#Verdant thinks she’s hiding something cool

[lilowleelani]

The lime green team (Bucket is the leader)

#my art #splat3 #splatoon #splatoon oc #inkling oc #octoling oc #Bucket is the straight man #Viola and Verdant are siblings #sweet and spicy!! #Mac is. the quiet one #Verdant thinks she’s hiding something cool #but Viola and Bucket know she’s just a weirdo #Mac #Macaela #Bucket #Verdant #Viola

[the-present-is-a-gift-au]

Chapter 5: In Which a Nickname is Given

Over the following days, Twig swiftly learned that Darkrai was shockingly clingy. She would stand up from a spot she'd settled in and he would rise as well to follow her to her destination, and he would only leave whatever room she'd stepped into when she left it herself. With the fact that he'd politely turned down her offer to stay in the guest room, and Twig subsequently facing the options of either sleeping in a linen closet or keep sleeping in the main room where he'd set up shop, this was awful for her nerves. If she thought trying to sleep around Dusknoir the night the Future Trio returned was bad, trying to catch any winks with Darkrai in the room was infinitely worse. She kept jerking awake from nightmares, much to her bewilderment. 

Didn't Darkrai lack his memories? Why would he send nightmares to torment her in the night when he had no reason to? She intended to confront him about it in the morning, but his level tone cut through the silence one evening after she bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath after a dream of being buried alive. 

"Apologies," he said, monotone, clear, and deliberate. "I'm afraid I don't have much control over my… peculiarities."

She dragged a hand down her face. Yeah. Cool. Okay. She probably should have anticipated the fact that the guy who was once bent on throwing the world into eternal darkness had an aura of bad vibes that sent you spiraling into nightmares if you slept around him. It made sense in hindsight. 

Speaking of hindsight, she should have thought up a cover story before now. 

Darkrai clearly knew something was up with her. It took her forever to think up a false origin story for him, and her nervousness as she brainstormed all the details and tried to memorize them, keeping everything in her head and never daring to put them on paper, all made her look suspicious. She must look sketchy beyond belief as she wrung her hands and fidgeted in the corner across from Darkrai, glancing up every so often and then looking askance. But she finally had a cohesive narrative in mind, so she finally broke the news.

“We used to know each other,” Twig said over dinner one evening, “before you lost your memories.”

Darkrai looked up, but didn’t speak.

“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, because, uh… well, it seemed like you didn’t mind not knowing? That was the sort of energy I got, at least!” She forced out a nervous chuckle. “But, um. I figured it’d kind of be a jerk move to keep it to myself, you know?”

He made no move to respond— just stared at her unblinkingly.

“You used to be a sort of traveling do-gooder. You’d go from place to place, and you’d help however you could. We crossed paths a couple of times when my exploration team was on expeditions.” She couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. She fixed her gaze on the tabletop and continued, “What you did meant a lot for a lot of people. I know lots of folks wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for your help.”

He didn’t react— didn’t say anything, didn’t incline his head, didn’t even flinch at the supposed reveal of his past. He just sat there and stared at her. Did he know she was lying? Did he remember his past already and had caught her in her bluff? Was he going to kill her? Was he—

“Interesting,” he said, and went back to his meal. 

She blinked, surprised. She wasn’t too confident in her skills at lying, but he wasn’t calling her on her bluff, not yet… Mission accomplished? Maybe? Hopefully?

***

Twig couldn’t hide away in her home for forever, much as she wanted to when faced with the thought of explaining her sudden multi-day absence from appearing in Verdant Village. But no matter how she would have loved to spend the rest of her life rotting in secret within the walls of her home, her lack of preparation for cooking for two meant the pantry was practically empty. She needed to go to the market and get some staple ingredients so that she wasn’t just roasting apple slices— and even those would be gone eventually, so she probably should just face the music and stop putting off the inevitable grocery run.

Darkrai, of course, made to follow her out the front door. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” She asked, forcing a smile that wobbled far too much to be convincing. 

“I believe a bit of fresh air would do me some good,” he answered. 

He didn’t comment on the way her hands twitched around the strap of the shopping bag she’d slung over her shoulder or the way her smile wobbled even more. Twig had no idea whether that was a good or bad thing. 

Twig bought everything on her shopping list in record time and managed to escape the market before it was even remotely crowded. Darkrai trailed after her in eerie silence, just a few feet away at any given time, and it was messing with her head to have him so close by. Her safety net of routines was already up in flames which meant that she was floundering emotionally, and having the guy behind roughly eighty-five percent of her collective neuroses practically attached to her hip was not helping. Thankfully, she was on the final stretch of road to reach her home, and she could enjoy the greater amount of space he offered when they were in the same room. She couldn’t wait to collapse into her bed, unwanted spectator be darned. She could make the excuse that she wasn’t good with crowds or something like that. Nevermind that the market barely had a handful of other shoppers while they were there— she was too tired to think up another reason. 

But of course Gardevoir and Gallade had to be out in their front yard when they passed.

“Twig!” Gardevoir called from where she knelt in her garden. She dusted herself off and swept over to the roadside to meet her. “We haven’t seen you in quite some time. Are you alright?”

“Yep! Just peachy.” Please don’t let her notice that my smile isn’t reaching my eyes. Does that mean a charmeleon is faking their smile like it does for a human? Frick, fudge, heck— “I’ve just had some stuff come up that needed some attention.”

She hummed, then glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, pardon me, who is this fellow with you?”

