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gureishi · 3 years ago

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hello! i’ve never left an ask before so i’m hoping i’m doing this right? but if you’re comfortable with it, do you have any headcannons on saeyoungs relationship with religion? i haven’t seen many people talk about it. thank you sm, and i love your account!! <3

Hello, sweet anon! I'm honored to be the first ask you're sending. And thanks so much for asking me about this! I don't see a lot of people talking about it either, and I'm sure that's because it’s an incredibly complex topic. I’m gonna do my very best to answer it as thoroughly and honestly as I can!

CW: religion, child abuse and neglect

Saeyoung went to church as a child because it was the only place he felt safe.

I assume that he was allowed to go because his mother counted on the church's charity. It's not clear how much the community knew about their situation—but we know for sure that Saeyoung was coming home with gifts of food (and that he was stealing extra for Saeran, since he knew their mother would sometimes withhold food from him for days at a time).

As a kid, Saeyoung didn't believe in God. He tells us this in the normal end: he went to church for the people, not for a relationship with God. He loved the way he felt when he was there: the atmosphere that was full of warmth and kindness; the way people talked to him like he was a normal child (though he'd never seen himself that way); the glimpses he got into other people's lives. The community itself was a sort of religion for him—and he believed in many of the things he heard when he was there. He listened closely to the sermons, and he formed many of his core values based on what he heard: that all people have dignity; that the most vulnerable should be protected and uplifted; that everyone's life is precious.

But it was difficult for him to reconcile the idea of all-powerful and all-loving God with the image of his brother at home, tied up and hungry.

He prayed when he was at church, wanting desperately to believe. If you're real, he'd think furiously—wondering helplessly if his thoughts meant anything at all—then why have you left my brother all alone?

And then he was sent to the agency, and Saeran really was alone, and it was all he could do to maintain his sense of self.

Agents are not meant to have religion. Agents are not meant to have beliefs or values or morals. They're not meant to have families or relationships or any ties to this world.

A good agent stands for nothing—and the training is designed to strip them of the things that make them human.

And he was a preteen: he was just starting to figure out who he was. So it was then that Saeyoung disappeared; if he thought too hard about where he’d come from and what he’d lost, he’d fall apart entirely. So instead he clung to Luciel: the version of himself that was tied up in the church and his religion. Because these were things he chose for himself; they allowed him to cling onto some semblance of hope that he was still a human being.

He started wearing the cross necklace, even though he wasn’t actually allowed to wear any sort of personal or religious insignia—and that tiny bit of rebellion helped keep him grounded. He wasn’t allowed to hold onto his brother or his past or even necessarily his beliefs, but he could have this.

He felt a lot of shame, though. Who was he to call himself Catholic, after all the things he'd done? Who was he to construct his identity around his religion when he wasn’t even sure what he believed?

He didn't pray during all those years. He was afraid to. In the back of his mind, there was a strong image of someone or something—a being who'd heard the prayers of a young, helpless child. He didn't want that being—whoever they were—to know who he'd become.

And perhaps it was that thought that made him start to believe.

Because when he was stuck in a hideout for days on end, hungry and thirsty and barely alive, he had the feeling that someone had their eyes on him. He had the sense that he wasn't all alone.

That feeling made it easier to talk about being Catholic. It was who he was, after all—as much a part of him as his body or his mind. But still, he didn’t quite know how to speak about it. He was flippant; he made jokes. It was easier than saying what he really meant.

And what did he mean?

He tried not to think about it.

But then something shifted; a thread snapped in the carefully woven exterior that protected him from ever feeling anything at all.

You appeared.

The way you spoke to him made him feel strange, like his insides were dissolving. And there was a flood of feelings just waiting to be felt: grief and terror and love and devotion.

He started praying again.

Hi, he thought (eyes shut tight, throwing his thoughts into the universe the way he used to). Sorry I've been...

He wasn't even sure why, but he told God about you. He thought himself in circles: apologies and pleas. He asked about Saeran, not expecting an answer.

But then Saeran came to him.

Of course it didn’t happen in the way he would’ve wanted—but it was only a few days later that he ran to you and found his brother instead. And he had no time, then, to wonder about God and morals and philosophies and beliefs. He thought only of saving you—of saving Saeran—of how he could possibly do both of those things at once. But he did keep praying, because he felt the same sense of safety he’d felt as a child when he shut his eyes and thought about love.

And that’s what it was, he realized later. Perhaps it was when you were driving together, the night air soothing his fevered mind—or it was when he was in the hospital, sitting in the corner and staring in wonder and horror at his brother’s face. Perhaps it was later, when Saeran was home, and hating him.

In spite of it all, he felt hopeful. It was because he loved his brother with such unwavering ferocity—because he loved you with such radiant brightness. He felt God in the space between people and the sound of your laugh and the light that was slowly returning to his brother’s eyes.

As a child, he had believed in nothing and wished for everything. As a teenager, he’d given up on hoping and wishing and praying.

And now he was an adult, and he found that he believed. The universe was vast and inconceivable, and his own little life should’ve meant nothing—but something deeper and greater tied him to the people he loved. Each life, he thought, was precious (after all).

#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #707 #headcanons #asks #religion #tw child abuse #tw child neglect

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Id bet money that yandere!bakugou watches his darling sleep. He just HAS to. He cant help himself.

You bet your ass he does. And, if I’m any good at this whole writing thing, he does so with as much repressed paranoia as possible. It’d be the closest thing he has to an actual hobby, honestly, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. That’d just be out of character.

Title: Loving Observation.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Slight Codependence, and Mentions of Somnophilia.

It wasn’t like Katsuki liked watching you sleep.

That was much was common sense. Of course he didn’t like it, of course he didn’t enjoy it, who would? He’d heard stories of guys getting off on the vulnerability, the helplessness, the secrecy, but vulnerability and helplessness and weakness weren’t the kinds of things Katsuki was interested in. Staying up all night was boring. He was always exhausted the next day, always irritated, and he always told himself he wouldn’t do it again the next night, that’d he’d sleep by your side and resist the urge to perch himself at the foot of your bed and stare you down with all the intensity of a bird of prey. But, it was the next night, and here he was, standing guard with all the loyalty of a well-trained pet.

Momentarily, he wondered if he’d start growing feathers, if he kept this up.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep, either. He was sure he’d be able to, and if not, Katsuki was always the type to make the best of his insomnia, he’d never liked the idea of wasting so many precious, undisturbed hours on a staring contest with the ceiling. No, if he hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d be researching the villain he’d have to track down in the morning, or meal-planning, or doing anything besides fisting at the sheets and watching you - tired, beautiful, narcoleptic you - drool onto your pillow and kick your comforter into the space he should be occupying, a habit he knew you’d never fight off. He could sleep, it’d be easy to, but he couldn’t let himself sleep. He couldn’t take that risk. He couldn’t be so careless. He couldn’t do something that dangerous and wake up to a corpse, as his reward. He couldn’t let you down like that.

So, he dug his nails into his hand, letting soothing, awakening pain run from the heel of his palm into his wrist until it infected the tips of his fingers and made the rest of the world a little more vivid. Until it made him a little more aware.

You must’ve been used to falling asleep without him, by now. There was always an effort, an extra cup of coffee or a slurred declaration that you weren’t going to bed until he found the time to carry you there, but you’d worked late, tonight, and you’d been ready to collapse the moment you dragged yourself into his apartment. He’d blamed himself for that, too - if he was really as good of a boyfriend as you thought he was, he wouldn’t let you work yourself to the point of exhaustion. But, he’d been called out for an emergency, and by the time he got home, you were already out, undressed and unconscious under the assumption that he’d join you whenever he was ready to, and you’d be able to make it up to him in the morning with a kiss and an apology for wearing yourself out.

He wanted that. You couldn’t imagine how badly he wanted that. It was the kind of domestic, private bliss he’d come to crave, since you two first moved in together, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to indulge in it. Holding you was just too tempting, too innocent. A million things could go wrong as soon as wrapped his arms around you. He could roll over and break your arm, he could hold you too tightly and suffocate you, he could do something wrong and hurt you, because punishing the people that loved him seemed to be the only thing he was good at doing. Because he would hurt you, if he let himself.

Because something else would hurt you, eventually, and he’d be the one to blame.

So wrapped up in his own thoughts, he almost didn’t notice when you rolled over, a small groan forcing itself through your parted lips as you settled onto your back, your hands drifting from your pillow to your sides, and then to your chest, another sound of discomfort drawing his attention to your current position. The air fled from his lungs only to hitch in his throat, and for a moment, he watched as you went still. Mentally, he went through your schedule, through the hours of the day, through every risk you’d taken and ever hazard he’d forced you into. Your job was draining, but it wasn’t dangerous, he’d made sure of that. You took the safest route home he’d been able to find, and he’d been slipping supplements into your food for weeks, a habit you wouldn’t approve of, but one he took to keep you healthy, to keep you safe. Still, there was too much that wasn’t accounted for. There was too much he didn’t know. There were too many things he hadn’t seen because you were so independent and because he was a failure of a guardian and because you must hate him--

Your expression contorted from neutrality to pained discomfort, and Katsuki stopped thinking.

In an instant, he was on top of you, straddling your stomach as he took you by the shoulders, wrenching you upward with all the frantic desperation of a soldier under fire. There was no blood, no injury, but an invisible threat was so, so much worse than a wound he could see and evaluate and fix on his own. Your eyes flew open, your hands finding his in less than a second, but your scream was swallowed down as your shock turned to confusion and that confusion faded into bleary, startled concern. You didn’t try to push him away, didn’t writhe or struggle out of his grip, only scanning over his wide-eyed, panicked expression as you collapsed back onto the mattress, adrenaline dissolving into little more than an unpleasant fatigue. That was good, that was great. You were fine, you were alright, you were perfect. He was just being paranoid, you were…

You were glaring at him.

Fuck, right. He probably deserved that.

“What is it?” You spoke slowly, your voice weighed down by sleep. Already, you were settling back down, and a second later, Katsuki followed your lead, falling to your side and keeping to himself until he felt a tap to his forearm, a signal that you weren’t that mad at him. Hesitantly, he uncurled himself, letting you burrow into his chest, your arm soon draped over his waist and your head resting on his bicep. You didn’t seem to care that he didn’t return the gesture. “Better think of something good, ‘suki. If the building’s not on fire, someone’s gonna sleep on the couch.”

He chuckled, dryly, more at the idea of him sleeping at all than to indulge your idle threat. “I thought... I mean, you looked like you were in pain,” He admitted, knowing you wouldn’t remember this conversation clearly enough to recognize the implications. “I was worried. You know how I get, about you.”

“I know how you get about everything.” There was a sigh, this time, a slight lean in his direction. Without a second thought, he plucked the comforter from where it draped over the side of the bed, laying it over your tense form despite your earlier attempts to free yourself from its plush entrapment. Immediately, you relaxed against him, thanking Katsuki with a small smile and a soft kiss to his collarbone. “This is the third time I’ve ‘been in pain’ this week. I know you’re just being protective, and I know you’re trying to help, but--” Despite the darkened bedroom, you averted your gaze. As you went on, your tone became a little more lucid, a little more genuine. His heart twisted in his chest, and Katsuki wondered if it’d be less painful to make you think he hadn’t cared at all. “The way you’ve been acting is really starting to bother me. You’re not getting any rest, and you’ve been so erratic, lately. It’s hard not to feel like this is....” You paused, biting the inside of your cheek. “Like this is bad for us.”

It was futile to deny it. Assuring you was probably just as useless, but it felt like the right thing to do. “I know, baby. But I’m trying to--”

“Promise me.” You were clinging to him, now, your words muffled by his skin. “You have to promise me this is going to end. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to...”

You didn’t have to finish. Katsuki knew what you were going to say, and he knew it was as terrifying for you as it was for him. He didn’t want to leave you. He didn’t want you to leave him, even if he knew it was for his own good. He wanted things to be better, but he couldn’t stop, not if he wanted you to be protected, not if he wanted you to be safe. He wouldn’t be able to stop worrying, not unless he found a way to make sure he didn’t have anything to worry about.

It was an awful thought. An awful thing to even consider doing to another person. It was awful, and yet, he found himself pulling you closer, his body going slack as he finally let himself relax. It’d be awful, but it’d be safe, too. And it wasn’t like you were giving him much of a choice.

Giving you up wasn’t an option. You’d suffer, but you’d be secured and bound and safe, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t take care of you. He was a good boyfriend, or, he was really trying to be one, at least, and doing something so extreme, something so permant, would only prove he was more devoted, more capable, more loving. Even if he doubted you’d see it that way.

From his experience, people usually didn’t react well to waking up in handcuffs.

Not at first, at least.

“I promise.”

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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νοσταλγία (Chapter 22)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Hi! I’m sorry, this chapter kinda jumps around a lot, like seven different things happen, I’m sorry. A few chapters are gonna be like this, I’m afraid.

Also, some things at the beginning refer to stuff mentioned/detailed in Ivar’s PoV, which will be uploaded on Tuesday, so any doubts regarding what is mentioned about those first few days after the wedding will hopefully be cleared up then. Regardless of that, I always welcome any and all questions, of course!

Thank you for reading, sorry for the long note, love ya!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick

The celebrations for Ivar’s wedding last more than a few days, you lose count -refuse to count, if you are honest-. It proves to be…not as awful as you believed, to be his wife, to be queen.

You are still by no accounts used to people calling you that. You sooner grew used to Ivar calling you his wife -which he does, a lot- than to the people of Kattegat calling you their Queen.

Of course, Ivar has noticed. He is exceedingly good at noticing things about you, in a way that if you were a sane woman, would frighten you.

The ring you bear on your hand, you noticed once the blood was washed off, is engraved with runes you aren’t familiar with, but bears the design of branches and leaves. A wreath of flowers to wrap around your finger instead of being placed on your head.

The crown he gifted you on the first morning you spent as husband and wife is also skilled metalwork with the delicate motif of flowers. You asked why, and his answer was, simply enough, that he knows you like flowers.

On that same first morning he also pointed out he’s noticed your very deliberate intention to avoid having your hair braided in any way. It resulted in this silly game that still goes on, where you exchange a braid in your hair for the day for a question he must answer with the truth.

You’ve learned many things, and the thralls have been told to make intricate work of the braids he insists on seeing on you. You’ve learned more of Sigurd, and how he is somewhere in the Danes with an Earldom and a child on the way; you’ve learned of what happened with Margrethe when Ivar was younger, you’ve learned of his ambitions to be even more of a legend than his father ever was, you’ve learned of what he thought of you when he saw you across that battlefield.

And it is not just Ivar that has learned to notice things about the person at his side. You have grown keener to noticing the tells in his expression, in his voice, in his posture.

It is terrifyingly easy to find routine amidst all this madness. To find safety, peace.

It has always proven to be easy, when it comes to Ivar, for you to forget there’s a world past him. In Aneridge, the door to the hut closed and there were no Saxons, no dead and no living, no names. And now, here in Kattegat, you sit at his side on a throne of your own and there’s no chains, no past or future, no walls.

And now, in the borrowed time that it seems both you and Stithulf live in, there’s a freedom in being at his side you weren’t able to allow yourself before.

You know it should scare you, and sometimes it does. When easy steps guide you to him every night and familiar fingers run down your back unlacing your dress, you feel that in reveling in this familiarity, in being soothed by this strange peace, you betray your people, your home. When you slip under the furs of your shared bed and close your eyes and feel safe and warm and like you’d never want to leave, you are haunted by the question of why you deserve to choke with the hope you can still taste so long after the kiss you shared with Ivar, while Narses choked with the poison you fed him until the day he died.

____

You’ve realized many things, in these past few weeks.

Something they don’t speak of, something you frankly hadn’t considered before now; is how, regardless of your intentions, intimacy grows between two people that share most aspects of their lives, and every night they go to sleep together and wake up every morning together.

It makes you realize, the easy familiarity, the reluctant intimacy, that grow between you and Ivar, why it is so easy for arranged or unwanted marriages to fall into contempt, into resentment for one another.

Granted, that intimacy, that trust to close your eyes and trust you are safe even if alongside someone you did not want; it also explains the respect, the formal but honest affection you saw in the marriages of many elders back home.

If you are honest with yourself, which is something you’ve been trying to do more often, you know you will not grow to resent Ivar, you know you trusted him even before he became your husband.

No, you know -and fear, you fear to your very core- that all this familiarity, this intimacy, does is soften your foolish heart, make your chest fill with a warmth you shouldn’t feel in this land of cold.

But it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to make a choice, not yet. You don’t have to face what the choices you would have made would have said about you, for you didn’t make them; and you don’t have to face what this choice you could make says about you, because you haven’t made it yet.

It is a strange limbo to live on, a limbo that may last months or days or years, but you find you do not mind.

Point is, you’ve realized many things, in these last weeks.

