#Just barely old enough to remember the Crusades | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

j0elmill3r · 1 year

Text

Wish You Were Here (I); Shine On You Crazy Diamond

"Nobody knows where you are, how near, how far"

Pairing - Joel Miller x Daughter!reader, Tommy Miller x Niece!Reader, Ellie Williams x Miller!Reader (Platonic)

Summary - Witnessing your fathers' demise at the hands of the daughter of a man he killed saving your best friend, you realize your crusade for revenge for your fathers brutal death is bound to be a bloody one.

Warnings - Diverges from canon, spoilers for the last of us part 2, canon violence, death, mentions and implications of suicide (Please let me know if I missed any!)

Word Count - 3k

A/N - Here is an introduction to my new series! It's gonna be split into 4 parts, all titled in relation to the Pink Floyd album - Wish You Were Here. I hope everyone enjoys this, as always, feedback is always appreciated with reblogs, likes and comments! This is also such a divergence from canon it's genuinely unbelievable.

Joel Miller Masterlist

Growing up smack bam during a global pandemic was not all it had cracked up to be. You weren't old enough to remember the world before the infection had ruined it, being only 3 years old at the beginning of the pandemic meant you had no recollection of your life before this world - It also mean that you had no memories of your older sister, Sarah. Joel, however, told you stories of your older sister, how much she loved you and how at every birthday, she used her wish to beg for a little sister.

You were incredibly close to your father - Despite how tough he was on you as you started getting older, you knew he was just looking out for you, teaching you essential survival skills that you would need if you wanted to live in this new, dangerous world. But even though he was tough on you, you still saw his softer and father like self. He took care of you when you were sick, told you shitty jokes when you were sad just so he could see you smile - You were the reason he missed his shot. You had walked in on his room as he held his gun to his head, fear displayed on your small face, causing him to move his hand away as his hand acted before his fingers, pulling the trigger and narrowly missing his skull. The hearing in his right ear had completely depleted, but you were crying blue murder, and your dad was the only person who could console you - He was all you had and he wanted to leave you all on your own. Which was why you took it so personally when someone had informed you of the trouble that your dad, uncle, and best friend were in.

The place was silent as you quietly made your way down the long halls of the mansion you found yourself in, following the noise to a specific room, to which the door was left slightly ajar - which should have been your first red flag. It was like someone wanted you to go to that room specifically for whatever reason. Ignoring your gut instinct, you crept towards the door which was partially open, but before you could take in what was in the room, you let out a scream as you were suddenly tackled to the floor, grunting as your head hit off of the solid concrete with a thud that resonated throughout your skull. You weren't quite sure how you had ended up on a rescue mission to attempt to save your dad, uncle, and your best friend Ellie - who's falling out with your father had resulted in you too falling out with the girl who had expected you to side with her instead of your own father. As you were pinned to the floor, your heart stopped at the sight in front of you, it felt like all the air had been sucked out from your body as your jaw lay open in shock.

Your father lay on the ground, covered in blood, a woman standing beside his barely breathing self, holding a golf club dripping with his blood. She turned to you, looking you dead in the eyes as she crouched down in front of your, her cold eyes meeting your tear filled ones. Despite the tears in your eyes, you maintained your tough façade that you thought to be unbreakable, but you feared this would be what broke your tough and hardened exterior, the one that you had adopted from your father as you grew to realise the world you lived in was not one that would be kind to your child-like self.

"I'll fucking kill you, you hear me?!" You yelled at the girl in front of you, it was both a threat and a promise. She scoffed as she shook her head, standing back up and going back towards your father, listening as you grunted as the men restraining you forced you to watch, putting pressure on your neck as they knelt on it; partially cutting off your airways.

Your glassy eyes met Joel's tired ones, they were almost empty, vacant - if not for his increasingly shallow breathing, you would have already mistaken him as dead. "No, dad, please get up," You begged your father, your hardened exterior cracking as you pleaded like a child for your dad to get up and show the woman that held his life in her hands who he was. "Dad fucking get up!" You yelled, demanding now that he get up from this - despite the logical sense in your brain telling you that there was no chance of your father escaping from this, but your traumatized inner child that had her entire childhood ripped away from her needed her daddy to get up and save her. "Please, please don't do this." You begged the girl who stood by your father, her grip on the golf club tightening as she listened to your pleas for your father's life to be spared.

Your pleas, however, fell on deaf ears.

You watched as the girl swung the golf club down onto your fathers head, cracking his skull open with one, sickly crack.

"No!" You sobbed out, clenching your eyes shut as painful and powerful sobs wracked your body. You watched through tear-clouded eyes as Joel let out one last breath before going completely limp, your father's heart completely stopping, ending his life. You didn't care that you were openly bawling in the presence of the very people that had attributed to your fathers death. You weren't paying attention to anything else around you, only able to focus on Joel's dead body, which you were still being forced to stare at - It wasn't for long though, as a swift kick to the face knocked you out.

In the days following Joel's death, the atmosphere was bleak, no one could face anything, but there was one thing you couldn't face - returning back to the house you shared with him, without him with you.

But you had to. As much as it pained you, you had to return to an empty house - a house in which your fathers bed remained unmade, his cup of coffee still on the kitchen countertop where he had left it that morning before the snow had fallen. You barely made it to the kitchen without breaking down, your dad was planning on coming home. He was planning to wash that cup, planning to make his bed - He was going to come home and you were going to have dinner together, this was supposed to be how you'd get to live out the rest of your life, settled with your dad.

But no.

You had that taken from you.

You weren't sure what you had done in any past life to deserve to have had so much taken from you. Your sister, your own damn childhood, and now your dad - you wondered what was next to be ripped from your grasp. You grunted as you fell onto one of the chairs at the dining table, grabbing the nearest bottle of liquor you could grab to drown your misery in, not even bothering to get yourself a glass - You had polished off the bottle in two go's, slamming it down on the table after emptying it. The more you thought about it, the more you realised how unfair this was. You, to the best of your knowledge, had done nothing to that girl. So why did she take your father away from you? and why so brutally? Why did she make you watch as he died?

You had been thinking too much, and you could tell by your reaction. You yelled out in anguish as your threw the glass bottle at the wall, not even flinching as it smashed and the glass pieces fell to the floor. Your chest heaved as you clenched your fists, your nails breaking the skin of your palms - You didn't register the sting as the small marks on your hands started to bleed. Your heavy breathing continued as your eyes filled up with tears, and you barely reacted as Tommy came through the side door of the house. It was been obvious that he had been crying, but he knew he had to check on you, giving that you had shut yourself completely off.

"Y/N?" Tommy watched as you looked up at him, a frown on his face as he noticed sad, yet vacant look in your eyes. "You okay?" He knew it was a painfully stupid question. Of course you weren't okay. You had watched your father be brutally killed in front of your very eyes with little to no explanation of why, how could you be okay after that?

"I hope that was a light-hearted attempt at humour," You murmured, sniffling as you rubbed your nose and met your uncle's eyes. He sighed, side stepping the pile of shattered glass at the door and pulling out the seat in front of you - it was your dad's seat, a seat that he would never sit on again to have breakfast with you.

"Everyone's thinking about you," Tommy informed you, referring to the growing bundle of flowers which was piling up higher and higher, offering a variety of apologies and condolences to you in relation to your fathers death. You scoffed incredulously, shaking your head - You knew that your dad was well valued and loved, but he was your dad. These people didn't know him - they didn't know that he still slept with his door slightly open so if you had a panic attack he could get to you quickly, they didn't know he had wanted to be a singer growing up. They didn't know your father.

"Yeah, of course they would be," You deadpanned. Tommy sighed as he rubbed his hands on his jeans, taking a deep breath before looking at you.

"Y/N, the girl who...who killed your dad," It pained Tommy to say that his brother was dead, but it pained him even more to remind you that your dad was gone. "When we took Ellie to the fireflies all those years ago, your dad killed a bunch of people to save her. That girl is the surgeon's daughter." Tommy explained to you, watching your face as all of the pieces fell into place. So, you did know this girl. Anderson...Anderson....Abby. You remembered, The Washington Liberation Front.

So, this was revenge.

"Ellie's gone."

"What?" Your head snapped up to look at your uncle.

"She went off with her girlfriend, Dina, I think. She's pregnant," Tommy smiled sadly as you nodded in acceptance, your best friend having abandoned you for her family - something you had lost so much of in the recent days that you weren't sure if you were the problem. You sat in silence for a moment before standing up.

"I'm going to bed." You announced, turning and heading up the stairs before Tommy could say anything. He sighed, watching you run upstairs and into the safety of your room. He let himself out, locking the door with the spare key Joel had given to him - Just in case, he had said. Unbeknownst to Tommy, you didn't manage to reach your room, as you stopped right outside your fathers, you felt like you couldn't move, paralysed by your grief. In the blink of a moment, you felt like you couldn't breath, your chest constricting as you started sobbing uncontrollably in front of the room that your father would never get to return to. You couldn't build the courage to enter your fathers room, instead crumbling to your knees outside of it, your chest aching as you sobbed, your body shaking as you cried.

You yawned as you opened your eyes, letting out a whine as you stretched out the best you could in your uncomfortable position. You were sandwiched between your dads back and his backpack, it mean his arms weren't tired from carrying you constantly.

"Daddy?" You got Joel's attention, gaining a hum of acknowledgement from your father as he walked alongside your uncle. "Where we goin?" You questioned him. Joel sighed as he tried to come up with a lie to tell you, he knew you didn't understand the severity of what was going on.

"We're gettin somewhere safe, baby girl," Joel assured you, reaching back to hold your small hand to try and comfort you in some way. "Try and go back to sleep, okay?" He told you, tilting his head to the shoulder that you rested your head against, wishing that he too could sleep with you. But any time he had tried, he just saw Sarah dying. Over and over and over again.

You awoke with a groan, rubbing your eyes as you rolled onto your back. Maybe having fallen asleep on the floor wasn't your greatest idea, but your pain was soon forgotten as the smell of eggs wafted up to your nose - Had it all been a bad dream? Was your dad making your breakfast? With hope rising in your chest, you pushed yourself up and off of the floor, making your way down to the kitchen, fully expecting to see your dad standing there - Only to be met with your uncle Tommy. Seeing him standing there instead of your father posed only as a painful reminder of what you had lost, but you couldn't be mad at Tommy, he was grieving too - He had lost his brother just as much as you had lost your dad.

"Morning," He greeted you with a small smile, turning the pan off and turning to face you.

"Yeah, morning," You replied, taking the cup of coffee he offered out to you - You spared a glance to your dad's mug, which still sat in the place he had left it that morning. Tommy knew not too touch anything, this was your house as much as it was your dad's, and if you didn't want anything touched, he would respect that.

"You sleep okay?" Tommy asked you, knowing you were lying when you simply nodded in response. "I...tried, to make you breakfast." He offered a plate of scrambled eggs out to you and gave you a small smile as you took the plate from him and sat down at the dining table wordlessly.

"Thanks," You eventually spoke, looking up at Tommy as he sat across from you. "I'm going to find them. All of them," Your uncle looked at you in confusion, raising his eyebrow to prompt you to continue. "I'm going to Seattle to find her and her group, and I am going to kill, every. Last. One of them." Tommy nodded. If he was being totally honest, he knew this was coming, and if you were anything like your father (which he knew you were), you would make them regret ever laying a hand on your father, and you would make it bloody - anything to get your point across.

"Y/N-"

"No. Don't tell me not to do this. I have to," You told him adamantly, cutting his sentence off before he could get another word in. "I can't let them away with this. They killed my fucking dad, Tommy." You felt yourself filling up again, but not out of sadness, no - this was completely raw, and unfiltered rage.

"Hey. I wasn't telling you not to do this," He finished the sentence you had cut off before, and you looked down at him with a quirked brow. "I was going to tell you that you're not going alone. He wasn't just your dad, and I know that you know that. So we're going together, if I let you go yourself and you get hurt, I know that your dad would never forgive me." You let out a sigh and nodded, accepting your uncle's help in getting revenge for your father.

After breakfast, you packed essentials into your backpack - water, ammo, and a jacket, one you had stolen from your dad - and you made your way to Tommy's. He had managed to get a hold of a car to help in your journey to hunt down Abby Anderson and her crew. Setting off out of Jackson, you couldn't help the part of you that unfairly blamed Ellie for the death of your father.

If Joel hadn't been so hellbent on saving the girl, then he wouldn't have shot Jerry Anderson, and his daughter would still have her father, and you would still have yours.

But no - Ellie Williams was so fucking special to your father that he had sealed his own fate by saving her. You hated how easily she moved on from your dads death, that it was so easy for her to move up and out with her girlfriend and surrogate son, while you and your uncle grieved Joel's loss. Some best friend she turned out to be, huh? You shook your head, and with it your thoughts of Ellie, opting to stare out of the window as your uncle drove out of Jackson and onto the country roads towards Seattle.

Towards your quest for violent and bloody revenge.

Series Tag list - Want to Join? Fill out this form!

@white-wolf-buckaroo @mand1ora @change-the-world-someday @sleepylunarwolf @kobiiblog @rrickgrrimes8 @wxnderingthoughts @mimi-luvzyu @toyournaivebravado

324 notes · View notes

amplifyme · 1 year

Text

A Necessary Evil

The X-Files. MSR. Rating: Teen and up. WC:2351. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

So it’s time to fess up. To lay bare the part of himself he’s not so proud of. Here goes: Fox Mulder is skilled at seduction. He always has been. From as far back as middle school, he’s known. He looks at himself in a mirror and sees only the flaws. The ridiculously large lower lip. The small triangular eyes. The undersized chin with not enough room between it and the aforementioned lip. The overly broad and large-scale nose. But for some reason beyond any logic, and put all together, those features have had teenaged girls, and then women, falling at his feet for as long as he can remember. It’s as simple as his attentive gaze aimed in their direction.

And, okay, yes, he’s been blessed with a tall and naturally lean body. And he likes to work it, discover its limits. He pushes his body as stringently as he does his far-out theories. So he’s managed to gain a strong back and lean, muscled arms and legs; a swimmers physique and a coveted six-pack. And all with enough ease that he quit going to the gym years ago. Running, swimming, and pickup basketball games have replaced gym equipment, and he attempts to keep mind and body in synch with yoga too, though he won’t ever admit to that particular discipline, even to the few friends he has. Like his looks, he can’t help what his genetics have given him. It’s all just a result of his unique mishmash of genes, and maybe some dumb luck. But that doesn’t mean he’s not above using what he’s got to further his crusade - in ways both monumental and small.

His glibness, which some might call charm, comes naturally too. He’s an equal opportunity flirt. He always has been. And he’s rarely caught unable to offer a smooth, witty retort or a wry observation. He can’t explain this either. It’s simply who he is. Although it does help that he genuinely loves women. He finds them fascinating and mysterious puzzles, loves attempting to assemble their enigmatic ways into a kind of pattern that might afford him some answers to the great unknown. He loves to converse with the fairer sex, especially the ones who can keep up with his esoteric banter. More than anything else, he loves the opportunity to give them what they want most from him. And a lot of the time that means giving them parts of himself: his body, his mind, even his heart if they’re exceptional enough.

He lost his virginity at fifteen to a girl a few years older and on the cusp of her high school graduation. He was clueless aside from the alleged personal knowledge of his friends, the old, dog-eared copies of Playboy he snatched from his dad’s bottom dresser drawer, and his own determination to do for a woman what was expected of him as a man. Luckily, the girl who popped his cherry had more experience and the confidence necessary to begin to turn his enthusiasm into proper technique. The rest he learned from books and films once he was out of high school, independent for the first time, and housed in a third-floor flat right outside the grounds of Oxford University proper.

And then had come Phoebe.

If he was naturally gifted and confident in his technique, Phoebe was a Jedi Master when it came to seduction. And she punched way, way above his weight. She was both a revelation and a nightmare. She did things with him that he never could’ve imagined, let alone actually engaged in. There were still blocks of time so lost to the haze of drugs, alcohol, and depravity that he’ll never be able to recollect them with any clarity. She had his number almost from the start and didn't hesitate to fuck with his head with as much ease and skill as she fucked him in other ways. And there he was, a psych major. He should’ve known better.

But he loved her. And that’s when he learned that book knowledge could never trump the lessons learned while attempting to dissect Phoebe’s twisted mind. She took his love, his trust, and used it as a weapon against him.