Darkrai began to introduce himself, and it was in that moment that Twig processed two things— first, that your average pokemon wouldn’t recognize a Legend based on sight alone. They didn’t have photographs or really any sort of mass-produced images in wide circulation, if in circulation at all, which meant they didn’t have pictures of the physical manifestations of the functions of the universe handy. All of that was to say that Gardevoir didn’t recognize Darkrai. Yet. Because her second realization was that your average pokemon would absolutely know the names of any given Legend, which meant she needed to cover her tail, and fast.

“My name is D—”

“Ark! Ark. His name is Ark.” She could feel herself vibrating out of her own skin with nerves as all eyes turned to her. “He’s staying with me for a while. And, um, I’m sorry, but I need to get to my place to put away some groceries.” 

“Oh!” Gardevoir nodded. “I’m very sorry for stalling you, Twig. Glad to have met you, Ark! I hope we see each other again soon.”

“Well met,” Darkrai replied, and had to swiftly pick up the pace to return to his place in Twig’s wake as she bolted to the house.

She didn’t speak as she stuffed all the groceries into their proper places in a linen closet-turned-pantry. But it eventually occurred to her that she should. “Sorry for butting in back there. Um. I forgot to say that everyone called you Ark. It was kind of your thing to not go by your species name.”

He loomed at the end of the hallway, his shadow blocking the light from the windows of the main room. The brightest light in the hallway was the chilly glow of his eyes as he silently picked apart her every move. She felt like she was being dissected with how he took in everything she did with a clinical gaze.

He hummed quietly. A noncommittal sound that didn’t indicate his thoughts whatsoever. “Interesting.”

Twig was going to have a heart attack one of these days, she knew it. 

***

Twig broke out an old journal she had only ever used for kindling on rare occasions. It wasn’t often that she pulled it from its place on her nightstand— which was really more of a small floor table than the nightstand she had as a human— but she found herself needing its services as she woke up from another nightmare. Darkrai stared out the window from his place across the room, the picture of serenity despite the nightmare Twig had to claw her way out of seconds ago. Her resolve was wavering, and she needed to bolster it up fast. She scratched out a quick pair of lines with a piece of charcoal she kept at the journal’s side— one line long and vertical, dividing the page down its center, the second line closer to the top and horizontal. She scribbled out a pair of words in English in either of the topmost boxes she’d set apart. Darkrai couldn’t read English, could he? No pokemon she’d encountered could. She was in the clear— if he ever went snooping, he wouldn’t know she was writing out a pros and cons list on why she should or shouldn’t keep watch over him. 

The pros for kicking him out and going about her life were numerous. She would actually sleep through the night once in a while, she wouldn’t have to constantly police what she said for fear of awakening the memory of some motivation for starting the literal apocalypse, and she could actually get some time to herself so she could cry in peace every now and then. There were a host of other pros, but those stood out as the most appealing right then.

The cons— or rather con, singular—  meanwhile, outweighed everything she could summon. Stop another apocalypse before it happens made all those delightful reasons to give Darkrai the boot shine out in just how selfish they were. No, she wouldn’t let herself buckle in this. It was just one job. One thing for her to do to save the people she loved and the world at large. She could handle that. She had to handle that. 

She felt tears prick at her eyes from how overwhelming it all was.

Darkrai cast a glance her way. He seemed nearly worried.

Twig snapped the journal closed and rolled over in bed, musing on how familiar it felt to write out the letters she had studied over and over as a human, even if her hand didn’t quite hold a pencil right any longer. 

***

There was a knock at the door. Twig staggered out of bed to answer it.

“Hi Twig!” Lyra said, beaming. “Mom and Dad thought that you looked kinda sad the other day, and they said that they wanted to make you something nice, so they cooked a big pot of stew for you, and I helped a whole lot! I peeled the potatoes by myself. And I didn’t miss any peel-y bits. Dad said you don’t have to peel potatoes for stew, but I still did it because I don’t like peels, so you probably don’t either.”

The girl held out a large covered pot, little arms shaking with the effort. Twig caught it when it slipped from her hands. “Ah— careful! You don’t want to drop it.” She frowned. “Did your parents send you out to bring the pot here on your own? It’s pretty heavy.”

Lyra put her fists on her hips, puffing out her chest. “No, Dad said he would bring it on his way to get some firewood, but I said I wanted to do it! Did you see how strong I was? That pot is as big as my head, but I still carried it all the way to your house, and I didn’t spill a drop!”

Twig found herself smiling despite her exhaustion as she shifted her hold on the pot, noticing points where the broth had sloshed out on its journey here. Gosh, this kid’s enthusiasm was precious. “You didn’t, did you? Nice work, Lyra.”

“Who’s that? Is he your exploration team partner?” She gave a little gasp. “Is that Kip? Oh, wow, hi! I’m a big fan!”

Twig frowned, confused, and nearly dropped the pot herself when Darkrai’s voice sounded from directly behind her. “No, I’m not a partner of hers, nor am I named Kip. Though it would be fascinating to be on an exploration team, admittedly.”

Lyra chattered excitedly about how she wanted to be an explorer when she grew up, and Twig could barely hear the familiar rambling as she realized something. Kip. Oh, gosh, if he knew about Darkrai… Ever since the battle at Dark Crater, he’d gone from being scared of Darkrai to shaking at the very mention of his name. If he knew about her new roommate and the looming threat of Darkrai’s returning memories, his heart would give out on the spot. She’d sent him a letter recently, so she had time to figure out a cover story, but Arceus, she was not looking forward to the thought of him learning of Darkrai’s return. 

