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dinopopduck · 3 years

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Ezekiel Only Being Unaffected By Certain Kinds of Magic

Let’s just start with me saying this isn’t exactly a new theory. It’s the demigod thing, and it’s a fairly popular one. If you haven’t heard of this headcannon, I put as much as I can find here. If you have, I found a bunch of new stuff that I haven’t seen anyone else mention, so reading this isn’t a complete waste of your time, I hope.

I tried to keep this from becoming wordy, but it got really long anyway, because there was a lot to talk about here.

Ezekiel being unaffected by magic is sort of an ongoing thing in the show. He is influenced by it much of the time, such as by Santa’s Hat, Pan’s Flute, Prospero’s spell, lycanthropy, etc. When it comes to the stuff he was seemingly completely immune to, there is one link that connects them all.

Apple of Discord: Everybody knows this one. The Apple is a Greek artifact, meant to turn you into the worst version of yourself, and Ezekiel was only one completely unaffected. It’s blamed on “he’s already the worst version of himself” or whatever.

Zeus Lightning Bolt: the episode where Ezekiel ends up decked out in Greek armor, and is sent to pick up Zeus’ Lightning Bolt, which was freaking out and zapping everywhere. He picks it up just fine, and he’s then able to hand it off to Flynn. It may have been purely because of the Greek armor he was wearing, but Flynn did not seem so sure about that working.

Cindy’s Love Potion: Ezekiel is able to be near the potion without becoming obsessed with Cindy. At first, it’s blamed on him being obsessed with himself, then later Jacob tells Ezekiel that he was already in love with Cindy. It was an obsession, not a love, potion you literally spent the episode proving that blah blah, he didn’t even recognize her at first blah blah, anyway, I have a better reason.

There are two Greek mentions in this episode. First, the potion project itself is called Project Aphrodite, a Greek goddess. Second, the sunflowers; when asked, Jenkins mentions how sunflowers are a Greek symbol of unrequited love. In addition, “love” potions may have originated in Greece, or at the very least, were common enough to have multiple sites claim that, lol. At the end of the season, where each librarian uses their gifts to turn Apep mortal, this greek potion is what Ezekiel ends up using.

See a pattern here? Everything that he was completely unaffected by was Greek in some way. So, he has an immunity to these kinds of artifacts, but why? I vote demigod.

Anyway, moving on.

Here’s some magic he could have been immune to, or could not have been. Its pretty debatable.

Fortuna: Technically a Roman Goddess, but the show does acknowledge how similar they are to Greek Gods. He may have been affected by the spell, but broke out of it pretty quick. Some think he may not been affected at all; slot machines aren’t exactly fair, especially in a casino that exists to cheat completely. As for Ezekiel getting so upset over losing, what he says, “Not the guy that loses, I’m the guy that wins” sounds very similar to what he was saying in Point of Salvation, but that’s a whole nother topic.

Alternately, he was affected and this point shouldn’t be here. I don’t know, I’m not the writers.

Libris Fabula: He was a little bit affected, just far less than the others, as he acted pretty much the same. He did get a barely noticeable clothing change, became luckier than normal, and was just able to cast a spell for some reason? Speaking out that spell, it froze the guy, and a certain Greek God does have the ability to put people to sleep. Not really the same thing, but worth thinking about. Maybe. More on that later.

Most people think he was immune, but he could have just been similar enough to the character he was portraying that he didn’t need to change a whole lot.

These ones are barely worth mentioning, because have other reasonable (though I guess your definition of reasonable may be different from mine) explanations, but you could see them as magic immunity as well:

Silver Screen: Ezekiel gets into character the least, while Cassandra and Jacob are out singing and calling people by their character names. Maybe less affected, maybe just a spoilsport. Probably the last one.

Point of Salvation: Was the only one able to remember previous loops. Since they were in a video game, it’s explained that since he was the first through the door, he became the player while everyone else became NPCs. I mean, sure.

Christmas Thief: Saint of Thieves only used his truth telly power on Ezekiel’s mother, not him. Ezekiel did not feel obligated to say anything. Could just be that the guy wasn’t talking to Ezekiel. Or, earlier in that episode Ezekiel tells his mother he doesn’t steal anymore (at least for anything other than the Library, I assume, cause he still kinda does) and therefor that made him immune to the spell, since it only works on thieves.

Image of an Image: Both Cassandra and Ezekiel got their pictures taken, and Cassandra was the only one affected by the transfer spell. However, Ezekiel wasn’t one of the “chosen ones” because he snuck in, and jumped in front of the camera while Eve (one of the “chosen ones”, who was later able to be affected) turned away. Either that, or he just didn’t have time to feel the effect, since his picture was taken after Cassandra’s, and Eve’s was placed in manually.

That’s all the possible instances of magic immunity I could think of.

Next, we have some other stuff that is relevant to this point, but wasn’t necessarily artifact/magic immunity.

Prophecy Cube: Created by the Oracle of Delphi, who is from Greek mythology. This isn’t about whether Ezekiel was affected by something, as he was still able to use the prophecy glass/get stuck in the cube. Rather, it’s about the Zeus Challenge in the cube. They probably would have died in there, but luckily, Ezekiel had just happened to steal, and keep on him, the exact thing they needed to get through– a bunch of golden coins, and a prophecy that ensures at least one coin can’t be destroyed. Luck? Prophecy? Divine Intervention? Plot convenience? Okay its probably the last one but STILL

Also, Ezekiel getting pissed at Zeus.

Zeus’s Bolt (again?): There is a promo image I think for season 4? that has each of the Librarians holding their tools. Jacob had his axe, Cassandra had a notebook, Flynn had Excalibur, all normal, except for Eve and Ezekiel. Eve had this big staff thing I didn’t recognize, and Ezekiel had Zeus’ Bolt for some reason?

Lightning, just, in general: If there is wild electricity in an episode, Ezekiel is probably around.

Examples:

City of Light: Gets shocked and knocked backwards into Jacob by a very electrified fence, gets up right afterwards and is fine.

Broken Staff: The Zeus Bolt thing, you get it.

Image of an Image: Ezekiel electrocutes Jacob. Jacob was not really fine. He lived, though.

Point of Salvation: Ezekiel electrocutes Jacob part 2 Electric Boogaloo, but this time on purpose. He was not fine. He died. But don’t worry, he lived.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy: Mentioned a little bit above, Ezekiel, Jacob, and a student get stuck in the Zeus Challenge, and Ezekiel uses some coins he just so happened to steal recently. Throwing them on tiles shows whether or not lightning will strike if it was stepped on. Seriously, why is it ALWAYS Jacob?

The Dark Secret: Ezekiel is the one sent to wrap a cord around a lightning rod constantly being struck by lighting. “Why am I bloody doing this”, he asks? I mean, Zeus probably isn’t going to kill his descendent(?), right?

Werewolves: Have you heard of the Lycaon of Arcadia? It’s a Greek myth. Basically, this dude named Lycaon wants to test how smart and all-knowing Zeus is. To do so, he kills his own son, cooks him, and serves him to Zeus to see if he notices, ya know, no biggie. Zeus was like “wtf man” and brings the son back to life, and turns Lycaon into, you guessed it, a wolf. So, Zeus creates a werewolf of sorts, maybe one of the firsts. In Fangs of Death, Ezekiel just so happens to be the one (main) character to be turned into werewolf. So, if he was a descendant of Zeus, imagine how big of a “fuck you” that was to the god. That all being said, Ezekiel was turned by an Egyptian god, so that might not have been intentional. Also, they may have just been avoiding turning Jacob, because there is already a werewolf named Jacob and they didn't want another Twilight reference in that episode.

Family/Name: Ezekiel is adopted, and his adoptive mother mentions how she took him in off the streets. Because of that, we don’t know who his birth parents are, and whether or not he, or anyone else, knows is unknown. Soooo, we can take some creative liberties as to who his parents might have been.

As for his name, it carries some religious connotations. It should be remembered though, the meanings I’m talking about here are Biblical, not Greek, so again, might mean nothing for this argument. “Ezekiel” is “God’s Strength” or “God will Strengthen”. Jones might also be something like “God is gracious” or “God has favored”, thought different sites say different things. However, I’m pretty sure the name Jones came from his adoptive mother, and apparently Jones is a common last name in Australia. His first name is more relevant, because all of his siblings have themed names; Mercy, Charity, and Honor. So, either his mom named him differently because she knew something we don’t, or he already had the name before she adopted him. Either way, this probably means absolutely nothing. But what are we here for? To analyze a dead show like an English teacher analyzes the color of curtains in an 100 year old text. If it wasn’t for all the other stuff, I probably wouldn’t think about this too much.

Okay. So Greek stuff, lightning, and Zeus himself come up a LOT when it comes to this guy. So is Ezekiel the son of Zeus? Possibly, but a more popular theory is that he’s Zeus’ grandson. Because Zeus’ son just so happens to be Hermes; god of things such as luck, travel, money, trade, and most importantly, thieves. Oh, and animal husbandry/shepherds and sleep, I don’t know how much those apply but I will try.

Time for some comparisons, honestly most of these don’t even need to be explained so I’ll keep it short-ish, cause this shit has gotten way too long already.

Luck: Ezekiel, especially in the first season, likes to rely on luck, and tends to be very lucky in general. Examples where this is mentioned include Fables of Doom and Apple of Discord. “Smarter to be lucky then lucky to be smart!”

Travel: We can assume that he ended up traveling in his previous job (that being heists all over the world) fairly often, even before the Library. Becoming a Librarian with a teleporting door increased that of course.

Money: Steals very high-value items to sell. Also apparently likes to take money from his coworker’s wallets. And probably everyone else’s.

Trade: The aforementioned high-value pieces he steals are traded/sold for money. In Christmas Thief, we find out he kept none of the money or items, giving it away to others who needed it. That kinda fits this category, I think.

Thieves: I really don’t need to explain this. Unless you haven’t seen the show.

Animal Husbandry/Shepherds?: Basically the care of animals. Um, well he doesn’t keep cows or anything, but he has a tendency to “adopt” magical creatures that need help. Stumpy, Nessie Jr., maybe Frankenstein’s Monster as well?

Sleep: I mentioned earlier how Ezekiel froze a guy (not really in an icy way, just couldn’t move) by hitting him with his coin. Hermes is able to send people to sleep with his Caduceus (the snake wand thing). Yeah, it’s not really the same thing, though you could consider being frozen a kind of sleep. He could have just been lucky enough to find a magical coin, and lucky enough to figure out how to use it at the exact right time without even knowing what it did. It’s a stretch either way, really, and was never explained in the episode at all. Yeah, I can't find anything else that fits.

Hermes is considered to be a thief and trickster, and a lot of the things he is god of are Ezekiel’s main occupations. With all those similarities to Hermes, frequent events related to lightning and Zeus related things, and immunity to Greek artifacts, we can conclude that he is perhaps the son of Hermes, taking after his father in abilities and getting visits from grandpa.

Alternatively, his somehow IS Hermes, but I doubt that. He’d probably be way more powerful. He was also able to see the future with Prophecy Glass, which Jenkins claims is impossible for immortals to do (although in that case he was talking about a Prophecy Cube, but close enough). It’s more likely that he is a demigod.

Okay, that is all I can think of that is relevant. I binged the series about two months ago, and have been thinking about this theory. I went ahead and re-watched the episodes that I mentioned in more detail, as well as parts of others that I remebered. The reason I bring this up is because I may have missed things. I did not rewatch a majority of the episodes, more that I looked at a list of episodes on wikipedia and tried to remember what happened in them, watching clips and episodes if I needed to.

The show was cancelled, so we’ll probably never get a confirmation as to who Ezekiels’ birth parents were, and as such, you can’t prove me wrong! That being said, if I got any facts incorrect in this, please tell me so I can fix it. I’m not well versed on Greek Mythology, in fact I know basically nothing, and did the research as I went along. So again, there could be more. This is just what I found in like, less than a day of searching.

Join me next time on “How is Cassandra magical, where’d she get it from? Also, were we ever gonna meet her parents?” And “In the first episode of season 3, Jacob is just able to hit a heavy punching bag of its chain, across the room, at bullet speed, just because of a shift of his wrist, and later in that episode do the same thing to Apep, and it’s just…never addressed or spoken about again? Like wtf man?”

I'm probably not doing that

If you managed to get through all of this, thank you, and I hope this wasn’t too painful to read.

#the librarians #ezekiel jones #greek #hermes #zeus #this took so long #magic #magic immunity #theory #headcannon #demigod #curse of cindy #apple of discord #broken staff

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queerconfusionthings · 4 years

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Fetch

13th Doctor x reader

This idea truly came out of nowhere and i had to write it down, which means it could be absolutely awful. either way i think i'm going to write this concept into something fully fleshed out and angsty and actually written well onto ao3 when i have time

Taglist - @psychobitchtess @oster-hagen @dykecious @lostshadow12 @thejinxmaster @bitemealiienboy @ellacannotdance @hcney-lemon @im-tired-24-7 @sweetlittlesoufflegirl @truthbehindthemysteries @startrekkingaroundasgard @ettorah @theaussietimelord @captainlgordon @findingyouagain @fabulous-jj-style @kinglivv

"Lycanthropy. I've met a werewolf before, not a very nice one mind you."

You sat unnervingly still on the steps, watching her flap around the console without a care in the universe. She seemed just fine, but your throat was so dry you almost feared it'd ignite at any moment. "That's uh, that's great, Doctor, but I don't unders- "

"You won't be like him," she interjected, suddenly looking very gravely in your direction. Well what was that supposed to mean? "Not technically a werewolf either, that's more of an Earth thing. This is different. Less like- like an infection and more like- " her shoulders deflated, arms falling down by her sides, "I don't know, I haven't really encountered this planet before. See their name on a lot of ice cream and it's a proper good ice cream, so I thought we could check it out."

Your usual enthusiasm for her ramblings had crashed and burned with immediate effect, your leg now bouncing of it's own accord. "Doc, please, I don't understand what's gonna happen to me."

You hoped her look of sympathy meant she'd stop attempting to change the topic. She tended to do that a lot. Not to mention that even the generally relaxing ambience of the TARDIS was starting to hurt your head. There were far too many lights. Why were there so many? They were all over the walls, lining the columns, the console.

"'S there any way to, like, reverse it? I don't- I mean, how am I supposed to go about my life occasionally transforming into a huge dog. Alright in the movies an' everything, but how do you even manage that?"

As soon as she even spoke, an unbearable scent of motor oil, and maybe even vanilla wafted straight into your face. God, it made you feel sick. Not- not the Doctor's scent, that was always nice, delightful even, but it was just so heavy handed this time. You tried shaking it off in favour of having the rare intimately friendly moment with her.

"Look, I can try. We need to go to the medbay anyway, look everything over. And if not- if you're stuck this way, which is perfectly fine, then I'll help you figure it out. Trust me, I've met plenty of people over the years. Yeah?"

Her hand landed on your knee, preventing it from bouncing any further. You only stared at it, nodding. The scent was stronger. "Hate the medbay. All hospital-y."

You were in a grass field now, one that the TARDIS had already generated. The Doctor had let slip how much time she really spent in there, just sitting alone doing god knows what, but there was no time for voicing concern over her constant chattering and instruction.

"If you can learn to control it, that's better for everyone."

She'd taken her coat off, which was a distraction in itself, a tennis ball in hand. It did feel slightly demeaning, knowing you'd probably be bounding to catch it like a common houshold pet in a moment or two. Regardless, you tried to keep yourself stable and focused, a feat a little hard when standing in the bare minimum clothing, grass tickling your feet.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Doctor? What if I hurt you?"

"You won't!" She called back. She must have noticed how unconvincing that had sounded. "And if you do, I can take it. The TARDIS'll protect me."

You gave a curt nod and swung your arms from side to side, trying to hype yourself up for what was about to happen. You say what was about to happen, it could so transpire that you didn't manage to turn at all, and that you remained looking slightly insane in this solitary field with just the Doctor and not much clothing at all.

"Would it help if I gave you a countdown?" She called across.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, do that. Am I going on one or g- "

"Three!"

Oh shit, you supposed you were doing this then. How embarrassing would it be if you didn't manage it?

"Two!"

On the other hand, surely it would be substantially safer in that instance. And what would you do when transforming back? You'd just be naked in a field, in front of the Doctor of all people.

"One!"

Her voice almost acting as a catalyst, you felt it happening in near slow motion, the seems of your vest tearing apart, your form shrinking down. Your human sense of conscience seemed to tear apart in the same fashion, senses heightening, impulse control depleting.

There was still this voice in the back of your head, which was a relief, but everything in your mind was screaming at you to go absolutely mental. You barely registered you were running until you knocked straight into the Doctor. What was most embarrassing was the way you sniffed around, attention grabbed with immediate effect once she simply held the ball above her head.

"Oh that's it," her other hand reached to scratch behind your ears, which would bring a bright flush to your skin in any other scenario, but it made you feel absolutely gleeful.

As soon as the tennis ball left her hand, you were after it like a rocket, and you had to admit, the way you sprung into the air felt oddly freeing. Even as you bounded back to the Doctor, crashing into her once more, you simply felt amazing.

"I'm gonna try communicating with you in your head now." You weren't paying even remote attention, you just wanted to grab the ball back. It seemed much more fun than the Doctor's scientific experiments. Far too wordy, not to mention the incomprehensible rambling.

At least that's how you saw it until her hand was back behind your ears, that combined with a stern glance - the type of stern glance you'd give your pet, which made you feel beyond sheepish.

"You can get it back once we've tried this, hm? I'm sure the human inside you isn't too happy about not being able to talk."

Her hand was against your head then, and for a moment, all you felt was a blinding hot pain in your temples, one you usually associated with an awful headache. There was a sort of static noise too, ringing in your ears. You even heard a howl, which you soon dejectedly realised must have come from you.

"There we go! Sorry about that, you're very stubborn as a wolf."

Her voice felt as though it was echoing around the walls of your head, which was a very odd sensation.

"How are you feeling?"

It took a moment, but you figured out how her strange Time Lord trickery, if that's what you'd call it, worked. You simply imagined your lips moving and came out with. "Embarrassed. I just slobbered around a bloody tennis ball."

"I thought it was fun! An' you can't help what you enjoy in a completely different form." True, you supposed. "It's like... it's like when I regenerate, I can go from absolutely loving apples to despising them. Haven't tried one yet in this form, not sure I want to..."

You managed a slight bit of a laugh at that. She was trying to reassure you, and that was nice in itself; the sentiment was there.

"And anyway, you'll just learn to control yourself the more you practice. The more human aspects of your brain will become more and more in control of the, well- the wolf-ish part of it."

When she'd finished, the static noise was back, up until you woke up entirely yourself, laying underneath the Doctor's coat.

Oh.

Okay.

That was fine, perfectly fine, laying naked underneath her coat, that wasn't an issue.

I mean, she didn't seem deterred by it at all, only sitting beside you with a grin oblivious to your wide eyes. "That was proper brilliant! I took a picture so you could see yourself, I think I got it right- Ryan showed me what to do."

"Oh, yeah- right, that's- that's great- "

"Hold on, I'll go grab the blanket and the spare change of clothes."

Beside the embarrassment, it was quite lovely. The grass was a little itchy, but the sight of the sky was certainly something to behold. You hadn't took the chance to glance up beforehand, but the TARDIS had really outdone herself, as usual. A beautiful blue, two suns, the colour darkening as time passed. You could almost see some stars.