He took those lessons with him to the FBI Academy. They pursued him with such fervor that he couldn’t deny them his as-yet-untested investigative skills and his spooky intuition. He was, soon after, deeply entrenched in the VCS and profiling criminals who sometimes paled in comparison to Phoebe Green’s mind games. He also managed to work his way through a majority of the female staff surrounding him. He’d make it clear from the first encounter that it would never be more than two consenting adults indulging in adult behavior. He wasn’t looking for his one true love. And romancing them, though the various techniques came easily, was not an indication of any desire to make permanent a temporary liaison; something lasting beyond a few rolls in the hay. He knew when to cut any fragile ties that might develop. He didn’t have time to waste on such trivialities. He was going to change the world and it wouldn’t be with his dick. Love and attachment had no place in his life anymore. Not after Phoebe.

But then had come Diana.

Leggy, dark haired, blessed with a steel-trap mind and an incredible set of tits. Yes, she was older than him, but she listened to him, encouraged him, praised him. And eventually she’d joined him in his bed, as well as in his explorations of a small and rarely mentioned off-shoot of FBI investigations classified as X-Files. Unexplained phenomenon. He found himself besotted with them, and with her. She lay next to him through many nights and had soothed him after the nightmares that’d plagued him most of his life. Diana encouraged him to seek out regression hypnosis to find answers to questions he’d been asking since his sister had vanished. She told him she loved him. He’d said, “Marry me,” and she’d said, “I do.”

He should have known better. But he loved her, too. And five months later she was gone. She took his love, his trust, his belief, his newfound quest, and used those things as an excuse to rip them asunder.

What good is innate charm when it comes at such a price? What good is seduction when it only postpones an inevitable loss? What good is love and intimacy when they only wound?

He sat in the half-empty apartment that was now his alone for three straight days. Diana hadn’t taken any of the alcohol, so he worked his way through the half-empty bottles of Chivas Regal and Absolut, sipped at the sickly-sweet brandy she liked before bed, pounded shots of Jose Cuervo. He didn’t bother turning on a light when the sun set. His phone didn’t ring. He didn’t shower and ate straight from containers of Chinese food and the flat boxes of pizza he had delivered. He watched mindless television or sat in silence. He didn’t bother with the marriage bed; his couch was good enough to sleep on and had room for only one. It was fitting because now he was only one. The loneliest number.

By the morning of the fourth day, he had a plan. He knew what he had to do. No more distractions, no more giving in to the weaknesses of the heart. Nothing but seeking the answers to his questions. And those lay within the X-Files - he was more certain of that than ever. He got back on his feet, dusted himself off, and went back to work. He fought harder than he ever had before for those discarded and dusty files. And finally, finally, they officially set him free from the serial killers and the pedophiles and the worst of humanity and sent him down to the basement of the Hoover building. He lived and breathed the work there. He buried himself in years, decades, of unanswered questions, certain that he would be the one to uncover the truth of what had happened to his sister, and to the larger mysteries of existence that everyone else seemed so uninterested in delving into. This was his mission. This was his calling. Nothing else mattered.

Then came Scully.

He opened his copious bag of tricks, both innate and learned through experience, when he found out she was on her way. He read everything he could find on her before she showed up. And when she did, he established a boundary from the get-go, addressing her not as Agent or Dana, but simply as Scully. He dialed up the charm, the casual game of seduction he knew so well, fully intending to use it against this usurper and cause her to trip up, to make a mistake that would force her away in either shame or disgust. He honed the sharp edges of his sarcasm and was prepared to cut her deeply with his casual disregard. He was already skilled at pulling women into his orbit. Combined with what he’d learned from Phoebe and Diana about the fine art of the emotional drawing and quartering of one’s prey, he didn’t think Scully would last a month.

But somehow, somehow, she saw him and who he truly was. Listened to him. Respected him, even if she initially bought into his reputation and thought him spooky and unhinged. She offered him her soft underbelly on the first night of their first case. And despite his determination to treat her as the spy she’d been sent to be, he couldn’t help but show her vulnerability in kind. He told her about Samantha.

And she stayed. She stayed despite his bad behavior and his obviously practiced performance; the means of disarmament that’d always served him so well before. And soon he realized she was just as unhinged as he was, just as passionate. Not in the same ways, of course, because she was firmly rooted in science and the desire to prove his extreme theories wrong. But she was fearless and feisty, infinitely curious, and willing to go beyond what any sensible person might do in order to further his cause. Even as she slowly came to realize he might be right more often than not, that this singular obsession of his took precedence over everything else, she stayed. Scully always stayed.

Seven years on, seven years of heartache and grief and losing more than they’ve gained, she remains by his side. And somewhere along their journey it’s become less about the work and more about the two of them, what they’ve built together. He occasionally worries that maybe he hasn’t always been honest enough with her, that she took his early subterfuge at face value, even after he'd dropped all pretenses. He worries that he may not be the man she thinks he is, and that eventually she'll figure that out and leave him.

He gets up and pulls her from her seat at the empty local pizza place in Nowhere, Nebraska just as the jukebox begins to play the last song he selected after feeding it quarters on the way to their booth.

“Mulder, what are you doing?” she grumbles in mild annoyance. It’s been a long day and they’re both dead on their feet. And now he’s dragged her away from the first slice of sausage and mushroom already on its way to her mouth. Her fingers are slightly greasy as he clasps them in his and gives her a little twirl before pulling her close.

He can do this kind of thing these days, when they’re in the field and not likely to be seen and reported for conduct unbecoming of Special Agents with the FBI. He can get them adjoining rooms, with their respective connecting doors left unlocked for clandestine visits after they’ve showered away the remains of their day. He can fully and unabashedly use all those powers of seduction and charm that he’s honed over the years. And Scully reaps the benefits. They both do. It works every time now. His myriad talents are a necessary evil.

“I’ve got you under my skin,” he tunelessly croons in her ear, murmuring along with Frank on the jukebox. “I’ve got you deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart you’re really a part of me,” he finishes, gazing down into vivid and grudgingly tolerant azure eyes. He dances her in between tables and across the empty tiled floor as the horn section revs up and kicks in.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a Sinatra fan, Mulder?” she asks after a minute or so. He catches the corner of a smile she’s trying to suppress.

“They’re called classics for a reason,” he argues. “Old Blue Eyes will never go out of style.” She finally relents a bit of her reserve and lays her cheek on his chest. “Tell me something, Scully.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” she asks, peering up at him with fondness. The tone she's using is one she normally reserves for small children or fat little puppies.

“Did I,” he hesitates, “…did I seduce you? Has everything led to this because of something I did years ago?”

She bursts out with a short, sharp peal of laughter and pats him on the chest with her free hand. “Don’t be an idiot, Mulder. I seduced you.”

He grins down at her and they dance a little more, the lone waitress shooting them a mildly curious look from her perch at the counter housing the cash register.

“I would sacrifice anything, come what might,” Scully begins softly singing, negating any advantage she might’ve had over him for being such a nerd and celebrating Frank Sinatra’s genius. “For the sake of having you near. In spite of the warning voice that comes in the night and repeats. How it yells in my ear, ‘Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?’”

But that’s the thing. They have won. And right now, that’s good enough. Right now, it’s everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Notes:

I'm sorry. No idea where this came from, and it's very much stream-of-consciousness. That's becoming a pattern these days. I’d call it just another random brain dump, but instead of getting it out in a tiny chunk, this one took on a life of its own and tortured me beginning to end. I don’t question the muse. She’s driving this train, not me.

Until next time…

#x-files fanfic #msr #mulder and scully #a necessary evil #mine

98 notes · View notes

mr-faxmachine · 1 year

Text

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING FANFIC CONTAINS RELICS OF THE OLD FAITH SPOILERS DOWN BELOW, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. ...Spoilers also in tags, be careful.

This also sets place in the Divine Hubris AU, way after the main game story is finished. so things may differ from canon.

A mother's tears: Page 1/4

Fanfic suggestion by @skeletondanc3r

Ever since his declaration as the new god of death, the lamb has endlessly bartered with the ancient entity. It has been many a year since the days he would crusade against the bishops; Fighting them to no end, he grew tiresome. He felt as if this was going nowhere, nothing new has happened since he rescued the four bishops. Heket walked up to the Lamb with a curious gaze, sitting down with him as he stared out into the distance.

"………You… look tired…" She tried her best to speak, but with a missing throat, it is rather complex. She put her hand up to her own throat, feeling a bit of pain every time she spoke. "Oh, it's nothing… nothing, really…" He was rather quiet, somber in his moment of silence. "Just that, it's-" Heket would put her finger on the Lamb's mouth, trying to shush him.

"….Shamura…….. ….. felt….. worse….." Heket would cough up some blood, refusing to speak any longer as she went back to the cult; leaving through a portal as The Lamb gathered his thoughts. "They felt worse…? What did she… nevermind, I'll just head back." He went to go through the portal, but…

"…I sense god tears, young god." The mysterious entity spoke. Curiously, the lamb went to their doorstep. "Oh, right… What will I get this time, I wonder? Another missionary necklace? An immortality necklace?" The small Lamb would give a god tear to the entity, as he closed his eyes. "…This will do, young god. Use it well." When the Lamb opened his eyes, he saw something unusual; A moon necklace?

"But… I can get this from any crusade, what does this-" He was interrupted by the entity, who spoke out unto him. "We sense you are growing dull, so we give you this charm. It is not the same as the night necklace." Perplexed, he would walk back to the portal with a bit of hesitation. Where he was greeted by a worried Kallamar. "O-oh thank the gods! You're back safe! How was the crusade, are you hurt?! Do you-"

"Save your breath for a moment, I need time to think!" The Lamb would rush inside the private quarters of his Temple, studying the peculiar charm closely. "What… is this? I've never seen a charm like this before!" Unlike the gold necklace that gives immortality, this necklace is unusual. It bares the moon, yet it seems to not have an insomnia spell attached to it… It looks too different.

After a few hours, The Lamb would come back out still puzzled. Scratching his head as he went on to do his daily duties, meeting up with Shamura who wanted to speak with him. "…What do you think this is, Shamura?" He would put it in Shamura's clutches, they look carefully at it… as if they're remembering something.

"…Well well now… this is rather unusual, I feel… familiarity… " Shamura was confused, taking a closer look at the necklace… then it hit them. "Necklaces made from sun and moon's tears, trapped souls in the depths of limbo, shed their turmoil and let them free… Sacrifice is key." Shamura suggested, which made The Lamb shiver.

"Sacrifice? Haven't I done enough of that…?" He got on his knees, about to weep from the words Shamura said. "You know what happened to Prince Cuddles, you know what happened to Allocer, AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO- To…" The lamb nearly broke down, shaking from anger and sadness at the same time, he put his hands on his eyes, Shamura started to feel the pain…

"Now now… it is not the time to mourn, my grace… Let us converse at a later date…" Shamura wiped the tears from their eyes, sniffling a bit. "You do not want to give me a migraine." Shamura then left to the temple, leaving The Lamb to his duties. He went back out to see the spider merchant Helob.

"Aaah, my number one customer! How can I help you today, yes?" He licked his lips, patting the webbed up follower. "This one doesn't look that tasty… how about I give it to you for free?" The lamb nodded, taking the follower with him. "Listen, I do not want to get attached. Here's a necklace and get in the temple." The follower shivered, walking to the center as most of the lamb's followers looked away, shivering.

Then, a giant tendril shot from the ground, grabbing the needless follower as they screamed, the lamb looking down at themselves as his fist clenched, bringing down the follower into the other dimension. All grew silent as the portal stayed open, unable to close. "W-what? What's going on? Why won't it close?" The lamb tried his best to close it, but it won't budge. He went down to check it out as the followers felt curious as well.

"…YOU WILL CONTAIN ME NO LONGER, BEAST!" A warcry yelled out, a black and white tendril erupted from the portal, with a hooded being stabbing at it with a familiar moon scepter; Slicing it in two, the mysterious figure then landed upon the floor, all of the followers shocked as the figure unhooded itself… "Back! Stay back! I will slice your belly open! I will cut that crown from your HEAD!"

"Hold on… You!?" The Lamb was shocked as he saw the little cat, Aym… his expression went from anger to tiresome after seeing Narinder. "What foul place is this? Moments ago I was… I was…" Aym then fell on his knees, his weapon falling to the ground with a few clangs… Proceeding to fall face first onto the floor as the portal closes, becoming unconscious.

A few hours later, Aym groaned as he woke up in a bed with a bandage covering his upper head. "Where… where am I…? Who… how…?" He then looked to his side, seeing some food left out as he's nestled in blankets. Narinder was standing by the door, crossing his arms with an agitated expression. "Oh, good… you're awake." He frowned, looking in the other direction. "M-master…? Did… did we fail you…?"

Aym looked sad, trying to reach for the tray. He proceeded to cough a little while he began to look at the note left for him. "I remember you. A small, adorable kit… Eat well, you need this. -S" The note read, as Narinder began to comment on the cat's constant coughing. "So I see the blasted lamb couldn't heal your breathing problem." He then walked toward Aym in his bed, sitting down in the chair.

"…Yes, Ahem… He called it "Asthma". Both me and my brother-… Where's Baal?" Aym asked, looking at Narinder's staring eyes. "And uh… your tail is showing." With this remark, Narinder was startled and blushed in embarrassment. "SHUT UP, AYM." Narinder growled as he grabbed his own tail, with a little meep coming from Aym. "O-of course, Master!" Then the lamb came in with a white-robed individual… looking familiar, Aym stared at him.

"….Hey." The Lamb smiled, relieved that Aym is doing okay. He sets Baal down on the bed, wringing some water on the cat's head. "…Brother…." Aym spoke, eating more soup as he felt more relief, seeing him next to him. "Is he… okay, Master?" Aym rubbed his head, still having a headache from the sudden drop. "….Narinder, we need to talk outside."

The two left as Aym continued to enjoy his soup, staring at his sleeping brother with a bit of worry; trying to pet him in his sleep as he considers his place in the world.

--TO BE CONTINUED--

#cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl spoilers #cotl heket #cotl baal #cotl aym #cotl narinder #cotl shamura #shamura #heket #cotl kallamar #kallamar #fanfic #relics of the old faith spoilers #relics of the old faith #divine hubris

21 notes · View notes

clonehub · 2 years

Text

First Date

Pairing: OC x OC, Jax x Kiki, JaKi Rating: 18+ just to be safe, although it’s barely sexual Wordcount: 2,219

Warnings: none! besides two adults still learning how to romance

Notes: none :) just enjoy!

･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

Kiki moves through the wide, open kitchen of her (new-ish) home the way she did the battlefields of the Clone Wars--fast and partly distracted, jumping from target to target and strangely loving the thrill of it.

Cooking calmed her--putting things together, taking them apart, and sometimes even sitting and waiting, even if she was often too impatient to just let a pot of stew be. Cooking kept her hands occupied, and it kept her mind from wandering to the parts of the Clone Wars she’d rather not remember.

Dark memories begging to be acknowledged, Kiki abandons them by the stove, speed-walking to the furthest countertop where she’d been chopping massive tubers into big chunks. Her cousin--who’s old enough to be called aunty--would be shooing her out of the way soon, insisting that because she was master of the house--and a princess--that she didn’t need to handle feeding everybody, every single meal, every single day.

Kiki doesn’t mind the hustle and bustle. The darkness of her old life was always polite enough not to hound her while she was holding a knife.

So it’s with all this distraction that Jax creeps up on her, the Force alerting her to his presence before he himself does. He hangs around the edge of the food-based battlefield, his eyes solely trained on her as she buzzes around the kitchen.

“What’s up?” she asks, her attention on her work before her. It’s just them in the kitchen, but there'll always be someone floating in or out at some point.

She feels more than sees him shuffling. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out?”

“You want to go to the store? We’ve been needing a couple things, actually,” she muses, already making a mental checklist.

It’s no small secret that Kiki loves shopping--for food--and so the idea of heading to the market or a smaller store piques her interest. Most of Crusade Squad has been here for a few months already, and in that time they’ve learned what they do and don’t like. They all have their own money to spend, but not necessarily a means of getting to where they wanted to go. Ridge especially loves buying things almost as much as she does. Jax was in the process of becoming something more of a father to Pailenam, so he might have realized they were out of her necessities, too. The thought warms her, knowing that there may be a second parent to help raise Pailenam.

“No, I mean like…a date.”