Kip wouldn’t be on his expedition forever. Eventually, he’d come back to Treasure Town, and he’d want to know why Twig was so jumpy. He’d already started suspecting something was amiss when her memories returned and she was back to refusing hugs or handshakes from everyone but him, but he'd never confronted her on it. She didn’t want to think about how she’d juggle keeping both Darkrai and Kip from finding out about each other. She’d rather die. 

She thanked Lyra again, cutting her rambling about exploration teams short, and asked her to thank her parents for her. “And thanks for all your work peeling the potatoes, I’m sure you did amazing! I need to put this on the stove now, see you soon, okay?”

Lyra pouted. “Aw. But I’m having fun talking to Ark.”

Darkrai gave Twig a brief, appraising glance out of the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to Lyra. “I’m afraid there’s work to be done for me as well. It was nice to meet you, miss… ?”

“Let’s talk again later. You’re cool. Bye Twig! Bye Ark!” She turned and started down the road to her house, half skipping and half running as she hummed to herself. Twig and Darkrai both watched her go. 

“I prompted her several times for her name, and she never seemed to recognize any of them,” Darkrai mused.

Twig was jolted from her swirling panic by his quiet frustration. She almost laughed at how frazzled he sounded. “Her name’s Lyra. The gardevoir and gallade that live over there are her parents.”

“I gathered as much. She’s… very familiar, isn’t she?” 

“F-Familiar?” She worried that he was referring to his past, even indirectly, but then remembered his strangely dated vocabulary. “Oh. Yeah, her parents have tried to get her to be more well-mannered, but the lessons don’t stick. I’m not exactly a good example, and she kinda puts me on a pedestal, so that doesn’t help either.”

“Hm.” He followed after her as she turned back inside. “You do have a particular way of speaking, come to think of it.” 

“Um. Thanks, I guess?”

“I mean no offense. Only that your speaking habits are dramaticized when compared to your neighbors.”

Twig narrowed her eyes as she spat a small flame to light the stove and start to heat the stew. “Yeah, uh… I’m not exactly from around Verdant Village.” 

“From where do you hail?”

“Way off from here. I don’t even know what it’s called— if it had a name.” That wasn’t a complete lie. She didn’t know the name of the area she had grown up in beyond its numeric bunker designation. The name for the plot of land on the surface above it had never been revealed to her after her escape from the underground. 

Darkrai hummed a low note. "Curious." 

Twig didn't like him asking so many questions. She needed to start expanding the cover story, and fast.

#pmd2 #pmd eos #pmd sky #pmd explorers #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd fanfic #pmd fanfiction #pmd fic #the present is a gift au

[suguwu]

minors and ageless blogs dni i am an 18+ blog, gn!reader, getou x reader, slight implications of gojo x reader and of stsg, grief/mourning of a type, jjk spoilers (hidden inventory arc), implied manipulation

After the village, you think you see Suguru everywhere.

There’s a flutter of ebony hair at the park, a raven's wing flicker. A heat lightning flash of dark eyes from beneath a store awning, a strike too quick to touch the ground. A whisper of familiar skin brushing past you in the jumble of the crosswalk. Warm breath ghosting across your lips as you drowse in the golden cradle of the afternoon sun.

You think he might be watching you.

(The living can haunt, too.)

“It’s a grief thing,” Shoko says to you one night, when you’re twisting a hair tie tight around her split ends. She doesn't seem particularly concerned that you think you may be losing track of what is real. You suppose it comes with the territory.

“Is it?”

She snorts. “Dunno. Not a psychologist. Pretty sure sorcerers have a fucked up baseline, anyway, compared to other humans.”

(If we are still human, she doesn't say.

Satoru gives up being human on a winter Saturday. It's a mild day, the sky a hazy blue—seaglass blue, something shining and bright and keen-edged eroded into rebirth—but the three of you pretend that the minute tremble in his strong hands is from the cold.

It's just one more thing Suguru—Getou now, you suppose—takes from him.

Satoru's called to a mission that afternoon. Shoko's five whiskeys deep by nightfall.

You spend the night by yourself in a room gone dusty, with a living phantom pressed cool against your back.

Happy birthday, you whisper to the ghost curled around you.

Wherever he may be hiding, you hope he hears it.)

It’s teasing, but she curls closer to you in bed that night, winds around you like creeping, verdant ivy on a rotting house, little tendrils of reclamation.

They say that time heals all.

But you—you are a wound that pours, and pours, and pours. It seeps between the stitches, an unending tributary into an unyielding ocean.

There won't be much left of you soon.

You think he knows it, too.

There's a raven's wing flutter at the edge of your vision.

A hand, then. Big, and warm, and pressing the edges of your skin together. A bandage of muscle and sinew and flesh. It stitches you shut anew. You lean into the wrapping of it, and have no regrets.

You're one more thing that Suguru takes.

#bee writes jjk #jjk spoilers #getou x reader #jjk x reader #not me barely resisting spilling every single thought i have about getou & gojo & what humanity means between them in the tags

[zevfern]

¡Viva Almyra! Headcanons about Claude, Verdant Wind and Rorann (Byleth) Eisner, Soberano del Amanecer.

Upon Rorann being announced as the Golden Deer's professor, Claude makes it his goal to find out who the professor really is. While his first interactions with Rorann are positive, he still feels as if Rorann is hiding something and keeps him at arm's length until after the Western Church attempts to steal Seiros' remains and Rorann wields the Sword of the Creator for the first time.

