#so sometimes he has red eyes sometimes he has green like IN CANON. so i play with that...

[taiyami]

It's been interesting seeing the replies on that "do you change your faves appearance" poll I made yesterday. Somebody said they put tits on Zim (from Invader Zim) and another said they make their man waxed cue ball lighthouse bald like I love living on this earth with you all.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter IV : The Fervour.

Summary: You decide to apologize to Aemond.

WARNINGS: nothing nsfw, I left it for the next chapter 🤭, canon typical incest, anxiety etc. + not proofread

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune, this is a short chapter but the next one is gonna be long and intense 🤭🤭

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

Your heart drummed loudly against your rib cage, each beat accompanied by a gasp of air as you stared into the emptiness of your chamber.

A dream— no, a memory.

Was this the original body's memory?

Is this body not yours?

It doesn't seem likely because this body has exactly all your features, each and every detail pasted right into itself, from your head to your feet; nothing was amiss.

A blanket of dullness washes over your body and you plop back down onto the mattress, hugging your cotton blanket and you laid sideways, pondering with curiosity as you thought about everything.

You have to apologise to Aemond.

Suddenly his hostility, hatred, sly remarks all made sense.

You mentally face palmed yourself.

How were you gonna save the plot or prevent war when knowing that you were the cause of major events?

Had it not been Viserys’ command, you would've been stuck deeper in the mess, his decision of marrying you and Aemond gave you a heads up.

Can you perhaps talk the greens out of it once you're Aemond's wife? Then again, if talking truly worked then there wouldn't be a show at all. You sigh heavily, closing your eyes before reopening them.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling before your eyes averted towards the window, noticing how it's still the heartbeat of the night. Going to Aemond's room would seem very scandalous at this hour; regardless of whether you're soon to be married.

And to make matters even more complicated; Alicent and Rhaenyra had caught you guys kissing. You wondered why Aemond kissed you in the first place so suddenly, was he containing his urge to kill through it? Most likely.

You decide that you'd think of everything on the morrow, choosing sleep over restlessness, closing your eyes and waiting for the slumber to grab you down to its depths.

The sound of footsteps awoke you from your sleep, looking around to see none but the maids who were bringing in a bath and water for you to freshen up and get ready for the day.

You zone out the process; having been used to it. Instead your mind now travelled to the matter at hand, which was also your main objective. You planned to go directly to Aemond and apologise, as stupid as it may sound you really had no other option before the situation got worse. At least by apologising you'll make him realise how sorry you are, which might console his inner conflict.

The maids finish touching you up. You waste no moment and immediately get off the stool, heading straight to the door and leaving your chambers.

You check the library where you first encountered him; to your surprise, he wasn't there. You then move onto the training grounds only for him to not be there either. You start wandering around the red keep in the search for him yet he seems nowhere to be found. The guards outside his room have also said that he had left his room in the morning.

You go to the garden, to the weirwood tree, hoping to find him there, yet he is nowhere.

Frustrated, you sit underneath the tree, huffing in annoyance and catching your breath. You grunt irritated; patience growing thin as time only passed with no signs of Aemond. You had searched practically everywhere. The sympathy you were feeling is slowly being replaced by exasperation.

You lean back against the tree, staring at the leaves.

It's moments like this that make you truly question your sanity and reconsider your situation. As much as you were a big fan of the show; being trapped in it isn't really ideal without any known way out. You sometimes miss your life before this.

How plain and simple it was, with no worries of a blooming war, you would work and just rest at home, cook your favourite meals by yourself, watch your favourite shows and then sleep. It's the simplicity you miss.

“I want to go back…” You say out loud, praying that the world would hear you and miraculously send you back home, however it doesn't happen; because if it did, why would you be here in the first place?

Your words were heard just not by the universe.

“You want to go back?” The voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you sit up straight, looking up at the figure who was now standing in front of you.

Aemond stood tall, with his hands behind his back, foot jutting out. Oh yes, his typical standing pose.

“Uhm, I- no? I don't—” You stutter not knowing what to say, you get up off the ground and stand straight, his gaze follows you, taking in your dress. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

You were wearing green.

“Your gown; it is quite beautiful.” He comments and you look down, not finding anything special about the plain material, “—especially, the colour.” He points it out, and that is when you realised that you were wearing green.

“The maids dressed me.” You imply slightly, indicating that you had no intention of wearing the colour of his family. He smiles mockingly, raising his eyebrows.

“You were looking for me?” He questions and you nod and take a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would calm your brain by magic but your nerves were still rampant.

You step closer to him, which he is taken aback by but doesn't move an inch. You look into his eye, your body now fueled up with the newfound determination of completing your goal.

“I apologise.” You choke out and Aemond frowns in confusion, “For the eye- the night, driftmark.” You stumble over your words unable to form coherent sentences as the previously felt anxiety blooms in your gut again.

Seriously, what is wrong with this body?

The atmosphere falls silent only being interrupted by the whispers of the wind blowing past both of you. Aemond opens his mouth to speak but he closes it immediately after; trying to find words that do not sound harsh as a response.

“Aemond.” His name left your mouth involuntarily and he snapped his gaze to you, he watched your form waiting for you to say something but you just stood there unable to speak, your tongue all tied up in your mouth, having no idea how to continue this conversation anymore.

“Aemond, I am sorry, I really am, I regret it; I didn't mean to hurt you, I was protecting jace- my brother; I never meant for any of this to happen— please.” Your voice croaks, breaking as your mouth begins to move on its own, the noise coming out of your throat— yet it wasn't you speaking, it wasn't you forming these words, they came from somewhere innate.

You grab his arm, eyes tearing up as you stare at him, searching for an ounce of forgiveness on his face, an expression of reassurance that can calm the brewing storm inside you. Your gut wrenched and turned as the silence only prolonged with every passing second the pit inside you became deep and deeper.

You didn't know what was going on, it was as if your body had a mind of its own; but it didn't feel that way. Although you felt like you were in the backseat watching it all happen; it also felt like you were the one that was operating as well.

“It was a cruel mistake, a mistake that ruined everything. Perhaps it is why the Gods have punished me, they put me in a state of death for years but never truly killed me. It was my punishment for that crime I have committed against an innocent boy. But was I not innocent too?” You stammered, your body shuddering out of control.

Aemond grabs your shoulders; a poor attempt at consoling you while you shivered, tears dripped down your face like streams of river, Aemond wiped them off, pulling you into him, engulfing in his embrace, holding your head as you sobbed into him.

He did not know how to react.

He did not expect any of this.

Yet he knew one thing, which he hated himself for, which he came to terms with just last night.

The fact that he had already forgiven you.

You both stand there like that for a moment, your cries dissipated from sobs to sniffs and that's when you pull away from the hug, staring at him back again.

Aemond tucked a stray hair strand behind your ear before resting his hand on your cheek, he didn't want to admit this to you but he had to; for his own sake— watching you cry felt like a thousand swords being pierced into his heart, he didn't want to see you like this anymore.

“You're forgiven.” Those two words left his mouth as he held you close and you did not know how much of an impact they'd have on you until you felt the pit in your stomach vanish completely as if it ceased to exist.

You felt calm.

Euphoric.

You felt lightheaded, the world spinning as you stared at him. You gave him a small smile in return, caressing his scar as your vision grew weary.

The last thing you remember seeing was Aemond's panicked expression before you completely blacked out.

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[kafkasmeow]

1 ꗃ A FAMILIAR TUNE

imagine! 7.2k words worth of slow-burn ─ dan heng x reader ─ second pov fem! reader ─ angst and fluff ─ father! jing yuan (strictly platonic) ─ i treated the reader more as an oc, i do apologise for that.

summery ─ leaving home was one of the hardest choices you’ve ever had to make, yet how could you stay when the life you lived could only ever bring you sadness and superficiality? 

aka dan heng x reader with mommy and daddy issues

disclaimer ─ this story may hold sensitive subjects such as mentioned death, neglect and the baggage that comes with it, mental illness, violence, harassment and talks of infertility. it has a very long introduction (my bad lol), a rather steamy end and takes inspiration from the original story line so be careful of spoilers and it was inspired by head-canons written here by @lyomeii , please go show some love. remember that this is a work of fiction and any names and characters written are my imagination alone. enjoy <3

taglist ─ @can-i-go-to-sleep-please ─ @can-i-stay-awake

There was a time when things felt easier, when the sun seemed to shine brighter despite the overwhelming shadow that was always cast on your family. You used to love the deep smell of green tea that enveloped the parlour each time the two of you took residence in it, and the wind that would swirl it around the whole of the office all while you laughed without a single care at the way it tugged your translucent shawl and hair. 

Jing Yuan adored that sound more than anything, it filled his heart with the warmest of contents yet the cruelest of longings. He would sip quietly on the tea you’d brewed for him and pretend to enjoy the frivolous moment with his eyes closed, but you both knew that when you looked away, another story would be told completely. 

Perhaps in reality, the sun never shined brighter than it seemed to and it was never easier to stomach. You were just too naive, too young to notice the thin cords bringing you and your father closer, and too ignorant to see the way they were slowly beginning to rip under the pressure. 

To the public eye, your father loved you more than anything in the world, that was no news to anyone atop the Xianzhou Luofu. You’ve always worn the most expensive silks to have ever been created, with the richest of accessories and jewels. Whenever a new Hanfu dress would reach your hands, he would parade you on the busiest streets himself, making sure everyone and their mothers would talk about it by noon the next day. 

He made sure you always had the most able and knowledgeable professors at your call, and if you ever needed anything, all you’d have to do is ask to whomever was closest to you at the very moment, and it would be fulfilled within seconds. Sometimes you didn’t know if the servants did it out of admiration for your father or obligation.

Jing Yuan made sure you never needed or wanted for more. Materially, that is. 

And things were bound to change as you grew, especially as he cruelly presented you to the scrutiny of high society. 

You quickly grew to understand that it was his way of apologising, like a crow that would chip away at your skin then bring you trinkets of appreciation. When you sat and listened to some woman criticise that your dress was too frivolous for the event, too out of fashion for society and that none of your jewels matched, he did not do much but smile and pat your shoulder. 

“Little [Y/n] will learn from your kind advice.” He assured her, but you barely held in a snort of frustration. When the other women joined in, when they begun pulling at your hair to adjust it, when they hit your hands with their fans as you purred tea for not angling your elbows right, when they shamed you as the hall hollered with laughter, he watched and smiled, so you took a deep breath and smiled back to everyone around you too.

Later that very evening he found you with tears running on your cheeks, a box of red and gold velvet in his hands. Your father did not speak, nor did he show much emotion on his face and it angered you. You wished to yell, to protest for the fact that he had not jumped to your defence, but as you opened the box, all protests died on your lips and the tears stilled, hands shaking at the most beautiful jade hair pin you’ve ever seen.

But his gifts stopped making up for his emotional absence around the third time it happened. 

And you knew they all watched you like a hawk. Every move you’d make before the higher ups would be analysed on a scale of “good enough” or “weak” by none other than your father’s so called friends, while every single gesture before the public was like pulling needles off your skin. Yesterday you wore your Hanfu scandalously low on your cleavage, today you didn’t say thank you when the guard accompanying you opened up your parasol, tomorrow you won’t hold your tea cup quite right and so on. 

Usually it was easy to ignore.

But that was before the daughters of the noblest of houses would begin to alienate you for shallow reasons, and before the sons of each commissioner would size you up as nothing but easy stock to win over, an easy marriage in the pocket, or so they thought. 

It was easy for them to have the audacity to criticise you to your face or try to win you over, after all, you were nothing but a spoiled brat who’s never heard no for as long as she’s lived. Surely, you’ve never faced a single hardship, so the public felt righteous enough to scold you into it while for those within you were noting but a charity case. 

So you tried to learn all you could, so you’d never feel as less in front of others ever again. Since the very evening of your debut, you insisted on having a book under your arm, a needle in your hand, a sword at your hip, or a qin in your lap while tea cups simmered on a table. It felt easier to overlook the loneliness when you did. You found that after a certain age, it felt comforting even to worry about making it in time to granny Hua’s qin lessons while leaving the swordplay hall behind, rather than sit pretty in a room and wait all day for your father to finish his duties as a general. There was no more room at social events for rude interventions, and no more room in your mid for uncomfortable questions to ask while doing so, really.  

But you couldn’t avoid them for an eternity, that was for sure. And neither could Jing Yuan, for even in tranquil moments when peace had the taste of green tea and the smell of fresh air after rain, your twinkling eyes were still a carbon copy of how hers were. 

In the better of these days, your father would pretend to laugh at a joke you made, while you pretended to be satisfied with his reaction. You’d move a piece on the xiangqi board with elegant hands and chatted about the latest passage you read in a philosophy book, and he hummed in agreement while placing his own piece down. A cleverly crafted strategy to his own defeat, one that you felt content with following despite the fragile shame that came with it. 

It was a play you both excelled at most, after all.

At the worst of it all, you can’t understand his harsh voice as he yells “That is enough, [Y/n]!” while slamming his tea cup on the table. The whole room would shake at his warning, but your hunger for answers was much stronger than any fear, so you really can’t understand his fury when you yell back “Father! It is not!” He look at you with sorrow in his heart and his eyes were twisted by a pain you’d never understand, as he could only see her in you. 

“I will not have this conversation with you!” He’d warn again, but you took it as an invitation to push even further. “I don’t know the first thing about my mother, Jing Yuan! Her name? Never heard of it. Her face? Never seen it. Do you not think it is cruel, father?” Hot tears streamed on your perfect porcelain cheeks, smearing the red eyeliner you had painted on. “No one ever speaks about her to me, everyone refuses to. But they all look at me like I’m some kind of…” Your voice trailed off with hard puffs and sobs. “Like I’m some kind of…” 

His own chest puffed and the sight of you felt like a stab to his heart. You couldn’t get your words out, you didn’t need to really. People constantly looked at you in one of two ways, no matter how perfectly you’ve learned to craft your smiles, or how good your tea brewing had became, you were either a charity case they’d pity, or a spoiled brat that knew none of what the real world would offer.

 But despite all of his anger, he was still your father, and as much as he loved to punish himself trough you, he still held back the need of snapping the heads off all of their shoulders. He would reach for the back of your neck with his hand, bringing you into his chest in a half hug. “You are enough. Never forget that.” He’d kiss the crown of your head and inhale the floral smell of your hair. It grounded him, even as you screamed into his chest and pushed him away, his grip stayed firm until you’d shed your last tear and you cried your last sob. 

Because despite of how much you hated to admit it, you were living and breathing for his approval, which you seemed to never ever gain.