Kiki freezes, her back still to Jax.

The Force takes this moment to start throwing Jax’s emotions at the wall she’d set up--his own nerves and regret for even asking are about to leave him in shambles. “I-I can understand if you’re busy or maybe not interest--” he rushes out, nervously running a hand over his bald head. “I just thought it’d be nice if--”

“A date…” Kiki repeats, finally turning to face him. Jax stops. She stops. His face is red and Kiki pretends that hers isn’t. “I’ve never been on a date before,” she says bluntly. Stop stalling.

“Well…neither have I,” Jax responds, shrugging with forced nonchalance. “We can be each other’s first time. Who knows, maybe we’ll like it.”

Jax had his moments where he’s smoother than Kiki expects, startling her into silence. “Um…”

He’s physically backing up. “It’s fine if--”

“Yes.” Fucking hell.

Jax actually stands there in wide eyed shock for a moment. They’re clear across the kitchen from each other and it only then occurs to Kiki that anyone waiting near any of the entrances might hear their conversation. She closes the distance, feeling needlessly conspiratorial for it. “When would you like to go?” The last vestiges of the Jedi Order, a place she’d fled, are trying to press her in the opposite direction of these plans.

Daily, she has to remind herself that she isn’t a Jedi. She’s not doing anything wrong. They’re not breaking any rules.

Jax’s intention of becoming a father to Pailenam came with the normal side effects one would expect when trying to coparent with someone who’s already in love with you. He’s attentive in a way that nobody else is, and Kiki catches the lingering looks when he thinks she won’t notice--which are increasing with frequency. She notices when he stands a little closer than is necessary, when he says good morning to her before anyone else.

Once, they even hugged each other before going to bed. Kiki’s been hoping for another hug ever since.

“I was thinking tonight,” Jax suggests, his confidence growing since he hasn’t been roundly rejected. “I was doing some research and there was a nice restaurant near here I thought we could check out--if you wanted.”

“Tonight” is apparently in three hours, so Kiki sits in her room and stresses herself out until she realizes she’s waited too long, and thus needs to rush to get ready.

There’s no moving through the house sneakily, although she certainly tries. Luckily, her path to the front door is clear, so Kiki pulls on her heels and meets Jax on the veranda.

His dark eyes lock on her red, form-fitting, impulse buy of a dress. She begins to worry that maybe she’s revealing too much for a first date when he says, “You look beautiful.”

Inexplicably, Kiki flushes. “Thanks, you look nice too.”

He’d called a cab. On their way over, they fill the air with enough small talk to successfully beat away any awkward silences.

They arrive, and the restaurant is much nicer than Kiki expects. They’ll only serve Verocian food that matched the variety of the moon they’re on, but the atmosphere screamed class and sophistication. She may be showing a little too much cleavage.

They make their way inside, taking a table by a large window that shows the moon-filled sky. On the level below, other patrons dine in an outdoor patio seating setup. Soft music plays through hidden speakers, and their servers are real people, not droids.

Jax doesn’t order any of the Verocian foods typically eaten with the hand, although he does ask for fried buns and a bottle of wine to share. He seems to be more prepared for this than Kiki is.

The alcohol loosens him up a little, and Kiki decides that she might as well enjoy some, too, since she’s been trying to wean Pailenam anyways. Swirling the pale, off-white liquid in her glass, Kiki gives Jax a questioning look. “So, how long have you been planning this?” she asks bluntly.

Jax starts, his eyes darting off to the people on the patio below them. Kiki regrets asking so directly until he finally laughs. “I’ll admit, I’ve been thinking of something like this for a while,” he says. A thumb runs against the spoon by his plate, and he seems for a moment to be lost in thought. “A long time.”

Kiki can guess that “long time” means as early as when they first met--or maybe when he first laid eyes on her. She doesn’t have a clear memory of their first meeting. She considers him, her own curiosity and the alcohol making her tip her head inquisitively. “Is it going how you expect?”

“Better.” He beams at her. The wine may be loosening his lips as well, because he doesn’t stop after that. “I’ve kinda got a running list of things I’d like us to do together--this was one of them, but I’d also like to take walks or work on the garden every once in a while. I’m still learning to cook, but you’re amazing, and I was wondering if maybe next week could--”

Jax sharply cuts himself off, a nervous hand running over his bald head. “Didn’t mean to ramble,” he says bashfully.

“I’d like to cook together. And take walks.” There’s something in Jax’s answering smile that she can’t bear--it’s not awful, just something she doesn’t know how to respond to. She fills her mouth with more wine and food.

Despite Kiki’s protests, Jax pays (he won’t even let her look at the bill) and they get dessert at a nearby stand. Afterwards, they take a walk.

Kiki hears the story of Jax’s cadethood for the first time.

“I wish I could say Edger and I had a normal squad and a normal time of it on Kamino,” Jax begins, sobering. “For the most part, it was normal--but we got probably the worst rotation of drill sergeants possible. They were…intense.”

Sensing Jax’s encroaching hesitation, Kiki carefully prods him. “Intense how?”

“Failure wasn’t an option, but appearances were almost as important--sometimes even more. ‘Fake it til you make it’, I guess. Edger wasn’t bothered so much by it, probably because he never really cared about other people’s opinions, but I was…”

They slow to a stop, Jax’s eyes taking on a dark if sad look. They’re on the same street as the restaurant, but much farther down. A few less people surround them, but they’re not alone.

Kiki loops her arms through Jax’s, and then gingerly folds their fingers together.

Jax is an amazing study of a disconnect between his demeanor and his internal roiling--but Kiki can at least sense that the handholding wasn’t a mistake.

“I was worse than I am now,” Jax continues, and they start walking again. “Just…worse in general.”

When Kiki thinks back to what Jax was like during the war, she notices that he has changed. He’s just regular shy now, rather than the nervous and anxious mess he’d been in the 686th. Kiki wonders if she’s gone through a similar change, if she’s a better person now that she has her daughter and almost all of Crusade Squad by her side.

Well, if you hadn’t left, you’d be dead. She supposes she is better.

“And how I saw you changed,” Jax says suddenly.

Kiki blinks at him. “Changed how?”

He shrugs. “Obviously back during the war, we were always taught that the Jedi were just short of being gods, that you would always know what to do, that following you--dying for you--was the highest honor we could achieve.” He scowls. “I can see now that you’re flawed--we’re both flawed. You’ve been through a lot and you’re doing your best. And you’ve made a beautiful daughter and you’re building this beautiful life for yourself that I’d love to be a part of, if you’ll have me, because I love you.”

They both jerk to a stop. The dim lighting around them doesn’t obscure Kiki’s ability to sense and feel Jax’s spike in embarrassment--besides the Force being ablaze with it, he’s literally gotten warmer.

His jaw stiff and lips pursed, he won’t look at her. Kiki’s mind has ground to a halt, her heart pounding under her ribs.

When she’d announced she was leaving the Jedi Order--leaving the GAR--Jax had told her in no uncertain terms that he would’ve gone with her if he could. A confession without the word “love” was a confession all the same. They both understood that.

But this is different. That word carries a weight to it that was forbidden to her as a Jedi, lest they drown.

“Sorry,” Jax whispers. “I’ve had too much to drink.”

Kiki turns to face him, drawing his eyes to hers. “You mean that?”

Jax folds his lips in, uncertainty flashing briefly through his dark eyes before conviction swallows it. “Yes.”

“You want to take care of Pailenam?” Of me?

“Yes.”

Kiki’s head is reeling, something in her stirring in a way that’s only a little familiar. She notes how close they are, and she’s about to put a hand on his chest when an older couple teases them as they walk by. The tension snapping, he squeezes her hand. “Would you like to go home?”

Their heads swimmy and their bellies full, they more or less pile into the cab that takes them back home. It’s almost midnight--they’d been gone for four hours. In the darkness, the house appears asleep, but Kiki can sense a few awake people here and there on the floor above them.

They don’t turn on the lights as they enter the kitchen. The metal appliances that catch the moons’ light glows.

“Jax, wait,” Kiki whispers, finding the edges of his face in the dark. Experimentally, she lays a hand on his chest, splaying her fingers across his shirt. When he doesn’t pull away, she cups his face, her breath thinner than air.

Jax just barely leans against the conservator behind him, letting it support his weight while the hand that hadn’t let go of hers since their walk comes to rest on her lower back. He says nothing, anticipation a budding flower within him.

They kiss.

The Force absolutely lights up around them, even if Jax stands stock-still for a moment, lost in his bliss--but soon enough his mouth forms to hers will all the excited if awkward movement of someone enjoying their first kiss.

They keep going until they both get dizzy, bodies pressed against each other in the warm dark of the kitchen. Mindful of the fact that the time of night wouldn’t prevent anyone from walking in for a snack, Kiki steps back--but not totally away--from Jax. “Good night,” she whispers.

He takes the liberty of kissing her cheek. “Good night.”

#ch posts #star wars #the clone wars #mod writing #Mod OCs #Jax #Kiki #JaKi #star wars OC #here you go yall this was meant to come out earlier #but i was editing it and then i forgot and then yesterday was *waves hand*#so here you have it now

6 notes · View notes

legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

First Impressions

AYO its ya girl! let me pretend i didnt fall off the face of the earth for the entirety of july and august as i slide you Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Day 1- Meeting for the First Time

Maribat Masterlist AO3 @maribat-bdbwm

Word Count: 1.2K words

Summary:

Marinette could barely contain her excitement.

She was going to meet her father for the first time ever!

BD!Bruce Wayne Day 1- Meeting for the First Time

without further ado:

The plane ride was long and boring. Hours upon hours of listening to the whispered conversations and the poorly concealed snores was enough to drive normal people insane. The seat, though lavish and soft, grew uncomfortable after the first three hours of the fourteen hour flight. She slept, ate and watched two movies but there were still three more hours to go. Marinette’s neck had cramped from being seated for so long but not once did she let her discomfort show. She was a big girl now, all of ten years old, and she would not embarrass her mother and her training while being in first class of the plane.

“Don’t look so tense, darling,” her mother’s sweet voice called out to her, a warm hand on her shoulder. “The plane will be landing soon and then you can stretch your legs.”

“Yes, maman,” despite her discomfort, she was still excited. It was her first time going to America and she was going to meet her birth father! Her parents have spoken of him a few times but each time left her yearning for more; yearning to know the man that made her, that gave her her eyes and pale complexion. She imagined all the possibilities. Was he kind? Was he secretly funny? He was probably as big as her papa! Her maman liked tall guys, she said it made her feel safe. Marinette wanted to feel safe too. He was a warrior, her maman had said, a hero. Could he fight like her papa? Her papa used his imposing size to his advantage, overpowering all his enemies but never causing a scene. Maman used to tell her stories about her papa, about how he used to be known as The Silent Bear, a strong fighter who worked with a group called the League of Shadows before becoming a member of their village. Was her father from that group too? Maman never told her how she met neither her papa nor her father.

“Marinette,” her voice called her attention. “We’ve landed, sweetie, let’s go.”

Disembarking was a whirlwind of bustling bodies and luggage. The airport smelled different from the Pudong Airport. Not a foul smell, but it was stuffy with fear and anxiety. It made Marinette’s skin crawl. Her maman’s grip on her arm was anchoring as she was dragged throughout the airport and into an awaiting black car. It was nighttime and Marinette was, despite the long flight, still restless with excitement. She watched as her maman merely nodded at the driver before they were off into the night.

The city was much different from where she grew up. She knew of only her maman’s village and the elders that lived there. The tall buildings, skyscrapers, her English teacher’s voice said, were infinite as they reached for the sky. Some looked old, lined in brick and gargoyles while others were steel and silver like the shiniest of knives. They complemented each other, like the blade and hilt of an old sword. The traffic was crazy though. Marinette has never seen so many cars going in the same direction except for the journey to the airport in Shanghai.

On top of one of the older buildings, perched on a gargoyle, Marinette saw a shadow. She couldn’t tell what it was until it opened its wings and jumped, swooping over the city like a bat out of hell.

“Maman! Did you see that?” She was shaking her maman’s sleeve to get her attention to the figure. “It’s him! It’s him!”

“Yes, darling.” Her maman’s smile was sweet and sent warm feelings all throughout her tiny body. “Just be patient, dear.”

The car turned off the main road and in another five minutes was pulling up to what Marinette believed was called the Gotham Harbour. There were shipping crates and the distinct smell of salt water and dead fish. Marinette couldn’t control her face and turned her nose up in disgust. Not the worst smelling place she’s been but still not nice. The car crawled around corners until it stopped between two forklifts. Before her stood the same figure she witnessed in the city.

The Dark Knight.

The Caped Crusader.

Batman.

Her father.

Her maman and papa had never referred to him by his real name; Marinette didn’t think he had one besides ‘Batman.’ He was always ‘the Bat’ or ‘Batman’ when her parents spoke of him. He cared for his city, he fought for justice and was an honest man. But she wanted, no, needed to know more. Would he win in a fight against her papa? Her maman? Her maman was rather fond of long-ranged weapons but her parents said he was a close-ranged fighter like her papa. The excitement was sweet on Marinette’s tongue. She had so many thoughts and questions to voice, none that she could voice from the seclusion of the car.

“Wait here, Marinette.” Her maman had a look on her face, staring out the windshield, boring into the man waiting for them. She had that look whenever she faced a troublesome problem. She fixed her with a softer look, her eyebrows relaxing but her dark eyes as cold as ever. “And remember your manners.”

It was like ice had been injected into her veins. Marinette put a lid on her excitement. Her mother had let her joviality run free long enough. She was representing her village now. She was not going to embarrass her upbringing. Her fidgeting stopped and she took large breaths to calm her heart and mind. She would not be naive into thinking her father would be as warm and welcoming as her dreams had crafted. But she still hoped. Just a teeny bit.

“Yes, mother,” was her response. Her mother nodded at that and stepped out of the car without a word.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying and her lip-reading skills were not the best. Her mother barely came up to this man’s shoulders. Her deep red blouse was the only splash of colour against his black silhouette. Marinette looked at the crates that boxed them in and saw more figures hidden in the shadows. Those must be his birds. They were unmoving, and huge. Most of them.

Tapping on the glass of her side of the car brought her attention back to her mother. Her eyebrows were back in their previous scrunch. Taking a deeper breath, Marinette squared her shoulders and stepped out of the car. The chill of the air against her skin reminded her of her earrings, her greatest weapon if things went bad.

She prayed things didn’t go bad.

With a final look at her mother, she stood as tall as she could and paced to her father. To Batman.

Holy cow, Batman!

This was the moment of truth. She would not embarrass herself or her family name.

“Hello, father,” she started. She kept her voice low and as even as possible, remembering her manners. Her keen eye caught the hesitation in his breathing, she felt the energy on the harbour shift at her words. She took the silence, that lasted only a second, to fully look at the man before her. He was an impressive figure indeed and her mother liked her men tall, but something stuck out to her. Her curiosity rang out and threw her manners away. Her next words left her before she could fully think them over.

“I thought you’d be taller.”

