeah, Teruko. Same.

[By the way, the next section has a lot of me rambling about my own theories, so if you don't know them, here's a link to the latest, now likely outdated version]

“From that low of height…” I like where we’re going.

“I’m starting to realize how long it's taken to get here.” (Paraphrased) Yeah, Whit. Yeah.

“Some people had to wait one year and five months-” PFFFT- Also Whit’s reaction means he’s not fully fourth wall aware, which is cool.

NON-STOP DEBATE! LET’S DO IT!

[Sees truth bullet] Yes! The jugs were used as weights! Tell me I’m right about this!

YEAH! I GOT IT RIGHT! Also Veronika’s “consent” animation is… uuh… very ‘Ronika if you catch my drift. I love it!

“Those jugs ended up breaking…” You know it! I wonder if maybe they didn’t have time to clean the fish? But they could have gotten water literally elsewhere, so they clearly did use them for alibi.

“The jugs alone aren’t enough…” (Paraphrased). Yeah, we gotta go higher. Like, the girders at the top…?

“... rafters on the ceiling.” Yeah!!! Wrong name but I also got this right!

“It must have been one long rope…” Or two, because you need the stopper.

“Oh, wait, you’re agreeing with me. Yes.” Funny, laughed.

“The rafters were way too high…” Ball of clothes, come on.

“...something like a pulley…” Yeah, Whit knows what I’m talking about! The fact he’s being helpful makes him less suspicious. Finally, he managed to open his mouth without incriminating himself of something!

“High location…” Are we actually doing stopper rope? My guess is that that’s when we’ll get teacher Teruko.

“In drop hanging…” Okay, first, love the monologue. Second, is there a reason you know so much about drop hanging? Did your mother…? I guess it’s not necessary. I also came to the same conclusions and I don’t have any history with the stuff.

“We also know she didn’t hit the ground-” Does anyone have a counter of tasteless Whit jokes? Just checking.

“Aren’t I so smart…” And we’re back to kinda incriminating ourselves, because you're denying pulley method. Fantastic.

WOO! ANOTHER NON-STOP! Let me guess, “spinny thing” is the truth bullet?

“Tape on carousel.” Close enough. Although, hold on, are we actually gonna go “stopped with hands?” No chance, right?

Also am I stupid or does Arturo’s VA sound different in the debates?

Yeah btw Levi!Accomplice is dead and buried, I need to find other ways for Eden to have done this.

I like that Teruko still calls it a spinny thing :p

Wow, everyone’s correcting her, huh? I guess I’m the only one that appreciates her smh.

“...when I need to correct the killer’s grammar.” Funny comeback, but you know, the letter does actually have quite a few spelling errors.

Yay! Teacher Teruko! She looks so cute with glasses!

Also I cannot believe it. These Microsoft-Paint ass diagrams remind me of when I did them too lol.

Oh, shit, under the seesaw! That’s a good one, Teruko! I didn’t catch that. (Then again, I always thought the seesaw was in a different place, but oh well).

Is that dog ears Whit? My guy, you know Charles dislikes dogs, right? Then again, you do canonically have negative rizz, so :p

Oh, tying the rope! Not quite a stopper rope, but same concept. Yeah, would work. Good one Teruko!

“The carousel is made of smooth metal.” THAT’S WHAT THE TAPE WAS FOR! Clutch.

Oh shit, is the cliffhanger going to be the tape’s origin?

“I’ve seen this murder method before.” Okay, wait. One, no origin of tape. That’s big for Eden!Culprit: My current guess is that someone (ie Veronika) will want to discuss the Ace-Nico thing, which will lead to them discovering Eden took the tape. Two, what the fuck do you mean you’ve seen this before?!

“You have?” Looking kinda worried there, Eden…

“And so have you.” Okay am I forgetting something? Min’s execution wasn’t like this, what the hell…

“Me?” Eden, honey, the allegations…

“We’re going to talk about a different case…” Oh shit Teruko’s got the Ace method figured out? I would really love to hear that because I have no idea what the hell was happening with that one. Also, I called it! Didn’t expect it to be Teruko who brought us back to the Ace case, but still.

“Explain yourself, Nico.” YEAH!!!! I’m actually really excited. I’m gonna look into revising my theory on that case before the next episode, see if I can figure it out, since I think the old methods I’ve discussed with others don’t quite line up with what Teru’s describing.

What an episode!

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

General Thoughts:

Holy shit. Just. So much happened. It’s too much peak.

The Eden CG is the first thing on my mind; that’s crazy. Did she really take out Xander’s eye? I have zero idea what else I would be looking at. Certainly not MM!Eden, too obvious, but I don’t know what’s happening there. No fucking idea. I might make a more detailed post when I get my thoughts in order, but all I’m saying; the possibility the girl she kissed was Mai? That Mai told her about Teruko, and Eden attacked Xander in the pre-prologue killing game to protect Teruko? Hmm…

The secrets are huge, too. Nothing wild, given like 75% of the fandom had assumed these secrets anyways, but still nice to get them all. The Levi explanation was fascinating, but I don’t know what the fuck it has to do with the trial. Was it really a pointless aside? I don’t know…

The Arei scene was fucking insane even outside the Eden CG. Stabbed through the heart, haven’t felt that sad since Min’s death, and, yeah…

Not to mention, the fucking “Ideal Country Woman from LGI” looking ass frame. At least I finally got my answer; it was a wrist bend, not a glove.

And David. David. Why are you like this. I genuinely can’t tell why he does anything anymore.

Finally, I love the Taylor mention, that’s insane. And Veronika has a darker secret? She really wants those MM allegations, huh? Jokes aside, I’m really curious about both those things. I kinda wonder if somehow the students will see the motive videos from Trial 1, since we’re hearing about Taylor and I’m hoping Alyssa later.

Just… Holy shit this episode was awesome. Cannot wait for next week.

First Impression Murder Theory Updates

It’s looking like Levi!Accomplice will end up being a nice AU and nothing more, although I’m not 100% ruling it out. That said, I’m still pretty confident in Eden!Culprit, especially with how we mentioned the tape on the spinny thing was easy to grip, but no one’s made the connection to the gym yet.

The big thing to solve in the Arei case, then, is how Eden got the fish. There’s a few other accomplices she could have, but those are looking rough unless she somehow got Arei to do it. That said, I’m considering the possibility that she took the minnows ultra early, before Nico started feeding them. That would explain how they didn’t notice there were a few missing the night before; they just never counted the ones in the jugs in the first place. That has issues too, but I’ll see about it.

That said, I’m pretty happy with myself! I got a lot of the major points of the pulley system right. The only thing is the “stopper rope vs tie a knot” thing, but the principle is similar enough. We’ll see about things like the ball of clothes to put the rope over the rafters. There’s still plenty of murder to discuss.

As for the Ace case… It’ll need a full review later. If it’s supposed to be similar to Arei’s case, I really have no clue what the hell was happening there. Though I guess the ridiculous wire circuit I made might actually have some merit, given we're doing some kind of pulley?

... Maybe not :p

I have no further insight; I just need to look at it again.

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

Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Watching this episode took me like two hours and a half while writing this… this almost 4k word post… so… yeah. Gods save me if there actually is an hour long episode left. See ya’!

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt spoilers #eden tobisa #teruko tawaki #levi fontana #arei nageishi #ace markey

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mirandasidefics · 1 year ago

Text

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 2

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Chapter 2 Summary: Lucien and Rhysand argue over Reader's imprisonment, only one cell is traded for another. Lucien reaches out to an unlikely alley for support in getting Reader free.

Word Count: 6.3K

Warning(s): Mentions of injuries, mentions of self harm, mentions of body issues/insecurities.

A/N: I was too excited to wait the full month so here is part two a bit early! I apologize that this gets a bit dialogue heavy at the end. I may fix it later. This is going to be a long slow burn fic with a lot of angst. This will also have crossover with some of the Crescent City characters. It also probably goes without saying, but this will not follow canon past the events in HOSAB. Comment on this post if you want to be included on the tag list.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 1

Seven days. Seven days he’d been arguing and advocating for her release with Rhysand. For seven days he listened to the same rehearsed list of excuses as to why Rhys wouldn’t budge in his decision.

“You and I both know that the gate to Velaris was sealed with blood magic. Only those whose blood is linked to the seal can pass through, which she shouldn’t have been able to do. On top of that we don’t know what world she came from. I’m not risking the lives of my family-my court, which includes you- on what equates to no more than a hunch.”

While the High Lord’s statements were reasonable and valid points, his insistence she remained confined in that dark and dank cell was not. Lucien hastily made his way down the main steps that lead into the catacombs, thoughts of his last spat with Rhysand swirling in his mind.

“Why do you care so much about what happens to this woman?” Rhys had questioned. Lucien had asked himself the same thing; but how could he say that it was less about her and more about what she represented? That when he saw her cowering form in the corner of that cell, images of Feyre, Elain, and Jesminda flashed through his mind. He had failed the two sisters. He had failed his first love. He would sooner have the Cauldron blast him from existence should he fail to protect another innocent female. He’d kept his composure standing in Rhysand’s office at the River House long enough. A simmering rage permeated the space as the raven-haired male stared him down. A silent challenge in the already tense atmosphere.

“How can you stand your own hypocrisy?” He seethed, “You sit there thinking of yourself so high and mighty, yet a simple human frightens you? You allowed Feyre into Velaris the second week she spent with you. You allowed Bryce into your home within minutes of her crashing into our world. Yet this human…this woman scares you so much you have her imprisoned in one of the most dangerous areas of your court?”

“ENOUGH!” Rhysand bellowed, his own violet orbs simmered with rage. Lucien felt his flames rise up and encircle his palms. Rhysand’s High Lord command held no sway so he continued.

“Are you that much of a coward that you could not have just asked her a few simple questions? You couldn’t have just looked into her-”

“I could not enter her mind!” Rhys’ breaths were ragged. “Something is protecting that mortal, and it is strong enough to keep me out. So long as those shields of hers remain impenetrable I cannot trust her. I must keep my mate and child safe.” Lucien scoffed, his fire dwindled. “Which is not something I can say I see you doing for your own.”

Lucien could still feel the cracking of bone and cartilage of Rhys’ nose as it connected with his fist. The argument surly would have resulted in them demolishing the entirety of the business wing had Azriel’s arrival not stopped the two males in their tracks. The Shadowsinger’s haggard appearance set them both on edge, but his words allowed Lucien to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m done with this Rhys. I cannot keep hur- I cannot do this… she knows nothing.” The High Lord merely looked between the Emissary and the Spymaster. Expression relaxed and revealing nothing, even as blood dripped over his lips.

“Bring her up to the Moonstone Palace,” the commanded was towards his brother, “Since Lucien is so smitten with the woman he shall remain with her there for the time being.”

Lucien soon found himself outside of her cell. Only darkness and cold emanated from beyond the door. He paused his own breathing, wondering if she was even still alive. The last time he saw her, she hadn’t hesitated to slice open her own skin. Azriel wasn’t far behind and pushed past Lucien to enter the room. Lucien’s breath remained caught in his throat as he took in the mangled sight of her.

You had no idea how long you’d been in the darkness of your cell. Hours had turned into days, but just how many days you weren’t sure. You had gone silent on what you assumed was the third day. You knew nothing of how you got there, and you had no idea where to begin when Azriel-who’s name you gathered early on-asked you about the world you came from. Its not like he would believe you if you said your world had no magic, at least not in the same way it was here. Then again, that was clearly an incorrect assumption on your part. And after everything that has transpired you determined that this was no dream. It was a nightmare come to life. You weren’t sure how much more your psyche could tolerate. Surely death would be better than the horrors that would plague your mind for years to come if you were allowed to live. You prayed silently to whatever deity would listen to let you die. You started as the metal hinges of the door screamed into the darkness.

“Mother above,” The horrified yet soft baritone drifted to your ears and you strained to open your eyes. You recognized the voice and Lucien’s warm body was immediately next to yours as you dangled from the ceiling. The male made quick work of the metal shackles holding your wrists high above your head, a bright light flooding the small space making you hiss. His large hand encircled your wrist and you could feel the skin repair itself. Lucien slowly lowered your arms down.

“Her name is (Y/N),” Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was ashamed of the space his normal speaking voice would take up in the small cell. As if what he said would break you further. Lucien held you up, warm hands around your rib cage holding you steady.

“(Y/N),” His testing of your name tentative, “(Y/N), my name is Lucien…I’m going to take you out of here.” His arms wrapped around you, and you could have sworn you felt your skin get warmer, the cold melting away like ice. His grip never lessened, which you were grateful for as you weren’t sure your legs could fully support your weight.

“Do you feel safe enough to come with me?” You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move your head in agreement. Couldn’t specify that you felt safe with him. You could only muster enough strength to cling to the front of his shirt, hoping it conveyed your trust towards him and him alone. Your eyes burned with tears. He shushed you as one of his hands rubbed up and down your spine. A footstep echoed in the chamber, and then you felt Azriel’s shadows attempt to wend their way over your bare feet. Your flinch was followed by a low warning growl, one that you felt more than heard.

“Follow me,” Azriel’s swallow was audible.

“Can you walk?” Lucien’s hand lowered to your waist, pushing you back far enough so he could meet your eyes. They felt swollen and your vision was unfocused and hazy, but you tried to keep them open so he could see that you would try your best. You shifted your weight back onto your heels and slowly slid your right foot in front of you. A lightning like bolt of pain traveled up your leg. Air harshly sucked into your lungs.

“I’ve got you,” his voice was reassuring as he continued to support most of your weigh in his arms. You took another step forward. Then another and another. His hands never faltered from their place on your torso as he moved himself to walk behind you. Ready and poised to keep you balanced and catch you should you fall. “Good girl,” he praised, “Let’s get you cleaned up so I can heal you yeah?”

The walk up from the catacombs to the palace proper was brutal. Your legs burned from the muscle strain and you were regretting not accepting help from Lucien while you bathed. However, the last thing you wanted was to have anyone see you naked. Lucien had helped enough with getting the large sunken in bathtub filled. The scent of vanilla and lavender contrasted with the grime and dirt that filled your lungs for the last week. You had specifically asked for the water to be scalding, wanting it to burn away the memory of everything that had been done to you in the dark. The deep cold that laced your bones was finally seeping out in the hot water. A soft knock rapped on the stone archway leading into the bathing chamber. Unable to move your neck freely you covered your chest and turned to face the male. He walked over to the bench set near the tub, a bundle of cream-colored fabric in his arms. Unless it was a bedsheet you doubted that any clothing he found would fit you. Then again, magic existed so its possible that the fabric could be altered instantly. He sat on the bench and set the garment next to the towel that awaited you.

“Are you certain that I can’t be of assistance?” He looked beyond you towards the open windows that overlooked the absolutely stunning expanse of wilderness below the palace. A darkened city jutting out from the base of the mountains the only thing that disrupted the sight. You were thankful for Lucien’s offer. Truly you were, and despite the feeling-knowing- that you could trust the male, your self-conscious nature surrounding your body was too strong.

“I-” You cleared your throat of the gravel you were certain had lodged itself inside from screaming against the rocky surface of your cell, “I’m good.” The vibration of your vocal chords felt like sandpaper as they rubbed together. He looked at you then and reflexively you squeezed your arms tighter around yourself; gripping your elbows as you dipped down into the water until everything below your neck was submerged. You were grateful for the tub size making you look small. It could easily fit two full grown adults and deep enough to reach your waist when you stood to full height. It almost reminded you more of a jacuzzi rather than a bathtub.

“Then I’ll leave you to bathe in peace,” He stood and clasped his hands behind his back, “I’ll be in the room just beyond these arches. Just call our if you need anything. I’m here to ensure that you’re taken care of.” You nodded your understanding and turned towards the side of the tub lined with soaps and lotions, his foot steps retreating against the stone tiles. While you had difficulty with your range of motion, you managed to rid yourself of the dirt, grime, and dried blood from your skin. Your hair felt silky, soft, and light compared to the heavy oily mats from not washing it for a week. You had also found a razor nearby and took the opportunity to shave, savoring the feeling that you were becoming a person again. Drying off was easier with the relaxed muscles. The vanilla scented lotion felt like heaven as it penetrated your dry skin. You surmised that the bath had really only removed one layer of nightmares as you scanned your form in the mirror on the opposite wall. Your eyes first saw the plethora of cuts in every size cover the expanse of both your arms, shoulders, and collar bone from the dagger-Truth Teller-that Azriel had used during your interrogation. Next you took in the dark red and purple bruise on the left side of your jaw. The discoloration spanning from the joint below your ear to your chin. It was a miracle that he hadn’t knocked any of your teeth out or broken your jaw from the force he hit you with. Eyes trailing further down you saw a second healing bruise, its blue-green hue spanning the length of your ribs on the right side of your body. Laying down on your side was going to prove difficult still. Finally, your eyes landed on the only injury that you yourself were responsible for. The shadows had played too many tricks on your mind, too many whispers promising to break you. The psychological and emotional pain was worse than the physical injuries and honestly became too much for your soul. Something in you broke. You still couldn’t figure out exactly how you managed to grab Truth Teller from him, too focused on plunging the black blade into your left inner thigh and dragging it along the flesh. You couldn’t reach your throat, so you had been aiming for the next major artery you knew of in the hopes that you’d bleed out fast, but Azriel was quick. His attempt to get the blade back from you pushed it away from where it would do the most damage. That was the last day that Azriel brought any form of weapon with him, and the last day he put his hands on you. Rhysand had only managed to stop the bleeding, but a large and deep jagged slice remained. Had you paid more attention you may not have doubted the guilt that lined his features as he worked to heal you. You didn’t want this to be real. You still held out hope that if you somehow managed to end your life you’d wake up on the cold concrete of the path leading up to your front door. You didn’t belong here.