Unbeknownst to you, everything about you was just like her. Your face, your hair, even the way you wore your Hanfu  a little out of place with the shawl falling all over the floor when you walked, or your mannerism as you spoke with a tiny accent on your tongue, it was all her and nothing of his except the mole under your left eye. You’ve never met her, he tried to reason. You’ve never seen her or heard of her deeds. Your mother has been an enigma to you ever since you could remember things, and yet the world punished him with her perfect copy in you when he tried to push her memory away the most. 

It felt bittersweet. To the outside eye, general Jing Yuan adored his daughter more than anything else in the world. But underneath the jewellery, there were unaddressed feelings, each pearl you wore for people on the Central Starskiff Heaven to see was a tear unshed, each new dress was a silent apology they’d never hear, each loving promenade you’d have with your father was there to hide for the public a question you asked when the cord was too tensed. One of these days it would snap in half, you were sure of it. 

So who could blame you when it all overflowed? When you could no longer smile in the face of those who envied you and when your father’s emotional absence felt like a hallow painting of what should have really been? When the dresses and the jewels weren’t smothering the pain any longer?

You felt it daily, building up, pressing down, tugging at your smiles until they became frowns and empty stares, and your ever growing depression was evident for anyone that roamed the gardens outside your window at night, as your qin carried into the world the saddest tune your heart feared to voice. And this time, not even a Hanfu made out of golden thread would ease your pain. 

“So, say you, general,” 

Your father hummed back to the woman before him as he placed his piece down on the board. Another noble nodded in agreement with his choice behind him. You saw them all from where you were sitting, fingers strumming the qin in a delicate tune for the whole room to enjoy, while gin purred from flasks and laughter echoed somewhere in the back. It wasn’t like you to agree partaking in parties like these, but how could you turn Jing Yuan down when he asked you to serenade him at the event?

“I would say you’d want to keep your daughter closest to you, am I not right?” The wicked tone in the noble’s voice made you shiver underneath the silver shawl that draped off your shoulders. “Quite so I fear, why is that?” 

“Well, I hoped to reach you when I first heard the news, but I was quite busy, yous see?” The woman, an esteemed elder of the Artisanship Commission, hid her face behind what was possibly the most obnoxious fan you’ve ever seen, and your fingers became stiff on the metal strings of your trusted instrument. “Pardon me?” The general stilled his movements on the xiangqi pieces while the chattering went quiet. Nothing but your trembling notes filled the air.

“You know, I wished to give you my deepest condolences the moment I heard. For your daughter’s… unfortunate situation, that is.” Confused, Jing Yuan tilts his head to where you stood, only to be met with the same questions on your face that you desperately tried to drown as you played your melody. He chuckled awkwardly, then, and returned his attention on the game. “I fear I don’t know what you’re going on about, ma’am.”

“Ah… You know, the fact that your daughter is unable to bear children has quite saddened us all. I was looking forward to sending my son as a potential suitor!” 

If eyes could kill, you would be sure that the place where the woman stood would have become scorched dust. An involuntary scoff left your lips loud enough to draw attention, but you pretended to be engrossed with tuning your qin before beginning to play another piece for the hall. 

“And where have you heard such news, I wonder?” But she held no fear in her eyes. 

“Well, for one, everyone in high society talks about it! You see, your daughter is already past the age of accepting suitors yet has never even been seen with a man, so people assume. That being said I personally was told so by a doctor that works under you, your grace.” 

‘Lies’, you told yourself, but it was not enough to cool the blush you had on your cheeks from embarrassment, no matter how much you have been shamed by the public eye, nothing could compare to this very moment now. 

“Is that so,” Your father trailed off, then placed his piece on the xiangqi board. “Well, from what I know, your son is welcome to send in his suitor application, for my daughter is more than healthy and cared for. In fact, now that I think about it,” But you didn’t wish to hear any more. 

With a sudden move, you jumped from your seat to your feet and rushed to gather the qin underneath its silk cloth. The commotion drew attention to you, and so murmurs begun filling your ears which only fed your ever growing shame. “Please excuse me.” You voiced as you bowed deeply to the room of lords and nobles, then picked up your instrument and hurried to the exit with a strained “Please enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

And you hoped that would be the last you’ve heard of it all, but as fate wanted it, that was far from how things would play. 

“Father! This is ridiculous!” You protested. For all reason and purposes, it really was. 

Not even a full day after what happened, he invited you to serve tea with him in the parlour. You found it odd, as he never requested your presence on Tuesday afternoons, but did not complain as you stepped into the room with haste. 

He took his time finding the courage to face you, and when he understood he would not be able to deliver the news to you with a straight face, he pushed a stack of paper to you without even meeting your eyes. There, in red ink, was your fate sealed by a simple signature. An agreement that had been made without your knowledge or permission, and a wound that would become the reason for the demise of cord that held your family together.

Marriage certificate. 

No one knows what was truly discussed that night in the evening, but what was known was that you’ve fled with tears in your eyes and anger on your face. And for better or for worse, that would become the last time anyone on the Xianzhou Luofu had seen you under the identity of the general’s daughter, for you found no more room in your heart for the pain that followed with it.

“You know, when you put it like that, I do think that green works best with coral!” March eagerly nodded her head, while Dan Heng took his time analysing Himeko’s theory. You and welt only listened to the conversation with one ear, while the other was being filled with questions over questions from Stelle. 

“I don’t believe that’s a wise move.” You chirped as Welt placed the piece down, and you followed with a quick movement that gained you his general. He groaned and pushed his glasses up away while massaging the bridge of his nose. Stelle wowed and wood at your victory, and March leaned from her seat across the express’ parlour with a “really?” look in her eyes. 

“You lost again, M. Yang?” 

“I swear I’m good at this game.” And you chuckled while placing the pieces back into their pouch. “Used is a keyword.” March continued to tease while everyone watched your movements, which, weirdly, felt more calming than before your time on the express. In truth, it was because they never snickered underneath their palms and never cherry picked your posture until you’d get it wrong. 

That being said, you could only care for one person’s eyes alone, and his stare felt like electricity on the back of your neck. 

“How did you learn to play like this, anyways? You’re like a mad genius at these.” Stelle intervened, and you couldn’t help but shiver as your father’s knowing eyes came into your mind. “Ah…” was all that escaped your lips, before you cured your pained expression in a calm and lovely smile. “My father taught me how to play. He always made it so I would win, though. Therefore, for the longest time I believed I was quite bad at it too.” 

Your voice felt like crystal in the quiet room, so quiet and soft to the ear that it was more akin to a melody than a spoken sentence. You never truly talked about your home, never about your family of your past, which is exactly why your friends turned to you with a cocktail of shocked expressions. Despite how polite and proper you always were, whenever someone asked about it, you would have the coldest glare thrown their way, sure, involuntarily, but scary nonetheless, and with time the crew learned to not ask about a past you so much wished to hide.

Despite that, they never judged you for any of it, not even when your friendship has been tried over and over by your cold heart. You were never outright rude per se, but distant hit the nail in the head best. When Himeko would extend an invitation to a “coffee party” for the crew as an example, you refused with a polite smile that felt ripped out of etiquette teaching picture books, saying you prefer tea instead. 

She feared you’d be left out, you feared being the centre of attention. 

“I believe I’ll head in for the day.” You spoke after finishing to arrange the xiangqi pieces on the board. March left out an “Oh…” and you could hear the sad face in her voice. Amongst the others, she was the saddest when you chose to sit the Xianzhou Luofu out, as ever since your addition to the crew, you never turned down an adventure. You explained that your bones hurt from the cold of Jarilo-VI and that you needed a rest, and with Stelle at their side, you were sure they would have no problems getting trough this one trail-blazing adventure. Sure, it was a bit of a shock for Himeko and Welt, but to March? It was a tragedy. Her new bestie leaving her behind? She swore the world would end.

“Please, have a safe journey and a swift return.” 

You nodded your head their way before picking up the xiangqi game and reaching for the door. Your fingers grazed the digital pad just in time to hear Dan Heng’s voice behind you. “I will do the same, didn’t quite finish storing the data bank after Jarilo-VI.” 

And so you ended up side by side, walking trough the corridors of the Express. However, as you stepped past his make-shift room, you found his steps synced with yours still and, confused, you turned to face him and painted one of your signature smiles. Fake but pretty all the same. 

“Can I help you, Dan Heng?”

It was exactly that cold yet perfect, more-like-a-painting-than-an-actual-human attitude that made Dan Heng distrust you from the moment you stepped on the Express. You left everything to speculation in a way in which even your clothes were a mass of black and colourless, without any culture behind or any story at all to tell. Always in a bland attire with no accessories at all. March made fun of you for being so tasteless, but he saw past the appearance.  He saw past the way you acted and into the way you wilded your swords like cranes flying in the wind, the way you prepared and steeped tea, and the way you handled xiangqi and go pieces like a native only could.

He peered into your eyes in a way that made you unravel before him without a single word, and he knew it was to hide a side of you that you’ve hidden deeply to the rest. But not quite to him.

And while he was trying to get over a sense of danger in you, fed by your secrecy, you found peace in his presence. Unbeknownst  to him, he was the one thing that reminded you of home and the good in it despite it all. If your memories were filled with torment and loneliness, he was the smell of freshly baked red bean sticky rice cakes in the market, or the sound of wind chimes in the summer rain. He was all of the little things you wanted to push away but found comfort in, and you didn’t know if you loved it or hated him for it.

“Yes, actually.” He nodded. “I find I can’t sleep as of late and I wanted to try one of your calming brews.” You frowned at his words but gave in without asking much, which he greatly appreciated. “Very well, please join me for some tea tonight, then.” And silence settled between you two as you lead him to your cabin with unease rolling off your shoulders. 

Your room was much like your clothes. Simple and colourless besides the coffer next to your bed, which was unmistakably made with the mastery of a Xianzhou artisanship. But if he noticed it, he didn’t speak on it at all, nor about the low table in the middle of the room that was in the same style, or… well really about anything. You appreciated that most. Even when you settled on the table a traditional set of cups, a clear tea spreading the most enchanting and calming aroma from them, he did not speak a single word.

As he drank, his eyes rested on your covered qin that sat atop your bed, and he did not need to speak for you to understand his intentions. You sat down quietly on the covers, revealing the  simple instrument like a truth you’d usually hide from. And he couldn’t help but watch you with sadness in his heart as you tuned the strings with shaky hands ‘till crystal clear notes echoed trough the room. 

You took a heavy inhale and looked upon the dark ebony wood as if greeting an old friend before propping it on your lap, but couldn’t handle to meet Dan Heng’s eyes. At least not when he stared at you as if he knew every single secret you feared to tell. 

As you raised your hands in the air, getting ready to pull at the string, his own palm engulfed your exposed skin in an unspoken plea, and you couldn’t help but give into his warmth. He pulled gently until your face was buried into his shoulder and his other arm was in your hair, and you didn’t even notice it when silent tears begun to stain the fabric of his coat. He didn’t protest nor ever addressed it, and you preferred the feeling of his body against yours to the coldness of his eyes on a normal day. 

As such, you spent the evening together afterwords. Him silently sipping on the calming tea as the sorrowful yet comforting sound of the qin filled your bedroom, until there were no more tears to shed and the pot on the table had gone cold. 

No one wanted to admit it, but it had to be said. Something changed between you and Dan Heng from then on and the first one to notice it was none other than March. 

They were getting ready to leave the express when she stated it for the whole crew to hear. 

“Is it me or are the two of you like, in love or something now?” She arched one of her eyebrows while her lips rested in a scowl. Now, don’t get her wrong she was more than happy for you two if it was the case, but what she could not stand for was the two of you ditching the adventure to enjoy a date over tea and qin music again. 

“March, what kind of nonsense are you onto again?” You huffed with cherry red ears, while Dan Heng choked on the water he was previously drinking. All she could do was wave her hand while saying “yeah yeah,” over and over with a bored face before they set out on their way, but not before Welt pinned the two of you down with a knowing look.

The express stilled with their absence, reinforced by Pom-Pom who claimed to have some cleaning to do somewhere in the Express and Himeko who had some paperwork to finish. The parlour felt almost empty, despite Dan Heng’s presence right next to you. He still held his fist over his mouth as if preparing to cough, cheeks dusted pink and eyes on the starry sky before you, but he didn’t say a word about what happened. And something in you told you to follow his lead. 

You ate quietly at the sticky rice cake you tried your hand baking, and although the taste was very different from what you remembered, it was still as good as ever. With a tissue all crumpled up in your hand, you resulted to watching the sky along side your new friend, eyeing the stars one by one as they passed by. Yet you found your eyes sliding lower and lower from the window to the man before you, who you found already watching you with wide eyes. As if caught in headlights, he stammered out an incoherent string of words but did not move his gaze, not even as his body leaned to yours until his hand grazed your chin. 

You shuddered at his icy touch, but did not dare to move, not even as his fingertips reached for your lips. He gently wiped your lips then brought his thumb to his own mouth, licking off the excess red bean cream from the cake, and you were absolutely sure your face would explode from how hot it get in that very moment. “You had a bit,” He started, but his mouth closed shut when he noticed the dazed stare in your eyes. “Oh aeons, I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?” His voice shook and his own ears turned scarlet red, only now realising what he has done. You shook your head, head turning  so you could focus on the floor as if the tiles below your feet were now the best sight you have ever seen. “Ah, not at all! I was just surprised, ‘tis all.” Your sweaty palm gripped the tissue tighter. “Would you like some?” And Dan Heng looked at the half eaten cake you extended to him with an expression you’ve ever seen him give March or Stelle. He stared at the cake in his hands with a wholehearted fondness. “Yeah.” Was all he could manage to whisper back.

And somewhere in the back, you swore you heard Himeko giggle to herself. 

The same evening, you would hear three soft knocks on your door in the dead of night. There, in the hallway, with a sweat filled forehead and uneasy complexion, stood Dan Heng, and you would be a fool not to extend a hand to him when he begged for help with his tired eyes. 

“Quit hiding!” The criminal’s voice rang trough your head like a broken mantra. “Your true form… reveal it!” Dan Heng did his best to dodge the maniac attacks, all while you and Yanqing stood in an awkward stalemate in the middle of the platform.

Your blade screeched against Yanqing’s, but it was like fighting fire with fire, simply useless. No matter how lowkey you’ve been upon reaching the Xianzhou, he needed one singular look to know exactly who you were, even underneath the mask that covered the lower half of your face.

“You, little..” You trailed off with effort. Despite his usual sense of justice, that you’ve always commanded, his attacks felt awfully biased as he strikes your blade repeatedly with his icy ones. His technique felt as familiar as home did, her teaching seeping in his bones trough and trough, but so did  your father’s into yours, which you’ve had much more time to perfect than the little lapdog did. 

“Move, you idiot!” And with one harsh push of your blade, the young boy was off his feet, giving you enough time to reach Blade before he could get any damage done on Dan Heng. You yelled with each strike you struggled to par, until his crazy red eyes widened in glee and his sword flew from his hands and right by your chin. The sound of your friend’s cry in agony and the blade tearing trough skin and bone made you pause, and horror struck you as you refused to turn around and to even acknowledge what had happened. “You!” Was all you could let out, sword still pointed straight to Blade’s neck.