#mbdbwm2021 #maribat #maribat!biodadbrucewayne2021 #maribat!biodadbrucewaynemonth2021 #maribat events #monthly events

153 notes · View notes

jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

College AU drinking HCs /// Dabi, Shigaraki, & Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

A/N: A little background for this college AU—imo the PLF would be a social frat and the Shie Hassaikai is a professional frat (pre-med). Sooner or later I’ll write general college AU headcanons for them…

Tags/warnings: implied dubcon/drunk sex, alcohol, problematic frat culture things, pressure to drink, brief mentions of public sex/exhibitionism, drug use, a tiny bit of degradation, Hawks is vaguely in it too

Dabi

A basic frat bitch who drinks beer 80% of the time

Surprisingly he can’t tolerate cheap beer and is kind of a snob about people who drink shitty beer but he doesn’t bring it up enough to be annoying about it. Constantly blowing the frat’s alc budget on bottled beer instead of cans, not the super expensive craft bullshit but a step above Natural Light at least, right guys? Come on

Dabi always volunteers to go with Keigo (the frat’s social chair) to pick up the keg because both of them have a crusade against the cheap stuff—Keigo because he wants people to get drunk on it at parties and Dabi because he wants to drink it himself. They lowkey have a bromance over it and sometimes go to breweries together to fuck around and daydrink. The two of them are always trying new beers and will generally keep a different sixpack in the fridge every day—if any of the other brothers drink their overpriced IPAs by accident there’ll be consequences

Speaking of Keigo, him and Dabi are both into making jungle juice. They both get really excited about it, it’s kinda wholesome except they’re both just plotting on how to get cute girls like you as drunk as possible without realizing. They’ve spent a bunch of weekends together trying different mixes and recipes for the best flavor/alcohol content combination

Dabi is a whole ass heavyweight. He’s been getting drunk since he was like 11 so a couple rounds of shots are basically water to him. He can’t even remember the last time he was really, really drunk, he just gets tipsy now. And believe he absolutely uses this to his advantage

You’re drinking together? He’s going to fill up your cup every time he fills up his own, so before you realize how much you’ve been drinking, you’re five drinks in and swaying on the spot while Dabi is completely unfazed. He’ll tease you about having no tolerance to make you drink more

Drinking games!! Once again his tolerance gives him an advantage. He’ll pull some fake chivalrous shit like offering to drink for you on the first round of beer pong and then after that he’s just going to demolish you until you’re so plastered he basically has to carry you up to his room (which has empty liquor bottles lined up on the shelves as “decor” because he’s such a stereotypical frat bro)

Ok this is kinda weird but bear with me—Dabi actually dislikes that alcohol makes you less responsive/makes it harder for you to cum. Doesn’t mean he’ll hesitate to get you drunk but he wants you to feel everything he’s doing to you and alcohol isn’t really conducive to that

Very laid-back when he’s tipsy, you can barely tell the difference from when he’s sober ♡

Shigaraki Tomura

A liiiiiiiightweight. 3 drinks and Tomura’s out bruv, out like a goddamn lightbulb, I said what I said

Although tbh it’s more like he gets drunk really quick and then sobers up really quick. Like he’ll be nodding off at the pregame but by the time the party starts, he’s ready to get going again

A wimp when it comes to alc preferences. Hates the taste of strong liquor and will never take shots without a chaser. Prefers to mix vodka and tequila rather than doing shots, preferably with root beer/sprite. Gets pissy if the party runs out of shit to chase with. The frat has a steady supply of amaretto and kahlua because of Tomura, he really likes sweet drinks

Genuinely hates beer and will take white claw over beer any day of the week. But he’s a frat president so he avoids talking about it bc it’s pretty embarrassing

Don’t tell anyone but…Tomura doesn’t really like drinking? Since he’s the president he has to be in charge of a lot of shit when they have parties. Drunk freshmen puking in the backyard? Tomura has to tell Dabi (recruitment chair) to find some pledges to clean it up. Fight breaks out? Tomura has to make sure no one gets hurt enough to get the frat in trouble with school admin. Undercover cops? Tomura’s the one who has to announce that they’re out of alc and shut it down

It’s annoying enough for Tomura to deal with that shit (not to mention get Keigo to stop fucking freshman girls and pull his weight as social chair) when he’s sober, and it’s 100x worse when he’s drunk

On the other hand, when Tomura gets drunk he’ll get really drunk. Doesn’t dance so he’ll just sit on the couch and maybe play handheld games, and he’ll get super annoyed bc he’s shit at games when his vision is blurry and his hands are shaking

Pretty suggestible when he’s been drinking. If you’re dating Tomura you can get him to do all kinds of crap after you get a few shots in him. Make him do your skincare routine with you and put face masks on together :,) He’ll never admit it but he likes being taken care of when he’s wasted

ON THE OTHER HAND THO…….if you’re not dating and instead just some random chick at one of his parties? Tomura will absolutely use being drunk as an excuse to creep on you. e.g. at kickbacks he’ll get you to play never have I ever/truth or dare so he can ask invasive questions

Are you a virgin?

How old were you when you lost it? Oh wow, you’re a slut/prude.

Body count?

Do you like sucking cock?

Ever let a guy tie you up/choke you/cum inside?

You keep answering because he seems super detached/disinterested, like he doesn’t really care about your answers or he’s just joking around. Little do you know…

Honestly a sneak creep—Tomura seems like he doesn’t give a shit about you until he’s groping you under your shirt on the dance floor, hands squeezing your tits before he shoves them into your shorts and tells you he’s going to wreck this little pussy as soon as he gets you alone ♔

Chisaki Kai

You know Kai drinks, but you never really see him drinking? It’s weird…he’s always holding a bottle when you run into him at parties but he never takes off the cloth mask he’s wearing

Brings his own alcohol to parties because no fucking way he’s going to be drinking the same nasty shit that the hosts are providing. Jungle juice? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Do you have any idea how unsanitary that is? Even thinking about it makes Kai want to throw up

Highkey a drug dealer although he doesn’t do much himself except maybe coke or adderall…Kai can sell you basically anything and all his shit is that high-quality you can’t usually get from a campus dealer

At the same time, if Kai’s planning on fucking you he probably won’t give you that much because he doesn’t want to babysit you when you get crossed

Likes Asian liquors, very on-brand for him. Baijiu, shōchū, sake, that kind of thing. Drinks a fair amount of soju but he exclusively buys boring flavors like “fresh” or “classic”

When it comes to Western liquor, Kai has better taste than most students. Would rather drink vinegar than any alcohol that came out of a plastic bottle, box, or bag. He likes top-shelf whiskey and gin and he’s good with strong alcohol; if you wince after taking a shot he’ll definitely look down on you

Prefers afterparties and kickbacks to big parties, and will take roof/outdoor events over crowds. Hasn’t set foot inside a social frat since he was a freshman and doesn’t plan to. Very much the “let’s get out of here, I have something stronger at my place” type

Fuck, you’re so trusting when you’re drunk…he could probably put a leash and collar on you and you’d thank him. It’s sort of baffling how bubbly and sweet you are when Kai gets a little liquor in you; he can’t decide if it’s annoying or a turn-on

Kai has average tolerance but unbelievable self-control and awareness, so he’s careful not to get too drunk himself

Likewise, if he’s interested he’ll keep a close eye on how much you’re drinking and how trashed you are, because when he gets around to fucking you he wants you to be fuzzy enough that he can easily take advantage but not too sloppy. Wouldn’t want you gagging on his cock after all

Loves watching you stumble around and fall over shit while he’s just shy of sobriety. Only time you’ve ever seen Kai laugh is when you drunkenly asked him for help walking once. No way. If you can’t walk by yourself you should just crawl

When Kai actually gets drunk, he’s pretty much the same except a little more sleepy/lazy. If he’s sitting down he has a habit of nodding off in the middle of conversations. It’s lowkey cute but Setsuno brought it up once and Kai got pissed so don’t mention it to him ♢

2K notes · View notes

blitzturtles · 3 years

Text

Title: Goldie

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (Future Fic)

Pairing(s): JotaKak

Summary: “I was going to replace him if that ever happened. Shit.”

“You-- what?”

Notes: Vent fic after losing one of our dogs this weekend. Fic features minor animal death, so please be careful.

“Goldie isn’t moving!” Jolyne announces from the doorway of the kitchen while Kakyoin is busy brewing coffee. It’s early, too early for Kakyoin to be awake, and certainly too early for Jolyne to be having a crisis, but Kakyoin nods as he allows himself to be dragged along. Surely Goldie is merely sleeping. Too still for an energetic child like Jolyne. Only he sees it the moment he rounds the corner. Where Goldie is indeed unmoving. Worse, Goldie is on his back, floating rather than swimming.

“Oh,” Kakyoin breathes before he can stop himself, and Jolyne must see it in his eyes because she breaks into a loud sob that strikes Kakyoin to the core, where panic is already building. In all the time he’s spent desperately consuming books on parenting--an attempt on his part to catch up on missed time--none of those books had ever once mentioned how to deal with a child’s first death. Much less one that surrounds their beloved pet fish.

“He’s dead!” Jolyne all but wails, and Kakyoin can’t exactly argue with that, though he wishes he could think of something to say.

“Jolyne--” He starts, and it’s a very strong start if he does say so himself. His voice is relatively steady, and he gets her attention focused on him rather than on the upside down fish. But then he falters at seeing her eyes filled with tears and tracks already down her cheeks. There’s a thickness in his own throat now. One that makes swallowing difficult, but he does his best to clear his throat, so he can make another attempt. “Goldie might be asleep. We just--” He cuts himself off with a near howl as her little foot stomps no less than three of his toes.

“He’s dead!” Jolyne shouts it this time. More anger now than overwhelming grief, though her eyes shine in the reflection of the aquarium’s light.

Kakyoin opens his mouth to say something, but she’s really got the unfortunate aim of her father. What would be nothing to anyone else is a shot of pain up frayed nerves, and it travels from the tips of his toes to the base of his spine so quickly that it nearly drops him to his knees. He tries again to speak, but she’s gone in a blink. Off around the corner and disappearing passed the doorway of her bedroom before he can form a single word. Jotaro’s sliding to a halt outside of their bedroom door at the same time, apparently jolted awake after all the ruckus.

“What the fuck?” Jotaro asks, making his way to Kakyoin quickly. He rests one hand on his stomach, for Kakyoin to lean into, and the other on the small of his back, ready to catch his husband should his knees buckle entirely.

“Goldie,” Kakyoin says, waving a hand vaguely toward the offending animal.

Jotaro looks confused at first, but he’s perceptive enough to at least look in the aquarium’s direction when he hears the name of Jolyne’s beloved pet fish. “Oh shit,” he breathes, and oh shit, indeed, Kakyoin thinks. “I was going to replace him if that ever happened. Shit.”

“You-- what?” Kakyoin demands, breathless still and utterly in disbelief.

“Well, I didn’t actually expect it to happen,” Jotaro pointed out. He carefully removes his hands from Kakyoin’s midsection and hesitates a moment before moving away entirely. He makes his way over to the aquarium and winces. “He’s not that old. I wonder-- anyway. I was just going to replace him. She’s too young to deal with this shit.”

“You can’t just lie to her about death,” or maybe he can. Kakyoin’s the step-parent here, and, again, none of the books said anything about how to deal with a definitely dead fish (even the Marine Biologist agrees with his initial assessment, which means there’s no getting out of this.)

“She’s six, Nori,” Jotaro scrubs a hand over his face. Then both. His fingers rake through his hair after that, and he pulls at the ends. All of it is an attempt to clear the last of sleep from his mind and allow his brain to think past the fog. None of it works.

“I know,” Kakyoin sighs. He doesn’t like this either. He remembers his own childhood and growing up relatively sheltered from at least that one aspect of the brutality that is life. “What do we do now?”

“I have no idea,” Jotaro admits after a moment, and that makes Kakyoin slump. Both in defeat and in relief. At least he isn’t alone in this. There’s no chapter he skipped over or paragraph that he skimmed. Neither one of them knows what to do, and suddenly that’s worse than the idea that Kakyoin’s gone and fucked all of this up on his own. If neither one of them knows what to do, then they’re both screwed.

“We should talk to her?” Kakyoin offers, more questioning than suggesting.

Jotaro nods after a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Did she--”

“It’s not a big deal,” Kakyoin says quickly, waving a hand in Jotaro’s direction and dismissing the question before it can be asked. Jolyne’s upset. Overwhelmed and struggling to process her grief. It doesn’t totally excuse the behavior, but Kakyoin doesn’t think she meant to actually stomp on him so much as whatever happened to be in her way. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the malicious alternative.

“Still,” Jotaro says after a moment, like he isn’t sure that he should be getting onto her, despite his own words. “I guess we should address the fish thing first.”

“Fish thing first,” Kakyoin agrees.

Jotaro makes his way to Jolyne’s bedroom. The door’s wide open, and there’s a distinctly child-shaped pile in the middle of the bed, hidden under a mountain of blankets and pillows. The effort would be more effective if not for the obvious trembling and the equally distinct sobs. His heart aches in his chest, and he sincerely regrets letting Kakyoin get up before him. If he had only caught sight of the damned fish before Jolyne…

“JoJo,” Jotaro calls in a soft voice. It’s enough for her to stop moving, but not enough for her to poke her head out. If anything, it’s almost like she’s trying even harder to hide from him, despite clearly being spotted. “Jo, we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Jolyne says immediately. She scoots sideways, closer to the wall and further from Jotaro, but the man is quick to grab her before she makes contact with her skull. She lets out a startled yelp and instantly pops her head out from under the blankets on instinct. It all but breaks Jotaro’s heart to see the tears and snot smeared across her face, and her hair is somehow more of a mess than it usually is in the morning.

“It’s okay,” Jotaro starts before pausing and rethinking his words, “Well, it’s not, but we’ll talk about that later, alright? You’re already forgiven.” He won’t let that hang over her head. Not when she’s already in her own little hell. Struggling to deal with the loss of her favorite fish. Jolyne loves all the fish in the aquarium. Has given them all names, but Goldie is--was--her’s. Picked by her hand and bought with her own money.

Carefully, Jotaro pulls his daughter into his lap. He fixes the blankets so that they remain bundled around her. She’s like Noriaki in that she likes the constricting sensation of something being wrapped around her. Something about the weight of it seems to soothe their nerves. Jotaro’s never been one to question it. With Noriaki, it just makes sense. What with his Stand. For Jolyne, he figures it’s related to her age.

“I know this is a lot for you to deal with right now,” Jotaro says, barely refraining from wincing at his own words. He sounds too impersonal, but she’s quiet against him, aside from the sniffling and hiccups, which means she’s at least listening.

The rest of the conversation goes about as well as he expects. There’s a lot more tears and snot--most of which ends up on his nightshirt. Then there’s the questions. Plentiful as per usual with his daughter, but also painful in a way that he hadn’t been prepared for upon waking up. Then, of course, there’s the guilt of her taking her anger out on Noriaki. (“I really didn’t mean to,” she swears, and Jotaro reminds her that it’s her duty to explain that to Kakyoin herself.)

Overall, Jotaro thinks it’s not his worst moment as a parent. (That honor still goes to the day he explained that he and Marina would no longer be living together.)

They decide to go find Noriaki together, and they make it as far as the fish tank before Jolyne bursts into another round of tears and turns toward Jotaro with her arms raised. He doesn’t think twice about scooping her up and carrying her past the aquarium. Her head buries against his neck, and there’s a fresh wetness that makes his heart ache duly in his chest. Maybe replacing the fish would have been as much for his benefit as it would have been for her’s.

“Oh, JoJo,” Kakyoin says with a voice that sounds like he’s hurting for her as much as Jotaro.

Jolyne reaches out for him without fully letting go of Jotaro. She knows better than to put too much weight on Kakyoin, but the three stay like that for a while. With the two men pressed close and their daughter held between them.

#jolyne kujo #jotaro kujo #noriaki kakyoin #jotakak #kakyoin noriaki #jolyne cujoh #kid jolyne #blitzwrites #jjba #jjba part 3 #future fic #stardust crusaders #blitz

29 notes · View notes

polnareffenjoyer · 3 years

Text

random polnareff headcanons

polnareff my beloved (also some mild cursing ahead)

He's a big dumb bitch but he will go above and beyond to make you feel loved and special. The only thing that's bigger than his boobs is his heart. This man can go from 0 to 100 in seconds, from barely being able to stop himself from blushing like a madman in your presence to chivalrous and confident, throwing compliments your way. Giving you cute little personalized gifts whenever you're having a tough day or week. Your favourite flowers, favourite cake, a little thing you mentioned liking once. He remembers all of it. He's always happy to see your face light up whenever he brings you gifts. He's basically a puppy, awaiting your praise.

He'll literally worship you like a goddess. A random guy is harassing you? He'll be by your side in a heartbeat to put him in his place. Someone talks down on you? Oh honey, they got a big storm coming. He's never afraid to jump in your defense when there's a need to do so. You're extremely special to him and he had already lost enough loved ones in his life, can't risk getting you hurt. He might become invasive sometimes or paranoid, especially if you don't answer his texts for a long time. If you feel he's being too pushy, just tell him and he'll respect your boundaries, or at least try to.

He'd never flirt with other women while being with you. He might be known for his flirtatious nature, but if Polnareff finally found someone he truly loved, you BET he would never look at another person again. He's literally blinded by your divine beauty. Congrats, you managed to completely bewitch him.

Will tell you amazing stories from his past. All of the adventures, his journeys with the crusaders (if you weren't there with him, of course). He might leave out the more violent parts, just to make sure you're not uncomfortable. Also you bet he'd NEVER talk about toilet accidents. This shit stays in the past.