"Here we go, I'll hold up the blanket as you get changed if you like."

You only let her hold it up, her head turning away for your sake more than anything else, as you stumbled into the clothing in a desperate need for speed. God, they smelled like her. She'd barely touched them, they were your clothes after all, and yet she was absolutely all over them. You hoped the extra sense of smell died down over time; having a heightened sense of the Doctor was perfectly fine, but what if there was some, I don't know, spoiled milk?

You pushed it to the back of your mind, and lowered the blanket in front of you back down. The Doctor was still smiling. She must have been much more excited about this than you were. The flip phone came out of her pocket in an instant, she was that desperate to show you the photos.

You weren't sure what you were expecting other than a ginormous wolf with fur near the same colour as your natural hair, but the Doctor was oddly delighted by it. Better one person be excited by the prospect of you being a glorified wolf than none at all.

"Right, ice cream then?"

Oh you still had plenty of questions, but the Doctor was always reluctant when faced with them herself. You supposed you could enjoy the moment of bliss for now. Her company was always much nicer when she wasn't getting defensive or moody, and you didn't want to ruin a good thing. And ice cream did sound good.

#doctor who #13th doctor #thirteenth doctor #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #doctor who imagine #13th doctor imagine #thirteenth doctor imagine #the doctor #the doctor imagine #the doctor x reader #jodie whittaker #jodie whittaker x reader #jodie whittaker imagine #doctor who x reader #dw #dw imagine #dw x reader

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

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Steph’s Promposals TM

Disclaimer: This fic was inspired by Chapter 35 of Tamen De Gushi by Tan Jiu and Tim Drake’s vigilante life ruining his school life in Robin: Wanted. This was supposed to be last week’s fic but it’s wordy... Words: 2,587

When Tim comes home from one of Wayne Industry’s covert labs, he finds his whole family in his room. They have rummaged through the suits in his closet which are now laid out for viewing on his king-sized mattress. Before he can ponder whether he should ask or just leave, Dick spots him.

“Tim!” Dick holds up two suits, “All-black dinner suit or grey summer suit?”

All eyes are on him now and Tim wonders if the family’s invited to the Gazette’s upcoming charity gala next month. But they never prepared for those things, asking for recommendations on suits or dressing each other. Unless it’s for a mission, they never prepare at all.

“Wouldn’t a white-polo black jacket dinner suit be more appropriate for a gala?” Tim has moved toward his desk to empty the contents of his bag, while his family turned to each other with raised brows.

Suddenly, Damian scoffs loudly and ceremoniously punches Jason in the arm.

“Ow!”

“I told you Drake didn’t know. Pay up.”

“Tim,” Bruce says softly, “aren’t you going to your prom?”

Tim’s hand slips from the table. He stays stunned in midair as he repeats Bruce’s question in his head. His last prom is the day after tomorrow but he’s never gone to a single one. So why are they concerned about it now?

Tim slowly turns around and is almost insulted by the pitying looks his family is giving him. Dick looks like he’s about to cry and Cass smiles at him with sad eyes. Alfred is pressing down the non-existent creases of his jacket. The ends of Jason’s lips are pulled down. Damian’s smirking. And even though Bruce is trying to hold in his reaction, Tim can see the slightest furrow of his usually-apathetic brows. They’re staring at him like he’s dying but he doesn’t know it yet.

“Why would you assume I’m going?” he asks warily.

His question only made his family’s expressions graver. Finally, Bruce gives him the deepest sigh Tim has ever heard.

“Father,” Damian steps forward with a grin on his face. “Allow me.” He takes out a small red automatic umbrella from behind him. “Grayson asked if he could borrow your umbrella this morning and you threw him this.” Damian tosses it to Tim.

Tim holds it in his hands and vaguely remembers what happened before he left the manor this morning. He’s seen the umbrella before but never used it. He sort of remembers it being a gift from a good friend last year, who also started ignoring him out of the blue.

“Open it.”

Tim doesn’t want to take orders from Damian but no one else in his family is speaking up and at this point, Alfred has sat down to brace himself while peering at Tim through folded hands.

“No. Open it as if it’s raining. At the ceiling. So we can see your reaction.”

Damian is being especially specific and Jason’s frown has slowly been replaced by an eager smirk. There seem to be some theatrics planned and Tim hasn’t figured out where this is going so he decides to play along.

He points the umbrella toward the ceiling and pushes the button. There, on the inside of the umbrella, written in black bold letters is the question: Will you go to prom with me?

Tim’s jaw drops. His wide eyes are punctuating each letter as he reads the message over and over again. No matter how many times he repeats it in his head it’s not changing.

A flash hits Tim in the face and he glares at Jason who’s laughing silently with his mouth open.

“Todd, you were moving too much. I should’ve taken it.”

“No, Dames-- haha-- I got it alright.”

“Sons. Please.”

Bruce’s voice drops as he closes his eyes while massaging his temples, unsure which boy he’s most disappointed in at the moment. At this point, Dick has made his way to Tim and clutches his shoulders, fingers pressing desperately, “At least say you remember who it’s from.”

✧ ✧ ✧

It’s the day before prom and just like last year, you don’t have a date. It’s no big deal, really. You had fun with your friends last time. But it’s just that, this time of the year is bringing back awful memories. Maybe you shouldn’t go to school?

You sigh. There’s still school the next day.

You get up, get ready, and drag your feet all the way to the front of your school. Your friends greet you near the steps and suddenly thoughts of last year have been forgotten. It’s not like you talk to him anymore. You’ve done a good job of avoiding him and he never made a move to apologize or patch things up with you so… really. It’s no big deal.

“Isn’t that--”

“Tim Drake?”

You didn’t want to look. You weren’t planning to. But you have been staring at him since you walked into the school because Timothy Drake is waiting by your locker. Holding the red umbrella.

He sees you and it’s too late to turn back. Your friends all know about the failed umbrella and they’re already marching up to him.

“The audacity.”

“You’ve got some nerve, rich prick.”

“Woah,” Tim quickly holds up his hands. Suddenly realizing he’s way over his head. He should’ve accepted Dick’s advice when he offered it last night instead of slamming his door shut on his family. He was embarrassed. But now, he would take Jason’s help with your friends, even if he’ll just end up being a soundboard for their insults.

“I can explain.”

Your friends scoff as you slowly walk behind them where you can only see glimpses of Tim’s face.

“Explain then.”

“I…” Tim stutters. Then he bows his head slightly and his free hand travels to the back of his neck as he sucks in through his teeth. He sneaks you a crooked smile while his eyebrows try to meet at the center. “I only opened it yesterday…”

Silence. Incredulous eyes and held breaths. Then a collective groan and one of your friends slaps their forehead.

Tim nervously chuckles to try lessen the tension, “Actually it was my brother--”

“Okay. Stop right there,” You’re blushing furiously and you are furious. You rush forward and cover Tim’s mouth with both of your hands. “Please stop.”

Tim peeks at you and your cheeks heat up at the sudden proximity. You quickly pull back your hand and nudge your head toward the end of the hall. Tim follows you, still clutching the red umbrella in his hand.

You stop and quickly snatch it from him. When you reach the corner, you wring the umbrella with your hands and refuse to look at him.

On his part, he doesn’t know what to say. He knows he should apologize but is that enough? It’s been a year. You’ve been mad at him this whole time and he was too clueless to even know why.

“Clueless is an understatement,” you say.

Tim gulps as he realizes he’s been speaking his mind. His tendency to mutter his thoughts has always been a nuisance to Jason and he always complains about it. But then again it’s Jason. He thought his brother was just making something up to annoy him about.

“Is oblivious more accurate?” he teases.

You turn to him then. Glaring.

“Not the time. Sorry!” Yeah. Second greatest detective my ass! Tim swallows. Where’s Steph when you need her?

You sigh. It sounds a lot like Bruce’s from last night. “Tim, we should get to class.”

“Okay. Okay,” he says in a rush. “I really am sorry. I was an idiot-- am an idiot.” You tap your foot on the tiled floor, not really wanting an apology. All you wanted was his answer. A rejection would’ve been better than this. “So I was wondering if I can make it up to you by taking you to prom this year?” he asks sheepishly.

The hair on the ends of your skin stand up. It’s not goosebumps or nerves. It’s pure rage. You stomp your foot at Tim, making him jump. “How dare yo-- NO.” You quickly turn and start to walk away but Tim grabs your hand.

“Y/N, wait--”

You snap at him, imitating his tone, “ ‘Make it up to you by taking you to prom’ God, Tim! I cannot believe you right now! You don’t ask a girl to prom like it’s some sort of favor!”

“How…” Tim hesitates, eyes narrows below furrowed brows, “How do I ask a girl to prom?”

You realize then that Tim isn’t just oblivious. He’s worse than a newborn calf. You slowly brush off his hand. The two of you stand awkwardly in the hallway.

You sigh for a long time with your hands running down your patience. “Look, Tim,” you start, “I’m not mad.” You stop, puzzled that it’s not a lie. You sigh again, softer this time. “Really. I’m actually a little relieved now that I finally know why you never answered me--”

“I--”

You hold up your hand, “So many reasons I came up with on my own. All bad ones. And I was imagining how I would give you such a hard time when you finally apologize.”

Tim tries to speak again but your gaze has softened and he suddenly doesn’t feel the need to explain. You understand. You’ve always understood him better than anyone. But he hurt your feelings, despite not knowing, and you deserve to be mad at him.

The bell rings and you wait until the halls have cleared before you continue, “But you know, after a year of not talking, I realized something.” Tim gulps when you look him in the eye. A light blush coats your cheeks. “I miss my friend.”

Tim stares at you before his lips slowly curl into a small smile.

You chuckle away the sudden nerves, “I miss my dumb oblivious friend who doesn’t know anything but academics and video games.”

His voice comes out low and breathless, “Yeah?”

You finally return his smile. “Yeah.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Steph’s laughter booms loudly over the gunshots on the rooftop. She’s wheezing and Tim is glaring into the distance, but not missing a beat when he sidesteps a thug and slams the barrel of his rifle against his nose.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you, Dames. I didn’t just get that from Steph’s obnoxious snorting.”

“So that’s a yes, right? You’re going to prom?” Dick asks through the comms.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Steph stops abruptly. Cass looms on a gargoyle perched above Tim and Steph, checking for any more movement. When she finds that they’ve subdued every single one, she joins Steph in staring at Tim. There’s a sudden eerie silence throughout all comms, as if the boys have instinctively picked up on the tension. It’s Babs who breaks it. “Steph, do the honor--”

“How in the holy hell do you figure she said yes to being your prom date? Come on, Timmy. Enlighten us. Please.”

Tim gulps and suddenly he couldn’t even hear his brothers breathing through the comms. His voice is low when he answers. “She said she missed me--”

“Because you haven’t hung out for a year!” Steph cuts him off then crosses her arms with a huff. She rapidly taps her feet, daring Tim to answer. “... She was avoiding me--”

“Because you didn’t even have the decency to use the umbrella she gave you! Ugh--!” Steph throws her hands up and kicks the ground. “Everyday this past year, I can’t believe my greatest promposal idea was soiled by your cluelessness.”

Tim’s eyes widens and he shouts indignantly at Steph, “It was your idea? Then why didn’t you just tell me!?”

“We had a bet going,” Babs interferes. “Nightwing party of three on your left. Robin en route to assist from overhead.”

“He’s coming in from the ceiling?!”

“Wait,” Tim cuts in, “Who else knew?” Cass raises her hand when Tim turns to her.

“Might I remind everyone,” Bruce cuts in through all comms, “that we are on a high stakes mission tonight?”

“Yes. Best postpone this discussion until tomorrow. Can someone please find out where Red Hood has been taken to?”

Cass immediately leaps off of her vantage point and leaves Tim and Steph on the rooftop.

Tim sighs under his breath, “... but prom is tomorrow.”

Steph comes up behind him and drapes her arm over his shoulders. “You’re so lucky you have me.”

✧ ✧ ✧

You make it through the school day just like any other. It’s even better now that you’re friends with Tim again. You took your shot and you crashed and burned. But at least now you can salvage your friendship.

Except that prom is tonight. Despite the awful memories, you still want your last prom to be unforgettable. More than half the school already ditched during lunch period. Now you only have a few hours left to get ready.

“Okay,” Steph whispers into her comms and Cass nods from beside her. “She’s leaving the classroom. Red, make it rain.”

From the roof, Jason quickly releases the folded firehouse in his grasp and aims it at the sky. The water splits as it comes down and blankets the small entrance of the school with fake rain. Jason grins as he watches high school kids scramble about in search for quick cover.

You’re watching from the top of the steps, looking down at the people running from the sudden rain. Strange, you think. It’s so bright out.

“Red 1, did you take Y/N’s umbrella?”

“Affirmative.”

Steph watches you rummage through your bag. “Okay. Red 1, go.”

Dick comes up from behind you, wearing an oversized coat to disguise himself, and opens his red umbrella halfway down the steps. You were going to ask if you could walk with him to the bus stop but the writing on his umbrella suddenly caught your eye. It has your name on it.

While you watch him walk away, Steph speaks into her comms again. “Red 2, go.”

Damian clicks his tongue at his codename. He only agreed to assist in this scheme because Steph let him write the next line.

A child too young to be in high school is also wearing an oversized coat and holding a red umbrella. He opens it at the foot of the steps and stays there. Waiting for you to read what’s written in angry bold letters on his umbrella: I’m sorry I’m a clueless idiot.

You blink at the words. Stunned. “What’s happening…” you mutter.

Steph turns to Cass, “Ready, Red 3.” Cass nods and the two of them come up from behind you. Cass opens her red umbrella first: It’s our last prom but my first one...

“Steph?” you call out.

Steph gives you a wink before she opens her own red umbrella: … and I want to spend it with you.

Steph and Cass count to two before they start walking away into the cover of the fake rain over your school.

You’re about to run after them when Tim suddenly shows up next to you. You’re staring at him with wide eyes that immediately turn to the red umbrella he’s holding in front of you. He unclasps it and opens it over your heads.

You look up. Inside it says: If you want to.

Tim takes in a breath before he speaks, “Do you want me?” His voice is low and shaky. “As your date I mean.”

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#Tim Drake #Tim Drake x Reader #Tim Drake/reader #Timothy Drake #timothy drake x reader #DC imagines #DC reader insert #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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goldencuffs · 4 years

Text

fake dating au part two

Whenever Laurent was overwhelmed, or feeling the kind of loneliness even a good cock couldn’t cure, he would sneak off into the library in the north wing of the Palace, where most of his mother’s official portraits were displayed.

Laurent loved all of them; Hennike was smiling in every single one, blonde hair curled perfectly, and teeth a stunning white. The colouring of her gowns and crowns were so bright, even painted, they seemed to shine in the dullest light. Laurent didn’t really know her; she had died three days after giving birth to him, but he had watched so many interviews and home videos of her, he felt like he had. She had been beautiful, well spoken, and everyone had been shocked when she had fallen for Al, because she had been betrothed to someone else.

Laurent liked coming down here to talk to her. It helped to have her listen to his dramatic tirades. He had started doing it when he was thirteen, when Auguste had enlisted in military training and left him alone, but had stopped a few months later, when Al caught him, his face ashen as he’d watched his youngest son babble to his dead wife.

After that, Laurent made sure to only come down in the dead of night, when he was absolutely desperate.

Which was clearly now; Laurent’s head had been spinning since the dinner at Heston’s. Even dessert hadn’t cheered him up — Heston, the absolute cretin, had served only four options of dessert and not a single one had chocolate in them. Not even one! It was like people intentionally went out of their way to put Laurent in a foul mood. Laurent had already drafted a wordy letter about Heston’s appalling lack of class and hosting abilities on the way home, and he was going to send it to the local tabloid first thing in the morning.

Laurent paced around the library, addressing his favourite portrait of his mother. It was her wedding portrait, and he loved all the detailing in it. The blush pink flowers in her bouquet matched her lipstick and her blush, and the tiara she was wearing had 588 diamonds in it. It was called The Laurent Tiara, and when Laurent had found out it had been Hennike’s favourite crown, he’d cried into his pillowcase for an embarrassingly long time.

“If I tell Al the truth now, he’ll kill me,” Laurent wailed at an appropriately low volume; he was very considerate of the sleeping guards when he threw his tantrums. “Or worse — get me married! Oh god, he’ll set me up with that idiot Torveld and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life hearing about his coin collection. Who even uses cash anymore? And what exactly is the point of having money if you can’t use it? And has Al even considered the aesthetics of our coupling? How are we supposed to wear matching outfits if Torveld looks rubbish in Egyptian blue and azure? Hello! Those are my signature colours!” Laurent sunk down on the lumpy sofa and buried his head in his hands. “Maybe death really is the better option.” He looked up at Hennike’s green eyes. “Is heaven overrated? Where would you personally place it on a scale of one to ten?”

She didn’t answer him, obviously. It was no use, anyway; Laurent was definitely not getting into heaven.

Laurent woke up irritated and unrested, and not for his usual, fun reasons. He hadn’t come up with any sort of solution to his dilemma and he had had a very strange dream where Damianos punched him while Al watched on. Then the scene had changed, and Laurent was on stage accepting his tenth Oscar for Best Actor, even though he had yet to star in any films.

“I’m thinking of becoming an actor,” Laurent told Al later that night during dinner.

Al’s eyes narrowed and his mouth became a sharp line. “What?”

“I mean, I have the looks, obviously. And really, how hard is acting anyway? Clearly you don’t even need to be very good at it to star in a movie — look at Channing Tatum. I’m sorry, but it’s very obvious his height was the only thing that got him into Hollywood, and even then it’s not that impressive.”

Al put down his knife and fork. “Can we —” He sounded very strained, “have a normal conversation for once.”

Laurent considered this. “I don’t think we’ve had enough conversations to statistically find out what constitutes a normal one,” he said. Al went red, so he continued, “So you don’t think acting is for me? Shall I try directing then? Or maybe —” He sat up excitedly in his chair. “I could write movies! I have so many ideas! Why, for instance, has no one considered a gay version of The Princess Bride? What would that even be called? The Prince Groom? Ugh, no, that’s terrible. Oh, who am I kidding — with my face and my body I have no choice but to be on camera. Otherwise, it’d be such a waste.”

The vein in Al’s forehead was throbbing. If he had been wearing his crown, it would have gone unnoticed, but like this, it was rather unflattering.

Al said, “Laurent,” in a sombre tone. “I really hope you’re joking.”

“About The Prince Groom? Kind of. But the acting thing — would it really be that bad?”

“You are a prince,” Al said, teeth clenched. “If it is the glam and glitz you want, you have more than enough here.”

Laurent, uncomfortably, thought of his room, the only place in the Palace that was truly his, devoid completely of personal artefacts. He swallowed. “Yes, well.” He tried a smile. “Maybe I should borrow another crown from the royal archives. I don’t think I’ve worn one with emeralds yet.”

Al resumed eating. “Speaking of crowns,” he said, completely glossing over Laurent’s last statement. “I’d like you to wear the Crown of Naos when King Damianos arrives.”

Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “As if! Al, the gold colouring on that completely washes me out! Not to mention the fact that that thing weighs like, five kilograms!”