“I have news for you.” He laughed, and you took a step back. You would lie if you said your insides didn’t churn with fear, even as he was left completely disarmed before you.

“Behind you… Is none other,” The sound of water engulfed your ears as your head snapped back. “Than the traitor of the Xianzhou. A criminal, forever banished!” Your eyes widened as the barrier around Dan Heng rippled, leaving a water-made dragon to escape with rage all over its face. It roared and turned in the air, coiling until it fell right back to where it came from, and when light and wind filled the platform, you couldn’t help but shield your form with your arms. 

“The High Elder of the Vidyadhara… Imbibitor Lunae.” 

The hold on your sword weakened. You shuddered as the man you grew so attached to revealed himself before you in a form you’ve recognised from your father’s tales. Long silky hair and cold green eyes, horns and tail and lotus flowers and everything that made the Vidyadhara so revered. You could hardly believe your eyes. With a weak step forward, you pulled at the mask to reveal your strained expression, sword falling to your side numbly. 

“You really believed that the Stellaron Hunters were the only ones to infiltrate the Xianzhou?” 

Cold air begun pulling at your hair, and you shook off your stupor when Yanqing begun summoning his ice swords. Your body acted before your mind did at the new threat and your sword was back up within seconds, posture ready for a clash. 

“A wanted criminal, a banished person and a deserter. In this case, I will bring all three of you to justice!” 

The fight ended before it could even begin properly. Yanqing was strong, but Jingliu’s teaching could only get him so far against the three of you. Blade begun striking without mercy, taunting you and Dan Heng for holding back. “What’s wrong, your grace? Scared to harm the boy?” The criminal laughed as you sent only one out of the spirit swords you summoned towards Yanqing. Flashes of electricity begun shining trough your hair with anger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do more. Not  even when Dan Heng delivered the final strike with a silent apology. 

Yanqing’s knees begun to buckle just as Kafka yelled “All of you, listen to me - stop!” 

You couldn’t help but stumble back, swords falling out of existence as Dan Heng’s feet stepped back on the floor and Blade’s weapon vanished before your eyes. “Well, Bladie? Are you satisfied?” She mused and he only hummed in response. 

“…What did you do?” Dan Heng called after a moment of silence. “Just clearing the stage for the grand entrance. Can’t have the four of you misbehaving in front of the Luofu’s hotshot general.” Your shoulders stiffened as a familiar laughter filled the platform. All heads turned towards the sight, yet you stayed rooted on your feet, back turned and head shaking in denial. “No, not like this.” You whispered. 

“Jing Yuan,” Blade huffed. “General!” Yanqing followed. 

The man stared at the sighed before him with a knowing smile just as you got the courage to turn and face him. If he felt anything upon the sight of you, he did not show it. “Many years have passed since the three of you have departed the Xianzhou, and yet the circumstances of your return appear to be equally unhappy. If you still thought of me as a friend,” His eyes went straight to yours, unspoken words weighting you down as you found it harder and harder to breathe. ‘As family’ was what he wished to say, yet he held back. “You should’ve forewarned me.” 

“My task is complete.” Was all the blade said. “Mhm. That it is.” Your father laughed in return. “Thank you for assisting the Xianzhou in this small matter. Take this person away, I will pretend I didn’t see anything this time.” He stated harshly despite Yanqing’s protest. Jing Yuan then stared at Dan Heng as the two Stellaron Hunters made their way to the boat at the edge of the platform. “It has been a long time, old friend.” But your friend answered harshly. “I’m not him.” 

“Mh. I’m sorry. You cannot leave yet, however. Your astral express friends are still waiting for you in Scalegorge Waterscape. Shall we go and see them together? And you…” The moment you have been trying to prepare yourself for most had arrived, and your father’s smile died on his lips as his eyes analysed your face. 

“I missed you terribly, my sweet flower.” Dan Heng stiffened next to you, but his hand fingertips grazed yours in protectiveness, to which you could only respond by accepting his palm into yours. The familiar nickname brought tears into your eyes, and despite the coldness of his face, your father’s voice felt like a familiar little tune you new by heart. Like a warm hug when you needed it most. How you wished you could’ve just forgotten it all and jumped into his chest, just like how you did when you were nothing but a sprout on two legs. 

“That being said, we will continue this conversation later. I’m afraid your friends might be in trouble, you see.”

You didn’t know how time had passed so fast, more like a blur than anything, truthfully. Your eyes were opened wide on the platform between the Xianzhou and Scalegorge Waterscape, blade in hand and senses aware as you parred each of the attacks your way. Then you blinked, and when you reopened them, a familiar sight greeted you. 

Three cups of steaming green tea on a low rise table, a board of xiangqi and pieces of go scattered all over the table. A sacred silence engulfed the room, besides the occasional sound of the chess pieces falling into place, and none of you could bring yourselves to shatter it just yet. 

Dan Heng watched you play with patience while occasionally bringing the cup to his lips, now back into the form you grew so familiar with. You hated to admit it, but his presence comforted you. It gave you the strength to hold yourself together in a situation in which you would have certainly shattered if alone, and your father’s keen eye did not glass over that fact. 

You sighed peacefully when your chariot was finally occupied in the middle of the palace, on your father’s side, in a perfect centroid checkmate. The man before you leaned back and sighed, a puzzled expression on his face. “You just had to go and get better than me at this game, did you not?” But you didn’t answer. You still didn’t know what to say, really. Were you feeling guilty for deserting your spot as a cloud knight? For leaving your father behind? Or for bailing on your responsibilities as his daughter? Well, no not quite, so apologising for it felt…strained and forced. But one thing felt real as your eyes met his and Dan Heng’s hand reached for yours across the table. You missed him terribly just as much. 

“Every single day that passes shapes you more and more like her.” He added. “I wish you could’ve been by my side for them all.” 

“Jing Yuan…” You whispered back, but he didn’t let you finish. “If your mother was here with us today, I assure you, my sweet flower, that things would have been so different.” For a moment, you could hear nothing but your heart beating against your chest.

“You are just like her. And I truly mean it. Your face, your personality, darn it all even the way you speak. And, as your father, I wish I could’ve offered you a better life.” 

“You did all you could.” Funny how even now, you were the one to reach with a warm heart, how you were the one to comfort and forgive, even when his heart couldn’t yield. 

“Not quite. I was foolish and believed that a firm hand would prepare you for the cruelty of the world. I failed to see, no. I failed to change when I saw that it was harming you more than anything.” You let out a sigh you’ve held in for a very long time and closed your eyes, a last attempt at holding in the tears you wished so disparately to shed. 

“I love you, father. Nothing will ever change that. However,” Despite how your hand shook in Dan Heng’s, your voice stood firm, and as you opened your eyes, both men shivered at their determination. “An apology, no matter how needed, will never make up for what has been. If this is your way of asking me to stay, I fear I’ve made my choice.” 

But his ever knowing smile was back on his lips, and his laughter caught you off guard. Your fingers tightened on Dan Heng’s fingertips, who had stayed quiet as you and your father voiced what both of you ever feared to before. 

“You see, that was not my intention. That being said, if you ever did wish to return, there will always be room for you into my arms, my darling flower.” And you only nodded back, lips slightly parted in surprise. 

“We should head out.” Dan Heng whispered to you after the tea had been finished and the conversation ended. He tapped the skin of your palm with gentle fingers, a quiet way of asking for your attention. His eyes were stricken with tiredness, and you doubted that yours were any better, excusing the puffiness brought by your tears. 

“Ah yes, I forgot!” The general mused. “There is no need to return to that hotel for the night. I asked for your room to be prepared, for you and your lover here. So you could rest comfortably before leaving.” The moment could be best described by a broken record being pulled abruptly from its recorder and screeching in your head. You eyed Dan Heng who refused to meet your gaze and who’s ears became scarlet red once more. “Father!” You protested. “He- He’s not-”

“Save it, [Y/n]. At least invite me if you do ever get married.” 

“Dad!” Shame engulfed you as you pushed Dan Heng out of the room all while the sound of Jing Yuan’s laughter taunted you from behind the doors of the seat of Devine Foresight. You couldn’t help but whisper muffled apologies into your hand that tried to shield your burning face from anyone that would watch, which in truth was as effective as searching for a needle in a haystack. 

What you didn’t expect was for Dan Heng’s hand to find yours and move it away, revealing cherry red cheeks that matched his own. He cleared his voice before leaning in just enough for his breath to fan over your ear as your back met the closed doors behind you. “I would not mind if I was.” He whispered before his velvet soft lips rested against the exposed skin of the back of your palm. You were sure your knees would’ve given in if it wasn’t for his arm that hooked around your waist, bringing you so close to him you shuddered. 

“I really would not mind it.” 

Later that evening, as his teeth grazed your exposed skin before kissing it with sweet words of praise, as your hands intertwined and your bodies became one under the silk sheets of your bed, you could tell that your heart began singing a familiar tune. With each kiss from Dan Heng’s, a new feeling invaded your senses. You were home. Here with him, in this very moment. You were home in his arms. 

And you wouldn’t changed it for anything else. 

Yes, not even as March yells “I fucking knew it!” the next morning, for the whole of Xianzhou Luofu to hear, upon seeing your neck caked in love marks you had no means of hiding and your hand held tightly by Dan Heng, who only smiled back to everyone as you buried your face into his chest with shame. 

[meltinghun]

Complicated ; Jean-Pierre Magnan.

summary; since the start of the school year, Jean-Pierre and reader have competed with each other for the first place on everything, that is until reader starts to neglect herself.

warnings: fem!reader, ANGST!!!, fluff, swearing, academic enemies-to-lovers, feelings of failure, reader has a shitty family AND doesn't take care of her health (dead dove do not eat? idk?), canon typical misogyny, they're so mean but they like each other (i promise!!).

w/c: 2.8k

author note: i want to thank everyone who encouraged me to keep writting, your comments made me blush and giggle so hard, omg!!!! <3

I got stuck in this o.s for more than a month because I really liked the idea but I wasn't convinced on how it was turning out, but anyways, I had to upload something after being inactive for so long lmao.

The latin teacher handed each student their graded exams, occasionally throwing back handed comments when he saw necessary, visibly enjoying the defeated faces of the students that didn't receive a satisfactory grade.

With an audible sigh, he extended the paper towards Y/N, shaking his head to emphatise his dissaprovement.

"You were the only reason as to why I was starting to believe that it was a good idea to integrate girls to the school." He raised his eyebrows. "But I'm starting to regret it."

The loud comment reverberated on the walls and hurt her ears, making her shrink in her seat with embarrassment when the big red 7/20 was placed in front of her. When the professor continued walking around, she heard a subtle chuckle coming from the left, turning her head in that direction. Founding a pair of big green eyes already staring at her in amusement.

"And I'm starting to believe that, after all, you are not a threat at all." A small smirk painted his face before continuing. "Maybe you fooled all of us into believing that you were actually smart, but I guess you aren't at all."

Her throat closed at the same time that she felt the need to throw up, she didn't knew what was wrong with her, she stayed up late studying for the tests, wrote her own resumes and even recited them out loud to try and memorize it, but no matter what she tried, the formulas didn't seem to stick to her brain, the numbers and symbols seemed like the exact same thing and confused them with each other and even the words of her history homework seemed to be written on a foreign language. She felt like a failure ever since her parents started to demand even better grades than she already had, spending her days and nights studying and having little to almost no sleep at all, investing all her time into trying to regain her star student position.

She was exhausted, sometimes even getting to the point of hallucinating things from the lack of rest, but convincing herself that she didn't deserve it until her parents were more than proud of her. And that seemed so far away.

Blinking away the tears, she tried to keep up with her facade, "Maybe you should start to mind your own business, Magnan." She managed to spat through gritted teeth.

"And that's where you're wrong, again." She groaned in annoyance. "See, when something makes you feel miserable, it is completly of my business because it makes me feel amazing."

She took a sharp inhale, and before she could say something, the sound of the bell indicating the start of reccess pierced the air. Rapidly, she gathered her belongings and almost sprinted out of the classroom, earning a severe reprimend from the teacher that she didn't care enough to hear.

"Miss L/N!" He made an offended sound. "Women, they are so sensitive... That's why they don't belong here."

She made a straight path towards the teachers restrooms, and only after locking the door did she allowed herself to let out a choked sob. The tears falling down and making a mess everywere, a hand coming up her face to try to muffle her desperate cries.

She really didn't know what was wrong with her.

Maybe she was the problem.

Everything came down like a ton of bricks falling on her, from the pressure of trying to be a role model for her family, to the hurtful words of Jean-Pierre that striked a nerve. Usually it wouldn't bother her that much and instead she would have a comeback ready to throw at him, but lately that wasn't the case, the highlights of her day used to be the moments were they started bickering at each other, sharing defying looks and victorius smirks in the way. She awaited those moments so eagerly.

But now she was lacking the strength to think on a smart jab to get right back at him, and even when she did manage to come up with something, it didn't bring her any satisfaction at all like it used to. Instead, she just felt drained.

Once again, the bell rang indicating to everyone that the classes resumed once again, but rather of getting out of her little hiding spot, she just stayed there, not feeling ready to face yet another deception.

Nor face again those mesmerizing green eyes.

A sharp headache made her wince slighty, she's been having them since a few days ago, sometimes were more powerful than others and today it seemed like one of the days were she felt like digging out her brain out of her head. She splashed some water on her face and looked at the mirror, looking away almost immediately when she took note of how sick she looked.

Opening the door, she carefully made her way to the infirmary, thinking to herself that some minutes with the school's nurse could excuse her absence in the class. A sudden feeling of dizziness caused by the sudden movement almost made her trip over, but before it happened, a strong hand took hold of her arm, keeping her from falling.

"What is wrong with you? Where the hell were you?" Jean-Pierre gave her a severe look that harbored his concern.

"I already told you to mind your own business." With all the strength she could muster, she pushed herself free out of his hold, the anger bubbling on her veins. "I don't owe you nothing, so get out of my sight and leave me the fuck alone. You would do me a great fucking favor."

Her harsh words left him completly dumbfounded, never before had she talked to him like that, even on the days when he annoyed her out of her mind. He saw how she moved towards the stairs, holding tightly onto the rails; moving closer to her hunched form, he felt the sudden and desperate need to ask her what was the problem, if he could help her in any way.

"I'm here against my will, Miss Couret sent me to look out for you." Was the only thing that came out of his mouth. "She was worried because she didn't saw you at recess, even more when you weren't at the classroom."