Listening to soft music together, dancing in the warm sunlight. Little moments that make you melt, like watching old french movies together while cuddling on the sofa, his hand resting on your hip. He'll talk to you in French, whispering declarations of his undying love into your ear, calling you all kinds of pet names.

Speaking of pet names, this man LOVES them. Everything from mon coeur to mon cherie, he loves muttering them into your ear right after waking up in the morning, holding you close. He also loves it whenever you use them on him, use a French pet name on Polnareff and he's putty in your hands, even if you can't speak french. It makes him feel extra soft on the inside.

Helping him with trauma, caressing his cheeks softly while letting him talk about anything he needs to get off his chest. His late sister, the friends he had lost, his childhood. You're his shoulder to cry on and only person he can truly confide in, he couldn't be more grateful to have you in his life.

He's a great listener too, will let you rant for hours and cry your eyes out if you feel like you need to. Would never judge you, no matter what you did or what your past was like.

Will teach you some of his native tounge. No matter how hard you'd butcher it, he'll just laugh it off and tell that you're doing great. It's not that he's making fun of you, you're just so precious and cute to him he can't help but to smile while listening to your attempts at French. Deep down it makes his heart warm and fuzzy just thinking about how hard you're working for him, even trying to speak his language. Always happy to help you with pronunciation and with translating some words. If you happen to speak french already, he'd be very happy to chat with you and drop some sick punchlines that no one else can understand.

He LOVES amusement parks. Take him to one and he'll act like a kid. Not that he doesn't act like a kid all the time, but while there he just gets extra excited. Will buy you cotton candy and take you on all the biggest rides while there.

Cooking. This man loves to cook, he'll prepare some of his favourite dishes just for you. Also appreciates when you cook for him, he'll eat anything you prepare, even if it's a flop. It's burned? It's not, just extra crispy. Don't worry about it.

This man is all about PDA, he wants to show you off. He won't go to far if you're not comfortable with it, but little things like hand holding or resting his arm around your waist is a MUST!

Might make more of these, I just had to get it out my system. A little warmup y'know.

#jjba imagines #jjba headcanons #jean pierre polnareff #polnareff x reader #polnareff #polnareff headcanons #jojo's bizarre adventure #headcanons #stardust crusaders #sfw #jjba x you #jjba x reader

137 notes · View notes

bxthharmon · 3 years

Text

Pink Champagne (1) - Benny Watts x Reader

Words: 2154

Series Warnings: Drinking, substance and alcohol abuse, addiction, smoking

Pt. Warnings: implied alcohol abuse, smoking

A/N: idk how regular updates will be and idk where tf this is going but here we are lol

“masterlist”

“You’re a woman.”

The twelve year old looks up at the speaker, her mother, apprehensive. She does not consider herself as a woman, not yet anyway. Besides, the older woman was drunk - but then again, when wasn’t she?

“Not only that, you’re a pretty woman, with a kind heart. You’re just like I was.” the mother props her head up with her hands, elbows on the table as she faces her only daughter. “Men will use you. They will hurt you and bring you down and they will break you because they can. Don’t let them. Don’t let them hurt you, be strong. You have brothers, and they are strong, but not like me and you are strong. They fight with their fists and think with their dicks. Us? We fight with our words and think with our brains. Keep your head up, don’t let them push you around.” the women, staring at each other in a conflicting sense of understanding and resentment, stay silent. The mother, resenting her child for still having the opportunities that she missed, and adoring that her daughter could still be something. The young girl, resenting being told how to live her life, but adoring the fact that her mother cared enough to tell her things like this.

The mother, always the first one to break, stands, stretching, then reaching for another bottle.

Paris was everything that was expected. Y/N shopped and drank and fucked in that oddly cinematic way that everything in Paris happened, wasting two months of her life partying. She did a photoshoot for a new advertising campaign for a fashion house she is the ambassador for, and as always, got bored. After six weeks, she wound up in the same position she had been in so many times before, stocking up on months worth of wine, then finishing it within two weeks. After two months in Paris, she lay on top of the covers of her bed, wondering if she should have taken Beth up on her offer. She hadn’t spoken to any of her American friends since she left, and of the people she had seen in person, she knew that they had no connections to her American friends, so she felt safe.

Out of alcohol and cigarettes, she considered sending the door boy to get some, or even going herself, and decided to do neither. It was at this point that she realised that she had eaten a sum total of four things in two weeks, all of which were snacks, and was drinking herself to death. She decided that she wanted French toast and that overly fancy Columbian pressed coffee from the cafe down the road. She would get cigarettes on the way. So she dressed and left, greeting the surprised door boy on her way out. She bought her cigarettes, ate her French toast, drank her coffee, then considered her next move.

London was out of the question - she’d only just remembered that she’d sold her apartment. That left New York, Los Angeles or Beth’s offer of Kentucky. Los Angeles never ended well, and she didn’t want to get dragged into anything by her manager. Kentucky or New York? She would have to call Beth to decide.

So she traipsed back to her glamorous apartment and dialed Beth’s number, letting it ring out a few times before giving up. So Beth wasn’t at home, was she just out, or in New York? She knew the only way to find out would be through Harry or Benny. She chose Harry. Things between her and Benny were… well, she didn’t know what they were.

“Y/N?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I am though - you never call.”

“Phone calls are so much hassle.”

“More hassle than seeing people in person?”

She paused, unable to outwit him, especially given the hangover she could feel creeping up on her. “Is Beth in Kentucky at the moment?”

“Beth? No.” he answered, “Why?”

“Do you know where she is?”

“She doesn’t have any tournaments, so New York, why?”

“I want to see her.”

“Why didn’t you just call Benny?”

“Don’t worry, thanks though.”

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. Bye.”

“Bye?”

She slammed the phone into its holder, sighing loudly.

She’d always known she would have to see Benny eventually, but even after over two months since that night, she wasn’t ready. Besides, what was to say he wanted to see her? She slumped down into the armchair next to her phone, surveying her room and realising that he had been right - so had Beth - her drinking was getting out of hand. She stood with determination, picking up clothes from around the room and stuffing them into her wardrobe, which was already overflowing, and picking up all the bottles she could find to fill a couple of large paper bags. When she was done, the room felt cleaner, and she dragged the two paper bags out of her apartment and pushed them down the rubbish chute. She returned to her apartment, rummaging around to find a bag in the depths of her wardrobe. Once she had, she carefully picked out clothes, knowing that once she was back in America, the press would be all over her. She had clothes at Benny’s anyway, but she hated travelling without a suitcase - it made her feel bare. Before she left, she grabbed a pair of sunglasses and straightened herself out, checking that she was definitely wearing shoes and that her outfit all matched.

She carried her suitcase down with a little struggle, gave a couple of euros to the door boy for no reason in particular, and caught a taxi to the airport. The taxi driver, having recognised her instantly, seemed restless and kept telling her about how his twelve-year old-daughter wanted to be a model just like Y/N. She brushed it off, paying him well and buying the next flight she could at the front desk, rushing through customs to catch it. She tried to ignore the looks and comments she got as people realised who she was.

She didn’t sleep on the flight, instead ordering drink after drink, wondering what her mother would say if she could see her only daughter. Or Beth for that matter. She didn��t have to wonder what Benny would say, he had said it plenty of times before. When she left the airport, a crusade of reporters were awaiting her, and she had almost forgotten how the press could be. She persevered to a yellow cab, and let it take her to Benny’s. Standing outside, the harsh cold of autumn pushed her towards the door. She descended the steps, pausing when she reached the door, hearing four or five voices inside. Jesus, the whole gang was here. She steeled herself, knocking sharply and stepping away. The door opened abruptly, Beth appearing, at first confused, and then elated. She launched herself at Y/N, the two clinging to each other. Beth stepped back, scanning her friend over, and glancing towards the door. “You look more put together.”

“I don’t feel it.” Y/N admitted, hating the analytical look everyone seemed to give her these days.

“Why are you back here?” Beth murmured, her words kinder than they sounded, “I thought you were in Paris.”

“Well, I was. Then I ended up spending two weeks drinking myself half to death without leaving the room, and thought maybe it was time for a change of scene.”

“You can’t keep running from yourself, it’ll get you nowhere.”

“I know that.”

“Beth!” the two girls turned, “Are you alright out there? Who is it?”

Benny’s voice, so recognisable, turned into the actual person. He was standing, jeans, a black top and layered necklaces, shock registering on his face. Y/N, who hadn’t proper registered that she was seeing him until that moment, looked like she wanted a black hole to appear beneath her. Pink tinged her cheeks, embarrassment unfamiliar to her, and she stood up straighter, faking confidence.

“Y/N?”

“Hi Benny.” She glanced back at Beth, who looked away.

“Wait, is that Y/N?”

Arthur and Hilton appeared, and then Cleo, grinning with a drink in hand.

“You’ve been in Paris, eh?” she said, “Of course, you always seem to be there when I am not.”

“I wish you had been.” Y/N grinned, hugging Cleo tightly.

Benny, having come to his senses after the initial shock, stepped forwards, “A drink?”

Y/N looked at him pointedly, “You never have alcohol in this place.”

“But these three always bring some.” he nodded to the three stood next to her with drinks in hand.

“You not drinking at home really sucks ass.” Y/N groaned, concocting herself a makeshift cocktail with the ingredients she had to hand.

“You know, most people don’t usually have those in pint glasses.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Y/N shrugged.

“I’m not most people.” she took a lengthy sip, ignoring the worried glances that her friends shared.

“So,” she looked up from her drink with a bright expression, “what’s going on in the chess world?”

“Well, we’re training Beth.” Benny explained.

“What for? She’s better than all of you.” Y/N frowned, and Beth smirked.

“Paris.” Hilton clarified, the prideful chess players ignoring your comment.

“Let’s do a simultaneous!” Benny offered.

“Cleo, Y/N, are you joining?”

“You know we can’t play.” Cleo reprimanded, the pair of you sitting down near the game and watching with interest.

“All of our friends are nerds.” Y/N sighed, “Look at them!”

By the time Beth had beaten the other three chess players eight times, Benny gave up. He had decided that Beth could ‘do it’, but was also getting distracted by the fact that Cleo and Y/N had found his records and were blasting The Doors as loud as they could and dancing around his living room. When the game was finished, the apartment was filled with the sound of Soul Kitchen, and any ability to concentrate on the game was impossible. Y/N was standing on his coffee table, eyes closed, bottle in hand, hips swaying. Cleo had her arms in the air, swaying with the rhythm, and the two girls seemed so lost in the music that the four surveyors were almost scared to interrupt. Y/N, murmuring the familiar lyrics, took a swig of the bottle and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a drag, only then noticing that her friends had stopped playing. “Join us!” She laughed, reaching over, grabbing Beth’s arm, pulling her up onto the table, and trying to get her to dance. At first, the woman only swayed, but found herself dancing more excessively. Cleo took the task of dragging the boys in, and soon the party of six were all laughing and dancing. The song began to draw to a close, when Alyssa turned to Benny, “Got any of The Beatles?”

He pointed to the stack of records, preoccupied with trying to stop Cleo from spilling her drink. Y/N found the Abbey Road album and the dancing picked up as the apartment began to fill with cigarette smoke and Y/N retrieved some whiskey. She drank straight from the bottle, and continued to dance, pushing off the gently guiding hands that Benny was attempting to provide. At some point, Cleo, Arthur and Hilton took their leave, and Beth turned the music down, leaving Y/N with her bottle and cigs as she joined Benny in surveying the drunken girl.

“I haven’t seen her like this in a long time.” Benny observed, and Beth sighed.

“She tries to hide it from you, she knows how you feel about it.” Beth explained.

“I didn’t realise it was this bad.”

Beth looked back at her friend, “She’s worse than I was.”

Benny scoffed a little, “I don’t know how to help her.”

“Wait,” Beth raised an eyebrow mockingly, “You, Benny Watts, wanting to help someone? That’s never happened before.”

“I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

“That’s different.”

Benny sighed, “Where are you going to sleep now that she’s here?”

“I can find a hotel?” she offered.

“Not this late. I’ll sleep on the blow up, you two sleep in my bed.”

“Okay.”

Beth walked up to Y/N, gently prying the bottle from her hand, Y/N turned to her, taking her in with wide eyes - she was always childlike when she was drunk. She watched curiously as Benny began to pump up the blow up bed, and Beth turned the music off. She let Beth sit her down on Benny’s bed, pulling her own clothes off and replacing them with one of Benny’s shirts while Beth helped Benny get all the leftover bottles in the bin. By the time Beth was back in the room, Alyssa was passed out on the far side of the bed, curled up into a tight fetal position. Beth lay down next to her friend, the familiar scent of alcohol conflicting her in both comfort and disgust.

#the queens gambit #the queen's gambit #beth harmon #elizabeth harmon #benny watts #benny watts x reader #benny watts x you #benny watts x y/n

209 notes · View notes

imthepunchlord · 3 years

Note

You mentioned that the bee would be creation in your own take on ml. Would their still be tiers and counterparts? Could you maybe talk about your own version, I know you’ve mentioned some aus before but what would be your ultimate and ideal take on the miraculous?

In a sense? Ish?

Honestly, I don't have tiers and counterparts down yet, or if I'll even do so. I am like, the worst at making decisions and just constantly go back and forth on stuff. My buddies can confirm as they've had to listen to be busting in to dump lore ideas on them which I will proceed to then change like a few weeks to a month later.

But ok, my ideal... putting this under cut as this is a big headcanon lore dump.

My ideal is that there are a lot of existing miraculous, but not the hundreds that canon is setting up. As of right now, I have 40 that exist (which does include the canon 19 in the show, which Dragon being changed to Lizard).

All miraculous have 5 powers, though those that are the most powerful have 7. The most powerful (as of current mindset) are those that have the most presence/significance worldwide. Of canon, this elevates: Cat, Butterfly, Fox, Bee, Turtle, Peafowl, Snake, Horse, and Dog. Lion, Deer, and Raptor are the elevated OC miraculi. In kwami society, the most powerful (known as Overseers) aren't treated all that differently though they're regarded with a little more respect, though it can vary depending on the kwami (Plagg doesn't act like a leader and isn't interested in being one, so is treated like any other kwami. Though there are some who are bothered that Plagg is an Overseer). At most, Overseers are expected to intervene with discourse between kwamis, as not all kwamis get along and step as leaders when needed (not that it happens with all Overseers).

In terms of origin, no one knows who actually made the miraculi or when. And kwamis themselves don't know either. From what's gathered from kwamis who barely remember anything of their early years, it is believed that kwamis started out as little toys or golems, and they were initially tools to fight against magic and other people; it is believed that the more kwamis spent time with humans, the more they started to grow mentally and emotionally, becoming their own beings with their own views and feelings. Kwamis were the ones to even pick their own names and gender pronouns, which has changed depending on where they are right now.

As for when, some Guardians thought it was around the time of Mesopotamia, and some think they were established in the lost Atlantis. Kwamis just can't confirm any of it. It's just too early in history for them to recall.

While kwamis have no recollection of their early years, they instinctively know the Laws of the Creators.

Kwamis are to assist humanity.

Kwamis do not hurt humans.

Kwamis have a right to not share anything with someone they believe has ill intentions.

Kwmais have a right to defend the worn miraculous if they choose, or allow it to be taken or influenced.

Kwamis are never allowed to use their power to clash with one another.

Guardians and the Orders actually came later in the miraculous life. They were initially made by mirauclous users and those who knew of them and started out with good intentions of keeping track of miraculi and securing that they went into good hands as originally, miraculous came into people's hands at random or through inheritence. It started to fall from grace as humans become more controlling and started to see these miraculous as tools to serve them. Some made Orders to be clan exclusive, some wanted to use them as a means to control governments from the shadows, some to push their religion and crusades, and some wanted to keep them to themselves exclusively. There were even secret wars fought to decide on what miraculous belongs with who or where in the world. Guardians are also the ones who will group miraculi together into themes, from elements to zodiacs to ect. This desire to group them up led to some of these wars as they wanted specific animals there.

Guardians also wanted more obedience like the djinns and figured out how to tweak miraculous to get kwamsi to be more serviceable to the wearer. Thankfully, the magic of the Creators was strong enough that kwamis didn't have to be fully obedient to their wearers and can still pick what information or powers to share.

Kwami views on the Orders vary, though all agree that they don't care for where it went. Some still think its a good idea but needs changes that incorporates them more while others don't want them to exist anymore and go back to the old ways of getting around, through being carried and picked up by people. Even more so that thanks to the Order, kwamis can't entirely do other things as they used to.

