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mackerelphones · 9 months

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The Politics of Oz

Now for the upsetting conclusion to my series of Oz posts.

The entire essay will not be here on Tumblr. What you see here is a preview, just the first part of the longer whole. You can read the rest on my website here.

I sure would appreciate someone seeming to consider something I wrote. If you know people who might be interested, you could share it too. What do I have to do, grovel? What do you want from me bah whatever okay here's the preview (grumble grumble)

1. The Riches of Content: Oz as Pastoral, Feminist Socialist Utopia

In the original 1900 novel The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the Land of Oz is fecund and full of friendly people but still a dangerous, socially unstable place. After Ozma ascends to rule the Emerald City of Oz in the second novel, she “civilizes” Oz. L. Frank Baum frames the civilized Oz not as a land of peril and adventure but as a land of wonder and delight. (“Civilizes” might seem like a questionable term for me to use, so put a pin in that.) Ozma’s “civilized” Oz is a counterpoint to the “big, cold, outside world” (Road to Oz 196). This outside world refers to the mundane labor and economic deprivation of the cruel, bleak United States and also the various analogous scary and unfriendly people and monsters who live outside Oz, including Evoldo, the Mangaboos, the Scoodlers, the Phanfasms, the Boolooroo of Sky Island, the Raks, Cor and Gos, and other tyrants and evil spirits. Chief among these is the Nome King, the only major recurring villain in the series.

A number of commentators have interpreted Ozma’s Oz as a utopia, including Sally Roesch Wagner in “The Wonderful Mother of Oz” and Suzanne Rahn in “Beneath the Surface of Ozma of Oz,” both of which I will return to below. Jack Zipes also understands Baum’s Oz as a socialist, matriarchal utopia in “Inverting and Subverting the World With Hope” in Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion. All three of these writers take Oz as a rejection or condemnation of American capitalism, though bizarrely Wagner and Zipes both interpret the Oz of the original novel, where travel is deadly and there are multiple slave-driving dictators, as already utopian. I will start by exploring what values distinguish Oz as good and correspondingly define the nature of evil in the Oz novels, concentrating on the first six books but drawing from Baum’s later work as well.

Content warning: This portion will not be on Tumblr, at least not now. But to spoil the big twist, this essay will quote and cite some very racist material. I will also discuss, with nothing graphic or detailed, genocide and other heavy topics that might be upsetting to some readers. I do not present these subjects to be shocking but hope to ultimately teach something or other.

Because Baum originally intended to end the series with The Emerald City of Oz, it serves to an extent as a statement of the series’ values overall. In this novel, the utopian, nonviolent Oz is pitted against the decidedly not-utopian Nome King and the Whimsies, Growleywogs, and Phanfasms, who want to pillage the land and enslave its people. Fittingly, for the first time, Baum describes the Ozite economy in detail. At least, this is the economy of Oz after Ozma and her allies “civilize” the land. The entire passage is relevant:

[The Emerald City] has nine thousand, six hundred and fifty-four buildings, in which lived fifty-seven thousand three hundred and eighteen people, up to the time my story opens.

All the surrounding country, extending to the borders of the desert which enclosed it upon every side, was full of pretty and comfortable farmhouses, in which resided those inhabitants of Oz who preferred country to city life. [Later novels contradict this claim, filling Oz with jungles, dangerous mountains, and other urban centers.]

Altogether there were more than half a million people in the Land of Oz—although some of them, as you will soon learn, were not made of flesh and blood as we are—and every inhabitant of that favored country was happy and prosperous.

No disease of any sort was ever known among the Ozites, and so no one ever died unless he met with an accident that prevented him from living. This happened very seldom, indeed. There were no poor people in the Land of Oz, because there was no such thing as money, and all property of every sort belonged to the Ruler. The people were her children, and she cared for them. Each person was given freely by his neighbors whatever he required for his use, which is as much as any one may reasonably desire. Some tilled the lands and raised great crops of grain, which was divided equally among the entire population, so that all had enough. There were many tailors and dressmakers and shoemakers and the like, who made things that any who desired them might wear. Likewise there were jewelers who made ornaments for the person, which pleased and beautified the people, and these ornaments were free to those who asked for them. Each man and woman, no matter what he or she produced for the good of the community, was supplied by the neighbors with food and clothing and a house and furniture and ornaments and games. If by chance the supply ever ran short, more was taken from the great storehouses of the Ruler, which were afterward filled up again when there was more of any article than the people needed.

Every one worked half the time and played half the time, and the people enjoyed the work as much as they did the play, because it is good to be occupied and to have something to do. There were no cruel overseers set to watch them, and no one to rebuke them or to find fault with them. So each one was proud to do all he could for his friends and neighbors, and was glad when they would accept the things he produced. (29–31)

The Tin Woodman also clarifies some of the economic system in The Road to Oz:

“If we used money to buy things with, instead of love and kindness and the desire to please one another, then we should be no better than the rest of the world,” declared the Tin Woodman. “Fortunately money is not known in the Land of Oz at all. We have no rich, and no poor; for what one wishes the others all try to give him, in order to make him happy, and no one in Oz cares to have more than he can use.” (164)

In “Beneath the Surface of Ozma of Oz,” Rahn draws parallels between Baum’s description of the Oz in these two novels and the socialist utopia in William Morris’s News from Nowhere (Rahn 26). The civilized Oz certainly resembles a utopian communist dictatorship but wears the clothing of a hereditary monarchy. There is no rule by the proletariat, for there are no proletariat, landowners, or bosses in Oz, yet there is a single ruler whose legitimacy rests on her being the daughter of the king who ruled before the advent of the Wizard and the Wicked Witches. Private property has been abolished through, paradoxically, the universal private ownership of all property by Ozma, who allows this property to be shared equitably among the people—how fortunate for the Ozites that Ozma stops aging. The abundance of material wealth, particularly gems and precious metals, is used in ostentatious displays, but these resources are common enough that they are ubiquitous among all Ozites. The people receive everything they desire. They work and produce of their own free will for nothing but satisfaction and the benefit of themselves and their neighbors. Baum might as well have included the famous socialist slogan “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.”

In the “uncivilized” Oz of the original novels, the economic system is contrary to that outlined in The Emerald City. The Wicked Witches force the Munchkins and Winkies to live in terror and perform slave labor to benefit their rulers, and even among the Ozites themselves there are property-based class differences. The law of the uncivilized Oz is exactly the opposite of that of Ozma’s communal utopia, as the fraud Wizard makes explicit: “You have no right to expect me to send you back to Kansas unless you do something for me in return. In this country everyone must pay for everything he gets” (128). Of course, the Wizard says this knowing he cannot pay Dorothy what he owes her. The contrast to this earlier Land of Oz emphasizes the utopian nature of Ozma’s socialist Oz, which rejects the harsh American “no free lunches” morality the (as yet) unenlightened Wizard carries over from his US homeland. Hence it is civilized, while what came before is not.

The existence of multiple monarchies means Oz cannot be communist in the sense leftists would usually understand the term. However, a communist ideology, as history attests, is by no means incompatible with dictatorship in the normal sense everyone uses, as is present in Baum’s Oz, rather than in the less intuitive sense of the class dictatorship that capital-C Communists intend. Furthermore, the material conditions of Oz are the most ideal version of a one-person communist dictatorship, so the dispute is only semantic, particularly because, unlike existing countries with lived complexity, none of this is real.

Another central aspect is that Oz is pastoral. Even the Emerald City, the largest urban center, has a tiny population of 57318. As Richard Tuerk points out in Oz in Perspective, this is the size of a small town and so a suitable capital for an idealized rural country (197). Note also that the above description of the economy features agriculturalists and artisans but no factories. There is metallurgy used to ornament buildings and people with the abundant gold but no industry or machines.

However, electricity is used: Ozma’s throne room contains “two electric fountains” (Emerald City 54), Oz has the infrastructure for the Shaggy Man to construct a wireless telegraph in The Patchwork Girl of Oz, the Wizard invents cellular phones decades early in Tik-Tok of Oz, and illustrations depict Jack Pumpkinhead’s house having electrical wires (Road 4) and Ozma keeping a telephone on her desk (Emerald City 192). The question of electricity generation is not explained at risk of undermining the fantasy of the redress of all social ills through mutual aid and abundance created without coercive authority. The answer is presumably magic, which Ozma strictly regulates.

In effect, for Oz, magic may correspond to industrial and electrical technology. Consider that Tik-Tok, a robot man, is explicitly a machine but is also magic, proven by how he can only function in fairy lands and not in the mundane world. “I do not sup-pose such a per-fect ma-chine as I am could be made in an-y place but a fair-y land,” as Tik-Tok says (Ozma of Oz 52). The utopian element is in the careful regulation and control of technology, preventing it from overwhelming people’s lives and destroying the idyllic natural beauty that Baum’s narration frequently describes. In the uncivilized Oz, magic runs rampant, the Wicked Witches using it to terrorize and enslave people, while in the “big, cold, outside world,” figures such as the Nome King use magic to similar ends. As Gore Vidal observed, “[C]ontrolled magic enhances the society just as controlled industrialization could enhance (and perhaps even salvage) a society like ours. Unfortunately, the Nome King has governed the United States for more than a century” (quoted in Zipes).

In “The Wonderful Mother of Oz,” Wagner argues that Baum infused his novels with feminist and theosophist concepts in conversation with his mother-in-law, the suffragette Matilda Joslyn Gage. According to Wagner, Baum modeled Oz off of the prehistoric feminist utopia described in Gage’s 1893 Woman, Church and State. Wagner writes, “Gage described a period of matriarchy in the world’s history before private property, industrialization, and organized religion introduced inequality, greed, and genocide. The female principle—the creative principle—was held sacred and supreme, and cooperation, not competition, was the order of the day” (10). While the girls in Oz are traditionally feminine save only the Wicked Witches, they also dominate the land. By the time of The Emerald City, the most powerful individuals in Oz are Glinda, Ozma, and Dorothy, later joined by Trot in The Scarecrow of Oz. Even in the “uncivilized” Oz, men such as the Wizard and Omby Amby (the Soldier with the Green Whiskers) are ineffective, whereas Dorothy, the Wicked Witches, Jinjur, Mombi, and Glinda possess genuine cunning and power.

The Marvelous Land of Oz may appear to contradict the general feminism of the series. However, Wagner offers a feminist reading. The novel concerns a group of boys (Tip, Jack, the Sawhorse, the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and the Woggle-Bug) who face the all-woman Army of Revolt, unserious and childish girls parodying suffragettes. The woman soldiers are frivolous and incompetent, and their leader, Jinjur, does not aim for gender equality but to rule over men, as in the ugliest anti-feminist caricature of the period. However, women are genuinely powerful. The male-dominated Oz is completely powerless and easily falls, and the Army of Revolt prove competent antagonists. When Tip and his group reach the Emerald City and find men engaged in wifely chores, the Scarecrow has this interaction with one of the exhausted husbands that highlights the value and difficulty of domestic labor:

“I’m glad you have decided to come back and restore order, for doing housework and minding children is wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.” “Hm!” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “If it is such hard work as you say, how did the women manage it so easily?” “I really do not know,” replied the man, with a deep sigh. “Perhaps the women are made of cast-iron.” (170–171)

Wagner takes this to mean that the men have a newfound appreciation for the value of feminine labor. Jinjur ultimately loses but not to any men, none of whom are capable of the task. Instead, Glinda defeats her with a different all-woman army. Unlike Jinjur’s comical soldiers who fight with knitting needles and want new jewelry, Baum treats Glinda’s militant women with relative respect and seriousness, demonstrating women can be effective. “[T]hese soldiers of the great Sorceress were entirely different from those of Jinjur’s Army of Revolt, although they were likewise girls. For Glinda’s soldiers wore neat uniforms and bore swords and spears; and they marched with a skill and precision that proved them well trained in the arts of war” (237).

Furthermore, in the end, the boy hero Tip must become or even mature into a girl, Ozma, to prevail over Jinjur, though Wagner overstates when claiming the story “exposes the social construction of gender in all its complexity” (11). Jinjur’s childish scheme to invert gender roles fails, but a girl, Ozma, nonetheless ends up ruling with the authentic womanly power that Jinjur wants to see enthroned. The women also celebrate liberation from Jinjur (282–283). Instead of the supremacy of women, Ozma ensures equality.

The ascendancy of kind women instead of conquering Wicked Witches and a false Wizard is pivotal to the civilizing of Oz. It is Ozma’s gender equality and feminine power that changes the bleak albeit colorful land into a utopia. Later injustices are also corrected through the elevation of women and the removal of power from ill-intentioned men. In The Scarecrow of Oz, the Scarecrow, acting on behalf of the female Glinda, deposes Jinxland’s wicked King Krewl, a man, and Gloria, a woman, ascends the throne, ensuring peace and justice. Oz is a feminist utopia, particularly by the standards of the early twentieth century, when women in most of the United States were legally barred from even voting.

The legitimacy of power in Oz stems from mutual love enshrined in metaphorical kinship ties between ruler and subject. Good rulers, in Baum’s stories, are those who keep their subjects satisfied and who rule by consent. The people are Ozma’s “children,” whom she “[cares] for” (Emerald City 30). The series furnishes ample evidence of the love and devotion the Ozites have for Ozma:

“The Wonderful Wizard was never so wonderful as Queen Ozma,” the people said to one another, in whispers; “for he claimed to do many things he could not do; whereas our new Queen does many things no one would ever expect her to accomplish.” (Marvelous Land 285)

Everywhere the people turned out to greet their beloved Ozma. (Ozma of Oz 256)

And now they came in sight of the Emerald City, and the people flocked out to greet their lovely ruler. […] Thus the beautiful Ozma was escorted by a brilliant procession to her royal city, and so great was the cheering that she was obliged to constantly bow to the right and left to acknowledge the greetings of her subjects. (ibid. 258)

Everything about Ozma attracted one, and she inspired love and the sweetest affection rather than awe or ordinary admiration. (Road to Oz 204)

They [the people of Oz] were peaceful, kind-hearted, loving and merry, and every inhabitant adored the beautiful girl who ruled them, and delighted to obey her every command. (Emerald City 31–32)

A similar order prevails for Ozma’s subordinate rulers in the individual countries of Oz. The Wicked Witch of the West rules the Winkies through terror, using the people as her slaves. After her death, the Tin Woodman becomes the Emperor of the Winkies not through coercion or hereditary power but because “they invited him to rule over them” for his role in defeating her (Marvelous Land 121–122). Baum is concise: “Every one loved him, and he loved every one” (Road 164).

Wagner claims there is no coercive authority in Oz. While Ozma maintains a military, they are a mere twenty-seven people, adults pretending to be soldiers by dressing in military uniforms. A single infantryman, Omby Amby, is present in the first three novels, but his subsequent promotion means that the Emerald City military cannot execute violence. Afterward, Omby Amby becomes the single policeman in Oz instead. For Oz does have crime and punishment.

The Patchwork Girl furnishes an example of the legal system when Omby Amby (probably—his identity is inconsistent) arrests Ojo. Baum emphasizes this is extraordinary. Ojo is the first person arrested in Oz in “a good many years” (188), long enough that Omby Amby believed there was no reason for him to be the country’s only policeman. As stated in Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz, crime almost never occurs: “the people of that Land [Oz] were generally so well-behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years since any Ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law” (237). Presumably, self-actualized and with their material needs satisfied, few people in Oz have any reason for crime, at least in the portions aligned with Ozma rather than “uncivilized” regions such as Jinxland.

The system that exists is humane. The prisoner’s identity is hidden from the public so that his reputation will not be damaged, and the prison itself is a luxurious house plated with gold and gemstones. Ojo receives lovelier meals than many impoverished people in the US, and the jailer, Tollydiggle, is more a kindly innkeeper than a guard. “The purpose of prison” in Oz, writes Wagner, is not “vengeance” as in the US but “helping the offender to build strength of character” (11). Ojo requires scant rehabilitation before his trial, where Ozma and the Wizard quickly find him guilty on the basis of their surveillance but pardon him no less swiftly. Ozma and Glinda maintain the peace through nonviolent means.

Furthermore, mercy and forgiveness are recurring valued traits. The good Ozites forgive not only minor offenders such as Ojo and Pipt but even seditious, dangerous enemies. Ozma spares Mombi’s life despite the years of abuse she personally endured as the latter’s slave, for instance, and Dorothy accepts Ugu’s heartfelt apology for his coup in The Lost Princess of Oz. While Oz has rulers, then, they do not possess or exercise coercive authority. “Ozma’s decision-making power rests literally and absolutely in carrying out the will of the people. Embedded in a truly egalitarian system, power comes from the people; it is not exercised over them. Respect for differences is a given” (Wagner 10).