Rorann is initially confused when Claude really starts showing an interest in him once he gains the Sword of the Creator, but he eventually realizes that what Claude really wants to know is why he can use the weapon. Rorann cools towards Claude, which begins to form tension between them which only dissipates after a breakthrough: Rorann agrees to try out one of Claude's poisions, which he thinks Claude is subtly threatening him with. Claude backs off, realizing that Rorann is only being distant with him because of his own reluctance to be honest. He begins to open up to Rorann, and takes it as a sign to really make an effort when in concurrent weeks, Bernadetta and Ferdinand join the Deer.

Rorann finally wins Claude's trust after an uncomfortable encounter with Edelgard, where he defends Claude from the white haired princess' attempts to question his origin. Claude's surprised that Rorann would defend and support him to such an extent. After Flayn's rescue, when the two are assigned to cooking duty, Claude decides to bring some harina and lamb into the kitchen. For the first time the two talk earnestly with each other over some tacos de barbacoa, and the Almyran prince slowly starts to reveal his true self and origin to Rorann.

(Because of how Claude always refers to where he's from and what his culture is insupports without never directly stating where and what, I felt that he could be a metaphor for Dreamers in the US, who could be very proud of their origins but not be able to show it for fear that their legal status in the US would be used against them. Claude does have a firm link to Fodlan, but much like plenty of Dreamers who have natural born US citizens in their families, that doesn't change the fact that they're still seen as the Other. Much like Claude, they have to be careful with who they share their plight with, and just like Claude I'm sure many of them have managed to find teachers and friends who we can trust.

I think by this point you've managed to find out why I relate to Claude so much, and if you don't, please change "they/their/them" to "we/our/us". And yes, I do love barbacoa.)

Claude and Rorann bond like brothers over the rest of the year, sharing food, jokes and secrets. They even begin to delve into Rorann's origins, although their efforts are interrupted by the Tragedy of Remire and the Establishment Ball. After Jeralt's death at the hands of Kronya, Claude finds Rorann reading his father's diary. His curiosity about the diary gets the better of him, but by this point Rorann is long past thinking poorly of Claude's intentions. The contents of the diary, as well as the events in the Sealed Forest, fill Claude with equal parts hope and dread: is Rorann a vessel for a god that may hate him? Or is his teacher and friend a deity he can finally believe in? He gets his answer during the Holy Tomb Incident.

It's a long 5 years between the fall of Garreg Mach and the millennium reunion the Golden Deer had planned, and Claude spends it busy defending Leicester from the encroaching Adrestrian Empire. Claude's got another reason to fight this war: Khalid thinks that if Edelgard were to win and conquer the entirety of Fodlan, she could no doubt cross Fodlan's Locket and destroy Almyra if she were so provoked. If he were to die fighting for the Alliance, his brother Shahid could assume the throne from his father, and he would no doubt look to start a war with Fodlan he could not win. Claude desperately holds on to his dream, and when he and the rest of the Golden Deer return to Garreg Mach he receives a sign from Sothis herself that he may just accomplish it: the return of his best friend Rorann.

During the ending portion of the War of Unification, Claude is outed to the Alliance as Almyran nobility, while Rorann is revealed to all of his students as the prospective vessel of the Goddess without a beating heart. However, neither revelation is a big deal to any of the Deer. After all, the two at the core are Claude and Rorann, classmate and professor, their friends and leaders. Together, they defeat Adrestria, destroy Shambala and put Nemesis down for a second and final time. Even after everything, Claude considers his greatest success is being able to leave Fodlan in a better state than he found it in. He leaves it in a state where his friends are in on his dream, where his best friend can ascend to a throne he doesn't desire (and therefore deserves), and where he can return as Prince (then King) Khalid and feel at home.

Next time: headcanons for Khalid/Claude and the rest of the Golden Deer (including transplants).

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16 #claude von riegan #hispanic heritage month #byleth eisner #verdant wind #m!byleth #rorann #fe khalid #fe almyra

[deluluass]

What bliss, domesticity.

for: @tink2kagome. i’m sorry it took me so long to work on ur pretty setter squad request T^T i’ll probably do like another one in the future! 

  & @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @belpomme @chaichai-the-weeb for being such lovely mutuals <3 <3 

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; yakuza/organized crime; gun mention; a lot of (non-sexual) food references in this one

  Jun’ichi Saikawa was obviously the kind of man who liked to laugh. Not unlike most people in their world. The kind who use their entire body when they do, announcing to the entire world with a bellowing “Ha Ha Ha!” how pleased they are with whatever’s going on in front of them.

  Which, in all honesty, was pretty admirable, that the old man could still do it considering how bored to tears Wataru was. 

  That it’s a humid afternoon didn’t help either. He could feel the sweat on his back even when the doors were already slid open, exhibiting a verdant garden filled with blossoms and shrub peonies. From his place he could see the school of koi swirling in the shallow pond, their scales iridescent under the warm rays of the sun. 

  “Didn’t know you were the funny sort, 'Kaashi!” Saikawa blurted out, the sake in his hand spilling to his fingers.

  This wasn’t Wataru’s first day on the job, but this is the first that he gets to do something this important. And with someone he highly respects, too. 

  So he gave his collar a light tug, steeling himself to endure as he tucked his legs further beneath him, and resorted to thinking about the many things he would absolutely surrender just to lie down on the warm mat. 