You shook the memories from your mind and picked up the fabric on the bench. You expected the intrusive thoughts and nightmares, but you didn’t think that they would be plaguing you so immediately. You slipped on the airy cotton tank top and loose-fitting matching shorts. You were indeed surprised they fit as well as they did, let alone fit at all. Your bare feet padded along the cool stone floor and entered the massive bedchamber. The room encapsulated a warmth with its cream and ivory base colors. Splashes of blues, teals, and turquoise giving it a calming effect. The dark cherry wood of the four-poster bedframe provided an interesting accent color adding to the space. Lucien sat on an ivory colored couch that faced a white marbled fireplace. Sadly, the flames did nothing to help illuminate the space and only seemed to cast heavier shadows. You glanced around the room again and noticed that the bedsheets had been turned down for you, for whenever you were ready to sleep. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to get any real rest with your injuries being what they were. Rhysand had only stopped the bleeding in your thigh. He did nothing for the other injuries. So, Lucien stated he would heal those for you. Carefully walking over, you sat your self on the couch, keeping enough space for another person to sit between you and the crimson haired male. He turned towards you with a slight smile that quickly faltered as he took in your appearance. He moved closer towards you and examined every inch of your skin. His one real eye held no warmth even as a flame seemed to ignite the iris. He took your chin in his hand to get a better look at the bruise on your jaw. His touch was gentle, but even you could tell that the male was furious with what he saw.

“I had hoped some of this had been dirt,” He turned your head to the side, a finger tracing down along the side of your neck. A metallic scent permeated the air as the hand cupped the left side of your face, covering nearly the entire bruise. His gaze slowly traveled down to your shoulders and the cuts that littered and marred the skin of your arms and shoulders. The skin warmed and tingled under his gentle caress. His eyes paused at your torso, no words needed to understand that he wanted to see the injury to your ribs. You carefully gathered the material and lifted as high as your stiff shoulder and neck muscles would allow. His fingers traced the outline of the mark, and you cringed at the touch of his hands moving your fat rolls out of the way so his palms could lay flat against the skin. Embarrassment colored your cheeks. Lucien continued his healing wordlessly. He motioned for you to stand, grasping your calf and propping your leg on the cushion of the couch. Your inner thigh completely exposed to him allowing the full extent of your wound to be seen. You watched as skin healed almost instantly. His gaze then shifted to the healed scars on your upper thigh, near the junction where it met your hip. “Um…y-you can leave those,” you brought your leg back down to stand before the male, “Thank you Lucien.”

“You’re most welcome,” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. You started to pick at your already blunt nails, a nervous habit you used to ground yourself. You glanced around the room for the third time, almost not believing that you were no longer in the cold and dark. The white walls and bedding opened up the space.

“Is…is that for me?” You pointed over towards the massive bed covered in decorative pillows. Lucien’s red hair swayed with the movement of his head as he followed your gesture.

“The bed is for you,” He stood and walked over to the small bedside table to the left of the headboard, “As is this sleeping draft.” He picked up a deep cobalt vial, giving it a slight shake before setting it back down. You hummed and nodded, but didn’t move from your spot in front of the couch. It went without saying that the potion would be needed after what you experienced over the past week. And you would only feel guilty if you woke him in the middle of the night.

“There’s water for you as well,” His voice softened as he noticed your hesitation. You chewed on your lower lip. The sun was still up, but you didn’t know how its position revealed the time of day. Depending on the time of year and how far north, or south, on the planet you were, you estimated it could be anywhere from 3pm to 9pm. You supposed it didn’t really matter as sleep was sleep and you’d likely remain unconscious for several hours, Gods willing at least.

“I will be in the room next to yours,” He pointed over to a door opposite from the entrance to the bathing chamber, “If you need anything, anything at all you come to me. We’ll get you some food in the morning.” You nodded again as your eyes started to water. You didn’t want to be left alone, but you also didn’t want to take up his time more than you already were. So, wordlessly you forced your feet to move and made your way over to the bed. You crawled in under the blankets that had been moved aside. You grabbed the vial from the bedside table and uncorked the stopper. The scent of chamomile, lavender, and something unknown wafted to you. Before you gave yourself time to reconsider you downed half the contents and set it back down. Lucien was patiently waiting at the door and smiled his first genuine smile towards you.

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

“Goodnight Lucien.”

Lucien had answered all your questions, to the best of his ability, during your first day in the Moonstone Palace. He filled you in on the basics of the Night Court and Prythian. For each bit of information he provided about the land or himself, you matched it. He also informed you that while here, Rhysand insisted that you work on finding any potential information of your world and how to get back to it in the texts that he sent. A new stack of books was brought into the small library within the palace every morning. So far, your hours of reading yielded no results. Then again, you could only read a fraction of the texts given to you. Most were in languages that you couldn’t even begin to understand. Still you scanned the tombs for any words that even looked remotely similar to names of places within your universe. Sadly, all you could find was information related to a Midgard, which was frustratingly NOT the same as the mortal realm described in Norse mythology. Lucien then explained that they had already received visitors from this Midgard that were set to return to Prythian soon. You had gathered that one of them was Bryce, but you’d not been given names for anyone else.

In addition to the books you had also been gifted a small wardrobe filled with clothing in your size. It had been awkward when the half wraiths appeared to measure you. But you were provided with some simple dresses, pants, shirts, and under clothes. Nothing fancy, which you were grateful for. Lucien explained the clothes were an apology gift from Rhysand. You told Lucien that if the High Lord was truly sorry he could at least express as much to your face. You couldn’t complain in the grand scheme of things. Rhysand wasn’t obligated to house, feed, or clothe you. He could have easily dumped you in the Mortal Lands, leaving you to fend for yourself. Although, Lucien stated that he knew of two people that would have taken you into their care. Regardless, you did as Rhysand bid, reading for hours day after day and never asked for anything in particular.

Another two weeks went by and you and Lucien developed a little routine. Breakfast followed by hours of research. Then lunch and various exercises and tests to determine if you held any sort of latent magic. Lucien explained that his initial assessment of you that first day showed nothing, but that didn’t mean you were completely without power. Truth be told you felt he was keeping something from you. Then came dinner, after which you were free to spend your time however you wished. Mostly you spent time on the veranda studying the night sky, letting the wind caress your face and hair. There was one night you swore you heard voices held within the breeze. A song encouraging you that you would find peace again. In your world the night time hours used to provide a comfort, but here there was nothing familiar about the constellations that dotted the dark sky above. Instead, the lack of familiarity just made you feel all the more alone. It wasn’t that Lucien wasn’t good company, you just felt bad that he was stuck with you. He tried really hard to get you to relax and fall into the playful banter he likely needed to survive his own punishment. While he never said as much, you had gathered that his babysitting duty was linked to your release and apology from the High Lord. Lucien made your days easy, filled with witty remarks and a warmth that felt natural. An easy friendship had definitely taken root.

However, the nights were hard. You already suffered from extreme insomnia without the added fear of night terrors. So, your sleep cycle was suffering greatly. The first two nights were dream less thanks to whatever Lucien had given you. But the third night resulted in his bursting through the doors of your bedroom at the sound of your screams. As much as you hated yourself for feeling weak, you begged him to stay in the room. He obliged, of course, and slept on the couch. His presence helped slightly. It didn’t chase away the nightmares, but it did make the darkness that permeated the night more tolerable. You had never been fearful of the night before, having even preferred it to the hustle and bustle of the day. You had always the quite of the night to bring you a comforting serenity. But since your time in the cell…you insisted on a fire in the hearth and the faelights to remain lit, believing the light would chase away the shadows that plagued your dreams.

You felt bad forcing Lucien to sleep on the couch. But you also didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you offered to share your bed with him. He told you about his mate, Elain, and you felt even worse that your arrival took him away from her. Even if he explained that their relationship wasn’t what would be expected between mates after nearly 4 years of being in each other’s lives. So, you kept the offer to yourself.

Today started out like any other. Lucien and you sat down to a breakfast of eggs, toast and jam with orange juice. You never really cared for tea and coffee appeared to not be available in Prythian if your companion’s confusion was anything to go by. The only difference today were the two additional place settings.

“Are we expecting visitors?” You asked. You immediately wanted to kick yourself for asking what was an obvious question.

“Yes,” Lucien answered, pouring a cup of tea for himself, “I’ve asked some people to come and meet you. As much as I enjoy our time together, it seems that the High Lord still needs convincing that you should not be kept in a cell.”

“I’m not in a cell,” You countered. However, you didn’t miss the fact that his glare told you that your new cell was just a lavish one.

“Our guests may be able to help me make a stronger case for you to be able to move freely about the court, if not Prythian as a whole.” You pondered who he would have contacted. To your understanding, not many members of the High Lord’s “Inner Circle” particularly cared for the emissary. There was also no way that members from another court would be able to hold any sway over the inner workings of the Night Court.

“So, what do they need to know about me?” You asked, spiking the yoke of your egg. In the time spent with Lucien you were able to be yourself for the most part. You held back on your swearing, meme related jokes, and slang, but tested out your sarcasm and dry humor. One of the main things you were worried about was how to speak with others. While you had manners, you had no formal etiquette training. Something that Lucien found utterly hilarious when you asked for clarification on how to address him.

“Relax, its an informal introduction,” His gentle smile reassured you, “Just be the sweet girl that I’ve come to know.” His smile widened. You gave him a doubtful look, tucking your lips into a thin line to suppress a laugh. He batted his irritatingly long eyelashes and the two of you broke out into a fit of laughter. While you weren’t cold or bitchy by any means, you also weren’t a sweet and demure woman either. No, Lucien quickly pointed out that you had a fire within you…at least on your good days. The laughter was cut short by the sound of a thud in front of you on the stone patio. Your eyes immediately tracked the large bat like wings and you stood from your seat. Metal and glass clanged against the stone as your thighs hit the lip of the table. Your chair knocked to the ground, causing you to nearly trip as you backed towards the metal railing. Blood rushed in your ears and your vision started to tunnel. Lucien was next to you in an instant.

“Hey. Hey," He gripped your right shoulder to keep you steady, “Shh, it’s okay. It's not him. You’re safe.” Your gaze remained fixed on the unknown winged male that looked on with worry etching his features.

“See what you did,” the voice of the female he’d been carrying was distant in your ears. Lucien’s other hand cupped your face, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Eyes on me (Y/N),” He encouraged, “Breathe. There you go.” Your eyes focused on his features; the jagged scar-raised and tight, the deep reds sprinkled amongst the warm honey brown iris. Your breath evened out, and you covered the hand on your cheek with one of your own to let the red head know you were okay. You took another breath and released Lucien. However, his hand remained on your shoulder. You turned back to the couple that stood on the opposite side of the space. At first glance, the winged male held features that you noted were similar to Azriel in regards to skin, hair, and eye color. Although, Azriel’s held more flecks of green than the honey gold of the male before you. The unnamed male was taller and broader, his shoulder-length hair softly jostled in the breeze. Your eyes wandered over to the female that was with him. Her striking blue-grey eyes would have reminded you of steel had it not been for the soft sadness that shown in them at your display. You hadn’t expected to react in the manner you did. Your heart still hammered in your chest. You cleared your throat and smoothed down the front of the simple sage green dress you wore.

“I-I must apologize,” You started, “I guess I…sorry.” You wrung your hands together and looked at your feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the female spoke up, "It’s this idiot’s fault. We should have given you a warning.” You nodded slightly in acknowledgment. Lucien’s hand trailed down your arm to your hand. He gave it a quick and gentle squeeze before he bent down to pick up the chair you’d knocked over in your haste to get away.

“(Y/N),” He motioned for you to sit back down, “This is Cassian, the General of the Night Court’s Illyrian army, and Nesta Archeron, Valkyrie, sister to the High Lady and fellow emissary.” Lucien gestured to each as they took their own seats across from yours.

“It’s nice to meet you,” You reached across the table, your hand extended to shake theirs. When neither returned to gesture you pulled back. “Sorry, I’m used to hand shakes as a form of greeting in my world.”

“So, you are from another world?” Cassian asked, scooping some eggs onto a plate and handing it to Nesta.

“Yes, we call it Earth,” you searched the table for a spare fork, yours having fallen to the ground. When you couldn’t find one, Lucien handed you his. You raised your eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged and began to spread a blackberry jam on his toast. “And before you ask, there is no magic, at least not the same as what you’re familiar with. Also, creatures such as fairies-the Fae- shapeshifters, vampires, mermaids, nymphs, and so on - are all non-existent. Just stories that have been reduced to myths.” The two regarded you closely, listening to your spiel. When they didn’t say anything you continued, too nervous to allow silence.

“I’m not sure how I got here. There are stories of humans traveling through portals into the realm of the Fae or other worlds, but they are simply stories. Ones made to keep children out of trouble or explain natural occurrences. All prior to finding scientific explanation, of course. Like the changing of the seasons,” You realized you were now rambling, “or fairy rings-rings of flowers or more often mushrooms…” The three non-humans stared at you.

“Don’t Lu,” you warned as the corner of the male’s full lips ticked up, “Yes, I talk when I’m nervous. Yes, I’m nervous because I really don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t understand why…I just…want to go home.” Lucien took your hand in his again, his grip reassuring and comforting.

“That’s what we’re all working on,” He assured, “There is a library that, should we manage to convince Rhys-”

“Wait, she can’t leave here?” Nesta interrupted, her eyes blazed. Cassian tensed in his seat and gave Nesta a warning glance. It was clear that not everyone knew of your predicament.

“She’s restricted to the East Wing of the palace,” Lucien clarified, “There are barriers up that she can’t pass through. Just like what Tamlin did with your sister.” If Nesta had been upset before, she looked down right lethal now. Of course, Lucien had filled in you in on what transpired with Feyre and his former home in the Spring Court. Cassian cleared his throat, his gaze falling to the other male.

“What is it you need from us exactly?” He looked to you, seemingly trying to figure out why you posed such a threat that you required to be locked away.

“I need your voice in your High Lord’s ear. I have no magic, and we’ve tried various ways to test that out.”

“Which you’re welcome to see,” Lucien interrupted.

“Yes. I don’t really know how to use a weapon, nor do I have much interest in doing so. And, as I already mentioned, up until a month ago I firmly believed that yo-the Fae were not real.”

“What did my brother say his reasoning was for holding her here?” The question was directed towards the other male.

“He can’t enter her mind.” Cassian’s surprise was not well hidden, “He believes that something or someone is guarding her-” It was your turn to interrupt your friend.

“If I was being guarded or protected, then whatever was responsible has already failed me,” Your voice was soft. A silence fell across the table, and most of the food had grown cold. You didn’t know what else to do or say to convince the General and the Valkyrie of your innocence. All they had to go on was your and Lucien’s word. Even if you were to demonstrate the exercise that Lucien put you through each afternoon with no results, how would they believe that you weren’t just pretending. A ruse to fool them. You desperately tried to quell the pinpricks of tears behind your eyes. You feared that if Lucien’s efforts failed you’d be sent back to the catacombs or worse left to rot on that-

“(Y/N),” Nesta’s clear and calm voice cut through your thoughts, “I’d like to hear more about where you’re from.” You nodded.

“What would you like to know specifically?”

“Let’s start with you. Your family, your up brining.” She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed comfortably in her lap. You swallowed and nodded again.

“I can do that.” You spent the next few hours pouring every detail of your life to the trio. Most information Lucien already knew, some he didn’t. You talked about your family and your friends. You briefly talked about your work and academic studies in music. This caught the oldest Archeron’s attention, which launched a discussion regarding your dissertation topic. The two males excused themselves as you continued to talk with Nesta. The topic changed to books and Nesta promising to bring you some of the spicier romance novels that she found to enjoy the most on her next visit; to which you were grateful as you desperately needed a reprieve from only reading books provided by Rhysand. Cassian and Lucien eventually returned as you made a raunchy joke that had you and the female High Fae laughing loudly.

“It’s time to go Nes,” Cassian set his hand on her shoulder. He looked to you and smiled. The expression was genuine. After spending the few hours you did with the male, you had concluded that he was much less frightening than the other Illyrian. At least for the time being, that is. Nesta rose from her seat and joined her mate.

“I will speak with my sister,” She told you, her features hard with determination, “It’s not right that you’re kept any where against your will when you’ve done nothing to justify imprisonment.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, “I hope to see you both again soon. I’m certain this fool is getting tired of having to entertain me.” You gave the male a wicked teasing grin. Cassian let out a booming laugh as ‘your fool’ placed his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“And here I thought you loved my company,” He stated. You laughed as you stood to join him at the patio entrance.

“Yeah, yeah,” You brushed him off, the smile still plastered to your face. The two of you said your goodbyes and watched as the guests flew off in the distance.

“I think that went rather well,” you looked to Lucien, “Don’t you?”

“Yes, it did,” He held his arm out for you to take, “Cassian agreed to speak to Rhys. He said that he and Nesta would allow you to stay in their home or at least help you get in and out of the library.” You hummed in response as you slipped your arm around his. Your mind wandered, and you felt lighter than you had since you’d been here. He walked you to your room and began prepping the couch to be his makeshift bed for the evening. The sun was quickly setting, and you hadn’t noticed that you spent the entire day talking. You paused near the entrance to the bathing chamber.

“Lu?” he hummed, looking up at you while shaking out the quilt. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course, sweet girl,” You rolled your eyes at the term of endearment.

“That’s sticking now isn’t it?” His russet eye brightened with mischief.

“Now that I know it irks you, yes.” You leveled a glare at his to which he just laughed. You huffed a breath.

“If you’re just going to be mean, you can leave,” You stuck your tongue out at him as you made your way into the bathing room. He continued to laugh as he excused himself to his own rooms. When he returned, you were already snuggled in your bed, breathing deep and steady.

Next: Part 3

Tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #lucien x reader #acotar fanfiction #lucien vanserra x reader #plus size reader #lucien vanserra x plus size reader #azriel x plus size reader #BHINfic

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

Text

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 3

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

It didn't matter. Not the any of the questions or their answers. Right now, Mihawk had to find you, to ascertain that you were safe—both from others and your own demons that he doubted you had buried as deeply as you intended to.

He made his way out of the base and through town in long, purposeful strides, scanning around the few storefronts amd vendors he passed to ensure you weren't still shopping for supplies.

And he slowed at the docks, his sharp eyes catching sight of you on the deck of your sloop, pacing.

Crossing and uncrossing your arms.

Clenching and unclenching your fists, mumbling to yourself.

Rushing a hand back through your hair and jumping in alarm when you knocked your tattered old hat from your head.

Tou stopped in your tracks and stared down at where it had landed for several long seconds, still as a statue...before picking it up and tossing it aggressively into the captain's cabin. Mihawk watched you lean your head against the wall next to the door for another long moment, before kicking at it and storming around the corner toward the small kitchen.