Finally, Oz indeed respects difference, likely at least part of the reason for its lasting appeal among queer audiences, as Dee Michel describes in “Not in Kansas Anymore: The Appeal of Oz for Gay Males.” Michel primarily focuses on the MGM adaptation of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, but he does not neglect the novels. In particular, he notes the presence of non-traditionally masculine men such as the compassionate, tearful dandy the Tin Woodman or the Cowardly Lion, a “sissy” who wears a bow in his mane: “they are about as un-macho as one can get and still be recognizably male” (Michel 34).

While Michel mentions the high level of physical affection present between the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, he neglects to note more overtly queer themes present in Baum’s text. Ozma is often read as transgender: seemingly a boy, she is a girl whose true nature the “uncivilized” version of Oz conceals from her until she succeeds in becoming her authentic self. Ozma and Dorothy’s mutual affection may appear to extend beyond what modern readers would take as just friendship. The two hug, smooch, and hold hands; live together; never show any romantic interest in any boys; and appear kissing each other on the lips in at least two of John R. Neill’s illustrations. Chick, originally appearing in John Dough and the Cherub before meeting Dorothy in The Road to Oz, is gender ambiguous or nonbinary, rejecting both boyhood and girlhood. Scraps reads as a queer allegory. “I must be the supreme freak. […] But I’m glad—I’m awfully glad!—that I’m just what I am, and nothing else” (Patchwork Girl 57). She rejects the birth name her oppressive parents Margolotte and Pipt intend for her, defiantly and joyfully embraces her unconventional identity, and rejects conservative gender roles in the country of the Horners.

“You have some queer friends, Dorothy,” [Polychrome] said. “The queerness doesn’t matter, so long as they’re friends,” was the answer (Road 184).

Queerness, then, is welcome in Oz—especially uncommon given that Baum wrote them from 1900 to 1919. Michel proceeds to observe that diversity is a key value of Oz and quotes other writers on the subject:

Willard Carroll notes that “[Oz is] a community that celebrates the ultimate in creativity and diversity.” Similarly, Suzanne Rahn observes that “the characters themselves…are…fiercely tolerant of the outlandish, respecting, cherishing such rickety, sagging, unlikely colleagues as the Frogman, the Shaggy Man and Prof. H. M. Wogglebug, T.E.—a community of eccentrics. In Oz, they belong” (34).

Michel states, “All minorities would likely find Oz’s diversity compelling” (36). Put a pin in that. In addition to social outcasts, however, Baum treats Oz specifically as offering freedom from the capitalism of “the big, cold, outside world” in both The Road to Oz and The Emerald City. The former involves an American vagrant, the Shaggy Man, who “[has] slept more in hay-lofts and stables than in comfortable rooms” (196). In the mundane US, he is shunned and disliked, presumably for his frightening appearance and poverty. He steals the magical Love Magnet to force people to like him: “no one loved me, or cared for me, […] and I wanted to be loved a great deal” (208). The “big, cold, outside world” forces him to commit crime to have any hope of receiving love. However, in Oz, Shaggy is astonished to be welcomed into palaces and receive the treatment of a royal, for Oz “[has] no rich, and no poor” (165) and the people value only love, not money. So he chooses to remain there, though continues to wander the land for fun.

Similarly, in The Emerald City, Dorothy’s Uncle Henry and Aunt Em receive liberation from their poverty and debt in Kansas by moving to Oz. Baum depicts US life as brutal and withering. In The Wonderful Wizard, Dorothy, Henry, and Em inhabit a one-room shack. Henry “[works] hard from morning till night and [does] not know what joy [is]” (13). This life literally removes hope and happiness from Em: “[The sun and wind] had taken the sparkle from her eyes and left them a sober gray […] She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled, now” (12). After the cyclone destroys the house, Henry builds a new one, yet his health declines until he can no longer work. With the mortgage unpaid, the family is doomed to lose their home. In Oz, however, Henry and Em are overwhelmed with gold and gems and dressed in regal Munchkin clothing, with merry servants sparing them from ever working again.

“I’ve been a slave all my life,” Aunt Em replied, with considerable cheerfulness, “and so was Henry. I guess we won’t go back to Kansas, anyway” (269–270).

Slavery and freedom are major preoccupations throughout the series. The chief crime of the Wicked Witches, Nomes, Queen Cor and King Gos, and other powerful antagonists is the enslavement of others. Given the Em’s above comment, then, life in the economic conditions of the ordinary world is tantamount to slavery. The assorted evil forces outside of Oz correspond to the mundane violence of real societies, as Jack Zipes observes: “Baum draws a parallel between the bankers, who are merciless and crush old farmers who can no longer be employed because of bad health, and the Nome King and his allies, the Whimsies, Growleywogs, and Phanfasms, who want to enslave people to attain wealth and power.” Recall that Vidal similarly takes the Nome King to suggest the prevailing economic order of the US.

In The Emerald City, when the invasion of the Nome King and the evil spirits is imminent, Ozma and Oz further demonstrate utopian values in a nearly suicidal commitment to nonviolence. Ozma refuses to flee, believing she must share her subjects’ fate, and though the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow, and the Shaggy Man advise Ozma to fight the Nome King, she rejects violent solutions because “No one has the right to destroy any living creatures, however evil they may be, or to hurt them or make them unhappy” (268).

The Scarecrow peacefully outwits the evil legions, deceiving them into drinking Glinda’s Water of Oblivion that reverts these miserable backstabbers to childhood innocence. Importantly, the Lethe-like Water of Oblivion makes them happier by erasing their greed and hatred: “The frowns and scowls and evil looks were all gone. Even the most monstrous of the creatures there assembled smiled innocently and seemed lighthearted and content merely to be alive” (284). The wicked Nome King himself becomes kind, at least until Tik-Tok of Oz, when he reverts to cruelty as a consequence not of his nature but of his office. Instead of plundering, enslaving, or scolding her now-harmless enemies, Ozma sends every one of the invaders back to their homes unharmed.

This nonviolence is fantastical and has no practical analogue to the real world—maybe, put a pin in that—yet serves as an ultimate statement of values. In the tradition of (stated) Christian ethics, Oz not only responds to violence with love but also redeems the wicked: “[T]o have reformed all those evil characters is more important than to have saved Oz” (289). The Wizard, Jinjur, Ugu, and eventually the Nome King himself, who drinks the Water of Oblivion a second time in The Magic of Oz and lastingly becomes innocent and happy, all receive similar second chances.

In the conventional and probably intended reading, Ozma’s Oz is an agrarian utopia representing progressive values: the end of private property, women’s power, tolerance and acceptance, and even police and prison abolition. But to what extent do the Nome King and the Whimsies, Growleywogs, and Phanfasms really represent greed, exploitation, and mercilessness?

Find out the answer to this question (and much more!) by reading on over at my website...

#oz #wizard of oz #ozma #nome king #baum #utopia

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george228732 · 7 months

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Fylass Through the Looking Glass -Chapter Three EX - Pathos

Dero, Dolly and Ades came back to the Card Castle, with some of the lanterns inside still giving off its light on the starry sky, which, for some reason, seemed dim and darker.

"...If you don’t mind, I think that Blossom and I will sleep in here; it wouldn’t be a good idea to get home this late."

"Oh! Sure, Mister Ades! Dolly would be happy to have you around, especially tonight! Things seem more… gloomy these days, and company would be great!"

"Now that you think about it, it does feel like the nights are constantly getting darker. Besides, it would be better for us to stay at one place so we can start the search for the Jabberwocky, among… other things." Ades was looking at Dero, which seemed to have a lot in mind, but wasn’t willing to talk it out.

"Indeed, we should go to sleep at this point. We’ll talk tomorrow morning, and start with our journey."

Everyone nodded, and told their goodnights to each other.

Dero walked down to the Knight’s Quarters, being placed right down a set of stairs, being connected to the Dungeon, and the main hall; the place was comfortable, resembling more of a house on its own for all of the guards; sadly, due to how carefree the knights are when they are off duty, it was prone to get cleaned pretty soon by Twilight Knight. Dero didn’t remember the last time he was there, for he had a special room inside the Dungeons, ever since he became the Jailer out of the need for someone to fill that role.

The place was dark, for obvious reasons, with all of the knights asleep, but some of them woke up at the mere sound of the door opening.

"Eh…? Oh, it’s you, Dero." Verin said with her eyes at the brink of closing between her sleep.

"Greetings, Verin. I am just here to rest at the quarters, do not worry."

"Oh, that’s… alright. There are some spare beds in that one room, so feel free to take one, so your rest can bloom." Even when tired, she always likes to talk in riddles, and Dero couldn’t really tell if she wasn’t able to speak in any other way.

"Much obliged. Goodnight, and may time be with you." Dero tried his best to be as silent as possible to not wake the other guards up, but that scurrying sound coming from his legs did not make that easier.

Soon enough, Dero was able to find a room with mostly unoccupied beds, and quickly made his way to sleep, leaving his sword right next to the bed.

"...It’s not complete…"

The creature did his best to be comfortable, and soon enough, closed his multicolored eyes, looking at his sword with sorrow, frustration, and melancholy.

He still remembered that day vividly.

The days, months and years beforehand were nothing but delightful, as Dero was working for the crown, and he was happy to be part of it; he got friends like Ades or Twilight, he got someone to live for like Giselle, and he got a purpose in a world that the creature didn’t know at all.

Doubts were spread, though, as Dero feared that someone like the Moon of Despair would come back without him even noticing; he didn’t know him in person, but knew what he was capable of by mere listening from his friends, the inhabitants or the Queen.

He constantly visited Ades’ story to read every book on the shelves, to gain every single bit of information he could get to understand everything about Wonderland and its surroundings, so he could know the dangers it faced, and the ways he had to stop them all; for the inhabitants, the kingdom and above all of them, Giselle. Book after book was read, from the most simple things like the meaning of some words, to the bestiary, containing every single creature known; some entries kept him interested though…

The Jabberwocky, for example, was claimed to be a dangerous and feral creature, only to realize that the current Spade of the kingdom is a domesticated Jabberwocky, Tenebra Knight, someone that Dero had in such high esteem.

Another entry was left unnamed, depicting a creature that Dero had never seen before, resembling a blue mist with floating eyes; his information was scarce, but it’s rumored that changes and distorts everything that stays too close to it for long. The knight would be willing to investigate more about it soon.

The entry that interested Dero the most, though, was a creature known as "Creator", which was rumored to be the creator of everything in this world; maybe that’s why Dero ended up here? The information about them was also scarce, but there were some snippets of information about them that kept Dero interested…

"...It is said that this world was made for the sake of one tortured soul that fell to their own insanity, leaving a trail of chaos on its way, that had to be hidden away in a personal hell…"

"A creature that will be responsible for the destruction, catharsis and salvation of Wonderland and Underland falling into Despair by the Moon Jester himself. They can take on different forms depending on what it needs, from a villager, to a Wolpertinger."

"They are lonely, and they want friends; they are regretful, and they want acceptance; they are frustrated, and they want revenge."

Dero couldn’t help but to be confused by these statements, especially by the second one, revealing that there was another realm that Dero didn’t know at all; Underland…

It was bound to happen that someone else was nearby when Dero was reading these books.

"Oh, here you are."

"Greetings, Pleiades. I was just reading some of these books you had around. I hope you don’t have a problem with it."

"I don’t have a problem with that, don’t worry. Say, you seem hooked to something you just read. What’s up with that?"

"...I didn’t know there was another realm besides Wonderland."

"Ooooooh. Yeah, Underland. Every year, both realms decide to be part of a great festivity; we call it, The Joyful Day Celebration; we share food, drinks, nice moments and more! Hell, you know those "DRINK ME" bottles we have around? Those come from Underland, courtesy of the White and Red Kingdom."

"...Oh, I wasn’t aware of that. It sounds lovely…"

"Yeah… Wait, what day is it?"

"May 25. Why do you ask?"

"You are a lucky man, Dero! The Joyful Day will start in two days; my favorite day of the entire year."

Dero was quite surprised by hearing that; he had some friends around Wonderland, but he was curious to see how Underland looked like, and what he could get from getting there.

"I… I suppose I am a lucky person."

"Right you are!" Ades laughed. "It’s getting kinda late, so I expect myself to sleep now. I would recommend you to get prepared for the celebration day, since it’s tradition to stay in Underland for a while, so you can grab anything on sight!"

"Hm, alright then. Goodnight, Ades."

Dero spent the night thinking about Underland, and how fascinating it would sound to meet more people in there, but he couldn’t help but think that the Queen might be in danger if he isn’t there to protect her with his might. Not too long ago, some of those distorted, shattered creatures came to invade the Card Castle, and they were a hassle to deal with, but they almost reached the Queen.

Gladly no one got hurt, but the knight felt as if he almost failed his mission.

…Maybe he could escort the Queen when the celebration happens.

The next day, everyone was preparing for the celebration coming tomorrow; everyone was preparing food and bottles for it, and keeping the Castle clean when it needs to be visited by the Underlanders; it usually is very clean, but in terms of class, Underland is the better land.

That same day, Ades was talking directly to the Royal Guard, about how to behave when the day came, since apparently, they never listen unless Pleiades is the one in charge, and at this point, everyone knew about that. Everything was well and dandy, and the next day followed too.

Tomorrow morning, everyone walked down to a path Dero didn’t know at all; maybe because he wasn’t too on point with every single location, or maybe it was because everyone had strangely enormous bags above them for the celebration; Dero could see that many were struggling to keep it light.

The Knight was always next to the Queen to protect her from any possible threat for her wellbeing, and she seemingly was glad to have Dero with her, for she valued that friendship they had; whether it was faint or not, those moments they had made them bond for a little, or maybe a while, but that sense of friendship was genuine.

Soon enough, the Wonderlanders reached another path reaching to the Memory Lane Cinema, which seemed to be a mansion more than anything, and at the center of the foyer, the Looking Glass was present, with the same odd looking chessboard floating atop.

"...A mirror?"

"This is the Looking Glass. Imagine it as some sort of portal between both realms, you only need to cross it, like if it was water, and you’ll be there." Giselle said as she took some steps towards it, and used her hand to prove that the mirror was indeed, able to be crossed.

The Knight of Dark Matter was quite dumbfounded by what he just saw, but after seeing many other Wonderlanders entering it, he thought that it couldn’t hurt, and so, he crossed it as well.

Dero saw Underland for the first time, and its inhabitants, looking much more formal than the ones in Wonderland, but seemed just as happy to celebrate than the latter. He couldn’t really notice someone that looked familiar, but someone caught his attention; there was a shy, but odd Halcandrian with royal clothing in hand, next to a white humanoid dressed as a tailor.

"W-Welcome to U-U-Underland, people! My n-name is M-M-Magolor but you c-can call me P-Prince B-Buddy!" The Prince said.

Dero only realized that he was talking to royalty, and by instinct, he bowed down to him as well.

Giselle went towards him and shook his hand the best she could.

After that, there wasn’t too much that Dero could remember clearly, but some snippets of the celebration were on the back of his mind; from eating and drinking with Ades and the rest of the knights and guards of both kingdoms, talking with Buddy and his Tailor, whose name was Shard, looking at the scenery of the White Castle, swearing that he heard a voice coming from a crown in a pedestal, talking with Celeernyx, which was crowned as Princess of the White Kingdom by pure chance, among other things.

Some of Dero’s best memories there though, were with Giselle, since she always feels so free on this day; free of responsibilities for an entire day, only to celebrate the union of both kingdoms for a pretty eternity…

…Such a shame it didn’t last.

Dero woke up from that dream, and it was already morning, with Ades and Dolly waiting right next to them. Dero was… sobbing?

"Sir Dero! What happened? Did you have a nightmare, or something?" Dolly asked with worry for him. Ades on the other hand, was silent, but wanted to talk with him.

"...I’m fine…"

Dero stood up, and was about to leave the Quarters, but was stopped by Dolly.

"Hey! Please, tell Dolly what’s going on! You seem so sad, and Dolly wants to help you!"

"Yeah, Dero… I know what you’re going through, even after all of this time, but rest assured, we will do our best to help you with whatever you need."

"...If so… Please, let’s get going to the Tarot Village…"

"Dolly will send Twilight, Ava and Verin with us, if that’s okay!"

"...That’s okay…" Dero said as he did his best to wipe his tears off. "I apologize for my behavior, deeply."

"It’s okay to have nightmares, sir! Dolly gets nightmares often, too…! They are… not nice, but what matters is that with some effort, we can overcome them, right? Fylass taught me that!"

"...I suppose that’s correct. You are very wise, My Queen…"

Dolly giggled, and afterwards, hugged Dero with all the strength she had in the morning.

"Dolly will be waiting for you in the backyard!"

"I’ll do so, too. We are ready to leave, so don’t worry."

"...Alright. See you outside." Dero said, as Ades and Dolly left the room.

He took a last peek to the Card Castle, going story after story to see if something was wrong before leaving; everything seemed normal for sure, up until he looked at the Club Door; a door that hadn't been opened in a long time.