This morning, as Ivar gets out of bed and in his absence lets the cold air enter the space he occupied before with no regard to your body so unused to Scandinavia’s cold, you also realize why so many women kill their husbands.

You grumble curses in your own tongue as you burrow further under the furs, and you could swear he huffs a laugh in response. Regardless of your reluctance, you know you are to get up soon as you hear the thralls walk in and leave the platters and pitchers on a nearby table.

You quickly prepare and let the infusion of red clover and chickweed sit before you skip your way over frozen ground to the dress you quickly fasten around you.

With your feet in the warm shoes and your body covered in something more than a flimsy nightgown that does nothing to protect you from the cold, you go along with what, surprisingly enough, has become another familiar routine for you since becoming his wife.

Turning your back to Ivar you fasten an earring as he tightens and ties the laces at the back of your dress.

Taking one hand off his task, he touches the hanging pendant that now adorns your ear, and asks,

“These are new.”

“A gift,” Before he can ask from whom, because of course he would, as if someone would be stupid enough to try and court Ivar the Boneless’ wife, you shrug, “A shieldmaiden gave them to me.”

“Why are you surprised? You are their Queen; they should want to earn your favor.”

With a shrug, you offer the only truth you can, “They don’t hate me, your people. I thought they would.

You sigh, and work on putting your other earring as you think on how to say this.

“I want you t-…” You stop yourself, and clearing your throat start over, “I have noticed that you shouldered a responsibility that was supposed to be mine, and I know-…Life hasn’t changed much for me or for the people here since I’ve become their queen, and…I know it is part of the reason they don’t hate me,” You straighten your head as Ivar finishes lacing up the dress, and turn around to face him. “I want you to know I am grateful.

But because pride wins, you join your hands in front of you and add,

“This could all have been avoided if you hadn’t forced me to marry you, of course. But, regardless, I…”

“You are welcome.” He interrupts you, his expression in equal parts exasperated and smug as he silences you.

You take a seat and wrap cold fingers around the hot drink, lifting your feet from the floor and bringing your knees closer to your chest.

Choosing to test how well you’ve taught Ivar your language, and how well he’s taken to understand it, you start, slowly and enunciating clearly,

“How far along are we from winter?”

He replies with a smug smile and a tilt of his head,

“A month, at most.”

“Your Greek is getting better.” You reply, knowing pride seeps through your voice.

“Your Norse is still that of a Greek.” He taunts without missing a beat, and you roll your eyes even if your own lips betray a smile.

The doors to your rooms open and you are startled into attention. Prince Ubbe stalks into the room, muddied and battle-worn, but his eyes, and his rage, are settled on his brother.

The Prince departed what you’d like to say is two -three?- weeks ago, shortly after the wedding, to follow a trail further North with a small army. Ivar ordered him to, even if you know Stithulf will retreat to Strepshire.

As to why Ubbe was sent North, you don’t know. Maybe Ivar knew of some route to some village, maybe he knew something he didn’t share with you or his brothers. You don’t know.

What you do know, is that Prince Ubbe has returned and apparently has done so with a lot of pent up anger. You lower your legs back to a proper position, and stay silent and still as you wait for an explanation as to why the Viking barged into your rooms.

Ivar smiles, the cruel visage of the King of Kattegat as he starts to play, “Welcome back, brother. What did you find?”

The other man snarls, “Nothing. Not a fucking trail, Ivar. The Saxons are not traveling North, and we just gave them all the time they needed to get away.”

But Ivar doesn’t seem phased at all, shaking his head with a knowing and mocking smile.

“I know. They are moving for Strepshire.” He assures. You frown his way, begging him silently to stop being so fucking secretive.

The Prince finally takes notice of you, and a wide gesture of a big and dirtied hand towards where you sit precedes his loud words,

“Why are you so certain? Don’t tell me it’s because of what your witch tells you, brother, be-…”

Ivar interrupts him, mocking smile dimming and seriousness settling in his features, even as he speaks with gesturing hands and raised eyebrows, “Because my wife was right. If they think we are not pursuing them they will move. I sent men disguised as merchants to travel the area, and while your little army made noise on the other side, they caught the Saxons moving for Strepshire.”

You are startled into silence, and for a moment you think so is his brother. Counting on his vitriol and his reluctant agreement with many of the things you say when the Vikings argue of the war against Stithulf and his men, you never expected Ivar to take your words to mind when planning his next move, not truly.

Prince Ubbe’s expression starts to switch from an enraged snarl and the eyes of a man raging over presumed failure; to realization and a hint of a surprised smile hidden under his beard.

“You sent me on a blind chase,” He huffs, fond exasperation in his voice, “You little shit, you could have told me the purpose was to distract them.”

Ivar shrugs, even if the mocking and mirth is still on his eyes, the tension between the brothers seems to lessen.

“It wouldn’t have been as convincing, brother.”

Half-hearted curses flow from Ubbe’s lips as he clasps one hand roughly on his younger brother’s shoulder, shaking the other Viking as he laughs. You have a feeling secrets of blood shared flow between them in those brief interactions, so you lower your gaze to your red clover and chickweed infusion and watch the herbs twirl.

“Witch,” The Prince calls, and you lift your gaze. With a sigh, he amends, using your name instead of the unwanted title before he continues, “I do value your counsel,” Your skepticism shows in your face, for the man huffs a short laugh and corrects, “I should value it.”

“Thank you, Prince Ubbe.”

The older man takes his leave and when Ivar returns his gaze from the door to you, he frowns when faced with your wide smile.

“What?”

“You trust me.” You boast, a giggle leaving your lips. Ivar rolls his eyes in response, taking some almonds from a platter in the table and eating as you still stare at him with a smile.

“You are a strange woman.” He mumbles in response, but you shrug.

“I have been called worse,” Seeing he refuses to acknowledge your words, you insist, “And you trust me.”

Ivar’s eyes narrow, “I don’t trust easily.”

Whether that is a rebuttal of your claim or a warning to honor his trust in you, you cannot know for certain. Instead of giving him an answer, you offer a smile and drink from the almost scalding infusion.

____

“If we reach out to Sigurd, we can get a legal claim on that land, our people can-…”

“We don’t need a legal claim if we erase the Saxons from the earth, Ubbe. We can gather a bigger army, we can return to York, start raiding from there again.” The King interrupts his brother, and the other man is quick to jump into a discussion. The Prince’s voice raises, his hands gesture wildly, and of course it all is returned tenfold by the King.

Your eyes travel from Ivar to his oldest brother, back and forth as the two argue on and on and on and…

It has surely been too long of this, and you have only been here a couple of months. Hvitserk, on the other hand, has been dealing with this for Hera knows how long. He may be close to planning a coup and murdering both of his brothers, and you cannot say you would blame him.

You find Hvitserk’s gaze across the table, a middle ground between the two sons of Ragnar here in Kattegat in more ways than one. While Ivar yells for the army and resources to move for Wessex again and Ubbe argues with gritted teeth about earning more land to settle North; Hvitserk bites into an apple, granting you a half-hearted shrug in response to the rising voices of his brothers.

You hide your own smile behind the rim of your cup as you drink. Soon enough you and the Prince find yourselves discreetly battling for dominance as you throw almonds to battle his cashews, playing in turns to try and throw the pieces carefully so that they push the enemy pieces off the imaginary board.

The game evolves and changes, and after a while you are breathing little laughs as you try aiming some dried fruits and nuts into Hvitserk’s open mouth.

You ready another throw of a dried piece of some strange fruit, but a hand grabbing onto your wrist stops you. You lift startled eyes to meet Ivar’s enraged ones.

“Would you two stop acting like fucking children?” He growls, eyes jumping between you and his brother.

“We are having fun, brother,” Hvitserk answers around a mocking smile, drinking from his cup before adding, “Not that you would know what it is.”

You keep your gaze on Ivar’s profile as you pointedly tug your wrist out of his grasp, even as his attention remains on his brother.

“Hivtserk…” Ubbe sighs, and you watch him drag a hand over his face.

“What?” The other Prince shrugs, defiant before he turns eyes to the King. “He keeps her chained to his side, like some pretty bird in a cage. Least he could do is keep her happy.”

“So you’ll be the one to keep your brother’s wife happy?” Ubbe presses with a shake of his head, “Just shut up and eat.”

“I kept yours pretty happy, didn’t I, Ubbe?”

Instead of letting the conversation between the Princes go on, Ivar asks, cruel and cold but you know there’s more anger to him than his tone lets on,

“You want to fuck her, is that it?”

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. You turn wide eyes from the King to his brother, but Hvitserk only smiles slightly, completely calm.

“Ivar!” You hiss quietly, but he doesn’t even turn to you.

“All of Kattegat wants into her bed, brother,” Hvitserk replies, drawling out the words, “But you know this already.”

Ivar shows a smile as cold as it is feral, and even if it is not directed at you -thankfully- you still feel a thrill of cold run down your spine. Not so difficult to imagine, if that’s how he looks at his own brother, why the people of Kattegat fear their warlord King.

“And do you?” Ivar insists, making you frown.

“I didn’t take you for the sharing kind, brother.” Hvitserk replies easily, a merciless sort of mischief shining in his warm eyes.

“Stop this,” You warn, raising your voice a bit and dreading the few eyes that turn to look. Glancing at the Prince in silent admonishment, that he surprisingly accepts by lifting a hand in silent surrender; you then turn to your husband and state lowly, “It does not matter, I married you. I am your wife and I will not be spoken of as a slave to be passed around.”

He shakes off the touch of your hand on his arm, a gesture you didn’t even realize you did. Not noticing you had reached out to touch him, it shouldn’t hurt as it does to see him reject you, but it does.

“I think it’s time you go prepare for tonight’s feast, wife.” He dismisses without even looking at you, cold fury in his voice.

Even though you did nothing wrong, even if it is not your fault his temper flares without warning or motive; he dismisses you like an unwanted pet.

You grit your teeth and beg to Persephone, Freyja and all the Gods that your eyes do not betray the furious and powerless tears even if your eyes sting as you stand up and walk away.

The Gods made you many things, but none of the things you are would walk out with lowered eyes, with your head downcast, letting a man forget what he has done when trying to silence you.

____

When you are summoned to stand alongside Ivar for the start of the feast, you walk in with your head held high and what is sure to be what Sieghild called your Athenian nobility shining through in every step you take.

You cross your legs, and tilt your head to the side. Your mother very obviously bristles at the display.

“Narses will follow my-…”

“Commands?” Galla interrupts, sly smile on full lips.

“Advice. He will refuse to negotiate with the Saracens,” You insist, before shrugging, “There are no pacts-…”

“Don’t say it.” Sieghild warns, but you ignore it.

“Between lions and men.” You finish with a smug smile. Your mother sighs in exasperation, rolls her eyes and drops her head to the back of the chair she sits in.

“Gods above. I dread to imagine the kind of uptight little monster you’d be if I hadn’t been the one to raise you.” Sieghild grunts.

“Yes, thank you, Sieghild. You raised a noble-blooded Athenian with the courage of a Varangian. A delightful woman to be around, especially when she doesn’t get her way.” Galla grumbles before standing up with a curse, and you frown.

“Hey, I can hear you, both of you.”

You bow your head in greeting to the Princes and King, and you could swear Ubbe and Hvitserk share a look between them, but say nothing.

Once the people are distracted enough, Ivar leans towards you from his place on the throne and states, “You are angry with me.”

“What a perceptive man you are, truly.”

“Don’t mock me, it won’t end well for you.”

“What will you do? Humiliate me in front of everyone?” You intone with a tilt of your head, furious eyes set on his.

____

Hope you liked this, would love to hear your thoughts on this! As for why this was the mess that it was, idk, my writing either drags on and on or is a convoluted mess, I don’t have a middle ground it seems. I’m very sorry if this chapter is a shabby one, I did my best. Thank you for reading, have a nice day/night! <3

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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strangertheory · 4 years ago

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Will Byers! :)

I meant to answer this Ask an eternity ago, and you have been so incredibly patient with me! (Thank you!!!)

I think because Will is my favorite character, I started to fuss over my answer too much, and before I knew it we were here: a few months later, and a long while after I offered to answer these specific questions for character Asks. Today, I want to finally answer your Ask for my favorite character: Will Byers.

Will Byers

Favorite thing about them:

Will loves and appreciates his friends so much, and you can tell that he would do absolutely anything for Joyce or Jonathan too. My favorite thing about Will is his love and devotion to others. I think that since Castle Byers symbolically represents a safe place for Will, it also reveals what Will deeply cares about and chooses to protect within that safe place, and one of those things is his friendships. “Castle Byers: All Friends Welcome.” Castle Byers represents Will’s desire to welcome all friends with open arms and unconditional acceptance. While I think that Will would be kindhearted regardless, I think that because Will knows how painful rejection is from facing the bullies at school and his father’s insults, Will puts forth an extra effort to make sure that everyone in his life feels appreciated and loved. Will shares his secret safe-place in the woods with anyone willing to be his friend. Castle Byers is like a secret shrine dedicated to everything Will is passionate about (comics, D&D, art) and is also dedicated to those he loves and to those who love and accept him in return. He has photographs of his friends, drawings on the walls that he made about their D&D campaigns together, and comics that they’ve probably all shared. In spite of his limited means, Will is very generous with what he offers to others: he gave the little girl that was crying in the sandbox his Tonka Truck (even though Joyce cautioned him that they couldn’t afford to get a new one), he’s given Mike dozens of drawings (if Mike’s decorated walls and his binder full of Will’s artworks are any small evidence of this) and Will has given his mom a good number of drawings too that she cherishes. Will wants everyone to feel loved and to be happy, and is grateful to those that are there for him. Undoubtedly some of this stems from his deep insecurities and his lack of self-worth and his desire to be loved and appreciated back, but I think most of it is still rooted in Will’s genuine desire to make sure that other people are happy because their happiness makes him happy too.

Least favorite thing about them:

I appreciate all of the characters for their strengths as well as their flaws because it’s what makes them so very human and relatable. But Will definitely has some traits that I hope, for his own sake, he’ll learn to manage in a healthier way. Will’s weakness is that he often places the wants and needs of others before his own, and he seeks to avoid conflict at all costs. These are arguably admirable traits that are directly related to Will’s love and affection for other people (which I said was my favorite thing about him!), but they can also be self-destructive and unhealthy habits and I think they are, at least in part, the result of Will growing up in a combative and abusive home environment. I admire Will for his selflessness and for his desire to avoid conflict, but I list his excessive selflessness and his excessive desire to keep the peace as two things that make me worry about him. I hope he will learn to balance these two impulses in a healthier way over the next few seasons. I think that learning to deal with these two bad habits in a healthier way will be part of Will’s personal growth over the next two seasons.

Favorite line(s):

“Yea. Crazy together.”

brOTP:

Jonathan and Will, of course! I was sad that we didn’t get more scenes with them together in season 3, but I appreciate every moment in the series that we’ve gotten so far. Jonathan’s effort to reassure Will that it’s ok to be “a freak,” and that being different is preferable to being just like everybody else, was really heartwarming and is probably one of my favorite scenes in the entire series.

OTP:

As you have probably figured out if you have been following my blog for even a few days: I’m convinced that Will and Mike are meant to be together by the end of the series, and I am eager to talk about it some other time in another post.

nOTP:

I cannot bring myself to imagine Will and El ever dating. But I look forward to them hopefully becoming very close, and teaming up platonically!

random headcanon:

Hmmm. So this is actually the part of this post that had me delaying responding to your Ask for so long, because my head-canon for Will is incredibly specific, unconventional, frequently controversial (from what I've noticed when this topic is discussed), and a bit complicated to explain. But I do want to talk about it! And I want to clarify that I actually don’t think of this as a head-canon: I solidly consider it a theory that might account for what is happening to Will, and what also is happening to other characters based on specific evidence within the series so far.

I won’t get into all of the evidence and layers in this post (because there is a lot), but I strongly suspect that Will Byers is being written as a character with dissociative identity disorder and that much of Stranger Things is about alters learning to work together as a System while confronting and resolving trauma that is manifesting itself in internal worlds and dreams various symbolic and fantastical ways (as well as in some very humanly monstrous ways too, unfortunately.) Whether the entire story is taking place within an internal world or whether everything has sprung out of the mind and into the external world is definitely a question I think about a lot, but my current interpretation is that a good amount of the story takes place in a liminal space between our external world / reality and a mental space that the characters are sometimes exploring.