You clearly hadn't seen him, but he had seen enough to be more than a little concerned. He swore under his breath and picked up his pace, pushing past a few Marines and civilians, with a sore suspicion of exactly where the vast majority of your scars had come from.

The door to the kitchen was cracked, and Mihawk saw you were leaned over the dish basin on the counter with your back to him.

Saw you, with the sleeve ofnyour white shirt rolled up nearly to your shoulder, draw the razor sharp edge of one of your daggers across your arm, just above your elbow, flinching and drawing in a sharp breath just before he reached you and grabbed your wrist. You cried out in alarm, dropping the dagger right into the empty basin, whirling around and backing into the countertop.

Your eyes locked onto his, wide as saucers, more vulnerable than he had ever seen them. In their depths swirled astonishment, pain, caution—and fear. Bold as you were, you had never once looked at him with fear in your eyes. Even the first time you had ever laid eyes on him, the first time you had approached him, you hadn't shown a single sign of being intimidated, which was not something he could say of many people at all.

But right now, you were like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf, frozen stiff and utterly helpless.

Mihawk remained frozen for some time himself, not at all used to the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling through his head. He wanted to shout at you, demand to know what the hell you were thinking—to pull you tight enough against him to knock the wind out if you—to down enough wine to forget about this madness, however briefly.

His eyes flickered to the blood still pouring from the fresh wound in your arm, and shook himself mentally, settling for pulling you over to the small, rounded kitchen table by your wrist and pulling out a chair.

"Sit." He was careful to keep his tone level, to keep any sharp edge from piercing through the command. Still, you obeyed wordlessly, lowering your gaze to your knees and folding your hands together in your lap, your shoulders drooping from your stiffened posture into one of utter defeat. Your breathing was short and shallow as it left your lungs, broken by a small hitch in your throat when Mihawk knelt down and grabbed a clean rag from the handle of of a cabinet behind him pressing it against your arm, carefully wiping away the blood..

Another small hitch interrupted your breathing as he glanced under the rag and sighed. It wasn't deep enough to necessarily need stitches, but they would help far more than they would hurt. He lifted your oposite hand and placed it over the rag, subtly slipping your second dagger from your belt and sliding it quietly across the counter behind him. "Keep pressure on it."

Every move he made either caused you to jolt in brief alarm or your breath to catch in your throat. Mihawk kept himself focused on the wound itself for now, simultaneously trying to gain control of his thoughts and shove them away entirely.

To figure out how the hell to address the subject of you slicing open your own arm.

Why exactly you had done it.

What the hell had possessed you to—

No. No, this had to be handled carefully. Handled in a way Mihawk was entirely unaccustomed to handling things.

He pulled the other chair over alongside your own—effectively blocking your path to the door in the process, a precaution he considered necessary—and set down a first aid box he had found tucked away in the back of one of the cabinets and a nearly full bottle of what smelled like strong whiskey. He pulled down the damp rag he had slung over his shoulder, shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the oposite side of the table to avoid getting any blood on it, and sat down, pulling your hand and the blood-drenched rag away from the wound.

It was a clean cut, considering how sharp you kept your daggers, and that alone was good. He pulled the clean damp rag down that he had draped over his shoulder and set to wiping the drying blood away from around it, glancing toward your face. Your eyes were still turned down toward your lap, your hands trembling a little now as you folded them together.

He sighed to himself, shaking his head a little.

What an absolute mess this day had turned out to be.

"Are you angry?"

The sound of your voice very nearly made him jump—he paused with the rag just beneath the shallow gash, his eyes darting back up to your face. Your voice was so quiet he might have thought he imagined it, if not for the way you swallowed and averted your gaze further away, toward the table at your other side.

"No," he said after a moment, keeping his tone level. Calm. "A bit frustrated, perhaps." You bit your lip, and gave a short nod. "And...curious as to why."

You hesitated a moment, still biting your lip. Your hands squeezed together briefly in your lap while his gaze lingered on the subtle shifts in your expression, long enough that you glanced over and your eyes met briefly.

The pain and hopelessness in yours made you look years younger—perhaps like the fourteen year old girl that had witnessed the destruction of her home and the cold-blooded murder of the woman who raised her.

Mihawk turned his gaze back to your arm after a moment.

"How much did Garp tell you?" you asked quietly.

"Far more than I bargained for," he sighed. He paused when you grew tense for a moment, realizing immediately how his words could have been taken. "Not like that," he said lightly, shaking his head. "I simply wasn't expecting anything of that magnitude." You still remained tense as he finished cleaning the wound, and kept the rag pressed to it as he picked up the open bottle of liquor. He decided to steer the topic slightly away, to attempt to ease into the main issue at hand. "I'm honestly curious how you managed to survive escaping into the Grand Line on a dinghy."

You glanced over slightly, not quite meeting his eyes. Your hands shifted in your lap, gripping lightly at the hem ofnyour shorts.

"I was lucky," you said quietly. Shrugged your other shoulder. "I was able to procure enough rations to last for a week. It was a time of year where the waters were relatively calm in that particular part of the Grand Line. I woke up the seventh morning to find a merchant schooner hauling my boat in. They saw it was a Marine boat. Discussed taking me in until I blurted out what happened and they took pity. Let me work as a deckhand for room and board and safe passage. They were bound for Loguetown. I got off there, worked odd jobs around taverns and inns that were as far from Marine territory as possible. Saved up enough Berries to purchase a sloop and sustain a comfortable lifestyle over a couple years and set out on my own."

"The Marines wouldn't have bothered you regardless." Your eyes twitched in his direction, then back down to your hands. "As Garp so aptly put it, you'll remain off their radar 'as long as the correct people remain in power and you don't do anything stupid.'"

You scoffed quietly. "Did you tell him he was wasting his pity?"

"No," Mihawk said slowly, pulling the rag away from your arm as he lifted his gaze to look at you. Not yet, he decided. You were still too tense. Too combative. "Frankly, I stared at him like he was speaking another language until he elaborated." The corner of your lips twitched the slightest bit, and your tension eased a little amid a small sigh. He lifted the bottle over, and you glanced over at it. "This is going to—"

"I know," you said. You drew in a deep breath, shifting back in the chair a bit, and held your arm out. "Go ahead."

Mihawk lifted his eyebrows a bit, his eyes lingering on your face briefly. Passing down the length of your arm, the line of scars winding down the limb beneath your newest wound, wondering for a moment exactly how many times you had done this yourself.

Then he tilted the bottle, letting the strong alcohol pour over the inflamed cut. You drew in a sharp breath through your teeth, your eyes snapping shut in a grimace, tensing up and shaking for a moment. You held your other hand out, your eyes still closed, and he handed the bottle off to you, watching you take a deep swig of the amber liquor.

You drew in a deep breath as you set it heavily on the table, and let it out in a shaking sigh, laying your head back against the back of the chair.

Lifted it and took another drink, and he plucked it from your hand as you lowered it this time—too much and you would only succeed in thinning your blood and bleeding all over the damned place again. You didn't question it, letting the bottle slip easily out of your grasp, your hand falling back to your lap as you caught your breath. Mihawk leaned back to set it aside on the counter, keeping his eyes on you. You were a ticking time bomb right now—one wrong move, one wrong word, and you were going to go off. There was no avoiding it.

There wasn't much he could do beyond attempt to lessen the blow—or simply get it over with.

It took only a moment for Mihawk to choose the former. Once you lifted your head, still breathing a bit heavily, he stretched his arm across the back of your chair.

"Did you ever intend to mention you mention you were raised by one of the most notorious pirates in modern history?" he asked.

He was a little surprised when you shook your head no, your head drooping, your chest still rising and falling heavily. "I...try not to think about her much," you replied. The pain seemed to have had something of a sobering affect on you—you spoke a bit louder now, a bit more confidently. You swallowed swallowed, running a hand back over your hair, and you turned your head, leveling your eyes with his.

"My last memory of her is watching a vengeance-crazed Marine Admiral saw her head off of her shoulders with a bowie knife."

For a moment, Mihawk could do nothing but stare in your eyes—not moving, not breathing, absorbing the toneless quality of your quiet words, the pain and anger in your gaze. After a long moment, he lifted his hand and pinched at his temples, shaking his head and drawing in a slow, deep breath. He lifted his other hand to the back of your neck and pulled you in so your forehead rested against his shoulder.

"She wasn't a pirate when I knew her, anyway," you said quietly. "I knew she had been, but she never talked about it. Not around me, at least. I think she was trying to avoid glamorizing it so I wouldn't follow in her footsteps. I probably still would have. At least she's not here to be disappointed in me." You gave a slow sigh, the breath trembling a little as it left your lungs. "Though she likely would be here if I had just done what she said and stayed out of sight."

"Don't do that." He kept his voice low but his tone firm—you weren't doing yourself any favors if your were blaming yourself for something as heinous as that. You drew in a sharp breath, and let it out as another slow, trembling sigh, your shoulders tensing a little again. He lowered his hand, wrapping his arm around them. You had a tendency to bolt any time you started to get the least bit vulnerable, and he had no intention of letting you. Not this time. "And it's not worth hurting yourself over."

"Yes it is," you said sharply. You stil didn't lift your head, but he still tightened his hold around your shoulders, just to be sure. You cleared your throat, but it didn't quite hide the hitch in your breath. "She wouldn't tell me about any of her scars." You swallowed audibly, your voice breaking as you went on in a softer tone. "She...told me they were hers to bear. Not mine. That they were reminders of her regrets and mistakes she made. I...I guess I didn't understand until I got this one." You lifted your hand to your neck, the same place Garp had indicated earlier when Mihawk had asked him about your scars. "Every time I saw it in the mirror all I could see was her. Hear her telling that goddamned Marine son of a bitch that he could do whatever he wanted with her as long as they let me go."

Your breath came in short, controlled bursts, your knuckles white as you gripped at the hem of your shorts.

"I have to remind myself. Any time I lose. Get too confident or let my guard down. Any time I make a mistake." Another deep breath, trying and failing to harden your nerve, still shaking like a leaf. "I have to remind myself that *one* mistake and I could—I could lose everything all over again."

"God dammit..." he muttered under his breath, lifting his hand to your hair and briefly lowering his forehead to the crown of your hair. You had this so deep-seated into your mind, so firmly established that it was like a law to you. A code that you had no choice but to follow, that you had no choice but to suffer for every mistake you made and trap yourself within a web of regret just to keep yourself safe.

Mihawk lifted his head from over yours, and took your face in his hands to lift your head. You swallowed as your eyes met, and for a moment the sight of the tears streaming down your cheeks made him freeze, made his chest ache, his own shoulders tense. You were on the verge of shattering like glass, and he didn't have any choice but to let it happen. He drew in a slow breath, keeping his gaze locked onto yours.

"You agreed," he said slowly, "some time ago, that you belong to me." You swallowed. "Which means that these..." He lowered one hand to your arm, and you tensed the same way you always did when his fingertips brushed across the column of scars extending down your soft skin, "...are not just yours. And that you're hurting more than just yourself— Don't," he added firmly when you clenched your eyes shut, your breath hitching, and you opened them again after a moment. "You learn from mistakes you've made and move on. You don't trap yourself inside them and live in misery." Your gaze fell from his as you bit down hard on your bottom lip, openly flinching when a whimper left you. "I personally have trouble believing that was what your grandmother intended for you when she gave her life to ensure you kept yours."

That was it—that was the straw that broke you. Your head fell, your eyes clenched shut, a torrent of tears falling from them. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him again, lowering his head over yours as your arms wrapped around his ribs so tightly that it was almost painful. You sobbed into crook of his neck like a child, broken apologies scattered between the sharp hitches in your breath, and he remained silent. Kept his own breathing slow and steady, cradling your head against his shoulder, letting you spill your heart in a way your solitary lifestyle had never allowed you to before.

Letting you calm down on your own terms, your tension slowly, slowly giving way until you were all but limp against him. Your breathing slowed until there was only an occasional hitch in your breath. It felt like hours had passed even though daylight still poured through the open door behind Mihawk,, casting his shadow over you while he combed his fingers through your hair.

"You won't be doing this again." You gave a small nod in agreement, not lifting your head.

"N...no stitches." He lifted his head a little at your quiet words, your voice hoarse. "This one has to scar." You sniffed, lifting your head finally and meeting his eyes. "I have to remember it so I never do it again."

He glanced down at the cut a couple inches above your elbow, and sighed. "Fine." He shifted his gaze back to your bloodshot eyes, and lifted his hand to rest it against your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to your skin. "Fine. But never again."

You swallowed.

Nodded shortly, your eyes remaining firmly on his as you repeated the words back, your voice quiet, trembling, but unquestionable in its intensity.

"Never."

#opla #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #fanfic #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #fluff #one piece headcanons #mihawk x reader #smut

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gold-rhine · 1 year ago

Text

What the guard dogs are for

There are some things you never want to hear your secret years-long crush saying, such as “I’m getting married,” “I think we should stay friends” or “I’m the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity.” Wriothesley’s very bad, no good day of trying to unravel conspiracy theories, fumbling a tea party with Chief Justice and learning Teyvat’s ancient history and vishap lore from the leading expert lector.

Genre: angst and misinformation campaign

Characters: Neuvillette\Wriothesley, Enjou

Warnings: sfw in a sense that nothing even remotely sexy happens, but there is dissociation, ptsd episode, brief mention of self-harm, and Enjou doing same thing he does in canon, which is not quite gaslighting? Anyway, let me know if you feel any other warnings need to be added.

Chapters: 1 out of 2. Wordcount: ~8k

With his morning tea, Wriothesley riffled through the reports as usual. Nothing was marked urgent, so he started with the most boring part, - the official ones. The production numbers, coupon consumption statistics, everything is prepared for Neuvillette’s upcoming inspection, which was mostly a formality, but he would want it to go as smoothly as possible.

Reports from the surface informants. Traveler stirring up a ruckus with the research institute… Well, about time, that pit couldn’t go on forever pretending that massive explosions are just a part of science routine.

Next, creatures called “vishaps” appeared recently in Erinnyes Forest. These vishaps are apparently a lesser form of dragons, and connected to Liyue vishaps, also lizard-like creatures, though in Liyue they are aligned with geo, not hydro. Non-hostile to humans, aside from one accident. But in that one they fought back against the hunters sent by nobles to capture them as novelty pets. So the only regrettable part was that they didn’t get the nobles, only their lackeys. For shame.

Next, there are gangs with new lingo going around, which generally was a good thing to pay attention to as they usually ended up in Meropide. Wriothesley frowned, reading the lingo translations, as he suddenly felt old. “Trendy Zaytun Peach” was something he’d got called for taking it up the ass a lot in his days, but now it’s a hip and cool nickname with the youngsters.

Informal internal reports. Victims of beret society are rehabilitating fine, preparations for the wedding are underway. Good. Albert, a new guy from the shop, is sending him tea. Quite good tea at that. Obviously a bribe attempt, though he didn’t ask for anything as of yet, so it was basically free. Everything was fair in love and bribes as far as Wriothesley was concerned. You could throw everything at the feet of your beloved as to the feet of your targeted bureaucrat, and receive nothing and you would have no claim to complain. Now, the fact he wouldn’t take it into account when making decisions about their proposals, and sometimes would even consider it a negative, was a different matter altogether.

He perked up reading the last report. There was a new conspiracy, whose agenda was not very clear, as they were more careful than the others, but the gist was something against Neuvillette, so Wriothesley was tracking it for some time. It was hard to get anything concrete though, as they were pretty good at keeping a low profile, but now apparently one of the members by the name of Jacque got into the Fortress on unrelated charges, and he was reportedly not the brightest shank on the block.

Wriothesley made the arrangements.

Half an hour later, he happened to stroll by when Jacque was being beaten up by three guys in the shadowy corner.

“Hey, what’s going on here? Leave him alone!” he said, walking up to them.

“Oh yeah?”, said one of the bullies, turning to him. “Well, make me!”

They were paid double for the pretend fight. It might have been an overkill, usually Wriothesley would go for just scaring them off without combat. Especially because anyone who’s been in the Fortess for some time or had a head on their shoulders would understand that nobody would try to openly fight the Duke outside of the fight club arena. But Jacque was as fresh as they get, allegedly stupid, and it was Wriothesley’s first chance at any info in two whole months, so he decided to make it as impressive as possible.

He went as easy on the guys as he could, they theatrically threw the fight and retreated.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, kneeling next to the guy in the corner and putting his hand on his shoulder for emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine,” Jacque muttered, shaking his head.

“Why did they attack you?”

“They don’t want me to spread the truth...” Jacque said with heavy emphasis. “But uh, thanks for helping me out.”

“No need to thank me. I feel bad enough that honest folk like yourself get picked on in MY Fortress. That’s not how I want to run my place, so it’s only natural that I stand up for you.”

It took a moment, but finally the guy gasped.

“Your fortress? Are you… the Duke?”

At least he knew what “Duke” is.

“Yeah,” Wriothesley grinned, turning up the charm. “And allow me to get you a couple of drinks to compensate for the rude welcome you’ve received so far.”

He got them to the Coupon Cafeteria, where best meals were already arranged, and generously poured alcohol into the poor guy, listening to the story of his life and misfortunes that brought him to the Fortress, nodding empathetically. He didn’t ask about Neuvillette at all, to not spook the target, trusting that he will come to this anyway, and finally his patience was rewarded.

“You know, you’re good!” the guy said drunkenly after some time, clasping his hand on Wriothesley's shoulder, which he beared stoically, grinning with all friendliness in the world.

“You know, they say we can’t talk to you because you’re bought by that lizard, but I think you’re a good guy. You just don’t know all the facts!”

“Which are?”

The guy leaned closer to him and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Neuvillette is an evil dragon!”

Wriothesley choked on a laughter, which was way too obvious to turn into cough even for the dunce this stupid.

“No, you don't understand! Dragons were enemies of humanity that Celestia conquered. But they come back when killed! They reincarnate! He is a hydro dragon who was reborn in a human form so he could more easily trick us!”

Wriothesley blinked, remembering Neuvillette standing under the rain, and the old children’s song. “Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don’t cry….”

“He put our rightful archon Furina on that trial, right? No one else saw the verdict, so he pretended she was declared guilty. He forced her to abdicate and took the power for himself!”