"...I feel that something wrong has happened to the Club… Let’s hope that’s not the case…" Dero left the room, and went towards the empty main hall to use the backyard door to leave.

--------

@monsterhatdoodles (CREATOR OF THE DRAWINGS)

@ilikesillythingswooo

@loaflovesdoodling

@galakianexplosion

@lostsoulau-ask (CRETOR OF THE PAINTED DOODLE)

@moon-mage

@den-of-the-blue-dragon

@avathestarwarrior

@that-fanperson-meg

@the-chaos-axolotl

#fylass in wonderland #fylass through the looking glass #extra chapter

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dballzposting · 1 month

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do u ever think abt how like trunks was probably raised by the internet growing up. bc yknow his parents werent ever really there. its interesting cause like he probably just kinda had to yet up on his own legs when his parents werent there and kinda worked his way around things, he likely got it from bulma, the problem solving that is. because he definitely didn't from vegeta. i like to imagine when trunks and goten were basically old enough to kinda make friends with eachother, which was when they were probably like 8, goten looked up to trunks a lot because he was older than him and like so cool his mom was really rich and trunks' dad would fight his dad and that was cool. from trunks perspective i feel like he kinda realized that goten was like kinda stupidly smart, trunks was too but he'd rather do other things and was like "yo this kid can do my homework for me" because trunks never really considered people for just being people at first because he wanted to try to live up to his who whenever visted dad would just huff at him and get what he came for. never really paying attention to trunks. i feel like after awhile of getting to knos goten better he kinda started like actually playing with him-- like a real kid, yknow? he let goten on his xbox and they woulc play zombies and goten was always so fascinated because his mom never allowed him any type of electronic devices or access to the internet. all goten had were books and whatever happened outside and sometimes even dvds he could play. i feel like they idolized eachother but never realized the other one felt the same way, and then as they grew up they kinda rubbed off on eachother

Trunks was definitely encouraged to explore and figure things out on his own for sure !! This of course also meant that he went out and found his own culture and place in it outside of the context of his house. Maybe that meant becoming a minecraft youtuber. What of it

Maybe a feeling of culture & connection was absent at home if his dad never wanted to connect with him, just train him. That makes sense that Trunks would inhabit that attitude and treat others like a commodity as well. I definitely see in him a kid who is bumbling through and trying to emulate what he's shown - but underneath that is an energetic and spontaneous child who is just having trouble making sense of conflicting inputs about the world, is all!

Goten's view of the world and his place in it was never that mysterious and contentious however so he's pretty well-adjusted I think. He's comfortable being the baby and looking up to Trunks and trusting that he knows what he's talking about. But he won't hesitate to defend his own mind or skin when it comes down to it. And Goten's authenticity rubs off on Trunks a bit, or rather encourages Trunks to just be himself. On one hand, Trunks lied when he said that he knew what a Majin Buu was because Goten seemed to believe that Trunks would know; but on the other hand, Trunks didn't try to push his competence further when he admitted that he too couldn't make sense of the high power levels they were sensing during their mad-flight over there. Rank matters to Trunks, and Goten is quick to assume his role as the youngest, but they are also quickly approaching an equilibrium.

i feel like they idolized eachother but never realized the other one felt the same way, and then as they grew up they kinda rubbed off on eachother

^ All There is To It Gang . . . . Goten looked up to Trunks becasue he was so skilled and knowledgeable and Trunks looked up to Goten becasue he was so fucking weird I MEAN he was trusting and playful and bold and he adapted fast and wasn't ever ashamed of who he was.

THEY ARE FRIENDS YOUR HONOR.

Trunks comes into a lot of grace to be able to stop the implicit power struggle and admit equals with Goten. It's more rewarding, but it does require a humbling, and perhaps a painful rejection of his nuanceless-because-he's-still-just-a-kid understanding of that all-important pride, which is like a religious doctrine in his home. Of course he could have Saiyan Pride AND a best friend, and actually it does seem like he understands that (in the Kakarot sidequest that these screenshots are from, Trunks and Goten had been of the belief that Vegeta and Goku were friends), but . . . who knows. Worth thinking about.

#dballz posting #dballz asks #goten & trunkz

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solottrpgchronicles · 2 months

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5a. Magic Sheep - The Last Tea Shop

Shop name: The Vagrant Tea Leaf

Supplies: sea salt, ginkgo leaf, giant puffball

Days: 21

Visitor: a hero

The shop was enveloped in an ominous, dark mist; watching its finger-like tendrils through the windows sent shivers down my spine.

A tall, broad-shouldered customer hurried in and closed the door swiftly behind them, their eyes darting around nervously, as if they were afraid of being followed.

"Are you alright? Don't worry, you're safe here." I said in a reassuring voice, trying to put them at ease. I invited them to sit, but their eyes were still full of concern.

The situation definitely called for my special Comforting brew.

"So, what's the last thing you remember?" I asked, hoping to distract them.

"Who, me? Right, there's no one else here..." They hesitated; "The last thing I remember is the wrath in Manannán's eyes when he vowed to follow me into the Otherworld and punish me there too. I'm doomed!" They anxiously tugged on their long hair. Perhaps my question wasn't well thought out, but now I was intrigued.

"I was passing through this village, and the inhabitants recognized me as a local hero; they asked for my help with retrieving seven magical sheep from a distant island. They claimed those were Manannán's sheep, which granted infinite wool, so they'd never be cold again.

I wasn't entirely convinced, but I thought I might as well investigate. If what those people said was true, this god was pretty selfish to keep such precious sheep to himself. And to what end? Gods don't feel cold.

To my surprise, no fisherfolk or sea captains wanted to venture to the island - they all thought it was too dangerous.

I had almost given up when a giant sea turtle appeared and spoke to me, offering to bring me to the island and back, if I was so keen; I had never seen such an incredible creature up close. At this point I was starting to think the villagers might be onto something, and I accepted the turtle's offer.

Upon reaching the island, I found the seven sheep immediately. As I herded them towards the sea, I saw that the giant turtle had been replaced by a colossal, godlike entity - Manannán himself.

The very last thing I remember are his vengeful ocean-deep eyes, and his thunderous voice. I felt myself fall to the ground lifeless."

I poured a cup of Comforting Brew and handed it to them. "Thanks for sharing your story, and I'm sorry, that sounds incredibly scary. Don't worry, deities have volatile moods, but they tend to lose interest quickly. I'm sure Manannán won't follow you here."

I watched them carefully smell and then take a sip of the tea. "Let's talk about pleasant memories this time. Where did you live?" I asked.

"I lived in a village by the edge of a vast lake," They sighed, visibly more at ease already; "it looked like many other villages, but it held a special place in my heart. Kind people who looked out for each other, a slow and quiet life... When I was younger, I was so eager to prove myself and set out on adventures! Now, however, I'm grateful I grew up there, of all places; my childhood memories are the happiest of my life."

I let them finish the tea in silence. They were still smiling to themselves when they got up to leave.

They looked with interest at all the paintings I had collected so far, but didn't seem to recognize any of the people portrayed in them.

As they opened the door, the dark mist receded slightly, perhaps sensing the hero's unyielding spirit.

I smiled as they walked away and disappeared.

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

This is a playthrough of a solo TTRPG called The Last Tea Shop, by Spring Villager.

You can check it out on itch.io: https://springvillager.itch.io/last-tea-shop

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bctoastyyy · 2 years

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>> PORTAL ACCIDENT(Dead Fish Boy AU) (prequel to Scales and Edges)

GHOST ZONE >> Dead Sea

Similar to the Ghost Zone, the Dead Sea is a world of the undead. It’s vast and confusing. It heavily resembles the many biomes of the ocean and sea trenches, but its otherworldly nature pulls it apart. (Basically,,,think of the ghost zone is like the ocean instead of space concept)

FENTON THERMOS >> Fenton Fish Stick

It looks like a fishing pole but instead of a line out the top it is a harpoon. At the other end there is a spool of twine in a reel case with a spinning handle (y’know the ones,,,that you reel with on fishing poles,,,that) that ends in a net for catching and holding sea monster cores. Also yes hehe I had to name it this.

ACCIDENT >>

The Fenton Brine Pool was not actually a brine pool per se, but a synthetic hot-tub-like hole in the Fentons' lab designed to replicate the deadly conditions of one. They built it in the hopes to create a way into the hidden underworld of the sea- ever fascinated by sea monsters. It was as a way to study them and as a way to prove their existence…sea monsters are said to be creatures from beyond the grave born of souls lost at sea.

Though they’d been trying to create the right conditions for the portal to work for years, nothing seemed close enough. One night after a particularly brutal failure Danny snuck into the lab to snoop around by himself. His parents had been holed upstairs for days, dejected, and gone to bed early that night. His sister was in her room studying to apply for some mentorship so hard he swears she was in another plane of existence entirely.

Danny knew the thing was dangerous, it was designed to mimic the inhabitable conditions of actual brine pools for crying out loud, so he knew to keep away from the edges of the pool. He was hardly dressed for the occasion as he’d only put on the top half of the wetsuit-hazmat amalgamate his parents insisted they all wear due to it being very lame even though he was alone and it was honestly too much of a hassle. He put on the gloves too but kept his jeans and sneakers on.

He skirted around the hole in the floor, sticking around the flimsy and too spaced out ‘safety gate’ poles, more interested in the brine pool than potentially finding out what went wrong with it- his parents were the scientists here, not him, so if they hadn’t figured it out then he doubted he would. Fresh eyes and a second opinion never hurt though, but like hell he would ever share with his parents his mild interest, they’d go nuts and blow it out of proportion. And besides, he wasn’t here for the supposed ‘undead sea creatures’ part anyway- that was more Sam’s thing -he was here because of the nature of the synthetic brine pool. He was fascinated by the sea in a way his parents weren’t- like how people were space buffs -and had been getting increasingly more curious about it.

While he wasn’t watching his feet he almost tripped on the cables spiderwebbed across the ground and clumped into a thick plug. Oh. The stupid thing wasn’t plugged in all the way. Why something like this even needed to be plugged into an outlet in the first place was beyond him, but he crouched down to tighten it anyway. But then stopped and followed the cord over to the far wall where the physical wall outlet rested. It was plugged in fine over there, but that’s not what got his attention.

There were three buckets filled to the brim with different glowing substances. He vaguely knew what they were, waste from all the different chemicals and experiments his parents had attempted before- but he was pretty sure they shouldn’t be out in the open or even near each other…who knows what could happen if they like reacted together or something. Normally his parents disposed of these better.

Well, they were sleeping and he didn’t feel comfortable letting all of the unknown and potentially dangerous substances mingle together, so he groaned and picked up the bucket closest to him filled with brightly glowing green goop. It was more liquidy than he thought, however, and some of it sloshed over the lip onto the shirt of his wet-hazmat suit and the floor. “Shit, shit, shit.” Oh, he was thankful he’d at least put on the top half of the suit, he didn't want to know what that stuff would have done to him without that layer of ‘protection.’

But he did make a mess on the floor and- oh no, he’d gotten some of it in the other buckets. Panicking, he picked up the one filled with orange sludge that was beginning to foam from the drops of green that’d splashed into it in his other hand and rushed away from the third bucket. He needed to separate these now before they all reacted together. But then he tripped on the plug he’d fixed earlier. He’d forgotten to tuck it back into the floor panel to make the floor more flush!

Both of the buckets flew out of Danny’s hands as he tumbled to his knees, and clunked onto the ground splashing the contents all over him and all over the circuits and pool. “Oh, no, no, no!” he yelped and quickly rose, trying in vain to get the crud off of him, but stopping in his tracks as he noticed the brine pool bubbling and smoking. “That can’t be- Woah!” Suddenly the wires below him sparked and crackled causing him to stumble forward. His foot slipped in one of the puddles and he fell headfirst into the pool.

After passing out, floating in a sea of greens and blues, he eventually woke up. Not sure how long, but that didn’t matter much. His throat was raw…he’d been screaming. A lot, probably. Everything hurt from the outside leading deep within his body too, and it all felt wrong. But that wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong, his current environment was causing a rising panic.

It’s not that he didn’t know where he was, dazed as he was. He knew exactly where he was, immediately.

The Dead Sea- it had to be.

How he hadn’t gotten attacked by something floating still like he had been, he had no clue, but having absolutely no desire to be there any longer, he turned himself around sharply like he were swimming in a normal pool of water. Instead of his parent’s brine pool, or whatever hell world the Dead Sea was.

He managed to propel himself back up through the portal that was thankfully close and easy to spot, and clambered out of the pool. It was a feat that he was even alive after something like that…though it was definitely understandable that when he tried to stand he doubled over and got sick several times before succeeding. He was definitely ignoring the sea sludge and glowing contents he’d coughed up.

Danny managed to crawl and stumble his way over to the more standard basement portion of the lab and into the bathroom. He beelined for the toilet and coughed up whatever was left, and then turned the tap on at the sink. When he looked up, the reflection in the mirror was not of himself, it was of a horrible and creepy creature with bright green glowing eyes.

And that’s when he realized he’d become a sea monster. His hands were clawed with four fingers that were held together with webs. He was covered in scales and fins, he was most definitely glowing, and he also most definitely had a tail and spines on his back. His hair was damp and white, his ears pointed and long, and his eyes were the color of the awful pool he had fallen into. Bright green slit eyes were set in a dark hollow ring, it was terrifying. After deciding he needed help, he sneaked and stumbled out of the house and made his way through the pouring rain to Tucker’s house. His parents were home, but he was terrified to see them- for a multitude of reasons. His sister was busy and probably wouldn’t hear him at her door. Sam’s house was a no-go, her parents didn’t like him on a normal day. Besides, he’d really like the presence of his best friend from childhood, his brother of sorts. Tucker’s house it was. Danny wasn’t sure what time it was, but that hardly mattered, he just hoped Tucker would be there for him.

#dead fish boy au #its time for the portal accident babyyyyyyy #bad soup toxic soup #brine pools!!!!#random chemicals!!!#not a good place to swan dive dude #danny phantom #dp #portal accident #dp au #danny fenton #link post #toastyyy shouts

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thereapernoel · 2 years

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Noël was drawn to the castle because of his brother, but that didn’t mean he would ignore the job he was hired to do. Much like his brother, Noël also found himself drawn to the sciences though his focus was on emotion, impulse, drivers of behavior. At times he was no better than his brother in what he would do to reach his pursuits, but times had changed and he adapted with them. Some out of necessity and others out of force. Being caught and brought to the castle by his brother’s fledgling and the pettiness of the elder in ruining his long standing in France as an accomplished doctor of neuro and behavioral sciences led him to the office he inhabited. The castle seemed to care little in cleaning the place from the previous resident. Residue of them lingering in left books and notes.

Cleaning and making the office his own had delayed his ability to see any for a few weeks with his restricted abilities. He made the decision to allow natural light in, but kept the area he inhabited darker as the demon side of him was not prone to enjoy light in most its forms. Furthermore he doubted many masters would cross the threshold into his office for a number of reasons other than pure curiosity at the twin to the councilman of France. Still if one should or another photosensitive being came into his office he had blackout curtains to help keep the other comfortable. The office itself was pretty standard. Books lined one wall with a ladder to gain access to the higher ones. The opposite wall held the doctorates that pertained to the job at hand. Displaying those in Psychiatry, Clinical Psychology, and Neuroscience. Enough to show he had the right to be where he was, but not how over qualified he was for Krovs.

His own chair was black and comfortable. He was currently sitting in it reading over a few notes he had taken, much like his brother he could easily lurk around the castle unnoticed giving him some general ideas of those he saw and how they interacted with others. Across from him a distance from the door was a matching love seat made to be comfortable much like most of the room was knowing well how uncomfortable talking about feelings could be. People and creatures, no matter how powerful, lied. It was their nature. They lied to themselves as much as other people. He was good at picking up those tells, micromovements and slight changes in pupil sizes. There were hundreds of them, vast as the population he interacted with.

The knock had him rising from his seat, setting the notebook he had on the small wooden accent table that resided next to his seat to open the door and allow the other to enter. “You may take a seat on the couch if you like or stand if that makes you more comfortable.” Noël understanding the person may not be there by choice, there were a number of reasons anyone could come into his office. Walk-ins were welcome. The guards could bring up an overactive slave or one that was suffering in some way. A master could force it on his slave. A staff member or villager needing to reconcile something. There were no real limitations on how they got there or why. Meaning the conversation would follow a similar suit.

“I do understand you may not be here by choice and even if you are you may not feel comfortable speaking immediately. This time is yours. You can use it how you like. We can sit in silence, you may read any book of interest on these shelves, or we can talk.” He said evenly, indifferent to what they did as he took his seat not picking up the notebook. His memory was as good as his brothers, but he didn’t let emotion convoluted it. “My name is Noël Gaudet. You may call me Noël.” And he left it there letting the other control the conversation they would or wouldn’t have.