Stranger Things follows characters that are canonically dealing with PTSD, significant levels of memory loss (Will couldn’t remember who Hopper was in season 2 while at the Lab), suddenly shifting from being mentally present in the world to being in a different perceived place (is the Upside Down an internal world?), perceived changes in personality and identity, traumatic visions and experiences (flashbacks? memories?) that often parallel one another in an eerie way, and many other specific details. Add to that Doctor Owens’ preoccupation with Will’s brain scans and Mr. Clarke’s lesson in season 2 in which he discusses Phineas Gage’s changed personality following Gage’s brain injury (which is not an example of DID but is still thematically relevant, and an oddly specific topic to feature in the series) and the clues just continue to add up. Even if this theory isn’t correct I look forward to continuing to discover more about the established rules of the Stranger Things universe and what is going on with Will, El, Hopper, the Numbers, all of these horrible father-figures (notably Dr. Brenner, Lonnie, and Neil) and the mysterious Lab.

(One last important note regarding this theory: please do not base your knowledge of DID on any fictional representation of it in popular media. A lot of misrepresentations of DID exist in Hollywood and pop culture. If you'd like to learn more on this topic, please read about it in medical publications and resources with verifiable authority on the topic.)

unpopular opinion:

I think that the theory I mentioned above is probably my most unpopular opinion/thought regarding what I think Will is dealing with.

songs I associate with them:

The songs that they chose to feature on Will’s official Spotify Playlist are all songs that I associate with Will at this point. I’m so impressed by the attention the creators of Stranger Things devote to the music not only in the show but to the characters’ official playlists. One track that definitely jumps out at me from Will’s official playlist is Afraid by The Neighborhood. The lyrics of the chorus are eerily specific: “When I wake up / I’m afraid / somebody else will take my place / when I wake up / I’m afraid / somebody else will end up being me.”

favorite picture(s) of them:

#will byers #stranger things #stranger things theory

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

Text

Devoted: Stream (Katlaska) - Kamylove

Sixth in my collection of unrelated one-shot ficlets. This time with Covid!

Young, untreated, self-medicating Katya was an introvert whose greatest fear was embarrassing herself.

Sober, almost-38-year-old Katya is an extroverted introvert who embarrasses herself daily and whose love language (and she only knows this thanks to Trixie the romantic, honest) is touch, and whose attention span is shorter than a ferret's.

Self-quarantine is killing her.

She was in Europe when shit started going to hell. She got out just in time, flew home to have her temperature taken at LAX, and was told to lock herself up for two weeks before she could see another human being.

It sucks.

Other queens (including Alaska, damn her) are doing Instagram lives, dragging up for shows on Twitch, collecting tips on Venmo and Paypal. Katya's ADD ass can't get herself together to unpack, let alone do her job virtually, but she still craves the attention.

Worst of all, Alaska is quarantining somewhere else. Somewhere Katya can't go. Somewhere that is not their house.

Alaska was home in LA when it happened, the lucky bitch. Alaska is a hypochondriac who would lose her mind if she had to shelter in place all alone, and Katya didn’t want to risk infecting her or the staff of a hotel. So Alaska, after much convincing, had decamped to the house she used to share with her best friend.

She's facetiming Katya every day, several many times a day, and dropping off care packages on the front steps. But Alaska needs drag to stay sane, so she's up in everyone's Insta, writing new damn songs for digital drag shows, agreeing to another and another and another show every hour. Or that's what it feels like to Katya.

Trixie's up on Insta, too, and Twitch. Trixie's doing live performances from her condo. PEG was even smart enough to invite Fena to do a digital show, which is fierce and fabulous because Fena is fierce and fabulous and Katya loves her like a brother.

But Katya's still got all those emails and voicemails sitting untouched on her phone. You'd think she'd be dying for any variety of human contact, and she is, but the thought of being productive right now is just too much.

Oh, look, there's Alaska on her friend's live again. There's Alaska laughing and being adorable and sharing space with--actually sitting next to--a human.

Katya loses all self-control and comments, "Bitch I am losing my self-quarantined mind STFU and call me."

And she does it from her public account, like an idiot.

The host of the live squints at the screen. "Oh, honey, your favorite Russian spy is stir crazy. We love you, Katya."

"Aww, Katya," Alaska's former-slash-temporary housemate says. "We miss you, gurl."

"Katya's here?" Alaska says. Katya can see her scrolling up on her iPad screen, because she'd obviously missed Katya's comment. And it should not bother Katya that Alaska missed her comment, because she knows what comments on lives are like. She used to livestream her entire damn life.

"Oh, no," Alaska says, looking straight at the camera. “Poor Russian spy. I'll call you in a bit, okay?"

Other commenters have now caught on, unfortunately, because Katya is an idiot, and there's a swarm of comments about her. I love you Katya, hearts to Katya, and suddenly she's taken over the live and she feels awful about it. Like she needs to feel more awful.

She exits and texts Alaska, "I hate you all and please apologize for me for barging in. CALL ME."

She doesn't know what happens in the live after that, because she leaves her phone in the bedroom and goes to the kitchen to cheer up with some Skittles. Skittles make everything better, and she's almost out of them. Thank God for Postmates. And Alaska's care packages.

Alaska facetimes her just a couple minutes later. Katya rushes back to her phone.

"Don't fucking apologize," is the first thing Alaska says. She's retreated to her old bedroom, a space Katya is very familiar with, and is sitting under a window Katya recognizes. It's unreasonably annoying.

"I didn't want to make myself the center of attention," Katya says through a big mouthful of candy. “Sorry."

"You always want to be the center of attention," Alaska teases lightly.

"A drag queen with a pathological need to be on stage," Katya says. "Shocking."

"They all worried about you after you left. They miss you."

"Now I feel worse, so thanks for that."

"They love you. They love you even when they can't see you. Even my fans love you."

"Hahaha aren't you funny."

"But none of them love you as much as I love you."

Katya scowled. "Fuck off, making me feel better. I'm enjoying my miserly misery."

"I would like to remind you that I wanted to risk my life and stay home and bring you breakfast in bed every day, and you said no."

"Why the hell did you listen to me?"

"Hey," Alaska says with a gentler smile. "It's only six days before we can social distance together."

"Six days is forever."

"I've got to warn you, though, that when I get home, you are getting your wig on and getting on camera. I’ll paint you myself if I have to."

Katya doesn't have a rude answer to that, and she doesn't want to give a polite one. She pouts instead.

Alaska can read her pouts, though. This one doesn't mean, That's an awful idea, don't make me do it. It means,

Alaska laughs at the pout and says, "Let me set up something digital for you? I'll do all the legwork and you'll just have to show up. I know you miss the fans as much as they miss you."

"Point one," Katya says. "I, unlike you, do not enjoy getting all dragged up with no place to go."

"Point one,” Alaska counters. “Yes, you do. Point two, you would have a place to go!"

"Sitting on the couch with an iPhone camera does not count as a place to go. But point two, if I start Instagramming live I'll never stop, and we both know where that would lead."

"Embarrassing personal revelations and masturbating on camera?"

"Precisely."

"Oh!" Alaska brightens with an idea. “You know what the world really needs?"

"A vaccine and a new president?"

"An episode of UNHhhh with the two of you in your pajamas and full face! And I'm going to make it happen!”

It's another good idea Katya doesn't want to admit is good. "Don't make promises you can't keep, bitch," she says.

"I'll keep it. I'm drafting an email to World of Wonder right this second."

"You're not. I can see you."

"In my head. I'm drafting it in my head." Alaska produces a pen from somewhere and writes in the air. "Dear WOW, Katya's lost her mind and I know this is hard to believe, considering, but I think more UNHhhh will help her find it. Also, if you don't make her do something," which she underlines in the air with a flourish, "with all that talent, I'm never doing Bro'laska again. So there."

"Please. You’re never doing Bro'laska again anyway."

"I’ll never sign on to Werq the World?"

"As if a major recording star like yourself would sink that low in the year of our lord 2020. Face it, you have no leverage here. Maybe if you said you’d never make another appearance on Drag Race...”

"Oooh," Alaska says. "Buuuuurn."

Katya tells her to fuck off.

After she stops laughing, Alaska says, "Let's have dinner tonight."

“On Facetime? Like always?” It's something they often do when their schedules put them in different time zones.

"No, for real.”

“Still not looking to pass on my potential plague,” Katya says.

“I’m sure you’re not sick," which is what Alaska says every time the topic comes up. "But no, listen. I’ll bring takeout. Whatever you want. You sit inside the back door, and I'll sit out on the patio."

"Hmm," Katya says.

"At least I could see your gorgeous face without a camera or a window."

"At a socially safe distance of at least 10 feet. In case I drool. Which I might."

"Are we on, then?" Alaska asks.

"Anything I want? Would that include watching me jerk off?"

"I would absolutely love to watch you jerk off."

"Then it’s a date," Katya says. "As long as I still have enough Lysol to coat the entire patio."

#rpdr fanfiction #alaska thunderfuck #katya zamolodchikova #katlaska #fluff #canon compliant #ficlet #devoted #kamylove #tw covid

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buckybarnesbingo · 4 years ago

Photo

BBB Round Three Week 3 Roundup!

Only 5 more days to request changes to your card!

Title: Obliged Collaborator: snowstark Card Number: B037 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B3 - Sharing Body Heat Ship: Stuckony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Fluff, Cuddling Summary: Tony works in the lab for too long without taking care of himself. That’s why Steve and Bucky have to do it for him. Word Count: 388

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Title: A Place Where It's Always Safe And Warm Collaborator: IndigoNight (Ao3), jeminamoonnight (tumblr) Card Number: B011 Link: AO3 Square Filled: U1 - Kink "So Glad You're Alive" Sex Ship: Bucky/Clint/Steve Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Prostate Milking, Oral Sex, Cock Rings, Body Worship, Sleepy Cuddles, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Shower Sex, Deaf Clint Barton, Hand Feeding, Established Relationship Summary: Bucky’s grin widened. He leaned down, lips hovering barely centimeters above Steve’s, close but not close enough. “Take your clothes off,” he whispered, intentionally making his voice lower and husky in the way that he knew drove Steve wild. It had exactly the effect Bucky intended, but a part of Steve still resisted, “this isn’t exactly a good time-” Bucky gripped Steve’s chin, metal fingers cool and solid as they dug into his skin a little. “Steve,” he said seriously, forcing Steve to meet his eyes, “stop trying to cockblock yourself. Clint is fine. I promised him that I would make sure you’re in the right mood to greet him when he gets home, and that is exactly what I intend to do.” Word Count: 17,645

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Title: Prosthetic Arms and Impossible Things Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: B007 Link: AO3 Squares Filled: Chapter 1, C4 - Tony Stark/Iron Man Chapter 2, Y3 - shared trauma Chapter 3, U4 - disability fic Chapter 4, U5 - Sam Wilson/Falcon Ship: Bucky & Tony & Sam Rating: Gen Major Tags: disability, recovery, friendship, supportive friends Summary: Over the course of a year, Tony builds and gets used to wearing a prosthetic arm with the help of Sam and Bucky. Word Count: 3000

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Title: Angel Baby Bucky Collaborator: Kay/abitnotgoodiebag Card Number: B0002 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B3 - Kink: lingerie Ship: SamBucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: Crossdressing, nudity-ish, art Summary: Bucky had a new set of undies to model for Sam

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Title: The Virgin Sacrifice (Virginity Not Included) Collaborator: newtypeshadow Card Number: B038 Link: AO3 Square Filled: B2 - AU: Wings Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Magic, Established Relationship, Rescue Missions, Protective Bucky Barnes, Magic Tony Stark, Wings, Monster Hunters, Fluff, Banter, Snakes, Virgin Sacrifice Summary: Tony volunteers to be the virgin sacrifice for a giant snake. Bucky, his betrothed, is not amused. Word Count: 710

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Title: Moon Stuff Collaborator: Vaysh Card Number: B044 Link: AO3 Square Filled: B1 - Missing You Ship: Stucky Rating: Teen Major Tags: Not Avengers: Endgame Compatible, Amnesia, Blackouts, Gaslighting, Steve Rogers on the Moon, Alternative Universe: Canon Diversion, Background Peggy Carter/Gabe Jones Summary: Marvel S.W.O.R.D doesn't want Steve Rogers on Earth. So when Steve goes into the time machine to return the Stones, he ends up on the Moon instead. Word Count: 3050

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Title: Searching Collaborator: Raz Card Number: B076 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: C3 - free space Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: Bucky, The Mandalorian, Din Djarin, Desert, Canyon, Guns, Crossover Summary: A Mandalorian Crossover. Or local ex hydra assassin takes up residence on Tatooine to get away from Earthly headaches and becomes a mercenary to help pay the bills. A certain shiny space dad requests his help to go flush out some Imperials. (Bucky insists on keeping his trademark rifle because it’s like an ol faithful even if he loves the space tech.)

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Title: Tentacles? Nope! Collaborator: Rufferto9 / Rufferto Card Number: B096 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B4 - there's nothing but a picture I interpreted. :) Ship: Bucky/Tentacles ? Rating: Teen Major Tags: Tentacles, NoTentacleSex, maybe, YoungWinterSoldier, buckybarnes Summary: Bucky is in training as the winter soldier and tentacle monsters was not on the list but he won't let get in his way.

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Title: i don't need serotonin if i can just have your hand Collaborator: cyanica Card Number: B032 Link: AO3 Square Filled: B1 - nightmares Ship: BuckySam Rating: Teen Major Tags: panic attacks, insomnia, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst Summary: "Can I… Can I hold your hand?” He reached out, human and warm in the sunlight that shone upon Sam in a kind of iridescence that was all-consuming. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy, the twilight dawn breaking all over the atmosphere as he watched it devote itself to Sam’s presence like each spec of dust caught within the sunshine were fireflies addicted to his glow. “Something – something else to know what's real if I wake up and can't remember.” Or making amends doesn’t lie within old evils, but rather new loves. Word Count: 3042

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Title: Taxes, Death & Trouble Collaborator: Kay/abitnotgoodiebag Card Number: B002 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: C1 - Au: cop/detective/fbi Ship: BuckySam Rating: Gen Major Tags: Two dudes looking better than they have any right to Summary: What happens when a by-the-book forensic accountant for the FBI is assigned the file of one of the most notoriously slippery con-men in the country? Especially after Sammy has driven the last four agents to quit the bureau (and accounting) with his completely foolproof bookkeeping skills. Will Agent Barnes be just the latest in a string of failures, or does he have what it takes to finally find a flaw in Sammy’s finances? When they both get stranded in the Florida Keys during a category 5 hurricane, can the oh-so-charming hustler cooperate with the no nonsense, company man enough to weather the superstorm? Or will their differences cost them everything?

#buckybarnesbingo2021 #bbb2021 #bingo fill #bbb weekly roundup #bbb week 3 #bbb round three

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miracul0us-multishipper · 5 years ago

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Nullification

Or: Now that I know how to write angst it’s over for you bitches!

Chat Blanc except darker, because I’m full of malice and have no fear of god.

Warning: While I’m not one to write a lot of gore for shocker value, it gets, uh, bloody in this one. Not overly detailed, but still.

Also, there’s a major and a minor character death in this one. Have fun!

- - -

There was light.

Harsh, cold light so bright it left dark splotches in her vision when it faded.

No.

She stumbled forward and fell to the floor. Her red suit was intact, her skin unblemished.

Ladybug had survived.

The realization filled her with dread.

Please, no.

“C-chat...”, she breathed, her voice barely audible. She had forgotten to breath, and she didn’t feel like she was able to start again. The white cataclysm might have as well hit her, she felt like it had punched a hole into her chest.

She looked up.

Not because she wanted to – no, no, no! – but because just couldn’t stop herself.

The space in front of her was empty. There were black stains on the ground, and a small crater. No body. No blood.

Ironically, that made it worse.

Blood meant life, blood meant she could do something. Anything.

Instead, there was nothing indicating Chat Noir - Chat Blanc, Chat! - had ever been there.

Suddenly her body remembered how to breath and seemed intent on making up for the seconds - minutes? - she had lost. The world begann to spin around her as she hyperventilated, small, helpless sounds escaping her constricting throat.

A sob rose up in her chest and turned into a retch halfway through, before coming out as a dry, frantic cough.

She doubled over, her hand hitting something hot and metallic. A ring.

NO!

No, no she couldn’t- this couldn’t- why had he-

A guttural scream tore trough her, twisting her insides by the sheer force of it. Once she had started, she couldn’t stop anymore; every new breath only served to make more room for screaming.

He hadn’t killed her - why hadn’t he killed her?! - and now she was the one left behind again, but there was no Akuma to purify and no evil for Miraculous Ladybug to cleanse. And the look in his eyes had told her that he knew, he knew and did it anyway, why did he do it why did you do it why did you-

Through the tears in her eyes, she saw a shadow and recognized it instantly. She couldn’t make out his form, but the pain in her core was mirrored in his and she knew he was still trying to process what had happened.

Plagg was quiet in his anguish.

He wasn’t weeping like her, wasn’t shaking and screaming like her. His was a wordless grief, too great for such a small body. Motionless, frozen he floated on the spot, green eyes wide with fear and knowledge and pain pain pain.