  His car, maybe.

  The brand new noise-cancelling headphones he bought, if pushed. 

  Wataru saw Akaashi nod.

  “I appreciate a joke every now and then,” he said.

  The larger man laughed again.

  “Here, here!” Saikawa thundered, snatching a tiny, yellow box from the maid who appeared as swiftly as she’d left. 

  “I heard you like sweets. Here,” he said, grinning as he handed it to Akaashi. “My youngest son just opened a cake shop. I know what you’re thinking, but who am I to say no, eh?”

  Akaashi passed the box to Wataru. 

  “Mind it for me, please,” he whispered.

  How unexpected. Akaashi-san has a sweet tooth.

  Huh. 

  That’s pretty neat. Wataru himself wasn’t partial to cakes, but he does love pudding. 

  “You are a good father, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi told him. 

  This time, Wataru didn’t bother suppressing a yawn as Saikawa fumbled for his phone, hiding it behind his hand as he stared at the birds chirping and hopping about outside.

  “Wanna see him? He’s much like you! Good head on his shoulders, that one.” 

  “I am honored, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi echoed back, peering down at the photos Saikawa showed him. 

  “He sends me a lot of these- uh,” Saikawa snorted, his nose reddened by the alcohol. “What do young people call it, the- pictures-”

  “Selfies?” Akaashi politely supplied. 

  “That’s the one! Look. Precious, ain’t he?”

  His earpiece crackled to life. 

  Konoha’s voice emerged from the static. 

  “We’re ready when you are,” his senior murmured. “Man, this is taking too long. Let’s get some burgers when we’re done.”

  “Akaashi-san,” Wataru croaked, feeling his cheeks heat up as he continued, “K-Komi-san and the others are waiting for you.”

  Saikawa perked up. “Ah, of course! Of course!” 

  He stumbled when he attempted to stand up. Akaashi was quick on his feet to assist him.

  “I knew I could count on you, son,” he muttered, patting Akaashi’s back. “Now, you tell Bokuto that what happened between us- it’s all in the past! All in the past! And if those bastards mess with him again, you tell him to run to old Jun’ichi!”

  Akaashi clasped Saikawa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Akaashi said. “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments to Bokuto-san.”

  “You do that, my boy.” Saikawa’s belly shook as he laughed. “Your generation’s a smart one, indeed. The in-fighting and wars, bah! All that trouble for nothing; that’s not your style. Your lot’s the future now!”

  Then, Akaashi stepped a few meters back and bowed. 

  Wataru followed behind him. 

  “We will be taking our leave,” Akaashi said. “It has been an illuminating talk, Jun’ichi-san.”

  The sound of the bamboo drip trickling water into another stalk permeated through the silence.

  It collapsed and clunked against a stone. 

  He heard the birds flutter away.

  When Wataru raised his head, Saikawa had already been lying face down on the floor. 

  And, of course, Wataru’s used to it: the crack of a gun muffled by a silencer. 

  He’s been practicing his entire life, after all. He actually doesn’t flinch anymore and Wataru thinks he should be proud of himself.

  It’s just that... how could someone who used to be there, suddenly...disappear? Saikawa was right in front of him a few minutes ago. Laughing and showing off photographs of his son. And now he’s...not.

  But, Saikawa didn’t disappear. Not really. 

  The blood seeping through the tatami is proof of it, but Wataru chooses not to look. In theory, he knows what a bullet through the skull looks like. He’d just rather not see today if what he’s taught reflects true in the real world. 

  Maybe some other time.

  “Wataru.” 

  Wataru flinched. “Y-yes?”

  Akaashi looked back at him. “The cake?”

  His body was still trembling and it took a lot of strength to not let it show in his hands when he gave it back to Akaashi, the box pleasantly yellow with doodles of doe-eyed eggs dancing along the handle. Unblemished, unlike Akaashi, who was sporting a splatter of blood along his cheek. 

  It’s surprisingly still cool to touch, too.

  “No, thank you,” he said, rejecting the handkerchief that Wataru offered. 

  From afar, Wataru could hear the faint melodies of an old love song being played by a car radio. No doubt Konoha’s doing. It followed them, growing louder the closer they walked back into the parking lot. The others bowed and sent gruff salutations along Akaashi’s way as they dragged bodies out of the Saikawa mansion. 

  (It was nauseating and Wataru wanted to pass out.)

  He pressed his nails harshly into the meat of his palm. 

  “A-Akaashi-san,” Wataru began. “I didn’t know that- that um, you liked... sweets.”

  Akaashi halted. 

  “No, I don’t,” he said, blinking. “But my wife does.”

  Wataru stared at him. 

  Akaashi went ahead. 

  He stayed that way— staring and wondering, until they stopped by the fast food restaurant that Konoha loved so much. Wataru couldn’t even finish his burger and fries. 

  By the time that they hit the freeway, Akaashi had already cleaned himself up and Wataru was still grappling with the word “wife.” 

  Of course he knows the man is married. 

  But, how, exactly, do you reconcile his reputation with the sight of him, every passing headlight sharpening his features, quietly humming along to Aki Yashiro? Who was longing for Shinjuku at night, the beauty of it, and oh, how wonderful it’d be, she said: a rendezvous with her lover, waiting for her under raining cherry blossoms. 

  Wataru figured that he was tired and starting to see things. 

  That small smile that graced Akaashi’s lips couldn't be real, either, especially those hands of his that held the box of cake like it’s worth more than gold.