@krovscastlestarters

#krovscastlestarter #don't need to match length #open to anyone

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sinistermaximalism · 1 year

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bigger than before - Barbarian (2022)

they say if you dream about discovering your house has hidden rooms in it, it means that you should explore hidden parts of yourself - that you should be open to new experiences.

technically, that is kind of what happens in Barbarian, when Tess (Georgina Campbell) discovers that the AirBnB she's booked is far, far bigger than advertised. Barbarian is a nightmare.

at first sight, yeah, it's an AirBnB. the only house in the derelict neighbourhood that still seems inhabitable (like, probably the only one with an intact roof), it's clean and uncluttered and pretty much anonymous inside. what makes it more interesting - and scarier, at first - is that it's double booked, so there's someone else's stuff there, and, well, someone else there.

and isn't that what part of the appeal, and the horror, of AirBnBs is anyway? you're staying in someone's home, sometimes. it's not a hotel, it doesn't have that comforting anonymousness. it's a place owned by someone else, probably decorated to their taste, and depending on what you've booked, they might even be there, too.

the Barbarian house has got a lot more going on than just that, though. there's something in the basement.

that shot, of someone standing at the top of the stairs to the basement, silhouetted in the light, is such a classic. it's also a cliche. it appears in so, so many horror movies, reminding us that basements are scary places. they're dark, unfinished, full of junk, and god knows what could be lurking down there.

psychologically, basements represent a part of our subconscious in horror films. it's where we put the stuff we don't want to think about, the stuff we want to hide, to forget about. going down into the basement means confronting something you don't want to look at.

Barbarian's basement, though, is only the beginning. in amongst the junk, sitting conspicuously on one of the shelves down there, is a rope, and when you pull the rope, a secret door opens. beyond the door? well.

first, there's a long passageway. if you knew you were in a horror movie, you wouldn't walk down that passageway. Tess doesn't know she's in a horror movie, but she does know that she's a woman and her safety can never be taken for granted. still, she needs to know what's down there. and the first horrifying thing she sees is this secret room.

look at that room. that is some perfectly set-designed grime. what colour is it, even? it's sort of greeny-yellow, the colour of rot, the colour of pus, the colour of rooms where nothing good could ever happen. the floor is cracked, the plaster streaked with who knows what. that little wooden support beam is an inspired touch: nothing here is secure, nothing here can be trusted.

and then there's the bed, and the camera. even before we find out what happened in there, you already know. your brain fills in the blanks. why would you point a camera at a bed? why would you point a camera at a bed that looks like that, in a secret room no-one knows exists, far away from the eyes of the world? it's not something you want to think about.

and Tess knows that this room means this is a bad place, and she needs to get the hell out. if it weren't for Keith (Bill Skarsgård) she'd have been in her car and miles away, safe, immediately.

but he is a man and he doesn't have her instincts. he needs to see the room for himself, his inherent misogyny finally rearing its head, because he can't just believe her that something is terribly wrong. he needs to look, but he can't see. there's so much here that should tell you a story about horror and fear and pain, but he can't see it, he can't read the cues.

maybe he can't see the difference between buttercup yellow and torture basement yellow. it's definitely something to be careful of, when you're choosing paint colours.

I won't spoil anything else, but there's another room that's full of even more horrors, and once again, they're horrors a man fails to see. something something about that cliche about how men just don't notice that housework needs doing? hmm.

#barbarian #sinister maximalism #basement #horror #horror film #horror movie #interior decor #horror decor #production design #scary basement

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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

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the 1995 brits (pt. 2) x damon albarn & liam gallagher

ok this has nothing to do with the brits bc now its about glastonbury 1995 i just didn't know whether i should rename it lmaoo okay enjoy x

Pairing: 1995 damon albarn & liam gallagher x reader

Warnings: none at all

Word count: 2.495

part one

༉‧₊˚✧

The Glastonbury festival was always one of the best gatherings for music every year. All the best acts in the music would all be invited to perform, and it was amazing. It formed a unity, a connection between the fans and the artists, the creators and the consumers, morphing an atmosphere which only gentrified the solidarity and wholeness the nation felt when they all held adoration to the same album, same songs, singing the choruses from their hearts, with their whole being. It was a spiritual connection with the audience; you weren’t singing to them, you were singing with them. Nothing got as good as Glastonbury - a concert size any larger you would begin to feel detached with the audience - and boy was it a good feeling to be invited this year. Our band had blown up massively, and to be able to perform on the main stage, celebrating the summer and the true joys that music is able to provide and attain, is more than just doing your part. It’s a humbling experience; the lyrics that may have seemingly been written down as a daft thought on the back of a napkin whilst you were sitting having a coffee, relaxing in the tedious cycle that is life, being chanted back to you, shows the true connection those can have with simple melodies and lyrics. Once it’s released in any format, the music, the lyrics, the melodies, they aren’t yours; just as a book, once released, is not the authors’ anymore. It possesses the ownership of the public, that who purchases it, wears it out, listens to the songs back to back to memorise every single lyric and adlib. The songs become the nation's songs, they become the mere link to a dozen memories of each and every person, which they would take to their grave, remembering the good times, and potentially the bad. The true power of music is that it forms a connection - not just with the artist, but with yourself. You can relate to whatever has been said, you can understand yourself just that bit more which allows you to grow as a person, and mature and better into the person that you were set out to be.

I was standing backstage, currently watching the performance lead by Blur, trying to hide from any form of authority who would know that I wasn’t supposed to be back here yet. My band was on in a few hours, so I wasn’t permitted backstage, the only people allowed being the group that was on next. As I admired the performance being put on by Damon and the rest of the band, mumbling lyrics every now and again of songs that I had known from their albums, I felt an arm snake its way around my waist, the grip of the person’s palm squeezing my hip slightly. “Now how come I haven’t seen your pretty face in a while?” said Liam, who was grinning at me widely.

Since the Brit awards, I forced myself to stop partying as much as I used to, due to the addiction that had been stemming from my consistent use of drugs and alcohol. It began to take its toll on me entirely, and I hated the lifestyle that I had started to inhabit. Sex, booze, drugs... they all seem so wonderful, and seem to be fundamental elements that could provide an enjoyable time, don't they? But with repetitive use of such recreational activities, it would not only initiate the worst hangovers, but would also form a pit of longing in the body, endured with your attempt to fill it up with all the illegal pharmaceuticals to make you feel whole again, but of course, the happiness only lasts for a short while before you’re passed out on a couch, waking up at 5 in the afternoon with a raging headache and the only access to pain medication being a five minute walk to the nearest corner shop because you had finished it all. And to your surprise, the pit only got more deep and paining. It was ironic; the drugs designed for jubilation, euphoria, fulfillment, started to make me feel worse than I had already done previously. “I’ve just been caught up with working on the new album, so I’ve been too focused on that to be going out like I used to,” I replied, a grin masked over my lips. It was far from a lie; my band were currently working on our third album, and it had been quite an interesting experience as we were reinventing our sound, though wasn’t the main reason I had avoided all clubs in sight. “You miss me?”

“Course I do, you’re the only girl I know that’ll go as hard as the rest of the lads,” a frown painted over his face as he looked down on me. “It’s hot, y’know.”

I scoffed, my smile still evident on my face. “Oh Liam, you’re going to make me blush!” I joked, placing my arm around his waist. We both carried on watching the performance being led by Damon, who currently had the crowd screaming over the top of their heads at Girls and Boys. Oasis were on after - even these concerts were chipping in on the mess of their feud. “You nervous?”

“Me? Nervous? Never.” Liam replied, snarling at my question.

“Really?” I asked, diverting my stare to look up at Liam, my eyebrows raised in a sarcastic manner. Even though it wasn’t evident from his facial expression, everybody would be nervous. Especially if you were performing on the main stage in a few minutes.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.” He mumbled, staring at Damon with a look of disgust on his face.

“Knew it,” I grinned, allowing my hand to run up and down his back as a form of comfort to soothe his nerves. The tight grip he kept consistent on my waist proved that he felt tense. “You’ll be amazing, you always are.”

“You hitting on me?” he quickly fired back, cocking his head to the side as he admired me, his gaze flicking to my lips every now and again.

“Of course I am.” I sarcastically replied, rolling my eyes at Liam’s child-like characteristics. By now Blur had finished their set, leaving the crowd screaming and waving things in the air as a form of goodbye. Me and Liam stayed put in our place as the four boys waltzed off the stage, me congratulating them as they walked off one by one. Damon was the last to walk off, and as he began strolling off the stage proudly, our eyes connected, causing me to dart my stare away from his robust glare that had reflected off of his orbs. Knowing of his distaste in Liam, I brushed it off immediately, remembering the pettiness of their argument the last time we had all been together at the Brits. I heard Liam utter some profanity under his breath after Damon walked past us, but I chose not to question him on it, full-well knowing it was either wanker or cunt.

When the rest of the band turned up and Oasis were on cue to go on, Liam quickly detached himself from our embrace, pressing his lips to my cheek, grinning at me widely. “Don’t miss me too much!” he shouted as he walked onto the stage, causing the crowd to erupt into a fit from the mere sight of the band getting themselves ready - Liam just standing there cooly, picking up the tambourine left on the floor for him. I marvelled at the band as they began their set, instantly grinning as soon as Liam began singing the lyrics to Rock n Roll star. Let’s hope he’s not walking off stage this time.

I continued to concentrate on their performance, oftentimes laughing as the crowd progressively got more and more rowdy, screaming the lyrics as Liam sang them, as if Noel’s backing vocals weren’t enough to keep the song going to its full potential. “I wonder when you’re going to realise that you like me.” I heard a voice mutter from behind, causing me to abruptly turn my head, even though I knew exactly who it was. My eyes were greeted with the sight of Damon, a small smirk illustrated on his lips as he glued his eyes on mine - just like he had done before when he walked past me and Liam.

“I’m sorry?” I scoffed, raising my eyebrows at his clearly egotistical assumption, though I couldn’t help but resist a smile to contract on my cheeks as I gazed at him. Much like me and Liam, we also hadn’t spoken since the Brit awards, and it would’ve been a lie if I hadn’t wanted to talk to him again. Despite the fact that there was a certain tension between us that, from each meeting, seemed to intensify, and was something we were both clearly aware of, I ignored it entirely - even if my bandmates had teased me religiously every time they saw me have an encounter with him. Go out with him already! You two are constantly flirting!

Moving away from where I was standing, I made my way over to him to be able to talk over the loud music seeping out of the speakers, instead of shouting at one another. We then exited the backstage area together, welcoming us to the view of a plain grassland where a couple trailers had been parked, both of our bands included. Eventually, we walked to one of the random trailers, assuming it was his one, and stood against the shiny metal impediment as we shared a cigarette.

“Don’t act like it’s not true,” he replied casually, him reciprocating my grin as we began to walk further into the backstage space. “I saw the way you were eyeing me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I replied, attempting to act oblivious towards his statement. I could feel him gawking, focused on me as I admired the blooming sunlight that casted out towards us, the light so bright that it caused my eyes to tear up slightly. The music was still very much audible, and the screams of the many thousands jammed together in the mosh pit were still extremely loud.

“Oh, but you do.” he mumbled, causing me to shift my view to look at him. He had now fixated his stare onto the sun, the cigarette softly placed between his lips as he inhaled quickly before taking it out and allowing the built-up smoke from his lungs to escape into the atmosphere. Dropping the tobacco roll onto the ground, he placed his foot over it in order to burn it out, then turning his head to fixate his gaze onto mine. A brief moment of silence passed as we admired one another, the atmosphere carrying an element of apprehension as to what was about to occur between us. Through my peripheral I saw moving his body slightly to come closer to mine as he lifted his back off the metal surface and stood in front of me, my gaze not daring to leave him. Our eyes maintained strong eye contact as I felt my cheeks began to heat up furiously, followed by my attempt on telling myself that it was simply due to the sun’s radiance that my face held such warmth, almost as if to doubt the feelings, the tensions that had constantly piled up every time we had seen one another.

Our noses touched as our faces then became inches apart, my eyes focused on Damon, who kept darting his eyes to my lips every few seconds. Tilting his head slightly, he leaned his body forward, softly pressing his lips onto mine. We stood there for a few seconds, to allow the moment to truly sink in. His hands were gently placed on my waist as I placed them on his arms, like a form of support to allow myself to stay upright. After a while, I snaked my hands around his neck in order to deepen the kiss, the warmth of his lips colliding against mine sending shocks all around my body - the moment didn’t feel real at all. It was as if this entire time of me knowing of him, interacting with him, being in his presence, I had attempted to avoid myself catching feelings, not getting myself engraved in a situation with another musician, but due to my mind forcing such a hindrance, it became an inevitability - I caught feelings for Damon Albarn.

As we pulled away to catch our breaths, Damon leaned back, sneaking his arms around my waist as he looked down on me. “You liked that.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t wait for Liam to find out about this.” he grinned, playing with strands of my hair as I glared at him. I knew he was aware of the glare I was giving him, because he seemingly began to grin even wider.

“He won’t, because you’re not going to tell him.” I replied bluntly, placing my hands on his chest as I began to draw little circles over his shirt. It felt so surreal, yet so normal - there was a certain amenity shared between us proving that what was felt in the past was indeed real, and indeed reciprocated.

“Always knew you’d give in one day.” he mumbled, a devilish grin painted on his lips.

“Really?” I scoffed. “Even when the tabloids were convinced me and Gallagher were an item?” I asked, staring straight into his eyes. I noticed him frown slightly after the question left my mouth, my lips attempting to form into a smile as I broke off his smug persona.

“Well it looks like you’ve left Liam to be with me.” he grinned, our eyes connecting once again. I took his hand away from my hair to interlace it with mine, holding it close to my chest for Damon to be able to feel my heartbeat. Even though anybody could have opened their trailer door and witnessed us in such an affectionate state, none of that seemingly mattered to either one of us. Everything that had occurred between me and Damon felt so perfect, to the point that I would want somebody to come and witness the true beauty of this moment. There was a strong feeling in my chest that I wanted him to feel, to understand, that what was occurring between us truly meant something, and wasn’t just a silly little play to mess with my feelings.

“Liam’s not that bad you know.”

“I’m just joking, love, don’t worry.” he mumbled, bringing our interlaced hands to his face to allow him to kiss the back of my hand. “You wanna go get something to eat before you head on?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” I said, forcing us to detach our bodies from our embrace and walk over to one of the food stalls, hand in hand.

#damon albarn x reader #Liam gallagher x reader #Liam gallagher #damon albarn #blur #blur band #oasis band #my writing #band imagines #fluff #nineties #90s #music

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 3 years

Text

Favorite Human

Fandom: Teen Wolf Pairing: McCall!Pack x reader (platonic) Word count: 2.8k Summary: It’s Malia who first smells it - the bitter scent that had started to Infiltrate yours - and she, Lyida and Kira decide to find out what was wrong with you... Warning: Nothing too much really, but it’s slightly Angsty I guess. Also the feels Requested by the amazing, patient and great anon: Hi~,Teen Wolf person again. Can i request a pack image where the reader is hiding something for the pack and the pack are all sort of catching on to it like chemosignals and behaviour. Eventually they kinda piece the bits together and figure it out. they all try to comfort you and help you get better. Something just along those lines.(They could be hiding selfharm stuff, family stuff or they like someone in the group or yeah, you can pick what your comfort writing for) Thank you have a nice day~