Wriothesley realized long ago that Neuvilette, of course, was not human. It was clear to any idiot who talked to him for longer than a minute in an informal setting, not to mention a lifespan of at least five hundred years. But there were a lot of options other than “evil dragon”. There were old gods who did not receive archonhood, but instead decided to serve the archon, like Liyue’s adepti, and he always assumed Neuvillette was of the same kind. But the idea that Iudex was some kind of evil monster with a grudge against humanity was ridiculous. Especially when he showed up at the Fortress and saved the entire Fountaine and Wriothesley’s own hide from the flood.

“Really?”

“Yeah! We should restore our true archon Furina to her rightful throne!”

Furina’s insurrection? Interesting. Wouldn’t peg her for someone capable of this type of conspiracy.

“And did Furina herself give us her blessing?”

“She can’t speak publicly, as this monster threatens her.”

Hmm, inconclusive on Furina’s involvement.

He spent more time with the drunk Jacque, trying to get more details, but couldn’t get much more than unhinged ramblings on how evil the dragons are and how insidious it was for a dragon to pretend to be a human. He had to leave to prepare to Neuvillette's arrival the next day.

_____

Neuvillette stepped out of Opera Epiclese into the rain and slowed down his pace to prolong the sensation. It was a bit of what humans called guilty pleasure, as he felt guilty from inflicting rain on humans for his own pleasure. Though from his understanding, humans felt guilty because they saw this pleasure as something bad for themselves. Even if often this supposed harm made no sense to Neuvillette. Eating too much food until a human's stomach hurt was at least understandable to see as such, but he heard one of palais’ secretaries say that romance novels were her guilty pleasure. How could humans feel guilty for something as simple as reading? He stopped and asked her why she would feel guilty for reading, because melusines kept telling him that socializing with humans is very easy, you just need to ask them questions about themselves and let them talk about what they like. Well, it didn’t seem to work, as the secretary stumbled, started hyperventilating and emanated levels of panic and anxiety comparable to someone in the defendant’s chair. Sensing human emotions did not actually help Neuvillette in communicating with them, as he could not discern the reasons. He asked her if she perhaps came into possession of any cursed texts? He could generally sense the stench of corruption and there was nothing on her, but there was always a possibility that it was a curse he could not register. She panicked even more and vehemently denied. At this point he decided to give up on socializing, as it was obviously very distressing for humans, but felt obliged to tell her that if she ever did read anything she felt was cursed, to inform him. He hoped it would assuage her fear of reading. She thanked him, stuttering, and after that day avoided him at all costs.

The rain was a compromise solution in any case. Neuvillette always felt a bit strained and uncomfortable in his body, but after obtaining full dragonhood and most of the memories of past lives, the human shape felt downright stifling. He now remembered thousands of years of being something much bigger, long coils that could easily crush the spire of Opera Epiclese. Now, when he looked at his own reflection, it was hard to comprehend that this small and ridiculous frame was actually him. In addition, all of his memories and instincts called him to be submerged in water. But even with his poor understanding of humans, he realized that seeing the Iudex floating in the river would alarm humans much more than him standing under the rain. So rain was the closest solution he could get at his position.

He summoned rain instinctively, to be as close to engulfed in water as possible. It was a bit embarrassing that even humans noticed it and composed a rhyme, even if that rhyme was inaccurate. He didn’t cry, as vishaps didn’t cry at all and even his current human shaped body didn’t have tear ducts. The closest he could pinpoint to human experience, as he understood it, was being stressed and desire to be comforted, for which water was his best remedy.

And currently he was quite stressed, looking over the Fontaine laws in an attempt to revise them. The current system that treated justice as theater was clearly imperfect, which he realized long ago. But he never saw himself as authorized to change it, as humans were the responsibility of the archon and even without it, he was well aware he didn’t understand humans, so he knew it wasn’t his place to question the human justice system, to which he was only a temporary guest. But now, as fontanias became part of Teyvat after his decision, and so, a part of his responsibility as Teyvat’s god of life, even if the usurper tried to deny him, he couldn’t ignore the need for change any longer. The problem was that he did not understand humans any better, so it was very stressful to try and restructure their systems of governance.

He extended a hand, catching raindrops on his palm, when he noticed a silhouette near the elevator to the Fortress, and stopped himself from visibly controlling the weather.

Wriothesley caught his eyes and grinned, approaching him at brisk pace, umbrella over his head.

“Greetings, Monsieur.”

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley always somehow managed to make a “Monsieur” sound more impactful than Neuvillette could “Your Grace”, despite one being a noble title and another just a polite greeting.

“Would you like to…?” Wriothesley extended his arm with an umbrella, without actually covering Neuvillette with it. In the past, as a part of playing a role of “normal human”, Neuvillette accepted such offers, though there were not many aside from Wriothesley who dared to approach him with it. But now, as he was a full-fledged dragon, at the height of his power and influence in this land, surely he could afford to discard this role? Surely he could afford to be himself at least in this?

“No, thank you,” he said, smiling and trying to sound as cordial as possible, so that Wriothesley would not think it was a slight against him personally. “Don’t take it as offense, but I actually like being under the rain.”

The Duke smiled back, shaking his head.

“No offense taken, but why didn’t you say it last time? I felt like an idiot forcing you under an umbrella.”

“Really?” Neuvillette perked up, falling in step with the human. “You could tell that I…”

“Hated it? Yeah, for sure.”

“....prefered not to have an umbrella.”

Wriothesley let out a low, guttural bark of laughter that somehow got to the dragon despite him not being interested in humans in general.

“Not only I could tell I disturbed you, but I had to walk on the flowerbed to get to you, and then I trailed dirt in the Palais while everyone here glared at me for the audacity. Meanwhile you walked on the same dirt, but stayed pristine!”

“I’m sorry for…”

“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m just kidding, don’t worry.”

Neuvillette met the greyish blue eyes of thawed ice directly and sensed that he was truly not bothered, which didn’t make much sense. But Wriothesley was one of the very few humans who was not scared in the dragon’s presence. He was, probably, the only one who emanated only positive emotions at their meetings. Neuvillette mostly encountered negative reactions in his daily life at the trials, so he could not tell apart which positive feelings exactly that he read from Wriothesley due to the lack of exposure. But perhaps…

“I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome at the Palais,” Neuvillette said after a short pause.

Wriothesley grinned with a careless shrug.

“Then I will be there, even if the rest of your bureaucrats make faces. As I said, don’t worry.”

Neuvilette frowned, but didn’t see much point in pressing this further. After a confrontation with Navia, the dragon realized that his lack of understanding of humans hindered him, instead of making him truly impartial. Especially now that he was de facto in charge of the entire Fontaine government. And practice showed that only direct interaction with humans could give valuable experience, as watching from the Iudex seat did not allow him a nuanced understanding.

So perhaps, if Wriothesley was a rare human who was not scared of him, and he proved rational and trustworthy in the years they knew each other, Neuvillette could confide in his true nature and maybe ask for advice in understanding humanity?

“Perhaps staying for some tea would make up for this past offense?”

Wriothesley stumbled for a moment.

“Seriously?” He sounded as casual and ironic as usual, but the surprised burst of positive emotions from him was bright and obvious. “After all these years you finally decided to deign my humble office with your presence?”

“It’d be a completely unofficial visit, of course.”

“Sure, sure. It was never my secret plot to bribe you with a tea party, trust me, even I realize my tea is not that good.”

His voice was ironic, but for a moment Neuvillette could see his crooked grin turn into a genuine smile. So, reassured that he was not imposing, Iudex nodded and followed the human into the Fortress’ entrance.

_________

The inspection itself was mostly a formality. The Court of Fontaine technically had no direct authority over Meripode, but it provided guards and substantial resources, and so it had a right to oversee the use of these assets. The actual budgeting was done on the regular in behind the scenes reports though, as the data was not visible in the in person visit. Still, it was a time honored tradition that got Neuvilette to show up regularly.

“Take a seat. It will take me a minute to make tea.”

Neuvilette gracefully sat down on the visitor’s chair In Wriothesley office, folding his hands on the cane. He still sat with a ramrod straight back and perfect posture, but there was a certain lightness to him today, which was hard to put into words.

“The inspection is over, yet you are still nervous.”

Wriothesley knew he had a poker face good enough to cover it, yet Neuvillette saw it anyway. He had theorized for a long time that the Iudex could sense emotions, but usually he would not acknowledge it directly like this. “I wasn't nervous about the inspection to begin with. But inviting a high and mighty Iudex himself to the tea for years and then disappointing him when he finally accepts would be a devastating faux de pas. They will mock me on the first pages of all the papers tomorrow.”

Neuvillette frowned slightly.

“I must underline that I’m not here in any official capacity, and I would hope I’m talking to Wriothesley, not the Warden or the Duke. If you agree, I would ask that we leave the titles at the door.”

“No, of course,” Wriothesley, who had fantasized about leaving titles at the door and then clothes on the floor for actual years, said quickly, frantically recalculating how he could turn the tea party to wine tasting, which best wines he had confiscated in his storage and how he could make turning on the gramophone and then maybe leaning against the edge of the table in front of Neuvillette look natural and smooth. “Absolutely. I was just joking anyway, don’t mind it.”

“Ah, I see. I apologize, I’m unfortunately prone to missing humorous intent, so I appreciate your clarification.”

With how far the Iudex went out of his way to assure people of his good intentions in informal situations, Wriothesley really didn’t understand how everyone found him so intimidating. Especially because he very often had to interact with assholes in positions of power who did try to intimidate him on purpose and the contrast was very apparent. Neuvillette projected an aura of power without really wanting to, and then tried to over-explain himself to make others feel at ease. His earnest awkwardness was something like the clumsiness of a huge beast like an elephant trying not to step on the gaggle of kittens at his feet.

“In any case, there is nothing to be nervous about. After all, tea is liquid, and it’s really hard to make liquids unpleasant. So far I think only Fonta truly managed it.” Neuvillette drummed his fingers on the table and glanced at Wriothesley. “To be frank, if crimes against water could be prosecuted, Fonta would receive life in prison.”

Wriothesley snorted. “So no sugar in your tea, I take it?”

“No, thank you,” Iudex said politely and then, after a short pause, “And to clarify, I was not serious. There is nothing wrong with people liking sugary drinks, of course. I was just making an attempt at a joke.”

He really was horrendously bad at pretending to be a human. How could anyone hear him talk and still believe he’s a scheming manipulator was beyond ridiculous.

“No, I got it. It was a good joke,” The Duke grinned, placing a teacup in front of Neuvillette and sitting down across the table with his own.

Neuvillette gave him a graceful nod with a little smile and picked up his cup, giving it a swirl before tasting.

“Hmm. Interesting. Poignant. Bitter,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head.

Wriothesley was about to mention that this sort was not usually bitter, but Iudex continued.

“Not by nature, but forced by circumstances. Not nearly enough water to be nourished, so it had to adapt and conserve strength, letting leaves seen as unimportant to die and concentrate on survival of the main branches. But there is not just hunger… there is a dream of rain. An ache of something not ever known, but yearned, longed for, without realizing what it is. But then…” Neuvillette closed his eyes for a moment. “It happened. There is a memory of luminous joy of water not gathered by mere drops, but drank in full, overwhelming, a feast after a life of fighting for scraps of morning dew. It had tasted rain at least once in the end.”

Wriothesley put his own cup down, leaning forward in disbelief.

“No way. This was a harvest from a drought year and it’s normally a mild sort, considered unusually strong in this season. How could you know this? Are you cheating?”

“You’re welcome to test me with other samples,” Neuvillette said with an air of a magnanimous ruler granting a boon and put the teacup down with a delicate clink.

“Oh, I’m taking you up on your word, trust me,” the Duke grinned, but then paused. He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he remembered how strongly Neuvillette felt about the perceived melusines conspiracy. Wriothesley had to tell him about the evil dragon idiots just to make sure he’s not thrown off balance later. That’s what the guard dogs are for, after all.

“Actually, before we move forward with testing your psychic tea reading abilities, there is something concerning official business that I think you should know. And then we can forget it completely.”

Neuvillette inclined his head with a small smile.

“There is a small group of conspirators, - and I must reiterate, it’s very small - who operate on the ridiculous idea that… uh, that you’re some kind of an evil dragon who schemed to overthrow Furina.”

Neuvillette's smile froze.

“You don’t have to worry about it, really. It’s negligibly small, and well, anyone with a working brain would not believe that you’re a monster in disguise.”

Iudex was silent for some time, not meeting Wriothesley’s eyes.

“Are melusines implicated in this?” he said finally.

“No. No, there’s no connection to them in this stupid theory.”

“Good. That's good. They do love living with humans so much.”

Wriothesley suspected that Iudex was taking things kind of out of proportion again.

“Listen, it’s really nothing…”

“No, no, I understand. It would be so unacceptably horrifying for humans to learn their ruler is a… monster.”

Neuvillette's voice wavered, but his face was impartial, strict, previous lightness gone completely. Wriothesley saw his hands tighten their grip on the handle of his cane a moment before he abruptly stood up.

“I must apologize for impropriety, but I have important business in the Palais which was inappropriate for me to neglect for so long. I must beg your leave to depart.”

Wriothesley stood up too, scraping to understand what he did wrong.

“Wait, it’s not…”

“Thank you for your time, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley shut his mouth, the title feeling like a slap for the first time in his life. The formality and politeness somehow only made it worse. He took a deep breath and willed himself to sound calm.

“I hope you have a nice evening, Monsieur Iudex.”

Neuvillette left in what for his usual dignified pace could be considered a hurry. Wriothesley followed him without being seen, partly to make sure he doesn’t get bothered by inmates and partly on an instinct to investigate.

At the Fortress’ entrance, he watched Neuvillette walk under the rain, lifting his head upward. The blue strands of his long hair glowed and so did his coat-tails. They extended, shining brilliant bioluminescent blue, trailing behind the Chief Justice, in a moment looking like fish’s fins, then the next - as colossal snake’s coils. Sea waves crashed against the ridge without any wind, rising high, reaching to a lonely glowing figure of Iudex. With bated breath, Wriothesley watched Neuvillette extend a hand, as if catching raindrops - and rain stopped mid-flight in the air, lingering over his palm, waves frozen cresting over the earth. The raindrops gathered in a shuddering spheres, and then stretched upwards, against all laws of gravity. Wriothesley’s heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette closed his fist and the rain flew backwards to the skies.

Wriothesley stormed back into his office and frantically searched through the reports, pages flying about, until he found the one about vishaps. He looked at the photos, seeing similarities he would never look for before. The dark blue color of vishap’s hide was nearly identical to Neuvillette’s attire, but that was small beans, easily written off as coincidence. Their eyes, bright magenta with white vertical slice of a pupil, resembled Iudex, but there was room for debate, as his eyes were much paler, lilac merging into gentle blue instead of a bright pink, even as white vertical pupil was so similar. What really struck Wriothesley after all this, was actually the little blue feather at the side of the head of both vishaps and Neuvillette. It was identical and looked so… deliberate. It had to be chosen and placed precisely like this.

Still, this was not enough. He needed more evidence. He needed… he needed answers.

He walked to Jacque's block as quickly as he could without alarming inmates, but when he got to the conspirator’s room, Jacque was sleeping on the bed and a man was sitting on the chair next to him, reading a book. He looked up when Wriothesley walked in and stood up, clumsily dropping the book. He was tall and gangly, had dark hair, Inazuman features and light brown eyes behind the glasses.

“Who are you?” Wriothesley was really not in the mood for playing games.

“Well, my organization caught wind that you are interested in learning some… historical information, and our poor Jacque is really not the best source, which is why I’m here to answer any questions you have,” the man gave him a groveling smile. “You can call me Enjou.”

“Not here. In my office. Follow me.”

When they got there, Enjou whistled musingly.

“Uh, what a nice office! Must be a pretty sweet gig. I wish I had an office instead of slinking in dump ruins all the time.” He sighed theatrically. “So, I assume your main questions are on the vishap situation. I…”

“Wait,” Wriothesley said, walking up to one of his wall cabinets. “You can’t expect me to just believe you on your word.”

“Oh, of course, of course! You’re free to rough me up a bit first. Maybe a little bit of torture? But only a little bit, I’ve got a glass jaw, haha!”

Wriothesley didn’t live so long as an undisputed champion of fight club to not recognize a freak who gets off on pain. He grimaced, walking up to the table where Enjou was already trying to rifle through the papers. He stopped with an apologetic grin and put his hands up. Wriothesley put a glass vial on the table.

“Drink.”

Enjou raised his eyebrows.

“Are we dining and wining first or?...”

“It’s a truth serum,” it was a secret project of the Sumeru Akademiya, before the sages were overthrown. Dendro Archon reportedly could read the thoughts of people, and sages were trying to replicate the effect at least partially. Wriothesley came into possession of it after using his network to get the sages connected to the needed people in Fontaine institute, as Fontaine was at the cutting edge of mech technology and the sages were apparently building an artificial god. Didn’t pan out for them, but the serum worked. Wriothesley was sure of it, because he tried it on himself first.

“Oh! How exciting! How does it work? Will it perhaps burn my insides in agonizing pain if I lie?”

“Drink,” Wriothesley said through gritted teeth.

Enjou smiled and drank the vial in one shot.

“Well, nothing is burning so far, but the evening is young, haha,” he said, smacking his lips.

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“Why are you here?”

“Huh? What do you mean? To explain the history to you, as I said.”

“Because of the goodness of your heart? What’s your agenda? Your goal?”

Enhou cleared his throat.

“Well, first of all, I do believe in uncovering and spreading so-called “forbidden” knowledge. But with your particular case can you really question my agenda? I didn’t come to you first. You were the one who sought us out. I didn’t even want to be here! I was doing my own thing without knowing about you, to be honest! But, well, I am in an organization with some unfortunate morons who thought that recruiting a convenient idiot and then sending him into underworld prison to make sure he isn’t heard is a great plan. And then when the Warden takes note of the idiot and gets him to blabber, these same morons go, Enjou, you have to get there, because you’re a vishap expert! Ugh.”

Enjou shook his head in seemingly sincere frustration.

“But um, yeah, I’m not trying to recruit you or anything. We know how you’ve disposed of House of Hearth agents and how you generally obstruct Fatui’s activity, and we just don't want you to do the same to us. Because we’re not your enemy! So I’m here to provide you with the necessary context to see that.”

Wriothesley drummed his fingers on the table.

“Okay. Start talking about Neuvilette and vishaps.”