Pollen can't drift around in the world and help plants grow with her mere presence and offer guidance to those who have passed.

Plagg can't go out during the witching hour to hang out with lingering spirits and have fun with the magic that grows under the moonlight.

Duusu hasn't been able to go out and perform healing miracles as she used to, or help bring peace to someone's spirit/subconscious when they have bad dreams.

Orders have eventually fallen, either through their wars or outside forces. The few surviving even whisper the Catastrophe where its believed a kwami intentionally used their power to destroy an Order that they were at, rumored to be Camelot where Elder Merlin oversaw it. But there is no confirmation of this to be found.

Through the Orders and their multiple interactions with a variety of humans, kwami views on humans have come to vary. The majority like to keep an open mind and want to be on good terms with humans they come across, some have become skeptical and mistrustful of humans they come across, and some are a mixture, giving humans a wary eye as they're secretly evaluated. Kwmai interactions with humans vary as well. Some will be very upfront with humans and engaging or detached, others will be misleading and manipulative. While they were made to be advisers, guides, and protectors of humanity, as its not a Law to obey to embrace all of humanity, kwami relations with a human will vary. Some will treat the bind as a business and formality, and some want to be engaging as a mentor, guide, or friend. And some want to string humans along and play them like puppets, especially if they don't like the human they're with or find that they're easily led and will guide the human along to grow. At the core, all kwamis stand for the greater good of all though some can have a grey morality and a wary/dark view on humans.

Certain humans though do have a certain "pull" that will draw kwamis towards them. Most humans draw in one or a very small few. There are cases where a human is able to match with many. Guardians typically find that this is only one human that comes to exist at a time. Depending on where, thus human is referred to as the avatar, the chosen one, or the prodigy. They unique draw in and work with a wide variety of kwamis, and many can't help but connect with these individuals. Some Guardians even believe that this is one of the Creators reborn, going though a cycle of rebirth to secure that they will always be there for their creations. Guardians are always on the look out for this individual as they'd prefer to raise/influence them.

In instances where more than one kwami, is drawn to a human, it varies on how the kwamis respond. Some don't mind sharing, some it depends on who the other kwami is, and some don't like sharing at all.

On matters of romance, all kwamis are aroace and they all have their own views on love. Some don't get it and aren't interested, some view it as a form of entertainment and like to watch the drama unfold, and some want to genuinely help humans find happiness and work off what they've observed with previous users to offer advise on matters.

#ask Punchie #long post #miraculous lore #miraculous headcanons #Punchie writes #lore dump #kwami lore #a lot of this can end up changed to #just knowing me anyway

40 notes · View notes

paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 3 years

Text

Little Robin and Momma Bird

In honor of First Day of Spring 2021 which for comic fans is the birth date of Richard John-Grayson Wayne, Member of the Flying Graysons, Bruce Wayne’s Adopted Son, Barbara Gordon’s classmate, Wally West and Roy Harper’s best friend, Princess Koriand’r’s true love, the first Robin, The Boy Wonder, Leader and founding member of the Teen Titans, Nightwing, Protector of the City of Bludhaven, Renegade, Ex Apprentice of Slade Wilson, Agent 37, Big Brother to Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne, in varying times and places Father of Mar’i ‘Nightstar’ and Jacob ‘Jake’ Grayson and above all else and beyond all those titles, son of John Grayson and Mary Elizabeth Lloyd Grayson; here’s what I hope is something short and sweet.

Now with long intro out of the way, the following is dedicated to @mothnem @lightdusk96 @hood-ex @thattimdrakeguy @tarisilmarwen @fireflyxrebel-writes @nightglider124 @nyxqueen97 @wisegirlandseaweedbrainforever @arabian-batboy @meara-eldestofthemall @robxstar @bluerene and so many others for being my friends in light of this occasion. Please like, comment and especially reblog for any corrections and constructive criticisms. It’ll be very appreciated.

Please Enjoy....

The sun gleaming and bright rays shone through the small trailer window, lighting the small bedroom with many bright colors of its own decorated throughout. The beige carpet, still an ever bit of simple yet practical use of being the floor, was littered with small shapes of varying sizes, almost all being made of plastic. In particular, these spread out toys were action figures, representing the recent phenomena of spandex clad and awe inspiring individuals that are the ‘Superman’ from Metropolis and the rest being merely the few robotic and unnatural opponents he faces in protecting the oppressed and those in need. The resident of this small bedroom was for all accounts a fan of Superman, something not too unprecedented given the caped champion’s crusades in correcting the wrongs and dangers Metropolis and the larger world face the best he can ever since his first day to the public.

And given these are action figures of Superman, it shall be of no surprise said resident was indeed very young; a small acrobat of the famous Haly’s Circus currently asleep and softly snoring away in this room’s bed, blankets draped and covering almost every part of him, even his face. It’s his 7th birthday as of today, this wonderful first day of Spring. Now if only something or someone can get him awake to enjoy such a day. That’s where a certain Mrs. Mary Grayson enters our picture.

As she gently pries open her son’s bedroom door as to not awaken him, clad only in a grey t-shirt and black pants as used for pajamas last night, Mary carefully trudges across the beige carpet towards the bed being occupied by said son. Sure, both her and him have slept in until nearly 9:30 am as of now since their family group, the Flying Graysons, have a day off from practice for today, but frankly had Dick remembered that today’s his birthday from earlier, he would been by now sneaking into his parents’ neighboring room, awaking them both his father John and her up about said day, probably the best he can think of for a gentle reminder. But due to recent influx of performances across the West Coast, Dick lost count so now it was Mary’s turn to gently remind him and in the best way she knows how.

As Mary’s bare feet carefully skirt around the action figures spread across the floor, even picking some up along the way (maybe reminding Dick to next time pick up his toys before bed will come in later tonight), she eventually reaches her son’s twin sized bed and the red, green and yellow pattern blanket that draped over the little guy overnight. In her right hand was a blue fine point marker pen with washable ink while her left gently leans to one end of the blanket where a small tuff of black hair sticks out. Gently caressing her left hand the black mass, Mary can hear a content giggle coming from under the blanket, no doubt her son feeling the familiar, loving motion John and her regularly do as parents can. On normal moments this happens, Dick would playfully push the hand ruffling his black hair away. This time, he just simply lightly giggles in his sleep. Mary was sort of banking the hair ruffling being enough to awaken her son to this bright and beautiful first day of Spring. As soon as her hand though stops with the affectionate ruffling and once more snores are heard coming from Dick, her lips turn into a soft yet mischievous smile; it was time for Plan B. Sure Enough, when looking over to the other end of the blanket and seeing her son’s own two feet, so far socked but with her there not for too long. That marker in her hand has its cap screw off.

On some occasions when she was basically passed out from a long night on the trapeze, Mary wold wake to find the soles of her feet with scribbles and doodles all across, most of them featuring the Flying Graysons logo prominently. She almost immediately knew the culprit behind such drawing but often times just leaves it be and even walks on her two feet with drawing and all since the marker ink easily comes off so it was overall no big deal. Besides, her son was just having some harmless fun so why would she dare try ruining that; sure she was strict on some parts of his behavior but this ain’t one of the them. Now though, as she lightly tugs the two socks off her sleeping son as to not awake him, revealing two velvet soles and the ten toes and with her marker in hand, it was time for payback if you may.

Starting with lightly drawing smiley faces on his big toes, Dick’s reaction was almost immediate as a slightly louder giggle comes from the blankets and his toes clench. Mary briefly backs off the marker until the toes relaxing and using her free hand, she lightly grabs unto the big ones, leaving his feet still. With that, she can proceed with the rest as sure enough, various other faces across his other toes are drawn along with flowers and even an elephant on the arch of his right foot. As for that last one, the giggling had reached its loudest and looking upward, Mary couldn’t help but smile at the results. Plan B was a success, Dick was awake and laughing his head off due to the scribbling.

“Momma!” he yells between hearty giggles, “That tickles!”

Mary grins a bit, “Oh really?”

She continues with that elephant on Dick’s right foot, now holding him still with arm entrapping his ankles tightly, making sure he can’t pull his feet back from that blue marker as it continued its path. Though Mary notes that even then, Dick wouldn’t want to. He had not once told her to stop, indicating that he was enjoying this instead. Frankly, after a long time doing this to her, she couldn’t blame him. All Dick does on his part is lay his head on the pillows, the blankets off of him, allowing Mary to see him clad in a similar style of PJs to hers only with the coloring being a blue t shirt and grey sweat pants instead. To the left of him was his precious stuffed elephant Peanut; ever since being first given that on his 4th birthday, he keeps it close to him whenever going to bed. All this time afterwards, Mary still hasn’t been able in getting her son a second stuffed toy like Peanut much to her disappointment but hey that’s a thought for another time, she has one more spot to draw before she can move on for the rest of the day, the arch on Dick’s left foot.

At first, Mary thought of drawing the Flying Graysons logo for the finishing touch but instead opts for a more casually yet fitting wording. With that in mind, her blue marker makes contact with the velvet of her son’s arch and starts its ink dripped path. By now, the 7 year old was still in full hysterics over his Momma’s drawings but he will admit, at least it was better waking up from his trapeze swinging dreams like this rather than the sun’s rays shining on him as it usually happens. Finally though, he feels the marker stop and opening his ocean blue eyes, sees his mother put the cap back on. Putting the marker away in her pocket, Mary places a soft kiss on her son’s forehead while giving him another hair ruffle. This time, now fully awake, Dick gently pushes her hand away.

His blue eyes meet his mother’s own blue eyes and a wide smile stretches on his face.

“Thanks Momma” he chirps happily in Romani Chib.

Another motherly kiss, this time his cheek, “You’re welcome, Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about your special day today, My Little Robin”

As Mary stands and makes her way back to the door, Dick stretches his arms, letting out a yawn from his mouth doing so.

“Breakfast will be ready in 5 minutes” Mary states with a warm smile on her face.

“Cereal, Momma?”

“Any type you like that we have of course”

“I’ll be there soon” Dick says, a wide grin on his face.

Mary has a humming giggle of her own before making her own to the kitchen to no doubt prepare her son and her’s bowls for the day. Though of course, they were just getting started.

Dick swings his feet to step off his bed and begin trudging to his breakfast, he briefly wonders on what his mother drew on him before putting the marker away. As such, flexing his leg to where he can see the soles and toes of his two feet, Dick smiles of all nice stuff Momma left. Indeed, there were flowers on the balls of his arches, goofy faces on each of his ten toes, what looks like a circus ball on his right heel, a trapeze bar on his left heel, a short yet cute elephant on right foot’s arch and at least the words on his left arch.

‘Happy 7th B-Day Little Robin, Love Momma’

Now that was love from a mother alright. Dick certainly will never forget this. Now to get the table without stepping on his toys on the floor.

#dick grayson #mary grayson #first day of spring #fanfic #my posts #family fluff

68 notes · View notes

bestillmyslashyheart · 4 years

Text

butterflies on the wind

Booker

Nile gives herself a weekend. Three days, counting Friday because she needs that extra day, to grieve, to cry, to scream and shout at the unfairness, to drink her misery away. It’s been months since she woke up from having her throat cut and for the most part, she’s adjusted pretty well, if she did say so herself. Andy, Joe, and Nicky had helped, had been wonderful support really, but Nile had had to leave her entire life behind. Everything and everyone she had ever known; it was all still out there and she had to stay away, she had to cut herself out of her life and somehow be okay with that.

She wasn’t. No matter how much she pretended she was. So she gave herself a weekend to mourn and rage against her new reality, to let it all out, and then she’d be okay.

She’d be okay.

Nile woke cold and gasping on the banks of the river on Sunday. The last two days were mostly a blur of tears and anger and alcohol but she didn’t remember being near the river. There was a moment of clearness, the disconcerting breath of fresh air after coming back, before her head revolted violently. Nile twisted to the side and vomited into the river.

“Death by alcohol,” drawled a familiar but unexpected voice. Nile spun, or tried to, in shock. Booker smiled crookedly. “It is the only one that leaves a mark.” He tapped his head. “Even we cannot avoid the hangovers.”

“What,” Nile’s teeth chattered when she tried to speak. “What are you doing here?” She tried again.

Booker looked around them, like the walls of the Seine had all the answers. “It is Paris.”

“I know it’s Paris.”

He laughed. “Nile,” he said gently. She almost felt like he was being condescending but not quite. “I am French.”

Right. Napoleon.

“Aren’t you sick of it yet, then?”

“A little bit,” he confessed. “But where else would I go? The rest of the word is painfully inferior.”

Nile groaned. She stood up and shook her limbs, the warmth returning to them. “You’re French.”

“For better or worse,” he agreed. “So what brings you to my fair city?”

“I needed to get away and I’d never been here before,” Nile shrugged. She resisted the urge to rub even more warmth into her arms but Booker must have seen it on her anyway because he took off his own jacket and handed it over. “Don’t you need it?”

He shrugged. “I am used to it.” She waited for him to ask again why she was here, why she’d gotten so drunk she’d somehow ended up dead in the Seine, but he didn’t. “Need another drink?”

Nile thought about it. She couldn’t truthfully said she didn’t. “I shouldn’t.”

Booker accepted that with a nod. When he turned to leave, Nile found herself following. They walked quietly side by side until they’d made it back up to the streets and Booker turned left when Nile needed to go right.

She stopped. A few steps later so did Booker. “I’m that way.”

He nodded. “Stay away from the booze,” he warned. “It will not do you any favors.”

“I don’t want it to,” Nile confessed. “I wanted to not think. Just for a little while.”

A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “I know the feeling.” He didn’t say anything else so Nile turned away. They still had over 99 years to go.

“Nile,” he called softly when she was almost too far away to hear it. “Not thinking for a little while will turn into not thinking for a long while if you are not careful. A lifetime of oblivion is not nearly as much fun as it sounds sometimes.”

Nile accepted the advice with a careful nod and watched as Booker disappeared down a side street.

It was only when she got back to her hotel, she realized she still wore his jacket. No one said a word when she turned up at the latest safe house with it in tow so she kept it. The next time she wanted to not think, she curled herself in the jacket instead.

Nicky

It was late, late enough that even Andy had succumbed to sleep. Nile headed for the kitchen when she passed Joe and Nicky’s room. Through a crack in the door, she saw Joe curled up on the bed, alone. Nile wasn’t sure she’d ever seen either of them sleeping alone; they were always curled up around each other, even when one needed to sleep and the other didn’t.

Nile forwent the kitchen in favor of searching for Nicky. It took only a matter of moments to clear the small house before she stepped outside.

A few yards from the house, on the edge of the cliff which offered stunning views in the daylight, was Nicky, his body casting a small shadow in the moonlight.

“Nicky?” She called softly. He didn’t respond and Nile instantly went on alert. She couldn’t see any danger but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any. The others’ senses were far beyond hers, honed over many many more years, and she’d learned to trust them more than her own. “Nicky?” She hissed.

Slowly, Nicky turned his head to indicate he had heard her. “Everything’s fine,” he told her softly. “What are you doing up?”

Letting her shoulders relax slightly, Nile crossed the yard to where Nicky stood, not saying a word until she came abreast of him. He had his eyes closed, his head slightly bowed, and he didn’t so much as glance at her as she came into view. “Couldn’t sleep,” she replied softly. “You?”

“Praying.”

Nile startled slightly. “You pray?” After what Andy had said the first time she caught Nile praying, she hadn’t expected any of them to believe in God.

Nicky’s lips turned upwards. “I do.”

“Andy said-”

Now, Nicky laughed. “Andy hasn’t believed in anything in a very long time. She has not had reason to.”

“But you do?”

“I do,” he bowed his head a bit more in acknowledgement. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Though what I believe in, I cannot say.” Nile cocked her head in confusion. Before she could ask, Nicky continued, “I have had my faith my entire life, I see no reason why I should abandon it just because I live longer than I expected to.”

Nile suddenly remembered that Nicky had fought in the Crusades, the most famous of religious wars. “You fought for God, once,” she wondered.

“Of course,” he smiled. “I had already pledged my life to His service, fighting for it was a given.”

“Pledged your life?”

Nicky finally looked over at her. “Before I died the first time, I was a priest,” he told her. Nile’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Nicky laughed. “Priests then were not quite like priests now. The rules were different.”