Al’s nostrils flared at the word Al. He said, “The crown is a gift from Damianos’ great great grandfather to yours. It will be an appropriate and symbolic gesture if you wear it.”

“But why can’t you wear it? Or Auguste?”

“I am not the one having an affair with the King of Akielos,” said Al.

Oh, right. Laurent had forgotten about that. But what was the point? It wasn’t as though Damianos would recognise the gesture. If anything, he might think of it as inappropriate.

Instead he said, “Well, gee, Al, I didn’t peg you as a romantic.” Laurent fluttered his lashes a little.

Al pushed away his plate. “I’m done, thank you.” A servant immediately came to clear away his food.

Al left the dining hall, his shoulders tight. Laurent wished Auguste would hurry back home already.

In the morning, on the way back from the stables, Jord said, “Looks like your wish came true.”

Laurent stopped dead. “Oh my god — is Pierre-Alexis Dumas here? Is he finally going to collab with me?”

“Who’s Pierre-Alexis Dumas?” said Jord.

Laurent whirled on him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Sorry.” Jord said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. The audacity! “But look.” He pointed past Laurent, to the front of the Palace.

Laurent looked. There was a nondescript black limousine parked on the long, gravel pathway. Laurent would have dismissed it, if he didn’t spot sight of Jeurre, Auguste’s chauffeur, leant up against one of the doors, smoking.

Laurent gasped. He passed on his bridle to Jord, who fumbled to catch it, and ran inside.

Auguste and Al were in the plate room. Al was sitting on the large, velvet throne, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It wasn’t even noon! And he was baring his teeth in that weird way — smiling, as he called it.

Auguste was standing in front of him, hands behind his back. He had gotten very tan, and his hair was much darker, a strange golden colour that made the blue-green of his eyes more appealing.

They both turned when Laurent entered. Al’s mouth was already drooping at the sight of him, but Laurent only had eyes for his brother, whom he hadn’t seen in eight whole months.

Laurent wanted to hug him, which surprised even himself. Laurent was not a hugger. He wasn’t much of a toucher, either, unless it involved getting laid.

Auguste gave him a nod. He sometimes acted so much like Al, it disgusted Laurent; the only difference was that Auguste’s eyes were always kind.

Laurent peered at him closely, shocked. “What have you done to yourself? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should we call Paschal for a yearly psych evaluation?”

Auguste laughed. “It’s a moustache, Laurent. It’s very fashionable in Kempt, you know.”

“It’s horrendous!” Laurent cried. He stared at the thick hair above Auguste’s top lip in horror. “Right. I’m officially ruling Kempt out as a holiday destination this summer if all the men are growing that.”

Al’s eyebrows furrowed. “I like it. It’s very refined.”

“Oh god, now we have to get rid of it,” said Laurent, which made Al frown and Auguste laugh. Auguste squeezed Laurent’s shoulder. He was always mindful of Laurent’s boundaries. “I think you’ve grown taller.”

“I haven’t,” Laurent said. He showed off his riding boots. “See? It’s three inches of heel.”

“Very impractical,” Al said under his breath, which was not a very Kingly thing to do.

Auguste was still smiling. “I like it. It matches the piping of your coat.”

“Yes, exactly!” Laurent was so happy in that moment, he leant forward and hugged Auguste. It was very short, but Auguste looked so pleased afterwards, Laurent wished he had prolonged it.

“Did you get me anything?” he asked, to cover the embarrassment following his sudden burst of affection.

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I’m hurt, Laurent. You’re not going to ask me about my classes or my rather excellent Anthropology professor?”

Laurent scrunched up his face. “Are you stalling because you didn’t get me anything?”

Auguste smiled. “There’s about fifty boxes of Grand Cru chocolate in your bedroom.”

Laurent’s sound of ecstasy was too loud; Al spilled some of his whiskey onto his pants. Auguste clapped him on the back in commiseration.

As the servants laid out a small meal — roses of smoked salmon on cucumber slices, macaroons, thin slices of cured meat and cheese, crunchy shrimp salad on crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries and mango and pineapple, individual strawberry shortcakes, that kind of thing — Auguste said, “Father tells me you’re having an affair with the King of Akielos.” He said it casually enough, but Laurent could see he wasn’t thrilled about the idea.

Laurent swallowed his last bite of sandwich and placed a hand on his heart. “Al! You should know better than to gossip, shame on you!”

Al just sighed, a long, suffering sound, and Auguste glared openly at him. “I thought you promised to stop disrespecting Father like that.”

Laurent’s stomach pooled with an uncomfortable tightness. Being told off by Auguste somehow was always worse than being told off by Al.

“Fine,” Laurent said shortly. He said to Al: “Oh dearest Father, Papa, Your Majesty, light of my life, the man who impregnated Queen Hennike, so I, your glorious creation, could be born to bring some joy to this bleak, bleak world: stop gossiping immediately.”

There was a very long pause. Then Auguste laughed. “You are such a shit.”

Al sighed again. “He’s becoming more and more insolent by the day.”

“Thank you so much,” Laurent said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Auguste barked another laugh. Al sipped more whiskey; a very good sign. Laurent was going to take advantage of this; he wanted a new watch.

Auguste continued his questioning a few minutes later. “So. You and the King — it’s true?”

Laurent flapped a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. He saw those pictures of me from Aimeric’s birthday party where I wore those silk shorts that were just long enough to be tasteful and the poor darling had absolutely no choice but to slide into my DMs and woo me.”

“What’s a DM?” asked Al, and if the question had come from anyone else, Laurent would have found it adorable. He probably would have tweeted it as well.

“Texting,” Auguste said. He seemed contemplative. “Aimeric’s birthday — from last September? It’s been a bit more than a year.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. He tried to say it as wistfully as possible. “He bought me a Ferrarri.”

“Really?” Auguste sounded impressed. “The 1954?”

Laurent grinned. “Do you want to drive it?”

“Fuck yeah,” Auguste said, then quickly cleared his throat and looked at their father. “I mean, yes. Perhaps later in the afternoon.”

Al shook his head, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal. Well, he didn’t say anything to Laurent. He really was in a good mood.

Having Auguste back had Laurent so distracted it wasn’t until a few days later that he realised how frantically the staff were cleaning the floors and walls and painting frames.

In fact, he became so relaxed doing less than nothing all day, since Al was too busy doing this and that, or fawning over Auguste, he didn’t comprehend why the chefs needed fifty boars delivered fresh on Friday morning, until Al told him before their weekly Council, “I want you to wear your red high neck blouse tomorrow.”

“Why?” Laurent asked, checking for any fine lines in the shine of the armour of one of the propped knights in the hallway.

“It is the colour of the Akielos banner. I am trying to seem as diplomatic as possible.”

Laurent went very, very still. With dawning horror, he said, “The — Damianos is coming tomorrow?”

Al’s expression turned thunderous. “Do not waste my time asking stupid questions, Laurent. You know how much I despise it.”

Laurent’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he said quietly, real fear settling into his bones. Damianos was going to murder him tomorrow. He would need to get a facial tonight, to ensure he was the most beautiful corpse the human eye had seen. And then something much more horrific occurred to him. “Wait! I can’t wear the red high neck with the Crown of Naos! Those colours completely clash!”

Al seemed to age a few centuries in a blink of an eye. With a shake of his head, he walked into the Chambers, leaving Laurent alone in the hallway.

Laurent frowned. One of these days, he was going to be the one storming out. It was only fair.

Things only got worse.

Laurent’s last minute facial broke him out, so he threatened to sue and smashed one of their stupid reclining chairs.

Laurent had honestly thought that was going to be the worst of it; the pimple along his jawline was easy to cover up once he got the local dermatologist to inject something in it.

But on the morning of Damianos’ arrival, Laurent was in a terrible mood. He hadn’t slept at all, worried about his pimple, his horrible outfit, and the fact that a man who was the size of a small house — Google said Damianos was 6’6”, but he was definitely way more, no arguments — was going to viciously kill him.

“Hurry up,” Laurent snapped at the servant dressing him, who had been pulling too sharply at his laces for the last six minutes.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he answered meekly, and continued fumbling about.

When a few more minutes passed, Laurent looked down at him. “Okay, seriously, this is ridiculous. You usually get me dressed in ten minutes or less. What is the problem?”

“I —” The servant looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Your Highness, the laces — I can’t do them up. It’s uh — it’s too tight.”

“What do you mean?” Laurent asked, narrowing his eyes. “This fit perfectly a month ago.”

“Yes, well —” And his eyes slid over to the bed, where an empty, open box of chocolates was stacked against many other empty boxes of chocolate.

Laurent saw red.

It took three guards and then Jord and Lazar to keep Laurent restrained enough to not kill him. In the end, he yelled until his throat was hoarse and the servant broke down, running out the room with his face covered in tears.

Afterwards, Laurent attempted to do up the laces himself, because he was not fat, and he definitely had not gained weight; he was svelte and sexy and desirable.

In the end, he could only do his trousers up, and only just. If he let out a particularly deep exhale… well, breathing was overrated anyway, Laurent had always thought so.

“Oh, forget it!” Laurent howled, miserable and on the verge of tears himself. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t, Your Highness,” Jord assured quickly. Too quickly.

Laurent glanced at himself in the mirror. His ass was practically suffocated in these trousers — and that was his best feature! He ran a hand down it forlornly. “It’s too tight.”

Jord’s eyes followed his hand with avid interest. He was drooling.

“Could be tighter,” said Lazar, leaning against the bedpost.

Laurent flung himself on the bed. “No it couldn’t. I need to lose about three kilograms in the next —” He checked the clock, “half an hour. Oh god. Just tell Al I died. It’ll make his day, go on.”

“Orgasms help with weight loss,” said Lazar. “I could fuck your face.”

Laurent sniffed “Don’t be so stupid.” He looked at the clock again. “Obviously, riding you will help me lose more calories. Both of you get on the bed, quick.”

Laurent did not lose three kilograms in half an hour. As enjoyable as the sex had been, it had only made him tired and anxious.

Jord suggested that Laurent should just let the laces at the back trail, and cover it up with a coat, even though it was far too hot in the year to wear one. Laurent obliged anyway, knowing how difficult Al would be if he showed up wearing undiplomatic colours. He changed his trousers into a different pair, making sure it had an elastic waistband to stretch accommodatingly.

When the crown was placed on his head, he staggered a little. It really was unnecessarily heavy. His great great grandfather must have had a head the size of a watermelon.

Laurent walked unsteadily down the hall, towards the Palace steps where Auguste and Al were already waiting. His insides became so twisted with the thought of seeing Damianos, he had to make a detour and hide behind a tapestry to have a panic, but only a little one.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Auguste clapped him on the back in greeting, and Laurent winced, the material of his blouse sticking to his armpits. Al’s lips curled at his outfit, but Laurent couldn’t care. He hoped he looked beautiful enough — just enough — so Damianos would reconsider his murder. At the very least, Laurent hoped nothing happened to his face.

“Alright?” said Auguste. “You’re sweating.”

“Shut up,” said Laurent, mortified. He was a prince; he did not sweat.

Auguste’s response was cut off by the sound of the gates opening and rolling tires on gravel. Laurent’s heart was in his ears; he swallowed, but it made him feel more sick.

The sleek, black car was parked in the driveway. Several seconds later, Damianos stepped out, tall and handsome.

Laurent whimpered. It was one thing to see photos of Damianos on the internet, walking briskly down the street or shaking hands with Al, and it was another thing entirely to see him in the flesh as he walked down their driveway.

He was so tall. And he was built like a tree; all thick arms and chest and thighs. Laurent had such a weakness for thighs, they were really the best part of a man’s body, how they framed the groin and the cock and —

Laurent realised, suddenly, that he had not prepared at all for how he was going to greet Damianos.

Lovers kissed each other, yes? Laurent didn’t think he could do that without being punched but god, would Al think it was weird if he didn’t at least attempt to kiss Damianos? Maybe he could pretend to suddenly be shy, too coy to look into Damianos’ eyes in front of everyone — yes, yes that sounded perfect.

Damianos came up the stairs, smile wide and straight. His teeth were amazing. Were they fake? Laurent didn’t think so; he ran his tongue over his own, nervous, heart still thumping in his ears.

He greeted Al first. Laurent’s head was spinning. What if Al said something? What if Auguste did? What if Damianos said something that alluded to the fact that this was technically, the first time he and Laurent would be speaking to another?

And then Laurent couldn’t think of anything else, because Damianos was standing right in front of him.

He reached out, one large, dark hand to shake Laurent’s. Laurent staggered forward, into his chest, and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, Laurent saw the most beautiful angel.

“Wow, you’re hot.” Laurent poked a very hard, very strong bicep. “Heaven’s pretty cool.” He was dead, obviously, because people this good looking didn’t exist in the mortal world.

“You’re not dead, Laurent. Can you sit up?”

Laurent thought about it. He wasn’t dead? That was good news. But he felt like he was dead because he couldn’t move his body at all.

“Here, can you follow my finger?”

“Hmm.” Laurent said and stared unblinkingly at what he assumed was a finger. It was quite blurry.

“I think he’s concussed.”

Laurent giggled. The stranger’s accent made it sound like he had said cock-cussed. It made Laurent want to suck cock.

He said, “If I’m not dead, I’d like to be. Jord, get me my blue Prada scarf. I want to be buried in it. Lazar, get your gun out.”

“He doesn’t seem concussed.” That was Al. The compulsion to die was suddenly much stronger.

“We should take him to the hospital,” the hot angel said. Laurent was in love.

He said as much: “I really love you,” he told the blurry figure. Then he rolled over onto his side and threw up.

#captive prince #im going to see if its worth posting on tumblr and ao3 dont mind me #fake dating au #damen x laurent #my writing #my fic #queue

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inkdemonapologist · 4 years

Note

Okay but I do actually want to know both the things you love and the things you could rant about from DCTL?

OH BOY UHHHHHH okay lets see, I'm gonna see if I can do the "add a readmore after you post it" thing and see if that'll keep it stable.......

But also, much like Sammy, I am incapable of shutting up unless you strike me in the head with a blunt object, so uh, forgive my wordiness:

THINGS I ENJOY:

- DCTL gave us Sammy's ink addiction and like, if you had asked me before all this "what would you most like to see in a franchise?" I would not have answered "one of the characters drinks ink accidentally and then discovers that he can't stop" but boy that sure is my favourite concept that I LOVE to see handled literally any other way than how the book handled it!!!

- I like what it added to Tom and Allison and Norman!! Like, it's not big twists on their characters or anything -- we already knew Tom felt he was doing the wrong thing, so getting to see his CRUSHING GUILT over creating the machine isn't New Information, but it's nice to see and understand more of him; for all of them I feel a lot more attached to them after getting to see more of them as people.

- Like 90% of the "I LOVE IT" category for me is how the book handled Joey, and Buddy's relationship with Joey. The way Joey isn't a Sinister Mastermind Who’s Just Screwing With Everyone but just manipulative in a more mundane way -- someone who thinks of himself as just the guy with the vision to call the shots; he wants what he wants and this is how he's learned to get it; he exploits people not through devious schemes, but just by offering them something that they want or need and asking too much in return, expecting their loyalty for his favours. And the way he interacts with Buddy, making Buddy complicit with him and keeping Buddy off-balance and insecure while making him a favourite and treating him as Special is just PERFECT -- gives a lot of content to kind of extrapolate off of when pondering what must've drawn the others in and convinced them to ignore the red flags. I was initially frustrated with the idea of Buddy not being an artist and jUST DECIDING TO LEARN TO ANIMATE ON THE SPOT ("I've never done this before but I'm sure I can just do an artist's job" is a weirdly common throwaway thing in media and as an artist iTS A PET PEEVE) but actually the way they use his plagiarism to make him trapped in a lie in ways Joey doesn't even realise ends up being a neat echo of other employees (coughTOMcough), who were involved in much graver sins but suddenly felt they couldn't object or they'd lose their one chance, just like Buddy. There's a lot here that I think is really great.

OKAY THATS THE GOOD STUFF, LET'S COMPLAIN ABOUT SAMMY:

- Uncomfortable Bigotry Vagueness that we all knew was gonna be in this list -- I dunno man, a guy committing a microaggression and getting startled and defensive when he's called out for it doesn't necessarily completely ruin his character I GUESS, but the way this was handled is just SO WEIRD AND VAGUE that it's uncomfortable and it doesn't seem to serve any real purpose. "Is Tom black?" is a question I actually have to ask because the text sort of implies he is while also dancing around it and apparently Word of God said he's not??? which makes Buddy's comment nonsensical???? And I mean, you could go that route, since Buddy wonders to himself if Sammy talks to everyone like this -- HE ACTUALLY DOES!! Even within the text of the novel, he uses "Joey" instead of Mr. Drew, which is consistent with his audiologs in the game -- but that makes the writing suggest "this character THINKS this guy might be racist but actually they're reading too much into it and it wasn't racially motivated at all, he's just a jerk!!" wHICH IS SOMEHOW EVEN MORE ICKY??? Anyway like yeah I guess it's not inconsistent with his character that while Sammy Lawrence may not have any specific grudge against minorities he has probably not checked his privilege or done the work to challenge his own internal biases, but “Your Fav Probably Contributes To Systemic Racism In Ways He Hasn’t Considered, As Do We All When Our Assumptions Go Unchecked” is still a wild thing to wade through in a fun story about demonic cartoons

- but yknow so is T H E H O L O C A U S T

- Sammy's voice is wrong. I'm actually okay with him being a weird awkward asshole, I already kind of assumed he was and that's part of why I like him!! but there's so many places he doesn't quite... talk like himself? And not just in terms of word choice, like -- so in his monologue at the end, he's described as talking so quickly that his words are "tumbling out faster than he can speak them," which initially seems fine; like yeah, that's a Standard Scene we're familiar with, the person who's been Driven Mad With Insight becoming more and more manic as they try to convey it -- until I tried to imagine it and realised that Sammy doesn't talk like this. That's a really consistent quality I always notice about his voice; whether he's almost giddily excited in prophet mode, or he’s his irritated and overworked human self, or he's violently angry and his voice has that echo effect -- he always speaks very deliberately. He enunciates carefully. There's some circumstances where I'd buy this as showing that he's Not Himself, but I feel like those would kind of need to be in the middle of his transformation, not at the end of it.

- In fact a lot of the scenes with Sammy kind of have this feeling -- that it's not necessarily an exploration of Sammy as a character, but that he is filling a trope or archetype role here. Once he's fully transformed he excitedly describes the process as more of a mental compulsion, which is in contrast to his weird yeerk-infected behaviour when trying to get ink from Miss Lambert. Both of those scenes don't seem wrong on their own because they fit tropes we know -- but they feel weird when you try to fit them together.

- I also just in general am not a fan of the ink acting like a weird yeerk. It can be a parasite I guess but when it starts overwriting and puppeting people and crawling around to enter their body that's just a completely DIFFERENT kind of supernatural story and it’s not what im here for!!!