“Well, Neuvilette is a Hydro Dragon, that should be obvious. To clarify, Hydro Dragon here means Hydro Dragon Sovereign, because technically all hydro vishaps are hydro dragons. If you didn’t know, which is understandable, as you’re more of a fighter type and not a bookworm like myself, haha, vishaps are primordial elemental creatures, original rulers of this land and mortal foes of humanity. Long before Archons, there were Dragon Sovereigns in charge of each element. Then there was a war with Celestia, specifics of which are not widely known, but we do know that Celestia won, dragons were largely eradicated and the huge chunks of powers of Sovereigns were taken from them and given to the Archons. Hydro Sovereign was killed.”

Enjou made a dramatic pause, before leaning forward with a grin. “But you see, vishaps reincarnate. Neuvillette is a Hydro Sovereign reborn in a human shape. There was actually an Inazuman prophecy about it, recorded in the Byakuyakoku Collection. That Hydro Dragon will descend in a human form, and it specifically mentions a cane. This really baffles me, to be honest. How could they predict the cane? Why does he even need a cane? Surely not because of any weakness, he’s an immortal dragon, 500 years is very young for him. And the records say when Neuvilette took his position as the Iudex some 400 years ago, he already had a cane. Was he born with it? Like, had he sprung fully formed, with a cane? Did he pick it up as, I don't know, honorary agreement with a prophecy? Or were his fashion choices actually predetermined to the degree that the prophecy knew them millenia ago?”

“Get back on track,” Wriothesley growled.

“Oh, sorry. Hmm, this serum works by forcing you to spell your thoughts out loud, yes? Well, then it’s not my fault I’m even more blabbering than usual!”

Wriothesley clasped his hands together and said slowly, carefully watching Inazuman’s reaction. “Even if he is a hydro sovereign dragon, as you say, this alone does not make him evil, as your conspiracy claims.”

Enjou fixed his glasses. He really had the hands of a bookworm, no work calluses or fighting scars. But there were spots of reddened, peeling skin that looked like burns that didn’t get to fully heal before getting burned again.

“Did you miss the “mortal foe of humanity” bit? But okay, sure. This is Fontaine after all, presumption of innocence and all that. I mean, I can’t read his thoughts to tell you under oath that he’s evil, so don’t take me to court, hehe!” Enjou grinned, clearly pleased at his own joke. “But I can tell what I know and ask some questions. My first question is why, after losing a war and presumably being killed by Celestia, would an ancient dragon god want to serve a servant of Celestia? The Archon, who rules with what is actually his own power? Unless he had some sort of agenda, perhaps? And come to think of it, why would Hydro Archon put a mortal foe of humanity into a position of such institutional power?”

“Are you implying Neuvilette forced Furina to give him the position of Iudex?”

“Well, I wasn’t here!” Enjou raised his hands defensively. “But why else would he become the Iudex?”

“There are higher beings and gods serving archons in other nations. Like Liyue adepti serving Rex Lapis.”

“Morax was known as the prime of the adepti. None of them could compare with him at strength. Same with yokai and Baal in Inazuma, she was the strongest by far. It’s natural that they would accept servitude. But here…” Enjou glanced at Wriothesley with a sly smile. “If you had to make a bet on a direct fight between Neuvillette and Furina, who would you bet on? Come on, I know tales that her own court would not listen to her until the Iudex tapped his cane.”

Wriothesley couldn’t really argue with this. When the Primordial Sea started breaking out, he himself sent for Neuvillette and didn’t even think to ask the actual Archon.

“In that case, why didn’t he just kill her immediately? Why would he play the judge?”

“Well, you see, he would not get his power back from just killing her. It would just pass to the next Archon. No, the Hydro Archon had to destroy her own throne. And running out the ruler requires a long game, as you know very well yourself, You Grace.”

Wriothesley kept a calm face, but something must have given him away, as Enjou grinned predatorily.

“Next set of facts and questions. You know of the infamous Archon trial, of course? When it was revealed that fontanian people are actually oceanids, given human shape by the previous hydro archon, Egeria? And the prophecy of the flood works because Primordial Sea waters dissolve fontanians into their oceanid forms. Well, the flood actually came. Why were fontanians not dissolved?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me that.”

“Hehe, yes. It was because Neuvillette turned them into real humans with his powers of Hydro Sovereign. How generous of him, yeah? The question is, why did it take him so long? It’s been 500 years, and yet fontanians were made human only minutes before the flood.”

Despite a feeble bookworm posturing, there was a shadow of unhinged madness in his eyes, dangerous enough that in any other case Wriothesley would cut contact. But the stakes were too high right now. He needed to get all the information he could out of this lunatic.

“You might also remember that on the same trial it was proven that Furina is not a Hydro Archon. And I can tell you that the actual Archon, Focalors, was in the Oracle machine the whole time. Sorry, I’m not even trying to pronounce that full name, haha!”

The urge to punch this bastard was overwhelming, but Wriothesley kept himself in check, mostly because he could tell he was being baited into it and he didn’t want to give the piece of shit the satisfaction.

“Anyway, Neuvilette had an audience with her right after a trial, and as result she killed herself and gave him power back. You see, Hydro Archon doesn’t have the ability to turn oceanids into real humans. All of you were just… things, playing at being humans,” Enjou said with a smirk that looked more fascinated than mocking. “But Hydro Sovereign, the original god of life, does have the power to do so. And he also, conveniently, has control over the Primordial Sea, which you, Your Grace, already know as he stopped the flood in your own Fortress.”

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow and Enjou smiled with a shrug.

“Again, I was not there! But I do know Hydro Sovereign controls the Primordial Sea, and that there is an entrance to the Sea in the Meripode Fortress. I also know that there was some emergency in the Fortress, where inmates were told to run as close to the surface as possible, and then Monsieur Iudex visited and the disaster was somehow avoided.”

Wriothesley frowned.

“If he was really a mortal enemy of humanity, why wouldn’t he just let the gates of Meripode break and the flood happen right there and then? We would all be gone and he wouldn’t need to lift a finger. Instead he ran to help when I… when the Fortress called.”

“And what would that achieve? He still wouldn’t get his power back,” Enjou shrugged dismissively and then smiled, almost wistfully.

“No, you know what I would do if *I* was the Hydro Sovereign with an ability to take human form? And if the Archon who held my power hostage was relatively weak AND had the prophecy involving a flood of the Sea I control? Well, I’d infiltrate human society, take a position of high authority and make sure the humans not only see me as the personification of law and justice, but also respect me more than their own Archon. And when the prophecy deadline is coming up, I’d make sure I have people loyal to me in some key positions. Such as Royal Duelist… and the Warden of the Fortress.”

“He didn’t make me the Warden,” Wriothesley gritted out.

“No, but he did make you the Duke, didn’t he?” Enjou smirked with a wink. “Our sources say the Court was not thrilled to give the highest noble title to you. And if the Iudex did not throw his own weight behind it, it would have never come to pass. How generous of him.”

It was true, Wriothesley’s own informants reported that the Court loathed to give him a title, let alone as high as the Duke. Neuvillette was the only one who fought for him and fought hard, because usually Iudex’s one word was enough to make a decision, but here the stalemate lasted for two months. They wanted to compromise and give him the viscount, but Iudex wouldn’t budge, so in the end, they caved.

Wriothesley never asked Neuvillette for the title. Neuvillette never mentioned what he did for the Warden and never dropped anything even as close as a hint of asking anything in return.

Unless you see it as a part of centuries long game, where mundane favors didn’t matter, but being called first to the access of the Primordial Sea did.

“Ah, you’re starting to get it, don’t you?” Enjou sensed blood in the water, like a proper shark would. “Then I would orchestrate a public court hearing to absolutely discredit the current ruler and corner the actual Archon. And when Focalors is forced to talk to me…. I would make a bargain. Saving the lives of all fontanians in exchange of getting my full power back and Focalors dying. Isn't it ironic that the dragon playing human was the one to turn human-shaped water things into actual humans?"

Enjou leaned back against his chair, grinning with satisfaction.

“And then I’d have an entire country loyal to me as a ruler, which would make a great foothold to use for attacking Celestia.”

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“You really expect me to take you on your word? You might believe it yourself, which will pass the truth serum, but the word of a lunatic is not evidence.”

“Oh, of course not! I would never expect you to take my lowly word for it. Instead, why don’t you take Monsieur Iudex’s word?”

Enjou made a dramatic gesture of spilling a heap of conches onto the table. Wriothesley raised his eyebrows, when the other man poked one of them awkwardly.

“Now that I have reclaimed one of the Seven Authorities from the hands of the usurpers, I have regained my true form,” a calm voice that was undoubtedly Neuvillette, said out of nowhere. “I am now a fully fledged dragon, powerful enough to judge the rest of the gods. My final destiny is to judge the Usurper-King in the heavens above.”

“This could be faked,” Wriothesley said automatically, just to argue, but his heart already fell.

“You wound me! These are his words, and I spent an entire night fishing them out for you, I’ll have you know. It’s quite hard to capture this. You’re welcome to listen to all of them and see for yourself.”

Almost against his will, Wriothesley reached out and touched one of the conches.

“…I shall fulfill my vow to judge all of The Seven in turn, even if the sky should fall and the ground give way.”

Wriothesley took an abrupt breath through his teeth. Enjou sighed and stood up.

“I think it’s better for you to listen to this alone. After, you’re welcome to reach out to us, but please don’t make any hasty decisions. I’ll see you soon, Your Grace!”

Enjou walked down the stairs, and by the time Wriothesley got to them, there was no one there. The Duke couldn’t bring himself to focus on that though. Instead, he walked up to one of the wall cabinets and took out a bottle of whiskey he was saving up as a possible gift.

He didn’t bother with the glass. He fell down into the chair in front of the conches and clenched his fingers on the bottle, icy veins springing up from under them. He took a sip and touched another conch.

“…my grievances with the usurpers have yet to be settled... They owe a debt of blood that shall not be forgotten.”

He drank, staring blindly into the distance, and listened, and the quiet words burned worse than whiskey sliding down his throat. He caught himself on a familiar thought. “This can’t be happening. This is too monstrous.” The same feverish thoughts he had when he discovered the truth about his foster parents.

As if by now he shouldn’t have learned that nothing is too monstrous in this world.

“As a survivor of the dragon race who has regained my full dragonhood, I must fulfill my oath and obligations even if it means returning all the water in the oceans back to the heavens.”

It really did sound exactly like Neuvillette. Wriothesley tried to find the lie, something that sounded fake, but not only the voice, but the cadence and word choice fit. And it sounded calm, impartial as usual too. And then there were hydro vishaps appearing in Erinnyes…

Fuck, was it really that easy to fool him? Was he really this big of a fool? He learned to distrust sweet words and warm smiles, and he was so sure that he wouldn’t get caught in the same lies ever again, even if he sacrificed his ability to love for this. But all it took was a seeming opposite, direct and harsh, too cold and intimidating to appear manipulative, but endearingly awkward just sometimes, just enough to make him believe that… That there was something true and clear in this rotten world. That he could trust in *someone*.

“Nothing will stop me from rendering judgment on each of The Seven.”

He went through all of the recordings, frantically at first, wanting to find contradictions, then, when none were found, numbly re-listening to the few that hit the worst.

“…also the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity. “

Wasn’t it too obvious in hindsight? Why would the Iudex stake his own reputation on Wriothesley’s title? How could you not see it coming? Oh, because you thought you “deserve” it for turning this dog-fighting pit of a prison into something with a modicum of fairness? Because you thought he recognized your redemption? Gods, what are you, fucking fourteen again, did you learn nothing, why would anyone ever care about you, you naive goddamn idiot?

Soon, the bottle was somehow almost done. At this point he was running one recording on repeat, mindless and purposeless except for repeating slashes of pain, familiar rhythm like the knife on his wrists years ago.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry." Whoever had penned that rhyme, as well as the Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the Hydro Dragon all that well, considering that they thought the Hydro Dragon could cry. What did they take said Dragon for, some sort of bleeding heart who grieved for humans and the heavens alike?”

If this was true… If this was true, then Wriothesley didn’t just get fooled himself. Then he helped a monster take control of the country and potentially use it in war against heavens.

He clenched his hand and it took him a moment to realize he broke the bottle he was holding in it. That pain from glass pieces in his palm felt small and distant now. But at last, it spurned him into action.

If this was true, he only had one shot. He’d already told Neuvillette of the dragon conspiracy, like a good little idiot eager to please. And any tyrant worth his salt would make sure to take him out after his, especially now that he outlived his purpose in giving access to Meripode vaults. He might have some time because of how oblivious he was, dismissing the conspiracy openly, but it couldn’t be long.

He couldn’t take his time. He couldn’t hope for the better. He had to act like it’s the worst option possible. More than anything, he needed to confront Neuvillette, dragon Sovereign or not. He had to fix this, no matter the cost.

He realized he needed leverage. Brute strength was out of the question. Even before the flood, Neuvillette absolutely destroyed Fatui Harbinger in one flash, quicker than anyone in the audience could see what happened. Wriothesley would put himself against Harbringer with no hesitation, but he wasn’t an idiot. If this was how powerful Iudex was before, then after allegedly gaining his full power, there was no way Wriothesley could threaten him. No, he needed something else.

He took out the paper and wrote a note, taking care to not stain it with blood. Fortunately, he held the bottle in his left hand, so he could keep it out of the way.

“....and so confess that I, Wriothesley, Warden of the Fortress of Meripode, killed Chief Justice, Iudex Neuvillette.”

He finished the note and carefully put in his signature, then folded the paper into an envelope and closed it with his personal seal. Then he walked up to a safe, one of the hidden ones, and punched in a code. When the safe opened, he rummaged in it for a moment, until finally taking out two vials.

This was sold to him as the poison that could kill a god.

#rhine writes #rhine writes light #neuvillette #wriothesley #wriolette #genshin impact #enjou #i had a lot of fun with enjou here #anyway let me know what you guys think

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sports-on-sundays · 1 year ago

Text

boulevard of broken dreams / LN4 / Part 1

Summary: Lando x female!reader - Not many people know how true loneliness feels. Not many people know how true love feels.

Warnings: lots of description, angst, mention of self-harm, loneliness, pain, mention of death of a family member, dreams ruined, emotional pain, getting drunk to ease pain, change from 2nd person to 3rd when it felt right, panicking, jumping to worst case scenario, nausea, screaming, confusion, questioning will to live, blood, kind of violent dramatic descriptions. PLEASE do not read if you seriously struggle with some things like this! I would hate to cause anyone to feel more pain!!

Requested?: Mate nah.

Author's Note: I just wanted to write a thing. Listened to sad piano music and Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day writing it. I hope you enjoy. Personally, I'm really proud of this one. Let's hope I got all the warnings in hah! Link to part 2

Sunshine, moonlight, daylight, night light, night life. On, off, under, over, around, on, and off again.

In the middle of your heart, if someone could dig deep down and pick through you, examine you, dissect you, they would find the softest little bleeding bit. But they would only find that after knocking down wall after all of slimy, tough, terribly dark black walls. No one would be able to find the strength to knock all those walls down. And even if they could, you'd never let them.

One can only be vulnerable if there is someone there to have their back.

All the vulnerability is pushed to that one little section of your heart; the most delicate place on earth.

All the pain.

It's impossible.

This road.

This road is made of brick and it's slippery. It's constantly raining. And you're constantly shivering. No one gave you an umbrella, because there's no one on this road to do so. Night after night, this rain beats on you. Your skin degrades away as if you were dead. For daytime does not exist on this road. You forget how sunlight looks. You constantly walk. Never wanting to sleep because the only place is the road. And you hate this road.

Yet it is your home, and any different would terrify you.

The friends on this road are the shadows. Shadows in the night caress your arms and kiss your cheeks, whispering of false realities, forgotten memories, and broken dreams.

On this boulevard of broken dreams.

There's no conscience of the pain any longer. You're so used to it, you're numb. And that's the way it should be. All you need is to survive.

You always ask yourself why. But if you're asking the question, why would you also know the answer?

There is no one on this road who knows the answer, and there never will be. If anyone knew the answer, then they wouldn't be on this road.

Stairways to heaven and highways to hell.

You're on the fast track to absolutely no where.

No one knows this road exists. You're one of the unseen. Most people live on the other side. They don't know this exists. Many of them are good people. They would help. If they could possibly stand it.

If they only knew. There's no way for you to call for help. All you hear is your voice echoing back at you as the dark starless sky closes in on you.

Like a snow globe. Never get in or out. Constant precipitation.

You're always shivering but you never get sick. At least not anymore.

Immunity.

Yes, and no one should be this immune.

No one should be this immune to this road.

Yet here you are.

On the boulevard of broken dreams.

9-5. 5-9. 24 hours non-stop.

Sunday is no different than Monday or Friday or Saturday or any other day of the week.

Money, money, money. Lots of people love it. Lots of people hate it.

Work, work, work. Get in the money to survive another day. Can't feel a thing because otherwise- how do you get through?

You get up, get dressed, get out the door, go to work, come home, get drunk, go to bed, and repeat it all over again.

Forever.

It's amazing how fast hope can be shattered with the cruel bitterness of this unfair world.

"Mama! I'm going to be a superhero!"

"Mama, I'm gonna be a football player."

"Mama! Mama! I've got it! I'm going to be a race car driver!"

And that time, you meant it.

Well, maybe you didn't, because it never came to pass. And your parents knew it. There was no way. Your family couldn't survive without government money.

But how can you explain that to a little kid? A little kid who had been told all her life that if you follow your dreams, they'll come true?

When you hold on to those dreams so hard, it's even more difficult to let them go. When you realized reality, you were ruined.

You were resigned to the fact that because of your position in society, broken heart, especially after your father passed away at a young age, and no chance to do what you dreamed of forever, that 9-5 in pain for the rest of your life was the path you were on.

The fast track to no where.

There's a girl in the corner, in the shadow, that no one would ever notice. High life superstars, and she's missing her heroes. Drunk, drunk, drunk.

She's missing them.

But one of them doesn't miss her.

Despite the crowd, despite the fun, the throng, the laughter, the music, the everything perfect after a good race, Lando sees.

He sees the girl in the corner that no one else ever notices.

"Do you need help?" in the gentlest of tones. He bends down, looking the broken, shell of a person, right through everything and into her eyes. Like he doesn't see the eye bags, the messed up hair, the cuts on her arms, the vacancy. Like he sees beyond the walls. Like he just wants to see the true person who has to be in there. Somewhere.