“Apparently.” Nile returned Nicky’s kind smile. “How do you reconcile our lives and your faith? I’m having trouble.”

“I cannot tell you that,” Nicky told her. “It is something you must decide for yourself. But for me? I discovered what was most important. My faith and my prayers. I don’t always know what I’m praying to but the act of it gives me comfort. If you ever need to talk about it, I am here, but I have always found faith to be of a personal nature.” He paused. Nile watched in amazement and confusion as a look passed over his face that she had only ever seen directed at Joe. “Or you could abandon your faith like a heathen.” His voice raised slightly and he leaned back into Joe’s arms as they wound around him. Nile hadn’t even heard him approach.

“You believe in your God,” Joe said teasingly. He nosed at Nicky’s hair. “And I will believe in mine.” From the look on his face, Nile inferred that Joe was not talking about a celestial god. From the look on Nicky’s face, she knew she was correct. “I can’t sleep, Nicolo,” he whined.

Nicky rolled his eyes but let Joe pull him back into the house without complaint.

Nile listened to the door close and turned back to the view. She was familiar enough with it by now that she could imagine the sight before her, even if she could not see it. Taking a deep breath, Nile let it out slowly and felt some previously unknown tension leave her with it. Her faith had always been important to her and a part of her had feared the day it wouldn’t be any longer. But if Nicky could still believe even after a millennia...

Andy

When they’d first met, Nile could not have guessed how old Andy was. Depending on her behavior or her clothes, she could appear of a similar age to Joe and Nicky, or as their older sister, or even as their mother, at least in relation to Nile. She had an ageless look to her that Nile had marveled at, especially after realizing just how old she really was.

But that was no longer the case. Andy had found her first gray hair this morning. Or rather, Joe had found it and immediately teased her about it until she rushed into the bathroom to stare at herself in the mirror.

When she didn’t come out after 20 minutes, Nile knocked on the door. “Andy?” The door opened.

Nile eased it open to find Andy still as a statue, her hands braced on the edge of the sink, and her eyes fixed on the strand of gray hair that fell just on the edge of her hairline. “Andy?”

“I never thought I’d get old,” she whispered. “Even before. I only ever knew two people who were old enough to have gray hairs and I knew I would never be one of them. I was a warrior and warriors didn’t get to grow old.” Her voice was barely audible. “When Lykon died and I knew that one day I might get to, I never even considered the possibility that I would get to actually live with my mortality. I just assumed-”

She assumed that she’d discover she could finally die when she didn’t come back.

Nile closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the tub, unsure what to say. Even in the face of Andy’s mortality, Nile had long resigned herself to never aging, to never seeing her own hair turn white.

“You can stop,” she found herself saying. Andy looked at her in the mirror. “Joe, Nicky, and I can keep going. You can stop. You can grow old.”

Andy smiled and it wasn’t brittle. “No.”

“Andy-”

“I’m not going to stop,” she said firmly. “And I will grow old.” Her smile grew. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”

Nile stared at her. “You don’t have to do this, Andy. Not anymore.”

Andy rinsed her hands in the sink and dried them. She placed the towel carefully back on the rack and opened the door before facing Nile. “Neither do you. But you’re going to.” She left without waiting for Nile to reply.

It was true, Nile supposed. She didn’t have to do this, this job of theirs. But she was going to, because it’s who she is.

Something settles inside her at the thought. She’s not here with these people, doing these jobs, because she has no other choice. She does have a choice. She’s chosen this.

Joe

The anger felt good. It felt right. Andy was dead. The skies should rage and the ground should quake at her absence but the earth stayed silent and the skies stayed clear and Nicky knelt quietly over her in prayer and Nile wanted to scream. Andy was supposed to have more time. She hadn’t even gone gray yet.

Nile left.

The compound was empty, everyone else already dead, and Nile ignored the bodies in her way as she sought clearer ground. A ways away, death in her rearview mirror, Nile screamed. Loud and long, the sound pierced the air. When she stopped, her chest heaved and her hands clenched in tight fists. There was no one left to fight but oh did Nile cra-

Her head whipped to the side with the force of the punch. She went with it in a faint attempt to lessen the blow. When she spun around to face her attacker, her gun was in her hands and pointed at Joe’s face. He ripped it from her without a thought and Nile lashed out.

Her hits landed hard and his landed harder. When her leg snapped and she fell to her knees, Joe went with her. Their bout lasted a few more seconds before Nile just stopped.

The anger fled her as if it had never been there and left only sorrow in its wake.

Joe’s arms were around her before she even realized she was crying. He held her as her leg knit back together and then he held her longer. When her tears ran dry, Nile noticed the wet spots on her own shoulder and reached up to hug Joe back.

“I’ve never felt so angry in my life,” she confessed in a breathless whisper. In hindsight, she hated the feeling, knew it had no place in her.

“Grief is funny like that,” Joe replied. He put his chin on her head and held her closer. “Makes you feel things you don’t want to. But it’s all part of the process.”

“Breaking my leg is part of the process?” She asked sardonically.

She felt him smile. “If I hadn’t, what would you have done? You wanted a fight, Nile, and there is no one else around to give it to you.”

Nile knew he was right. She had felt the rage under her skin and the itching for violence. It was gone now and despite the grief, she felt better for it. “Thank you.”

“No need,” he replied immediately, like he always did.

She pulled back to look at him. His cheeks were shiny with spilled tears. “What do you need?” She asked, even as she knew the answer.

Joe smiled. “The only thing I have ever needed.” He glanced over his shoulder and Nile followed his gaze to find Nicky kneeling next to a covered body. “We have had time to prepare for this and we will be okay. We have each other.” Joe turned to her. “You’ve had Andy all these years. Will we be enough?”

Nile wanted to say yes, wanted desperately for these men who had become her family to be enough, but they all knew that Joe and Nicky had a habit of forgetting the rest of the world when they were together and Nile wasn’t sure she could survive on her own right now. She looked up at Joe, unwilling to admit it aloud.

He read it on her face anyway and nodded. “Alright,” he sighed. “We’ll go find Booker.” But it hadn’t even been ten years, yet, and Joe was the one who had needed the time apart.

“Joe-” she started to say.

He shook his head. “It’s all part of the process,” he said, echoing his earlier words. Nile cocked her head in question. “I needed to grieve the man I thought I’d known and the relationship and trust I’d thought we’d had. Anger was part of that,” he confessed. “But so is forgiveness.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “We will find Booker.”

Nile swallowed the lump in her throat and sent a quick thanks to God for giving her these people to spend forever with. She wouldn’t have made it on her own, or with anyone else. “Let’s start in Paris.”

#the old guard #tog fic #my fic #nile freeman #joe x nicky #minor tho

446 notes · View notes

engineer-in-space · 3 years

Text

a simple call of the wild review that is totally professional and not way too detailed by me (February)

It's gonna be a bit of comparing to previous powerwolf albums/songs and remember everything is my own opinion. If you disagree/agree we may talk about it in a civilized way, I actually love talking to others about this shit!

But otherwise (hate, insults, etc.) you can keep your opinion somewhere where I can't see it :) Also, the album has barely been out for a day and things change with time and I may grow to like certain things more. (but there's not too much that I don't like tbh) But I hope you enjoy this metalhead-gremlin's ramblings!

Faster than the flame

I had to listen to it quite a few times before I could say anything about it. It's a powerful start into the new album, however, it is (as previously stated) powerful but didn't blow me away like the first songs on the previous albums. (Fire &forgive, Blessed &possessed, amen & attack - wait am I just now noticing a pattern here? oh my god. Anyway.) Maybe I got that personal feeling that I want it to be Fire & Forgive, which is, of course, not possible and would be boring. So i think I'm not even critizing the song but rather the order of the songs.

It feels like a typical powerwolf song; both lyrics and instrumental. Fast, heavy, something about flames and burning - awesome. The two Latin parts (I think it's called the pre-chorus? man, I have no idea and will just throw around these words because my internet connection is too bad to look this up. But if you listen, you'll know which parts I mean.) already give me goosebumps. I also really, really liked the bridge (again?? idk??) aka the "flame, flame, burning wild in heavens name" part. This was the most memorable part for me after the first time listening. Of course, the guitar arrangement throughout the whole song is just... god bless. I must say that using the word "pastor" is dangerous because my stupid brain keeps thinking Attila is singing about "pasta" again... Oh well, moving on!

Beast of Gevaudan

Man, I've been listening almost non-stop since it was released as a single! At first, my head was comparing it somewhat to army of the night but after a few times this feeling was gone and it became an awesome new idea/song. The choir and orchestra part are so well placed and support the rest of the instrumental and Attila's voice perfectly. Again, much fast, very powermetal. I've grown very fond of the guitar solo. The lyrics tell us a little about the story of the beast and I. Love. Storytelling. In. Songs. Glad matthew finally came around to put his idea out there!

This song also has a video, which left me speechless at first. I love Attila's acting so much??? And making this sort of their own story of Jesus was such a cool idea. Production is high quality as well (didn't expect anything less after The Sacrament of Sin MVs) and there were really nice shots in there. I doubt that I will get tired of this song and this video anytime soon!

Dancing with the dead

That choir stuff in the beginning, following by that awesome guitar riff already had me. I couldn't stop listening to this one either. This might be, in my opinion, the most catchy song on the whole album. The intruments are in perfect harmony with Attila's heavenly voice. The transition into the guitar solo is so damn smooth and well done. I'm having a whole crisis about how good this song is.

The lyrics are interesting too! Again, there's a story to be told. As far as I can interpret it, being introduced to some darker powers and growing to enjoy them, despite previously having lots of faith, is what's going on here. It has this slight feeling of... corruption (in a good way of course). This makes me want to go dancing (with the dead)

This one also has a video! Once again, very high quality. Every band member had their "special moments/shots" and just looked stunning. But Attila left them all behind this time. Slow dancing, in a suit, with that smirk on his lips??? Well done, my dude.

Varcolac

This one's dark and heavy. It brings me back to the good ol' times of Lupus Dei and Bible of the Beast. Just with more orchestra, choir and overall harmony. It makes me so happy that Powerwolf is using so many real life legends and figures on this album! And they did such a good job with them as well. If this song was alive, it would be a scary beast.

The typical metal elements and orchestra/choir parts are very well balanced. And the organ throughout the whole song is fitting. It supports the dark and sinister feeling of the whole thing. My favourite part may be the "And as army we bing fire..." parts! Man, I just love werewolves. Also, I think Attila's famous gibberish singing made a return in this one!

Alive or undead

Oh boy,here we go. The piano in this one is incredible. "Here we STAAAAAAND!" Goosebumps and shivers. Everything about this is so emotional andreading the lyrics while listening just makes me want to cry, ok?! T_T Powerwolf has become so flexible, exploring different ways to make music. This could have been some kind of typical powermetal song but it's not and I'm glad about it.

Even if it's a little different, they never stray to far from what makes them special. The few parts, reminding one of typical church music would not have been necessary but are appreciated! They know when to leave out the guitars and go slowly. What bothers me a little, is that it somehow feels like Attila's voice had a tiny bit more potential up to the chorus. It could've been a little bit softer? if i can put it that way. But honestly this song is raw emotion and everything still fits together. If you thought their first ballad was emotional, buckle up, this one kicked me right in the feels.

Blood for blood (Faoladh)

Powerwolf ventures again into the folk metal territory and successfully conquers it! Could be a headline of something. Anyway, this song is a very worthy successor of Incense & Iron! It just makes me happy, its melody is so light - combined with your typical Powerwolf lyrics. Perfect song to start jumping up and down! It radiates motivational energy. Just like Dancing with the dead, this song has a very smooth transition to the guitar parts.

The melody is strong but still easy enough to quickly get into it! I can barely sit still and write this aaaa. Seriously, I am just happy with this song and will go jump and headbang a while to it!

Glaubenskraft

I have returned from jumping and oh no. It's a German song. Bold of them to go all out on that Latin beginning... it works really well though! It might be because I'm German but this song hits hard. Very hard. It's not easy to make this language sound good and ( if you don't happen to know much about German) the lyrics consist of a bunch of old words and grammar you wouldn't normally use anymore. But they made it fucking work!!! The quiet verses only make the pre-chorus and chorus itself heavier and blow me away. And SOMEHOW this super epic song with (made up, at least I'm pretty sure they don't exist like that) Latin words is about.. you know what Powerwolf writes about a lot. And I LOVE that. It's so subtle and only if you read into it, you're like "wait a minute".

This song has a feeling of corruption too. But not in a good way this time. It feels evil and intimidating and - honestly, I can't get enough of it. Everyone of my neighbours will think I'm some kind of weird Christian fanatic because I WILL yell "Glaubenskraft" just as much as I yelled "Stossgebet". Worth it, tho.

Call of the wild

The song with the same title as the album! (or the other way around, whatever.) This song is just catchy from the beginning to the end. Like many other songs its fast and hard. Just how I like it. Don't take that out of context.

The lyrics and instruments go wild (haha get it), with a really neat Latin pre-chorus. It's very fun to listen to. Personally, it makes me feel like I belong to the pack. That we're strong together, that we can say fuck it once in a while and just go crazy. The chanted part near the end of the song reminds me strongly of Sanctified with dynamite (ya know "die, die dynamite" and "call, call, call of the wild") and it's really cool they pick up on old things once again. Be it intentional or not. It's a reminder that they still are who they were back then - and their music is still fucking incredible.

Simply an epic song, strong vocals, strong guitars. I really, really like the intro. Attila has to sing so many words in such little time, does he even need to breathe now and then?

Now I'm wondering what came first; the album title or the track title? Chicken or the egg?

Sermon of swords

First of all: WHAT IS THAT OMINOUS VOICE IN THE BEGINNING. Mark me down as horny and scared. Ahem.

I really like how the verse and the chorus have their own theme and melody going on and yet they're connected. The chorus is super catchy too! And just say it yourself "Sermon of swords", how cool does it sound??? The choir in the beginning is a really neat introduction into the whole song. The lyrics match the whole album, very much a soundtrack to go on a crusade to, like Raise your fist, Evangelist or Christ & Combat. Just... "AAMEEN!" Ok, I'm actually going insane here, calm down, Feb. These might be my favourite lyrics of the whole album I think?? (unless I said that somewhere else already, then i have more than one favourite.)

The whole song has a more "classical" feeling to it, not only in the Powerwolf sense but also in the Heavy Metal sense in general. BUT. Orchestra and choir are prefectly mixed, especially supporting Attila in the chorus. The guitar solo is really cool and sounds very Greywolf-y, if you know what I mean. It's just Matthew's style.

Undress to confess

The name of this song says it all. This is your friendly reminder that no matter how much they preach about Jesus or the Devil, Powerwolf should not be taken too seriously. When I first saw the title I couldn't help but chuckle a little.

The melody is pretty catchy and easy to remember, the organ and general approach reminds me of Demons are a girl's best friend. I absolutely love how the lyrics are on that thin line of somewhat poetic and ridiculous. Let me provide two examples here: "all the world we posess for desire and sin we carress" - man, this sounds pretty.

And there's also "dressed to hide the dark, and obsessed to ride him hard on the.... crucifix." Yeah, I... I don't know what I expected here. Anyway, this is how you describe church sex without actually using explicit words. (why are you booing me, i'm right)

Still really nice to listen to and have a good time!

Reverent of rats

We arrived at the last song of the album! And here we picked up on the speed and power again! The way the organ is played during the verses makes it so... sinister. Again, this piece reminds me of Lupus Dei. The verses keep the sinister feeling while the chorus picks up more... drama? An epic melody mixed with epic words make my soul ascend to heaven.

This guitar solo is also the absolute good shit. It might be my favourite from all the songs of this album?! Additionally, the drums? I don't know why but they really stand out here. Love how fast paced they are.

Aaaaand that's it! If you've read all the way through holy shit, you are actually a badass. Thank you for staying with me, my werewolf friend. Maybe we'll meet where the wild wolves have gone. But always remember: Metal is religion.

#powerwolf #call of the wild #album review #well sort of #come talk to me about it i love the whole thing!!!!

21 notes · View notes

legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Why Now?

AYO its ya girl back with more biodad!bruce wayne. I bring you all day 4! I highly recommending reading this after day 1 cuz it takes place right after it.

Maribat Masterlist AO3 @maribat-bdbwm

Day 1

Word count: 1.2k words

Summary:

She was… she was so beautiful. Bruce could only wish she was truly his.