The lie slipped off naturally from him. Miss Couret didn't sent him to look out for her, he scaped class by coming up with some excuse about needing to ask something important about his latin competence, the truth was that he was the one who worried about her absence. But she didn't need to know that tiny detail.

Jean-Pierre would never admit it out loud, but he saw the drastic change on his rival's attitude, and it got him concerned. He would secretly listen to conversations of her friends that involved Y/N herself as a main topic, that's how he got to know how strict her parents were with her and it made his stomach churn with worry.

The weird thing was, he really didn't know why he cared so much, neither why he couldn't stop thinking about her. She was the first thing on his mind when he waked up, thinking about new ways to annoy her and have her total attention on him, he thought about her on the afternoon while doing homework, wondering if she managed to do the excersices better that him, and she was also his last thought before dozing up to sleep, anxiously waiting for the morning to come to do that rutine all over again.

He really didn't knew why.

A grip on his sleeve made him stop on his tracks and turn his torso towards her, his free hand instinctively coming up to rest it on her forearm.

"I think I will pass up." She mumbled with a lost look on her eyes. "If you let me fall, I will kill you, Magnan."

And not even a second later, everything turned black to her.

- - - - - - - - - -

The fist thing she noticed was the slight smell of pine blending up with the strong one coming out of the medicines, a small sigh leaving her lips before opening her eyes, stumbling almost immediately with the image of Jean-Pierre sitting beside the bed she was lying, and from what she could see, he was engrossed with a latin book.

Her heart raced and a hundred thoughts per second invaded her head. He could've left her with the nurse to come back to class, why was her still there? Was he waiting for her to wake up? But also, what if he was only there to be the first one to laugh at her? The questions overwhelmed her inmensely, so she decided to ask first the important ones.

"How long have I've been unconsious?" The sudden sound of her voice making him shot his head up, she could swore he almost looked relieved.

"I, uhm... Here, I bet you are thirsty." He cleared his voice before handing her a cup of water. "It wasn't for that long, just a couple hours. The school's over in less than forty minutes, so we can go home anytime."

She emitted a groan. "No wonder why I feel like I slept for years, I missed the whole day!" Leaving the cup on the bedside table, she glanced quickly around the nursery. "Where's Mrs. Bellanger?"

"Some kid was playing too hard and broke his arm in the process, she told me to keep an eye on you while she took him to the hospital." He paused, momentarily doubting if he should keep going. "She also told me that you passed out due to a huge lack of sleep and a possible unbalanced diet. Tell me, did you thought that it was smart? To harm yourself in order to have the acceptance of some idiots who can't see your real value? It's not worth it if you end up like this."

As if it were an habit, her eyes got teary, losing the count on how many times she cried on the day. It bothered her so much, even more that it was happening in his presence. For a moment, he almost sounded so consternated... But either way, she wouldn't tolerate being scolded like a kid.

"Excuse you?" She exclaimed, an evident frown on her face.

"Don't try to play dumb. You know what I mean."

"Oh, so you want to know why? I'm the first granddaughter, the first niece, the first child, the older sister... It's obvious that I have to make some sacrifices, even if it's at my own expense. After all, everyone expects so much more from me." The words came out slower than before and full of venom. "Yes, it may not be really healthy, but I push myself because it's the only way to make them proud of me, and it's something that I believed you would understand, Magnan."

"And you are not wrong, I do understand you." He took a few seconds before saying his next words. "That's why I don't want you to pressure yourself to be someone that you aren't, I know what it's like to be pressured by your parents -..."

"No, you don't. You don't know how my parents are!" She interrupted him. "You don't know how it is to be belittled when you don't achieve something worthy of their interest, you don't know how its like to feel proud of yourself because you thought that you finally did something right just to find out that you failed again, or to spend every second of the day studying, priving yourself of having a social life just to feel miserable at the end of the day. And you definitely don't know how it's like to live your whole life without knowing if your family even likes you."

She didn't know when she started to cry, much less in what moment Jean-Pierre got close enough to wrap her in a tight embrace. But suddenly, she felt like the constant emptiness in her chest was being filled with something much greater than a temporary stability brought by false acceptance, it was an unknown warm and fuzzy feeling that made her anguish vanish away. It felt like that was all she needed throughout her life.

They pulled apart slowly, his hands immediately went to her face to wipe away any traces left of tears on her cheeks, and they stood there, looking at each others eyes, feeling as if they were frozen in time. 

"I may not understand entirely, but I can learn how to." He murmured. "I really want to understand you."

"But why would you bother?" She asked, confused and desperate to know. "Since the moment we met, the only thing we do is argue, we hate each other!... I tried to hurt you so many times and you have done the same to me, so please, make me understand, why would you want to help me? Why do you care?"

"Because I care about you, deeply." The words came out breathless, his eyes trying to desperately find her gaze. "I really don't know how to describe what I feel, but I do know that every time I see you, my heart goes crazy, and sometimes I wonder if it will come the day where it's going to jump out of my chest to go chasing after you. I know that every time you laugh with another person, I wish with all my soul to, someday, be worthy enough to be the cause of your smile. But I do know that if I hated you, really did, I would be happy for your downfall, but I'm not, because I can't force me to act as if I don't care about you, not anymore."

Jean-Pierre wasn't a man or words. All his life he struggled to express his feelings, but this time, it was different.

"One of the things I admire you for is the way that you don't never give up, it doesn't matter how many times I get a slighty better mark, you study harder until beating me up the next time we have an exam. You are resilient, and so damn smart that it makes me feel jealous sometimes, because I wish I could have a little bit of the determination that you possess, and I can't comprehend why you focus on your non existing flaws and ignore all your strenghts."

"I never thought..." She began with a whisper, attempting to make a joke in order to not break down completely. "I never thought that someone could ever think that highly of me, not even you."

"How could I not? You are the most incredible person I ever met, Y/N."

A violent sob reverberated on the nursery walls, and before she could even feel shame for shattering that easily due to the sweetest words she ever heard, she found herself on Jean-Pierre's hold once again.

It felt like they spend a lifetime in that embrace, hearing nothing more than the rapid beats of their hearts and sharing everything they didn't had the courage to say out loud, not yet. Squeezing the hug one last time before breaking away, she dried her face with the sleeves of her blouse, his adoring eyes never leaving her.

"Now, what? What's next from this point?" Fearfully, she asked.

"Now... I will walk you home." Seeing her confused frown, he added rapidly. "If you want to be the number one, you have to be better than me, and the first step to achieve that is to sleep well and eat some real food. You have to take care of yourself, then we will work on the rest."

"We? You will help me beating you up?"

"I want to help you to become a better version of yourself. If that costs me becoming the second of the class, then so be it."

He extended his arm in her direction, encouraging her to hold it. Slowly, she got up from the bed and hooked their arms together.

"I must admit that my home is far away and I came walking today, so you can still back down if you want."  

"Only a fool could reject such offering."

She exhaled a shaky breath, never expecting that answer. As they made their way towards the door, a sudden question hitted her.

"How did you know about my problem with my family?"

"I accidentally overheard a conversation, I didn't realise it was about you until they named you." An overwhelming warmth creeping up his face.

"Of course, 'accidentally'."

"Shut up." His reddening cheeks and the obvious attempt of a lie didn't went unnoticed, earning a light giggle from the girl.

That fluttery sensation came back to her. She never thought that it would be possible to feel this smitten over someone, even if she still struggled to admit it. While the boy couldn't stop thinking of how fortunate he felt in those moments, with the person he couldn't stop dreaming about holding onto him and walking her home for the first time, and hopefully not last. The warm breeze of the spring surrounding them as they made their way out of the school between laughs and jokes, secretly wishing to have more moments like this one in the future.

[eves4pple]

SAKAMAKI HOUSEHOLD HC’S

A/N: I’m so happy everyone seems to be enjoying this au so far! I’m so excited to keep sharing it with you guys! I’m willing to answer any questions you may have :3 and I’d love to keep sharing

Tw: mentions of SA, implied abuse

- Most dysfunctional household. With six vampires it’s bad enough as is but six male vampires? Horrid 100%

- The most unsafe household for Yui, all of the brothers pretty much take great pride in bothering/attacking her whether that be mentally, emotionally or physically.

- Always a fight between one of them I mean it, usually it’s Ayato with another one of his brothers but sometimes it’s Kanato.

- Ayato hates water, hates swimming and sometimes even struggles to bathe himself due to almost drowning so many times as a child.

- Laito is 100% hyper sexual due to trauma but we’ve known this but I feel like it’s a lot worse then we’re shown. Can’t stand girls with green eyes, doesn’t like girls who have a not so natural hair color, and really doesn’t feel comfortable with most women at all.

- All of them fall into the BPD spectrum somewhere argue with a wall.

- Reiji is technically religious not in the way Yui is. He enjoys the stories and tales that circulate through religious groups and texts and has done handfuls of research and time looking into how they (esp Catholicism) work, similar to my Azusa head-canon but, Reiji has prayed. It’s been small amounts, times where he’s felt helpless but it’s happened

- Kanato has a weird fascination with ferrets.

- Shuu and Laito originally played each other’s instruments but both decided they liked the others better

- They all pick on Kanato for his height and then Kanato picks on Yui for hers.

- Yui’s connection to Cordelia is the strongest here. Her and Yui interchangeably controlling Yui’s body is a common occurrence as Cordelia tends to get Yui in danger so she’d have to drag her own self out. Cordelia tends to do this because she “misses” her sons and wants to cause issues.

- Reiji is the worst when it comes to hurting Yui. In this au I tweaked his personality to be more brat like rather than just stuck up snob. His core personality is blank wall but his inner is child like, almost like Kanato.

- Yui and Ayato study together often, and by study I mean Yui studies and Ayato bothers her until he sucks her blood. But this has been an ongoing thing for atleast a few months in my canon.

- Yui literally isn’t allowed to have friends outside of the manor. The brothers have and will always cut them off for her. Too big of a risk.

- Ayato and Laito often team up to prank Kanato.

- Shuu actually likes Subaru, it’s cause they don’t really bump heads often due to them liking solitude

- Subaru and Yui get along pretty well.

- Reiji’s natural hair color is also blond but he dyed it cause he didn’t wanna look like Shuu

- Kanato also naturally had red hair like his brothers and dyed it, he also has green eyes in this design.

- each brother has moments with Yui where they kinda have a human esc response. They have their moments but they’re rare.

[syrma-sensei]

→ Different World, Different Words.

gif credit.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem!reader.

Rating: Explicit.

Warnings: Soldier Boy's pov, Ben's being a fluffy yet dirty bastard, ben's being smitten with you, domestic fluff, dirty talk, fingering, size kink if you squint, swearing a lot of swearing, doesn't necessarily follow the canon plotline.

Word Count: 866.

Summary: Ben's trying to fit in this fucked-up, new world.

“So it means a pussy.”

“For the millionth time, Ben, No!”

He shakes his head, unconvinced, “A man who does the most motherfucking cringey stuff to impress a chick. In my times we were used to call him a pussy.”

Ben puts the dish he just rinsed in the drying rack then takes the plate full of soap she just washed. The topic of modern slang was brought up at the dinner table a few minutes ago, when Ben was trying to literally impress her how adaptive and quick he is.

This time she's the one to shake her head, biting adorably on her lower lip, “Well, yeah but—” She snaps her head to the side to look at him. He's huge compared to her, almost covering the entire sink with his figure. A wide smile on her face, “Wait a minute, did you just say cringey.”

“Yeah, so?” He glances at her from the corner of his green eyes. He could've sworn he saw pride in her eyes. His heart skips.

“Where did you learn that from?” She asks teasingly, proceeding with doing the rest of the dishes.

“Urban dictionary.” She makes a snoring sound, and his eyebrows knit in confusion, “What? That whining cum-guzzler told me about it.”

She wiggles her eyebrows, lips puckering up amusedly, and he feels wildly tempted to crash them with his lips.

“Oh, poor Hughie, must've been fed up with your pussy this and pussy that.” She lets out a giggle, “Can't blame him tho. The things come out of that tongue of yours can be so gross sometimes.”

“Diffrent times, different words.” He says, “Still don't make sense to me.”

Ben then raises an eyebrow, watching her drying her hands with a towel when she's done, he follows her when he is too. He hums playfully, lips curling up into a mischievous grin. “Hmh, last time I checked, you liked the things I do with this tongue of mine.”

A deep crimson colour smudges her cheeks, she looks at him with adorable, upset face. “Well, yeah, it has some perks.”

“Oh, yeah?” With his strong arms, he lifts her effortlessly up to the countertop. Her face meets his, her cheeks are still red despite everything. “How about going to bed...” He pecks her lips, once, twice. “and let me fuck this pretty pussy nice and slow,” In a matter of seconds she's chasing his lips for more, “and show you the wonders my tongue is capable of.” He caves in to her want and gives her a kiss. Long and devouring, his tongue is already in her mouth, exploring and tasting, and swallowing her moans.

“Oh, God.” She breathes against his lips, “Ben I can barely walk thanks to last night's fucking. I don't have your fucking supe stamina.” She keeps on kissing him, nevertheless. Nibbling and sucking on his lower lip in such a teasing way, while her small hands cup his bearded cheeks.

Ben groans deeply, burying his face in her neck. “You don't have to do anything, just take what I give you.” His hand slides in between their frames to find her clothed clit. He smirks, filthy little slut; the thin layer of her panties is practically drenched. “Oh, baby, sure you don't wanna let me fuck you dumb tonight too?”

She lets out a pathetic moan when his fingertip presses to her erected clit. She holds onto his strong biceps for support as he proceeds taunting her, “Hmh, bet you can't wait to squeeze my cock empty in your fucking slutty pussy.”

“Ah, Ben, p-please...!” She whimpers, hips rolling against his fingers for more fraction.

“Shhh, I got you.” With one firm move, Ben rips her panties away.

“Ben!” She chides, “Quit doing that to my clothes!”

He fakes a sympathized hum before he buries two fingers in her cunt. “I'll buy you new ones.” A devious grin adorns his mouth, “Though you don't need any around me.”

With half-lidded eyes, she glares at him. And his heart swoons at the cute, angry face she's giving him. “God, you're the worst.” She huffs and kisses him furiously. A deep chuckle rumbles within his chest, his fingers curl and twist inside of her drawers, her arousal glistening wet on his knuckles.

“Ben, fuck!” Her thighs squeeze shut on his fingers when shivers her orgasm out. “Fuck, Ben, st-stop it's too much!” She begs him as he fucks her through her high.

She rests her forehead on his chest when he pulls out. “You're a dick.” Her voice is muffled by his shirt.

He laughs amusedly, “Though you like it.”

“I like your dick, not you being one.” She gazes up at him, giggling. “You just enjoy fucking me up.”

“Yes, I do.” He says, a brutal grin on his lips, “I love ruining you.”

She roughly pushes him away with her foot on his chest, he raises an eyebrow at her as she jumps onto the floor, still quivering from her orgasm.