He wasn't really particular when it comes to music. A song's a song, in Akaashi's opinion. Another form of noise that helps when the silence gets too overbearing. 

  But you, on the other hand, liked music. Listened to it the same way one eats their favorite food: memorizes the lyrics; goes out of your way to collect unearthed photographs and newspaper clippings that made the singer seem more human.

  You loved music— was probably the right way of putting it.

  Especially the old variety. He didn't get it at first. The sounds are dated; no one speaks in that language with that cadence anymore; the singer's probably dead.

  Well, Akaashi still doesn't get it, if he were to be honest. 

  Yet here he is. 

  His hands were wrapped around your waist, coaxing you into a slow— albeit clumsy, waltz.

  "Kei-kun!" you squeaked. "The dishes!"

  You dragged your slippers beneath you, struggling to wipe the suds off your hands. 

  "S-seriously, Kei-kun..!"

  Sure, he doesn’t fully understand what’s great about it, music. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he immediately recognized the first few notes this time, that’s why he’s doing this. He didn’t even wait for the DJ to finish saying, “You’re still listening to Vintage F.M. Here’s a classic for you couples out there. Have a romantic night with Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-”

  Perhaps it’s because your cream stew tasted extra special that it made him shrug the fatigue off, giving in to the urge of pulling you close and taking your damp hand in his to sway and bob along the skipping bassline. Your bashful objections went in one ear and out the other.

  Sure, he’s not the type to do this, either, dancing. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he knew that it’s your favorite song.

  Perhaps it’s just what marriage does to you.

  "Did you like the cake?" he whispered against your neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and the way your skin jumped as he did.

  Your breaths were shallow against his chest, but you managed a soft, “Yes, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  Akaashi caressed your back, kneading the tensed muscles as he huffed. 

  “Good,” he murmured, trembling. “Good girl. What a relief." 

  It was endearing, how offbeat the both of you were. A shame, though, considering that Nat King Cole’s fervently insisting on love; that it’s all that I can give to you; that it’s more than just a game for two. 

  So Akaashi makes up for his two left feet by joining in. He pressed his lips to your forehead. How strange, your presence in his life. What did he do to deserve you by his side, for this contentment that thaws away the chill?

  (He put a ring on your finger, is what he did. He deserves this.)

  “Two,” he droned, made giddy by the sparks in his belly, “in love can make it.”

  You looked at him, wide-eyed. 

  “Take my heart and please don’t break it.”

  He spun you around.

  “Oh my god, Kei-kun,” you gasped. “You can’t sing.”

  Akaashi’s aware of it all too well. He can’t carry a note; not him: the guy who’s had monotony ingrained in his very being. But that’s why he has you.

  A startled giggle left you as he guided you into a box step, the trumpet rising and falling over the strings. You stepped on him a few times, so he lifted you up, just so, and kicked off your slippers. Then, he set your feet atop his own. 

  He took you with him as he moved, waddling and careful not to hit his back against the countertop. It came as no revelation that both of you weren’t any better dancers even after this maneuver.

  Akaashi continued. Starting with L—

  “Is for the way you look at me.”

  “Stop, stop-” Your eyes crinkled at the sides. “You’re flat.”

  Akaashi persisted, anyway, taking your cheek to pepper kisses all over your face.

  “O is for the only one I see.”

  Your laugh was airy— light and buoyant all over the kitchen, like a fairy leaving stardust in its wake. Not gratingly booming nor demanding. After all, you weren’t the kind who felt the need for it: an audience to witness how pleased you are; how strong and powerful you are over everyone else. 

  Besides, your laugh was just for him. A private and intimate thing. And he was so lost in it that he almost forgot what’s been gnawing at him for the entire morning.

  Akaashi rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the downy fabric of your dress as he gripped you by the hips. 

  “Where did you go earlier?” 

  The orchestra was in a joyous uproar, joining the rapid beating of your heart; the trumpet bright and clear, singing in harmony with the bass and saxophones and trombones, as Nat King Cole repeatedly guaranteed, as if an oath, that love was made for me and you. 

  Love was made for me and you.

  “I had to buy some groceries!” you piped up. “We ran out of ingredients. Sorry, I forgot to bring my phone with me. Oh, I have to run you a bath. I’ll tell you when it’s done, alright?”

  You broke away from him with a beaming grin, but Akaashi wanted to ask, despite the evidence of it before him. 

  “Are you happy?”

  It has already ended, the song. The DJ was signing off for the night.

  You nodded, playfully jabbing his arm with a fist. 

  “Of course,” you told him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Perhaps it’s because you were never really good at pretense, no matter how much you hid behind needless noise. 

  Music. Laughter. Running water. 

  Akaashi sighed as he slumped down the nearest stool.

  Of course you’re happy. Why wouldn’t you be?

  After rubbing his eyes with clammy fingers, Akaashi fiddled them together beneath his temples. He released a heavy breath and fished for his phone in his pocket.

  He spoke after the first two rings. 

  “Wataru-san, I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “Can you do something for me?”

  His subordinate didn't ask him why, neither did he react when he'd stated his request. Akaashi knew, however, that the question was sitting in Wataru's clipped replies. The boy’s “yes, sir” and “understood, sir” were far too enthusiastic than normal.

  Akaashi didn’t mind, though, if he did ask. And despite that familiar pang of dread, Akaashi would answer him like the common— just like the average, everyday husband— with that characteristic, bordering on irksome pride that they have when they talk about their wives. 

  Why?