- THE FREAKIN!!! HE WILL SET US FREE!!!! WHY????????? SAMUEL LAWRENCE WHAT IS HE SETTING YOU FREE FROM??????? Sammy has No Motive for any of what he's doing, other than just Ink Made Me Do It. The whole thing that was INTERESTING about Sammy as a character is the contrast between this frustrated, ornery musician with no specific love for the cartoons he works on, and the manically devoted cultist he becomes. What happened in the middle there? What made him desperate enough to shift his mindset so much? "Something supernatural made him do things that don't benefit him in any way" is a very boring answer to this question!!! Susie was a victim who implies that her transformation has forced her to do things she didn't want to do, but we can still see her motive -- she wanted to be Alice, so she took a sketchy offer to try to get what she wanted. Even now, her violence echoes that goal -- to be a more perfect Alice. What did Sammy want? WHO KNOWS. Even in his ink-addled state at the end, we don't understand what he hopes the Ink Demon will even do for him, and in fact he seems to be responsible for creating the very scenario he's begging Bendy to reverse in the game.

- [sighs loudly into my hands]

- Overall I'm left wondering if the author just..... didn't like Sammy Lawrence? And I don't mean that in the sense of him being a rude jerk -- like, Joey is not a good person, but the author seems to be interested in him and in what makes him tick. There doesn't seem to be that same interest in Sammy. Sammy's role in the story is that of a monster, transformed into something murderous, unable to prevent or choose it. He's not a victim of anyone but the ink, no one had to manipulate him or figure out how his brain worked or what he wanted or what he feared or give him any reason to do the things he does -- ink got in his mouth and overwrote his personality. And we don't even get to see that change, not really. He starts out angry and defensive and continues being angry and defensive up until his very last scene, denying his ink-stealing but not really much else. We see all his prophetic sketches but we never see hints of this in him, we never see him start to act more excited and hopeful, we never see him seek out the demon he desires to please. Why do we never see Sammy struggling between his dismissive angry front and a building religious fervour he can't quite suppress? We don't get to see any of the in-between. There's no interest at all in why or even what it looked like as Sammy became what he became, when, to be honest, I suspect interest in precisely that is one reason he's such a big fav.

- It's funny, in a "cries into my hands" kind of way, when Sammy is just knocked in the head while monologuing and immediately removed from the story without further mention, like...... that sure is the pattern with him, isn't it, he just tries very very hard and never actually gets to matter, but it also fits right in here, too, in this book that doesn't want to think about his motives -- he rambles nonsensically, explaining nothing, gets one trademark phrase, and then is hastily removed so the story doesn't have to think about him anymore.

...................I think that's most of it.

...

Y'all............ I'm not ready for Sent From Above.......... I'm just not.... I'm not emotionally ready...... like..... Sammy has to be in that right..... he’s Susie’s boss and she has that big crush on him..................................... I’m not ready

#i know you have questions you always do #we all write on the walls #hopefully I have not gotten completely confused on any of these points but LMAO ITS POSSIBLE

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

How the GoT Characters Confess To You

Lordy, this took waaaay too long, didn’t it? That’s silly work schedules and chronic migraines for ya. Some lil drabs are a little more dramatic than others 😅

If I missed someone you love, please give tidings to my ask box and I’ll add em~

In this preference, you'll be confessed to by: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion

NED STARK

Truth be told, Ned was already catching feelings when you two were courting. It was obvious in how kindly he treated you when you visited Winterfell, how he’d light up when you both talked. You thought it was cute how he was a little red in the cheeks at your wedding ceremony, and you talked through the feast.

It was fairly obvious to everyone that you both were a good match. Ned didn’t plan to spill out his feelings right away, he was confident that you knew, but during the bedding ceremony he thought you looked absolutely beautiful against the firelight.

“What’s the matter, Ned? You’re staring,” You teased as you unlaced your dress.

He placed his hand over your’s and began unlacing it himself. “I’m happy you’re finally here with me, Y/N. … I love you.”

ROBB STARK

Honestly, Robb had been smitten with you since you first met as children. You just had such a bright personality and natural kindness, he found plenty of chances to talk with you and learn more about you. When you visited, you two would find each other right away and spend all day running around and talking. He started to hope that maybe, just maybe his parents and your's would consider a marriage offer, especially as you grew into such a beautiful lady.

When the war broke out, he knew his desires would have to be set aside, but Robb couldn't leave Winterfell until he told you how he felt. Even if you didn't see him in that way, he had to say it. Robb paced around his room a few times as he thought about what to say. He'd be riding out tomorrow; he had to tell you before he left.

Robb woke up early the next morning and beelined for you. He asked you to accompany him to the Godswood.

"What's this about, Robb?" You asked. He looked beside himself. When you reached out to take his hand, he pulled you into a tight hug and his rehearsed words went out the window.

"Y/N, I have to say it. I love you. I always have, I think, from the beginning." His cheeks were as red as his hair, but the words were all spilling out now. "When I go South, and I come back -- I want you to be my wife, if you'll have me as your husband."

SANSA STARK

You met at the tourney celebrating Ned's appointment, and you two hit it off right away. You were inseparable, and even when the worst came for her, you refused to leave Sansa's side. They'd have to imprison you along with her. Sansa was sure you were special to her, something more than just a friend or protector.

She was positive about this when you stood up for her in the middle of court, at great risk to yourself. You knew your family wouldn’t be pleased, let alone the bastard king. In her chambers, she fixed your bloody lip and your hair, looking less upset and more angry. “I can’t believe this, how could they - you’re a lady!” She fumed.

“You’re a Stark, and they’re plenty cruel to you, Sansa. I’m minor house by comparison.”

She kept talking, almost as if she didn’t hear your comments. “The Lannisters are so cruel, they take everything - my father, my sister - then they hurt the person I love…"

"What?" You blinked.

Sansa just realized what she said. She hesitated, then wrapped her arms around you in a crushing hug. "You're the most important person I have, Y/N. I can't stand the thought of them doing something to you, too."

JON SNOW

He crushed on you early into your friendship, and he only noticed it after he was way, way too far gone. Jon told himself that he’d never say anything, though - you deserved better than a bastard, and you’d probably be married off to whoever, anyway. It hurt to think about, but it was for the best, he told himself. He’d only burden you if he confessed his feelings.

Jon didn’t begin to change his mind until, like he feared, you were going to be married off to a lord you had zero interest in. You were telling him about it with tears in your eyes, and he squeezed your hands even tighter and had you sit down. He listened to you, his heart tightened with every word. When you had gotten it all out and leaned against his shoulder, Jon just had to blurt it out.

“Y/N, I know it’s stupid to say this now. I should’ve said it earlier, but ...” He pushed his doubts down and continued. “I love you, no matter what happens. I always will.”

BENJEN STARK

You always sought him out when he visited Winterfell, first out of curiosity, then out of friendship once you two began to visit and talk more. Eventually that led to much more, and you enjoyed the time you had with him. You missed him terribly when he was gone, but you knew how seriously he took his duty to the Night’s Watch, even if he loved being with you, that came first.

Benjen did have his moments of guilt. He’d try to joke and tell you to look elsewhere for a lover, but that always made him feel bitter after he said it. He always loved it when you reassured him, in fact, he loved most things you did, even the mundane things. Benjen was quite aware when his feelings got too far, and he knew it was important to tell you.

He curled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair as he ran his hands down your bare back. “Are you asleep? Stay with me a little longer, Y/N. I want to tell you how much I love you. I want you to know that before I go.”

JORY CASSEL

Jory met you by chance in King’s Landing, when he got … a little turned around in the Red Keep, and happened to stumble upon you being harrassed by some man. You insisted to repay the favor by helping him find his destination. You thought it was cute how flustered he was around you, and you began to seek him out. As much as you enjoyed his company and your feelings for each other grew, there was always a dark cloud hanging over. You were above him in status, and your father expected you to marry some Crownslander, once he found someone suitable.

Your hand was tight over Jory’s as you both walked along the beach. The sea air was cool in the evening, and as scandalous as your father would find it, this was your favorite place to meet Jory. He was unusually quiet tonight.

Finally, he said, “Y/N. I heard about … I heard rumors your father was looking for a husband.”

“Yes. He wants someone close, preferably.” Your shoulder brushed his. “I wouldn’t mind going somewhere farther, though.”

Jory’s light chuckle didn’t sound right. “Even the North, my lady?”

“Why, are you offering?” You tried to joke, to ease the knot in your stomach.

He stopped, and took your other hand in his. “... I know it’ll just cause trouble to say this, but I love you, Y/N. It may not ever be possible, but if there’s even a chance… I’d want to take you back to North with me."

EDD TOLLETT

It was a cruel irony that the girl who seemed to light up this bleak place was also of the Watch, and only came to Castle Black a few times out of the month from Eastwatch. You two quickly made friends and sought each other out, and you were one of the few things he looked forward to in this bleak place.

He didn’t think you’d find him this early in the morning, especially since you didn’t often climb to the top of the wall. “Edd,” You called him, and it made his heart jump at once. “You’re looking at the wrong side.”

You grabbed his shoulders and he really thought he was on fire, even under all his layers and fur. You turned him toward the other side of the Wall, away from Castle Black. “If you want to brood and squint into nothing, do it where there’s actually nothing.”

Edd just sighed and you were actually worried. “What is it? Did something happen?”

“Aye, I was trying to decide if the gods have continued their spiteful campaign against me, or if they’ve actually thrown me a scrap and I’m too stupid to pick it up.” He turned to you and casually said, “Which is to say, I’m in love with you.”

YARA GREYJOY

Yara was not a woman of wordy sentiment, you knew this. It was just her way, and you were sure of her feelings by the way she protected you and kept you so close. It wasn’t just in bed, if you were within arm’s length and she wasn’t working on her ship or tending to whatever duties her father threw at her, she had you with her. Sometimes she’d pull you right in her lap, sometimes it was just an arm around your waist, sometimes it was a firm kiss to your neck before she left. You noticed she was spending less and less time with other men and women, until you were positive she was only seeing you.

“What’s with that look?” She asked as she walked into her cabin. She began pulling off her leather and smirked, looking you up and down. “Something on your mind?”

“You could say that.” You were dressed for bed, which meant you stole her shirt again. “I was just thinking about you.”

“What a coincidence.” Yara didn’t wait to remove everything. She already had you in her lap, and was pulling your collar lower. “I was thinking about you, too.”

“I’d be willing to bet I’m the only woman on your mind as of late,” You grinned. “I was thinking you’re very fond of me.”

The way the candlelight flickered in the cabin, you were allllmost sure she had a blush to her cheeks. Yara didn’t immediately respond, pushing you on your back and hovering over you. “Cheeky today, are we? How about I show you what I think of that?”

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

You had been there for Daenerys from the beginning, before she was khaleesi, and of course you supported her after, when her khalasar was at its smallest and most desperate. You weren’t Dothraki, but you believed in her and you protected her. More than that, you were her friend, someone she could trust. You may have felt deeper feelings - well, you did - but that was just another problem she didn’t need. You expected to keep it to yourself until the day you died.

That day came much, much sooner than you ever anticipated. An assassin had found its way into her palace in Meereen, and in defending her, you received a punishing stab to the abdomen.

You awoke in great pain, with Daenerys hovering above you, wiping the sweat from your brow. She helped you sit up, gave you a drink of water, and to your surprise … looked like she hadn’t slept in some time.

“How could you do something so careless?” Daenerys said, although she tried to sound angry, she just sounded tired and beside herself.

“I’m sworn to protect you, khaleesi, I was just --”

“Enough! Barristan and Jorah were there to help, but you just had to -- you just had to throw yourself in front of me.” She squeezed the rag in her hand. “Don’t ever do that again, Y/N. I won’t have the woman I love killed in front of me.”

JORAH MORMONT

Of course, it was easy to tell that Jorah was completely smitten with you, as he wears his feelings on his sleeves. You also pledged yourself to Daenerys, and as a result you and Jorah spent plenty of time together. Regardless if it was a battle or just a day at the market, there was a pretty obvious connection between you two. Jorah was pretty aware of it right away but he wanted to take his time and make sure you felt the same. Once he had his confidence, he was a bit beside himself, wanting to tell you once there was an opportunity.

Being a romantic, he had something nice planned. He knew what sorts of food and flowers you liked, so he was hoping to tell you on what was basically a date. It didn’t work out that neatly, unfortunately - an assassination attempt happened against Daenerys, and you both were quick to intercept. You took a nasty hit to the shoulder, and Jorah was the one who wanted to patch you up. He couldn’t believe you were still smiling, insisting you were fine.

Without thinking he took your hand and gave you a tired smile. “I’m glad you’re safe, Y/N. I love you … I have for some time. Please be kinder to my heart and look after yourself.”

MISSANDEI

She’d admired you and enjoyed your friendship for some time before she began to really consider telling you. Missandei knew she had strong feelings for you as soon as they happened, she was just worried what you’d think of her. Some days she was content to just be friends, but other days it was a source of anxiety.

Finally, Missandei decided to get it off her chest. She knew you were a kind person who would let her down gently - she was fairly certain you would. You both usually spent time together in the evening and you noticed she was being unusually quiet. You leaned against her shoulder. “Missy, what’s the matter?”

Why did you have to use the cute nickname now of all times? Missandei sighed and just let it out. “Y/N, I wanted to talk to you about my feelings. For some time, I’ve felt … very strongly for you. I care about you, and even if you don’t feel the same, I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.”

GREY WORM

What brought his attention to you first is how kind you were. You offered to help him speak the common tongue and adjust to a somewhat normal life, even if he was still a sworn guard to Daenerys. You began teaching him to read and showing him new things to eat and see, so it wasn’t a surprise that he was growing smitten. He just wasn’t sure what to do about his feelings, and how to express them. He ended up needing some gentle pushing and advice from Missandei before he was fully comfortable.

You both were enjoying a rare day when it was beautiful outside and the two of you had a chance to talk. You decided to walk around the gardens surrounding the Great Pyramid, and he was glad to take your hand, as he often did. The urge to tell you just came to Grey Worm - somehow, it seemed right. “Y/N, I wanted to thank you, and tell you something. I want to protect you and keep you close.”

TYWIN LANNISTER

You did not expect this marriage. The reasoning was he needed a “proper” heir, and your powerful family wouldn’t settle for a Lannister cousin. You were pleasantly surprised that he was respectful and even gentle at times, even if there were times when you two had some friction. While he recognized your wit and intelligence, especially when it came to managing Casterly Rock, he wasn’t used to someone subtly speaking against him.

After giving him a son, who you loved more than anything, he was even more caring toward you, in his own ways. Tywin was becoming fond of you, even the little verbal spats you two would have behind closed doors. You were sure of his feelings, but you didn’t anticipate him to actually say anything. That wasn’t his way, after all.

It certainly came when you weren’t expecting it. It was a rare moment when he allowed himself to you hold you in your shared marriage bed, pulling you close and even running his fingers down your hair. He was tired, and it was late. His embrace had pulled you out of sleep. Just as you were dozing back off, you heard him say it against your temple.

TYRION LANNISTER

Tyrion initially pitied you and didn’t look forward to the marriage. He was sure it was some cruel joke by his sister, and your family was glad to wed you to any Lannister, especially since Jamie was unavailable. While he appreciated your polite acceptance, he figured you were actually miserable.

He wasn’t expecting your efforts to get to know him and you both began to find things you had in common. You’d read similar books, he often had you in stitches with the snide remarks he’d whisper to you during feasts and he couldn’t deny how sweet your smile was when he found something he knew you’d like. Tyrion actually fell for you in a short time, but he did what he could to not rush all the words out. He thought you’d be more content as friends, keeping a respectful distance. It’s what he owed you, he thought, especially since the court considered the marriage a funny little joke.

A particularly stressful dinner with you and his family, filled with Cersei giving you plenty of venom, had him well into his cups. You helped him as you both walked back to your royal apartments. “Tyrion, you really went too far this time,” You sighed. “You can’t listen to those terrible things she says, and you can’t investigate you like that.”

“She insulted you, I wasn’t about to let her --”

“Yes, I know, she often does. I can handle her. Please don’t aggravate her on my account.” You offered him water. “Drink all of this, or you’ll be miserable tomorrow.”

Your caring gestures and soft voice was just too much. Tyrion drunkenly blurted out, “I love you, Y/N. You’re too good for this.”

“I love you too, Tyrion,” You said easily, and he was so relieved he completely forgot about Cersei and the water. You had to set the latter aside while he pulled you into an embrace.

JAIME LANNISTER

You were absolutely sick when Jamie was captured. It was up to the gods if he was alive or dead. You knew you weren’t getting any information from Cersei, so you just had to wait, your head swirling with grief and madness. When word of his return was finally brought to you, he’s coming home, you cried alone. No one knew of your relationship, after all, least of all his family, his sister.

You told yourself you’d meet him some days after in his chambers, no one would suspect a thing. That plan was swiftly foiled when you accidentally crossed Jamie in a hall. You both stared at each other, before he closed the gap in just a second. You felt the air squeeze out of your body as he held you harder than he ever had before.

“Jamie,” You gasped, trying to hold back tears. “Gods, I was so -- I thought -- I’m so relieved -”

He had to say it now, because it was all he could think on that horrid road, when he was at his lowest. He couldn’t stop seeing you, and now you were here. He hadn’t said it before, and that was a mistake.

Jamie pulled from you, hardly giving you a moment to recover. “I love you,” He shuddered against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you.”

SANDOR CLEGANE

You didn’t predict your relationship with Sandor would end up like this. He tried to dissuade you from your crush, only to be more than startled when you said you meant it. Once he became comfortable, he became more protective and possessive of you. Sandor was definitely developing feelings and it wasn't sitting well with him.

The way he held you so close when you two were together in bed, and he’d grunt when you’d have to leave in the morning, and all the marks he’d leave on your body - you began to notice his behavior, so when you both were curled up in bed, your cheek resting against his chest.

“Sandor.” You looked at him. Something was obviously bothering him, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Haven’t you had enough?” He finally said. “You could be doing better than a mangy dog watching a shit of a princeling.”

"I enjoy being with you. I care about you," You said, wondering if you should just blurt out your feelings, or if it would scare him away. “I love you.”

You felt him flinch, as if the words hurt him, and his heart was pounding in his chest. You were going to say more, but suddenly you were pulled into a tight embrace. “I love you too,” He grumbled against your hair, not wanting you to see his expression.

BRONN

You knew the mercenary cared for you more than he wanted to admit to himself, and it would be almost endearing if it wasn’t also infuriating. You could tell how unsure he’d get with your softer and more affectionate gestures, he wasn’t used to something like this. He probably denied it his whole life - the fact he could love or be loved in that way, the kind of way people daydreamed and wrote songs about.

You weren’t going to force him to say anything or commit, but gods, when would he realize it? You knew when he stopped seeing the whores, when he’d stay in your modest home despite having better quarters at the Red Keep, when he’d curl his lips at any mention of someone of higher birth trying to court you. His denial was palpable, and sometimes it hurt.

For gods’ sake, you were in his lap right now, cuddling. He wasn’t even trying to get you into bed. His feet were thrown up on the table and he was telling you some funny story about the city guards, but it was hard to pay attention. Bronn finally caught on. “What?”

“I think you have something to tell me, Bronn.”

He blinked, then tried to look away. You already caught the look in his eyes. “What’re ya talkin’ about?”

“You know.” You sighed, feeling like it was a little pointless. “Just once, even if you don’t mean it.”

“Hey,” He looked you in the eyes and ran his hand down your legs. “Ya know you’re important to me. You’re the most important thing in my sorry excuse for a life.”