"Yeah," she murmurs. Her words slur, making it terribly difficult for the buzzed Formula One driver to understand her words. "Can you... get me another drink?"

You wake up the next morning, and as soon as you realize you don't remember what happened last night and you're in an unfamiliar bed and room, you feel your stomach drop. Your head feels like it's about to explode with the extreme ache in it. Nausea wells up and you swallow, filling yourself overflow with utter panic. The rate of your breath picks up, and as your chest rises and falls quicker and quicker, even if you wanted to call for some sort of help (if anyone would even come), you can't. You can hardly breathe, your vision becoming swirling and confusing as you gasp, feeling as if you're going to suffocate. You heartbeat pounds in your head faster and faster, and you realize that if anything happened right now, you'd have no way to save yourself. This sinks more extreme anxiety, and even more when you think of what could have already happened when you were drunk last night. What if you're stuck here, confused and panicking, with some creep who did unspeakable things to you last night-

The door to the room slowly swings open, and you cover your face in your heads, unable to set your eyes on whoever is there, just trying to breathe- stay alive- yet you're not even sure you want to keep living at this point.

"Hey, hey, hey," a soft speaking male voice says. You feel him come closer, and slip on the bed next to you. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt you," he practically whispers. "I brought you to my home, but only because... you were a wreck last night. Listen to me..." He speaks soothingly, but you still don't look up. "Listen. I think you might be having a panic attack, or something adjacent. And I'm here to help you, not hurt you. Okay?"

You nod, staring down. Just one hot tear slowly rolls down your cheek.

"Can I take your hand?"

You hesitate, before nodding. You feel the thin, strong, smooth hand slip into yours. "Breathe with me, okay?" he says softly, then starts taking in slow, deep breaths. With every inhale, he gently squeezes your hand, and with every exhale, gently releases it.

You go on like this, and once you've sighed, confident enough of your safety, you let go of the man's hand and look up at him.

For a second, you stare.

And then it clicks.

And your jaw drops.

"Are you... you..." you stutter in disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm Lando," he smiles.

You stare in shock at the man. "As in, like, the McLaren..."

"Yeah," he grins softly. "And I'll be right back, okay?"

"Lando-!" you squeal with a terrible, exhausted voice crack. Your emotions are so messed up right now.

He comes back and gives you a plate of food, sitting down next to you. You ignore the food for a moment and fix your eyes on him.

"Why am I here?" you ask softly.

"You needed help and I decided to give it."

Your heart pounds in your chest. You exhale slowly. "O- Okay.." These words from him are so strange to you. So unfamiliar. "I..." Suddenly, expected emotions well up within you. Uncommonly. You throw your arms around him and murmur, "Thank you... you're the... this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me in years... And it's you. I must be in a dream... You're one of the reasons I'm still here... I love Formula One... I love... I love you..."

He hugs you back, before gently prodding, "Why don't you try to eat a bit."

You nod and turn to the little breakfast he's made. It's a bit bland, but you're glad for that. You're not feeling nearly at your best.

But at the same time, you're sitting next to Lando Norris.

Bittersweet and confusing.

"Thank you..." you murmur again.

"Of course you can say no," Lando starts. "But can I know your name? What's your story?"

You sigh. What hurt can it do to tell him? "Y/n. And I don't have much of a story."

"Really? Seems to me you'd have a pretty interesting one."

You shrug. "Just another broken life. There are plenty of those out there, Lando Norris."

"Clearly every broken life is important. Consider yourself."

You sigh. "Your story is the opposite of mine. Grew up rich, followed your dreams, perfect life."

There's a certain softness in his eyes. "What were your dreams?"

"Same as yours..." you murmur, your voice cracking. You hesitate, before finishing, "All I wanted was to be a race car driver. Nothing else more than that. And I would've done anything for it. If I could have."

Lando stares. You eat. There's a strange silence, before he says, "Did you kart?"

"For some years. It lasted about one and a half. Then my father passed away, and everything changed. Even more."

He stares down. "I'm sorry..." But then he looks up, his intense eyes meeting yours. He looks even better in real life. "Y/n, your story makes me so sad. I'm so sorry... I... I'd do anything I could to help you fulfill your dream, at least somewhat."

You look surprised. "Why? You have the perfect life. Why do you care? Besides, we both know full well it's too late for me."

He blinks and seems to ignore your last comment, likely because it's true and he doesn't want to admit it. "Because I have the perfect life. You deserve to be in Formula One just as much as me. Yet, we're... Well, in opposite places."

"Right..." You can hardly believe these words.

"You seem like such a... Well, something stole your innocence too soon. There's so much longing and brokenness and love in your eyes but you're just... A shell of the beautiful woman that's inside of you."

You blink. "Why do you say that?"

He murmurs after more hesitation, "Last night when you were drunk, you know what you did? Well you cried and you told me your struggles, yes. But before I was about to leave the room and let you sleep, you looked at right me and you said something like, 'I'm so lonely. Where did my life go? I can't stand this much longer. Sometimes I wish I just had someone- a friend, a neighbor, a boyfriend, a sibling- sometimes I wish I just had someone there for me.'"

You stare, now unblinking, unsure what to feel. It is true, isn't it?

Lando looks you straight in the eyes. Past everything. Into your most delicate, secret spot.

You fight back from letting yourself choke up.

"Y/n, if no one else will do it, I'd ought to be that person there for you. And I'd love to."

Moist and foggy, so nothing is visible. There are echoes of life in the outside world, but not on this road.

For the first time in years, your tired feet have stopped. Perhaps done. Had it with this. They're bloody and twisted from the years of this pain.

Where has the numbness gone?

The rain pours down

on this road

and you can't tell

if those are teardrops

or raindrops

streaming down your cheeks.

Suddenly, you see a light. A light that has found the end of the road that you've been searching for for years.

Don't lose it. Don't lose it.

You could use some company.

As the light nears, it hurts. You double over and fall down in the puddles of the road, screaming in pain. You're so used to the darkness. For years it's all you've known. The light hurts. It's terrifying.

The light comes closer and closer, faster and faster, and panic fills you, realizing there's no escape. Your eyes burn and you sob for it to let you go.

You hate this road. So why do you cry, begging to stay?

You tremble as the light approaches, covering your skin.

But when it reaches you, the expected terror is not what you experience. Instead, it's a feeling unfamiliar to you. Something that only the shadows would taunt you with. But this is it. The real one.

Tranquility.

Suddenly the beating of the rain stops.

You look up.

An umbrella.

And shining eyes.

You heart breaks once again, but this time you mind a bit less.

It's scary, but just what you wanted.

This light, this man, this sunshine.

This sunshine takes your hand and pulls you up. This sunshine leads you off this road. This boulevard of broken dreams.

This sunshine has come in and knocked down the walls.

Seen what's hidden. Stepped away and stepped into your misery. To help you.

A smile so bright.

And for the first time in forever.

You step off this road and you see the stars.

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sarafinamk · 9 months ago

Text

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 3

Summary: Without the red smoke to help you through rehab, you begin to experience thoughts and feelings that you never had before. It gets worse before it gets better, but don't worry. It DOES slowly get better.

Check out the other parts here. Also, check out Part 2 to my Incorrect Quotes if you haven't already. The Smiling Critters Space Riders AU belongs to @onyxonline. Enjoy!

TW: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injury, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Mentions of murder, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Self harm, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing, LOTS of negative thoughts, Implied Abuse, Conditioning

----------

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been imprisoned at the heretics’ main space station for. Based on the lines scribbled in your journal, and what those healers and heretics told you, the closest timeline you could estimate was a month and a half…

Could be more…

In your defense, being in and out of consciousness because of not only healing from your wounds but dealing with your hellish headspace gave you no chance of keeping track. You weren’t sure if you TRULY wanted to know how long it’s been though…

Some of your wounds, at least, have healed. If you weren’t wearing those power mufflers, all your wounds would have disappeared a long time ago. But, no.

Those heretics just HAD to insist you heal the hard way. It is bad enough that those healers and their knights were watching your every move on the cameras. There was no nook or cranny in your accommodation that wasn’t under constant surveillance. They didn’t even try to be discreet about them. What’s worse is that now you had your whole body, head, and face exposed, especially to the people hellbent on killing you. They didn’t even deserve to have a face to associate with the Archangel. It was for your own good, they said. All that did was leave you with voices in your head screaming at you to get out, run, and hide from those prying eyes.

So what if there were a few instances where you tried to scratch yourself until you were satisfied with the red on you? You just needed a way to stop yourself from feeling these weird feelings. It’s leaving you weak. What would the Prototype say if he saw you showing such weakness when you were raised better than this? The scratching never went as far as it did the first time, though and it would never be like that ever again. Not on the heretics’ watch. They would always intervene before the first sign of red.

You spent a lot of time thinking about the perfect escape plan. You would get those power mufflers off, destroy those cameras the first chance you get, create a void, (maybe kill a few heretics along the way to send a message), and make an easy escape back to the prototype. It’s just… you could never muster any energy to go through with your ideas. You hated that you grew so lazy and weak when no prison was able to keep you contained in the past.

What happened to you?

Where was your energy to fight back, to make those heretics pay for what they’ve done to you…?

But…

Why save you?

Probably to interrogate you, torture you for ALL the intel concerning your God, and once they get everything, kill you. They can sure as hell try, but you’d rather die than betray your God and family like this!

You groan, cradling your pounding head with one hand. You slide down against the wall. Even though you've been clean for some time now, but you're still trying to get used to this red smoke free headspace of yours. Now you're just left sitting with thoughts and feelings you never had to sit with before, and you hated how much it consumes you. You wished you had the red smoke to help you through this, to make you forget these feelings, to go back to normal. But the Prototype never came back for you… no rescue parties were made for you as far as you know.

A few healers and knights argued that if he really wanted you back, he would’ve come get you by now, but he didn’t, and none of your “friends or family” did either, so you might as well get used to being here. You reminded them every single time that you don’t have “friends” nor are you selfish enough to need any. The Prototype was all anybody needed. You had that argument about 26 times before you stopped. There was no point in continuing this fight if they just refused to see any sense.

You hated to admit it, but...

Maybe they're right.

Not once, in the entire time since you’ve been separated from the Prototype was he there when you needed him the most. Your chest and the back of your eyes burn. Your vision goes blurry. You clench your blanket draped around your shoulders and take a few deep breaths until the burning sensation is smothered, and your vision clears up. You are NOT going to let weakness consume you.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not as long as you’re at the mercy of the heretics.

----------

Here you are, three months deep into your rehab program, sitting on the floor, and studying another one of Bubba’s “philosophy books” as he called them. He gave you some so that "you weren’t left pacing back and forth in a cell or being stuck with your thoughts all day." Granted you do try to do a few exercises to build your strength back. You discovered it was the best way to distract your mind from the mere thought of desiring red smoke. At least the books give you more to do in your cell.

To you, it was all heretic propaganda to stray the weak-minded away from the divine truth. It was still intriguing to study about, all the same. Besides, if you're going to be staying with the heretics, then now is a good time to start learning about their world and culture. As much as you hate to admit it, you're beginning to understand why many heretics find these kinds of teachings appealing. Not only does it go against everything the Prototype preaches, but there were so many teachings to choose from. How do the heretics even know which teachings are true? How do they know which teachings they should follow for the rest of their lives?

It was all so strange.

Back home, there is only one absolute truth: everything that happens in the galaxy is thanks to the Prototype. He’s the eternal source of happiness, of wisdom, of strength, of a second chance at life. He is in control of all. He gives his people his gifts, and in turn, they serve him. They devote their lives to him. To not believe in this truth would mean certain death.

In the heretic world, it seems it is up to the individual to shape the world in their image. Apparently, to discover the truth, you have to be willing to question everything. But how do these heretics expect to survive if they're expected to find their own happiness? How can they be trusted to take control of their lives when they don't fully know whether they made the right decision or not? How are they able to peacefully co-exist despite their differing beliefs?

Perhaps it's something you can clarify with the Space Riders when they come in for yet another visit. They've visited you quite frequently, but it was all so strange. They never asked you anything about the Prototype or the cult. In fact, the topic of conversation was always about… you. They would ask what you have been doing in “rehab” as they call it, how you are managing your red smoke cravings, what you have learned, how are the books (in Bubba’s case), and possible arrangements that are to be made once you are back in their custody. When they exhausted those topics, then they would make conversation with you...

Er...

...More like they would TRY to make conversation with you and you would give short answers. Sometimes, you wouldn't say anything at all. They never forced you to speak, nor did they ever punish you for being insubordinate. Instead, they just moved on to a different topic. This was something you never understood, but maybe they just want you to let your guard down long enough before punishing you.

The echoing of footsteps gets louder and closer to your cell, pulling you away from your thoughts. The seven Space Riders greet you, make themselves comfortable in front of your cell, and begin with the usual questions about you. You bite the bullet and decide you might as well entertain them.

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rewrittenwrongs · 4 months ago

Text

It’s the first of October in my timezone, which means it’s time to post my first Whumptober fill! I chose the prompt Panic Attack.

Heavily inspired by the lovely @brucewaynehater101’s Wingless Wing AU

Read on Ao3 (registered users only) | Whumptober masterpost | part 1 | part 2 coming soon

TW: past wing removal, mentions of anti-hybrid sentiments, mentions of trafficking/selling body parts, panic attack, accidental self harm (biting lip until it bleeds to ground himself), and a very very non detailed instance of vomiting

Dragons were the rarest hybrids out there.

They were some of the most well known, too. Everyone’s heard of dragon hybrids. They’re like the role models of the hybrid world, the knights and princesses children look up to, or the monsters under your bed if you’re not a hybrid. Usually, they’re treated much the same as true dragons: fictional. Mythical. Imaginary.

Now, if you were especially interested in them, or studied genetics or hybrid physiology, you’d know they were real. You’d know they often had huge wingspans comparable to the largest of seabird hybrids, and airborne agility almost on par with hummingbirds. You’d know they were rumoured to command the wind itself when they flew. You’d know their scales were tough and beautiful and practically immune to fire. You’d know lead was one of the only things capable of burning them while they lived. You’d know full blooded dragon hybrids could have long, magnificent tails and dramatic horns, claws instead of fingers or toes, slitted pupils that could see in the dark and scales tougher than wood.

You’d also know that, while they did exist once, they were hunted for their wings and scales and horns. They haven’t been officially pronounced extinct but neither has any other long-gone hybrid species. Anyone with passing knowledge of them knew they weren’t around anymore, outside the odd museum exhibit or old photo. Any rumour of still living dragon hybrids today was just that: a rumour. Though, the general populace—just the hybrids, really—loved to spread stories of them going into hiding. Using magic to cloak themselves until the day they could walk safely among humans.

Jason knows a lot about dragon hybrids. Much more than your average hybrid, and probably more than even a hybrid physiologist. He had a hyperfixation on them for a time, even before that pair of dragon wings started being passed around Gotham’s underworld.

He knows all the myths and folklore about dragon hybrids being born with an affinity for magic, about them using their skills to hide themselves from poachers and traffickers, building enchanted necklaces or broaches that disguised them as regular humans. He’s heard the legends of them being born of fire itself, being immune to temperatures that would render metal liquid, even being able to summon or control it. About burning their dead ones to return them to the ashes and embers they were once created from, as heat only blackened their scales after death. He’s heard the tales of dragons being kidnapped as children for their wings, because of a very special property of theirs: even after their wings were cut off they stayed magically connected to the hybrid, and grew along with them. It was much easier to kidnap and mutilate children than it was adults, and then they could use the hybrids as slaves, since they had to stay alive anyway for the wings to grow.

A lot of the myths—folklore, children’s tales, nursery rhymes—were about a dragon losing their wings and getting them back. A common theme among legends was the tie between wings and hybrid: a tie that, if the wings weren’t skinned or carved away for trophies, allowed the hybrid to reconnect them.

Jason tried not to get his hopes up, but he had to admit, once he finally tracked down those wings the other crime lords kept playing hot potato with… it would be nice if he could track down their owner and return them. Even if all there was to be done was bury or burn the things and give the hybrid a proper funeral.

Now, with the childhood hyperfixation and the elusive pair of trafficked wings that have been evading him for as long as he’s been Red Hood, he has a lot of respect for dragon hybrids. Combine that with all the hybrid trafficking rings he’s taken down, both as Red Hood and as Robin, you can see why he’s pissed about Tim’s new gliders.

Ever since Damian became Robin, since Tim swapped suits and changed title, he’d altered his glider to look like dragon wings. Dragon. Wings.

Now, it’s been almost five months since Tim came back and handed over all the info about Bruce’s whereabouts and proved he was alive, about four since they actually got Bruce back. There’s still some tension between everyone, but things have settled down a lot. But. Quite a bit of the tension could be blamed on those damn. Gliders.

Jason was actually glad when he saw them get set on fire a few nights ago; huge holes burning into the material and making Tim abandon it before the engine caught fire too. He tried a little to convince Tim to swap back to a design more feather-like but he was adamant. Jason could understand wanting to imitate the others, it must be tough being one of the only non-hybrids in the family, but WHY did he have to imitate dragon hybrids of all things? Because they’re cool? It’s insensitive and in bad taste!

That said, Jason had been biting his tongue about the issue. But tonight, when he swung by the cave, he came across Tim in the workshop, tinkering around and probably trying to improve his newest glider model. It’s the first time Jason’s seen the prototype. He can’t keep quiet anymore.

“You’re seriously sticking with dragon wings?”

Tim didn’t look up, didn’t turn to face him. “Yes. I’ve told you, I’m not changing my mind.”

Right. Jason’s definition of ‘biting his tongue’ was a little different than most’s. “You do know they’re real hybrids, right?”

“Yes, you’ve infodumped to me about them before.” He kept serenely fitting the scale-patterned material in place, connecting panels and hiding wire mesh and metal supports. “It’s no more cultural appropriation than my previous gliders were.”

Jason bristled. Tim has had some form of glider since he first debuted as Robin, and they were all styled after bird wings, designed to look like feathers. Like the Robins before him. Not the most feared, segregated, hunted, and literally extinct hybrid species in existence!