She glances at his bewildered face over her shoulder, giving him a wink, “Then stick to your words and ruin me in bed, tiger.”

Ben follows her with a wolfish grin on his face.

🦅 Soldier Boy Masterlist.

🦅 AO3.

[ssseashell]

my newtmas headcanons (because i saw some people posting their own hc's and had to share mine)

these are mostly based on a modern setting scenario, but some can be pictured in canon aswell ^__^ 🐈🐈‍⬛

thomas has dimples, newt has freckles

thomas has brown hazel-ish eyes, newt has dark brown eyes

thomas’ cheeks are naturally red and newt’s cheeks are pale and, sometimes, they turn pink

newt collects vinyls and books, thomas collects comic books and mini figures

thomas’ love language is ‘physical touch’, so he’s always touching newt; holding his hands, massaging his back, playing with the lobe of his ear, temple kisses, love bites, whatever.

newt’s love language is ‘words of affirmation’, so thomas receives ‘i love you’s and any other sweet words like 50 times a day (he also makes sure he says it a lot)

eye contact, lots of eye contact. especially before they were together

small touches

arms brushing against one another

fingers rushing against one another

thomas still is determined to count every freckle newt has in his face

kisses. all types of kisses. smiles between kisses / slow kisses / messy kisses / following a kiss on the lips with a series of kisses down the neck / kisses that were meant to be gentle, ending up in devout passion / long kisses that leave them breathless and flustered

hugs. a lot of hugs. all types of hugs.

they know everything about each other

newt loves playing with thomas’ hair. he cut his hair once. never again

thomas has terrible memory, newt remembers everything

newt likes to draw and paint, thomas likes to make music (he knows how to play the guitar)

newt’s fav color is green, thomas’ fav color is red

they read together sometimes, each with their own book – but thomas is usually the one to get bored first, so he just lays on newt’s lap while newt plays with his hair and reads his book aloud for him

thomas likes to run late at night and when he’s back he just wants to sleep and cuddle, but newt won’t touch him until he’s showered

sometimes thomas comes home with some cut or injury from running and newt takes care of him every time

newt gets sick easily, so thomas had to learn how to take care of him. newt: don’t touch me, i’m all sick / thomas: i don’t care

newt, to thomas: if i hear you sing to heathers in the shower again i’ll join you just to drown you

every time they kiss in a stairwell, thomas makes sure he’s on a higher step so, for some seconds, he’s taller than newt

newt makes thomas trade their food when he likes the brunet’s better

thomas, when cuddling: “i’m hungry” / newt: “i’m not moving”

thomas had this bad habit of biting into his nails when he’s anxious or stressed, newt hates it

when newt is crying because of stress or anger, thomas licks his cheeks to catch his tears and never fails to make the blond chuckle

newt discovered he loves thomas on a random tuesday night. they were dancing and singing with their friends and thomas slipped on air and fell on his butt, and newt was like yeah, he’s so dumb. i do love him

they like to bake their friends’ birthday cakes together as part of their present (thomas is awful at the kitchen, so all he does is basically put the candles on top of the cake once it’s done

thomas is that person to be excitedly yapping in bed about his day and then, in two seconds, is falling asleep mid sentence because he’s so tired. and newt just giggles every time it happens, and kisses his forehead passionately before also falling asleep

sometimes newt feels so homesick it hurts, so thomas does all he can to cheer him up with silly little things, like watching newt’s favorite english movies or listening to songs he listened to when he was a kid, or having a tea party playdate where they pretend they are from the english royalty (yes, it’s so stupid

thomas: damn, it’s like my mom likes you better than me

thomas’ hand is smaller

they both love all rom coms, romantic comedies and christmas classics so, every week precisely, they buy all the sweet treats they want and make popcorn and choose something to watch together (even if it’s not christmas, even if it’s something they’d watched 1000 times already

[unlimitedhorsepower]

tnb redesigns, since its vaguely an 80s buddy cop movie and sometimes i think about how fun it would be if the designs referenced a wider variety of 80s styles! more under the cut:)

theyre meant to contrast so i wanted kotetsu to have a darker palette and barnaby a lighter one, and obviously green and red, but i lightened red into pink and kotetsus tie more or less matches the green of barnabys eyes.

kotetsu is somewhat professional but most importantly hes goofy, and i miss his hat. i also personally think his suspenders look from the rising is his best outfit... and it would just make sense if he was a bit old-fashioned looking next to barnaby

i didnt want to change his hair too much so i just wanted to emphasize the mulletness of it: its shorter at the front and longer in the back. i also added a mustache because i feel like the fuller beard makes him look more like a dad and is more on brand. gray hairs included. had to keep the vaguely t-shaped beard hole though.

i also wanted to show his silly side by having him tuck his tie into his chest pocket to keep it out of his way, and of course his sleeves are rolled up too

ill be honest i cant remember if that purple pearl bracelet on his hand is anything, but i converted it into one of those cord-woven ones kids can make (its from kaede, obviously). just for me i added a couple of moles/freckles

barnaby on the other hand should have a polished (and purposefully produced) look that relates to his backstory. in canon they wanted to make him look "cool" in a kind of generic way (leather jacket etc), but i think having him wear typical 80s preppy fashion, which communicates both his youth and his snobby old money background AND can be the "handsome guy next door"

hes wearing a sweater on his shoulders because i wanted to show the shirt has similar stripes, but yeah, he has a kinda baggy pink sweater. the shorts also serve to show off his muscular legs to show he prefers to kick where kotetsu punches

very importantly, i wanted to make his hair make more sense. farrah fawcett is undoubtedly the inspiration for his haircut:

so i emphasized the 3-layered structure u can see on the left, since his hair is a bit funny and angular in canon... i also really wanted to give him bigger glasses and browsed through many 80s glasses before finding the perfect pair to reference

i also gave kotetsu a hair parting on the left where he ends up having a bit of a fringe when his hair falls forward, and barnaby a hair parting on the right where his fringe parts, but its less visible because of his hairstyle

bonus with kotetsu with hat + barnaby without glasses

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here and this is part thirteen??? Hello??

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off...

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

…Bart doesn’t really do patience.

He doesn’t have to, so he doesn’t. Growing up in a world that wasn’t exactly real didn’t make for a real strong understanding of reality, or timing, or estimating how long something takes, or how long it would take a garden-variety human to complete a task.

He sits in the chair. He kicks his legs.

So. Bart doesn’t really do patience. When he wants to make his way through a book, it takes a few seconds to read through the whole thing at his standard pace. It’s great! Finishing the Troy Dodson series had taken ten minutes. He watched the full set of movies on quadruple-fast mode in about half an hour, and then still had the time to show up to the tower for trivia with the team that afternoon. It had been Crash!

And when—when Bart had wanted to learn how to cook, he went through half the recipes in Ma Kent’s copy of The Delights of Cooking in two days flat. And that was with missions. He even taught himself how to prepare squirrel from the back of the book! It tasted…uh, weird, sure, but that might have been his substitution of Caribbean jerk seasoning for garlic powder.

Patience is… Well, when Bart is on a mission and he has to wait for everyone to go at a human-comprehensible speed when laying out the plan of action, that’s patience. Sometimes he jumps the gun a little, maybe—but usually it all works out!

And when Bart has to wait for Barry and Wally to be free and off work for their day jobs, because they’re adults with real world things they have to do and Bart’s just—well, he’s—he tries to be patient! And he distracts himself with other things, and he takes the time to explore the world and get in new experiences he couldn’t have before in his own little virtual world, and he tries new things, and he eats new foods, and then Wally or Barry shoot him a text or ring him up and then he’s back in town in seconds anyway!

…But there isn’t a way to speed this along.

The doctor with the cute cat lanyard and Wonder Woman both have been trying to explain to Bart how bad the damage is. But Bart can tell. He has eyes.

His friend is physical now, but he’s not…right. His face is caved in, like someone hit him really really hard, or someone gouged out the whole front face of his skull—Bart can’t see any red matter, but that’s because of the pulsing green sheath that’s covered all of his friend’s open injuries.

And there’s a lot of green.

That means he’s super injured. Bart can see most of his glowing green not-face through the window of the metal tube his friend is sleeping in.

It’s not just his missing face, his crooked jaw, or his barely-moving chest, or his green-soaked fingers anyway; there’s open pits in his chest, slathered in green goo that shifts when he breathes and glows just a little in the odd light of the medical wing, lumpy and half-scarred from stitches that were sloppily applied. Utilitarian.

Tim told Bart that the sutures were probably meant more to prevent extra clean-up in a lab setting than to keep Bart’s friend alive.

…Bart doesn’t really want to think about that.

There are lime-tinged scrapes and scars across and around his friend's hands and up his arms, verdant-veined legs that aren’t exactly the right shape and orientation legs should be, crevasses in his stomach, his chest, against his collarbone, and the clawed-out pit where a face should be.

All green. So green. Like grass… Like the Earth, when Bart comes home from space.

It’s scary. It’s frightening.

Wonder Woman gave Bart a hug and said it would be okay when the Medical team started to apply white-swathed casts around misaligned legs, and Bart almost cried. The medical team thinks the green is his friend’s body working on healing him. That Bart’s friend will be okay.

Bart lets everyone say comforting things, because it’s kind when everybody’s kind. But Bart’s been an experiment in healing the unhealable and he knows as much as anyone else does that there’s simply no way to know if his friend will be okay.

But his friend isn’t alone like he was. Bart makes sure of it.

So he sits at his friend’s bedside, eats a granola bar, kicks his feet in the stiff chair Medical had to offer him, and Bart practices his patience.

By the end of this, he might even be good at it.

[sleepymaven]

The Bsd "Fyodor is Atsushi's Father" Theory:

My Not-so-Deep, Not-so-Serious Explanation on Why This Could Totally be Canon

Signed: A Sleep-Deprived Idiot

(Spoilers for the Entirety of Bungou Stray Dogs)

So... with Chapter 118 in bsd releasing, I have noticed a lot of Fyodor as Atsushi's father related things popping up and... I'm not mad about.

If anything, I'm happy the theory is getting more attention. People even seem to be taking it as canon fact, even if just jokingly.

Really, I believed the theory was plausible since it first was brought up in the fandom, but I never actually thought it would be canon because that just seemed too crazy. But those were the thoughts of a sweet summer child since the manga has gotten to the point where that might be the least crazy thing possible.

So, here I am at my keyboard yet again, ready to ramble about how, if this does somehow turn out to be canon, this might be actually rather predictable even to those who don't dive deep into the nitty-gritty lore.

Now, I won't ramble on and on endlessly about the book and Atsushi's ambiguous past and how he may be the book or a page from the book and yaddy-yadda. Instead, I'll focus on some key aspects of Atsushi's character design. First off...

His hair.

As I said, this is not all that serious or deep, so take my words with a grain of salt before you start bashing me or something for being ridiculous. You signed up for ridiculous when you started reading past the title.

Anyway, back to Atsushi's hair.

As we almost all know, Atsushi used to have a black streak in his hair that was later removed for unknown reasons, but he also has white hair.

Now, I could jokingly proclaim, "Hehe, biologically impossible Fyodor x Nikolai lovechild," and be done with it, but I am no clown, unlike Nikolai. No, I have a better, probably completely wrong, idea.

Most of us know that Fyodor has a thing for white-haired men.

Exhibit A: Every fucking member of the Decay of Angels

I rest my case.

Also, I feel the need to mention that 3 out of 6 of them have red-ish eyes while the other two have purple-ish/blue eyes. Just pointing out that little tidbit I noticed while finding pics for them.

So, it would make sense for Fyodor to pick and choose which attributes to give to his quote-on-quote "son" when he made him from the book, picking out certain traits he found appealing and pleasing to the eye.

(Also, yes, this could mean that Fyodor could have chose specific attributes that were similar to Nikolai. Boom, lovechild route.)

This could explain certain similarities between the characters who seemingly have no biological connection between one another. Their only connection then only being through Fyodor by just knowing him.

Got all that? Alright, next up...

His eyes.

Now, Atsushi's eyes are rather unique, even for the world of Bungou Stray Dogs. What also sticks out about them is the fact that they are pointed out and focused in from time to time.

Example:

(Fucking gorgeous eyes he has, btw)

To break down the colors of his eyes... While in normal lighting in the anime, they appear to be normally purple and yellow with just a hint of green in it, but under the full moon (as seen here) we can see that his eyes are a light green-yellow at the bottom and purple on the top that fades into blue.

(There are also a few times where his eyes also change while using his ability. Like when they turn almost fully yellow.)

I want to point out the colors of his eyes and the fact that they change due to certain circumstances (i.e: using his ability, being under the full moon), which is clearly not normal in their world seeing as how other ability users don't seem to do that at all.

(Edit here: I actually would like to mention that, in the manga, Nikolai's eyes also change color. The green one sometimes will change to match his normal eye whenever he uncovers it. I saw a theory talking about how it might change depending on whether or not he is lying at the time, which is pretty neat. More Atsushi and Nikolai parallels.)

Now, this might seem like a bit of a stretch just like the rest of this post, but the colors used for his eyes are similar to the eye colors of people Fyodor knows, though they are different shades.

Purple like Fukuchi. Green and blue from Nikolai.

Fyodor's eyes are also a shade of purple, kind of, so... Yeah, that works too, but Fukuchi's shade of eyes are closer to Atsushi's.

Yeah, that's all I can think of now and this is already way too long (if I start talking about Atsushi's mysterious past, I'm going to make this a mile long. Maybe later tho), so I'm ending it here for now.

Alright, bye ya'll.

[evanhereonearth]

Banal Nadas

I wrote this literally years ago, but it actually became canon, so beware spoilers for Veilguard. (I feel powerful, lmao.)

Ilaana Lavellan meets a spirit in the Fade in a moment of anguish--a spirit with a lesson to help her save her beloved.

***

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” the spirit breathes, and it sounds so like him that I am rooted to this patch of the Fade.

“His words,” I say softly, looking around as if I will see his eyes upon me, as I so often have.

“Yes,” the spirit says. “You are here now, and it has happened this way.”

“This is also correct.”

I am in a vast forest, the Brecilian Forest, I think, though I have never seen it in life.

“To find interesting parts of the Fade, one must be interesting.”

“Also his words.” I look at the spirit curiously. It hovers between two enormous ironbarks, titans in their presence, the two trees so close they should never have grown to such size.

The metaphor sinks in a moment too late. I wince.

“Ar lath, ma vhenan.”

Curiosity will quickly become annoyance. I move onward, trying to hold tight to my purpose tonight. I’m running out of time. I’m running out of time.

“Var lath vir suledin!” The spirit is anguished, as I was anguished when I said the words.

I stop. “My words. Why?”

“In another world.” Something of this spirit clearly relates to me and Solas so strongly it seems to want to regurgitate much of our most painful conversations.