The California sun was beating down on Beacon Hills and its inhabitants, a feeling of peace and calm that was - by now - almost foreign in the city laid in the air and prompted the resident teenagers and young adults to enjoy a day away from school, stress and (for a very special group) life threatening situations. This particular group - the McCall pack, as they were known in the supernatural community of the city - decided to spend their free time on a very nice, but fairly unknown clearing in the beacon hill woods and for once being surrounded by these trees didn’t give them the vibe that one of them could probably die at any given moment. It was a rather nice change. “Uno,” Liam smiled as he slapped a +4 card onto the floor, making Mason groan and throw his head back. It was the third time in a row that Liam was winning and while it seemed to leave you completely cold it annoyed Mason to no end, but he couldn’t stop playing either until either you or him finally beat the wolf. While the three of you were sitting in your game circle, Malia, Lydia and Kira were lounging on a picnic blanket enjoying the sun and having their conversation. The only one who was sitting on the grass like a lost puppy was Stiles, phone in hand but seemingly not having the attention span to focus on it for more than five consecutive seconds. Originally he and Scott had been sitting there together talking about Lacrosse or girls or whatever the two of them talked about when they weren’t planning to save the city, but Scott had - after lots of pleading and begging on his betas part - disappeared into the direction of the city to buy some ice cream for everyone. “Y/N?” Liam shocked your shoulder and you had to shake your head to come back into reality and out of your thoughts. “Yes?” you looked at him with wide doe-eyes full of confusion. “It’s your turn.” “Oh, right, sorry, just lost in thoughts,” you smiled apologetically and shrugged before turning to your cards to think about your next move, not noticing how Liam and Mason exchanged a look. They had started to notice the change in your behaviour only recently. Your usual very cheery, always-seeing-the-best-in-everyone-and-everything self started to be stuck in your thoughts more often and your smile seemed just a little bit off lately. “Here you go,” you looked up again and put a +2 in front of Liam earning a quiet ‘Yessss’ from Mason at the prospect of finally beating his best friend, only to be sorely disappointed when a smirk immediately filled Liam’s face as he victoriously added his own - last - +2 card onto the pile, effectively winning the game and starting a rather useless discussion about whether the fact that the makers of Uno stated that putting a +2 on another +2 and making it a +4 wasn’t allowed counted anything. While Mason and Liam kept on blickering you pulled yourself up from the grass-floor and wandered over to the girls who welcomed you with kind smiles and made space for you on the blanket. As you sank down you were immediately pulled into Malias lap who hugged you into her and pressed her nose into your neck and y/h/l hair to smell you - a habit of hers that you had at first found more than disturbing but by now had gotten used to. In fact, the more time you spent with your not-quite-human friends and acquaintances, the more you noticed that they all had their own little versions of that, even though with Malia it was the most extreme since she was still the one running mostly on her basic instincts. At least that’s how Stiles explained it to you. He said that since you were logically seen the most vulnerable and ‘weak’ member of the pack their natural instincts where to protect and shield you from all dangers and make sure you are alright and - after your initial reaction of punching the hell out of Stiles’ shoulder in order to show him just how not-weak you were - you started registering it more and more. It was mostly very little things with Scott, Liam, Derek and in some situations (even though rarely) Peter like little hugs and giving you their clothes to scent you, pushing themselves in front of you in the face of even the most harmless of situations or the way they just sometimes randomly turned up at your house (this was mostly Scott, Liam and Malia though) to check if you’re okay even if they could just call. With Malia it was all that, but times ten in intensitivity. And the smelling. Malia herself wasn’t quite sure why, but she simply loved your natural scent. It always managed to calm her down. So you got used to her randomly smelling at you even if it did weird you out from time to time. Usually she would pull back after a few seconds, give you a happy smile and get back to what she was doing before like nothing happened, but this time when she drew back she looked at you displeased and confused. “Is something the matter?” you asked just as confused and now the other girls, who had gotten used to Malias antics and taken on the habit of just completely ignoring it in order not to get growled at, got curious as well and turned their attention towards you. “Something’s off,” Malia grumbled and scrunched her nose like she’s smelt something rotten. “Oi!” you scoffed and moved back a little, feign being offended, “Are you telling me I stink?” “No,” Malia sighed and rolled her eyes, “It’s not that, it’s just...your scent is- I don’t know how to put it really. Bitter? I think?” “What does that mean?” Lydia asked, her interest now seemingly spiked. “‘M not sure,” Malia shrugged and moved forward to take another good sniff at your hair, only for you to move your head back out of her reach and put your hands on her shoulders to keep her a distance away from you. “I think that’s quite enough,” you chuckled, but it sounded mechanical almost, “I appreciate the concern, but I don’t really think me smelling bitter means anything.” Noticing the way you held yourself defensive, something that you almost never did, all three of the girls wanted to investigate further, but you quickly moved off of Malia’s lap and stood up. “Oh look, there’s our ice cream,” you smiled as if nothing was happening and jogged over to your Alpha to help him. “This was weird, right? She’s acting weird, isn’t she?” Kira questioned and looked between the other two girls who nodded, “What’s that about?” “Not sure, but we gotta find out before the boys notice anything. Malia is bad enough already, but if the male wolfies find out we’ll have a real problem on our hands,” Lydia sighed and inspected you from afar.

After then the three of them noticed it far more often, the way you held yourself changed and your smile seemed to lessen by the day. By the time you started to fold into yourself and Malia said that your smell was getting more bitter, to the extent that she could smell it above almost everything else surrounding you, they knew that it had gotten out of their hands. They had to involve the others as much as they dreaded their reactions. As they had predicted Scott, Liam and - surprisingly enough for a human - Stiles didn’t react kindly to it, immediately planning to confront you. But in a turn of events, their thirst for actions and the girls rational thinking evened each other out and they decided on an approach that was reluctant enough to not scare you away, while also - hopefully - pushing you to tell them what was wrong. They wanted to do it in an environment that you felt comfortable in so they decided to go to your place, but that meant that they couldn’t all come, since they didn’t want to overwhelm you either. So, after a long and exhausting discussion, they decided that Stiles would be the one who’d go in first to make sure everything was clear and then give the others a heads up to follow. The Pack was standing - as inconspicuous as it was possible for a group of five - on the other side of the street your house was in as Stiles was walking down your driveway, welcomed by a cute door plate that had obviously been made my a little child and he was pretty safe in his assumption that you had been the one who had made it when you were younger. After taking a breath of reassurance Stiles raised his hand and knocked on the door. You must have been near the door already, because not even ten second later the door was tipped open and you stared at him with tired eyes, in your alien Pajamas with messy hair. If Stiles had not known better he would have assumed you had tried to sleep. “Who is it Honey?” He heard the voice of your mother scream, but the usual sweet voice he was used to hearing from her was strained and mixed with annoyance. “Uhm...It’s Stiles! My friend from school, he was here last month to study for my english exam, you remember?” “Oh, yes,” your mother walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, “Hello Stiles.” Stiles returned the greeting, but his thoughts were more occupied by the state of your mother. Her hair looked unwashed and even more messy than yours, obviously not because of sleep, but rather because she hadn’t brushed it in a while, there were red stains under her eyes, the skin around it dry and strained, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she must have cried - a lot - and her blouse was wrinkled, which he knew from their previous meetings and what you had told him about her would usually be a no-go for her. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” she smiled, but it was tight-lipped and obviously forced, but before she disappeared into the kitchen again she looked at you, “Y/N, make it fast please.” You just nodded and turned back to Stiles. “Hey,” he said again, a little bit uncertain now, the situation having thrown him off of the plan he had made in his head on the way from the pack to the door. “Hi,” you said and he had to admit that you were definitely your mothers daughter by the way your forced smile perfectly resembled hers. “I wanted to talk to you, uhm, we - I mean me and the pack by that, well it started with Lydia, Malia and Kira, but anyways - we noticed that you’ve been...how do I put this correctly- well, I guess you’ve been off more lately and so we’ve been worried, because usually you smile a lot and you always make unfunny jokes and all that and now you don’t so-” Stiles rambled and just let everything flow out at once, probably would have continued to do so if you hadn’t held up your hand to stop him. “Not-Not here, okay? I’ll answer your questions, but not here. Let’s take this outside, please,” you shut Stiles up and took his arm to lead him out of your house and onto your porch where you sat down on the stairs leading onto your front law. For a while there was silence as Stiles found himself unsure of what to do next, but he could basically feel the piercing stares of his friends on him. After a few seconds of contemplating he sat down beside you, while still keeping a little bit of distance - just to make sure he wasn’t too overwhelming. “So…” “Yeah, so…” “Why...have you been so off?” Stiles asked but honestly couldn’t help but cringe a bit at how completely un-smooth he sounded. “I- It’s-” you tried multiple approaches, but stopped yourself every time, only to sink your face into your hands and sigh, “I’m sorry.” You raised your face again and looked at Stiles and he could see the sadness, this slight sense of despair. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t rush yourself,” Stiles tried to comfort you, “If you can’t tell me that’s okay, we’re just all very worried about you. We want to make sure that you’re okay.” “No, it’s fine, I- I think I actually wanted to tell you all for a while, but- I don’t really know, it’s just been hard for me… My parent’s have been going through some rough patches for the last few months and now my dad - he,” you stopped again and hugged your arms around you, Stiles couldn’t help but notice the glistening of tears in your eyes, “-He moved out two weeks ago. I mean, sure there were signs, it wasn’t working well by all means, but moving out? That was pretty shocking for my mom and me.” By now the tears had started rolling down your face and Stiles couldn’t hold back anymore. He moved closer to you and laid his arm around your shoulder to pull you into him. It seemed that the pack couldn’t hold back anymore either, because only a few seconds either Lydia was kneeling in front of you holding your hands, the rest also finding positions around you - hoping to give you as much comfort as possible. You gave them a wet chuckle, even though your tears didn’t stop flowing. “I could’ve guessed that you’re not far. I’m sorry for being a mess.” “No, Don’t ever be sorry for feeling. We love you and that means that we’ll be there for you through the bad times just as we are in the good times,” Scott assured you and lovingly petted your head even though he knew that you always complained about how it made you feel like a little child or a puppy. “Thank you guys for being here - it’s just a lot right now. My mom is expecting me to be on her side, while my dad keeps expecting me to decide about where I’m going to live now. He wants me to move with him to New York into the city he grew up in, but I don't want to leave Beacon Hills. I have my whole life here, my school, you guys, my mom, literally everything, but I also don’t want to lose him- It’s just, I feel so torn and it seems like every choice I could take would be the wrong one,” you were full on sobbing at that point, but it was clear enough for your friends to understand you. “Hey, It’s okay,” Lydia tried to calm you down, “I know that this seems like an impossible choice, but I can assure you we will find a way. We’ve defeated some of the greatest evils that the world has seen and we were successful. We’ll be just as successful with this, okay?” You started nodding and for the first time in a while you were actually feeling just a little bit like yourself again, a sliver of home filling your heart at all your friends who were by your side and supporting you. “Lydia’s right,” Scott agreed. “There’s one thing I gotta ask though,” Liam started and before anyone else with a little more sense of sensibility could stop him asked: “Why didn’t you tell us before? I mean we’re you’re best friends ri-” At that moment Mason basically threw himself at him and put his hand in front of his mouth to shut him up. “You don’t have to answer that,” Kira assured you, but you just shook your head. “No, it’s fine, I get why he asked. I- I guess I just thought - it’s like Lydia said, we fight evil on a weekly base, we have to worry about so much more serious things than my stupid family drama.” “Now listen to me,” Lydia spoke up in her I-will-take-no-talkbacks-voice and looked at your sternly, “This is not stupid and it is by no means less imporant than anything else we do, okay? Maybe it’s not life-threatening or supernatural, but it is still hurting you and as friends we can’t let anything hurt our favorite human, can we now?” And in that moment everything was okay again - if only for just a few seconds - with your friends by your side and Stiles yelp of protest, because he insisted that he was at least Scott’s favorite human, - earning himself a look from Scott that told him that what Lydia said also applied to him - even made you laugh your normal laugh again. And so, when Malia finally got close enough to you with all your friends surrounding you to smell your scent, she found that your normal, sweet scent was finally returning again, and even though there was still a bitter undertone to it she now was sure that it would soon be back to her favorite scent again.

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poptod · 3 years

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hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

#ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek

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enjennie · 3 years

Text

Take Care.

pairing: jaehyun x reader (x juyeon)

genre: angst. bestfriend!jaehyun and boyfriend!juyeon. one-sided love :[

word count: 1.4k

warnings: alcohol intake, cheating (i guess), kinda frustrating choices were made, not a happy ending for jh.

a/n: hi to any deobizens, sorry this wasn't that good but I had fun writing it :> enjoy!

The keys jingle in your hand as you twist its body into the keyhole, turning the doorknob once and successfully letting yourself into the tenth floor boys’ dorm. It was quiet, a rare thing to see in the usually chaos-filled house of the five boys.

On any other day, you would appreciate the quietness but today you came looking for it. The boys’ presence helped you forget any worries you had, and you wanted nothing but to spend the night with your best friends, preferably by drinking.

“Anybody home?” you called into the quiet house. It’s not long until you hear shuffling coming from the hallway, signifying signs of life before Jaehyun’s sleepy face comes into view. He squints at you in the dark, hair a mess with his pyjama set on.

“Y/N?” he finally recognizes you, eyes probably having adjusted to the dim room.

“Happy hearts day, Jae,” you give him a rather sad and unenergetic greeting as you kick your heels off to the side and close the door behind you.

The bottles of alcohol you bought from the nearby grocery mart found their place on the dining table along with a half-eaten take out cake you ordered from your favourite café.

Your favourite café which your boyfriend had just ditched you in.

“That’s a lot of soju,” your best friend comments, switching the kitchen lights on. “And aren’t you supposed to be with Juyeon?” he quizzically looks at your face.

It takes the boy at least a minute to catch on. “What? Again?”

You nod, beer already in hand and popping it open with the opener you found lying on the counter.

Jaehyun was grabbing his own bottle, and you toss him the opener. “What was the excuse this time?”

Taking a big gulp, you sigh when the bottle leaves your lips. “He’s got a schedule,”

Jaehyun’s face looked bitter as he pulled the bottle away from his mouth, gulping down a good amount of its content.

“Bullshit,”

A smile comes up to your lips at your best friend’s frank judgment. In the 7 years you’ve worked in SM, Jaehyun has been by your side the entire ride. From rookie days to debut, you and the rest of SR15B have been the closest of friends. They’ve watched you succeed, fail, enter and leave relationships and were there to celebrate or mourn with you.

“Jae, come on. He’s a great guy,” was your only defense.

You’ve been dating Juyeon of The Boyz for quite some time now. He was hot, charming and sweet. Everything you’d want in a man, and more. But maybe you didn’t cut it, because in the 8 months you’ve been seeing each other, he’s flaked on dates not just once but countless of times. Usually using excuses like schedule conflicts or practice and recordings.

This was getting way too repetitive already, even for you. The rest of the 127 boys have had enough of having you around after you’ve been snubbed by your boyfriend.

“Anyway, let’s forget it. I haven’t seen you in a while, and where are the others?” you crept around the living room, expecting to see its usual inhabitants Yuta or Mark watching TV. Empty, the living room was dark.

Jaehyun follows behind you and gets comfortable on the couch. “I’ve been filming for Dear.M, and they all went out for barbeque but I was too tired to go,” he replied. Jaehyun pats the spot beside him and you slip into his arms easily, cradling the bottle like a baby.

“That’s a pity, but I’m glad I caught you,” you expressed. He hums in agreement, pushing on the remote control button and watching the TV come to life. You've spent numerous nights like this, cuddling up to your best friend.

And yet, it's never led to anything. Feelings, or even kisses. Tonight, something felt different.

As if the universe hated you, your boyfriend’s face comes on the TV which has you choking on the drink that’s halfway down your throat.

Jaehyun pats your back to soothe the liquid down, before you settle back on the couch with him. “Well, at least he wasn’t lying,” you shrug. You couldn’t see it, but Jaehyun’s annoyance was evident on his face. The boy took a deep sigh, rolling his eyes.

"Y/N, that’s pre-recorded. We were at this event," he points at the TV screen. “Look, it doesn’t indicate that it’s live,”

You weren’t an idiot, you just hoped Jaehyun didn’t notice and would pity you less.

The truth was, you knew Juyeon simply didn’t want to spend time with you, so he’d stay at his members’ dorm... or someone else's place... to avoid your presence. Juyeon didn’t have the heart to dump you, especially since you’ve done nothing but give him love and support.

To make matters worse, you have 9 best friends at your aid who are the textbook definition of intimidating. Which was sometimes the reason why you found it hard to see other people. The 127 boys have always been so protective over you.

The ball was in your court, and it was your move. You knew that breaking up with Juyeon would be the only option, but you loved the boy so much it made it hard. Your heart ached. You didn’t want to think about it, after all you came here to forget.

“Y/N,” Jaehyun’s voice pulls you out of your deep thinking. You tilt your head up to look at the boy, and he meets your eyes.

“Hmm?” your eyebrows raise themselves in question. You weren’t listening to what he was saying anymore. Suddenly, his lips became the most interesting thing in the world.

The way it moved as he spoke, his words came in one ear and out the other. Jaehyun closes his mouth, realizing that you weren’t listening anymore. “I’m gonna kiss you,”

You snapped out of your train of thoughts, pulling away from him in panic. “What?” your voice had raised a tone higher. Jaehyun chuckled, bringing the bottle back up to his lips and taking a sip.

“Anyway, now that I have your attention back,” he says. You knit your eyebrows together, perplexed. It’s way too early to be saying such things, you’re both only on your first bottle of soju. But then again, Jaehyun was a bit more lightweight.

“I was saying… leave him,” Jaehyun states, eyes dilated and cheeks red. Yup, he was tipsy already.

You set aside your nearly empty drink, and take his from his hands. Or at least you try. He doesn’t let go, but instead pulls you by the wrist. You’re jolted close to his face and you let out a small gasp, heart racing.

“Jaehyun, give me the bottle,” you try to free yourself from his rather firm grip, which only causes the boy to pull you closer. “Y/N, I can treat you better,” his voice had dropped low, almost to a whisper.

At this point, you were pretty sure it was the alcohol talking. It wasn’t unusual for the boys to be saying careless things when under the influence, but Jaehyun was never this way. The words he was speaking didn't seem to be from drunken thoughts, but instead from his sober subconscious.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, going faster than it ever has on any workouts you’ve done. Only Jaehyun had this effect on you, and it was wrong on so many levels. Your eyes drift down to his lips, just as you’d done earlier.