Jason had to take several deep breaths to stop himself from shooting the things then and there. Tim had already put together most of the emergency engine, the jetpack or ‘batpack’ as it was jokingly called: shooting it would just cause a huge explosion and an even huger mess. Not to mention Tim was in the way, he didn’t want to resort to physical injury just yet. “Clearly you weren’t listening when I told you about how often they were trafficked and poached for their wings.”

Tim huffed, still refusing to even turn his head. “I heard you. I just don’t see a problem with this.”

“So you don’t have a problem with the severed pair of dragon wing currently being traded through Gotham’s underworld?”

Tim froze.

There’s the reaction he’s been looking for. A bit of Jason’s vindictive glee seeped into his voice. “You didn’t know? There have been rumours about them since I was putting heads in duffel bags. Even the Joker knows about them. The hybrid is almost certainly dead by now. And still, their wings are being toted from warehouse to warehouse, crate to crate, one hand to someone else’s. It’s only a matter of time before someone keeps them for good and turns them into a pair of cloaks and an interesting taxidermy.”

“What do they look like?”

Jason blinked. Then his rage swelled so fiercely he could barely see or breathe. He wanted to know what they looked like!? WHY!? So he could take notes? Make his glider more realistic? WHAT THE FUCK.

Jason very nearly exploded about it, but then he caught sight of something that made him pause for a split second: Tim’s hands, curled into fists against his work, shaking slightly. Then as he paused he caught sight of something else: the slope of his shoulders, hunched, defensive, quivering. He was leaning forward like his knees would collapse any second.

Jason hesitated. Well, maybe... maybe if he answered he would learn why Tim reacted like that, or at least learn enough to infer. If it was so he could make his glider more realistic he could just shoot him.

He’s only seen them once, for a few seconds, but they were beautiful—and heartbreaking—enough he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget them. “They’re red. Crimson. Big, but built like they’re kind of small. Curved, streamline, built for speed and agility. They’re almost iridescent, the right lighting makes them shine gold.”

Tim shuddered, violently, then collapsed, vomiting onto the stone floor.

“Woah—Tim—“ Jason darted forward, dropping into a kneel beside Tim with a flair of his wings. He reached for his shoulders automatically but Tim jerked away like he’d stabbed him, letting out a choked exclamation. Jason pulled back and let his wings settle over him instead, shielding but not touching. “Tim?”

He hesitated as Tim scrambled to his feet, shoulders hunched and arms jerky like his back was on fire. His breathing was loud and uneven and there was a tear on his cheek. His eyes were red and wild, darting around like he was searching desperately for an escape, like he didn’t know where he was. Jason got back up on his knees in preparation for following. He kept a wing hovering over Tim’s back. “Tim? What—“

Tim stumbled into an uneven run, arms more jerking than swinging, footfalls uneven like he was accounting for weight that wasn’t there. Jason hoped he was putting things together wrong.

Jason followed a few steps behind as Tim ran for the exit, and caught him when he stumbled and collapsed in the doorway. He was muttering over and over, “Please don’t please stop please stop stop stop,” between horrible, gut deep sobs. He fought against Jason for a moment but stopped quickly, leaning as far away as he could get, but not putting up a physical fight. He was hyperventilating.

Jason kept his hold secure, thinking back to the last—and until now, only—time he’d seen Tim having a panic attack: the sight of his hands in his hair and on his shoulders and blood running through his fingers and down his chin. Right now his arms were mostly pinned at his sides, hands struggling to curl around Jason’s arms, still protected by his jacket and armour. Jason kept his grip away from his shoulders and upper back in case his hunch was right. He curled one wing around Tim’s front, gently, just enough to brush against his face and legs. “Hey, hey hey, it’s okay, no one’s hurting you.”

Tim whined and tossed his head, fingers scrabbling against Jason’s forearms. Tears dripped from his chin. Blood was beading on his lip.

Jason bit off a swear. He’d forgotten he was still wearing his mask, the voice modulator always bothered Tim when he was already on edge. He adjusted his grip so he had one arm around Tim’s waist, still pinning an arm, and one wing caving him in, and used his spare hand to remove his metal mask.

Tim’s struggle renewed when he sensed apparent weakness, shoving and kicking, but he was off balance and uncoordinated and all he achieved was making Jason’s wing curl tighter around him. The sensation seemed to throw him off. Confusion bled into the features that weren’t twisted with pain and fear.

“Tim, can you try to breathe for me?” Jason said. He placed his mask on the ground and used his other wing to slide it away quietly.

Tim sobbed, chest heaving, shoulders quivering. “Stop. It hurts.”

Jason’s heart ached. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Tim’s entire frame jerked with the force of his next sob. Tears splashed to the ground like little shards of shattering glass. They were joined by a droplet of blood.

Jason made a cooing noise low in his throat, humming in a way that never came quite as naturally as it did before his death. He tried to imitate Dick’s comforting calls. Tim pressed his face into the feathers of Jason’s wing, hands like iron bands around his arm.

Jason repeated the noise, tentatively reaching out and stroking a hand through his hair. It got longer while he was searching for Bruce, and he hasn’t cut it yet.

Tim stayed tense as a taut wire, but didn’t curl into or away from the feeling. Jason couldn’t tell if his breathing was getting faster or slower. “It hurts,” he sobbed, “it hurts it hurts it hurts make it stop, please make it stop.”

Jason scrambled for what to do. He kept stroking through Tim’s hair. Maybe—his mother used to…

Jason cleared his throat and quietly began to sing.

His voice has never been quite as smooth and full as it was before his death. It’s not rough or unpleasant, necessarily, but he became unnervingly aware of the difference as he began singing the same song Catherine sang when he was too scared to sleep. There was a faint shakiness, a fragility that caused pain if he tried to yell, not to mention he couldn’t hit half the notes. He kept it quiet, low, a poor rendition of a dead woman’s lullaby.

Tim kept muttering, kept begging and sobbing, but the faintest hints of awareness were gradually starting to fill his eyes.

His arms squeezed Jason’s forearm around his middle.

His feet shifted against the ground like he was searching for purchase.

He pressed his head, lightly, into Jason’s feathers with a whine.

A shudder wracked through him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” His voice was slurred and uneven.

Finally, he stopped speaking to a threat that wasn’t there.

With another violent shiver, he began looking around a little. Staring at the wrist of Jason’s wing. At the arm pinning him in place, then at the body he was half slumped onto.

Tim whined loudly, longingly, so eerily similar to calls for safety-protection-flock that it made Jason’s hindbrain go crazy. Tim began shifting against his brother’s hold, in a different way than before. Jason kept an arm and wing around him but let him move, a little wary. Tim twisted around until he and Jason were front to front, at which point he collapsed onto him with a low mournful sound, head beneath his chin and arms curling loosely around him.

Jason wrapped both arms tighter around him, keeping them on his lower back, and shifted them both until Jason was lying on his back with Tim half on top of him, tented beneath his wings. He kept singing the entire time, now on his third rendition of the lullaby. Tim had stopped mumbling. He hadn’t stopped shaking or crying. His breaths were better but still shaky and erratic.

Jason continued carding through his hair. He seemed to like that. And the singing, Jason kept that up too, even though his throat was beginning to tickle.

After a few minutes he noticed the tears had stopped and his breath had evened out. Tim was asleep. Jason didn’t blame him, panic attacks were exhausting. He carried him through the elevator and up the stairs to his room, set Tim in his bed and himself in a beanbag, despite all his instincts screaming about flock and physical contact and protection and perceived abandonment. He distracted himself with Tim’s copy of The Little Prince. In the original French, nice.

Tim awoke seventy minutes later. Not that Jason was counting. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, sporting an impressive bedhead. He licked his lips. His eyes landed on Jason and shifted rapidly from confusion to understanding to fear. He curled the blanket into his fist.

“You have some explaining to do.”

Tim huffed as if he thought this really was all blown out of proportion. As if. “Not here. My Nest.”

Ah, the Nest, Tim’s seperate base of operations and regular hang-out spot for Young Justice, not to be confused with the nest, an elevated platform of ropes and mattresses and blankets inside the Batcave. Not confusing at all.

Jason actually felt proud for a split second upon realising he was welcome in Tim’s safe space, an honour none of the other bats held, before remembering no, actually, this wasn’t trust this was fear. Fear caused by him, however accidental.

“Let’s go, then.”

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thekirammanjinx · 1 month ago

Note

“I don’t care that you’re lesbians” - proceeds to be homophobic. Same shit with all of them they try to act like they are “class and racial activists” to justify/cover up their homophobia.

They cherry-pick the racial representation they fight for. They seem to only care about Ekko’s rep and how timeb*mb fits into it. Other interracial (canon) couples : Caitlyn/Vi andJayce/Mel, it’s suddenly crickets. Do they only care about the rep if it’s a man of color and not a woman of color?

They claim that season 2 was a poor representation for class division and any justice around it. They particularly blame Caitlyn and Vi for this, which shows their misunderstanding of classism and how to make sustainable changes. So it’s unsurprising that they couldn’t appreciate the depth of CaitVi’s relationship - the symbol for repairing the class division.

They act like Jinx is the face of all this, but she’s a (presumed) heterosexual white girl , who grew up the most privileged and protected in Zaun. Not that it’s on the same level of privilege as the lowest parts of Piltover but her “class standing” was a lot better than Ekko and Viktor and ESPECIALLY Vi. Moreover this straight white girl has terrorized her black love interest, who was fighting to survive and protect the innocents of Zaun. Ekko has always been for the people of Zaun. Not Jinx.

Going by their logic…shouldn’t there be some racial and class status issues there? There is no logic with their self insert white girl. She’s always the savior, (i don’t see them talking about the white girl savior trope but okay).

Rant over. This isn’t a slight at any of the characters but they need to stop acting like they are activists

But it is important to talk about jinx not only being at the top of zaun, but actively being a harmful figure at the top, actively creating a place that is barely liveable for some. Fandom is so hard pressed to say that only the rich of piltover and the enforcers are the oppressors... but they're not. (This got long and possibly side tracked)

(Plus remember marcus and, therefore, the enforcers are in silco back pocket. Silco actively is using them to make things worse for zaun under the guise that he's doing it for the betterment. He's just revenge seeking and self idolizing. But then people will call caitlyn an oppressor and spout this nonsense when 1, she's at the bottom of the food chain in s1 when it comes to enforcer business and 2, silco is literally doing the, non existing, things people want to pin on caitlyn.

It is not the same as ambessa, seeing as she chose piltover, who actively has the bigger boot, but it is so similar to ambessa, the things silco did. Using the enforcers to incite hostility, making sure that zaun cannot retaliate because of they do it'll look like a retaliation on piltover and not on him. Then again people can't even think critically about ambessa, so no shock there.)

People really do not care about ekko except to spout timebomb. Which in turn mischaracterize him.(ekko is the grudge holding one who just hates caitlyn for no reason... like get fucking real. Ekko wanted a better zaun. He wasn't just jinx yes man. He was never jinx yes man.)

Everytime jinx is involved people suddenly don't know how to characterize and view the reality of a character. Down playing anything caitlyn experienced, saying she used the grey "only" for jinx; she used the grey, yes to find jinx, but also to end shimmer because she saw how dangerous shimmer was, saw how fucking unchecked it was. They attack the memorial.

Not to mention jinx is literally a criminal, but people do not want actual accountability and reprimand for actions. People just want caitlyn and anyone born in piltover to suffer, no matter what, which is such an odd mentality. Some people genuinely are not mature enough to be going into this media when that is their opinion, they see nothing wrong with their opinion, and die on that hill.

Speaking from a narrative stand point, jinx really had no reason to bomb the council when she was the one sitting at the top of zauns throne. Silco had the enforcers in his pocket, so any hostility coming from enforcers was on his bill, so it really does not work when people try and say "now caitlyn gets to feel what zaun felt"...

(it doesn't make sense to begin with because punishing an individual who had no rank or merrit is not revolutionary. It is straight punishment for her being born. Punishing innocent in your conquest does not make your cause more just.

Viewing EVERYONE as liable to a corrupt system does not make your cause just. Viewing everyone equally accountable, simply because they exist on the other side, does not make your cause just. People are not born oppressors, that is a title you must earn through ACTION. Caitlyn doesn't suddenly become an oppressor just because she's a councilors daught or because she puts on the uniform.)

But trying to explain anything to these people is literally talking to a brick wall. They don't grasp the concept. Too busy applying irl to fiction instead of applying the fictional narrative to the fiction?!

Acab doesn't work for arcane. We see that through the way corruption is played with(Grayson vs Marcus) The way it's not on individuals, but on a system that guides them, but even within the system not everyone is bad(caitlyn vs marcus--but people like caitlyn are not given the room to show that things can change. Not everyone is bad. Instead she is targeted simply for being there despite not having been part of the unjust to begin with. Being born a piltie does not make you part of an unjust system.

And then people hate vi simply because she looked at caitlyn as her own person and not as an extension of a system???)

Plus jinx(fandom) treat caitlyn like the big evil(when she's not); target her and kidnapping her and killing her mother, then hey... maybe caitlyn will become part of the corruption. Maybe she has a reason to hate them. Like she said.

Caitlyn did have her fall from grace but I never will understand the way people exaggerate it instead of just WATCHING THE SHOW and seeing it for what it is. She also becomes something of the mediator between zaun and ambessa. But again fandom doesn't look at ambessa and noxus.

#fandom critical #caitlyn kiramman

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daryltwdixon · 3 months ago

Text

The Heart of Us: Chapter 2

Warnings: mentions of self harm (Daryl)(canon)

The next morning on the road again, you’re pulled from your empty, dazed thoughts of thirst by Glenn, who gently pokes you with a water bottle. The contents slosh around inside, the sound and sight of it tempting you with cool relief. But you shake your head, knowing others need it more. “Save it. Give it to Judith,” you whisper, voice barely above a rasp.

Glenn’s mouth tightens into a firm line, and pushes it into your grasp, silently insisting. You roll your eyes at him but with a grateful smile, take the smallest, infinitesimal sip, the warm water coating your tongue for a moment before you swallow. You pass it back to him with a small ‘thanks’, and he nods and moves back to Maggie’s side. As you glance around at the group, you realize how long you’ve been zoning out, caught in exhaustion. A sudden pang of anxiety hits when you don’t see Daryl among them. Your eyes fall on Abraham, and he catches your look, the faintest smirk on his face as if he already expected your reaction.

“Went to look for water,” he calls up to you, his voice lowered, a gentle edge to his tone.

Your brow furrows as the confusion and sting of hurt settle in your chest. He left without a word to you. Again. Shaking the thought, you turn back around to keep moving. But something makes you stop short, your gaze drifting toward the woods, the tug to follow him stronger than any practical instinct. Abraham’s hand rests on your shoulder, a silent reminder to stay with the group, but you don’t look back.

“Tell them I went to look, too,” you say simply, your voice carrying a firm finality, and without waiting for a response, you slip into the brush.

Daryl had only himself to blame for your tracking skills—he’d taught you too well. His careful footprints, always avoiding roots and loud twigs, and even the faint smell of cigarette smoke all lead you through the trees like breadcrumbs. You slip between thick clusters of branches, careful and silent, until you spot him under a large tree up ahead. He’s sitting with his back to you, against the bark, smoke curling into the air around him. Beyond him, a weathered old barn stands like a lonely sentinel against the gray sky in a clearing, its chipped paint and broken boards as worn as the man in front of you.

You linger in the shadows, watching him just long enough to see him take a long, drawn-out drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. But then he pulls it away and, in a harsh, deliberate motion, presses the burning tip into the side of his hand. He holds it there, twisting it and staring down, as if the pain might burn away something inside him. He doesn’t even flinch, as if he’s used to it, as if it’s a familiar ache he welcomes.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. All the anger you feel twists with a sharp pang of sorrow, the quiet agony etched into his every movement weighing down on you. You step forward, not bothering to mask the sound of your footsteps, and in one swift motion, swipe the cigarette from his hand and stomp it into the dirt.

Daryl jolts, his head snapping up, eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and frustration. But when his gaze meets yours, the facade cracks. His irritation fades, and you see him struggling, the hurt so deeply rooted it’s carved lines across his face. You drop to your knees in front of him, reaching for his hand with a gentleness that contrasts with the rawness of the moment. The burn on his palm is angry and red, the ash still clinging to his skin. You brush it away, and then gently press a soft kiss to the mark he’s left on himself.

He tries to look away, but the tears begin, unbidden, trailing through the grime on his face as his chin starts to shake. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like this, so bare, as if his grief has finally shattered through whatever walls he’s built up. Maybe since the days following the aftermath of Sophia in the barn. His head drops, bangs falling over his face, hiding him from view, but you don’t let go. Instead, you lean into him close, wrapping your arms around his neck, locking your elbows behind him. Your hand resting firmly against the back of his head, cradling him, letting him know he doesn’t have to hold it together.

His body sags against you, and the silent sobs break free, one after another, each one seeming to pull something deeper from him. He finally reaches for you, his hands lazily gripping your shirt, tugging haphazardly. But then, as his tears wreck through him, his grip on you tightens, fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you might pull away. You only hold him tighter, whispering quiet reassurances, anything to keep him tethered, while his breath stutters against your shoulder. For once, he lets himself fall apart, trusting that you’ll keep him together.

You sit like that for what feels like hours, his grief unraveling slowly in your arms, your hand stroking softly through his hair, over his shoulders and down his back. The only sounds are his ragged breaths and the quiet, rhythmic beat of your heart against him as the barn stands silent witness across the clearing, holding your secrets in its quiet shadow.

When you make it back to the road, falling into step behind Daryl, you’re surprised to see the group gathered in a loose, wary circle around something on the asphalt. As you draw closer, Rick meets you halfway, holding up a small, worn paper sign that reads simply, “From a Friend.” Your eyes narrow as you glance over his shoulder, where a pack of water bottles and several gallon jugs sit in the middle of the road, glinting in the light. Your throat screams for a drop, a sip, anything to soothe the relentless dryness, but suspicion overrides the instinct. Whoever left this had been watching you. You pull your gun from around your shoulder strap, holding it down but ready to shoot at anything that approaches.

“What’re we supposed to do?” Tara’s voice carries from the middle of the group, her face tight with the same unease you feel.

“Not this,” Rick says, his tone cautious but firm. “We don’t know who left it.”

“If that’s a trap, we already happen to be in it,” Eugene replies, hands stuffed in his pockets as he eyes the water with a hint of desperation. “But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend.”