“I’ll bite,” I tell it. “Why not this one?”

“You are asking better questions,” the spirit says.

It turns away, in a different direction than I planned to go, but I have made friends with Acceptance, Compassion, Wisdom, Hope. I have even soothed Despair into Resolve. Apathy into Purpose. I am a Dreamer, now, in full. If I am not so skilled as Solas, well. Empires and nations rose and fell while he learnt what I have tried to cobble together in a handful of years with a ticking clock ready to explode the world. Demons come to me to find themselves. Sometimes they try to kill me. Usually I reach for them, and they change. Sometimes they change me, bit by bit.

If this spirit wants me to follow, I will follow.

It moves down a path between trees, and it gains form as I watch, but it holds nothing for long. It looks like him for a moment, then it looks like me. I see him as I saw him in Redcliffe, in Haven, in the ruins, over the broken fragments of his orb. I see myself with my vallaslin, without it. I see myself and Cullen, eyes full of love, under an arch at Halamshiral with Mother Giselle there to marry us. I am wearing a white dress, such a human dress, such a human thing, but with my long-gone vallaslin clear on my face. I am dressed as a sentinel, a Sha-Brytol, a Keeper, a scout. I am resplendent in robes of gold and silver, my hair sparkling with diamonds like stars. He stands proud, Fen’Harel, a rebel god who loves me. My freckles are gone. My freckles are darker, my skin tanned and weathered by the sun. Scars cut through my face. I am missing part of an ear. Solas is scarred with red lyrium that clouds his eyes.

I want to ask, but not yet.

Instead, I simply follow.

The trees give way to the Arbor Wilds, miles and miles away. I know this place. This is where I met Mythal.

“You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf.”

The spirit looks like her for a moment, and then she is him, as I last saw him before the Qunari plot. He must have traveled by eluvian from Skyhold immediately after we vanquished Corypheus.

He is a broken man, for a moment. He still wears the jawbone I now carry around my neck.

“I wish it could, vhenan.”

This spirit seems to want to speak with our words, so I will let it. With a thought I am crosslegged in the grass, my fingers feeling the blades. They are so green here, as green as they are in life. The Black City is beyond, over the tree line, waiting.

“Tell me you don’t love me!”

“I cannot do that, vhenan.”

I thought I was somewhat prepared, armoured. But that—

Solas stands in front of me in Crestwood, his hands twitching between looking as though he wants to simultaneously crush me to him and fend me off. He is frightened, flighty, two things Solas seldom is.

The spirit reflects that moment, showing me again the precise moment my heart broke, when Solas decided to be Fen’Harel and not tell me himself.

“You do not have to destroy this world! I will prove it to you!”

My voice, thrown by the spirit, echoes through this bower.

“I will treasure the chance to be wrong once again,” it says sadly.

“Foolish wolf,” I mutter myself.

“There is a place where you can build, grow.”

I am growing weary of whatever games this spirit is playing. I relive these words in my mind every day, every grain of sand that ticks through the hourglass counting down to the moment I will have to face…I have no words for what Solas is to me. Some days I trace the lines of magic that remain in my severed arm, feeling out for the Anchor. Those days I hear him ask if it has changed me, my…spirit, as he hesitated to say with the sun setting behind me on my Skyhold balcony.

What if it did? What if the Anchor is the only reason I love him?

“You are you, old blood older than old. Like calls to like even without a cord to bind them.”

The spirit has resumed its state of formlessness, floated closer while I sat in my pool of constant grief.

“Very well,” I tell it. “Why have you brought me here?”

“Banal nadas,” it says, hovering directly in front of my face like a challenge. It is not Solas’s voice I hear, but mine, gentle. I have never said those words, not like that.

“Banal nadas!” The spirit bellows it at me with my own voice again.

My skin tingles like I am in the waking world in a place where the Veil is thin. I have never felt such a thing whilst walking the Fade, not as such.

“I want to help him,” I tell the spirit fiercely. “Our people have suffered enough.”

“Who are your people, Ilaana?”

“That is the question, is it not?” This time it is I who bring Solas’s words to life, another sentence from a Crestwood heartbreak under the watchful gaze of Ghilan’nain. My lips quirk with a cynical smile. “Solas is my people. Cullen is my people. Cassandra and Cole are my people. My friends on this side of the Veil are my people. You, as well. Dorian, my beloved friend. Varric. The Iron Bull. Sera and Vivienne and Thom. Krem and Maryden, Dalish and Grim. Svarah Sun-Hair and Skywatcher. They are my people, spirit. All of them. Abelas is my people. Mythal is my people. Clan Lavellan is my people. Briala. Charter. Samson. Leliana and Neria and Merrill and Hawke. Alistair is my people. The Wardens I exiled are my people. The templars I condemned are my people. Ser Barris. Belle. Gaspard. Mihris. That bloody piece of self-loathing nugshit Michel is my people. Felix and Alexius. Gatt and the Viddisala. Elera and Dagna and Valta and her titan friend. Rage and Despair and Pride and Wisdom and Acceptance and Justice and Vengeance. They are all my people. All.”

I am angry now, angry enough that I feel the energies blazing off me like a pyre. If Solas is walking the Fade just now, he will certainly see me, feel me. We never have had to try hard to find one another here, and I am screaming in an echoing hall loud enough to wake Elgar’nan himself. That stupid prideful Evanuris who likely started all of this, he is my people too, for all he’d scrape me off the bottom of his gilded fucking boot.

“Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Dread Wolf? Dirth ma, harellan, vhen’an’ara—ane emma!” I yell the words into the Arbor Wilds, at the Black City, at any spirit who will listen. “You are all my people, and I am trying to save your foolish, thoughtless chunks of Fade-stuff and meat from yourselves!”

The spirit in front of me looks suddenly pleased.

“An answer a long time in coming, Inquisitor,” the spirit says, almost preening.

“Who are you?” I ask it bluntly. “I am tired of trying to help those who are determined to cut off their own feet because they don’t like the shape of their toenails.”

“Vivid, as always.”

“I asked you a question.”

“You asked a good question. I brought you here to hear, to listen, to scream. Has it helped?”

“A bit,” I admit. I feel lighter. Apparently my quiet footsteps through the Fade were possible because I’ve been bottling up every part of me for so long.

“Good,” says the spirit. “You asked my name, and I will give it. But first, you need to understand the most important thing I have said to you.”

“Which is?”

“Banal nadas,” the spirit says again.

“That one isn’t leaving my memory any time soon,” I say. “Your name, if you please.”

“You carry a heavy weight, as you have for so long, Ilaana. Your name, Ilaana. In the place of sacrifice. How much have you sacrificed?”

“Enough,” I say. My arm twinges. That is the least of it. I am no less than I was for a foot or so of missing flesh. The words I said to Ameridan. It takes everything from you.

“You look ahead with purpose, and you look ahead with grief, because the weight pressing upon your shoulders does not let you breathe.” The spirit looks like me, now. My face, without my vallaslin, with my freckles, the new scar on my nose from some Qunari Sten or another. My dimple. “You cannot see a way out.”

We are back in the forest, a different forest, and the trees are oppressive. They crowd around us, leaning over my shoulder, draping their leaves over my neck. I can almost feel their breath.

“You are telling me everything I already know.”

“You may remember the words, but you need to know, truly know. Eolasas, da’len.”

It changes to Solas’s face in Redcliffe, his eyes pulsing with red lyrium. Its voice repeats his words.

“You would think that such understanding would prevent me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.”

Anger flares again. I am surprised that this place has not been swarmed with spirits. The trees could very well be rage demons, every one.

“I couldn’t stop him,” I tell the spirit, and with those words, my anger cracks in half. In its core is only sorrow. “He left. He left again. He left again, and he called me vhenan.”

“Yes,” the spirit says. “He has done these things. Over and over, he has done these things. He is as trapped as you are. But the trap is of your own making. Time is no flat circle, da’len. You are thinking in too few dimensions.”

I sit in silence for a time, feeling at the edges of my hurt. I long for Cole’s comforting presence. He is somewhere in the Fade. I suspect he is with Solas. He told me he had to go where he was most needed. Or perhaps Cole is simply with the other spirits, sharing himself with them, preparing them. Where he is most needed. That would be a very Cole thing to do.

Everything that has happened has happened. I could not stop it.

“Banal nadas,” the spirit says again, insistently. “You make a tragic mistake, Inquisitor. Ilaana, da’len, da’lath’in. You must listen. You must see. What are all of these voices, save one?”

The one the spirit is speaking of must be my own, yelling its words. The rest are—

“Memories,” I say flatly. “Reminders of my own failures. I should have told him in Crestwood that I knew—”

“He would have fled. Likely, anyway. Banal nadas,” the spirit says, this time almost as if a joke. “Your instinct held your tongue because you knew him to be afraid. You yourself were afraid, thought you could keep him near a while longer, that it would give you time you had no way of knowing was running out.”

“Yes,” I say. “And then he was gone.”

The weight of the jawbone against my chest is usually a comfort, even in the Fade. Not now, not really.

“What is a memory?” The spirit asks me this as if it is speaking to a very dense rock instead of a person.

“A fragment of perception rooted in a moment in time that has passed,” I say.

“Time that has—” the spirit leads.

“Passed.” I stop, looking at it. It looks like me again, hopeful. It looks like I looked when he asked me to dance at Halamshiral, that horrible night, that wonderful night, that night that gutted me from the inside and built me anew all at once.

The night I learned my lover's true names.

“Before the band stops playing, vhenan, dance with me.”

His hand outstretched to me, his smile full of love. Moments before, the easy pressure of his hand against my shoulder, a comfort, knowing I needed his touch more than anything else.

“The past,” I say slowly. “Banal nadas.”

“Yes,” the spirit says, and the trees pull back from their crowding, letting through a burst  of air, cool air, memory of a spring breeze. “You carry the weight of it, and you let it lead you, but you are letting it press you into the ground, da’len. You are like him. Like calls to like. His past weighs him as well, and it will crush you both, the past, if you let it.”

“You make it sound like…” I trail off.

I’m being obtuse, now. Of course I’m being obtuse.

It is easier to believe I cannot prevent whatever happens. It is easier believing, accepting, resigning myself to fatalism. Whatever will be will be. I remember what Acceptance said to me so long ago, that it could see many paths for itself without becoming any one of them. I have forgotten that wisdom. I have let myself become the one thing I cannot bear because some part of me thinks it is easier than believing I could build it better instead.

“I am frightened,” I say. “He said he walks the din’an shiral. He chose for me, and I am furious at him. He said he could not do this to me, but he will do it to himself. He says he will, and he condemns me to accept it. But what he accepts, I do not have to.”

“Yes, da’len, continue.”

“I am afraid.” Afraid does not even come close to what I feel. I am half a breath from shaking to pieces.

“I know, da’len.” The spirit looks like Keeper Deshanna now. It sits in front of me wearing June’s vallaslin.

“I have said I will save him, that I will prove to him, but I haven’t believed it. I haven’t been able to believe it.”

“Your love for him is so deep that it reached me in the farthest depths of the Fade,” the spirit says softly. “You are on the shore watching a hundred-foot wave threaten to crush you, and you believe if you run, if you fight, if you try and do something, it will wash you away no matter what. It is easier for you to believe that what is past will dictate what is future.”

“Yes,” I say. “You are correct.”

“But that is not how anything works, da’len. It may seem it sometimes, but do you know what it took for him to see you at all? How many ages he lay sleeping in sorrow, walking paths with friends but seeing nothing of himself wherever he looked?”

I shake my head.

The grove around us is quiet, peaceful now. It is the grove in the Dales, the one where we once moved together with our magic, our mana, our staves. It is the grove where he gave me his glyph-chilled water and I wiped a droplet of it away from my cheek and he told me that he had yet to see my indomitable focus dominated.

I wonder if it has been as fascinating as he expected, watching me crumble under our combined pasts.

“A thousand thousand variables, a weave of time and circumstance more delicate than the Veil itself,” the spirit says. “You are real, and it changes everything, but it can’t. Do you not hear the contradiction in his own words?”

“Yes,” I say.

“You are real, da’len. You are real, and you change everything.”

His words, and the spirit’s. They mould to something in me that I have not felt in months. I have felt this future bearing down on me like the wave in the spirit’s metaphor, ready to crush the life out of me, out of my people—our people—and the person I love enough to save. I have waited for him enough. Atisha, Ilaana.

I breathe slowly, my mind clearing. His words, to me. In hindsight they feel both inevitable and deeply cracked, waiting to be moved in another direction.

“Yes,” I say, this time because it is the only right word to say. “Thank you. Thank you, hahren.”

“Nuvu lasa su ma enaste, da’len.”

“Why have you done this for me?” I ask. It still has not told me its name.

“You are not the only one who loves him,” the spirit says simply. “I would not watch him suffer more. I would not watch the weight he carries grow. And he is not the only one who loves you, da’len. I would be remiss if I did not try.”

“You are saying—”

“I am saying banal nadas.”

Yes. Yes.

Banal nadas.

Nothing is inevitable.

“Thank you,” I say again. “Ma melava halani.”

“Sathem lasa halani,” the spirit says. “And now you must go. You have a great deal of work to do.”

“Wait,” I say as the spirit rises, once again formless, shifting every time I blink. “You promised me your name.”

I wait for a moment, wondering if it will be Hope. Faith. Even Love, something as simple as that.

The spirit looks like him once more, and it reaches out to touch my cheek the way he so often has. It tugs his favourite curl.

“Possibility,” the spirit says.

I wake.

***

Lavellan: Banal nadas. Ar lath, ma vhenan.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

OK, people were very nice to me yesterday about my latest absurdly niche blorbo: Guthláf of Rohan. I wrote a little story about him (it's below and it's only 500ish words). But I feel like I can't post it in isolation without explaining myself a little better first.

The fact that he's Théoden’s banner bearer is the only detail about Guthláf’s life in the canon. But just that by itself was enough to grab my interest because I took a class on ancient warfare in college, and one of my major takeaways was that the flag bearers were often the bravest and most selfless guys in a battle. They were highly visible, highly vulnerable, and highly prized as a target for the enemy. That's not an encouraging combo, and they had an appallingly high casualty rate. And yet, the ones who pursued it did so willingly and considered it an honor!

Although Guthláf's name literally means "battle survivor", he did not avoid the flag bearer’s usual fate. He’s listed among the fatalities at the Pelennor Fields (along with Halbarad, the only (?) other named flag bearer in the books). So I wrote the drabble-ish story below about Guthláf’s experience of his own terrifying job. (I also, of course, have a full head canon about his personal life—how he spoke Rohirric with a rural accent that stood out in Edoras, how the early loss of his family drove him toward recklessness, how he was maybe in love with fellow obscure blorbo Wídfara, etc.—if anyone is interested! And I decided that he's the tall, blonde drink of water on the left below, who I believe is otherwise unnamed and is too young to be Elfhelm or Erkenbrand.)