Juyeon. The picture of your boyfriend appeared in your head, which made you jump up from your seat and out of Jaehyun’s grasp. This was getting all too much for you to handle, you’ve only had one bottle of Soju.

“You’re freaking me the fuck out, Jae,” you grab your bottle from where you’d placed it on the floor, frantically downing the rest of its content before heading to the kitchen to grab another. Jaehyun gets on his feet, taking you by the hand this time. Sparks. You face him, and he towers over you. “I’m sorry. Can I be selfish for once?” he asks, and you’re frozen in place.

Jaehyun answers his own question by dipping his head lower to meet your lips in a kiss. His lips are soft, and gentle against yours. It doesn’t take a second longer before you were moving your lips along with his, and the bottle had fallen from your hands and you've taken purchase of his shirt, using it as a leverage to keep you from falling. His kiss was intoxicating enough to have you stumbling back and losing your balance.

Juyeon.

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as your boyfriend comes to mind again. You push Jaehyun away from you, guilt immediately washing over you like a wave. He looks at you, hurt and sadness clear in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you run your hands through your hair in frustration. “I have to go,” you don’t spare Jaehyun another glance as you make your way back to the door, not bothering to go back for the cake or any of the alcohol you very badly wanted in your system.

The door closes shut behind you, leaving Jaehyun alone in the living room ironically enough listening to the song of the man you’d just left him for.

The next time you see Jaehyun is on Inkigayo. Coming to congratulate your boyfriend for their comeback’s first win, it felt like a slap to Jaehyun’s face seeing you there for someone else.

He’d left you a series of texts after that night, apologizing and asking to talk. All of which you ignored, as you wallowed in your own guilt at your own choice. Yes, he initiated the kiss but you kissed him back.

“Congratulations!” you wore your brightest smile, walking towards your boyfriend and his fellow members with a cake in hand after their stage. They all cheer and excitedly huddle around you to blow the single candle on the cake.

Since it was in the lobby, it was Jaehyun’s terrible luck that he had to catch sight of Juyeon’s arm coming around your waist and pulling you closer before planting a kiss on your cheek. Juyeon makes sure to let his eyes hover over Jaehyun as he did so. You told him everything the next day.

The rest of the people in the lobby cooed for the cute couple, while Jaehyun felt everything with a sting on his heart.

As your eyes wandered the crowd, your gaze lands upon your best friend. The one who taught you love, the one you would have chosen over anybody in the world. Time seemingly stopped, and it was at this moment that you saw Jaehyun give you the smallest of smiles.

If he makes you happy…

He turns to leave. Clearly, you’ve made your choice. And it wasn’t him.

I’ll let you go now.

#jaehyun #juyeon #nct #the boyz #nct 127 #jaehyun angst #juyeon fic #nct jaehyun #the boyz juyeon #jaehyun juyeon #nct 127 jaehyun #jaehyun au #jaehyun fic #jung jaehyun

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

Is Drowning going to be continued?

Yes it will be! Enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4... I may make a masterlist with visuals on the character's faces soon.

This one is not my best work as I had no motivation today, but it filled with whump and angst? (I have no idea what that really means, but I heard it had something to do with mental side of whump). Not too much comfort and fluff.

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate

Warnings: (past) knock-out gas mention, mental torture, forced to allow someone to be hurt, threatening, feverish whumpee, IVs, needles, medical setting, burning (mention/threat), physical torture, blood, pnuemonia

"Did you really think that I was just going to let two million dollars fly past my head?" Villain asked as he reclined lazily upon the bed, one leg draped over the other.

"I didn't-" Hero took a deep breath, filling her lungs up with the vital oxygen, before continuing. "I didn't think that you had the nerve to betray me."

Villain tutted- a small chuckle filled with amusement. "I have more nerve that you give me credit for."

Hero and Supervillain were discarded on the ground, wrists tied to other's, in a white cell that could be described as clinically professional. Hero could feel the supervillain's uneasy breaths as his warm body was shoved against her's.

The room was quite capacious. A hospital bed laid in a corner with a chair by the foot of it. The chair was blocked by three sides of a hard-looking material that obscured the inhabitant from looking anywhere other than the bed. Next to the chair-like object, a vintage-looking table with a Bohemian placemat was placed. A small succulent grew in a plastic container, the circular green and purple leaves beaming under the LEDs that illuminated the room. There were no windows, or anything really other than the various moniters and implements.

Though Hero could not see him, she knew that Supervillain's head was loosely dangling. And, judging by the slow breathing, he was still unconscious from whatever drug was used on them. It wore off pretty quickly on Hero, but between Supervillain's already weakened immune system, and the fact that it was a gas, it effected him more greatly.

"What are we doing here? They could've just killed us and be done with it," Hero said, trying to adjust herself to be more comfortable. One wrist was bent painfully where the heroes failed to adhere to her comfort.

"Ever here of the term lab rats, darling?"

Lab rats... in a way, it was a vile term. Vulgar is a sense, but not mortifyingly revolting either. But still, it made Hero cringe as she put the pieces of the puzzle together. Medical room as a cell... they were to be experimented on. Or tortured medically. Or something along those lines.

"But he is sick," Hero pointed out, but the wicked smile on Villain's face made her regret mentioning anything.

"Hmm. Precisely my dear," Villain stood up and crouched in front of Hero. His minty breath gusting just along her cheeks. She crunched up her nose in protest, but the Villain still sat there.

"You see... there is this new drug that the heroes created to give people optimum strength and stamina. But the side effects are... let's say undesirable."

"Undesirable?"

"Yes. Intense pain and fatigue after the intial boost. It is derived from adrenaline, so just imagine that pure exhaustion he will be feeling."

"H-he?" Hero stuttered.

"Yes he," Villain chuckled. "What good would it be for you to be given this stuff?" He shrugged and stepped away.

Hero didn't get it. There had to be a catch, an unwaiting punishment on her end, but there was nothing. At least Villain didn't say anything.

"The doctor will be in shortly," Villain said and walked out.

The doctor. It had an interesting ring to it. Orderly and seemed to hold high authority.

Supervillain shifted behind Hero and coughed. Hero could hear his harsh breathing, the liquid within his lungs gurgling about.

"Where 'm I?" He groaned.

"Supervillain?" Hero chirped and grabbed his cold fingers with her warm ones.

"Hero," He replied, squeezing back. It was a weak gesture, but meant the world to Hero.

The two remained silent, cherishing the other's touch. It wasn't too long before a man in a white coat opened the door, followed by a timid looking woman.

Medic.

Hero felt an inner rage- one that was not only fueled by Villain's betrayal, but also by her former friend's initial disloyalty.

But she could not act upon it, because the second the restraints were unlocked, she was scooped up by a couple heroes. They carried her struggling body over to the chair.

Hero knew that they were going to seat her in there, so in one last desperate attempt to catch a glance at the supervillain, she looked behind her.

Supervillain was being ruthlessly dragged across the floor and to the bed. Gears turned and Hero suddenly came to the breathtaking realization.

She was going to have to watch the doctor administer the drug to Supervillain. She squirmed with more aggression. No! She couldn't let this happen. He was too sick, too weak, to withstand whatever miseries the serum brought.

"Let him go! You can have me!" She growled, but her attempts to protect the sick supervillain were fruitless.

"Calm yourself Hero. It'll be easier," the doctor spoke. His voice was deep and oddly calming, given the circumstances.

"No," Hero hissed, ignoring the doctor's attempts to charm her into compliance. She wasn't that easily brainwashed.

Hero was strapped into the chair. Leather straps were placed upon her forehead and temples, restricting any kind of head motion. Her hands were brutally cuffed by unpadded, metal sleeves on the armrests. Her ankles were also held steadfast to the floor by ankle cuffs and bolts. She felt so vulnerable and exposed as she watched the guards heave the limp supervillain upon the bed to restrain him in almost an identical manner. Except, a leather strap was placed around his chest and torso.

Once the two were settled and properly restrained, the doctor put himself between the two captives.

"I don't know what that insufferable villain told you to about the procedure, but he most likely completely over exaggerated it," he said, holding a clipboard.

Hero nearly sighed with relief.

"This drug is going to give Supervillain superhuman strength and energy. Once it wears off, it was be increasingly painful and will make him feel absolutely miserable."

"This," the doctor continued as he walked closer to Hero, eyeing her. "is your part of the job. We are going to bring in men and women alike and threaten to burn them with fire. This," the doctor tapped a red button that was just far enough for her fingers to reach, "will stop the drug flow and start a morphine flow to numb the pain. If you press it, the civilians will be hurt. Understand?"

Hero whimpered, sinking as far back as the leather and metal restraints allowed, fear and nervousness coursing through her like caffeine- raising her heartbeat and making her fidget.

A guard handed the doctor a tubular object. Hero jerked away as the doctor put the object close to her ear. Suddenly, and without warning, there was a stinging prick.

"Ow!" Hero exclaimed, but the pain quickly resided.

"Bring them in," the doctor ordered. The door banged open and the scuffling a feet was heard. There was a short scream and rattling of chains. The smell of gasoline filled the air as surprised whimpers echoed throughout the room.

Adrenaline pumped through Hero's veins as her brain made sense of the situation. She had to choose: Supervillain or countless other people.

Innocents.

It's the most logical choice to save the innocents, Hero told herself as the doctor and Medic hooked up an IV line. It was an improvised IV, no doubt about it. The needle had a tube that parted ways that each led up to their own bag of liquid- one was yellowish, the other green.

Supervillain groaned slightly, moving his head over weakly to watch the doctors inject the sharp needle.

"What'dya doing?" He asked weakly, pulling slightly at his restraints. His eyes widened, but only briefly as they almost slipped back closed again- exhausted from the pneumonia and drug in his system.

"Begin induction," the doctor ordered Medic who nodded stiffly. She opened a tab with the green liquid. Hero watched as the serum made it's way through the tubing and into Supervillain's hand. Supervillain watched too, with a dazed look to his gaze.

Within only a few seconds, Supervillain's body seized up as his breathing increased rapidly. He pulled desperately at the restraints, but didn't seem to be in pain.

Actually, his face shone with a newfound energy. In a way, he even looked happily excited.

"Hero!" A woman's voice rang through Hero's ears. "Hero, please. Don't let them hurt me please. Please."

There was a scream, then a couple more. Hero pulled back her head, trying to block out the screeches. The begs and pleas. It was all too much, way too much.

She knew that she couldn't press the button when the drug finished its cycle.

Within a few minutes, Supervillain's buoyant facial expressions receded gradually into a look of pure agony. He hissed, shaking his head back and forth with rigor, but his strength was fading until he was left sobbing and coughing weakly.

Even though he didn't show it after the sobs ceased, the supervillain was still in obvious pain. His lips raised periodically, showing clenched teeth. After thirty minutes, or so Hero guessed, the doctor spoke up.

"Take the civilians away."

There was another shuffle of feet, another slammed door and then silence.

Until the doctor spoke up.

"Release Hero and Supervillain." Guards buzzed around the two, unlocking restraints. The second Hero was free, she bounded over to Supervillain, nearly laying upon him.

"Hey, hey, hey," Hero wrapped shaky hands around feverish cheeks. Supervillain's eyes were half-lidded. The visible parts of the brown eyes were glassy and very unfocused, staring at the ceiling with no intent whatsoever. He was barely conscious and very weak.

Impossibly weak, with or without the sickness.

Medic worked to remove the IV carefully. It took a bit to ensure it was done somewhat safely, but the bruised, bleeding wound wasn't even disinfected.

This torture went on for days. Hero, being mentally tortured, started contemplating pressing the botton- before remembering her duty as a hero.

One day, when the doctors were done, Hero scooped Supervillain up. His pneumonia was worsening, blood seeped through his lips more often. The doctors started giving him antibiotics, but it was never enough.

"Do you regret this yet, Hero?" Villain asked that one particular day as he drew a chair up besides Hero and the shivering supervillain.

Hero didn't even hesitate to give the short, but meaningful answer.

"Yes."

#supervillain whumpee #hero caretaker #villain whumper #hero whumper #lab whump #medical whump #heros and villains #writing #threat #pneumonia #tw needles #mental torture #drugged whumpee #feverish whumpee

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ezrasarm · 3 years

Text

Coming Out As Asexual/Aspec

Pairings: Javier Pena x reader, Marcus Pike x reader, Din Djarin x reader, Ezra x reader, Frankie Morales x reader

Word count: 2.3K (oops)

Warnings: discussions of sexuality, depictions of main characters as Aspec

A/n: I apologize these were meant to be head canons and a few of them wound up turning into mini fics. I would like to thank @dishonouringmycow for supplying many ideas and helping me concoct these for you and @kiss-evans for her insight as well. These were a lot of fun to write! We’ve written these HCs in hopes that they will be inclusive and relatable to most ace/demi-/greysexual folks and anyone in between. We hope you like them!

[masterlist]

Javier Peña

Telling Javi is a little tricky.

Given the time period, and the fact that asexuality was hardly a word let alone a widely accepted concept, Javier didn’t stand a chance when you went about explaining to him your “unconventional” relationship with sexual attraction.

You didn’t even fully understand it yourself at that point which is why you were terrified when you felt you owed him an explanation for turning him down.

You and Javi had been dancing around each other since pretty much the moment you landed in Bogata.

You knew you cared about him more than the average coworker and Steve didn’t hesitate to tease either of you mercilessly for it with every chance he got.

But there was a reason you had been avoiding acting on those feelings you harboured for him and a reason you were so terrified when he reciprocated them.

Silence overwhelms the small stakeout vehicle when you tell him.

He doesn’t get it.

“Oh.”

The disappointment that pours off of him is palpable.

This really wasn’t the reaction he was expecting to the heartfelt confession he had mustered up the courage for only moments ago.

“Javi,” You sigh, “It’s not like that. It’s not personal. I don’t feel attracted to anyone that way.” You reiterate but he still seems convinced that this is just an elaborate attempt to spare his feelings.

“You don’t have to do that, you know? You don’t have to let me down easy.”

“That’s not what this is. I really just don’t operate that way.”

You had seen the girls coming and going from his apartment across the hall. You knew how he chose to blow off steam after stressful days at work and you knew you couldn’t keep up with that.

“I don’t think I can be there for you like you want me to.”

It takes a moment for it to dawn on him what you mean and you think he finally takes the hint when another ‘oh’ escapes him.

“I don’t need-“ He starts up but cuts himself off when you give him a pointed look.

“I really, really wanted this to work.” He says after what feels like hours of you discussing all the reasons you would wind up resenting each other if you went down that path. All the fears you had of starting something up with him.

“Me too.” You hum solemnly when you deflate to lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quick to shake his head and whisper a quiet “Don’t apologize.” When he wraps an arm around you and places a kiss to the top of your head.

You both walk away from that stakeout with heavy hearts but lighter shoulders and although it takes some time to heal you learn to show how much you care about each other in different ways.

Now he slings an arm around your shoulders when you’re getting unwanted attention on a night out.

You stay up drinking with him so he doesn’t have to brood alone after a particularly tiring day.

Soft touches and reassuring words come easier between you two.

Most importantly you’re both happy and you haven’t lost each other.

Marcus Pike

Marcus is a little less clueless.

He knows Asexuality exists and has a vague sense of what it is, he just doesn’t know a whole lot about it.

There’s not much pressure when you tell him.

It comes as a bit of a disclaimer early in your relationship and you try not to make a big deal of it. You just want to make sure that he’s aware as your relationship progresses.

Marcus, ever the sweet and compassionate boyfriend is attentive and understanding as you speak.

The words that seem to stick out in his mind come at the only point when the slightest bit of doubt weens it’s way into your voice, “I just wanted to make sure that that’s- that I’m enough for you.”

His heart stops and he’s overcome by a feeling of both shock and sorrow that you could ever think such a thing of yourself.

“Of course. Of course, you’re enough.”

“You’re more than enough. You’re… you’re everything.”

What you don’t see is the way that after this conversation he finds himself wracking up more and more questions that he’s too scared to ask you. Not because he’s afraid of the answer but because he doesn’t want to overstep or make you uncomfortable.

So naturally, he turns to the next best thing.

The internet.

What he fails to realize is how broad a spectrum of asexuality there is and all he gets is more and more confused.

Marcus accidentally develops a following on Aspec Reddit forums for trying to ask people questions and them all just going “aww, Hun” at this poor clueless bean and swooning over how much he cares about you.

Despite the enthusiasm and volume of their responses, they don’t really add much clarity beyond “Hey, maybe you should ask your SO”

Instead, he runs around treating you like glass while he tries to buck up the courage to actually talk to you about it until on a movie night as he awkwardly tries to contort himself around you so he’s cuddling you… without touching you, you finally snap.