  “Well, Wataru-san,” Akaashi would answer. “Perhaps this is just what marriage does to you.”

The house was a house like any other.

  There was an old pickup truck parked outside the freshly painted gate, carrying crates of fruits and vegetables in its trunk. Along the bricked walls was an overgrowth of vines and ferns. It extended around the windows and crept up the balcony.

  A large Shiba ran outside and jumped to your lap as soon as it saw you by the driveway.

  Wataru heard Chiaki stir at the back of the car.

  “Pay up, asshole,” he grunted, waking a disheveled Ryota who’s still holding a half-bitten melon bread.

  His lackey cracked his neck and gave the scenery a cursory glance. “Could be a front.”

  Ryota grumbled and went back to sleep.

  “Idiot,” Chiaki clicked his tongue. “She traveled all the way to Miyagi just to give intel? And here? Of all places?”

  Three days. 

  They’ve tailed you for three days. Akaashi-san never said anything else, besides that within the week, while he’s gone and sealing deals in another country, there was a high likelihood of you folding and getting out of Tokyo. 

  To run right here. In Miyagi.

  He didn’t say why, really, but Wataru supposes it’s better that he didn’t. Because during the days of absolute, mind-crushing boredom, of watching some suburban wife go out for a morning walk, chat with her neighbors, and shop around the market, rinse and repeat, coming up with the Why had been their only salvation.

  The betting pool has two answers: cheater or snitch.

  Chiaki was insistent on the former, while Ryota stood by the latter. 

  And Wataru...Wataru could only watch, waiting with a bated breath as the door finally opened.

  “I bet it’s someone younger,” Chiaki said. “Usually is.”

  Seems that none of them were winning anything today.

  The man who emerged from the house was far older— who, oddly enough, resembled you. An  old woman soon followed behind him. Both of them looked at you as if they were witnessing a specter, or someone who's crawled back from the dead. An appropriate comparison, especially since they’re both wearing somber black clothes.

  It wasn’t his place to assume. Though he’s been promoted to a slightly higher position, it will never come close to the place that Keiji Akaashi occupies. Wataru knows all of these, but nothing was stopping him from putting the pieces together, no matter what little he has.

  They could only stare when all of you broke down into tears, locked in each other’s embrace as you knelt on the pavement. 

  Don’t let her stay too long.

  That had been one of Akaashi-san’s orders.

  So the three of them didn’t wait it out. By the time that the sun had set, Wataru had already stepped out of the car, taking Ryota with him. He made sure to remind the boy, just in case he’d forgotten.

  “Be gentle, alright?” Wataru reiterated.

  There hadn’t been any need for that, it turned out. 

  He’s sure you’ve never met before, but Wataru saw bitter understanding flash in your eyes when you caught them loitering in front of your house. Fear was there, too, of course. 

  Wataru was convinced that surely it’s a good thing. It saved everyone a lot of time, that way.

  You didn’t even say a word, only giving Wataru a stiff nod when he’d introduced himself, and remained like so on the ride back to Tokyo, with the strap of your handbag trapped by a clenched fist. Wataru didn’t try to initiate small talk; it felt unnecessary.

  It took a while for Wataru to realize that you also hadn’t bothered to change out of your pajamas, though he gave you a couple of minutes to say your farewells. 

  Pajamas, obscured now by a thick, gray coat. 

  Akaashi-san was right.

  You had no plans of coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

  Wataru decided not to linger on it anymore. 

  He ignored the blank stare that pierced right through the rear-view mirror. And then, Wataru wondered, hand sweating in his pocket, what the three of them should have for dinner.

Thick chunks of pumpkin melted in your mouth with just the first spoonful of broth. 

  It'd been a while since the last time Akaashi cooked. So, more than anything, it was the sight of him setting plates and utensils that took you aback, greeting you with a, "Welcome home. You're just in time. Food's ready," his sleeves rolled to his elbows while donning your baby owl-printed apron. 

  The taste didn't. Surprise you, that is. He's a good cook. Unlike you, who only became marginally better one hundred burn scars later. 

  It also didn't surprise you that he flew back home at the drop of a hat. Even when he said he'd be gone for a week.

  "How is it?" Akaashi asked after chewing. "Took me a while to make it."

  It obviously did, you thought. When you arrived, Irma Thomas was already begging through the record player.

  "Do you need me, like I need you?" she implored, straight from the heart. "Look at me, I'm crying from holding you." 

  The last song on your favorite record. It was cheap and had the best from the artists you loved. 

  Etta James. Ella Fitzgerald. Aretha Franklin. The Mills Brothers. Bessie Smith. All in one vinyl.

  "Yeah," you replied, clearing your throat when you realized how hard it is to speak. "It's delicious."

  You looked back down to your bowl. The  tofu had gone untouched. Your food was still close to spilling to the brim, while Akaashi was almost finished with his, scrolling on his phone laid on the table.

  "So no one coaxed you into it," you heard him say, and that had ripped your eyes away from the broth like a bandage on an infected wound.

  Akaashi was holding your phone, reading the messages- his number was the only one there, as pealing bells resonated in the dining room. 

  "I'd think of all the things that I wanted of you," cried Irma Thomas. "To make me forget the pain that you caused."

  "I would've known if anyone else talked to you, anyway," he huffed, locking the screen before blowing steam off the morsel. 

  "You would," you conceded. The tofu was soft when you bit into it, sinking into your teeth.