PETYR BAELISH

From the beginning, Petyr had presented himself as an ally to you. At first it was to for the purpose of influencing your House, which had the court’s attention, but he quickly became interested in you personally. He began to like the slight smiles you gave him when court was in process and the way you liked to sit in the garden and read, looking pretty as a picture. He had a plan in place, slowly courting you and keeping your interest in him. Your parents would never consider him for a match, but he knew they’d listen to you.

He didn’t worry until he heard word of a sudden proposal given to your family. He immediately sought you out and found you hiding from the court, trying to hide your anger.

“Petyr,” You said, and even if he didn’t like the situation, he loved the way you so desperately said his name. “My parents, they listened to that horrid lord, they’re going to accept the betrothal.

He was quick to sit very close to you, taking your hand and leaning in as he spoke lowly. He wanted to make sure you knew he was serious. “So I’ve heard. You needn’t worry, little Y/N, I’ll take care of it. I love you, after all - I’d do anything to have you happy again.”

STANNIS BARATHEON

You both had been married for a time before Stannis began catching feelings, and it was slow process that he didn’t immediately notice. He appreciated how kind you were to him, how knowledgeable you were and your level-headedness. His appreciation began turning into admiration, and soon that was a crush that he was struggling to make sense of. He’d finally realize how strong they were when he had to leave you for a time, or worse, if he noticed you were enjoying someone else’s company. He’d start feeling loneliness and doubt, and would want to be at your side again.

Truthfully, he was hoping you say it first, he was waiting for it. Even if your actions to him and your child made it obvious, he still wanted to hear it. It wouldn’t be until he was feeling especially vulnerable in your shared bed, when you were curled up next to him and discussing some matter with the small council. You reassured him of his plans and rested against his chest, and he couldn’t help but pull you a little closer and mumble that he loves you.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

Your father swears fealty to Stannis Baratheon, and you often accompanied him to important meanings. You were a clever girl and observed the meetings closely, later discussing them with your father. Ser Davos spoke to you with respect, which was much better than most men gave you, and you began talking with him after meetings. You grew quite fascinated with him, and as the war began he was a source of kindness and comfort for you.

Davos felt guilty about his crush, and he denied such a thing, but he really did enjoy your company and wit. He thought he was too old for you, and too low of status. Anytime he saw you, he found it difficult to disguise his feelings, especially when you’d be so sweet and make him laugh. You noticed he was especially troubled, and you took both of his hands and entwined his fingers with your’s. It wasn’t helping his beating heart.

“Davos, what’s the matter? You aren’t usually so nervous.” You smiled and tried to ease him, and he liked that you were comfortable just using his name. It gave him some encouragement.

“I have to tell you somethin’, Y/N, before I lose my nerve. I know you deserve better, someone with a proper family line …”

“Davos,” You pulled him closer and tried not to grin. “What are you saying?”

“I-I’m trying to say I love you, and… I’d be honored if you’d consider being my wife.”

MARGAERY TYRELL

You and Margaery hit it off quickly when you arrived at court in Highgarden. She immediately noticed your wit and beauty, and even better, you were fun to talk with at galas and feasts. More than not, she’d seek out your company when she was tired of lords fawning over her, or you both would play coy with them and snicker to yourselves afterward. It wasn’t long before she’d give you little compliments and touches that could be considered something more, and Margaery was buzzing when you did the same.

She was so sure you’d confess first. There was an obvious spark between you two, and she admittedly felt a little jealous when she’d see you be sweet to other girls. Margaery finally got tired of waiting, wanting to be something more with you. When you two were alone in her parlor, she curled right up to you like a cat. “Do you have something to tell me, sweet Y/N?”

“Hm?” You played dumb. “Oh, I found something interesting at the market the other day. I have a new dress being made. Last night, I walked outside and --”

Margaery gave a dramatic sigh as she wiggled into your lap. “You’re so mean. I’m trying to tell you how much I adore you, more than I adore anyone, and you know it, Y/N. Cheeky girl.”

BRYNDEN TULLY

He knew he was already in too deep the first night you spent together. You both had been flirting and circling around each other for months, even having a kiss or more here and there. He always had excuses to dissuade you, but they were really just him trying to keep this exact thing from happening.

As he held you in his arms and kept you there until the morning, he knew he’d have to marry you eventually. The idea of you maybe not being there in the morning, being with someone else, was too much. When Brynden caught the rumors that your parents were considering engaging you to some Vale lord, he found you right away.

“Heard about that betrothal,” He said, taking you in his arms, not even caring if someone walked into the room. “Afraid to say it can’t happen, sweet.”

“What do you mean?” You tilted your head.

“Cause I love ya too much to let some Lord whoever take ya away from me.” He’d press his face into your hair, trying to hide his burning cheeks. “Tell me ya feel the same, and I’ll take ya to Riverrun as a proper wife. I swear it.”

EDMURE TULLY

You had been married for some time, and you already knew Edmure was smitten with you. Everyone knew it, really, but you had enjoyed getting to know him in the short months you’d been together. He was just as sweet as he was during your courtship, and you were glad the matched worked out so well, but neither of you had really had the guts to admit it was any more than that.

Edmure ended up falling sick, nothing too serious, but you felt bad that he was stuck in bed and feeling miserable. When he woke up, you were at his bedside and offering him water. You helped him drink then patted his hair in place. Right when you were going to mention how flushed and feverish he was, he suddenly said, “Y/N, I love you.”

You just smiled. “I know, Edmure.”

He relented but tried to hold your hand.You let him take it, even if his grip was weak. “I thought you should know. Um, in case you didn’t. You’re so kind and considerate, and you’ve helped me so much already, and you’ll make a great mother--”

He was cut off by a bout of coughing, and you were quick to bring a rag to his mouth. You smiled and shook your head. “Thank you, Edmure. Lie down, dear, before the Maester comes for me.”

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She was initially uneasy being parted from Lady Catlyn to guard you, but you two quickly developed an easy friendship. She was very attracted to your kindness and fairness, not to mention how you'd defend her in front of anyone that dared insult her in front of you.

No surprise, she fell for you very quickly, but she was positive you wouldn't feel the same. Brienne was more than ready to keep her feelings to herself, although they always threatened to slip when you took her hands to reassure her or stayed up late joking and talking. It finally got out when you angrily stood between her and a lord - as if they both didn't tower over you - and told him, "One more word about MY knight, and you'll be leaving this keep, either through the door or out a window!"

Brienne actually had to pull you away to a secluded hall because you were fuming. “Can you believe his nerve? Saying those things to you here, of all places! Gods! You have more honor in your pinky than his whole body! Ooh, and that family of his-!”

“Now then, someone will hear,” Brienne said, holding your hand. She was trying to hide her smile, but she couldn’t keep her blush at bay. “You’re too much, my lady.”

“It’s not enough. I can’t fight like you, Brienne, I know you’ve been teaching me, but I could do so much more for you,” You said earnestly. You didn’t want her to feel those awful things she’d shared with you. You never wanted her to be anything but happy. “You deserve much more.”

The words struck her even harder, and Brienne rubbed at her eyes absently to fight off any tears. She kissed your forehead firmly, then rested her head there. It just spilled out. “Thank you, Y/N. I love you.”

RAMSAY BOLTON

You had the dubious honor of being married to newly legitimized Bolton bastard, a match arranged by your family with little concern to your wellbeing. Of course you knew what he was like, especially after you married, but Ramsay did have his odd moments of what you’d cautiously call “sentiment”. Sometimes when he almost seemed curious or in awe of you.

In spite of this, you didn’t take him seriously when he’d say he loved you. He always had that glint in his eyes when he did it, after all, you chalked it up to an attempt at swaying you. Today Ramsay was angry with one of your guards; you were positive it was just jealousy, and you wanted to save the poor man from a grisly fate. Ramsay pulled you into a crushing embrace. “Why are you defending him? He’d never love you as I do, Y/N.”

“Of course not, my lord,” You said dismissively. “Let’s assign him to another post, and someone you trust can-”

“Don’t you believe me?” He interrupted you, his eyes taking that dangerous glint you knew well.

“I do, my lord. If you don’t like the man, he can go back to his old duties.”

“Not that. You don’t think I care for you.”

Was he … sullen? His jaw was tense as though he were pouting. No, you really thought he was. Maybe it was just jealousy talking. You couldn’t be sure, and he was antsy as he waited for you to answer, leaning his head in so your foreheads touched.

ROOSE BOLTON

The truth of the matter is Roose had been interested in you for some time. When he first saw you at a feast, he was certainly taken, and he talked to you and danced when it was appropriate. Anytime there was a gathering, he’d seek you out, always trying to talk to you, trying to see what sort of person you were. After holding you in his arms for so many dances and getting you to smile several times, he admitted to himself that perhaps he really was infatuated. Of course, your parents wouldn’t agree to a marriage, so he did a variety of underhanded tricks to secure you - frightening your other suitors, subtly suggesting different matches for them to their parents - perhaps more serious methods, if he needed to.

It was worth it, he decided, when he draped the Bolton cape around you on your wedding day. His affection for you only grew as the months went by and you began to settle into your role as Lady of the Dreadfort. You were positive by his actions and words that he did love you, so it didn’t bother you so much if he didn’t say it. Truthfully, he didn’t want to admit to himself how much he cared what you thought of him. You were a definite weakness that an enemy could exploit, because he’d grown to completely, terribly love you.

You two were walking the godswood, your arms entwined, and Roose stopped under the heart tree. He brushed your hair aside. “You know I love you more than I can say, Y/N.”

You smiled and leaned into him. “I know, Roose.”

OBERYN MARTELL

His affection and love for you is obvious to anyone who watches you two. At feasts you’re practically in his lap and making him feed you, at galas you both dance until the sun is almost coming up, and at tourneys you’d be too busy grinning at his flirtations and whispers to pay attention to the lists. Honestly, it was kind of sickening, but you loved how doting and passionate Oberyn was for you. It really seemed as though you hung his moon and stars.

So naturally, he confessed to you very quickly. You remember just a month in, he told you. “I love you, my dear Y/N.”

You smiled, thinking the flamboyant Dornishman with a scandalous reputation just saw you as another flame. “That’s very nice, Oberyn.”

The months went by and it seems every other day you’d receive another declaration of love. One morning, you’d woken up to him curling around you like a cat. He said the three words again as he dozed off, pressing against your hair. He’d brought you to his family home, the Old Palace in Sunspear, and you’d spent a week meeting his family. He positively beamed as he introduced you.

Finally, you said, “I love you too.”

His arms tightened around your waist as he kissed your hair and fell back asleep with a satisfied smile.

BERIC DONDARRION

The Brotherhood Without Banners had saved you from Lannister men, and seeing as you had nowhere else to go, you began to travel with them. You started to learn how to fight, how to survive in the wild, and you began to befriend Beric. Not that it was difficult, friendly as he was, and soon your relationship turned into something much deeper.

It was a week after he’d “died” and been “revived” by Thoros. The Lord of Light was always strange to you, and now you’d seen a man you cared for fall in blood and come back as if it hadn’t happened. It was jarring, and as you stroked his hair while his head laid in your lap, you kept thinking back to it.

“You looked troubled, my Y/N,” He said suddenly.

“I’m thinking about that fight in the cave.” You said. “You told me before, but you said something about … sometimes you lose pieces.”

Beric’s light expression became more serious. He sat up and drew you into his arms. “It’s true. I feel a little less whole after it happens, a little less… me. So I should tell you, I love you, very dearly. No matter how often I come back, I know I’ll always be your’s, Y/N.”

#game of thrones #asoiaf #got #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #uhh looking back this is much longer than i thought it was LOL #enjoy friends

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raijinhasverybigpecs · 3 years

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what are ur vibes on the japanese pantheon and babysitting? ik u touched on it in ur tags but like. what abt more detail. who is raijin most likely to trust to watch raitaro when he can’t (being a single dad and a busy thunder god is tough 😔) and who would he not (and why is it tsukuyomi lmfao. jk its tsukuyomi because he probably doesnt know how to handle kids). what kind of responsible adults tm are raijin’s siblings? u really opened my eyes with dilf raijin ngl. also i hope this question makes sense, i am awful with words lmfao

another meaty raijin ask i can sink my teeth into... thank you for my life king!! i’m putting it under a read more bc the answers to these asks always get very long and wordy 🤗

izanami is the mother of the japanese pantheon so i have to put her up here. she might lose points for limbs falling off but raijin being a momma’s boy means that she’d defs be the first person he goes to. not much to say here~

amaterasu would probably be the best babysitter in terms of niceness and responsibility but i also know for a fact she’d let raitaro get away with murder. definitely the busiest god out of all the options, takes raitaro with her to do errands if she has to babysit while busy. defs a queen who prints out the flashcards and has colouring books available, lots of ‘enriching’ activites available for raitaro lol

susano would be a good babysitter but i think he’d come off a little mean or get frustrated at times. raitaro would probably tell raijin about how mean susano was for making him eat his greens n do his homework (if that’s even applicable here...? lol). susano could also help raitaro refine his powers with the overlap between raijin and his godly domains lol. raitaro complains about being looked after by susano at first but always loves it eventually. if kushinadahime is there he’d definitely be above amaterasu though 😌

hachiman i would put equal with susano but susano’s got that storm power advantage. hachiman is definitely not bad by any means, he’d be very calm with raitaro and they’d probably do something nice like calligraphy. raitaro would probably find it boring unless hachiman trained with him or showed off his archery prowess lol

danzaborou is a last minute resort - not because he’s bad but because he’s not the most responsible babysitter. raitaro loves pranking people with danzaborou and always wants to see danzaborou but raijin, having some sense of responsibility, tries to dissuade him until he can’t any more and he has to relent lol

tsukuyomi probably just doesn’t like children or people in general and probably hates raijin for being loud all the time lol. tsukuyomi would just be incredibly awkward around kids and doubt raitaro would hide his true feelings around him. raitaro would probably let it slip that raijin hates tsuku’s ass lol. tsukuyomi would probably just go about his day as normal while dragging raitaro around (and so begins a family comedy about the wacky adventures between an unlikely babysitter and a spunky child)

kuzenbo has similar energies as danzaborou but i can’t imagine raijin would ever willingly go to him for help ever lmao

also i never established an age for raitaro lmao? i’m thinking 8 or something, not super young or a teenage i guess?? although who the hell knows how aging works when you’re a god

#answered asks #writing about raijin again... yup... we won...#thank you for indulging me again lmao #thanks bestie❤❤❤#haven't done it for a while #too busy complaining lol #i just haven't thought of anything to write in a while i guess #but dilf raijin? that'll inspire me in a heartbeat #weird how whenever people refer to raijin being a father they call him raiden #raiden just sounds more fatherly?#anyways #if i've written 400 words about your ask then i think it's worded just fine lol

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snowflake-of-destruction · 4 years

Text

Observation

I can’t write a quick, few line caption to save my life Part 4/8. Based off of the fourth picture of THIS POST because I absolutely could not think of anything to write but “They are so hecking cute. Look at Roxas’s little blush” and so I just wrote everyone else saying they are so hecking cute. Basically. It’s that but wordy. Also, Roxas’s tail wagging motors Axel’s boat across the water because @complicatedandstained said it and nothing that cute can be left out.

@shaky-mayhemm

Part 5/? of Mermaid AU that needs a name

Xion was the first to know. Roxas's younger sister had always been the one he was closest to, more his other half than even Sora. That, and he felt he owed her for how quickly she'd chimed in and claimed Roxas had been with her all day, helping her create shell paths with Dory's parents. She'd even found a way to wiggle one of the shells she had kept for her own collection out of her bag and press it into Roxas's palm without Aqua seeing so he could show proof. Xion hadn't been happy learning that he'd went to the surface without her, and Roxas had only churned the currents more when he admitted he'd spoken to a human. She'd begged him not to go back, and left Roxas sure that no matter how she protested to the contrary that she didn't understand. Axel had proven every story Aqua had told them about sailors wrong even before they'd met properly, but Xion was more concerned that he'd been stalking the same human for weeks and his slip up had been premeditated.

She agreed to keep his secret because she was loyal to a fault. The only times she'd broken a promise was when she'd told Aqua that Roxas had been the one to bet Sora he couldn't last five minutes with his arm stuck in a sea anemone, and that only because Sora had a reaction to the toxin. She hadn't even told Aqua when Vanitas had confessed to her his plans to run away, but then perhaps she should have. Roxas only had to convince her that he wouldn't be hurt and he'd always come back.

He decided the solution was to take her with him next time he saw his sailor. She refused to speak to Axel that first day even though she'd been the one who had snuck into Aqua's rooms years ago and stolen as many volumes as she could of old King Eraqus's tablets for her and Roxas to learn all they could about the now forbidden surface. She refused to even come near. She stayed a whale length away from Axel's lifeboat at all times, keeping only her eyes and the top of her head above water, all the better to glare at the human with. By the end of the night though, the storm of her gaze had broken to calm seas.

For her it was the way Axel looked at Roxas like he was a treasure, but not one to own, just wearing a never-ceasing awe that shone through even when he was acting out other emotions. She liked the way he laughed full-throated when Roxas told a joke and scoffed at Roxas when he said something stupid too. She couldn't hear what was said, but she didn't need to. Roxas was funny. Roxas was dumb. Roxas's human listened, and more than he talked, though she saw him break in sometimes and speak with his hands as much as his mouth. She liked the way Axel kept trailing his hand in the water and then holding his hand above Roxas's head to drip over his face, looking too concerned to have it be mistaken for teasing. She doubted Roxas had even said anything about the dry air.

The next day she bobbed on the surface of the water next to Axel's little boat beside Roxas. He was just as friendly to her: willing to listen, eager to listen even to every thought or question she had, and then provide his own answers and commentary; excited to teach and to learn, but also falling into softness that said he cared about more than knowledge. He didn't look at her like a treasure though, and that remained the difference. He wasn't a human stunned he had discovered merfolk were real. He was a man that was thanking his human gods that he'd discovered her brother.

Xion was satisfied enough she let Roxas come to the surface without her after that (As long as he took her sometimes. She and Axel were best friends now. They'd agreed) and put herself in charge of explaining any long absences.

Vanitas was the first to find out without being told. Roxas didn't even know his estranged brother watched him and their siblings. Vanitas didn't need to follow them to watch them. Master Xehanort had taught him how to see them reflected in a jagged shard of glass he'd salvaged from a shipwreck. He usually watched for information he could pass to his master that would further their plans, or so he told himself, but he found himself observing Roxas' trips to the surface for weeks and not saying a word.

For Vanitas, it was how Roxas hardly stopped smiling for a moment. Roxas had always been the most like Vanitas, the only one out of the group of younger siblings the raven haired merman could remotely understand, quick to anger and slow to show he was happy. Roxas was still too innocent and too easily entranced by simple, stupid things for Vanitas to be able to stand his company for long, but he wasn't obnoxious like Sora's incomprehensible perpetual buoyancy. Until now at least. Roxas wasn't just happy. He was glowing more in the sun than he ever did in the depths where their scales turned luminescent. He kept wagging his tail and it was disgusting . More than that, his shoulders relaxed. It wasn't the slump or slouch Roxas sometimes fell into when he wasn't filled with tension. Roxas looked at home.

It wasn't completely foreign. Roxas belonged with their family; he wasn't constantly ill at ease like Vanitas had been and still was even after leaving and finding the role he had really been born to play. It was significant though, to see Roxas look so at peace with a stranger.