“Marcus! What is going on?”

That’s when he finally and rather sheepishly admits that he wants you to tell him more about your sexuality.

“Oh.”

You pause the movie and give him your full attention as you try and talk him through as much as you’re able to explain until suddenly you’re stuck for an answer and you look up at him with rather watery eyes as you admit you have no idea and suddenly you’re the one having the existential crisis.

“Oh, oh no. It’s alright, we can figure it out together! Shhh, it’s all fine. Please don’t cry! Reddit didn’t tell me this would happen!”

“Who-ddit?”

Din Djarin

Coming out to Din is rather anticlimactic.

He doesn’t have much to say beyond “Okay.”

You’re a little confused at first.

That went… too well.

It’s a while later when he brings it up again that you begin to realize why.

There’s no hesitation or taboo, he’s quite straight forward when he asks why you were so nervous.

At first, you’re not so sure what to say. Wasn’t that kind of obvious?

“Not everyone takes it so well.” You shrug thinking back to past relationships where your partners seemed to expect you to give them more than you were willing to.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his visor and it’s only now that you connect the dots and his reaction from before seems to add up.

To him, that was the norm.

It makes sense the more you think about it.

In all the time you had spent travelling with him, all the objectively beautiful women, men and everyone else in between that had crossed your paths, all the slurs that had been thrown at him by drunkards in cantinas about how he fucks with all that armour on, all the rather compromising situations you had found yourself in with him before and you had never caught his gaze wander or heard him express any indication of interest in yourself or anyone in that way.

You had always put it down to his creed. As far as you were aware such things were forbidden for people of his faith but you’re left with an odd sense of comfort as you realized that wasn’t the case.

Perhaps this was his strange little way of letting you know you weren’t alone.

Ezra

When you met Ezra you were prepared for the worst.

A guy as cocky and loquacious as him and you just trying to keep your head down in the busy bar and enjoy your drink in peace after a rough day.

You didn’t have high hopes when he swung into the booth across from you and started down whatever elaborate story he had decided would impress you enough to get you into bed.

“It’s my missing appendage, isn’t it?” he asks when you quite clearly don’t bite.

He’s already moving to leave you be when your eyebrows knit together in confusion and your eyes blow wide as you’re hit with a sudden wave of guilt.

You had grown used to deflecting advances like this but something about the way he said it, the bold, charismatic man suddenly looking like a kicked puppy made your guts churn.

You didn’t normally give an explanation, you didn’t feel you owed anyone that, especially not a stranger and yet here you were.

“What? No! No, I actually think you’re very good looking and charming and all those things people look for in a partner, I’m just not particularly one for casual hookups.” You say looking around the room where you now felt wildly out of place with just about all of its inhabitants presumably looking to get laid or trying to forget someone they couldn’t do so with.

“...Or any hookups really.” You correct yourself and watch as the disappointed look on his face morphs into a glint of curiosity.

“You a uh- a spade?” He asks resettling into the booth, an oblivious smile settling on his cheeks when you laugh at him.

You spend until last-call deeply enthralled in conversation and comforted by one another’s company.

That’s all either of you were here for in the first place, to feel a little less lonely.

You’re only pried apart by the closing of the bar, the nag of sleep hot on your heels and the promise that this wouldn’t be the last you saw of each other.

Frankie Morales

Frankie knew you were asexual.

You had told him before, he just didn’t entirely understand what that meant until much later on.

He seemed familiar with the term but his knowledge of the concept didn’t seem to extend beyond a basic definition.

Frankie’s first wife was his first for a lot of things. First girlfriend, first kiss, first love, first lover, first breakup.

He took the divorce pretty hard, as anyone would.

They’d gotten married so young, before he was deployed, that the guys had never seen him single before and neither had he really.

It took a long time for him to recover and by then he was content. ‘not in a particularly big rush to start down the relationship path and get hurt again’ is how he had phrased it to you once in confidence.

But another factor that he failed to recognize fully at the time was that he just hadn’t found anyone he was interested in in that way.

He’d tried going on a couple of dates but none of them clicked and it just left him feeling more alone.

It was after Tom died, almost five years after his divorce that the guys finally called him on it.

At first they just assumed the way he had been acting was about Tom and in a sense it was, Tom was the only one who had been through a divorce before, he was the only one who really understood and talked him through it when the going got tough.

Will was the one to put the pieces together and realize that the issue wasn’t Tom so much as Frankie getting more and more tired of being on his own.

His intentions were well meaning. They were just trying to help.

All they wanted was to see him happy but the more the boys seemed to try and set him up, the more resistance they were met with and even Frankie couldn’t figure out why until he was sat, venting to you about it one night.

“How did you know you were ace?” He blurts out suddenly and you’re a little lost for words, you weren’t really expecting this conversation to go this way but it was obviously something he had been considering for a while.

“Sorry that wasn’t a fair question,” He says when he notices you’re struggling, “I just- they keep trying to set me up with, who I’m sure are some really great people, but it’s all on this little tiny screen and all you see are a couple photos and maybe a blurb if you’re lucky and there’s just no…”

“Connection?” You suggest. Those big puppy eyes shoot up to you from where they were fixed on the counter in front of him and he gives you a slight nod.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He sighs and your heart breaks a little looking at him like that before you round the counter and pull him into a hug. “I’ve felt attraction before but I look at the guys and it feels like it takes so much more for me to get to that point than them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” You assure him gently, brushing your fingers through his hair when you pull away to give him a reassuring smile. “Sounds like you could be on the asexuality spectrum.”

“There’s a spectrum?”

[masterlist]

Permanent Taglist: @agirllovespancakes @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @wickedfrsgrl @hillarymurray4 @din-damn-djarin @yespolkadotkitty @wille-zarr @oloreaa @browneyes-djarin @marydjarin @roxypeanut @opheliaelysia @cryptkeepersoul @prxtty-boah @aliciaxglasgow @elena-myth @theocatkov @bioticgoddess @edencherries @kandomeresbitch @mrsparknuts @hayley-the-comet @rachelxwayne @thirstworldproblemss @andriecastana @justanotherblonde23

Pedro Boys Taglist: @theravenreads @mrschiltoncat @seasonschange-butpeopledont @dishonouringmycow @deafspaceperson

#javier peña x reader #din djarin x reader #frankie morales x reader #marcus pike x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #ace!reader #asexual!reader #demi!reader #demisexual!reader #greysexual!reader #graysexual!reader #frankie Morales x demi!reader

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citadelspires · 3 years

Text

Amphibia Oneshot Thing(I Never Claimed To Be Good At Titles)

I had an idea for a fun little story thing while I was at work over the weekend, and decided to take the time to write it up into this. In all honesty this is ridiculously self indulgent, and I wrote it late at night with no editing, beta reading, or even just looking back over it once I finished. Essentially I wrote this entirely for myself and just threw it on here in the hopes maybe a few other people might enjoy it like I do. That’s all I gotta say up front so just, here you go. (this is a long one so most of the story will be under a cut).

Anne found herself wandering around a lot of parks these days. After all her time inAmphibia sitting around in her house only made her anxious, and the city was just dull. So she would sit in the areas with the most foliage, where it always felt the most comfortable. Like one of her old adventures could come find her any second. Like she could pretend her friends were just around the corner and surely if she waited just one more second Marcy would come tumbling out of those bushes, launching right away into a rambling speech about a new plant she'd found, the perfect mix of adorable passion and somewhat interesting information that would always make Anne smile.

She knew that wasn't going to happen. She'd known and tried to force herself to get used to the idea, but even as her miserable daydream was interrupted by the rustling of the very bushes she'd imagined, she hoped for a second maybe she'd imagined it all. She hadn't of course, and the boy who pushed his way out of the bushes was anything but her Marcy. Even so, he must have noticed her solemn expression, because he immediately walked over to where she sat with a look of concern on his face.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Anne was surprised by the question for a moment, then again, she realized, she probably did look pretty miserable, moping around in the dirt in a random park. She was tempted to give an offhanded reply of dismissal, she was fine and his concern was almost certainly just a polite formality. But she was never good at following through with all that smile and say Im fine stuff.

"I've been better," she sighed.

The boy in front of her frowned, and took a seat beside her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Anne blinked in surprise, not expecting that reaction. She took a second glance at the kid, wondering what his deal was. He looked a few years younger than her, probably about Sprig's age, dressed for wandering around the woods. He looked like a kid who liked an adventure, maybe that's why Anne felt like she might be able to talk to him. She couldn't say everything of course, god knows she'd need a full time therapist for all her turmoil, but maybe she could simplify it a little bit, dance around the truth slightly. Besides, the more she thought about it the more the idea of talking to a regular kid sounded nice.

"Well," she began, searching for each word and phrase carefully, "a while ago, me and my friends found this weird place. It was scary at first, and I was nervous for a bit, but after a while I grew to love it a lot. I think- I know my friends felt the same. It was a really magical place, but it, uh, well its not around anymore. And I feel like I left a part of myself with it." Anne suddenly became overwhelmingly aware that she had just poured her heart out to a random stranger, and probably sounded insane on top of it, "Ugggh I sound stupid, nevermind kid just ignore me, thanks for trying though."

She started to get up and walk away but the boy jumped up at the same time.

"Wait, hold on. I'm not sure exactly what's going on, but from the sound of it, I think I kind of get it. I've got a pretty magical place of my own, I can't imagine loosing it. I know it's not the same but, I could take you there, if that would help?"

Anne turned back to look, not sure why this kid was so eager to help, until she saw the look on his face. He just looked like a kid who wanted to help, just for the sake of being nice. In that moment he reminded her of Sprig again, and she couldn't help it, she laughed.

"Seriously? You don't even know me. You sure?"

The boy shrugged and smiled. "There's lots of cool people I don't know yet. And you seem nice. So," he reached out his hand, "my name's Craig, nice to meet you."

As weird as this was, Anne had seen weirder, so sure, why not. She took the boy's hand.

"Call me Anne."

---

As they walked Anne started to wonder where this weird kid was taking her. Sure “magical place” in her situation was fairly literal, but she didn’t think she was exactly in the most common position for a kid. Or really for anyone for that matter. Still, the boy seemed pretty excited about it, so she figured she’d give it a shot. Better than moping around in some random bushes all day. Who knows, maybe she could even get her hopes up a little bit there would at least be something cool out there.

‘Something cool’ turned out to be a tree stump. Anne wasn’t sure if the kid was serious or not when they first got to the clearing, but based on the way he jumped up on the tree base and spread his arms wide.

“Welcome to the stump!”

Anne stared at him for a few seconds, not sure how to respond. Before bursting into laughter. She just couldn’t help it. There had been so much buildup, all for, apparently a regular tree stump. Craig crossed his arms and spoke up.

“Hey, I know it doesn’t look like much, but you haven’t seen anything yet, watch this!”

Whatever he was about to do, though, was cut off by a battle cry and a flash of orange hair flying at Anne from the trees. It was pure instinct, really, when Anne dove behind cover of the stump screaming,

“It’s an ambush!”

She realized her mistake a few short seconds later. Ivy Sundew literally could not be here. So, with no small amount of hesitation, she peeked over the edge of the stump to see a small girl pointing a homemade sword at her while trying to cover up a pouting expression. Anne could vaguely make out the girl muttering under her breath about how “noble warriors don’t ‘ambush.’“

“So, uh, are you gonna put the sword down orrr...”

Anne trailed off as the girl gave her a weary glance and muttered something about ‘intruders.’ It was at this point that Craig, who seemed to have tripped and fallen off the stump in the chaos, also poked his head back up and called out,

“Kelsey, wait! She’s with me!”

The short girl’s demeanor changed immediately.

“Oh, cool! Hi Craig, hi new girl, sorry I attacked you, I thought you were a devilish intruder.”

“Don’t worry about it, I get randomly attacked a lot, it happens.”

The girl, Kelsey, apparently, looked over Anne again, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You do? Do you need a heroic guardian to protect you?”

Well, Anne noted, maybe this girl wasn’t so similar to Ivy after all. Though she still got the feeling the two of them would get along exceptionally well. She gave Kelsey a grateful smile, but shrugged off the offer.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Kelsey nodded, seeming to finally relax, though she did pause for a moment and stare off into the distance, though to Anne it seemed more like she was probably just gazing into the depths of a random tree. She gave Craig a curious look, but he only waved it off, apparently this was just how things worked with Kelsey. Noted. When she came back down to earth Craig was waiting with a question,

“Where’s J.P.?”

“Oh he found a butterfly and then chased it into a mud puddle. It was close though so I went on ahead.” Her tone of voice suddenly changed into a much more dramatic one. “He and I both had our own battles to fight.” Before immediately going back to her normal one. “But he should be right behind me.”

Sure enough it was at that moment another boy crawled out from the foliage outlining the clearing. This one already in a considerably messier state than either of the kids Anne had met so far. He wandered over to the stump, repeating the tale Kelsey had just told them, this time with a much higher focus on the mud puddle. He didn’t seem to notice Anne at all until she cleared her throat and waved hello. The boy, J.P. she assumed, immediately jumped with an exclamation of surprise.

“Relax J.P. she’s cool.”

Anne was a little pleased to notice this reassurance came from Kelsey this time, and didn’t miss the way Craig nodded in agreement.

“She was off by herself so I thought we could give her a tour of the creek.”

That last bit caught Anne off guard, just a bit. Up till this point she had just been assuming Craig had took her here to see the stump and his friends. She wasn’t sure how much more exciting one creek could be, but after all her time in Amphibia she wasn’t one for making too many assumptions about that kind of thing. Turning her focus back to J.P. she noticed how he looked her up and down with squinted eyes, before seeming to focus on the leaves and sticks that had (again?! seriously?!) gotten tangled in her hair, and nodding sagely.

“Good call Craig! I like her style.”

As J.P. immediately began to inspect the ground for his own leaf, which he immediately deposited snugly in his, much shorter, hair, Craig waved Anne over to the stump, where he’d rolled out a large piece of paper.

“This,” he announced proudly, “is my map of the creek!”

Anne wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but a fully detailed expansive rendition of what must have been a really large area of land, complete with notations of inhabitants, activities, landmarks, and literally anything else one could find to write down, had not been it. She gave a low whistle of appreciation. Man Marcy would’ve loved this.

Craig beamed at her show of awe, allowing himself a pleased, “drew the whole thing myself” before asking, “So, where do you wanna see first?”

---

After that, Anne was pulled around the creek to all sorts of locations, each one more intricate than the last. There was an entire colony of kids in these woods, a civilization even. Even on Amphibia she had never seen anything quite like it. It was wild, and, kinda cool? The more she saw the more she started to get what Craig meant. The whole place had its own feeling to it that didn’t quite mesh with any of the surrounding area. After a while, she was even able to push (most of) the weight that had been on her shoulders for so long to the back of her mind.

Which wasn’t to say that her time in Amphibia left her completely. In all likelihood it was more inclined to have already made her a primary target for whispers and gossip to all the kids there. Though she never would’ve expected it before she’d gotten flown away from earth so long ago, she was kinda an expert at being in the woods now. Though she did slip up once or twice. For one dangerous moment there she was mortified that everyone would think she was insane when, upon being shown to the trading tree she had casually remarked,

“I don’t see why you need a whole place to trade for snacks when there are so many perfectly good bugs to eat out here.”

In her defense, she also preferred a good bag of chips over tiny dirt critters, but what could she say, she’d gotten used to a lot of weird things. While her immediate first reaction upon the words escaping her mouth had been to play it off as a lame joke(especially considering the way all the kids stared at her, some in horror, some in awe, at least one clearly wondering to themselves why they didn’t think of that first, the clearing totally silent save one kid who apparently didn’t get the memo and loudly exclaimed something Anne thought sounded like “my candy!”) her backup plan ended up being totally unnecessary as J.P. just started laughing, confidently proclaiming,

“I told y’all, she fits right in here”

And sure, maybe that made Anne smile just a little bit.

After that they had a few more people to meet, including a few girls prancing around a big open field, one of whom blushed slightly as she informed J.P. that she liked his leaf, to which J.P. gave a cheerful giggle and a thanks. (Anne considered it one of her foremost signs of character development that she didn’t break out any magazines as soon as they got back to the stump). But eventually things started to wind down, and the trio of friends, along with their new straggler, made it back to the little home base.

Anne took a few minutes to discuss the finer points of exploring woods with Craig, who had been eager to talk about it since they’d gone out earlier, while out of the corner of her eye Anne watched Kelsey do mock battle with an imagined enemy.

“You know, my little brother is much better at this stuff than I am, maybe you’d like to meet him sometime?” Though she’d posed the question to Craig, she didn’t bother to wait for an answer, as she saw Kelsey perform another made up sword move, and something occurred to her. “Hold that thought.”

Walking over to Kelsey, Anne continued to watch her form, confident enough based on where she was swinging and where her eyes were trained on that she had a pretty good idea of what the fake enemy the other girl was fighting might look like. Eventually she offered,

“You’re pretty good, but if you’re fighting something that much bigger than you, you’re gonna want to switch up your strategy a little bit.”