His head turned, slowly, towards her until they were locking eyes. And for a moment they were one, one gaping wound left by a claw that had never touched them. Not them, never them. Only himself.

“I can bring him back.”, said a voice behind them. He was stepping into her view, warily, circling her at a safe distance. (There is no safe anymore.)

“It doesn’t matter. I can bring him back.”

Hawkmoth’s breathing was a little faster, she noticed. His pupils were blown wide, she noticed. He’d been surprised, startled even. But not shocked. No, nothing affected him enough to shock him. (Yet.) His voice was as even as always. (I’ll make it scream.)

“I just need your earrings, and his ring. And then he’ll live.”

She wondered if he had considered this beforehand. He had known Adrien so long, had groomed and molded him to his every whim. He must have taken this into account.

Yet he had akumatized him regardless. He knew his sons life - death, death, Adrien’s death - could be used to force her into compliance.

Her fingers tightened around the ring, her thumb brushing over it. There was a slight crack in its surface, and its black color seemed to fizzle and glitch beneath her touch. It was hot in her palm, burning.

Hawkmoth’s eyes were fixed on it as well, but he didn’t dare to come closer.

Clever man, she thought.

Cautious.

Self-preservation had always been his forte. Not so much his sons.

Another sob shook her and she choked, heaving and coughing as if she could vomit the pain out of her. The endeavor remained fruitless.

Plagg’s eyes didn’t narrow when he looked at his chosens father murderer. His face was made of stone, but when he looked back to her, his eyes were full of emotion. And... acceptance.

And she knew what she had to do.

“T-Tikki...”, she sobbed. She doubted her friend could hear her, but there was an awareness between them when they were transformed. As if in response to her thoughts, a feeling of dread and pleading rose from the other side of their bond. She knew Tikki would never approve. So she looked to her other half.

“Plagg.”, she whispered. The Kwami closed his eyes, his fangs visible in something between a smile and a snarl.

She looked up at Hawkmoth.

Suddenly the last word was very, very easy.

“Unify.”, she said. Softly. Almost peacefully.

She rose to her feet as Plagg blurred and fused with his Miraculous, a static crackle marking the start of their transformation. Electrical currents shot through her veins and her muscles seized and trembled under their force. She kept going anyway, biting her teeth together and walking on. Step after step.

Warmth filled her and turned into seething heat as her costume changed, Black spreading, red receding, inky hair framing her face freely. White filled her vision and painted her costume, but her focus was unwavering and she kept on walking. Her muscles burned and every breath seemed to rasp her throat bloody, but his pain had been greater, greater, he had screamed so loud and she could do this do this for him-

Then the anger hit her, and oh, wasn’t anger just so much better than grief. Yes, after this horrible loss and sorrow, Plagg’s fury uniting with her own was ecstatic, exuberant. It hit her almost as hard as the rush of power did when the transformation completed, leaving her a mess of black and white, green and green, hot and cold. Red-tipped claws - how poetic - extended from her black gloves, sharp and desperate to dig into skin, stone, reality itself.

Plagg’s ring was of an unblemished, flawless white; like a fresh page of an unused book. Her earrings were pitch black, so dark they seemed to devour the light around them.

She sighed, closing her eyes.

Oh yes, this was so much better.

Where fusing with any other Miraculous had felt draining, this absolute union felt potent, and almighty, and right.

This wasn’t Ladybug, or Lady Noir, or all her Multimouse Fusions. This was regnant, and absolute, and final. This was the darkest chasm and the brightest sun and the entire empty void in between.

She stopped her advance. Right in front of Hawkmoth.

Deeply, she sighed and opened her eyes - three of them, now. Purple and pulsing in an otherworldly light as they regarded the man in front of her. He seemed so small now. So frail. Had it truly been him that had caused her all this anguish? This little amount of pitiful atoms, unfortunate enough to come together in this constellation?

“You are alive.”, Hawkmoth remarked. He sounded surprised. Impressed even. She wondered if he’d ever granted these emotions to Adrien.

“I am.”, she replied. Her body was screaming as every force of nature wanted to tear her apart at once, but she felt more alive than ever. Full of potential, she was the page waiting to be filled and the pen ready to comply.

“How?”

She smiled, genuinely. His honest disbelief and awe amused her. If Adrien were here, he might have made a little joke. She loved his jokes.

“I am very motivated.”

Hawkmoth hums. His curiosity and envy could not mask the fear he hid behind his questions. Her smile widened.

“You are scared.”

“I have no reason to be.”, he was quick to deny. He laughed, looking up to her in false confidence. “No, I have you all figured out. All of you. You are of remarkable intelligence, but your devotion to my son is greater. I have seen how you reject personal gain in favor of his delusions, time after time.”

He leaned closer to her, eyes firm as he felt more and more in control again.

“You want him to be happy, don’t you?”, he implored her. “Think. What does he want? You know it. He wants his family, whole and happy again. Me, his mother and him, happily ever after.”

His face grew softer, as did his voice. He was so sure he could mold her into the role he had planned for her.

“He deserves it, don’t you think so?”, he hummed full of nostalgia. “He sacrificed so much for you already. Surely, his love would sacrifice her selfish want for revenge for him?”

He smiled.

“Make the wish.”, he whispered almost conspiratorially. As if he were telling her an funny story only the two of them were allowed to know. It was so heartwarmingly ignorant. “Make the wish, and make him happy.”

“Happy”, she repeated, her smile widening once again. She sighed pensively, then she looked back at him.

“His name.”

Hawkmoth blinked, his smile frozen on his face.

“...what?”

“You’re not saying his name.”, she explained patiently, nodding encouragingly. “Say it.”

He stayed quiet, confusion growing in his eyes. With it came insecurity. With it came fear.

“Say”, she demanded, “his name.”

Her voice sounded the same to his ears, just the slightest bit off to emphasize her point. The glow in her eyes brightened just a tad and only the slightest whisper of a breeze tugged at their clothes. He gulped and she knew he had gotten the message.

“Adrien”, he said. “Adrien Agreste.”

He didn’t stammer. It rolled over his tongue easily. There was no guilt in his voice, no tears in his eyes. Not even a hitch.

And suddenly she was full of hate and wrath and vengeance and she wanted his blood staining the concrete. She raised a clawed hand and tore it downwards without feeling any resistance.

There was a scream; a sweet, panicked scream and Hawkmoth tumbled backwards, holding his face, covering his bloody eye socket. His intact eye stared at the redness pooling in his palm, staining his suit, dripping onto the ground. His breathing grew ragged as he looked up at her, trembling in pain.

Ah. So this was what shock looked like on him.

“What are you doing?!”, he spat at her. “He’ll never forgive you if you hurt me! He’ll... he’ll hate you! Loathe you!”

She had to suppress a disgusted shiver as she flicked off the eye that was stuck on her index claw. It hit the ground with a squelching sound that made her feel sick, followed by the scraps of his mask she had torn off. The magical fabric may be indestructible to most forces - but she was no longer one of them.

“You’re probably right.”, she admitted and remembered Adrien’s fierce devotion to those he loved. Even if they didn’t deserve it. “He’d rather kill himself than hurt anybody.”

And he had.

“But I guess we won’t out.”

Now Gabriel froze. He swallowed, shaking his head as he tried to comprehend her words.

“...what... what do you mean?”

She raised her hand and observed how the sunlight played on the rings surface. It’s a sunny day, she realized belatedly. How odd.

“Adrien is so full of love.”, she smiled softly, before repeating: “He’d rather kill himself than hurt anybody.”

She lowered the hand and stretched her claws.

“I can feel... so much.”, she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Even if the ring wasn’t cracked, this... balance is delicate. I can’t risk to tip it too far, or everything will come crashing down.”

Adrien didn’t want that, she knew it. And she’d honor it.

“I won’t make the wish.”, she informed Hawkmoth matter-of-fact. He gasped as if she had punched him in the chest. She found it to be quite satisfying.

“B-But you have to! You... You must!”

He jumped up, grabbing her collar and shaking her.

“He’ll be dead otherwise!”, he yelled at her, his blood flying everywhere because of his frantic orders. “Don’t you get it?! You’ll never see him again, you hear me? There’s not even a body you could bury, there’s no goddamn cure!”

He was seething and terrified and she could feel Plagg begging to claw his other eye out. She decided to save it for later. Now, she had to savor this.

“Is that what you want, you sick little psychopath?”, the old man hissed at her. “You want him to have died for nothing? No, for you?! Because that’s what he did!”

He laughed, his single eye racing around erratically.

“He died because of you, Ladybug!”, he shouted gleefully. “Because this poor little son of mine was so convinced you were perfect! How do you think would that stupid boy feel if he knew you just let him perish? His entire useless life wasted for-“

He didn’t get to finish. Her fist collided with his jaw before he could, hurling him through the air and slamming him against a wall. He bounced a little when he fell onto the ground.

She straightened herself and went to walk up to him. He was disoriented, trying to pull himself up the wall, but the hit had been hard.

He fell back on the ground.

“What... What are you?”, the broken, beaten husk of her nemesis whispered. She kneeled down next to him and pulled him into a sitting position by the throat.

“A valid question.”

The darkest chasm and the brightest sun and the entire empty void in between, she had thought earlier. But Adrien had been her light, and Chat Noir her dark knight, so now there was only emptiness. A void.

“Call me Null.”, she answered and her hand around his throat raised him into the air. Her grip tightened, claws digging into the skin above his jugular. She smiled and raised a talon. Plagg purred.

“Now, let me see that other eye of yours.”

- - -

This was loosely inspired by @familyagrestefanblog ‘s post on pv lore

Might do another part of this, but if you want to, feel free to continue this yourselves

#miramu writes #nullification au #miraculous ladybug #mlb #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #ladybug #chat noir #chat blanc #tw gore #tw violence #tw character death

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cosmichoneyedblossoms · 4 years ago

Text

Borderline

— Lose You Too —

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader x Sehun

Genre: Syndicate!au | Angst | Smut

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: Smut, mentions of murder

A/N: finally getting to post this after this long hiatus

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

The weeks you spent away from Chanyeol only fueled him, adding gasoline to the flames that were already blistering. He knew there was a limit that you and Sehun could take around each other before things flourished into what he wanted with you, but he knew that he would never be as good as Sehun when it came to taking care of you—emotionally. Out of the two of them, Chanyeol was the one who had edges that were too sharp, ones that could easily rip you to shreds if you got too close; he remembered a time when it was never like that. When it was just the two of them, the best of friends that seemed like nothing could ever break them apart—that is until you showed up, and then it was Sehun to sharpen his edges. Chanyeol saw it with every smile you and Sehun shared; he was going to be a bother in your growing relationship…

“Where’s Baekhyun and Kyungsoo? They already finished their jobs?” Chanyeol asked, but your father didn’t seem too keen on discussing where the other members were.

“They’re conducting some business in Granada with the company party.”

“Does that mean I can go join them since I’ve finished my jobs?” The thought of being able to see you again had his heart pounding in his ears, and it was time that he made up with you and now that he was finished with everything in Shanghai, he could—

“You’re not done here.”

“What do you mean I’m not done?” Chanyeol hissed, the blood coursing through his veins began to boil as your father told him that his jobs in Shanghai weren’t done with, “I’ve completed all the missions you gave to me, why can I not join Sehun and Y/N in Granada?”

“Because you are to stay away from them—”

“You mean you don’t want me to interfere with your shitty version of matchmaking and make Y/N second guess herself…” You were his and no one else’s, Chanyeol wasn’t going to let your father keep him from you, “If you think that she is going to stay with Sehun, you’re just kidding yourself.” He scoffed, slamming his hands down onto the desk, “She is devoted to me and only me, Y/N is mine, and I’m not going to let you take her away from me!”

“Chanyeol!” Your father stood up to face him, trying to back him down to size, “You need to get your head in straight before I send you on your next mission. Go home and clear your head and be here on time tomorrow.” He could see the dark energy filling Chanyeol’s eyes, he knew that he wasn’t going back down from his spot, but his daughter deserved better than Chanyeol, “Go. Now.”

“Fuck you.” Chanyeol bellowed, “At the end of the day, Y/N is mine and will always be mine...” Pushing off the desk, he turned on his heels and made his way to the door.

“Be here tomorrow at seven.”

“Go fuck yourself.” This was going to be the last time that he listened to your father, the man who is so disapproving of him, that he sent his girlfriend and his best friend to another country just to get them together. For years you’ve always been so devoted to Chanyeol, so why now are you putting up a fight? He had cheated on you multiple times before, and you knew about it, but you continued to stay next to him—did your father and Sehun finally get into your head? He needed to get to you before anything happened that couldn’t be changed, needed to make it up to you before you changed your mind and decided to leave him for good.

The 19-hour flight was long enough for him to hack into your father’s personal accounts and find the hotel you and Sehun were staying at as well as push past the hotel’s firewall and add his name to the room reservation so he wouldn’t have to interrogate the front desk when he arrived. Getting to the room was the easiest part of the whole trip, but now that he was standing in front of the door, his skin prickled with goosebumps as he slid the room key into the lock. Upon walking into the suite, the main living area was empty, but the lights were on; he was suspicious as he walked to the stairs and snuck up them, making sure not to make any noise as he ascended them. The hall to the bedroom was dark, except a little sliver of light escaping an ajar door, the door that led to the bedroom; he approached the crack and peered inside it, his heart immediately dropped into the pit of his stomach. Sehun’s hips we’re flush with your thighs while his body was on top of yours, he didn’t have to watch long to know what was going on—Sehun had finally taken you away from him. The pang in his chest went from painful to numb; anger took over his emotions; Chanyeol balled his fists as he watched Sehun take you in front of his very eyes.

“Sehun...” You whispered between your breathless moans, Sehun pushed up from your body, revealing your face to Chanyeol. He could see the faint red glow in your eyes from where he stood, but he had no idea what was happening, “Someone—” Sehun’s hands caressed your cheeks, and he spoke softly as if he knew Chanyeol was there and he was trying to keep anything he was saying a secret to him, but he heard him.

“You’re safe. It’s just us here. I’ll always keep you safe.” Sehun pressed his lips to yours, silencing any words to escape you.

You’ve got to be kidding me…

He watched as you flipped places, Sehun was under you, and you were taking control of the situation. His eyes followed you as Sehun’s cock disappeared into you and your body bounced on top of him, the moans that fell from your lips were nothing like the ones he was used to hearing—were you just playing with Sehun or were you toying with his feelings?

The hiss of the shower pulled Sehun from his slumber; the space you filled in the bed was empty. Rolling over, he began to get up when his eyes caught the time; it had only been a few hours since you fell asleep. He stumbled into the bathroom, the bright light stinging his eyes as he made his way to the shower; stepping into the steam-filled space, your back was facing him, water beaded over your skin as you stood there. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you like this, distant, and feeling small. He didn’t have to see your face. He knew you well enough to tell by the way your body held itself together. Fingers gripping your shoulders, arms tight over your chest, face buried in the crossing of your arms—something was on your mind.

“Y/N…” He whispered while wrapping his arms around your waist, “You okay?” He asked, pulling you into him, his lips pressing gentle kisses over your fingers. You were quiet, but you let your arms fall to your side, and you leaned into him, “Did something—”

“Everyone that comes in contact with me… ends up dying…” You breathed, your voice barely making it over the rush of the shower.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, tightening his grip around you. The subtle shaking that took over your body told him that you were scared, the thoughts in your head had dug their claws in so deeply that you could feel them in the real.

“The blood that runs in my veins is of the Lee Clan… That’s why they’re after me…” Sehun felt like his heart had stopped in his chest upon hearing the words that escaped you.

“That can’t be why they’re attacking you. There’s got to be another reason besides that you’re a child of their clan.” People leave their families all the time, and you were adopted, so there just had to be another reason they were after you, Sehun knew that.

“Remember the second man? He said that killing was in my blood. The three boys I murdered, they came to inject a revealer to clear the mind block, and that’s when my memories came flooding back to me… Like a dam had burst open and now I’m drowning in the water…”

“What memories…?”

“Before I was adopted… When Chen and I were kids… We were in a cell together… and I turned him into what he is…” Everything that was leaving your lips wasn’t making sense to him. Turning you around to face him, your dark eyes held a red glow, just flickering like a flame.

“Y/N—”

“They turned me into this monster, and I turned Chen into one, too— I— I’ve killed hundreds before I could even speak—” Sehun cradled your face in his hands, watching as the glow turned brighter the more you panicked, “The man Chen killed said that… he told me that I was an outdated mutation…”

Mutation?

He couldn’t stop watching the flame grow inside your eyes, he always knew there was something different about you the past few weeks, but he never thought that your head would be filled with so much fear, “Y/N, no matter what these people say, you are you and you are the only one in control of what happens to you now… No matter what happens, I’ll be standing right next to you, willing to fight for you, and ready to protect you.” The glow faded with every word of reassurance he was offering you; in all the years that he had known you, he was always there for you, and now that he had you to himself, there was no way he was letting you burst into flames.