Vanitas decided Xehanort wouldn't have this news, not from him at least. To be happy and at home for a moment? Vanitas could be jealous, but he couldn't refuse Roxas the only thing he wanted himself.

Sora was the last to suspect but the third to know for sure. He was clumsy in following Roxas and would have been discovered easily if his twin hadn't been so absorbed in the only track his mind would focus on these days. And that was what it was for Sora: the complete absorption. He wasn't the only thing Roxas didn't notice. Roxas sat on rocks until his scales started to look crusty and he wheezed. Roxas was startled by a seagull that had been tapping around Axel's boat for several minutes and had been circling overhead long before that, apparently unaware of its pretense until it stood on his hand and squawked in his face as if affronted that he was a fish too large to eat. Roxas had to have a pod of leaping dolphins that he should have been expecting, considering he'd been the one to suggest their swimming route when he and Sora had talked to them that morning, pointed out to him by Axel. Sora would have been worried not endeared if he hadn't been forced to chase Axel's little wooden boat he'd taken from the the big boat when Axel had neglected to secure it properly to the rock island he and Roxas had claimed, and then further failed to notice it starting to float away. Both parts of the couple still didn't seem to notice him when he towed the boat back.

They were lost, utterly lost, and Sora wasn't going to be the one to admit he'd found them.

Besides, he was glad not to be the oblivious one for once.

Kairi was the last one, save Aqua, to see Roxas with Axel and the hardest to convince. Her protective instincts weren't of a sibling that could also be swayed by biased affection, and she hadn't heard the story of how King Eraqus had died enough times for it to seem more like a scary story to ensure good behavior than a tragedy to be mourned like the princes and Xion. It was one thing when she suspected Roxas was just following boats like Xion had told her they'd done half their lives. It was concerning then, but Xion had rattled off the precautions they took, and Kairi had concluded it wasn't her place to interfere. Sora telling her Roxas was in love with a human and didn't care about secrecy or distance was another. Axel didn't seem like the type of human capable of such atrocities as Aqua had warned about, but by the time any of them could know for sure it could be too late. She planned to corner Roxas on his way back to the palace after he'd left his little rendezvous and give him an ultimatum of whether he'd rather stop seeing the human willingly or have her go to Aqua, but then she saw the kiss.

She wouldn't be able to defend why it made all reservations melt away. It had to be witnessed. She could say Axel kissed Roxas like he was the water that sustained all life and he had to drink every drop. She could talk about the contrast of the softness in the way he touched Roxas, as if he'd been trusted with something fragile he'd break and end up broken himself if he did. She could laugh until she cried about how Roxas's tail flapped so forcefully that he'd propelled Axel's boat at least a dolphin-length when they'd shared their last kiss goodbye, and then try to describe how even the scrunched corners of Roxas's closed eyes told their own story of a moment so perfect you felt you could just float away on a current. None of that quite captured the feeling of being there and understanding what the tall tales were speaking about when they included true love's kiss. It all sounded like fanciful nonsense when reduced to words.

Kairi dived and headed back to the palace on her own, swearing that even if all she had was fanciful nonsense, she'd try to defend Roxas and his human when Aqua found out. Then she found Sora coaxing a pod of squid to play a game he'd just invented that involved five different goalposts and several starfish for each player to use as projectiles. She asked if they could talk alone, but ended up helping him convince the starfish that they would have fun playing his game instead. There would be other days to see if they could create a fairytale of their own. She'd be grateful later, because some fairytales didn't just feature princes and princesses but a knight needed to propel it to happily ever after.

Aqua had secrets kept from her for too long and then uncovered in traumatic ways, which should have hardened her heart until there was no softness left, but a combined testimony was hard to argue against. Find someone who cares and shows it even in small actions. Find someone who is your home. Find love consuming. Find a passion that's pure. It's what she always wished for Roxas and for the rest of her charges.

In the end, what call could anyone make but to swim away and let Roxas be happy.

#mermay #akuroku #kingdom hearts #xion #roxas #axel #vanitas #kairi #sora #axel x roxas #mermaid au that needs a name #watch me quite obviously and deliberately bait shaky into drawing Sora creeping unnoticed in the background of future Axel and Roxas pics #protecting them from unseen dangers #mermaid au stories

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c-is-for-circinate · 5 years

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It occurs to me that I promised y’all I’d tell you stories from the D&D campaign I’m running, and it’s now been a week since the first session, so I should definitely do some of that! I can already tell it’s going to be a fun-as-shit campaign. If nothing else, my party and I are collectively five variably-queer ladies who met at knitting group and range in age from “haven’t played D&D since 2e at GenCon in the 90′s” to “too young to remember fandom before AO3 existed”. We’re real fucking cool. I am going to have to explain, in detail, so many textiles and other interesting crafts.

I am a WORDY-ASS MOTHERFUCKER, so the whole tale will probably get pretty long in the telling, but: welcome to the continent of Nokomoris, on a world that probably has its own name but I haven’t decided on it yet because naming things is hard, dude.

[here’s where I will probably link game session posts in the future once they exist]

Hark, a backstory! (And, our four players)

IF YOU RECOGNIZE THIS CAMPAIGN INFO BECAUSE YOU ARE PLAYING IT, CONSIDER YOURSELF UNDER DM ORDERS TO BACK OFF AND STOP READING. I KNOW YOU FUCKERS ARE ON TUMBLR TOO, THERE IS A REASON I DIDN’T GIVE YOU MY HANDLE. (I love you all very much and yes, there are spoilers in here. Go away and text me now.)

Eastern Nokomoris, where our story takes place (or at least begins) is in a prosperous age of thriving city-states and collapsed kingdoms. Most trade, culture, and even centralized government is based among the Nine Cities, massive metropolises located around the Attiks Sea and nearby lands. Nearly a million people live in the nine cities, which are connected to each other via well-established sea and land trade routes, and also by what many are calling the most important technological/magical development of the modern age: a network of massive permanent teleportation circles, thirty feet in diameter.

The circle network is big enough to carry large trade wagons, livestock, huge parties of people, and even troops and war machines. Sea and land trade has dropped by half between the Nine Cities in the past fifteen years, and continues to decline. The cities themselves are thriving and prosperous, and it’s easier than ever to get beef and leather from Karna Vi, wool from Yefira, pottery from Celkan or metalwork from Tiers no matter where you live.

Outside of the cities, it’s another story. Dozens of once-prosperous kingdoms, and even the whole of the Trava Empire, have fallen in the past seventy years: first during the Church Wars, and then in the yeas of chaos and rebuilding once the Wars were over. Small towns everywhere that once paid taxes to a crown, and were protected in turn by royal troops and much-needed aid in times of hardship, have been left entirely to stand or fall on their own. Some have thrived, becoming local centers of trade for whole coalitions of abandoned towns nearby. Others have disappeared, died out, or simply faded into the wilderness, forgotten. The great open plains of Highnorth where the Trava Empire once ruled, the endless golden sea of the Southgrass, the peaks and valleys of the Thavine Mountains, the deep many-colored forest of the Iris Peninsula--who knows what’s out there any more?

And in the Midlands, where the worst of the Church Wars took place...well, precious few towns even survived to rebuild in the first place. Land that once held the most fertile farms in all Nokomoris is desolate now, scarred and cursed. Most of the battlefield has been picked over by intrepid adventurers and out-of-work soldiers in the six decades since the Wars ended, already raided for magic and treasure. The ruins remain, and the valleys where nothing will ever grow again, and the eternal shadow over the once-Holy City, and who knows what sorts of twisted things living in places people no longer go?

But it’s been sixty years since the Church Wars ended, and for most people, life is good. Small-town farmers may no longer have the protection of any crown, but small technological advancements in plow design and crop rotation mean that they can produce more food than they need and sell the extra in the nearest city for coin. More and more young people, freed from heavy labor on their parents’ farms, have learned reading, writing, history, and some amount of arcane talent. The Grand Universities in the nine cities are thriving, full of scholars of all ages eager to learn and advance the course of knowledge everywhere.

Of course, there are ten times more scholars in the Grand Universities than there are professorships or other high-ranking positions to hire them to...and that is where our story begins.

Our intrepid party thus far includes:

Marion, a human paladin of indeterminate gender, whose human family stands among the nobles of the great city of Karna Vi, where our story begins. Marion is an acolyte of the Church of Lost Things, which concerns itself with every god that does not easily fit within the purview of the other seven Churches, and also with every god that has been erased or forgotten by time (for all gods deserve worship, and all gods are capable of smiting those that neglect them, sooner or later). They’re also a math major, largely because computer science hasn’t been invented yet.

Marion’s really hoping to be able to build and program a simple computing machine, a la Babbage’s Difference Engine (or Arthur C. Clarke’s The Nine Billion Names of God), to tabulate and generate all the possible names of every god ever to exist, which seems much more efficient than just combing piecemeal broken historical records trying to find them. It has not been going well. In a Church system where paladins are often more concerned with protecting people from the gods than for the gods, cracking this problem will let Marion figure out who the gods even are like nobody ever before. But there are variables missing, and theomathematical constants they can’t even identify yet, let alone calculate--and they’re not going to find here.

Three interesting facts about Marion, as per their player:

They once spent an entire week holed up in a lab over a holiday break and were declared missing-presumed-dead. Police searches were involved. It was a little bit of a scandal.

They are by far the most unremarkable and constantly forgotten member of their entire family. (This perhaps says more about their family than about them.)

Everyone on campus is fairly sure they interfered with the campus clock tower specifically to give students more time on finals last semester. This is false. They were trying to run a different experiment entirely, messed with the clock tower by accident, and didn’t actually notice it was finals week even after it was over.

Kevin, an elf barbarian sportsball champion, hero of the university’s sportsball team for the past ten years straight. Kevin is a foot and a half taller than any self-respecting elf ought to be, not to mention twice as broad. He’s finally starting to acknowledge the fact that there is, in fact, no NFElf, and you can’t be a “professional sportsballer” within the Elven Ascendancy, and his bemused parents would really like him to do something with his life beyond playing those little games with the ball and all of those...non-elf people.

Kevin is also an art history student, mostly out of desire for an easy major that’ll make his parents happy while he happily spends most of his time out on the sportsball field. He’s got high strength, basic middle intelligence, and negative wisdom. He’s sat through more history classes than the entire rest of the party put together. He understands approximately none of it. Still--he can’t do sports forever, and art history makes his parents happy, and he might as well go on a quest to uncover lost art and artifacts and maybe prove he’s an actual adult sooner than later, right?

Three interesting facts about Kevin, as per his player:

Back in his home city playing little league sportsball, there were definite (and accurate) rumors about this wild elf that could and would straight-up squish opposing players. That’s how the college recruiters found him in the first place. It’s definitely why they wanted him.

He has so many groupies. So many. They come in so many different species and genders and Kevin is on board with every single one. (On board? On bed? On convenient flat surface? Does it particularly matter? Not to Kevin!)

Kevin is covered in tattoos, and there are all sorts of rumors about what sort of eldritch magic they hold--like, that panther is probably a real panther bound by elven magic, right? A pretty persistent rumor suggests that the tattoos all commemorate individual opposing team members he’s...either hospitalized or fucked, or both, literally nobody is sure. (In point of fact, none of the above are true, and Kevin just has terrible taste in tattoos and a pretty stunning lack of both impulse control and supervision--but why quash the stories?)

Kou, a halfling bard whose girlfriend just left three weeks ago on a research expedition of her own, taking with her approximately 85% of Kou’s impulse control. In theory, Kou is an alchemy major, studying science to make her scholar parents happy. In practice, she probably spends more time sneaking into music seminars and/or busking on the street for spare change than actually doing alchemy, but her girlfriend was a Good Responsible Influence who made sure Kou didn’t get kicked out of the department, and to be fair, alchemy can blow things up sometimes so that’s always good.

Kou doesn’t so much have plans for the future as vague, contradictory aspirations, but that doesn’t mean she’s not smart. She’s learned enough magic to use a set of recording stones to play, loop, and modulate beats or bits of music, thereby making her Nokomoris’s very first DJ, and she really wants to be a professional musician someday. She just hasn’t figured out how to reconcile her dreams with her parents’ wishes, the lives they’ve worked so hard to create, or a halfling cultural legacy that has more to do with riding around snowfields covered in furs waving spears than it does with brightly-colored house parties.

Three interesting facts about Kou, as per her player:

Kou very definitely once spent a full day dressed up in halfling traditional garb, furs and all, including a very fuzzy fur hat. It wasn’t until that evening that somebody saw the hat move and everyone realized she’d been wearing a curled-up live fox the whole time.

She once managed to create an incredibly destructive compound in alchemy lab out of ingredients that should not have actually been able to react that way. She found out it was corrosive when she accidentally spilled it on six months’ worth of a different professor’s lab notes. (She got an A anyway, because her lab professor hated the other guy, but that has more to do with Professors Ayanova and M’tiersi than Kou, really.)

She absolutely goes down to counter-protest every damn time those Family First assholes try to rally downtown in favor of child-producing (read: heterosexual, single-species) families. Rumor says she once broke her guitar over a protester’s head, which horrifies her--Kou’s guitar is the most expensive thing she owns! She used their own protest sign, like a sensible person.

Reigenleif, a mostly-female-probably gnome rogue known around campus as “Beer Run” for her skills at somehow always having access to better and cheaper beer than anyone else, and her general willingness to deliver to parties (for a small additional fee). Reigenleif’s parents are small-time forgers who ended up mostly working for a local crime organization after a series of bad luck and political upheavals brought them to Karna Vi a few decades ago. They really want their kids to go clean, avoid all the uncertainties and occasional jail sentences/executions that accompany a life of crime, and maybe make a little something of themselves. Reigenleif, who has zero interest in staying on the right side of the law, mostly does odd jobs for a different, not-technically-rival criminal organization, and carefully does not tell her parents about it, ever.

Technically she’s an engineering major, and she’s more than got the brains for it, plus the accompanying curiosity about metallurgy and arcane artificing. Still, she spends most of her time helpfully involving herself in other peoples’ projects rather than running her own. (Her own projects have a lot more to do with figuring out new forging techniques and criminal tricks, and don’t look very good in the end-of-year department report.) Enjoys causing trouble, not being in it.

Three interesting facts about Reigenleif, as per her player:

She absolutely owns a copy of the provost’s signet ring, which she can and has used to create documents allowing herself access to all sorts of University resources. Like most things, she’ll share the use of it, quietly, for a price. (She also owns a copy of Marion’s family signet ring, which is a much longer story that I as the DM do not know yet--can’t wait for that.)

Once captured and maneuvered a live swan into somebody’s office to cause as much chaos as possible so Reigenleif could get up to something somewhere else. Is a little bit of a legend for it.

Aside from her not-actually-that-impressive family legacy of crime, Reigenleif’s spread a quiet rumor around school that she’s descended from the famous marauding pirate, Thrand Slender-Leg. It’s possible that Thrand Slender-Leg never actually existed. It’s possible that nobody had ever heard of him before Reigenleif made him up. She’s certainly not telling.

#C the DM #dungeons and dragons #The Yarn Crew goes adventuring

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aliceslantern · 4 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 10

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary: Even offers the restoration committee a report of what the apprentices did, but it forces him to confront emotions long held at bay.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

For an unknowable amount of time, Even writes. At first it is spurred on by anger; at Ansem, at the others, at himself most of all--but it seems that, once his fury cools, he can’t stop the words.

Even has never been a particularly poetic person. He tried, in the past, to keep all his journals and reports objective, clean, and to the point. Plainly worded, aside from the necessary technical terms--he himself remembered being incredibly frustrated with how wordy academics could be, so masturbatory in their writings--and neatly detailed.

These writings are clearly something else entirely. Emotion makes the pages bleed. He feels, above all, just a little deranged. He writes about guilt, about pain and remorse, about replicas who are now people, about how agonizingly raw he feels despite the fact that he is still not yet fully human , about DNA and boys from the past and boys from his memories. About what it felt like to be married and then widowed in seemingly an instant. About how his emotions color everything, despite his best attempts to remain reasonable, logical. If he were truly logical, he would’ve been able to end all this suffering before it happened.

When his wrist aches, he changes to a keyboard. He can plainly see spelling mistakes, grammatical aberrations; but he doesn’t edit, not yet. He writes himself into a stupor and falls asleep right on the keyboard, filling twelve pages with the letter F. When he rouses, he feels splitting pains in both hands, especially his dominant; he ices them, wraps them up tightly, and forces himself to sleep on the cot.

He doesn’t feel better, but he feels strangely relieved, like he’s released some pressure. He takes mild anti-inflammatories for his wrists, and drags himself towards his actual quarters.

His phone begins to ring. At first it seems to be from Ienzo; but then he notices the small forwarding icon, indicating the boy missed a call. They’ve set their phones up like this in case of emergency; Ienzo’s the one in contact with the restoration committee. Even blinks a little. Where’s the boy--is he alright? Or is he merely distracted? He hopes for the latter.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

“Oh, finally. I got someone.” A woman’s voice. “My name is Aerith. From the committee?”

He remembers. “I’m Even--apparently Ienzo has seen fit to make me his backup point of contact.”

“None of that matters right now. Demyx lives with you, right?”

Here it goes. How wonderful it would feel to tell the others he’s right. “Yes.”

“He’s very badly hurt.”

The satisfaction turns rank. He stops dead in his tracks. “How so? I’m a doctor--spare me no technicalities.” It feels odd to identify himself so after so long.

“Yuffie--she’s on security detail--found him at the edge of town. Heartless, it seems like. They didn’t get his heart, thank god , but they’ve got him right in the infrarenal aorta. He’s lost something like three liters of blood. I’m trying everything in my power, but--”

“Don’t get my hopes up?” he finds his own heart beating heavily. “Can I be of any assistance?”

“The wound’s already closed--it’s the shock he has to recover from. I’ll… I’ll keep you updated, okay?” She hangs up before Even can say anything else.

Just because Even wants Demyx away from Ienzo doesn’t mean he wants him dead .

And now he has to tell the boy.

He has no idea where to find Ienzo. Not with Demyx, surely. But where?

The lab.

Even finds him in the hallway on the way back. “There you are. Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

The boy looks limp--Even realizes his eyes are red-rimmed. He’s been crying. Of course. Well, bigger fish to fry, in the moment. “Did you call me?” he asks tiredly.

“Perhaps you do not remember, but your phone is set up to forward calls to mine if marked urgent.”

“Whatever is the matter?”

Even hesitates. If they’ve fought or broken up--but the boy deserves to know. His time of hiding things from Ienzo is long over. “It’s Demyx.”

“What about him?” he asks, sourly but not without a trace of anxiety.

“He’s been injured. Mortally.”

His eyes widen; his hands flutter at his throat. Even explains what happened. “So you mean he’s--”

“We don’t know yet. What do you know of this woman’s abilities?”

He shakes his head, his eyes empty.

“You poor boy.” He embraces him, and to his surprise feels Ienzo hug back. He smells so the same as he once did, the slightly sweet scent of ink. “I worry, too. I know how much he means to you.”

He feels Ienzo shudder against him.

“Come. You mustn’t wait through this alone.”

He escorts the boy back to his quarters. Ienzo’s breathing oddly, heavily, and his eyes are so vacant. Even wants to press, to find out exactly what happened, but Ienzo doesn’t need that. He leads the boy over to the sofa; Ienzo immediately lays on his side and curls up. Even drapes a blanket over the boy. He knows nothing he can say or do will be of any use.