Without waiting for Kelsey’s reaction Anne grabbed a stick off the ground and performed a demonstration of a few moves she’d picked up in Amphibia. Though sword fighting was never something she had expected to be proficient at, she couldn’t deny that at this point she’d picked up a decent amount of skill. Once she’d finished her quick combo demonstration she turned to where Kelsey was standing, a little surprised to see a look of pure awe on the younger girl’s face, before she shouted,

“YOU KNOW HOW TO USE A REAL SWORD??????”

Anne grinned sheepishly at her excitement. “Uhhh, yeah, a little bit I guess?”

She’d barely gotten the words out before Kesley was on her, begging her to show more moves or better yet, spar with her. Anne waited for the tirade of excitement to slow down before smiling and offering,

“Sure I guess I could, but honestly my little sis knows way more about this fighting stuff than I do. If you want someone to practice with she’s your best bet. I could bring her out here some time, if you’d like.”

Kelsey’s excited nodding was interrupted by an instrument Anne couldn’t quite place, and suddenly the smaller girl’s shoulders fell in disappointment, before immediately perking back up again.

“That’s dinner, but you can bring her tomorrow! I’ll see you then!”

She waved goodbye as she rushed off, as did J.P. though with considerably less rushing, leaving just Anne and Craig, who seemed to also be on his way out. Anne figured that was just one more of the natural ways of the creek. As he left, though, Craig paused for a moment.

“I’m not sure where your special place was, but this is a pretty good one for a lot of kids here. I hope you had fun, I know we did. See you around Anne?”

Anne could tell the last bit was phrased as a question, and she paused to think, if only for a moment. Sure this was no Amphibia, and sure a lot of the stuff that had happened since Craig had tumbled out of those bushes was pretty weird. And maybe she did feel a little guilty that she was off playing around while her friends in Amphibia were, well... But still, for the first time since her birthday, Anne had gone one day where she actually felt like the 13 year old kid she was. Sooner or later she could blow their minds with magic powers and frog siblings, but for now, she was just Anne, she was just a kid. She gave a grateful smile.

“See you around, Craig of the Creek.”

#don't ask me where this came from #I was just doin work and stuff and thinking to myself #and I just went #'you know what would be fun'#at first I was a little worried it would be weird to have anne hanging out with kids several years younger than her #but then I remembered the central focus of the entire show is Anne's friendship with a kid several years younger than her #tbh this whole piece of writing has inspired an entire au in me #where after everything winds down for the amphibia trio they pseudo-adopt the craig of the creek trio as their little siblings #and then four years later the cotc kids find their own way into amphibia #where the amphibia trio are like well established in that world at this ponit #so like craig lands in newtopia and heccin #important government person marcy just walks up like #'craig bro why are you here'#and craig just #'why am i here?! why are you here?!!! you didn't say anything about this?!'#i dunno i just think it would be fun #this whole thing is hella self indulgent anyway so like why not #amphibia #craig of the creek #anne boonchuy #writing #citadel writes #fanfic #yes an actual piece of writing on this blog #y'all know that au thing where steven works at the mystery shack after su:f?#this is my version of that I guess

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kim-miri · 3 years

Text

HALF(have a little fun) pt. iii

→ one | two

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part three / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: drugs, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 2,948

☾ iii.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾ iii. part iii: meteor city

Sayomi woke up with a start.

Her violet eyes flew open as she gasped remembering the past events and how her mother had drugged her.

Attempting to rise from her less than comfortable position on the ground, a nasty stench made her cringe as she gaped at her new surroundings.

Trash and dumped items made up the entirety of where she sat, as well as everything else she could see from her spot. Most of it was worn down enough to be unrecognizeable, only looking like jagged pieces of material building upon each other.

Standing up in one swift movement, Sayomi stretched out her tired limbs as she tried to grasp the situation she was in. Maybe mother threw me in the junkyard?

It wouldn’t be the first time her mother had tried to dump her somewhere, but Illumi or her father would usually come running for her before she would even have time to recognize her surroundings.

Taking a step forward to start exploring, she paused as she kicked something lying by her feet.

The item stood out amongst the rust and filth, as it was immaculate and seemed to radiate a familiar aura. A katana?

Tilting her head curiously, Sayomi reached down and grabbed the sheathed weapon. It was indeed very clean and actually seemed brand new.

Looking it up and down, a silver gleam caught her eye- it was an engraving left on the otherwise black covering.

‘Sayomi Zoldyck’

A rush of adrenaline ran through her blood as she recognized her own name engraved on the sheath. But why would mother reward me after dumping me in this junkyard?

Thousands of questions and possible scenarios ran through her head, but she pushed them aside with a shake of her head. I might as well play with this to pass the time.

The 10 year old unsheathed her new weapon, getting ready to take a practice swing when a rolled up piece of paper dropped from the katana.

Unravelling the note, Sayomi read it contents without a moment to lose.

Sayomi,

Welcome to Meteor City.

I’m sure you recognize the name from the many stories I’ve told you and your brother about my hometown.

And from those same stories, you should know that those who make it out of the city come back stronger than they’ve ever been before.

My only daughter, you know how much I cherish you and wish to see you succeed.

When the time is right, you will find your way back home and claim your rightful spot as heir of the family business.

Until then,

Mother

Meteor City. As the reality of her situation started to sink in, Sayomi found it hard to breath. Whether it was the anxiety starting to take over her brain, or the barely breathable, polluted air of Meteor City, she found herself falling to her knees, nauseous.

☾iii.

Sayomi was desperate. She had been walking alone for close to four hours before traces of civilization began to appear in the distance.

Her wounds were splitting open under the cloth bandages she wore, and dehydration sent black spots dancing across her vision.

Sayomi remembered something from one of the stories her mother had once told them. It was that the citizens of Meteor City refrained from hostility between one another unless they were threatened first.

With this in mind, Sayomi continued on to the tents and vast pillars of smoke in front of her.

Clutching her side, which was now bleeding through the wraps Illumi had given her, Sayomi spotted vague figures moving about within the camp.

The sweat dripping into her eyes didn’t help her already blurring vision as she squinted hard to try and identify the faint figures that grew larger as she approached them.

At last within modest range of the camp, one of the members turned to face her.

One after another the citizens turned from their positions, analyzing the outcast that had stumbled upon their camp.

Struggling to remain upright with her wounds and burning lungs, Sayomi let out a cry of pain before falling to the ground once again, the jagged surface cutting into her ankles.

Several of the figures rushed towards the fallen 10 year old. With caring hands, one of the citizens lifted the girl into her arms, her lightweight figure not being a struggle to carry.

Sayomi looked up at the woman weakly, she was most likely in her 40s, her eyes gray and facial features dull.

At the same time, the woman stared back, seemingly trying to analyze Sayomi’s strong features. She recognized that her slanted violet eyes were far foreign to Meteor City, along with her intricate kimono and katana. How did a child of such status end up here?

Taking Sayomi to her own home within the camp, she treated Sayomi’s wounds and gave her water along with a small portion of food to eat.

The woman had introduced herself once Sayomi was back on her feet. Her name was Rin, and she had been living in Meteor City since she could remember.

She introduced her husband and daughter as well. Their names being Shota and Ayame respectively.

Ayame turned out to be two years older than Sayomi. She had ashy brown hair and gray eyes like her mother.

The rest of the community welcomed Sayomi with open arms, not bothering to ask where she came from or why she was here. It seemed they didn’t care.

Though Sayomi was grateful of their hospitality, she was homesick already. Missing the mansion where everything was familiar and made sense.

When night fell on her first day in Meteor City, Sayomi shut her eyes tight from her spot next to Ayame on the floor. It didn’t seem real to her. Just yesterday she had been with her family and everything had been as it always was.

Did everyone want her gone? Not just mother?

Thoughts like these ran through Sayomi’s fragile mind. All this stress at such a young age poisoned the girl’s mind, making her question the validity of those who loved her.

☾iii.

Much like Illumi back at the Zoldyck mansion, Sayomi spent most of her time in Meteor city training.

The environment, as well as occasional gang fights taught Sayomi real fighting, and not the guided sparring she would do back at home.

Mirroring the techniques she had once seen while shadowing a senior assassin, Sayomi worked towards extending her abilities to mastering the katana.

Her needles remained as well, safely tucked away on a band she kept around her left thigh, hidden from others. They were a constant reminder of Illumi, her best friend and the only one she had her hopes left in to save her.

On another note, the family she stayed with was generous to point that she began to grow suspicious of their willingness to take care of her.

Hospitality was one thing, but she knew enough to recognize an odd-favored deal when she saw one.

Sayomi had been freeloading off the family, wearing the extra clothes they provided her, eating their food, drinking from their water supply, and even sleeping in their tent.

But as wary as she was, she knew this was the only option she had. For now.

She had already stayed far from the city’s borders, and the only way off of the island in the first place was by boat.

Sayomi would have to wait for the right time in order to escape the city alive.

☾iii.

6 years later

“Sayomi~”

The sun rose over Meteor City, waking its inhabitants, and marking the start to another day.

Inside one of the many worn tents at the camp, a girl with tangled, brilliant white hair laid sprawled out on the cardboard-floors.

“Sayomi!” Ayame entered the tent once again, waking the girl to join her family for breakfast.

Sayomi groaned at the sunlight that entered the tent with Ayame’s return.

Sitting up, her hair cascaded down her shoulders and back, just barely touching the floor below her waist.

Now 16 years old, Sayomi’s face had thinned out, no longer round and chubby, but firm and angular with more defined features.

Her striking violet eyes and silky white hair were the only things that seemed to remain the same from when she was dumped 6 years ago.

With a noticeable number of inches added to her legs and arms, as well as new subtle curves adorning her body, Sayomi had matured a great amount, both physically and mentally. What had once been an innocent, joyful 10 year old girl, was now approaching the end of her youth days trapped in a foreign city.

Sayomi didn’t talk about her family. Or the past for that much.

She didn’t like to remember the feeling of waiting desperately for someone to find her.

As a 10 year girl, she didn’t know any better than to rely on her family to come rescue her. But as those days turned into months, and the months turned into years, her hope had died miserably, being replaced by a deep sense of betrayal.

The most she had told the family about her life before Meteor City was about Killua. She had beamed proudly as she told them how similar they looked to each other. Killua. I wonder how he’s turned out to be. If he’s 6 years old now, that means he’s already started training...

But this was her life now, whether she liked it or not, and she would make the most of it even if it meant living only for herself.

“Sayomi! For the last time, waaake uppp. Breakfast is ready.”

Yet another day in Meteor City began for Sayomi. After finishing up breakfast with Ayame and her parents, Sayomi grabbed her katana to go run through more forms on her own.

6 years with the katana, and Sayomi was almost considered proficient in the sword’s fine practice. Without a master to learn from, the majority of her techniques were either gathered from faint memories of when she was younger, or those she came up with herself.

She had also taken the risk of going into some of the gang fights using only her katana, and though she had gotten in dangerous situations to begin with, her hard work didn’t betray her.

Standing in the piles of junk with her arms raised naturally behind her head, Sayomi took a deep breath in and out, ever so bored of the dull features at Meteor City.

☾iii.

After another day filled with meticulous training, Sayomi head back to camp, making her way to Ayame’s tent.

However, upon approaching the little green tent, she sensed within the air that something was off.

She could feel the abnormally tense auras of those sitting inside the tent, much like those of someone caught lying. Slowing her steps towards the tent, Sayomi activated her zetsu in order to listen in to the apparent conversation going on inside.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s her full name. Sayomi Zoldyck. She’s the one we’ll give you instead of Ayame.”

It was Shota’s voice.

His normally confident tone was replaced by one filled with a thousand concerns.

“I assure you she’ll be here with us when you arrive tomorrow. Thank you again, sir, for accepting the replacement. Good Night.”

Could it be another gang looking for trouble? She was sure she could take them, whoever they were, but it still hurt to be referred to as ‘the replacement’.

Sayomi shook her head out of such thoughts, realizing how panicked she was becoming over another silly gang. She made her presence visible once again, taking louder than normal footsteps as she returned into the tent for the night.

☾iii.

It was a quiet night much like usual, but everyone inside the tent could feel the discomfort that seemed to radiate around the 4 in endless circles.

Sayomi shifted in her sleep, unable to ignore the itching feeling in the back of her mind.

The gangs here are nothing, I’ll be fine.

She fell asleep late that night, despite being exhausted from a full day of training. A battle of worries and self-reassurance eventually died down in her mind, letting her sleep in peace.

Having fallen into a deep sleep, she had missed the sound of Ayame crying softly next to her. The older girl fell asleep facing away from Sayomi, feeling too guilty to even look at her.

“I’m so sorry, Sayomi.” Ayame whispered into the darkness.

☾iii.

Early morning the next day, a commotion stirred through the camp.

The sound of multiple vehicles treading over glass and broken fragments awoke Sayomi, who sat up too quickly for her tired self.

Her body lurched to the side, thrown off balance by the sudden movement she had made to get up.

Groaning while she firmly held her balance with a single hand digging into the blankets pooled around her, Sayomi was confused to see that the tent was empty around her.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Sayomi slung her katana over her shoulder hastily before making her way outside, her left hand hovering over the needles strapped to her thigh.

It was still dark out when Sayomi lifted the entrance of the tent. Quite close to golden hour, but still dark enough for her to have to strain noteably in order to see.

The vehicles she had heard were parked about 50 feet from where she stood. There were 3 cars parked side by side, black sedans that looked much similar to the ones back at the estate.

Upon her eyes’ adjustment to the dark, Sayomi could see several men dressed in black suits conversing with Shota and Rin, Ayame by their side.

She kept her guard up as she attempted to read the auras of the people standing in front of her, getting a faint feel for their emotions.

Ayame and her family were tense, worried, but Shota showed small signs of relief in his expression. The men in suits were less readable, their emotions hidden behind an experienced aura of composure.

Looks like they’re pretty experienced… But they don’t look like a gang, or like they’re even from around here.

Taking a risk, Sayomi edged closer to the group, trying to listen in on the conversation. She was partially concealed by a pile of junk, only peeking out once in a while to confirm their positions.

Her new spot was about 30 feet from the closest man, and she could now make out parts of their conversation.

An unfamiliar voice rumbled “Rest assured, she will be provided with more than she ever was here.”

Shota’s voice was next. “And will she be safe on the trip to Yorknew City?”

Yorknew City. So whoever these people were didn’t want to kill her, but take her with them to the great city of opportunities? Well, damn.

Sayomi stepped out from her position behind the pile, not caring to keep her guard up as she willingly presented herself to her soon to be captors.

Ayame gasped upon seeing Sayomi walk towards them with her hands relaxed behind her head. Her eyes shifted to her parents. They were just as surprised, having not noticed her presence earlier.

The men looked from the shocked family of 3 to the teen strolling towards their makeshift circle. She could sense them growing tense with each of her steps, deducing her identity as their target.

One of them finally broke the silence, acknowledging her presence.

“Sayomi Zoldyck?”

Sayomi gave a flat-lipped smile in return. “Yes sir.”

The family was wading in embarrassment and horror, caught red-handed agreeing to sell Sayomi off.

The men scoffed at the brazen teen, preparing to catch her off guard with the proposal, but Sayomi spoke first.

“So, what I’m getting from this- is basically that… you had a deal with this family for whatever reason. And were going to take their daughter from them, but they pleaded with you and insisted that I could be a better replacement?”

Her deductive instincts had helped her reach the conclusion that was pretty much dead on.

The family remained still, averting their gazes from the teen in front of them, while the men nodded several times before speaking.

“Correct. Your arrogance will surely not be needed where we’re going, but I guess it’s alright as long as you’re able to back it up.”

Leaving no opening for Sayomi to respond, another one of the men spoke up. “Shall we get going then? It seems like force won’t be necessary, so we might as well move while everyone’s cooperating.”

Sayomi had only nodded, a slight skip in her step as she seized the opportunity to leave Meteor City at last. Whatever business awaited her ahead could be dealt with, and she found it in herself to smile as she faced the family that had supported her for the past 6 years.

“Shota, Rin, Ayame. I could never thank you enough for your generosity during these past years of mine. And so, with all due respect, please forget all about me and flourish in the love of your family once again.”

No matter how blunt, she had meant every word she said, and with that Sayomi turned her back to the people who had raised her up through her broken youth.

She felt no remorse for their guilt-ridden feelings, for it was just another thing in the past.

The 3 cars took off through the rubble, Sayomi in the backseat of one of them. Her violet eyes reflected off the glass of the window beside her, reminding her of the first time she had arrived. She sat in silence as she watched the hell that had been Meteor City flash past her.

Old news.

Just like her family.

☾iii.

to be continued.

a/n: i made a taglist if anyone wants to join! :)))

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