“I don’t want to end up losing you, Sehun…” The shaky whisper that you breathed sounded like a goodbye like you were scared to hurt him, so you were going to leave him before he could get tangled up in a mess you didn’t even know you made.

“The only way that you could lose me is if I die, and I don’t plan on doing that, ever, not while you’re still alive…” Pressing his lips to your forehead, he was attempting to melt the agony in your mind, “I love you, and nothing is going to happen while I’m here.” His gentle kiss appeared against your cheek as you closed your eyes, “We’ll end this, and we’ll change our identities…” Warmth brushed over your other cheek, making your heart flutter, “Live in a little cottage in Paris and fill its rooms with children, our children…”

“Promise…?”

“I promise.” Looking up at him, you pushed up onto your toes, raising yourself until your lips crashed into his.

“Staying with me is only going to get you killed, Sehun.” You growled, throwing your phone through the stillness of the alleyway leading to your hotel.

“What are you going on about?” He whispered, trying to calm you down, but you were past the point of calming—you were gone. The girl that stood in front of him no longer looked like you; deep crimson filled the eyes he fell for, the last shred of happiness he used to see was gone. Blood splattered over your skin as your face became a blur as his body fell to the ground.

“What did she tell you, Sehun?” Chen’s voice filled his ears as he looked up to see blood dripping from his fingers, “It was only a matter of time before she murdered you—”

“No!” Sehun shot up from his pillow; his heart thrashed inside his chest as he looked around the bedroom, finally coming to the realization it was a dream, “Fuck…” He sighed, running his hands over his face. The expression that was burned into his eyes was one that he hoped he would never see on you; he didn’t want to see the demon that laid behind those eyes. Coming back to reality, he noticed the mid-morning sun dancing over the foot of the bed, but then he noticed that your side of the bed was empty—were you really saying goodbye to him last night? Sehun had never imagined that you would leave him, especially since he made a promise to you, and he was the one not to break his promises.

“Y/N…” He heard your name from outside of the bedroom, then your voice responding. Quickly getting up, he made his way out to the top of the stairs to see you standing in front of Suho, Lay, Kai, and Chen that were seated around the table.

“Y/N.” Sehun husked as he walked down the stairs to join the group. You turned to see him, a slight smile coming to your lips, “Why didn’t you wake me?” His lips pressed against your forehead while he wrapped an arm around you.

“You needed sleep.” You hummed, leaning into his touch, “They just got here, so you didn’t miss anything.”

“What’s this?” Lay’s voice interrupted the tender moment, “You’re with Sehun now? When did this happen?”

“None of your business.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes in annoyance like he was your brother who was pestering you about having a boyfriend, “Not to mention, that’s not the reason why we’re all here today.”

“That’s right.” Sehun added, “With the rescue mission of Chen being a success, we need more detail about the Lee Clan from someone who has been under their lock and key.” Chen’s eyes jumped from the floor to you then to Sehun and then back to you as if asking permission to speak on the subject.

“Go ahead, Chen. You won’t be scrutinized for what comes out in this room.” Chen let out a relieved sigh as he leaned back into his chair.

“The Lee Clan has been experimenting on humans since day one of the gathering of the clan. They were looking for a way to make them the most superior in the country, and heaven forbid they ever die out because of trivial things like dying in combat.” Sehun furrowed his brows, listening to Chen when his last statement clicked.

“You’re telling me that—”

“Yuta, Jaemin, Jeno, Jisung, and Taeyong are still alive. The only way to kill them is to mix the blood of an X strain with their own. Ingesting, injecting, anyway that it can get into their body, the X strain mutation will mutilate the Y strain, which is what those boys are.” Sehun glanced your way to see your face drained of any color, but your expression told him that this news didn’t shock you.

“The only way they can make the Y strain is with my blood, right?” You asked, and Chen’s eyes dropped from your gaze.

“Wait…” Suho interjected, “How are they using your blood if you’re an X, and they’re trying to make a Y?”

“I’m no scientist… all I know is that the last time I heard them talk was about needing the main source of the X strain, which would be the first successful turned, which is—”

“Y/N?” Kai cut off Chen, but there was confusion in his voice, “How is that even possible? We’ve known each other since we were young, and you were never held in a lab or even remotely around other people.”

“That’s because I’m of the Lee Clan bloodline. I was put up for adoption when I was a child, way before I met you or either of the boys.” Silence fell around the room; sure it was a shock to the three boys you’ve bonded with since a young age, but Sehun and Chen already knew this, “I guess they’ve had a supply of my blood until now since they’re trying to mass-produce the Y strain.” Sehun stared off into space, lost in the information that was being dumped into his lap. They wanted you for your blood to make more of a genetic mutation to force into people’s bodies? Not only did that news not settle well with him, it included taking you away from him.

“Well, that just means we’re going to have to get you out of town.” Sehun blurted out, causing the room to fall silent once more.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him with a confused expression gracing your face.

“I’m not going to let them get their hands on you.”

“Who said that was your decision to make? To be frank, they're after me. Not you, me. So, why do you think that you get to tell me where I’m to go?” Your harsh tone had Sehun furrowing his brow in anger, he was trying to protect you, so why were you putting up a fight?

“Because I’m to protect you, job or not.”

“I don’t care—as far as I’m concerned, I’m no longer part of your job description! I have put so many lives in danger, and I could end this all if I could just—”

“No, Y/N! If I remember correctly, that man they call Taeyong didn’t care if he took you alive or dead! What makes you think that they won’t just kill you right then and there when you waltz in through their doors?! Huh?!” Sehun couldn’t stop his voice from getting louder with every point he was bringing forth. He could see your face contorting with an expression he’d never seen—a demon with red eyes glared at him like it was hungry for blood.

“Woah—” Chen quickly stood between the two of you, with his back towards Sehun, “Hey, calm down. Think about this, you don’t want to flip on him, do you?” Sehun took a step back, your face coming into view over Chen’s shoulder, “You’re not in any danger, why the flip, Y/N?” Chen’s voice was soothing, a whisper of words like he was trying to calm a wild animal.

“Out of my way, Chen… Sehun and I are not done with our conversation…” Your growled words were enough to make the hair stand on everyone’s skin, was this the X strain taking over?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“I’m trying to protect people and make sure that the hundreds of people that died didn’t die in vain, and what do I get? Talked down to like I’m a fucking child?!” Chen knew that you were in your right mind, but the mind block removal had all your hidden memories and powers coming back—the abilities you have no control over.

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’ll treat you like a child. We’re leaving this town no matter how badly you want to stay here.” Sehun watched as your eyes darted to his from Chen’s gaze.

“Sehun…” Chen spoke coolly, “I think it’s best that you remove yourself from the room for a while…” Sehun didn’t quite approve of Chen barging into the situation, but he couldn’t deny that the only thing standing in the way of you ripping him a new one was Chen.

It had been hours since Sehun faced you, Chen kept you separated from him to ensure that you weren’t going to do something you would later regret, but now that it was getting close to dinner time, he knew that you would be starving.

“Chen?” His voice rang out into the living area where everyone remained as Sehun made his way down the stairs, “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s been on the balcony for the last hour.” Chen replied while glancing towards the glass door, “She’s calmed down for the most part, but I wouldn’t put it past her to still be upset.” Sehun sighed, his anger that subsided wasn’t misplaced, was it so wrong to want to protect you?

“At the end of the day, her safety is all that matters.”

“Who decided that, Sehun?” Suho emerged from the kitchen, “Y/N is trying to right her wrongs, do you blame her?”

“What wrongs—”

“She believes that she is the reason for all those deaths and not the Lee Clan. Imagine being told that hundreds of people died so that you could live? Imagine being experimented on and then being forced to forget everything and then having to remember everything. She is trying to figure out her path…” Lifting his glass to his lips, he took a drink before stating his request, “Let her.” Sehun flicked his eyes over to the balcony to see you pacing, left to right, right to the left. Your face was tight with emotions he couldn’t place, but it was his place to keep you safe, but it was also his place to keep you happy.

“If we stayed, that’s just putting all of us in danger…” He husked.

“We know that, but they’re going to find her regardless of where she runs to. Why not just face it head-on?” Chen added. Sehun knew Chen was right; they found you so quickly there as well as here in Granada—running would do you no good.

“I still have to try to protect her…” All eyes in the room flicked to Sehun as his voice cracked, “I’ve learned to lose her, but now I can’t afford to.noa”

“You’re taking me to the mall?” You asked as Suho pulled into a parking spot in front of the mall entrance.

“I figured you needed out of that hotel room. After that fight this morning, you and Sehun have been on edge.” You could hear the worry that was hiding in his voice, “You know he loves you, right, Y/N?”

“More than you know.” You loved Sehun. You always had, he was the one that you could go to when you were unsure of yourself or if you needed a shoulder to cry on; you were pretty sure that he was your first love, but the fact he wasn’t giving you wants the time of day was frustrating, “I understand his stance. I know his plan, it’s the same one that we’ve been using for a while… so why can’t he just listen to me?”

“You want to know what he told us?” Suho rasped, turning off the engine, letting the silence fill the space between the two of you.

“Do I want to know?”

“It might change the way you look at him…” He glanced your way to see the gears turning behind your eyes.

“What did he say?” Deep down, you had a feeling, but what Suho spoke into existence had your heart sinking into your stomach.

“He’s had to watch you walk away from him over a million times, and now that he finally gets to be by your side, he doesn’t want to lose you. I tried to get him to understand your side, but as someone who has watched you suffer from being in a relationship with Chanyeol—seeing you with Sehun…” Suho paused, trying to find the right words, “He’s good for you, and I don’t want to see that ruined.” He turned his gaze onto you to see the gears that were turning had stopped like Suho’s statement had made a difference in the plans you were already working on. Dropping your gaze down to your lap, you cleared your throat as you gathered your thoughts.

“Are you sure that he’s the right choice?” You whispered, “What if I turn him into a monster with me or worse… what if I can’t save him from the one I’ve become?”

“You know that he’s going to kill just to be by your sword, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve tamed the monster inside him. As for the question of if he’s the right one… I can’t say he’s the right one, but I know he’s the best one, and he makes you happy, right?”

“Always has…” You hummed.

“Then, you have your answer.” Suho reached over the center console and gently lifted your chin to face him, “Now, if you want to continue with our makeshift way of getting you guys to go on a date, exit the car. Your answer is waiting inside.”

“Hold on, what about—”

“Lay, Chen, Kai, and I are here as protection just in case they show up here.” Suho soothed your worry as he opened his door, “We’re making sure you guys won’t be interrupted.” Sliding out of the car, he closed the door behind him and appeared at yours to open it for you, “Are you ready?”

Sehun paced back and forth in front of the stained glass entrance of the mall, his nerves making themselves known as the knots in his stomach made it hard for him to breathe, “Sehun, calm down.” Chen sighed, “Being nervous is fine, but watching you pace is making me anxious.”

“Well, excuse me if I’m making you anxious, this is my first date with her, so I don’t want to mess anything up.” Sehun hissed, “That is if she’s no longer upset with me.”

“Wait a minute—this is your first date with Y/N? I thought you guys were already dating?” Chen cocked his head, his confusion speaking loudly.

“Oh, no, man.” Lay spoke up, “She’s been dating his best friend since they were in high school.” Sehun tried to block out their conversation, but the more in-depth they talked, the harder it was to ignore, “Chanyeol was pretty much her life, but Sehun here was practically her knight in shining armor when Chanyeol broke her poor little heart.”

“Man, that’s pitiful that you were just the cleaner-upper in their relationship. Are you sure she doesn’t just stay with you because you’re the only one she can depend on when her life spirals out of control?” Chen’s question didn’t help Sehun’s feelings, just as he was about to scold Chen, a soft voice radiated from behind him.

“I’m with Sehun because it’s always been him, even when I was with Chanyeol, it was always Sehun.” He turned on his heels to see you standing before him, part of him expected your usual aesthetic of dark clothing, but the outfit Suho had suggested for you was gracing your figure. Silence filled the air around the two of you as he took it all in; your cheeks pinked up as your fingers gripped the powder blue fabric of your sundress.

“Is it too much? Suho said it was cute on me, but—”

“You’re perfect, Y/N…” Reaching his hand out to you, Suho nudged you, pushing you into Sehun.

“You two have fun, we’ll be around.” Suho signaled for the rest of the guys to disperse, and you were finally alone with him.

Sehun didn’t have much planned for your date, he just wanted time alone with you, moments where he didn’t feel like he had to be on edge because he was worried that you were going to be attacked, or because you were in the company of another man—he wanted any. Every second he could get with you, even if it was just roaming around the mall. From window shopping to eating in the food court, he wished he could only be in the moment with you, but couldn’t get one thought out of his mind.

“Sehun?” You hummed from beside him, and he looked down at you, “You’re quiet… is something bothering you?”

“Oh…” He let a small laugh escape him as he pasted a smile onto his lips, “Nothing really, I just got lost in thought for a minute.”

“Are you worried that I’m still mad at you for forcing the decision to leave Granada?” His eyes widened at your question—you hit the nail on the head, “I’m not; there’s nothing to be mad at.”

“You seemed pretty upset that I told you that we weren’t going to stay, so can you blame me for being worried?” You stopped in your tracks, and he turned to face you, he could see a faint smile on your lips as your eyes met his. What could’ve changed your mind?

“Just as you, I don’t want to lose something precious to me. If leaving Granada will help keep you with me, then that’s what we’re going to do.” You reached for his hand and slipped your fingers in between the gaps of his, “I love you, Sehun, and… I’m ready to be with you and stay with you.”

“A-are you sure…?” He questioned, “I don’t want you to be with me just because I’m—”

“I was telling the truth when I said it was always you. I do not doubt it.” Your eyes didn’t waver as they stared deeply into his, they were still and heavy as if they were begging for him to believe every word that left your lips; you didn’t only need him to believe your words, but you needed him to believe in you.

“Prove it.” He breathed, “Only after you prove it, will I believe you.”

“How would you like me to prove it?” You asked, your eyes already telling him that you had an idea.

“Any way you want.” A slight smirk appeared on your lips as you turned on your heels.

“Don’t regret what you just said!” Pulling him, you guided him to a shop that had a bright neon red ‘tattoo’ sign above the doors.

“Hold on. You’re getting a tattoo?” Sehun furrowed his brow, and you looked over your shoulder as you entered and walked up to the desk.

“Not just me, you’re getting one, too.” Sehun just stared at the back of your head as you spoke to that man at the front counter about the tattoos.

“That’s all you want to get?” The man asked, and you nodded your head.

“Something super simple for two complex creatures.” The man gave you a slight nod and waved the two of you back into one of the rooms that looked set up minus the put together tattoo machine.

“Are you sure about this, Y/N? Tattoos are permanent…” Sehun rested his hand on your shoulder, and you placed your hand over his.

“And so is your presence in my life.” Your voice sounded so sure, there was no change in pitch or any waver in your tone—you were serious.

“Alright, little lady.” The man sat down on his chair as he hooked the machine up to the power supply, “Hop up in the seat.” You did as you were told, and within seconds, the needle began inking a thin red line around the base of your pinky, as any tattoo artist would, he asked you the same question that many have heard before, “So what’s the story behind this red line?” Sehun himself was interested in your sudden tattoo, so he stepped closer to you, getting a better view of your face.

“The red string of fate is a belief stemming from Chinese mythology. It’s an invisible red cord wrapped around a couple’s pinkies connecting them to their true love. Getting it tattooed is basically like an act of gamble. The moment that you enter into any kind of relationship, it's an act of faith—” Your eyes fluttered with the surge of pain that the needle was gifting you, but you continued, “You're giving yourself up, and that’s the most powerful thing that anyone can do: surrender and love is an act of surrender.” Moving your eyes over to Sehun, he could see the girl he knew a long time ago as you smiled gently, “So in other words, I’m telling him that ‘I’m giving myself to you’ with the trust of the needle entering our skin making a permanent red string of fate.” A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips, hearing your reasoning behind the tattoo—that was all you needed to say for him to believe you.

The silence that filled the evening air was a comfortable one, the quiet scuff of feet over the pavement, the hum of the city just feet away from you, and the warmth that filled your hand was enough to soothe the ache around your pinky, “Thank you for today.” You hummed while squeezing his hand, “I needed it.”

“Don’t thank me, any time I get to spend with you is worth it.” Sehun lifted the back of your hand to his lips, gently burning the shape of his kiss into your skin.

“I love you, Sehun, and I’m sorry it took me this long to see.” Pulling your hand away from his lips, his eyes landed on the matching thin red rings around your pinkies and couldn’t help smiling.