But why now? Why keep it a secret for years?

The aftermath of 'First Impressions' from Bruce's perspective.

BD!Bruce Wayne Month Day 4- Bonding

without further ado:

Bruce had always thought that his crusade for justice would leave him lonely, removed from the world, protecting it from the shadows. Taking on the fate of the world, his focus primarily condensed to just his city, did not create opportunities to form meaningful connections. Yet he made them anyway. Finding camaraderie in the Justice League and family in his children. Yes, his children. His very stupid children whom he loves very much. Who were keeling over themselves laughing at him.

All except his youngest son. He was caught between staring at Bruce, glaring at his brothers, and glaring at the new guests. Ignoring them, Bruce focused his attention back on Sabine. He remembered her well and he thought, hoped, that he would never see her again. She was a part of his past that he wasn’t proud of but she was here, claiming to have brought him his ten-year-old child, and all Bruce had wished for in that moment was for the women he slept with to stop hiding his children from him. If he had a nickel for every time that happened… he would have two nickels. Not a lot, but it was weird and depressing that it had happened twice now.

He wasn’t even planning on denying any paternity. There was no need, no want to do so. He would take in the little girl in a heartbeat if that was what Sabine wished. How could he not? Her pout was the same as Damian’s and she had his mother’s button nose. Her eyes were as blue as his father’s and as his own but her glare— when she could not understand why his idiot children were suddenly doing their best hyena impressions— was entirely her mother’s. She was… she was so beautiful. Bruce could only wish she was truly his.

But why now? Why keep it a secret for years? Bruce stared at the two of them, having flashbacks to two years ago, to his introduction to his youngest son and could only think of the worst.

Something must have happened. She must have been in danger for Sabine to have brought her to him. But what?

“Why are you really here, Sabine?” He needed to get to the bottom of this. He needed to prepare. “Certainly not just for a friendly visit.”

“Actually there is no ulterior motive.” Her voice was as cool as ever. Her passive expression that used to piss him off, her posture unreadable, drove him up a wall. He both missed and resented it. “We don’t need your help with anything. I just believed Marinette needed an opportunity to meet her father.”

Marinette. His baby’s name was Marinette. It was perfect.

“But why now?” At this point his sons’ laughter had died down and they were paying close attention to the exchange.

“She deserves to know who her father is and she’s old enough to understand why you can’t be in her life.” Her tone left no room for questions, as if the notion that he wouldn’t— couldn’t— be a part of his own daughter’s upbringing was set in stone. His blood was starting to run hot at that. He had been deprived of raising his children not once but twice, missing important milestones and not being able to form a bond he so desperately yearned for. It’s one thing to take in children, ones who already had been taught with a set of worldviews for the first few years, and had to combat with different ideals. It was a completely different thing, however, to be there from birth, to hold them, to coddle them, and to raise them and watch them become their own individuals.

“And who decided I can’t be in her life?” His frustration was well hidden but it still tasted bitter on his tongue.

“Don’t kid yourself,” she scoffed. “You and I both know she has no place in Batman’s crusade.”

The silence was damning. He didn’t say anything to that. What could he say? He never wished this life for his children but everyone he had taken in had fallen victim to his mission. He didn’t want to think about whether or not the young girl before him could keep up. She probably could; knowing her mother, she was probably well-trained and highly skilled. But Gotham was cruel, it was brutal and vile and wouldn’t hesitate to remind anyone of their own mortality and Bruce never wanted to bury one of his children again. His mind made up, he reached for his cowl and pulled it down.

Face and heart bare, he kneeled before his daughter. She looked at him with the same scrutiny she had since she greeted him.

“Hello, Marinette,” he said. He saw out of his periphery his boys drop from their perch. They made no step closer, but that was fine. This was between him and the child in front of him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, father.” Her smile was brilliant and if he wasn’t already set in his convictions, he would be now. He’s known her for ten minutes and he never wanted that smile to disappear.

“I know your mother said that you don’t need me,” he breathed out, more tenderly than he thought he was capable of, “but if you ever— and I mean ever — need me, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

He saw in her eyes that she didn’t fully understand his earnest but her head bobbled in agreement all the same. Sabine’s hand rested on her shoulder, drawing her into her side. He looked at her face and saw a compassion he hadn’t seen in years.

“We’ll be in contact,” was her closing remark. Not giving him a chance to respond, she steered the little girl away from him, back to the car. He rose to his full height, cowl still by his shoulders, hung down by the weight of his decision. His sons still haven’t said anything, leaving him to have this moment for himself. His gaze was transfixed on his daughter. The daughter he never got to know. He watched as she made it to the car, holding the door open but not getting in. From what he could see of her face, she was contemplating something. Before he could hazard a guess, she turned and ran to him, colliding into his legs with full force.

She was hugging him. Bruce’s arms came to rest on her shoulders then to pet at the back of her head. He couldn’t feel how soft her hair was with his glove in the way.

“Goodbye, father,” her ocean eyes were shining up at him, his father’s kind smile etched into her features. “I hope to see you again someday.”

“Me too, Marinette.” He would never tire of saying his children’s names, hers was no different.

Then she was off, back to the seclusion of the car that didn’t hesitate to reverse out the way it came. Just like that, as silently as they arrived, they left.

“Well that was something,” Tim’s voice cut into the air. “Care to explain?”

No, not really.

“Later,” he said; hopefully never, he prayed. “Back to patrol, all of you.”

He was hoping, foolishly, that his sons would just accept this as just a moment in their lives, no explanations needed. But he knew he had to, he owed them answers.

But that was for later.

Later.

#maribat #mbdbwm2021 #maribat!biodadbruce #maribat!biodadbrucewayne2021 #maribat!biodadbrucewaynemonth2021 #maribat events #monthly events

127 notes · View notes

writingwithcolor · 4 years

Text

Mixing North America with Old World Cultures in Fantasy: What Are The Issues?

So I sent in an ask several years ago that, due in no small part to your response, I have grown from and eventually led to a complete restructuring of my story. I included a measure of context in this, so if you need to skip it, my main three questions are at the bottom. I think this mostly applies to Mod Lesya.

The new setting is both inspired by and based on North America in the late 1400s where the indigenous cultures thrive and are major powers on the continent. Since there is no “Europe” in this setting the colonization and plague events never happened. Within the continent itself (since it is a fantasy setting) there are also analogous cultures that resemble Norse, Central European, Persian, Arabic, Indian, and Bengali. Although not native to the fantasy continent, there is also a high population of ‘African’ and ‘Oceanic’ peoples of many cultures, the latter usually limited to coastal cities as traders and sailors. Elves are entirely not-human, or at least evolved parallel to humans ala Neanderthals/Denisovans; they have green blood, black sclera, and skin tones that run from pale to dark.

The main national setting of the story takes great inspiration from a Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian background, and the neighboring nations are based on the Haudenosee (Iriquois Confederacy), Numunuu (Comancheria), and the Hopi and Zuni (as the descendants of the Ancestral Puebloans) (I also know that 2 of these 3 occur much later than the 1400s, but I love the government systems and they provide excellent narrative foils for the more ‘traditional’ fantasy government that takes place in the story). The Maya inhabit the role analogous to Ancient Greece in that most writing systems on the continent descend from Maya script and all the Great Philosophers were Maya (and nobility from across the continent spend lots of money to send their children to schools in the Maya City-States or in the Triple Alliance (Aztec Empire)). There is magic with varying traditions, practices, and methods spread across the continent, some of which are kept secret from outsiders, so I would hope that this avoids the “Magical Native” trope.

Beyond the setting, I have three main questions:

When it comes to foodstuffs, I was originally planning to limit myself to Pre-Columbian cuisine from the Americas (eg the Three Sisters and potatoes) but in doing my research, Navajo fry-bread seems to be a fairly integral part of the food culture and that does require flour, which originated in the Old World. Would it be better to incorporate some of the Old World stuff that has since become traditional to indigenous groups?

For place names used in the setting and writing systems would it be better to use existing languages or writing systems or ones inspired by them? EG should I make a language that is very similar to Cherokee, complete with its own syllabary, or should I use IRL Cherokee and its extant syllabary? I ask because I feel like using the real language might step on some toes, but using the conlang might seem like erasure.

One of the main themes of this story is the harm that even a ‘benevolent’ Empire can wreak on people. The Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian culture is the main Empire on the continent, taking cues from both western and American monarchical systems (eg the Triple Alliance (Aztec) and The Four Regions (the Inca Empire)), but when I think about it having any kind of even vaguely western ‘Empire’ spring up from the soil of a North American inspired setting might be troubling.

Thank you for your time and consideration! Do you guys have a kofi or something so I can compensate you for time spent?

I actually do remember you, and I am going to 99% disregard your questions here because you went from glaringly obvious racism to covert racism, and none of your questions ask if your basic strings of logic for assumptions you built into the setting are okay.

Since there is some extremely flawed basic logic in here, I’m going to tackle that first.

Question 1: Why did you originally title this “Pre Colombian North American Fantasy World” when you have more old world cultures than new world cultures?

A very simple, straightforward question. The actual content of the setting is what made me retitle it.

If you want to write a North American fantasy setting… why are there so many old world cultures represented here?

Old world: - Greece (as a societal myth; see next point) - Byzantine - Turkey - Norse - Central European - Persian - Arabic - Indian - Bengali - African (which, let’s be honest, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples) - Oceana (which, again, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples)

New world: - Mississippian - Iroquois - Numunuu - Hopi - Zuni - Maya - Aztec - Inca (maybe? not mentioned as having their own place on the continent, but one of your questions mentions them) - Navajo (maybe? See above)

To account for respecting Africa and Oceana, I’m going to make African cultures count as 3 and Oceanic cultures count as 5, and this is a purposeful lowball.

Old World: 17 New World: 9

It’s a giant discrepancy, especially if your attempt is writing an exclusively New World fantasy. And this is bare minimum old world, considering the fact I tried to limit myself to peoples who would be more likely to interact with the heavy Mediterranean/Alexander the Great’s Empire centricity.

Question 2: Why does there have to be a Greece analogue?

I haven’t spoken about this topic at length on this blog, but Greek worship in the Western world is a very carefully crafted white supremacy based mythos that was created to prop up European “Excellence” and actually erases the reality of Greece as a peoples.

Cultural evolutionism is a theory that states the (assumed-white-European) Greeks were superior because of their philosophy, their abstract art, and their mathematics. When many of these concepts were refined in Egypt (African, aka Black), or the Arab world (aka brown), but white Europeans did not want to admit any of this so they instead painted everything as coming out of their ideas of Greece lock stock and barrel.

The theory also ignored Iroquois science, Plains and Southwestern abstract art, and generally everything about North America, because the theory was designed to move the goalposts and paint North America as something it wasn’t, just to make Europeans feel okay taking it over and “bringing it to civilization.”

This theory was still taught in force up until the 1970s, and is still a major school of anthropological thought to this day (and still taught in some universities), so it is still very much influencing the Western world.

While the theory itself is only from the 1800s, it had long-growing roots in white/ noble Europe’s attempt to prop up European “Excellence” during its multiple periods of colonization, from the Crusades, onwards. You can see it in the copious amount of art produced during the Renaissance.

Europeans ignored the sheer amount of settling and travel that happened within Greece and Rome, and you’ll notice how many Renaissance paintings depict Greek philosophers as white, teaching other white people. In reality, we have no idea what their skin tone was, and they could have taught a huge variety of different skin tones. But it was appealing to European nobility to have people like them be the founders of all things great and “advanced”, so they invested huge amounts of time and money in creating this myth.

(Note: I said their nobility, not their population. People of colour existed en masse in Europe, but the nobility has been downplaying that for an exceptionally long time)

Greece took over most of the old world. It borrowed and stole from hundreds of cultures, brought it all back, and was assigned credit for it. White Europeans didn’t want to admit that the concept of 0 came from the Arabs, the pythagorean theorem came from Egypt, etc, and since Greece won, detailed records of how they were perceived and what they stole are long lost. It’s only glaring when they took from other global powers.

Question 3: Why would you pick totally different biomes to mix in here?

Turkey and the Mississippi are very, very different places when it comes to what can grow and what sort of housing is required, which makes them on the difficult side to merge together. They relied on different methods of trade, as well (boats vs roads), and generally just don’t line up.

The fact you pick such a specific European powerhouse—the Byzantine Empire—to mix into your “not European” fantasy world is… coming back to my above point about Greek (and Roman) worship in the West. Why can’t a fantasy world set in North America be enough on its own? Why does it need Europe copycats?

Question 4: Why are you missing a variety of nomads and Plains peoples?

Nomadic plains peoples were a thing across the globe, from the Cree to the Blackfoot to the Mongols. You have hyperfocused on settled peoples (with only one nomadic group named in both new and old world), which… comes across as very odd to me, because it is, again, very European sounding. That continent was about the only one without major populations that were nomadic, and if you look at European history, nomadic peoples were very highly demonized because of the aforementioned Mongols.

Cultural evolutionism also absolutely hated nomadic peoples, which is where we get the term “savage” (hunter-gatherers, nomads) and “barbarian” (horticulturalists and pastoralists, the latter nomadic); these were “lesser cultures” that needed to settle down and be brought to “civilization” (European agriculture), and nothing good could ever come out of them.

Meanwhile, in North America, nomadic peoples took up a very large portion of landmass, produced a huge amount of culture and cultural diffusion, and mostly ignoring them while trying to create a “fantasy North America” is, well, like I said: odd.

General Discussion Points

My suggestion for you is to write a fantasy Mediterranean region. Completely serious, here.

With the kinds of dynamics you are attracted to—the empires, the continental powers, the fact you keep trying to make Europe analogues in North America—you will do a much, much more respectful job by going into a really richly researched Mediterranean fantasy world than attempting to mix Europe and North America together in ways that show European traits (settled peoples, agriculture, a single empire dominating the whole culture and being viewed as superior) as the default.

I legitimately cannot see anything in here that feels like it comes from North America, or at the very least, treats non-sensationalized peoples (aka, those outside the Maya and Mississippian region) with respect.

It falls into Maya worship, which is a very sensationalized topic and is fuelled by racist fascination, assuming no Indigenous peoples could be that smart.

It falls into settled peoples worship, which is something that has cultural evolutionism roots because under such a model only settled peoples with agriculture are “civilized.”

It falls into placing Western concepts (public schools, large cities, the ilk) as the ideal, better solution, compared to methods better suited to horticulturalists, pastoralists, and hunter-gatherers and letting those teaching methods be respected.

There is no shame in writing inside Europe

The Mediterranean region contains Indigenous peoples, contains a huge diversity of skin tones, contains empires, contains democracy/a variety of governments, and in general contains every aspect of what you’re trying to create without playing god with a continent that did not evolve the way you’re trying to make it.

A Mediterranean fantasy world would still be a departure from “fantasy world 35″ as I like to call it, because it would be different from the vaguely Germanic/ French/ Norse fantasy worlds that are Tolkien ripoffs. You can dig beyond the whitewashed historical revisions and write something that actually reflects the region, and get all the fun conflicts you want.

You don’t need to go creating a European/North American blend to “be diverse.” You can perfectly respectfully write inside Europe and have as much variety in peoples as you can write in a non-European setting. Europe is not the antithesis to diversity.

North America developed a certain way for a reason. It had the required fauna, space, resources, and climate to produce what it created. The old world developed a certain way for its own reasons, based off its own factors in the same categories.

You’re not really going to get them to blend very easily, and if you did, the fact there is such a strong European way-of-life preference (by picking places that mirror European society on the surface) makes me raise an eyebrow. It’s subtle, but very much there, and the fact you are ignorant to it shows me you still need to do more work before you go writing North American Indigenous Peoples.

Writing in Europe isn’t the problem, here. Writing a whitewashed, mythologized, everyone-not-white-is-a-caricature, ahistorical “Europe” is the problem. And you cannot fix this problem by simply painting European ways of life a different skin tone when the setting isn’t European. In fact, you’re perpetuating harm by doing that, because you are recreating the cultural evolutionism that calls anything you can find in Europe “better.” Indigenous cultures were vastly different from Europe, even if they shared similar trappings.

Let North America exist without trying to shoehorn its most famous peoples into European analogues.

~ Mod Lesya

#General #Asks #submission #worldbuilding #fantasy #europe #greece #north america #Indigenous Peoples #native american #zacharandom

991 notes · View notes