After what seems to be hours--hours where Even obsessively checks his gummiphone--Ansem arrives, breathless. “Have you any news? I heard a few moments ago. I was away from the phone."

He scowls. “Oh good, you’re here. Whatever would we do.”

Ansem ignores the barb. “What happened?”

“The usual. Heartless. Only he had no means to defend himself. He did not fall to darkness, but was wounded critically. That’s all we know.”

He shakes his head. “The irony of it. To survive all that, and to get wounded by shadows.”

“So things go,” Even mumbles.

Ansem kneels in front of Ienzo, who’s still supine. When he touches him, Even notices him flinch. “Have hope. I’ll get you two some tea.”

Even grits his teeth. Once he’s out of earshot, he snarls, “The man can take better care of a houseplant than a child.”

Ienzo raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, come off it. I’ve earned a few good digs at Master . He still does not understand people. As hard as he tries. It’s a miracle you came out as civilized as you did.” He sniffs. “Perhaps there is yet some bitterness in my new heart.” His phone started ringing; the boy’s eyes widen with something akin to panic. “Yes?”

“Even? Aerith again. Demyx is alive. He’s recovering well enough, but I had to put him to sleep for a while. The blood loss was really hard on his heart. Vitals seem to be stable, though.” Even can feel the boy’s eyes on him.

“Quite. Quite. I see. At least there’s that.”

Ienzo tenses.

“Merlin and I can bring him there. This isn’t really a good place for a person to recover. I figure you probably know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you. You’re a kind girl.” He explains it to Ienzo, but this doesn’t seem to placate him. Even chances a small smile. “If Demyx is anything, he’s resilient. I have a feeling he’ll be around to annoy us for a long time yet.”

When he’s back in his own bed, the boy is indeed in poor shape. There’s no wound, aside from a scar, and most of his blood has been replaced, but frankly he looks terrible. “So long as you don’t wake him, he’ll recover.” She too looks horrid. Even can remember his own endless days of patient care, how wearing it can be on the body. “When you take a person back from the brink of death, you have to let them sleep. But he should be okay. He’s got a will to live like I’ve never seen. Broke through several layers of sedation like it was nothing.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Even says. “Poor Ienzo has been having conniptions.”

“Are you two close?” Aerith asks him.

He hesitates. “We’re partners,” he admits in a voice hoarse from hours of disuse. Interesting word choice.

She nods. “I’m sure this has been a harrowing experience. But we caught it in time. It’s lucky the Heartless didn’t want his heart.”

“...Lucky,” he echoes.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Even says.

“Of course. I’m happy to help. Things have been so peaceful that this is the first major injury case I’ve seen in several weeks.” She sighs. “These things come and go in waves. Hopefully they don’t get much worse. I’ll come back tomorrow to check on him. Call me if you need to.”

“I shall. There was one thing left I wanted to discuss.” She follows him out the room, but Ienzo remains, taking the boy’s hand, an exact inverse of when he fell ill.

“What’s up?” she asks wearily. He wishes he had an ether for her, but his stores are still decimated.

“What is the medical care situation like around here? You’re not the only one, are you?”

She shrugs, tiredly.

“Oh, no. You poor girl.”

“It’s alright,” Aerith says. “Like I said, it comes and goes in waves.”

“I don’t suppose you could use… an extra pair of hands?”

Her smile seems rather composed. “That’s a very generous offer, but…”

He nods. “It’d be rather disquieting to the patients?”

"Yeah. Kind of." She exhales, smoothing her braid. "I know Ienzo says you all want to atone, and that's only right. At the same time… the darkness has scarred everyone."

"...I see."

"Perhaps there are other ways you can help," she says. "You're all scientists--and the committee is run by largely uneducated people. I'm sure you can be useful. The one thing I'm sure you can do, though…"

"Name it and consider it done."

"You could give me a list of the victims."

She says it so earnestly. Even feels his heart drop.

"We've maintained a list of the missing and presumed dead for years. It might be nice… to be able to give the surviving families closure."

"...Yes. Of course. I will make it my priority. I can give a complete statement."

"That would make Leon very happy… well. Happy as he can be, anyway."

"The truth isn't easy, but it is necessary."

She nods.

"Now go sleep, woman. You look dead on your feet. I've been looking after these miscreants for years--I can handle it from here."

"Be well, Even."

"...I shall certainly try."

He peeks into the room once more before descending back into his lair. Ienzo touches Demyx's face, once, delicately. After all this… Even finds he no longer minds it so much. The boy needs love, and it's clear his own desiccated heart is not capable of providing it--nor anyone else's, save perhaps Demyx.

Love can be more than pain--he remembers that very distantly.

He allows himself to think about that person, slowly, unwinding the defensive chain around the memory. They too were in the sciences, the same doctoral class. They wanted to help people have children--in a roundabout way, inspiring him to consider the body, the replicas--the two of them must've discussed this for hours, the methods and the ethics, until the library closed. That person leaned over so carefully, their hair brushing Even's shoulder--and kissed him, his first.

The pregnancy wasn't necessarily intentional, ironically enough--neither was the following marriage, the proper thing to do at the time--but it was an arrangement that worked, an easy partnership. That period of his life seems long, but it was only seven years from start to finish. Gone.

Perhaps this is why, but when Even unseals his reports from the time before, he can feel the humanity, and despises the utter coldness with which he wrote about their victims. He reads their histories, their stories. He cries. How many children has he taken from their parents, spouses from their partners?

One hundred and twenty three.

From the initial, unharmed participants to the first artificial Heartless, there were one hundred and twenty three people they'd broken; one hundred Heartless.

He allows his wrists to ache as he types the report. In fact, the pain suits him. The document ends up being something like twenty pages, and he still has more to say. Even finds himself trembling, aching. This time he can feel it coming, and eases himself onto the cot before unconsciousness claims him. He wakes. Rather than bathing and sleeping, he resumes his work, trying to edit it into something reasonable. When he has a working draft of this impact statement, he sends it to Aerith, returns to his quarters, and sleeps.

He feels himself becoming… what?

He’s not well. He knows that much. But who dare he ask for help? Should he deserve it?

This is a dark place indeed, even darker because this is what they put their victims through.

He spends several days washing in and out of consciousness, hardly able to move aside from performing the most basic bodily functions. Despite it all, I live, I breathe. Why?

A knock at his door. He ignores it. His body, though underweight, seems to be dragging him down.

A voice, Aeleus’s--“Even? Are you in there?”

He forces himself to his feet, feeling the ground pitch, likely from low blood sugar. He smooths down his hair. “Do you need something?” he asks in what he hopes is a normal voice.

He cracks open the door and enters. “I… have not seen you in several days,” he says. “I… was worried.”

Even forces a smile. “What, about a wretch like me?”

“Yes.” He blinks. “I fear you are more volatile than ever.”

“You needn’t worry. I’ve merely been catching up on my sleep.”

Aeleus goes over to Even’s hot plate, opens up some of the cabinets above.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeding you,” he says. He pours water in a pot, begins making oatmeal.

“Aeleus, I’m a grown man. I can cook for myself.”

He grunts in response. “Because you can doesn’t mean you will.”

“I’m not sure I like what you’re implying.”

“You don’t take care of yourselves--any of you, but especially you, Master, and Ienzo.” He stirs the mixture. “Where do you think the boy gets it, Even? You’re more than your mind. I don’t think I’ve seen you looking healthy since we’ve all been back here.”

“My health doesn’t matter.”

“Yes. It does.” Aeleus turns to face him. “I’ll not have you doing anything reckless.”

Even feels vaguely caught; though why?

He starts making coffee, hands Even the steaming cup. In the winter weather, the warmth is incredibly welcome.

“I feel so cold,” he says softly.

“I know,” Aeleus says. “But you’re thawing.”

“...A lame pun if I’ve ever heard one.”

“It’s true.” He takes a deep breath. “My heart aches too, Even.”

He feels little emotion; but his eyes are watering. “It makes no sense,” Even says slowly. “I… my heart is still a mere fragment, yet I feel… all too much. Scientifically, it just doesn’t…”

Aeleus chuckles a little. “The heart is not bound to logic. Not even close.”

“Aeleus… you have always been… a steady presence.” He takes a drink of the coffee, centering himself with its warmth and bitterness. “I fear I am rather… becoming mentally ill.”

“You’re beginning to process. It’s healthy.” He digs in Even’s barren cabinets for sugar. “I’m afraid the oatmeal is merely plain.”

“You believe this is healthy?”

“Better than absolute numbness, absolute repression.”

Even takes a few timid spoonfuls; he finds it goes down easily. “I feel so… horridly weak. I cannot even begin to…” A bite, a drink. It’s strangely foreign. “I’m giving that nice young woman a… report of what we did. It--”

“Remorse.”

“Yes.” More wetness warms his eyes, but he can’t blink it away this time.

“You should cry. It’s good for you.”

“I’m so humiliated, Aeleus.”

“Who will I tell?” It’s the earnestness that gets him. “We’re all in the same boat. I… myself, in my own quiet moments… I know you know what I did.”

“...What?”

“Ienzo. When he was a boy. Incapacitated him, so you could not take him.” He flinches just the slightest.

“Oh, Aeleus--”

“His eyes were full of such trust… I handed him that cake, knowing full well--” He shudders, almost imperceptibly. “All these years, I have tried to protect him. But I could not stop Axel from--” He trails off.

“Where would I have gone?” Even asks tiredly. “Without the power of darkness, I could not have taken us outside the city limits, where we no doubt would’ve starved, or died from dehydration. Else Xehanort would have found us… and disposed of witnesses.” It takes work, to finish the beverage and meal; once he’s done, he finds himself even more exhausted.

Rather than delve more deeply into this conversation, though, Aeleus looks out his window. “It’s snowing,” he says. “Even, look.”

He crosses over to the other man. Whiteness piles onto the windowsills, the ground. “So it is.”

“I’m… afraid I must tend to the steps, salt them and whatnot,” he says. “But I will be back in a few hours with another meal.”

He takes a breath. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Aeleus takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.

For a long while Even sits by the window, watching the slow fall so slowly. Briefly, he misses his element, his control over it; snow is much more natural than anything Vexen did. Cleansing. Gentle.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees movement. In the courtyard below his window he can see two figures in the snow; the boys. They’re throwing snowballs at one another, an endless volley. (He notes, with pleasure, that Ienzo seems to be winning.) Demyx is teaching him how to play; something they never did. With another swell of warmth, he notices Aeleus join in, pelting the two further.

He smiles a little. He realizes the boy is going to be fine; Demyx truly does care for him.

He bathes, for the first time in days, is able to give Aeleus a meal in turn, though it is flavorless and bland. He still lacks intellectual sharpness, but he’ll settle for simple functionality after all this.

Even begins to pull the shards of himself together.

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ienzo #aeleus #ansem the wise #aerith #beyond this existence

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burninghoneyatdusk · 4 years

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Hey! That list is pretty cool! If you have time I'm curious about 5 6 and 12, please! Thanks!

Lol I always have time to ramble about fanfiction things.

5. Share one of your strengths

Hmm. I had to think on this haha. I think one thing I’ve done my whole life is just coming up with the actual story ideas. Like I’m never short on ideas and they just come to me without trying in everyday life, so I rarely need prompts to break out of any kind of writers block. I think (hope) I’m decent at writing natural dialogue. An AO3 comment theme I’ve gotten is people liking my “writing style” which of course I take as a compliment but not sure how to define. *Shrugs*

6. Share one of your weaknesses

Lol. Oh god. So many little things I’ve noticed. I don’t use a beta and edit my own work and so I’m pretty familiar with things I always have to take out. To many of the word “just”. Who knows why I put it there. Just being way too wordy until I read it two or three times over. The adverbs. I sometimes state the obvious with those. It’s amazing what you do over and over again on the first draft no matter how much you edit. More generally, I can be unfocused when I try to write so it takes me too long (e.g. TV on, suddenly doing something else on the internet). I would love to stick to a better publishing schedule, but that one is more beyond my control because of my actual job.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

You know, I don’t think there is ONE episode that really gets to me but there’s definitely like a dozen moments or so that continue to inspire me in fanfic. There are certain quotes that I love to recycle into the fanfics. I need you. You left me. You need forgiveness? I’ll give that to you. Forgiveness is hard for us. You’ve got such a big heart. I could go on. We all know the classics. Those quotes/scenes inspire me for the same reason they made me ship bellarke and are probably the same “big” ones the rest of the fandom thinks of. One of my favorite things to think about is how those scenes may translate to my stories and different worlds/circumstances. In Homesick, their convo on the roof when Clarke gets back to DC was basically a mashup of 1x08 and 3x11. Clarke telling him that all she does is hurt people. Other things are just more thematic that I like to use in the fics. Bellamy’s princess nickname, how it goes from cruel to complimentary (I know some people think it’s overrated, but I’m still hoping for a throwback in S7). I love using the S4/S5 separation as a plot device. Homesick you see it with the actual separation, ABOY its more in the 6 years that are between the past storyline and present storyline. I could go on and on.

Also in certain scenes Bob and Eliza have provided just excellent expressions and micro-expressions that end up in my fics. What comes to mind immediately is 6x01 during the radio talk. Bob’s little wink/smile he does. Eliza’s surprised little open mouth half gasp/half laugh. Those things stick with me when I’m writing the fics. One thing I’ll say is that the next fic I’m writing is a grounder canonverse arranged marriage fic that was heavily inspired by the 4x11 scene with Clarke pointing the gun at Bellamy. Do with that what you will haha.

#asks #my fics #bellarke fanfiction

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vecna · 4 years

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For fandom meme-swtor?

Send me a fandom!

This one isn’t as spicy as the Dragon Age one, but I still got Wordy.

Also there’s lots of KOTFE/KOTET/etc spoilers in here, so don’t read if you don’t want to see em. (Looking at you, Chignon.)

The character(s) I first fell in love with:

My own OCs haha.

But more seriously: It was actually Darth Malgus! I was always going to play a Star Wars MMO, let’s be real. But when they started posting promo videos and cinematics for the game, my Sith-loving ass immediately gravitated to that guy haha. And then, it turned out he had the same VA as The Architect from Dragon Age, and that was it for me.

If we’re talking about companions, then it was probably Malavai Quinn. Sith Warrior was the first class I got to 50, and Quinn was the first companion that I really got overly attached to haha.

The character(s) I never expected to love as much as I do now:

Most (not all, but most) of the “new” companions that came in with KOTFE and beyond. I was initially really sour when I realized we were losing all our class storyline companions, and they were being replaced with a new crew of Lana, Theron, Koth, my mother-in-law Senya, etc. Especially when they – at the time – said we’d eventually get our class companions back, but it would be a while. So I started KOTFE sure that I would hate the new crew because I would rather have the old one…. and ended up liking them quite a lot! Mostly, lol.

The character(s) everyone else loves that I don’t:

Doc is the main one, jesus christ. If you didn’t read my last post, I just really really really do not mesh well with overly sexual and Adult Humor-y characters who scold you with a “You’re no fun.” if your OC isn’t into it. Doc is the worst example of it that I’ve ever encountered. I always play a male JK, and the fact nearly all of his convos amount to, “Boy, you and me are going to be up to our eyeballs in vagina when this war ends, amirite?” “You don’t want that? Come on, the Jedi Code doesn’t say you can’t FUCK, live a little.” “You’re no fun. Well, more for me.” drives me NUTS. This combined with how he interacts with Kira just does me in. Shoves him out an airlock.

Dark Side Jaesa is another big one, albeit mainly for OOC reasons. I just hate the fact that she even exists, really. I get the appeal of a story where a Sith corrupts a Jedi to the Dark Side, but the way she does a total 180 into gross hedonism while Serving You always just makes me cringe. Plus there’s the fact that straight dudebro gamers are really nasty with her, and she’s the main companion I always see men put into the slave bikini outfit, and just yikes.

Also just a lot of one-off NPCs that everyone goes crazy for and ships their OCs with, but I constantly forget who they even are lol. Attros Finn comes to mind. I don’t hate them! Just don’t get the appeal I guess.

The character(s) I love that everyone else hates:

Lord Scourge, although I’m not sure he’s really hated as much anymore. I just remember at launch, when all of the overly invested Revan stans absolutely HATED him because of what he did in the Revan novel, and then flooded the tags with vitriol over being “stuck” with him as a Knight, and having to hear about Revan in his companion convos. It was really, really tiresome! Maybe it’s because I never really cared that deeply about Revan as my personal character, but I could not understand the backlash.

Anyway, Lord Scourge is my favorite companion in the game by a long shot. I love the conversations you can have with him about the Jedi vs Sith, and I love the mutually respectful tone those conversations take. (Where other Bioware companions who disagree with you have a tendency to just go, “You’re wrong.” and shut you down.) The fact that he’s so tied in with the plot just makes me love him more, really.

The character(s) I used to love but don’t any longer:

Cytharat, Koth and Theron mostly. Although this takes a bit of explaining, and is a bit Discourse-y – because I really appreciate them as characters, but their role and Bioware’s decisions with them is what made me no longer love them.Here’s the thing: Bioware has a bad habit of introducing male characters that are bisexual, and then having them betray you, leading to situations where they either get murdered or vanish from the narrative entirely. Meanwhile, bisexual women like Lana are untouched and around forever.

I was overjoyed when I first saw Cytharat. Y'all know I’m a ho for purebloods, and the fact that he was Malgus’ apprentice was fascinating to me – and then he turned out to be a bi romance. I got very hyped for him, only to find out he dies like 5 minutes later – or if you save him, he’s never seen again. Huge letdown.

Koth was the first character I fell in love with of the new KOTFE crew – I even initiated a romance with him! – but it quickly became obvious there’s no way to play the expansion without him turning on you judgementally at some point or another. And then, hey big surprise, you can kill him or else he’s never seen again.

Theron I’ve loved since we first got to know him in the Forged Alliances content, but that whole storyline where he seemingly betrays you out of nowhere, only to later reveal he didn’t actually, idk. And then, once again, you either kill him or he disappears from the story. It felt like a weirdly shoehorned in plot for shock value, and robbed us of a second bi MOC character.

You see the trend here? I want to love these characters, but Bioware continually electing to do this shit with bi dudes is tiresome and makes me unwilling to invest any interest in the characters anymore.

The character(s) I would totally smooch:

None.

The character(s) I’d want to be like:

None really come to mind? I just want to be a Jedi, come on.

The character(s) I’d slap:

Hunter all day every day.

The pairing(s) that I love:

Haha, this question is hard, because most of the SWTOR ships I’m invested in are between my OCs and my friends’ OCs.

However.

SCOURGE / KNIGHT IS THE BIG ONE, THE ULTIMATE, THE ALL-TIME FAVORITE. It’s really hard to describe just how much I love this ship, and just how much time and energy I’ve invested into it over the past… 8 years wow……….. To the point of being almost territorial. And it’s also near impossible for me to talk about why I love it, because the version I ship is so personalized with my specific Jedi Knight, especially since it had to live exclusively in headcanon land for so long. Scourge is, more or less, my Knight’s support pillar and the thing that grounds him and keeps him humble, in a world where my Knight is surrounded by people who expect him to be a pure flawless messiah. But, I mean. How can you have a man look at your character and say, “I’ve waited 300 years to see your face.” and not immediately ship it. And then I finally got vindicated after all these years when it was made canon!