“I don’t need you to apologize, I’m just glad that I can finally enjoy my time with you without having to worry about Chanyeol.” A small laugh left you as you leaned into him, your head landing against his arm.

“You don’t have to worry about him. If anything, I’ll be the one to deal with him.” That’s right, you were always the one to deal with Chanyeol when he got out of hand or had something to say that was derogatory towards Sehun. He always thought he was protecting you from him, but now that he thought about it, you were protecting him too, “Oh yeah— Where are the guys? I thought they were our bodyguards tonight?”

“Oh?” Sehun dug his phone from his pocket and unlocked it to show you the text he sent Suho, “I figured the least I could do is walk us home, I think we earned a little privacy.”

“You planning to seduce me, Sehun?” He could see the mischievous smirk appearing on your lips.

“Would you turn me down if I said yes?” His hand slipped from your grip to wrap around your waist, “I may not be able to stop like—” A sharp pinch at his neck caused him to stop mid-sentence, and his vision started to blur.

“What are you doing?!” He could hear your scream clear as day, but his body refused to move or respond, “No! Get—get off of me! No!” Your shrill scream only seemed to fade as Sehun’s mind drifted into darkness.

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traumerei-project · 5 years ago

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Hello! Would you mind talking about your writing process? And how long it took you to finish your first draft? I was thinking about getting into writing, but it's daunting.

Hi Anon! Of course; I’d be more than happy to talk about it! Thank you for asking! >w</

The time frame in-which I finished the first draft is a bit wonky and very chaotic. But, I’ll try to explain it to the best of my ability! Buckle up because this...it’s going to be a long post!

Allotted time to finish the first draft:

-I first started writing the first chapter around the middle of August of 2019, and finished it around September 5, 2019.

-As for the second chapter, I don’t quite remember when I started, but I finished it on October 25, 2019.

-After that, I got too busy with work and took a short hiatus from anything related to Träumerei until January 1st of 2020. My New Year’s Resolution was to write about 2000 words per day when I’d get home, and…it worked out for a grand total of five days. However, I did complete Chapters 3 & 4 by the end of January, along with starting the first half of Chapter 5.

-I was sick for most of February, so I did not write anything around this time. As for March, I was trying to catch up with art so I also did not work on the book.

-Around the end of April, I decided to pick up work on Chapter 5 again since I was homestuck! Chapter 6 took about a day to write, and I started to pick up momentum with the remaining chapters and finished the first draft on May 15, 2020.

-The first draft is currently at 67,420 words or 177 MS Word pages. It roughly translates to 310 book pages, though I’m not too sure if that conversion takes into account double or single space.

-Technically, it took around nine months to complete the first draft. However, without my very many hiatuses, the actual amount of time would equate to roughly 3 ½ months.

-If anything, I would say the further you get into the story, the quicker it is to write. Though, I’m sure it varies! It’s been an extremely chaotic year for…everyone, really, so the way I’ve been working on this draft is very unorthodox. Considering my area is on stay at home orders until at least June, I have a lot of spare time to write. Under most circumstances it would have taken much, much longer.

-I’ve also had these characters for about six years, so that could also be taken into account for the general amount of time I took to complete this draft. I have plans for another book, ‘Starfall’ [set in modern day New England and with no magical elements], so I’d imagine the process for that story will be completely different.

Writing Process

-I’ve already had the fortune of watching let’s plays and reading reviews/critiques on my stories over the years. Not just for stories, but art & backgrounds as well, though…that’s completely unrelated to this. A lot of the time, the reactions are completely different from what I’d been expecting/hoping, but I consider that a really good thing! It means there’s always room to improve and get better with each passing day. It’s all been incredibly helpful to me with seeing from the perspective of other people. What may work or make sense to me won’t to others because, well, my knowledge of the characters and future events will be known to absolute no one except me.

-It was something that I had never considered beforehand, so now when I write, I’ll still focus on what I want, but I’ll fill in the gaps with information to bridge scenes together.

-For example, at the start of the story I’m on “Point A.” My end goal is to reach “Point G” by the final chapter. “Point A” could be—“Main character finds a talking rabbit” and “Point G” could be—“Main character discovers that the rabbit wanted to steal their soul this whole time.”

-Afterwards, I’ll start writing character bios. I can’t post anything here related to Träumerei or my other projects due to spoilers, so let’s focus on “The Wanderer & the Rabbit.”

-Next up is the synopsis. Perhaps something like, “Taro the Wanderer meets a talking rabbit and goes on all sorts of adventures! It’s a shame something sinister is lurking behind the rabbit’s quaint smile.”

-I then work on chapter summaries which tend to be around three-fifteen lines. You can write whatever you want here! They can also be know as “Point A summary”, ‘Point B summary”, etc., etc.

-After the quick chapter summaries, I devote about half an MS Word page to write a more in-depth description of each chapter or plot point.

-The last step [for this first draft] would be to write out the chapters.

-I’m not going to read this draft for at least a week, so that when I go through it I can look through it with an un-objective eye. This is pretty much the step I’m on, right now!

-I’ll work on cover art and illustrations, but I’ll save that process for later on down the line.

It can get overwhelming at times, but you should go for it! As time goes on and you get further and further into your story, the puzzle pieces will start falling into place. There will definitely be times in-which you get stuck on a certain scene, or something doesn’t play out the way you intended, but the key is to keep writing!

Breaks are also an important part of the process. It’s equally important to step back from your story every now and then to assess how it’s coming along. Let’s see, also, the characters will sometimes act in a different way than you’ve intended, but that tends to be expected. As soon as you write the first word in your story, the character, settings, they begin to take life all on their own. You’re merely looking in, an observer who is recording their lives. You see the story unfold at the same time as those you are writing.

Anyway, I hope this helped! Please feel free to ask if you need any advice/tips! It can be writing, game dev stuff [like maps or sprites], anything, really!

Stay safe!

#RPG Maker #RPG Horror #RPG Maker VX Ace #Writing #Indie Game #Anon #Answer

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shawnsorangeglasses · 5 years ago

Text

Better Conversations - Part 8

3.7k words

Look who finally decided to post!

Synopsis: Another assistant AU, you’ve known Shawn since the beginning but you don’t really become friends until a label party in New York. Then he offers you a job as his assistant.

Some after show tension occurs.

warnings: mild woes

...

Six hours until showtime. It is all hands on deck for everyone in the stage crew. Busy bodies move about the arena, putting together final touches for tonight’s performance. The tour is a little over thirty shows in. Since joining in the middle of it all, (Y/N) is finally starting to get the hang of things. Andrew made it clear that Shawn was her only priority, but with the new extra hours in the day, she tries to do for anyone on the team whenever she can.

She’s coming back from a local deli in the area with three paper bags full of food for Shawn and the band. Sandwiches for the band and salad for Shawn. A singer’s diet, though sometimes he’d cheat and get a small something dairy or doughy. They hardly ever request anything for lunch, but she always picked up something for them anyways, knowing they wouldn’t eat until much later.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she took note of the growing line of bubbly fans waiting out front. Every single one of them looked so sweet and pretty. A few girls wave to her as she passes by and she waves back.

After some time, she became closer and more at ease with the Mendes Army. A majority of them demanded that she make an account on Instagram to see her and Shawn interacting behind the scenes. Eventually, (Y/N) caved and made one separate from her personal profile one after about three days of them pushing Shawn about it. The account gained 100,000 followers in roughly two hours.

She cut through the alley to find the back door that leads to the main stage. It was really interesting to see the crew slowly build the set from the ground up every night. Earlier in the day, the sounds of metal barriers clanging and loud machinery filled the arena from top to bottom, but now it was mostly quiet aside from the well-practiced sound check from the band. Shawn and the guys were onstage doing last minute rehearsals. (Y/N) jogged across the general admissions floor, squeezing through the barrier to meet them stage left.

She hoisted the bags up onto the stage, peering over in silence as the guys practiced. Shawn was sat on the edge of the stage next to one of the larger amps, kicking his boots to the beat Mike was drumming. (Y/N) could tell from the baby blue guitar on his lap that they were running through “Nervous” again.

The musicians drop everything and run over to her in a huddle to claim their food. “I got you guys the fresh stuff. Fruit salads and some sub sandwiches.”

“Thank you, (Y/N)!”

“Yeah, thanks (Y/N).”

They each disperse to their own little corners. Shawn is still hunched over his guitar testing chords. (Y/N) saunters over to him, jostling a separate bag near his feet. “No tomatoes this time, Mendes,” she sings.

Shawn snaps back into reality again. The first thing he sees is (Y/N)’s proud, squinty smile. Last time she brought him a salad with the tiny tomatoes in it and he still hasn’t forgiven her completely. It’s become an inside joke for them.

He crosses his arms at her, giving a new definition to the muscle shirt he was sporting. “You sure there’s no tomatoes?”

“I’m absolutely positive. I checked six times on the walk back here. It's like 50% avocado.”

He slides his guitar safely behind himself and holds his hand out to her. (Y/N) takes secure hold of his wrist as her hauls her up on the stage with him in one swift motion. She watches intently as Shawn empties the contents of the paper bag. He briefly bumps his head into her shoulder, giving (Y/N)’s hand access to the tufts of hair falling on his forehead.

“Y’know, you don’t have to get us lunch if we don’t order anything,” he reiterates. “It only comes out of your pocket then.”

“I know, I know, but you guys workout in the morning and then keep moving, so you should all eat something. Besides,” she pinches his cheek, “you’re still a growing boy.”

“You sound like a mom.” Before he takes a bite, he asks, “What’re you going to eat?”

“Oh I filled up on free samples at the deli.” (Y/N) pats her belly. “I should be good until dinnertime.”

“Nice,” Shawn chuckles.

(Y/N) looks past his shoulder at all the guys chatting over their meals near center stage. “Don’t you want to eat with the other boys?”

“Ah, I’ve been around them all day. I haven’t seen you at all.”

(Y/N) refrains letting that last part go to her head. He didn’t mean it like that, even if a teensy part of her wishes he did.

“Well there’s always the time in hotels.”

Oddly enough, most of their hours were spent apart now. Shawn was either hard at work with the band and writers or catching up on sleep. (Y/N) often had errands to run when she wasn’t tending to Shawn. Even on the tour bus and flights, he needed those hours to rest.

Time in the hotels was the saving grace of this whole journey, Shawn always unabashedly requested to have the room next door to (Y/N) now. “For proximity purposes” he claimed, so that he might have her nearby in case he needs something. And although it may have started out that way, it quickly turned into late night talks and occasionally eating whatever singer-safe snacks (Y/N) could buy from local stores. It became their own little tradition.

“That reminds me,” Shawn says through a mouthful of sandwich, “what are we doing tonight?”

“Whatever you want to do,” (Y/N) mutters. She wasn’t really paying attention. Cez just sent her a text about the next flight details. She sort of zones out looking at the emails. Words become letters. Letters become squiggles. It’s hard to concentrate since the brush with Jason a few weeks ago. She was used to his empty threats but that was when she had leverage. Now she has nothing to hold him, not even shame.

Then Shawn nudges her elbow, but she hardly looks away from her phone.

“Huh?”

“We’re doing dinner later this evening. I know you don’t normally join but- hey are you okay? You look really pale.”

(Y/N) takes her time to meet his eyes. They appear to transition to a darker, more intimidating shade of brown. Her stomach does four backflips.

“Yeah just thinking. You know, assistant stuff. Listen, I gotta go.”

“Oh. Already?”

(Y\N) gets to her feet and dusts off the seat of her pants. “Yes, already. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go help set up the Q&A, sir?”

Shawn wags a finger at her. “What did I say about the ‘sir’ thing?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

He gets up too, wearing a smile so bright it’s blinding. A bright red blush tears through the pigment in his cheeks. He just wanted to keep talking to her as long as he could, waste no time. Unfortunately, he ends up thinking of the most basic question of all. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

She shrugs. “Just doing my job.”

...

Parents and young adults filed into the room, filling it with conversational buzz. (Y/N) peeked through a slit in the curtain at the little community that gathered there. One group of girls in the very front started singing “Never Be Alone”, prompting everyone else to join in. It was amazing to see the love and devotion among so many different looking people.

(Y/N) goes to collect Shawn from the green room. The clock on her phone read about ten minutes before he had to go greet everyone again. He’s in the middle of pulling up his jeans when she walks in.

“Oh you’re- I am so sorry.” She turns around and brings her hand over her eyes. Blood furiously rushes to her cheeks and ears.

“No no, you’re fine, come on in. Sorry, I’m almost done.”

She steps in with caution and focuses on the upbeat country track faintly pouring from Shawn’s phone. Travelling so closely together, (Y/N) was bound to see a few people at their less than decent. With Shawn though, it was starting to feel like he was doing this on purpose or just stopped caring altogether. She had no choice but to get comfortable with him.

“God, Shawn. Maybe put a sign outside next time so I know you’re naked.”

“I am not naked.” He glances at her. She’s propped herself against an end table, still shielding her eyes. “Geez, you act like you’ve never seen me in my underwear.”

“Don’t say underwear to me.”

“Would it help if I sang it?”

“No it would not-”

“Underwear,” he riffs. “Underwe-e-ear, yeah.”

“You’re so annoying,” she chuckles nervously with a slight shake of her head. He beams, proud of himself for yet again finding a new way to gently embarrass (Y/N).

He’s referring to the time she accidentally walked on Shawn in his dressing room. It was weeks ago, early on in a completely different city, but it was also burned into the back of her brain. That definitely broke some of the initial ice between them.

(Y/N) chooses the brick wall as something else to focus on. She hears his footsteps getting closer. Out of her peripheral, she can see Shawn’s shirt is still very unbuttoned and his chest is very exposed. He’s almost closed the space between them, leaving only a few inches of air between their bodies.

“You’re standing in front of my cologne,” he mutters.

“Oh.”

(Y/N) side steps out of his way. Shawn takes the bottle and sprays his neck and wrists, not once taking his eyes off of her. That is until he has to return to the other side of the room to button up his shirt. He leaves a couple buttons free at the top like always, then pays special attention to her reflection in the glass, holding his arms out. “How do I look?”

(Y/N) looks over at Shawn. He’s looking at her through the full length mirror mounted on the wall. She rolls her eyes.

“You know how you look.”

Shawn peers at her reflection, then bites his lip. (Y/N) pinches her wrists behind her back.

“Except for one thing,” she says. She takes notice of his lopsided collar and quickly adjusts it for him. Shawn’s breath hitches just barely. His hands are idle at his waist, not really doing anything, but clearly so desperately wanting to touch her. (Y/N) actively pretends to not notice the effect she seems to have on him.

But Shawn captures (Y/N)’s hand in his right before she pulls off, resting it on his shoulder. The fabric is hot underneath her palm. His whole body has become a furnace. He’s about to say something bold. Or stupid.

“(Y/N) I-”

A knock at the door propels Shawn and (Y/N) away from each other. Cez appears in the doorway.

“Oh you’re both in here,” he says with a playful smile. “You ready, Shawn?”

“Y-yeah,” Shawn makes a few more unnecessary tucks of shirt into his jeans. He turns back to (Y/N), “D’you want to come watch?”

“Uhm, I’ll be behind the curtain. I can see everything from there.”

Shawn understood, but he couldn’t help but feel a little dejected. (Y/N) tugs at his shirt around the waistline to loosen the fit again right before he goes out. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” she assures him. “If you need anything I will bring it to you.”

"Anything?"

"Right, almost anything."

Shawn smirks. "Just checking," he purrs.

They venture down the hall to the common area that was built in less than an hour. (Y/N) stops just short of where the dimly lit hallway ends and a room full of people begins. Screams and cheers replaced the chatter the minute Shawn set foot in the room. He can barely be heard greeting them over all the excitement. (Y/N) peeks through a sliver in the curtain.

“Before we start,” he begins. “What am I calling this city tonight?”

The room erupts again with all sorts of answers. Shawn singles out one girl in the front and everyone agrees.

“Okay then, um just one thing, if someone’s asking a question please don’t speak over them and speak loud so I can hear you. This is a big group today. Other than that, go crazy.”

Hands go up instantly. Shawn chooses from the back then from the left middle. On and on this goes for a few minutes and the fans ask the usual questions, fun or otherwise. (Y/N) allows herself to relax. Her mind just goes elsewhere.

She’s imagining the last day of the tour, sad as it makes her. Will she still be an assistant when it’s all over? What will have changed by then? She looks at nothing in particular down the makeshift hallway the team has made in the arena. Connor's messing with his camera settings. Cez is talking to a lighting tech. And like she always does in her free time, she zones out.

“Where’s (Y/N) right now?”

The voice, though small, came with a level of conviction that could only be from a small child. That was the demographic of (Y/N)'s fans. They liked seeing her on the street. She's even received a few drawings in past weeks.