“What if it isn’t?” you interject, your eyes fixed on the bottles with a deep wariness, no matter how much the temptation to gulp them down claws at you. “Someone could’ve put something in it.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with the implication. Before anyone else can respond, Eugene steps forward, and several people call out, urging him to stop. But he simply cracks open one of the bottles and mutters, “Quality assurance.”

It’s Abraham, silent for weeks around Eugene, who suddenly moves forward, slapping the bottle out of his hand, sending it crashing to the ground as water splashes out over the cracked asphalt.

“We. Can’t.” you grit your teeth quietly at him. But before the frustration can fully settle, thunder rips through the sky, echoing like a promise above you. The heavens seem to answer your silent prayer, and as if listening, the sky opens up, pouring rain over the group. You tilt your head back, eyes closing in relief as droplets cover your face. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you open it, letting the rain collect on your tongue, savoring each precious drop that cools your parched throat.

“Everyone—get bags, anything you can find!” Rick’s voice rises over the downpour, snapping everyone into action as they scramble to gather anything that might hold water.

You hear Gabriel, his voice low, praying aloud to his God as lightning slices through the sky, each flash brighter and sharper than the last. What started as a miracle moments ago soon turns menacing as the storm escalates, thunder crashing in violent waves. The ground underfoot becomes slippery, oil from the road beginning to slick at your shoes. Judith’s cries pierce through the storm as it grows fiercer, and Rick’s voice booms above the chaos.

“Let’s keep moving!” he shouts, his voice strained over the howling winds and rain, but everyone’s faces are shadowed with uncertainty, hesitation rooting them in place.

You turn, eyes locking onto Daryl, and you reach out, grabbing his arm. “Dare!” you shout, barely audible over the storm’s fury. “The barn!”

He looks at you, nodding with understanding, and you turn, waving to the others. “There’s a barn!” you yell, pointing through the trees. Without waiting for another word, you plunge into the woods, leading them back through the brush and toward the shelter you’d spotted earlier.

Branches whip at you, rain soaking your clothes as you push through, finally breaking into the clearing. There, just as you left it, stands the small barn, its weathered wood seeming almost welcoming against the storm’s wrath. One by one, the others burst through the trees, moving quickly toward the barn as the storm crashes above.

You step inside first, with Rick and Daryl right behind you and Abraham holding up the flashlight, sweeping it over the barn’s dim interior to make sure it’s clear. The rain has soaked you through, dripping from your clothes onto the soft, dry dirt below. After a few moments of silence, the barn proves empty, and the rest of the group files in, each person settling into a corner or finding whatever comfort the barn’s meager shelter can offer.

Later, a fire flickers weakly in the center, its glow barely illuminating the tired faces gathered around it. Lightning snaps outside, casting sharp flashes through the gaps in the wood, and the thunder rumbles close enough to vibrate the barn’s old beams. You lean back against a moldy bale of hay, the straw prickling your back but softer than the bare ground you’ve slept on for weeks.

“Everything’s too wet,” you murmur, watching Daryl crouch between your legs, trying in vain to coax a stronger flame from the soggy wood. The fire sputters, casting fleeting shadows across his face, but he keeps at it, focused on the warmth it might still offer.

Your gaze shifts to Rick, who’s watching Carl, his expression softened by something you can’t quite place. You try to catch his eye and offer a reassuring smile. “He’s gonna make it,” you whisper, “He bounces back quicker than any of us do, really,”

Rick nods, a small smirk on his lips as his eyes flicker with warmth before they settle back on the fire. “Used to feel sorry for kids growin’ up now, in all this. But maybe I got it wrong.” He glances back at Carl. “Growin’ up is gettin’ used to the world, right? For them… this might just be easier.”

“This isn’t the world,” Michonne cuts in, her voice heavy, her eyes on Rick, a flicker of pain in her gaze. “This isn’t it.”

“It might be,” Glenn murmurs, barely louder than a whisper, and when she cocks her head in disbelief, he repeats, “It might.”

Rick’s voice cuts through the group’s silence before Michonne can respond. “Until we see otherwise, this is what we have to live with.”

Quiet fills the barn again until Rick’s voice emerges, lower and distant. He begins to speak of his grandfather, a story that feels as much like a memory as it does a warning. He tells of how his grandfather fought in the war, how he’d never say if he’d killed anyone. But when Rick had asked if Germans ever killed him, his grandfather had replied, “I was dead the minute I stepped into enemy territory.”

A chill runs through you as Rick’s face takes on a haunted look, the orange glow of the fire reflecting off his somber eyes. “Every day, he woke up, told himself, ‘Rest in peace, now get up and go to war.’ After a few years of pretending he was already dead…” his voice gets even quieter, “he made it out alive.”

He looks around to all of you, “That’s the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do. And then we get to live. So no matter what we find in DC, I know we’ll be okay. This is how we survive. We tell ourselves that we are the walking dead.”

A heavy silence follows his words, settling thickly over the group until Daryl’s voice breaks it, low and firm. “We ain’t them,” he growls, casting a hard look around the circle. He stands, snapping a few more branches for the fire, the defiance in his posture like a shield.

Rick watches him, his own voice softening. “Hey,” he calls, “We’re not them, Daryl.”

Daryl keeps his back turned, but a pause lingers in his step before he turns slightly, the firelight catching the edge of his face. “We ain’t them,” he repeats, the words almost swallowed by a clap of thunder that shakes the barn as he walks away, disappearing into the shadows.

#the heart of us #the ruins of us #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction

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joels-shitty-puns · 1 year ago

Text

The Key To Your Heart - Track 2

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.8K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

I had a real rough time figuring out the proper voice for Pedro's dialogue and I hope I did him justice. Either way, the support I received for part 1 is astounding and completely unexpected! Thank you all for reading and let me know what you think :) I plan to continue until the story wraps up, but I don't know how many parts that will be. I hope to post every couple days, but with my work schedule it may be less speedy. Here we go!

You walk in the door, unclipping Skip's leash, slipping off your shoes, and dropping your keys on the countertop before flopping onto the couch and unlocking your phone. No. Fucking. Way.

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk) replied to your message.

You dissected each letter of the username, assuming it couldn't possibly be THE Pedro Pascal… but it was. It really, really was. You clicked the message, holding your breath.

Pedro Pascal replied to you: "Hey, you don't need to thank me. I didn't say anything that wasn't true. That guy was out of line. You deserve happiness and I'm sorry for the harsh words you've been hearing. I appreciate you sharing your vulnerability with the world and hope that you will continue to be your genuine self and ignore the comments trying to make you be someone else. Don't listen to those people."

You stared in disbelief at his words, once again wondering why he would ever be so kind to someone he doesn't even know. Someone so childish and stupid to write a song about a man she doesn't know. I can't imagine he'd think these things if he knew it was about him…

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I'm a big fan of yours and hearing that you're in my corner has me completely at a loss. I can't imagine why you would risk damaging your image by defending a girl…" No… don't say girl, it makes you sound like a child. You want this guy to like you! You backspace with a slight feeling of ridiculousness over the whole scenario. Ugh it's all wrong… calm down... calm down… it's just a conversation. He doesn't know you. He doesn't like you. Don't make it weird like you always do.

You try again.

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I really admire your work and for you to say such kind things to me… to think that you're in my corner, has me completely at a loss for words. I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment when you don't even know me, especially when coming to my defense could potentially harm your image… but thank you."

He read it almost immediately. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you felt like you could throw up from the anxiety and adrenaline. After a few seconds, those stress-inducing dot-dot-dots appeared to show you he was typing.

He's actually replying to me?? Again? Doesn't he have better things to do?

Your mind wandered to what he might be doing while he's messaging you. Sitting at his home, relaxing, taking the time to reply to you? Why? Maybe he's on a plane or waiting for something and killing time. Maybe he's- *ping*

Pedro Pascal replied to your message:

"Please, you can call me Pedro.. and as far as defending you, it doesn't matter to me that we don't know each other personally. You seem like a woman with a good heart, and all you did was share your true self. Nobody deserves to be talked poorly about for something harmless that they feel. If something like that hurts my image… then my true self wasn't being represented. I think we all just want to be seen, and I hope that you will feel comfortable to be yourself and show yourself more."

You don't know when you started crying, but you hiccupped with the overwhelming wave of emotions. He sees me.. you had just scrolled to the bottom of the long reply, when you noticed the "..." of typing again. He has more to say?!

Pedro Pascal: "As far as the subject of your song.. whether you choose to reveal that to him, or the world, you deserve love and respect. Being vulnerable and putting yourself out there is a terrifying thing to do, and I myself tend to close myself off from relationships to avoid that potential for getting hurt. But if that's what you want, you've already taken a big step and you should go for it. I hope that whoever he is gives you the respect and love you deserve."

Holy crap…

He doesn't… he doesn't know it's him right?? No. There's no way. He's just being nice… he's too nice. He's too genuine..??

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, doing a little dance in the air, pondering what to say. How much can I share with this man? Between this crush and his kind words, it's feeling tricky to hold back from spilling too much information.

You: "Thank you Pedro. You're too kind and I can't properly explain how much I really appreciate it. I'm having trouble coming to terms with all the sudden attention, and finding it hard to ground myself. But your words are helping me a lot. I - "

You hesitated over your next words, wondering if you should open up or just leave it. Don't be weird… don't scare him away like you always have with everyone else. As much as you think of disclosing your hesitation and lack of experience with relationships, as well as your reasons for trepidation, you decide to spare him of your self-hatred. Instead, you delete that last letter and hit send.

Then you send another message, like he did. "And as far as the guy… I know I don't know him personally, we've never met, but I can already tell he would treat me right. I just hope maybe someday he will love me back."

Immediately after sending it you regretted it. That felt way too open and vulnerable. What are you thinking!?! Shit… what if he sees through you!?

You hold your finger down on the message, ready to hit unsend before he sees it. But it's too late. He's already replying.

Pedro: "He would be stupid not to love you back."

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

You: "Thank you, Pedro. 🥺" Play it cool… Play it cool…

Pedro: "Of course, sweetheart. Feel free to message me if anyone else gives you trouble or you just want to chat. I enjoyed talking with you."

???!!!!!?????!!!!! SweetheartSweetheartSweetheart

You grabbed your nearest pillow and screamed into it. "SKIPPPPPEERRRRRRR!!!!!! I JUST HAD A CONVERSATION WITH PEDRO AND IT WAS MAGICAL AND AAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!" You squealed.

Skipper lifted his head at you and sighed before setting his head back down. He was no stranger to your shenanigans. Napping after a good walk was a better use of his energy than to deal with your drama. He closed his little brown eyes again.

You lay back on the couch, kicking your feet and squeezing your pillow to your body.

Fuck, this is going to hit me like a truck if it goes sour. If he even realizes it's about him, probably. Crap… what am I going to do?

The next day, you woke up and checked your emails before work. Thankfully nobody at your workplace has seemed to place your singing voice to your speaking voice, or pieced together the fact that several people know you have a crush on a certain celebrity and are a musician. Thank goodness. That’s the last thing you need.

You closed your eyes for a few minutes, trying to calm your breathing, your nerves, and your heart rate, before relaxing and shaking out your body. Finally, you decided to get ready for bed and see what tomorrow brings.

Your emails come in, one by one, with one intriguing email at the top, from a well known pop-culture show called The Jazz & Ally-Kat Show. They want to do an interview with you, live, as soon as possible.

Great. They probably just want to see what I look like or have me spill my guts about my crush. You roll your eyes, and you can’t help but feel like the Mandalorian with his lack of face reveals. If only you had a cute little space baby to accompany you. I guess Skip is my own precious cargo in a way, you think, while looking at your still sleeping pup. You're being silly… Not everything needs to relate back to Pedro, you think with a sigh to yourself.

Yet despite your anxiety, you agreed to their interview, with the exception that it was done as a podcast style interview, where simply your voices are featured. Surprisingly, they agreed. I guess everyone likes some drama, and what better way to get views than by having a little mystery.

The interview was scheduled for three days from then, and in the meantime you focused on work and your album, which was mostly finished after years of writing songs. All it needed was some editing.

As the days went by, you wanted desperately to message Pedro again. You wanted to tell him your feelings. Have him confess that he loves you too. Ask him about his family, his friends, his favorite things. Meet him, kiss him, fall in love, and finally be happy. But ultimately you knew that was silly. You had one little conversation, and although it was nice, you still didn't know each other. There was no way he loved you back. Yet…? you asked yourself, hopeful, almost asking for permission to let yourself try and earn his love.

Despite Instagram drawing you in like a magnet, you held back from messaging him. You didn't want to come on too strong. You messaged him first last time. He doesn't know you. Literally… he doesn't even know your real name, or what you look like. But maybe that's a good thing…

_____The day of the interview:_____

You woke up around 9:30 in the morning; nervous, slightly nauseated, restless, and jittery. Why did I agree to this??!

You decided to pass on the coffee this morning, figuring it would make things worse, and instead decided to take Skipper for a walk. After some fresh air followed by a refreshing shower, you looked at the clock. 11:30 AM. With the interview at 1PM, you still had some time to kill and sat down at the piano, letting your mind wander to Pedro while you plunked chords out with nimble fingers. I wonder if Pedro has ever wanted to learn any instruments… I could teach him, you daydream.

Your hands dance across the piano while he reads through a script in the other room, eyebrows furrowed as he highlights another line. You look up over the grand piano and see his soft brown curls blowing under the fan haphazardly. The sun is shining in through the window, which Skip bathes under, and reflects a golden brown undertone with gray streaks in Pedro's hair. He really is beautiful, you think. His tongue swipes across his lips as he makes notes and erases, before finally feeling your eyes on him. He glances up from the script, giving you a soft smile and a wink; with those chocolate brown eyes that frequently cause you to lose your train of thought. Your eyes drift down to the keys again, feeling a soft blush creep over your cheeks.

"That music sounds beautiful, baby.." he says softly while padding up to you behind the piano. He places his large hands on your shoulders, sweeping them down over both your arms before settling on your hands, still resting over the black and white keys. You look over your shoulder and he leans in, closing his eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Just like that scene in Narcos… you think. Yikes, I really am obsessed… anyway… you think back to your daydream…

He sits down at the chair next to your piano bench, kissing your lips again gently, then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw. Your stomach gives a wave of butterflies and you lean in more to kiss him deeper, tugging on his hair while his hands find the small of your back, gently running his palms up your spine. A chill overcomes you and he-

~Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.~

Fuck. You snap out of your fantasy and turn off the alarm you set to go off ten minutes before the interview. At least I gave myself time to use the restroom and wash my face, you think, hoping to clear your head a bit now that you're slightly frazzled.

Unfortunately the feeling that replaced it was nerves as you sat down at your desk, typing into your keyboard, turning on your mic, and hoping that Skipper doesn't throw a fit over the wind or something while you're on this call.

Jazz: "Hi there listeners! We're joined by the artist of the moment, our favorite lovesick lady, the singer responsible for "Imaginary Love!"

Both women on the other end of the call applaud.

Well… not sure I like being called a lovesick lady but what else did I expect, really?

You: "Thank you guys for having me, I appreciate you wanting to get to know me better."

Despite the rough start, the ladies turned out to be really respectful and fun. You think that if the circumstances were different, you could actually be friends with them. You discuss casual things like your dog, your favorite activities and favorite pop culture topics (careful to avoid mentioning Pedro or any other actor that could be perceived as your lyrical subject), and they even mention celebrity crushes they've had growing up.

At the mention of their celebrity crushes, you can feel the interview funnel into a dangerous alley with little to no escape. Jazz was the first to broach the subject. "So… we've just discussed our celebrity crushes, and I think I speak for all of us here when I say we're all very curious to know who-"

-an air horn blares-

What the hell is that? You wonder, both thankful for the interruption, yet startled by the disruption.

They both chime in: "Viewers!!! Do you all know what that sound is!?! We have reached 1 million listeners!!!!"

To say you were astounded is an understatement.

You: "You're kidding!? 1 million people are listening to us right now?"

Ally: "You bet they are! And listeners… I don't know about you guys… but I can't help but wonder if our celebrity heartthrob is one of those million?"

They turn their attention to you again. "What do you think? Think he's listening?"

You're thankful for the lack of a camera, because you can't help but blush at the thought. You'd be lying if you hadn't already considered (hoped) that he was listening too.

Jazz: "So as we were saying… I think we all are in agreement that we want to know who he is. You sound like a nice enough girl, so what's holding you back? You've made it. You can contact him now and he'll probably reply."

I already have… you thought with a smirk.

Jazz continues: "Which brings me to the next point... I know you've had a lot of attention lately. You were signed to a record company, you were contacted by us, you've been mentioned by a few talk shows and celebrities. Pedro Pascal even publicly defended you. The radio has been playing your song nonstop and people can't get enough. What do you think of all this attention?"

You: "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit surprised and maybe a little scared," you answered with a nervous laugh. "But I am so thankful for the kind words that I receive and I love hearing from people who can relate to my music."

Ally: "You've certainly received your fair share of criticism too. It sounds like you received that before your song was ever published as well."

You: "I have, and it's been challenging to try and not let it get me down. But I'm trying my best, and the positives seem to be greatly outweighing the negatives," you state, your mind thinking of Pedro and how his messages were really the only positive you needed to get you through the dark storm of criticism.

Ally: "I guess what I'm wondering is.. among all these people contacting you.. has he?"

You try to play dumb: "Has who?"

Both interviewers laugh before Ally continues. "Nice try. You know who we're trying to find out about. Has he, the man of your dreams and star of your lyrics, contacted you at all? Will we see a romance blooming?"

Your stomach flipped. You were not expecting this question. Should you tell the truth??? It's not like they could know who has contacted you, short of hacking your account. You have had a lot of people contact you, after all.

You take a deep breath before answering. "I uh… I have received a lot of messages, some of them from celebrities."

They reply, and you can practically feel them leaning in. "Yeeeeaaaah?????"

You consider your next move, your heart really working overtime since this whole thing started. Finally you decide your answer.

"Yes. We've talked."

Looking for Track 1? Read it here!

Next chapter: Here!

~Thanks for reading! Stay ~tuned~ for more!

Taglist: Let me know if you want in :)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x afab!reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x musician!reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x plus sized! reader #pedro pascal fic #A! wrote a fic #rpf #pedro pascal rpf #key to your heart

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