I really love Arcann / Knight for a lot of the same reasons as the above, but I just really adore his one (1) romance convo haha. Granted, yes he did a lot of fucked up things, but I was so grateful when he had like… a Zuko-esque redemption. Where he comes to your character and firmly believes he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, and especially doesn’t deserve affection, and is instead met with acceptance and a chance to grow and heal. That’s the good shit.

Others:

Lana / Warrior and Lana / Inquisitor are my particular jam. I endlessly enjoy the mutual respect between Lana and those particular PCs.

Malavai Quinn / Sith Warrior is a longtime fave, and although I DO love him with a female Warrior, I really do with he’d been an option for dudes as well. And I feel the same in reverse about Vette / Warrior – I do like her with a male Warrior, and it’s so sweet and wholesome and endearing, but man I wish she’d been an option for female Warriors.

I ship Risha with every woman – especially Vette and Sumalee – and will be salty until my grave that Risha / f!Smuggler isn’t possible, because I love Risha with the Smuggler but she gives me powerful WLW vibes.

Agent / Watcher Two is also a lowkey favorite, but I ALSO wish it could be done with a female Agent instead. Same with Agent / Raina Temple.

Agent / Vector is very sweet, but again, I will be salty until my grave that it couldn’t be done with a male Agent.

Can you guys sense a running theme here?

Finally: NGL I love Valkorion / Senya, even though that ended in pure disaster.

And people around here used to ship Keeper / Lokin, and tbh, I still kinda love it lol.

The pairing(s) that I despise:

In general terms, I fucking hate every single romance that involves the male PC romancing his padawan or underling, especially since most of them seem like very young girls. I don’t know why this is so pervasive in the game, but yikes Bioware. Consular/Nadia is the worst offender, but they’re all just cringe central for me.

But the big one is Agent / Hunter. This would have gotten me run off Tumblr back in the day, but god I hate this pairing. I mentioned in the last post that I just will never enjoy ships where the two characters actively want to murder each other, but. This just gets magnified for me with Agent/Hunter, where all the mind control and blatant abuse comes into play – and people have a tendency to write noncon rape fic of the two and present it as ~sexy rivalmance~, which is awful. Add to this the “no homo” reveal where Hunter turns out to be a woman, after getting everyone hyped about a dude flirting with their male character the whole game, and it’s just a huge No Thanks from me all around.

And for largely personal reasons I just don’t like seeing female Knights with Scourge. Listen, for YEARS I was treated like a pariah for shipping Scourge with my male Knight, while being unable to find Scourge content that didn’t have a female Knight plastered all over him. Even though he wasn’t even a romance option one way or another, the way the fandom treated m!Knight/Scourge with disdain while ardently shipping f!Knight/Scourge was offputting as shit. And then, after years, he was made a romance option for women AND men, and all these awful people acted like they were robbed, the way people reacted when Kaidan and Jaal were made bi in Mass Effect. I’m so tired. I never want to see Scourge with a female Knight again.

#misc: text #misc: meme #series: star wars #vg: the old republic #long post #scorpio-dw

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azvolrien · 4 years

Text

Five Vignettes about Asta in Stormhaven - Workshop

Talkin’ ’bout constructs.

~~~

“I just – I don’t understand what the problem is!” Galen said, quickly leafing through his notes. “It’s not a mechanical issue – I’ve tested all of the joints and they move just fine. The crystal is the proper size for a construct this big. It’s some of my neatest rune work ever. And it just – won’t – move!” His voice rose to a wail on the last word.

“All right, take a step back and go get a glass of water,” said Calburn. “We can sort this out, but you need to get your head in the right place first. Believe me, I know from experience that you make more mistakes when you get worked up.”

Galen took a deep, steadying breath, closed his eyes, and ran the fingers of both hands back through his hair. “Yes. All right. Back in a minute.”

To Galen’s visible dismay, his work had gained an extra observer when he returned. One of Master Gwen’s assistants was peering around the door with great interest.

“Right, let’s have another look at this,” said Calburn. “And – sorry, can we help you?”

The woman at the door started and edged around the door into the construct workshop. “Yes, Master Gwen sent me down to get the latest materials inventory.”

“In the office,” said Calburn, pointing. “The blue folder on the desk.”

She nodded and hurried over to collect it. “Is something the matter?” she asked on the way back out.

“My new construct won’t activate,” said Galen morosely.

“Maybe… Maybe I could have a look?” she suggested. “Get a fresh pair of eyes on the problem.”

“I don’t need critique from someone who isn’t even a mage,” muttered Galen.

“Don’t be an arse, Galen,” said Calburn sharply. “Like she says, it can’t hurt to get a fresh look at it.” He stepped aside, clearing the woman’s path, and gestured at the construct.

The woman nodded and walked in a thoughtful circle around the construct, still immobile on its supporting frame. “The metalwork is beautiful,” she commented. “Some very elegant machining on the front legs there, and in the support for the power crystal. The use of the smoky quartz is a nice touch aesthetically, and that crystal’s certainly big enough. So what is the problem?” She knelt down to peer at the runes inscribed on the chest plate and inside the casing along the back of the construct’s neck. “Ah-ha! I see – it’s a simple runic issue.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my runes,” said Galen, folding his arms defensively.

The woman held up a hand in what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture. “See, in the activation array on the chest, you’ve used this rune?” She took a notebook from one pocket and drew the symbol in question.

“That’s a perfectly standard power rune,” said Galen.

“Yes – but it’s intended for much smaller constructs. Guard dogs, messengers and similar. By itself it can’t channel enough power to properly activate a construct of this size.”

Calburn leant in for a closer look, comparing the image in the notebook to the one on the construct’s chest. “…She’s right, Galen.”

Galen made an indignant spluttering sound best transcribed as “!?”

“There’s an easy solution, though,” she assured him. “Either you can sand out the original and replace it with this one,” she drew a second rune in her notebook, “or you can add some amplifier marks around the original so it can handle the greater power requirements.” This, too, was added to her notes, and she held up the pad for Galen to see the new diagram. He looked from the paper to the construct and back again a couple of times, and left the workshop without another word.

Calburn sighed. “Sorry about him,” he said. “Senior apprentice – he’s at that stage in his education where he knows just enough to think he knows everything. He’ll come back once he’s salved his bruised ego.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Nah, you’re fine. I figure they learn more from their mistakes than from their triumphs. I didn’t catch that rune problem, though – well done with that!” Calburn looked at her thoughtfully. She hunched her shoulders slightly, her eyes uncertain, and he took what he hoped were a few reassuring steps back to give her more space. “I haven’t seen you around much.”

She nodded. “I just started helping in Master Gwen’s office earlier this week.”

“That explains it, then. M’name’s Calburn – or Master Calburn Sayer of the School of Constructs, to use my full title.”

“Asta zeDamar. Just… just Asta, usually.”

Calburn nodded. “How d’you know about activation arrays?” he asked. “That’s fairly advanced stuff, to know what each specific rune does.”

“Oh, I’ve always been interested in constructs. I’ve probably read most of the available literature – Rathlean’s The Making of Constructs is the seminal work of the modern age, of course, but Magnussen’s treatise on the integration of traditional rune magic is vital reading as well when dealing with built constructs like this, and anyone interested in grown constructs really needs to look at the works of wizards like Pritchard and MacAskill, firstly to understand how the technique originated and then to look at what can really be done with it today. Hassan’s Revenants of Kemet is interesting if you want to look into the deeper historical background, too.”

Calburn blinked.

“Sorry,” said Asta sheepishly. “My parents always used to say I could get very wordy when I got onto the topic of constructs.”

“And you never thought of going into the field yourself?” asked Calburn.

“Well… I would have loved to, but like your student said – I’m not a mage.”

Calburn nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that is a bit of a stumbling block. I suppose you could still have had a role as a designer.”

“I looked into it,” said Asta sadly. “None of the relevant courses accepted non-mage students. I do have a construct, though,” she added more happily, taking a polished oval of black granite from an inside pocket.

“May I see? There’s-” Calburn looked around. “Yes, there’s enough room over there for materialisation.”

Asta held up the stone and stepped back to let her construct materialise around it. Lines of light stretched out from the hovering stone, sketching out a tall, four-legged form before, with a final bright flash, the construct solidified. Calburn covered his mouth with both hands. Asta’s construct looked more like a giant panther than anything else, with sleek black fur with the ghosts of spots like patterns on watered silk. The head, too, was feline, with neat rounded ears, the dark stone embedded in its forehead, and the pupilless yellow eyes typical of a grown construct, while a pair of horns shaped a bit like a ram’s but with a smooth surface more like a cow’s curled out and down from the back of its skull. Proportionally it stood a little taller than a leopard would have, closer to the build of a wolf though more muscular, and the long tail sported a broad, fan-like fringe of wiry hair near the end, but the velvety black paws were pure cat.

“Oh, she is beautiful,” said Calburn, leaning in to see the patterns impressed into the leather of the harness.

“Thank you, but – ‘she’?”

“Oh, you don’t do that? Most people I know use the same pronouns as themselves for their constructs.”

Asta shrugged. “I never got into the habit. Its name is Pardus.”

“I can see why. Out of the Grishin workshop in the Imperial City, yeah? I recognise the detailing on the harness.”

“Not just from the workshop; it was Alexei Grishin himself.”

Calburn whistled, impressed. “His work doesn’t come cheap, either.”

“It wasn’t,” said Asta. “It was a graduation present – my parents saved up for years for it.”

“They must be very proud of you,” said Calburn, smiling.

Asta sighed and looked at the floor. “I… hope they would be.”

“You – oh. Oh, gods. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“It – it’s fine. I don’t… really talk about it much.” She ran her fingers over the fine, soft fur on Pardus’s muzzle.

“So… How fast can it run?”

Asta smiled for the distraction. “It can manage a sustained top speed of forty miles an hour over good ground, and a little more in short bursts. It’s very sure-footed, too, so even over rough ground it isn’t slowed down too much.”

“Not bad!” said Calburn. “My Mostol is built more for strength – he can hit thirty flat-out, but his usual speed isn’t much more than twenty – but I’ve clocked Vrand at sixty.”

“Sixty?”

“That’s in level flight, of course,” said Calburn. “On the ground he can barely hit ten – not really made for walking, bless him.” He took the fist-sized summoning stone on its string from inside his tunic. “D’you want to see him?” he asked, gesturing to the door out into the College grounds.

“That’s a very big stone for a simple messenger construct,” said Asta. “Wait – are you saying you’ve made a flying construct big enough to ride?” Calburn nodded. “Then yes, I want to see him!”

Outside, when the gigantic construct had fully materialised and folded his near-hundred-and-fifty-foot wingspan, Asta had to sit down for a moment.

“So you’re telling me,” she said faintly, “that for your masterpiece construct… You made a dragon.”

“Well, he’s a bit more mammalian,” said Calburn. “But essentially… Yeah.”

“You’re a demented genius, Calburn Sayer.”

“I’ve always thought so,” said Calburn with a grin, “but you’re the first to say it out loud.”

“Great gods above. I mean, I’d seen Narwhal, but this…” Asta shook her head, smiling. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“And that’s why they made me a Master,” said Calburn, still grinning. “Listen – d’you want to come out for a drink after work?”

“Oh. Um. Uh. That’s very flattering, but I – I’m not interested in men. Romantically.”

“Duly noted for future reference,” said Calburn. “But I didn’t mean romantically – I honestly just wanted to chat some more about constructs.”

Asta considered him in silence for a few seconds.

“I could ask my pal Rhona to come along too if it’d make you more comfortable,” offered Calburn.

“Well, m- Sorry, your pal what?”

“Rhona Carnwennan. You’ve probably seen her around – she’s one of the Healers.”

“Oh. Well… All right, then.”

“Great! Shall we say five o’clock at the Fox and Hare?”

Asta nodded and got to her feet. “That’s the one just down the road, right? Yes, that works – I’ll meet you there at five. Now…” She smiled and held up her satchel. “I really do need to get this inventory back to Master Gwen.”

~~~

Asta got the job on her own merits - Ari didn’t drop a word in Master Gwen’s ear or anything. She did point Asta in the direction of the vacancy, though.

#az writes stories

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halfgap · 5 years

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Some extensive, tangly headcanons / extrapolations of canon regarding Beau and her parents under the cut... extremely wordy and still not Complete (I always have more to say about this kid!)

I doubt her family is anything akin to nobility or aristocracy. Sure, they own a winery in Kamordah (a town renowned for its fine wines) but from Beau’s comments about her father’s desperation to impress the Empire higher-ups, I get the sense that Beau’s parents are sorta the Wildemount equivalent of ‘New Money’. They accrued their wealth through being very industrious and growing their business into something presumably quite successful, but despite being financially secure her father more than anything still wants very badly to gain the respect of More Important People.

Beau says her father “made a lot of sacrifices” in an effort to impress those people, and tbh that could mean anything from “devoted his time to brown-nosing and working instead of to his family” to “literally selling out close friends/family to the Reapers to gain Empire goodwill.” He also probably let the Crownsguard deal with some of Beau’s law-breaking in the past instead of bailing her out, considering Beau’s strong personal reaction to Toya being left with the Crownsguard.

I’m thinking her father is a very intelligent guy who values book smarts a lot. Marisha’s implied on Talks that he made Beau study a lot of crap (even before the Cobalt Soul) which he insisted would be valuable, and Beau is kind of pissed whenever that education actually does come in handy during her adventures today. I think her knee-jerk rebellion against All Things To Do With Her Father is why Beau insists that she hates studying, hates books and history, is TOTALLY a jock and NOT A NERD AT ALL, even though it’s become apparent that her natural curiosity does extend to a lot of nerdy things and she retained a lot of useful stuff from her studies. She loves learning, period, but it’s that thing where you don’t want to enjoy something that your asshole parents forced on you since a young age.

From a meta perspective, abusive parents are too often depicted as ignorant & uneducated with nothing of value to offer to their kids. In reality, perfectly intelligent + highly educated people can still VERY MUCH be abusive. They can have good taste in books or music, they can instill some savvy business acumen in their kids, etc.. Beau likely owes a lot of her education & cunning to her dad. Part of him probably did have her best interests at heart. That doesn’t mean he’s any less of an abusive shithead.

As far as I remember, Beau’s never actually said she hated her parents. There’s clearly a lot of resentment & anger there, but she also makes a lot of excuses for her parents: she says her father’s “not a bad person,” says he could have even been a good father if he made different choices, repeatedly calls him “protective” (as opposed to “horribly controlling and overbearing,” which I think is more accurate tbh), and admits several times that she herself was “a rebellious dick” and how that contributed to her parents’ rejection of her. Beau doesn’t hate her parents and hasn’t claimed to hate them; I’d wager instead that she cares about them despite everything and *still* craves their acceptance and approval (something Marisha supports on Talks). The bulk of Beau’s feelings toward her parents are HURT, not HATRED.

That just makes her whole situation a lot sadder, imo. In ep.1 she comes off as a rebellious drifter who ran away from her rich asshole parents, but in fact she’s a rebellious drifter w/ nowhere to go because she was utterly rejected by her parents *twice*. She disagrees with everything they stand for & won’t change herself any more for them, but she no doubt still cares about them (god, it’s her very nature to care deeply about Everything she touches); she’s just utterly convinced that they don’t give a single damn about her.

Somewhat related- as a child, at least, Beau did try to be what her parents wanted. This is made apparent by Marisha’s playlist commentary and some of her TM answers. Moreover, Beau has the ‘Prodigy’ feat, which I bet only stoked her parents’ expectations of her, expectations that kid!Beau would naturally strive to meet. But as Marisha rightly points out, when someone’s held to an impossible standard like that of the “The Perfect Daughter,” eventual rebellion is inevitable. From personal experience, I can say after trying so hard for so long, failure is addictive. Once Beau gave up trying to be the perfect, obedient kid who was still never enough, she probably found comfort in and clung deeply to her new role as the Problem Child, the Disappointment, the Slacker.

This always confused me but... Beau was only w/ the Cobalt Soul in Zadash for a few months. It’s possible she was at some other training monastery prior to that, but from Marisha’s early-campaign TM comments about “suddenly & recently becoming a monk” and a lot of other confusing shit Beau’s said, it sounds like Beau was only with the Cobalt Soul during that short time she was in Zadash...? And I can’t imagine it’s been THAT long between her running away, and her meeting Fjord and Jester in Game 0. Zeenoth still seems familiar enough with her when finding her in Ep.4 that I think Beau probably only ran away a few months to a year ago, at most? (Enough time for Beau to have wandered through a lot of places in the Empire at least, since she says in Ep. 8 or so that she’s traveled a lot within the country.) Beau is currently 22 or 23, so working backwards, that means Beau was abducted by the Cobalt Soul when she was probably 20 or 21. A young adult. Not a rebellious teen getting sent to boarding school.

I guess it might make sense that an unmarried young daughter is still in the authority of her parents at that age (although gender politics in Exandria have always been ‘???’ and sorta inconsistently represented so...) But it’s more significant that Beau stayed, living under her parents’ roof, doing the bookkeeping for the winery... I don’t know if she was staying purely to continue profiting off her bootlegging operation w/ her family’s wine, or if because even after all that Teen Rebellion she never fully escaped her parents’ influence over her and her own buried desire to earn their respect/affection. I’d say it’s leaning towards the latter, with her using the former as an excuse to herself (or maybe the thought of leaving just. Never even really occurred to her. Which I wouldn’t be shocked by tbh.) Either way I think it’s interesting that she herself never left that small town she hated & that family she resented, until her dad blatantly kicked her out via monk abduction.

I don’t know where I’m going with this other than saying that Beau is a twisty, painful mess of contradiction who nevertheless makes deep sense to me (& hopefully others) in a way impossible to articulate...?

uh I meant to talk more about her mom but prior to more recent episodes the only thing we knew of her is when Beau said “My mother always said nothing in life is free.” Now we also know she gave birth to a son Very Late & once wouldn’t let Beau have a pet rat, but Beau’s overall difficulty with/reluctance to talk about her mother can mean a lot of different things. Two possible interpretations are : a) in some twisted way Beau was a lot closer to her dad, as in... he was a bigger influence on her, more involved in her life and thus in more conflict with her, and her mom has always been more a footnote.. or b) maybe Beau actually had a more.. tender relationship with her mom than she did with her dad (not saying much tbh) which only made her ultimate rejection sting 100x worse to the point that Beau hates even thinking or talking about it.

You could go a lot wilder with the theories here (maybe her mom was the ‘bad direction’ that misguided her dad..? etc) but I think the above two are most reasonable and what I usually go with right now for the sake of simplicity

As for Beau’s personal hang-up with tarot cards, and the (possibly unrelated, but probably related) Mysterious Beliefs of her dad that made him so “protective” and intent on isolating her... that shit is too open-ended and I can’t land on a solid theory yet asjdjsljfjf

Also very conflicted about the whole MY PARENTS WANTED A SON thread but I won’t get into that here

I’m Very Behind on CR and have only caught clips and tidbits of episodes 43 onwards so please talk to me about Beau and let me know if there’s any other interesting hints she’s dropped in recent episodes or if any new info has contradicted these long-held, rambly inferences I just listed

#nobody asked for this but me #beauregard #critical role #i just spend a lot of time trying to parse this kid's family situation #but generally this is how i approach things in every fic i write

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