Anyway. Story (ish) here:

Alone among his éored, Guthláf carries no weapon. In his left hand, he holds his shield, his one and only means of protecting himself; in his right, he carries his banner, a charging white horse on a field of deep green that whips furiously in the cold wind above his head.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf does not strike blows. His war is fought not with strength of arms but with strength of spirit. He has only to keep himself going long enough to let his banner do its work. To signal the direction of the charge and mark the vanguard of the attack. To be the rallying point around which scattered troops coalesce. To lead the way, like a torch in the dark, so that those behind know where to follow. He has only to keep that banner flying, set high and stark against the cool blankness of the winter sky, so that every Rohirrim heart can see that they are yet unconquered, that victory still lies ahead.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf can never hide or blend in. His banner draws the eyes of foes just as easily as friends. His every move is visible. Noted. Tracked. Hunted. The hope he kindles in his fellow riders is equaled by the hatred he inspires in their enemies, and there is no greater blow such an enemy can strike than to bring him down, to achieve with the death of one man the turning of a tide that can change the fate of thousands.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf has no hope that he will survive unscathed to see old age. Banner bearers don’t last long in times of war, and Guthláf is his éored’s fourth bearer in five years. He has only to walk the streets of Edoras to be confronted with the reality of how the lucky banner bearers end their days–empty sleeves tied up where an arm used to be, angry red scars across unprotected faces and necks, canes and crutches that will never fully compensate for crushed legs, twisted spines, shattered hips. The unlucky ones end instead in hastily raised barrows, resting eternally in the sometimes distant and friendless lands where they finally slid from the saddle, bloodied and broken and desperately looking for a loyal hand into which they could pass the banner before everything went dark at last.

And yet, Guthláf wanted this job. He fought for this job. It means everything to him. Because even as he rides to his death, charging into battle on his gray warhorse with his banner streaming brilliantly in his wake, he has never felt more alive. He has never felt so much bigger than himself. When he carries his banner, he is no longer just Guthláf, son of Hulac. He is instead the spirit of Helm, and Eorl, and Frumgar and all the great warriors of old. He is the sound of thousands of hoofs thundering together across an open plain. He is the sight of the jagged white peaks towering over the lush green and gold grasses of the Mark. He is Rohan itself, not just a man but an idea. And an idea can never be slain. When he carries his banner, Guthláf becomes immortal.

[sing-me-under]

Thinking about a fic idea from Dick’s POV about Jason taking his place at Bruce’s side except this is completely based on my own amalgamation of canon.

1.

It starts when Dick returns to Gotham post-Deathstroke hoping for some comfort and safety away from heroism for a bit and childhood familiarity with Bruce only to find out that not only did Batman have absolutely no clue Robin was kidnapped and assumed dead, Bruce had even taken in another kid with black hair and blue eyes. He’s only had Jason for like two months apparently, and they’re already making plans for adoption.

Probably the worst part about this whole thing is that Bruce didn’t even think about Dick, the kid he’d had for almost nine years at this point, at all. (Dick doesn’t acknowledge Bruce’s all-consuming fear for Dick’s safety in the entire almost nine years they known each other. He doesn’t think about how Bruce’s overbearing, over controlling tendencies was Bruce caring too much. It must have eaten at him, not knowing how Dick was. Jason will remember Bruce’s ever present concern for the Golden Child.)

Dick can’t bring himself to resent either of them. He was the one who destroyed all of Batman’s surveillance, yelled at Bruce for trying to keep an eye on him, then didn’t even check in to let Bruce know he was anything other than dead or alive. Of course Bruce wouldn’t know anything that wasn’t always public knowledge. The kid also idolizes Robin, and Dick wouldn’t begrudge a kid out of a safe and loving home just because it was his first.

Dick doesn’t even try. He just goes straight to Alfred then leaves later that evening with a tin of cookies for the Teen Titans.

2.

Some months later, Dick sees a Gotham Gazette article about “Robin spotted in Gotham!” with a super blurry smear of yellow, red, and green chasing after another blurry smear that kind of looks like Batman. Dick storms back to Wayne Manor, intending to bury the fuck out of Batman for letting his shiny new son use his name, only to find out that no, actually, the truth is a little more complicated than just that. Apparently, Batman got injured or whatever, and while he was on bed rest, some knock-off Batman was running around Gotham. Jason more or less grabbed a shitty Robin Halloween costume from some costume store (because of course there would be shitty Halloween costumes of irl heroes) and chased down the fake Batman. (I am so obsessed with pre-crisis Nocturna but I’ll hold myself back here)

Afterwards, Bruce begrudgingly agreed to accept Jason as a vigilante since this was like the third time Jason had stopped a crime all on his own (the first time being Ma Gunn’s crime school) and Bruce would really prefer Jason do crime fighting from the safety of Batman’s cape. By the time Dick saw the article and made his way to Gotham, Jason was still trying to design his own vigilante uniform and come up with names (his ideas are terrible). Dick is honestly so tired of being angry that he just sighs and goes “you know what, I want to cut all ties with Batman. It’s not like he wants anything to do with me either. Jason, do you want to be Robin?”

Dick becomes Nightwing, a kryptonian legend. Aside from the OG Titans and some of the founding JL members, Nightwing has no connections to Gotham and especially not to Robin.

Sometimes, Dick Grayson visits Alfred and goes back to Titans Tower with a bag of homemade food. Sometimes, he brings some soulless souvenir as a late/early birthday/holiday present for Jason. He avoids Bruce each time.

3.

When Jason died, Dick was on a mission in space. He missed the funeral by a whole month. When he found out, he and Bruce scream at each other about shit knows what. Something about how he deserves to know when a kid dies in his suit with his name. Something about how Dick didn’t even care about Jason. Something about how it all was Bruce’s fault. Neither of them remember the words exchanged, but it ended with Bruce slapping Dick and the menacing silence that followed.

4.

Things don’t get better. Tim appears, pulling Dick back to Gotham and saying “Batman needs Robin. He’s going to get himself killed.” Apathy buries the feeling of grieving a still living not-dad. He’s already crossed the stage of acceptance. Batman can die for all he cares. It’s not his job (not his place) to help Bruce.

Nightwing still gets roped into saving Batman from Two-Face. Tim still steals the Robin uniform and saves them both.

Batman looks at Tim. He’s done this song and dance before. He doesn’t even try to stop Tim and just goes “fine.” Nightwing thinks “I won’t let this one down. I’ll be a good brother, mentor, predecessor to this one. I’ll deserve to go to this one’s funeral.”

Bruce attempts to reach out one more time. Dick finds himself living closer to Gotham than he has in a long time. Undercover work makes his skin crawl — the blood on his hands never seems to wash off — but weeding out the Bludhaven Police Department feels almost like a vacation where he can pretend to be Dick Grayson, normal member of society, instead of Nightwing/Robin. (It’s the closest Bruce gets to being reassured of Dick’s safety.)

5.

Life goes by. Dick and Bruce fight again and again. Batman and Nightwing fight side by side and back to back. Bruce and Dick stitch each other up in the Batcave and let bygones be bygones.

The Red Hood appears. Dick never really knew Jason all that well. He wonders if Bruce ever thought his dearly departed son was capable of committing such atrocities. Barbara says Jason had a darkness in him even before. She refused to elaborate further.

Bludhaven gets nuked. Jason disappears.

Dick returns to Gotham, to Wayne Manor. While he heals, Bruce sits at his bedside and Tim and Cass cuddle up against him. They’re just a pile of bats and birds basking in each other’s presence and the steady heartbeats that prove they’re alive.

Dick realizes that he hasn’t heard Bruce laugh in a long, long time.

6.

Their life is hard. Things happen. Death happens. Life happens.

They’re all still alive. Somehow. Despite all attempts otherwise. Life has settled, kindly. Things aren’t getting worse. Sometimes, Dick thinks it might be getting better.

Dick sits with Jason at the kitchen table. They’re technically not supposed to bring mask stuff into the manor, but Dick is too immersed in this case to set it down while he makes a sandwich at 2AM. Jason is eating straight from the pickle jar. Dick know for a fact that Jason is only doing that because Dick can see him and he’s just being an asshole. Jokes on him. Dick is just happy Jason is alive and comfortable enough to be an asshole in stately Wayne Manor’s kitchen.

Dick doesn’t know what compels him, but completely unprompted, he says it anyway.

“I used to hate you.”

Jason doesn’t even falter. He just glances up, bites through his pickle, and deadpans,

“No shit.”

Dick can’t help but grin. “Yeah? I thought I was hiding it pretty well.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “For my 13th birthday, you gave me a keychain from some NYC gift shop that spelled ‘J-a-c-e-n’.”

[fountainpenguin]

can i be honest im so intrigued by ur idea of a dev/trev/bev friendgroup even though you mentioned it maybe twice during ur liveposting

i know its mostly cuz they have basically the same name but i think its funny... saddest soppy wet-est kid in the school, some guy with hair in the ugliest shade of green and a girl who loves football and owns a talk show have something in common, somehow

I think we should go all the way and have a Trev, Dev, Bev, and Kev friend squad. And we can add the random kid who's listed on the kindness chart by the name Whatevs. Just call them The Evs.

It's so stupid, but I genuinely am shocked they all have rhyming names and they aren't a background squad. It is ridiculously funny to me that the vibe I get from Hazel's class is that the creators came up with a bunch of Ev names as their filler (with Dev specifically introducing Trev, Bev, and Kev to Hazel when she gets to school) and Dev himself fits this rhyming pattern.

Dev: Dad, I'm one of the youngest kids in my grade... did you just copy the names the other parents gave their children? Dale: Dale: Dale: No.

Even Devin rhymes with Kevin

I feel like Dev and Kev cross paths sometimes since Kev is a child model / the brand face for a popular soft drink. It also makes sense they wouldn't since being a child model and the son of a billionaire are two different things.

But of the people in Dev's class, it is astronomically funny to me that Dev looked at Trev and Bev and said "I want these regulars" and he doesn't seem particularly into hanging out with Kev.

Anyway, whatever this trio and/or quartet has going on cracks me up. I like that Dev and Trev both have a crush on Bev (Trev was distraught when they broke up in the finale due to Anti-Fairies magically setting Bev up with someone else).

Utterly fascinated that A New Wish canon is that Anti-Fairies don't have to follow Da Rules. Logically that makes total sense, but it's still interesting because we didn't see them pushing this angle in the OG series... but this somehow makes Timmy and Vicky unwishing each other's stuff - something godkids aren't supposed to be able to do iirc - that much funnier. Me, ever since I saw the episode: Why can Foop just tell Vicky that Timmy is a godkid? If he's her godparent, he's not allowed to do that; godkids have to cross paths on their own. Me now: Ahhh...... I understand...

I actually went back and watched, and Trev and Bev are definitely better friends with each other than either is with Dev. Trev and Bev are near each other in a lot of the background scenes. We don't really see them interacting, but they do seem to know each other and/or enjoy each other's company, so I thought it was funny when they were apparently dating (holding hands with hearts in eyes) in the finale.

Meanwhile, Dev rarely approaches either of them beyond being pulled into Hazel's Broadway show, where he's a back-up dancer, which isn't necessarily his choice (especially considering how happy he is in the song despite being a jerk in the other scenes... lmao).

- although he did give Bev double pudding when we know he was being super picky about whom he gave it to, which doesn't necessarily mean anything, but I think it's funny.

Oh, I was gonna post a screenshot but I can't because the red lighting on her pudding-slathered body in that scene sets off my hemophobia and that's even BEFORE the zombie stuff, lmao... Just trust me on this- she has a cup in each hand.

And we KNOW the only person she could've gotten the pudding from is Dev, who is confirmed to have hoarded all the pudding cups and was only giving them to people who impressed him. We even see him take one cup away from Jenkins after giving him two, so he was being SUPER picky.

Look at them... They are The Evs...

I just want them to be friends... They all have fun designs and personality... I think they should play on the playground or go to the movies.

sdkljfsd, Dev is the shortest one in this whole picture. Everyone in this class utterly dwarfs him. Which makes sense, because Hazel started school in this show at age 10 and Dev is 9 until the midpoint in Season 1. He's just a little guy...

Like... Does Trev KNOW Dev has a crush on Bev? I can totally imagine Dev watching them date and being like "Hey... wait a minute."

^ The face you make when you just find out your secret crush is dating your secret squish.

- I CANNOT get over the fact that Dev has a canon squish. He just wants to be Trev's friend so badly but he's too shy to talk to him... That's hilarious. I wish we would explore that, because that's not something you usually get to see explored in media. - ... I am lying. Winn is everyone's squish in this episode and that's also canon. Everyone likes Winn, AS THEY SHOULD. Winn is so friendly and kind, even (and especially) when people are nervous around them. - Dev stop having squishes on his entire class challenge (Impossible). - "Multiverse of Jenkins" except every time Hazel walks past Dev, he's head-in-hands-ing over a new person he wants to befriend but screwed up talking to.

Honestly, looking back on "Wellsington Hotellsington" makes me kind of sad because... it's obvious Dev is trying to make friends in the only way he really knows. He's being a brat and a braggart, but at least he was engaging in conversation. This is one of the only episodes (if not THE only) where he makes a real effort.

Tell us how it's really going, Mr. Many Times Bitten, Many Times Shy. Ahaha... he needs to improve himself.

I really like how we see Hazel have to work to make new friends at school and she puts effort in, so we see why people befriend her, and meanwhile Dev is just... consistently not interacting with people and then sitting around upset he has no friends. He is 9.

Anyway, I just think The Evs' dynamic would be funny to explore. It's got everything you need! Dev being the worst! Bev leading them into action, but mostly to soccer-football games! Trev being super supportive and friendly and kind! Those two dating while Dev third wheels and stares into the camera! Idk what Kev does!

I think Dev should just stand in the middle of all his squishes and say "oh no." This would be a 'fic that resolves absolutely nothing because he just vibrates slightly as sweatdrops roll down his face and he's scared to open his mouth, but I would find it funny.

They are just so silly (to me)...

[aquagirl1978]

Meet my OC: Charlotte (IkePri)

Name: Charlotte Lelouch Paired with: Chevalier Michel Relationship: romantic Age: 27 Hair Color: dark red Eye Color: hazel green Birth Sign: Aquarius

Early Life

Charlotte came to live at the Palace in Rhodolite at an early age. Her mother, Clavis' sister, passed away when Charlotte was very young. With her father not in the picture, the now orphaned Charlotte moved into the palace to live with her aunt Leticia and cousin Clavis. Clavis and Charlotte were the best of friends, with Charlotte following her older cousin around and getting into trouble with him.