Shawn wrestles with himself to give a straight answer. Then he makes the mistake of looking back at the curtain. People start to become restless.

“Guys, guys, I’m sure she’s busy right now. I don’t want to bother her.”

“I’m not that busy,” (Y/N) blurts impulsively, much louder than she meant to. Everyone erupts in chatter. She looks back at Connor, who has the camera aimed at her now. He was getting a shot between slit in the curtain but now the focus has shifted. She peeks her head out at all the fans and Shawn. A collective gasp captures them and they begin waving so she waves back. All the bright happy faces are reassuring enough.

“Do you want to come out,” Shawn whispers as quietly as he can. A few girls in the front overhear and squeak.

She widens her eyes at him. He knew what she was saying. You really want me to come out here? And the answer was a resounding yes, as indicated by a brisk wave of his hand. (Y/N) peeks her head out and all but recoils at the enthusiastic and sudden attention she receives. Then it all died down just as it quickly came.

“Hi, (Y/N),” says the same little voice that asked for her. Everyone in the aws.

“Hello,” she replies. “I remember seeing a few of you outside in the line. Sorry to interrupt.”

“She actually bought everyone lunch today during rehearsal even though I told her she doesn’t have to,” Shawn adds. Someone in the back goes “whoop” and the whole room is brimming with laughter and applause again.

“Okay I better go,” (Y/N) says immediately. “That’s enough fun for me.” She slips behind the curtain again, waving behind her as a few more people say goodbye.

Connor's snapping his viewfinder back into place behind her. He shares a look with her that can only be that

"Can I use any of that?"

"Sure, dude. It's your footage."

She says so each and every time he asks. Connor always made very sure to protect (Y/N)'s privacy when it came to recording her. If she was in the background of any video, he'd make sure to ask. It's what made him a great videographer.

He scurries away to whatever room holds his editing equipment. (Y/N) slides down to the floor, resting back on her heels so she can still see through the partition. Shawn's still somewhat rambling about her to his fans. It's interesting to hear what she is to him through his eyes. Often times she leaves the Q&A as soon as it's been set up. Under these special circumstances, she stays a while, hoping to learn something new.

…

It's evening. The hotel room is the neat chaos (Y/N) left it when she comes back. She learned several cities back never to spread out too much in these rooms after leaving a few chargers in the walls and drinks in the mini fridges.

"We'll go back and get it," Shawn said the first time it happened. "Can we turn around," he politely asked the driver.

"I'll answer that, no we will not," (Y/N) said firmly. "It's like two little bottles of kombucha. I'll live Shawn." It was never mentioned again.

He was always going out of his way for her. Everybody found it endearing, but (Y/N) didn't want him doing any special favors for her. Their relationship was special enough without grand gestures.

She fishes her planner out of the messenger bag on her bed to go over the next week at the hotel desk. Her sister's birthday is today. (Y/N) checks the timezone on her phone. There was still time to call.

The line rings for a while then cuts into an excited voice.

"Hey girl! Mom was wondering when you'd call. She's sleeping now."

(Y/N)'s heart drops to her stomach. "Bea I'm so sorry, I haven't said happy birthday to you all day. I feel awful."

"Aw you know I don't care about that shit. But bitch, Mom made this cake, you are missing out. I'm trying to save you some."

"I don't know if that slice will be edible by the time I get back, but thanks for the effort."

"You know I'm looking out for you around here." Bea sighs. "Girl I wish you were here. It's boring as hell with no one to tell my jokes. Or argue with."

(Y/N) smiles to herself. Bea always got bored by herself. They were lucky to grow up close in grade school, so they always had a playmate at recess or someone to talk to at lunch.

"What're you up to?"

"Same thing I was up to yesterday. Watching these Game of Thrones episodes."

"Did you make another fake HBO account?"

"Yep, but honestly a week is not enough for a free trial. Netflix gives you a whole month."

She goes on about her other temporary subscriptions. A knock comes at her door, the one joining her room to Shawn's.

"Hold that thought Bea. I think Shawn is going to ask me to come to dinner again."

"He what now?"

She swings the door open. "Not that kind, dumbass."

Shawn smirks at the little nickname, knowing right away it wasn't meant for him. Sure enough, he's dressed to go out.

"Your sister," he whispers. (Y/N) nods. "Hi Beatrice."

"Hi Shawn! I swear, only that man can make my full name sound good. Bitch, if you don't want him, I will gladly have some."

"I have never been more glad that he can't hear you," (Y/N) mutters. Shawn smiles downwards. He's only talked to Bea once before, so he can definitely imagine what she's saying.

"You're selfish, is what you are. The man clearly wants you and you're being your usual self."

"I'm ignoring you." (Y/N) directs her attention to Shawn's hopeful face. He’s propped himself against the door frame too, hands in his pockets. Between her waiting on his question, and him waiting for her to say no was a deafening silence.

"I know what you're going to ask,” she starts. “You know how I'll respond."

"Well in that case, I’m not going either," he says, undoing some buttons.

"He said what?!"

"I'm going to hang up on you," (Y/N) warns. She leans on the door frame as he sheds his shirt and shoes. "Shawn, you don't have to stay for me."

"I'm not," he says calmly. "Honestly, I’m doing this for me."

"If you don't let that man love you right now, idiot sister of mine-"

"Bea, I'll call you later. Happy Birthday."

(Y/N) taps the end call button. One last text comes through, almost too vulgar to read, so she shuts her phone off before Shawn can see it. He’s milling around his room, looking for comfortable clothes among the scattered ones.

“Shawn you don’t have to stay here on my account.”

“Well I’m not going to have any fun without you there.”

Shawn pulls his undershirt off over his head. Muscles in his back flex and relax as his arms go up and down. (Y/N) clears her throat, to which he doesn’t react. Tour life has made him so comfortable with clothing changes, he doesn’t always think twice with another person in the room. At the very least, he warns somebody when his pants are about to come off.

“That’s really unfair to everyone else, isn’t it?”

“Not in that way. I mean I’ll just be there the whole time wondering why-”

He stops himself short, ending with a mumble.

(Y/N) crosses her arms. “If this is your way of guilt tripping me or tricking me into saying yes-”

“It’s not,” he says, almost in a corrective way. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t you know that?”

She doesn’t. She wasn’t sure of anything at all when it came to her employer’s intentions. People often cross you because that’s the nature of the business. Trust wasn’t something she gave so easily to someone with that much power over her. Normally, (Y/N) knew when to leave a job that no longer suited her, but Shawn has yet to give her a reason to run.

Shawn picks up a white t-shirt from his suitcase and slips it on. He doesn’t normally wear a shirt to sleep, but he wanted (Y/N) to feel as comfortable as possible. Although she’d never admit it out loud, he’s noticed how she gets around him shirtless. He sits down on his bed and beckons her to sit next to him. (Y/N) takes baby steps to his bedside and sinks into the soft sheets.

“You should at least tell Cez you’re not coming,” she insists.

“I already did.” Shawn waves his phone then sets it on the nightstand. “Right now, I need to talk to you.”

...

TAGLIST:

@spider-mendes @sebsdreamboat @innositer @sauveteen @sauveteen @sinplisticshawn @sohani02 @yourkidsfavbabysitter @matchamendes @gxccicoffee @daisychains4 @nervousaroundmendes @st3p-hani3 @rulerofnocountry @darloing-shawn @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @cheerfulmendes @imaginesofdreams @thesmutpeasant @enchantingbrowneyedgirl

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes imagine #better conversations

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naturecpw · 4 years ago

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Birders’ Tweets Are Causing an Online Flap

Sharing photos and location details of rare bird sightings is boosting the birdwatching community. But some worry that the exposure threatens the animals.

The moment when David Barrett spotted the snowy owl through the fence at one of Central Park’s baseball fields last week, he knew this was going to be an event. Barrett, an experienced birder and the force behind the wildly popular Twitter account Manhattan Bird Alert, immediately understood just how rare a sighting this was: A snowy owl hasn’t graced New York City since 1890. These owls live in the Arctic but are more nomadic in the winters, sometimes flying into Canada and the Northeast, but rarely as far south as New York City.

Barrett also knew this was exactly the kind of bird that was likely to draw a crowd. “I knew going into it this would be big,” he says. Not only was this the first sighting in any New Yorker’s lifetime, but the snowy owl is a species that is likely to get non-birders excited, too. The prospect of attracting so many people to the bird’s location weighed on him as he rushed home to tweet it out to @BirdCentralPark’s more than 40,000 followers.

But tweet he did.

“I run an information service,” Barrett says of his Twitter feed. “A bird in a public park is fair game for my tweets. A rare bird is something that people want to know about, so it’s my responsibility to get the information out. If I don’t do it, someone else will.”

Twitter and other bird-sighting sites like eBird have given a boost to the birding community in recent years. The sites have made celebrities out of a few lucky ducks (and owls and hawks), species that appeal to the less ornithologically-inclined among us. They’ve made birding accessible to newcomers and given avid bird watchers a space to share photos, tips, and exciting discoveries, helping many people to find not just a hobby, but a community. “We just see each other by user names to start, and then we bump into each other out birding and we make that connection,” says Ken Elkins, community conservation manager for Audubon CT and Audubon NY. Online, your age, experience, or background don’t matter, he says: “You can be part of the conversation.”

And Twitter accounts have helped rally bird rescuers. The Wild Bird Fund (WBF), a bird rehabilitation center in Manhattan, often tweets out calls for help, including the location of birds in need, to their more than 9,000 followers. “It is a resource because it's fast and people get it right away, and that’s a big boon versus email or anything we’d post on our website,” says Rita McMahon, WBF’s cofounder and director.

But not everyone in the birding community is thrilled about the idea of focusing the attention of the internet on a bird that’s not in need, and is likely to draw a flock of admirers. Crowds can make birds uneasy and affect their normal behavior. Birds may perceive all those humans as predators or competition for food. Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly how all those leering people with cameras, jockeying for position or slowly inching forward for a better look, are changing the bird’s behavior.

McMahon does not approve of accounts like Manhattan Bird Alert and worries about how the crowds of gawkers are affecting the animals. She isn’t supportive of the Twitter accounts that draw them. “I’d like them to stop,” she says. She points to the example of some owls that used to nest near Shakespeare Garden in Central Park. As their popularity grew, the eager public began to cut away the trees to get a better view. Because of all the attention, owls don’t go there anymore.

McMahon says that while the WBF uses Twitter for rescue calls, the organization never shares where it releases rehabilitated birds, even if they are very rare or popular species. “I don’t want that rare bird being surrounded by people!” she says. “We want it to be in peace. It does not need birders.”

Elkins says that Audubon CT has limited the number of owl sightings they’ve shared publicly, and that he often chooses not to post about some of his sightings if he thinks the bird is in a vulnerable position or if the ensuing popularity might cause a problem. “There have been some sensitive owls that I have found that I might just share with one other person,” he says. He might even avoid hanging around too long with his camera so he doesn’t attract passersby who will ask about what he’s looking at. “I don’t want people to linger around a bird that’s trying to hide for the day in its roost site,” he says.

Manhattan Bird Alert has grown considerably since Barrett first started it in 2013. In the beginning, the alerts were targeted to serious birders and would just share the species and location of the animal. Barrett also automated a system that would retweet others in the birding community who tagged the account. He chose Twitter because it was fast, easy to use, and didn’t require people to join a special group or even to have an account to see the content. He racked up a few thousand followers.

Then, in 2018, The New York Times featured Barrett in an article about young people getting interested in birding. The account’s following got a boost, growing to around 10,000 people. Later that year, the Mandarin duck arrived. The brightly colored duck, a denizen of East Asia, spent several months hanging out around a Central Park pond, attracting huge crowds and the nickname “hot duck.” Manhattan Bird Alert, which had announced the bird’s presence, suddenly became an international sensation. Barrett was interviewed by international media outlets and his Twitter followership swelled even more.

The account has continued to grow since, especially as many New Yorkers are turning to birding as one of the last pandemic-safe recreational activities left in the city. As the handle’s celebrity has grown, Barrett’s goals for the account have changed too. “I’ve realized I was fortunate to have something that suddenly appealed to so many people,” he says. “I wanted to do my best to make it the best I could make it.”

He’s gotten rid of the automation and now focuses on finding good photos and videos to share. He’s also given more space to popular species like owls, which appeal to a larger audience, than to species that might only get the most devoted birders excited. Barrett says he thinks about the account nearly every waking minute. He also runs accounts for bird sightings in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Queens and Long Island, although those are significantly less popular than his Manhattan account. “I’ve become the nexus of birding information,” he says.

That said, Barrett did take extra care before and after broadcasting the snowy owl’s presence. First, he noticed that the bird was hanging out in the middle of a baseball field and was protected by a fairly substantial metal fence that would help keep crowds at bay. Next, he alerted the city’s Urban Park Rangers so they could prepare for the crowd. And he tweeted out warnings for people not to crowd the owl or get too close. “I figured quite a few people unfamiliar with owls would be coming by. I wanted to make it clear to people that it would be improper to break the rules of the park to get a better view,” Barrett says.

Even though he has some reservations about sharing the locations of rare birds, Elkins acknowledges that a snowy owl in Central Park is something of a special case. “Central Park is so extremely public that somebody else is going to find it,” Elkins says. “There are enough other birders that the bird is not going to live a life of secrecy.”

Still, he warns watchers to err on the side of caution: Don’t stay too long, or spook the bird into flying. Definitely don’t feed it. Think about the specific environment the bird is in before sharing its location: Is it nesting? Is it safe in a high tree branch, or is it in a vulnerable position where it will be hard to for it to escape a crowd’s prying eyes? He recommends that newly-minted birders consult Audubon’s ethical bird photography guide and ask their more experienced counterparts before sharing a particularly exciting find.

As for Barrett, he thinks the flap over sharing bird locations online is misguided. “People who focus on the ethics of owl watching are misleading other people about what the real issues are in conservation,” he says. He points out that while thousands of birds die every year from collisions with buildings, habitat loss, and cat predation, very few—if any—have died from overexcited bird watchers. “There are real issues in conservation that should be addressed,” he says. “I think it’s important to keep things in perspective.”

https://www.wired.com/story/birders-tweets-are-causing-an-online-flap/?utm_source=pocket-newtab

#Birders #birdwatching

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bellamygateoldblog · 5 years ago

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how do we feel about bellamy abandoning a suicidal octavia in a toxic forest in the name of monty, 'monty gave his life for us so we could have another change, and im not going to let you destroy it' who repeatedly made it clear in his final season that he wished he did more to save jasper

…we don’t feel great about it. Lol.

Got a little carried away. Apparently I had a stronger opinion on this on this than I thought I did.

There’s an LT;DR at the bottom if you don’t feel like reading the whole thing :)

The Blake relationship is a really complicated one. And I think how you see this event in particular depends on how you interpret this dynamic during the rest of the show, and how sympathetic you are towards Octavia as a character.

I want to start with this: the second chance was Monty’s to give, and only Monty’s. Bellamy doesn’t get to dictate who that message does and does not apply to, because Monty made it perfectly clear he holds no grudges, and wants the best for what’s left of the human race regardless of who they’ve been in the past or what they’ve done. That’s the whole point of ‘doing better’. He just wants everyone to do better than they did, whichever way that is. Monty didn’t specifically say ‘oh but not Octavia she can choke’ so therefore Bellamy had no right to be cowering behind Monty’s words.

He’s telling them to try a bit harder to be more understanding, compassionate, and rational. He wants them to choose to be farmers rather than warriors- to rebuild rather than destroy, to grow rather than deforest, to choose peace over war no matter what. It means a lot more than just ‘hey! maybe don’t go on another genocidal rampage?’

And by abandoning/banishing Octavia, Bellamy did the opposite of what Monty wanted. It almost felt, as i was watching, like he’d sentenced her to death. Like Clarke was banishing Murphy all over again. Or like he was Clarke abandoning him to die in the fighting pits. And I don’t know…repeating old mistakes doesn’t exactly scream ‘doing better’ to me.

Maybe this was Bellamy’s way of ridding the toxicity from the group?

But deciding she’s a lost cause and leaving her there, a clearly mentally unstable woman (and not only just some ‘woman’, but the baby sister he’s shared his life with), on an alien planet that none of them even know is safe at this point, or if it’s inhabited with hostile entities, from some moral high horse/manpainTM point of view is so low. It’s unearned at this point in the series.

Our attention was drawn to how hard it was for him. How upset he was after he did it. Rather than to Octavia and how she felt about it. It brought me back to that moment in season five, to how the camera focused in on Clarke’s pained teary-eyed expression while the child she was electrocuting was a blurry spot the background. Just what the fuck? Is all i have to say about that. He was very much Clarke in this moment; pulling a lever, leaving someone he loves on the outside *for the people* and feeling a bit ashamed but justified about it regardless.