Incredibly intelligent and kind hearted, Charlotte was much like her cousin down to the matching birthmarks below their mouths. The one glaring area where the two differed was on their relationship with Chevalier.

Charlotte often acted as a buffer between the brothers. Clavis, never wanting to be alone with Chevalier, brought Charlotte along with him to make things more bearable. Chevalier, who tolerated so few people, allowed Charlotte to remain as, in his words, she, unlike her fool cousin, knew when to stay quiet.

After the death of the former queen and her aunt, Charlotte's future was unknown, until Sariel agreed to let her stay. He reasoned that it would be detrimental to her to remove her from her closest living family member.

Childhood Friends

When they were young, Charlotte had a somewhat distant, but respectful, relationship with Chevalier. She would remain (mostly) quiet in exchange for borrowing books from his library. They would sometimes read together, with minimal words exchanged. She was in awe of Chevalier - his genius, his grace, and as she got older, his looks. She never understood why Clavis hated him so much, and perhaps a part of her tried to get closer to Chevalier to improve their relationship.

There came a time in Charlotte's education when she, to put it nicely, outsmarted the palace teachers. Sariel was at a loss as to what to do with her - being the hellcat's cousin, no one wanted her as a student. That is, until the second prince agreed to be her tutor.

From that day on, they would spend time in each other's room studying together. Chevalier was impressed with her intellect, and found her thirst for knowledge refreshing. Unlike her cousin, she was not obsessed with besting him and was therefore able to focus her attention where it mattered.

It was during these study sessions when Chevalier first noticed he was experiencing strange feelings. They weren't unpleasant, a bit bothersome if anything. Over time, he grew accustomed to them, so much so that he even enjoyed these new feelings. He knew then it was time for him to stop being Charlotte's tutor.

Dating Chevalier

Now we get to the anti-climatic part of this story. I don't want to put anything here, because this is where it gets fun - flirting and kissing and teasing and more - and I have fic ideas planned for their dating journey. I'm gonna kinda just end it here, if I don't I'll ramble on until I can't write anymore words on this post. Charlotte has lived in my head for close to three years now, and I have a lot of stories in my head. Some I might share, some I won't.

On that note, I do welcome any and all asks about her, about her relationship with Chevalier and Clavis and anyone else in the palace. I will be reblogging OC ask games moving forward - always feel free to ask about her. I also have a modern AU for Charlotte and Chevalier which deviates greatly from canon. I might actually be more invested in that one, as I have far greater creativity there.

I also had so much fun working on this for Charlotte, that I have created another OC, this one for Ikemen Villains, and I hope to have her page up soon.

[klbwriting]

Not Romeo and Not Juliet

Chapter 1: Mingle Yarn

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: fighting, mentions of broken bones and blood

Summary: Jason Todd was alive again. Not only that, but he was back in high school, living with Dick Grayson, and just trying to get by without anyone noticing him. That doesn't go as planned.

Notes: Here it is! Dueling prep schools! Enemies to Lovers! Theater Nerds! Shakespeare! A true rom-com! Jason as a senior and a theater kid! I'm messing with the canon immensely so let's just call this an AU or Elseworlds story where Jason was killed in a similar way to Under the Red Hood movie, but instead of the LoA going and getting him Dick has the falling out with Bruce over Jason's death and he goes to resurrect him without Bruce knowing. He takes Jason to live with him in Bludhaven and enrolls him in Bludhaven Prep so that he can readjust to living and to leaving Robin behind. I hope you enjoy!

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together

— ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, ACT 4 SCENE 3

               “Jason, you have to get going or you’re going to be late,” Dick Grayson called through the apartment.  He knew Jason wasn’t exactly excited to start his senior year of high school and he couldn’t blame him if he was being honest.  Just a month ago Jason had been murdered by a clown and just a week ago he had been revived in a pit of green goo protected by assassins.  They had only agreed to let Dick revive him because they were the reason Jason was even killed in the first place, so it was honestly the least they could do.  Dick was still coming to terms with who came out of the pit, not Jason but not not Jason either.  While pre-Lazarus Pit Jason had been happy, funny, and kind of scrawny, this Jason was moody, stoic, and big.  He wasn’t sure how the 17-year-old had gone from around skinny 5’8 to a jacked 6’1 during a bath but it was what it was.  Now he was staying in Dick’s Penthouse in Bludhaven, Bruce had no idea he was alive, and he was starting his senior year at Bludhaven Prep and Dick was hoping getting him back out there with kids his own age would help him readjust to living again.  The therapist that Dick hired, the one Clark Kent recommended, had given approval for him to return, saying he was mentally able to be around others, but considering no one knew how the pit might affect him they would still be watching him closely.  Dick stood very still in the dining room, waiting until he heard feet stomping down the stairs from the loft area that Jason had taken as his room. 

               “I’m here, I’m here,” he grumbled, sitting down in front of the plate of eggs and bacon that Dick had made for him.  Jason took two bites and made a face.  “I am making breakfast from now on, this tastes like shit.”  Dick rolled his eyes as he watched Jason clean his plate of the ‘shit’.  “Why am I going to school again anyway?  Bruce pulled me out to be homeschooled when I was freshman.”

               “Ya Bruce also had you running around in tights and you’re not doing that anymore either.  At least not until we know that no side effects from the pit are going to cause problems,” Dick said, putting a bookbag on the chair next to Jason.  Jason glanced at the bag and then at Dick.  Dick was once again struck by how different Jason was, yet he could still see the kid Jason was in those eyes.  They weren’t same, they could never settle on what color they wanted to be, blue like before, green like the pit, even brown sometimes, a muddied version of the two.  But the vulnerability was there, even though Jason was desperately trying to hide it. 

               “Fine, I see your point,” Jason muttered, grabbing the backpack before heading to the bookshelf.  He grunted.  “You need better books, honestly, some actual literature would be nice.”  He gave up on finding something, grabbed his phone and took off towards Bludhaven Prep. 

               The car ride over was nice, then the rest of the day started.  Jason knew he was weird, new kid as a senior, eyes that didn’t know what they were, and that black hair with the one tuft of white streaking across the front.  He would be as rich as his big brother if he had a dollar for every time someone asked him about that during the first class alone.  By the time the day was over he was so tightly wound he wanted to bust.  It didn’t help that some football player had decided that Jason was going to be his target for the year.  It started with an ‘accidental’ tray drop at lunch that left yogurt and milk across his new sneakers.  Then in study hall a football to the back of the head.  Finally, what really broke Jason, was the walk from the front of the school to the back where the cars were lined up.  Jason was straggling, hoping that the jock would have gone first, and he might have peace, but no.  He started walking around the side of the school, no one around at first, when from the back came the jock and two friends.  The guy was cracking his knuckles like he was some gangster in a movie.  Jason rolled his eyes and dropped his bag, knowing where this was going. 

               “You seem to think you can just come in and take over my school,” the jock said.  Jason let out an annoyed breath.  He hadn’t spoken to a single person that, hadn’t raised his hand once, he had barely listened, why did the fact that he was an inch taller than this guy make the jock so insecure?  He didn’t want to deal with it.

               “Can you just try and hit me, and we can get this over with?” Jason asked.  The jock’s friends let out snorts of laughter and that seemed to enrage their leader, who threw a wild punch that Jason dodged easily and then Jason threw a jab right at the guy’s face.  He did forget that he was bigger now, stronger than before.  He was surprised by the blood, but the ear shattering crack of bone and the shriek that the guy let out did surprise him.  Jason took off, running around the back of the school and jumping into the car to get home.  Great, first day and he had probably just broken that guy’s eye socket.  He was getting expelled.  At least he wouldn’t have to wear the student uniform anymore. 

               By the time he got back Dick was already on the phone with the headmaster.  Dick pointed at the couch and Jason sat, not wanting to but he knew it was pointless to argue.  Dick had literally brought him back to life, he could sit there and take his punishment without argument.  He had just shattered a guy’s face; he probably deserved the tongue lashing.

               “-I understand but you have to remember that there were no cameras, no actual witnesses other than this Mr. Harrison’s friends, it seems like a he said, he said situation which will not make anyone on the school board happy.  Especially when I pull my funding for the new football stadium,” he said.  Jason rolled his eyes.  Dick had definitely graduated from the Bruce Wayne school for getting out of shit.  “Of course, I am glad that we could work this out.  And of course, any injuries will be taken care of, but no mention of who the fight was with?  Thank you so much for your discretion.”  Dick hung up and rounded on Jason.  “Care to explain?”

               “Some football asshole decided I was too tall for him,” Jason said.  Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember why he had decided to take in a teenager.  “Did you have to break his orbital bone?”

               “I forgot about my biceps being the size of my head,” he mumbled.  Dick actually chuckled at that.  “He threw the first punch…”

               “You look uninjured…”

               “You think I would let an idiot like that hit me?” Jason looked shocked.  Dick sighed and looked at his watch.  Then at his phone clock, like it would be much different.

               “I am going to be late for my date with Barbara, stay here tonight, get your homework done, there’s food in the fridge and tomorrow we can talk about this more,” Dick said, buttoning his suit jacket and grabbing his wallet.  Jason just nodded, pulling out a book that he had gotten at the school library.  That at least had more options than Dick’s place.  Dick took one more glance at Jason before leaving. 

               Around 9PM Jason was starting to climb the walls.  He had this nervous energy and he didn’t know how to relieve it.  He tried to think of something.  Parkour?  No, he was angry.  Video arcade?  No, not enough movement.  Then he remembered the underground fights that he and Batman had once raised over in his old neighborhood, Crime Alley.  He figured the fights were probably back by now, they wouldn’t be down for long.  He knew he couldn’t show his face, Dick didn’t need the stress of him being caught in Gotham, or God forbid Bruce finding him, so headed down to the garage that Dick kept on site.  He started searching the sports equipment that he had, grabbing an old school goalie’s mask.  Very Friday the 13th, and hey, his name was Jason.  But the white, no, that wasn’t his color.  He looked around, finding some spray paint in another section and he painted the mask red.  Nice.  He grabbed an old black hoodie, shoved the mask inside the pocket and taking one of Dick’s bikes. 

               It took him about ten minutes to remember how to drive a motorcycle, apparently death didn’t keep memories of driving in his brain.  He almost wiped out five or six times before finally crossing over into Robbinsville and then up into Crime Alley.  He stowed the bike behind a dumpster near a Big Belly Burger before heading into a laundromat.  He walked to the counter that was helmed by a short woman with dyed blonde hair.

               “I’ve come for some good smelling socks,” he said.  He hoped these types didn’t get change their code phrases, it was the only one he remembered.  The woman nodded and pressed a button, motioning to the side door that said ‘Employees Only’.  Jason went through the door and down the stairs, donning his mask.  The guy waiting at the bottom looked him over.

               “50$ to watch, 100$ to fight,” he said.  Jason nodded and turned over his 100$ and the guy pointed him to another woman with a clipboard.  Jason headed over to her.

               “Name?” she asked.  Jason scrambled.  “Name?” she repeated, louder and more annoyed.  The other fights nearby were starting to watch him.  They weren’t too much bigger than him, he might have a good chance.  Either way he could blow off some steam.

               “Mask of the Red Death,” he said.  She cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. 

               “Too long, you’re Red Mask,” she said.  He nodded, very creative.  Poe would be proud.  “You’re finding Butch first.”  She pointed to a large man with muscles in places Jason didn’t know you could have them.  They were for show, not strength, not fighting.  This guy wanted to look good, not actually be good.  Jason watched him as they entered the makeshift cage.  He circled the guy, letting him come to him.  Butch threw a punch, Jason dodged behind him, and Spartan kicked him in the ass, sending him tripping into the glorified fence surrounding them.  The fight went on for only a few more seconds before the guy came back, trying to kick Jason, who slide to the side, grabbed the guy’s leg and slammed his elbow into his knee.  There was a crunch and Butch fell, howling in pain, unable to get up.  Jason was announced the winner and stepped out, heading towards a back door to get some air.  As he opened the door to the basement walkout, he heard a commotion and turned, seeing cops starting to come down the stairs.  He knew they would be going to the back door next, so he took off, mask going back in his pocket and climbing a nearby fire escape until he was high enough to hide in the shadows above the streetlight.  Once the cops that found the back were inside, he climbed down, running to the alley where he’d left the bike.  He was just moving the dumpster again when the back door to the Big Belly Burger opened, making him jump in surprise and slice his hand on an exposed piece of metal inside the trash.  He let out a grunt and the teenage girl in uniform turned to face him.          

               “Are you ok?” she asked, walking over.  Jason was gripping his hand, trying to stop the bleeding so he could get the bike and leave.  “Hold on, I have a bandage.”  She pulled out a roll box of bandaids from the apron pocket.

               “Clumsy are you?” Jason asked, trying to distract from the annoying ache in his palm.  She chuckled and walked over, pulling a cotton ball out of the packet. 

               “No, we have a griller who thinks he’s a ninja, any time he gets his hand on a knife I have to be ready to stitch him up,” she said.  She started dabbing his hand and Jason once again hissed.  “What music do you like?”

               “I uh…I don’t know, I used to like metal, some alternative stuff, but went through a change this summer…not sure anymore,” he said, confused.  “Why?”

               “Well, one this is distracting you from me disinfecting this thing, so you don’t get tetanus, and two, you live in Crime Alley, don’t be a stereotype.  If you think you might like something different than ‘I grew up in the slums, so I just listen to angry shit’ try Noah Kahan, you look like a guy who’d like him, or Hozier.”  He could tell she was just throwing out names to keep him listening and he appreciated it.  “What’s your name?”

               “Jason,” he said.  She nodded and smiled, finishing with the bandage. 

               “Nice to meet you, I’m YN,” she said.  “Want some help with the dumpster or are all those muscles working?”  She winked at him, and he actually blushed, glad it was dark and she might not notice.

               “Sure,” he said.  Together they moved the dumpster, and he got the bike.  He waved quick before driving back to the penthouse.  He got as far as the elevator door, when it opened there was Dick.

               “So, I see you had an interesting evening,” he said, holding up his phone where video of Jason breaking Butch’s leg was being shown.  Of course, Dick would realize it was him, he would know that move anywhere, Dick had taught it to him. 

               “I needed to get out, blow off some steam, forget who I was for a bit,” he said.  Dick nodded. 

               “Good, then what I just signed you up for will be perfect,” he said.  Jason looked at him, eyebrows raised.  “You’re not a member of the theater program, auditions for Hamlet are Friday.”

               “You can’t be serious,” Jason said, heading out of the elevator.

               “I am very serious, you go to school, go to practice, be someone else for awhile when you’re there, and then you come home and you stay here or I am calling Bruce and sending you back to him, see how Batman deals with your shit,” he said.  Jason sighed, heading up to his room.  Fine, theater, he’d wanted to do that before Bruce pulled him from high school.  How bad could it be?