She was trying to do the S1 Bellamy thing and stowaway to an alien planet to protect the one she loved. But the emotional fallout of season five was immense and both of them were way too amped up for any of it to go as planned. Which makes me wonder why the writers even attempted it in the first place?

But let’s just take a minute to think about how reckless and borderline insane this whole decision is from Bellamy- this is the girl who started out an illegal child, unwanted by the people she was born into, who assimilated with the indigenous people, earned their respect, found belonging with them until ultimately she became their leader. Like, if you really thought she was this much of a hazard, throwing her adaptive ass into the wilderness ready to meet another set of warrior people maybe isn’t the best idea you’ve ever had?

HOWEVER

I’m not actually opposed to a detail like this. Because of the unhealthy and sometimes poisonous nature of the Blake sibling relationship. And because they both absolutely needed time apart if Octavia were ever to grow out of Blodreina.

No matter what Monty never gave up on Jasper. But Jasper was usually self-destructive and didn’t act out emotionally using violence like how Octavia does so naturally. He could be a pain in Monty’s ass from time-to-time, but Jasper was never a threat to anyone but himself.

Bellamy cast Octavia out because she killed those guards unnecessarily. She hadn’t yet reflected on what became of her, nor had she processed any of the trauma from the bunker and following battle for Eden, in which some of the heaviest casualties were her most important relationships, with Indra, and with Bellamy. As convinient as it was to utilise violence as a tool for maintaining power, law, and order within the bunker…they aren’t in the bunker anymore, and she is no longer someone with a crushing responsibility.

Was any of that Bellamy’s fault? No.

Was it Bellamy’s job to ‘fix’ her? No.

(Do I think Monty would encourage him to mend their relationship anyway after losing his best friend and brother? Yes.)

But as her big brother and psudo-father, someone that spent his entire life protecting and taking care of her, the bare minimum i’d expect from him in a situation like this is for him to show some empathy, listen to the whole story from her point of view rather than basing his entire livelyhood on the biased accounts of a couple of Wonkru defectors, and make an attempt to understand why she is no longer the baby sister he remembers her being. If anyone was in the position to understand her- her behaviour, her mindset, the weight of leadership and how it shapes a person, and the pressure of making potentially morally corrupt decisions to ensure the people’s safety putting your humanity on the line for it- it’s him.

This was just cheap drama in place of where they could’ve written a meaningful conflict between them.

It was an oppurtunity to address Octavia’s past treatment of him, their co-dependence, their mother, Bellamy deeply believing his life was stolen from him and Octavia feeling she never had a chance to begin with, Bellamy’s inclination to make himself smaller so Octavia can take up as much space as she possibly can, both of their perverse insecurities that manifest in equally debilitating ways, Bellamy’s skewed sense of self pushing him to orbit around her, Octavia’s identity issues and lack of socialisation and resulting narrow black-or-white mindset, I could go on and on. There’s so so much content here to explore. There’s so much stress and pain in this relationship. It’s a shame that despite all that they decided to go omg cannibalism!!!!!!!!

Octavia took forever to forgive Bellamy for what happened to Lincoln, she demonised him, she attacked him over it in one of the most grotesque and unhinged displays of violence i’ve ever seen, and that wasn’t even his fault. I think we can afford Bellamy the same amount of room.

If this ‘banishment’ was the long-time-coming storm of past trauma of their intertwined existences that has long since been buried, if the time of physical peace spent on the ring building a family of his own pushed Bellamy to make a realisation or two about love and family, and the stressful draining qualities of his relationship with Octavia began to morph into resentment of her, and all this abandonment is, is just a beautifully crafted, carefully maintained facade collapsing between them, I WOULD LOVE IT. It’s understandable. But I need to see them have it out with each other first. If nothing is addressed, if they still go on carrying those things around and never find closure, not only is that hindering Octavia’s growth, but Bellamy’s, too.

But none of that happened in season six. Instead i got to see yet another female with her autonomy ripped from her and i got to see manpain.

Over time she supressed any parts of herself that would make her appear weak. It was always going to take time to pull herself out of that dark place and find a way to shape an identity that isn’t based in something that can easily be ripped away from her. So removing her from the group to find ‘the self’ is a good choice. But it had to be her choice.

I think if everything had blown up and Octavia had chosen to leave on her own volition because she recognises her own tragedy and calamity and wants to do what’s right, it would’ve been the perfect place to begin a redemption/reflection arc for her. With self-awareness. What do they say? The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one in the first place?

In an answer to another ask I said it would make some sense for Bellamy (and Clarke & Spacekru) to be unintentionally hypocritcal and judgemental considering the time distance between their last violent experience and how long they’ve had to make peace with the past. While Octavia was in the most stressful position she’s ever been in, and right in the thick of things for the six years that everyone else spent healing and maturing in.

So we have Bellamy as his most reassurred, most contented self- and he comes to Earth, he comes face-to-face with an unhinged Octavia, and is overwhelmed immediately with biased and incomplete information recapping the last six years during an erratic situation with enemies. I’d be confused and paranoid, too tf?

Bellamy loves Octavia more than life. But she’s morphed into a woman he no longer recognises and it could even come as a personal betrayal to him. He’s been disconnected from her for six years. He’s no longer intoxicated by his love and devotion to her. And he’s having a hard time accepting that the baby sister he thinks the world of is capable of such cruelty. So he’s having trouble forgiving her for it. I think it makes a lot of sense. Except, again, they never addressed anything like this.

Season five Bellamy I get. I’m sympathetic to him just as I am Octavia.

But in season six he appeared, not like he was acting on years of supressed emotional turmoil, but like he was on some moral high horse looking down on her from it.

The end of season five left things open, and there was a lot of potential there for things between them to improve, but season six took it and threw it out the nearest window. And we saw Octavia crawling on her hands and knees begging for forgiveness from a man that 1) doesn’t want her, 2) doesn’t respect her, 3) refused to listen to her, and 4) only accepted her once she was the woman he wanted her to be, who was now no longer traumatised.

TL;DR: I’m not opposed to the whole idea of them seperating in season six, with Octavia being the castaway, but it should’ve been Octavia’s choice, not Bellamy’s. And I think Monty might be disappointed that this was what (season six) Bellamy took away from his video on ‘doing better’. To ‘do better’ he decided to choose just one person that can represent all the evil that exists within both his people and himself and throw her out the dropship door. Problem solved! But there are many ways in which I think the writers could’ve done a lot more with this idea, and a lot better, too.

#hopefully this i objective I tried to make it so #the 100 #octavia blake #pro octavia blake #bellamy blake #rosie tag: share with the group #took me a couple days to answer so i hope whoever sent it will see

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, EMMA K! You’ve been accepted for the role of HERMIONE. Admin Rogue: There’s something about the warmth of your writing that gets me every time, Emma K. The quiet ache I felt throughout reading your portrayal of Harriet hurt my heart, but it was her strength that caught me, and how she uses it so differently from what someone in Verona might expect. She’s private without being closed off, warm without being weak, and there’s a spark she hides so carefully, tending it within her until she can cultivate something out of it. What I loved most of all were your headcanons; her interests, her goals, her dreams, they all felt so lived in to me. You’ve managed to take someone with no power and show us how she would build it for herself, and Harriet’s journey will be so beautiful to witness, I absolutely cannot wait! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma Kate

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I am normally online every second day to get replies out but constantly work to do better at it! I’m normally on discord every day for plotting and discussion.

Timezone | GMT +1

How did you find the rp? | I was recommended the RP from a friend who was a member at the time!

Current/Past RP Accounts | gertrudezhang.tumblr.com

IN CHARACTER

Character | Harriet “Hermione” D’Angelo

Harriet - “keeper of the hearth”

Mother. How ironic that her name reminds her about what could have been, the beautiful fleeting moment that was taken away as quickly as it was given to her.

Hermione - “messenger”

Potential. The name that had been given to her by the Witches, like a gift. It was another reminder, though this time from the ones who came before; a reminder of what she could be.

D’Angelo - “of the angels”

Angelic. That was often the word that came to mind when people spoke about Harriet D’Angelo, not only in the physical sense but in her attitude as well.

What drew you to this character? | Harriet offers a unique perspective when juxtaposed with other characters, someone who has been directly affected (in a really, really, brutal sense) by the mafia without having warranted it. Most who are punished by la famiglia deserved it, in one way or another, but her son had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and she had suffered as a result.

In spite of that, she seems to have found peace in the fact that she has picked herself up - not once but twice - and is something that she won’t let anyone take away from her. In Verona that small modicum of calmness must be protected but, like a fire in a rain shower, that will take effort and I adore that she is willing to give that effort!

It was the last couple of lines in her bio that made me fall in love with her, when, honestly, I had almost disregarded her; “Harriet has no cards of her own - and perhaps that is why Mona’s let her in as much as she has.” That’s the true beauty of her, making her special and memorable to boot, a woman with nothing left to lose and no front to hide behind.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

i. SAY MY NAME

Harriet has heard stories about them, how the people fear them. Odin Bello and Matthias Warren. They knew their faces, she just had their names. Names that lingered in her mind like an image from an old dream, yet, were it a dream she could escape them. Far harder a feat when they were living, breathing, people that walked among those who she often wouldn’t give a second glance to. The men are a band-aid slapped haphazardly over the wound of her son’s death, confronting them (and ripping that off) is inevitable, but she forgot the scab beneath is barely healed.

(Harriet does not intend to murder either man for what happened to her son, as made apparent in her bio, but she is not shy to make her feelings known. I feel their response could influence her current view on the mafia as a whole which I find particularly interesting considering one is Montague and one is Capulet, but the confrontation is something she needs for closure.)

ii. IN THE SHADOWS

Enviable, people watch as she stands at the side of the Dark Lady herself, head canted back in mutual laughter and a drink in hand. Harriet has been afforded certain clemency from Mona Chen that others have only dreamed of but one does not stand at the right hand of a goddess without garnering attention from her clientele. The question in the back of her mind; did she want the recognition?

(Harriet, as a neutral character, has the potential to be connected to the mafia through her connection with the Dark Lady. It is purposefully broad as I can imagine it going a number of directions - using information she has learned against someone who threatens her, someone seeking her out for the information they believe she knows, or even being used as leverage against Mona herself! Overall, I want to use the Dark Lady to draw her closer to the mob.)

iii. HEY THERE, DELILAH

Delilah; a woman who dared to step beyond the boundaries that the mafia had drawn for her and suffered the consequence, still offering Harriet the comfort that she was not alone. Their affliction was different but their diagnosis was the same; heartache. Their connection is particularly interesting given that Delilah was stabbed at the cathedral, a deathly reminder; that the mob will continue to tear those who try to better themselves down unless it fits their agenda.

(I think after what happened at the cathedral that it will be a reminder for Harriet about the cruelty of the mob, perhaps making her thankful that she isn’t directly connected to either camp. The fact that Delilah and Odin were a couple, that the woman she might grow to consider a friend danced with the devil and emerged unscathed, physically, at least, would make Harriet both respectful and fearful of her - did this woman know what happened to her son?)

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Once you turn her into a statue…

IN DEPTH

In-Character Interview:

Harriet had to grapple with reluctance until it seemed agreeable to host the interview at her home. Her space had been her own for so long that the thought of letting someone else in, however temporary, seemed alien to her. Hesitation, thankfully a yielding creature when faced with resolution and resolve, still manifested in the nervous tapping of her feet when positioned at her work station. The soft cadence of the doorbell soon echoes within the confines of the modest apartment, a soft smile lined her lips as she answered the door. The shock that greeted her in response turns her expression sheepish as she remembers the scalpel held loosely in hand. Great start, she thinks to herself, though what she says is a hushed apology.

“Please, come in,” attempting to rectify the damage she had managed to inflict, she stands back in what she hopes seems like a welcoming gesture. “Can I get you anything, signora? Tea? Coffee?” Harriet waits for their answer, nodding her comprehension as she busies herself with making a beverage for each of them, returning to take a seat opposite them at her table. Her home was modest, and she liked it that way, unburned by the expectations of a lavish lifestyle and unchained by memories that she would have rather forgotten in the large house she had once lived in. Nice might not have been the word for it, but she would have said it came close.

“What is your favourite place in Verona?”

“The Cathedral was one of my favourite places in Verona, before -,” her sentence trails off, it didn’t need to be finished; everyone knew what happened to the building that had once stood proud in the centre of the city. Harriet had gone there every day when she had been married, used to pray that she was somewhere - anywhere - else. Safe. Odd, that the girl who had been content with what she had, to have wished for something beyond her reach. There had been a moment - between the explosion and the acknowledgement of what had happened - where relief had surged through her.

“Now,” she lapses into a brief silence, consulting the softest part of herself that still beat beneath her ribs, “I’d have to say that the natural history museum has a special place in my heart.”

“What does your typical day look like?”

“Is anything typical in Verona?” Head cants in tandem with her question, the corners of her mouth quirking upward as she gradually relaxes into the situation. “Bene,” relenting, acknowledging that the woman in front of her was serious about the task at hand, “I’m afraid I’m rather dull. I spend the majority of my time at work and, when I’m not there, you’ll find me here.” Hands sweep outward, away from her body, motioning toward the explanation for her scalpel, her latest project cast to one side in favour of the mug of coffee she held between her hands. Harriet doesn’t mention the club where she spends the majority of her evenings, everyone in Verona knew the Lady and had formed their opinion on her, and her business was her own.

“What has been your biggest mistake thus far?”

Breath sucked in between her teeth, pause ensuing, she is unsure how best to answer. “I want to say being too free with whom I give my heart to,” even as she says it aloud it sounds like she was answering one question with another, answering one of them, she continues, “but I don’t think of that as a mistake, a learning curve perhaps, but it is never a mistake to love.” Her heart aches, she can feel it in her chest, an assault against her ribcage in protest of her response. Harriet had been burnt by the flames of devotion before, again and again, yet she was willing to ignite that fire again and let it dance within her soul.

“What has been the most difficult task asked of you?”

The sigh slips from her before she can stop it, “I’m not sure.” Instinct was a cunning thing, faster than the plethora of other options that formed from its dust, leaving her no time to reinforce her armour. “I think to live when the odds are stacked against you can be quite difficult at times.” Harriet forces a faint breath of laughter, half for her sake and half for her interviewer, self-deprecation lingering in the corners of her expression. “This interview will seem terribly sad, won’t it? I’m not so serious all the time, I promise.”

“What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

Harriet remembers the feeling of her fingers brushing across the small, neatly printed, card affixed to the wall of the gallery, mouth turned into a reflection of the contented guise she had donned in that moment. Her gaze had drank in the black ink on white, like iced tea on a summer day, and she had felt happy. In loving memory of Maximillian D’Angelo it read. The display had been one of the first that she curated in the Twelfth Night, and it had felt right, seeing the butterflies (in various artistic guises) peppered throughout the room; her old life and her new merged into one.

“It has been happening for as long as I can remember,” she muses, truthfully, “and so many have been injured as a result. Their war has cost me my son, I know that I don’t want to be involved with it.”

Extras:

Mock blog – https://mockhermione.tumblr.com/

Pinterest board – https://www.pinterest.ie/em_kl/misc-oc/

Playlist – https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Kdebdsmt4FI2KCbEHuVZx?si=yhdor2ObSiSXrbVM9sy4JQ

HEADCANON: (TW Death)

Harriet was born January 4th 1984, making her a Capricorn, the only child of Claudia and Gabriel D’Angelo.

Her mother had chosen to be a stay-at-home wife, abandoning her role as receptionist in a law firm once she had Harriet, her father worked as a lessor of real estate which turned a profit.

Harriet has a BSc in Biology and a MA in museum studies.

Uberto Regio had not lived up to the meaning of his name, yet she had married him, aged 22, in an effort to appease her parents. In making a long story short, it was not a pleasant marriage.

Maximillian Regio was born on December 27th 2006, a belated Christmas gift, becoming Maximillian D’Angelo when Harriet reclaimed her maiden name after her marriage ended in the New Year.

Harriet was offered a job in the Museo Civico di Storia Naturale, the Natural History Museum of Verona, transferring to the Twelfth Night & the Tempest after her son died.

Max was 7 years old, just shy of turning 8, when he was murdered.. [I’m going to purposefully leave the cause vague as while I imagine he was caught in the crossfire between opposing sides of the mob coming home from school I would like to discuss with admins and relevant writers as necessary]

Harriet keeps butterflies and releases them from a butterfly garden every year as it was something her and Max used to do.

Her personality type is the Defender: ISFJ. Kind, quiet and devoted. She is a natural protector of the weak and good-hearted once you get beyond her initial awkwardness.

One of her more unusual hobbies is taxidermy which she learned from her grandfather, and touched on in her degree.

#lsrpg #lsrp #literate rp #bio rp #rp #accepted #accepted: hermione

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