  "I found that in our cabinet. Last time it was in the kitchen drawer, wasn't it?" Akaashi helped himself to a bowl of rice. "Don't leave it in stuffy places. What if you forget where you hid it and you won't know when I call?"

  "And I can no longer keep track of where you are for every moment of the day?" you could hear him say. Though he didn't; though all that could heard, besides the scraping of utensils, was Irma Thomas declaring:

  A fragile thing, like life. It just don't last so long.

  It could be for a minute or an hour. Or then again, from now.

  Your lips tightened with a grin. "I won't do it again, sweetheart," you said, spoon hanging limply in your hold.    

  He didn't need to say it. 

  That your phone has a tracker. That this house is still the same cage that it'd been before. That the only difference between then and now is that silver band on your finger.

  Akaashi’s blinked back at you as he sipped  what remained of the soup. You tried to do the same.

  The savory taste was cloying and it burned in your throat, so you didn't attempt to finish the bowl. It cut down to your heart, sinking heavily on your stomach, bile rising as the song came to a close.

  You gulped it down, though. You had to. And in the final moments, Irma Thompson told you what she really wanted. 

  "Make me forget," she said, "the pain that you'd caused."

  The chorus joined her. "Understanding is a great thing," she concluded. "If it comes from the heart."

  Akaashi was on his own phone this time. Most likely checking on the business that he left, judging by those furrowed brows and that long-suffering look in his eyes.   

  Fizzling noise came at the heels of the fading music. Then, it stopped. And there was nothing left anymore but silence.

  It's over now. Akaashi’s making a move to clean up. You were supposed to say, "That was a lovely dinner, honey." Or, you could tell him to sit down and watch a movie with you when he's done. 

  "I'll help you with the dishes," you wanted to say. 

  I'll help you with the dishes. It was so easy to say. 

  Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed call for his name.

  "Kei-kun," you repeated, brittle and weak and dry.  

  "I'm so sorry," you might've mouthed. 

  You could barely hear your own voice as you looked at him. Akaashi paused from tidying the table. 

  You're parched and a lot has happened today. Gathering the courage to take that first step out of the city had taken what little strength you had. The fear never left you. Seeing your old house almost ended you. 

  It should be physically impossible for you to still be able to cry. And yet there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears now, the same way your apologies unfurled in an embarrassingly infinite string.

  "Don't lock me inside here again," you whispered, clinging to him as he shushed you, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs as he helped you drink a glass of water.

  He carried you to your room and sat you down on the bed, right between his thighs. You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot on the sleeves of your pajama top.

  "I- I just wanted to see them. That's all. Just one day, Kei-kun. One day. I was gonna come back, I swear." 

  You're rambling. You're a madwoman pleading and bargaining with a stone-cold judge because playing house is the only thing keeping her alive. 

  And you messed that up you foolish, foolish girl.

  "Please don't hurt my family," you heaved. "They're all I have left."

  Akaashi doesn't speak, not for a while, but when he did, you bawled harder.

  "I can kill them all," he said, matter of factly. 

  It is true. Hearing him say it does not make it easier to take, though. 

  "I can hurt you the same way that you hurt me."

  Your neck strained as he tipped your chin towards him with a slender finger. 

  "I can break you," he muttered, not batting an eye.

  That, too, is true. You know it all too well. He said it with such serenity, still and undisturbed by the shaking of your head, because it goes without saying. 

  Except, you, too, know it. 

  When he is breaking. When he is falling apart.

  He smothered you, taking your entire body to curl against you, making himself small as he pressed his face on your back.

  "Yet- and yet I-" Akaashi sniffled. You felt your shirt dampen. "I've given you everything."

  When he finally brought his face close to yours, he looked so lost. Almost like a little boy who's on the verge of drowning,  clinging desperately onto a lifesaver and too shocked to shout for help. 

  You hated him all the more for it.

  "Each other," he said, snarling, almost, through tears as he grabbed your face with both hands. "That's all we have left, you hear? You and I. Husband and wife."

  He seized your jaw and turned it towards the vanity mirror.

  The room was dark save for the light in the hallway, peeking into the crack through the doorway. 

  But you could see yourself. And you could see your hand intertwined in his, your rings gleaming like muted starlights. 

  "We made a vow," he whispered, kissing your ring finger. 

  A detached part of you is astonished with how inescapable it is. Whether it be a reward or a punishment; a good day or a bad one.

  No matter what happens, you always end up like this, don't you? 

  Begging to him with your legs spread wide.

  You did as you'd always done when he began unbuttoning your top. 

  You go back to that autumn morning, when you first laid your eyes on him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and you thought that he had the prettiest face you'd ever seen.

  You go back to when he was just this really romantic guy who sent you flowers every day. There was a letter, every time. 

  Nothing too grandiose. Just short messages hoping that you'd have a great day ahead.

  He kissed your neck, wet smooches and long, flat-tongued licks dipping down your shoulder.

  He watched you through the mirror, his eyes a pair of darkened blues daring you to look away.

  Akaashi Keiji was your boyfriend, you told yourself. You dated him for quite some time before you married.

  Akaashi Keiji got along well with your father and doted on your mother. On Sundays, you visit them and they send you back to Tokyo with ripe watermelons. 

  Akaashi Keiji has never hurt you.

  The man tracing the hem of your bra, cupping your clothed tits and drawing lazy circles over nipples, however, did.

  (And he still will in future. He still is, right now.)

  This man is the real one. 

  And you have angered him, so he will not make this easy for you.

  "What did you promise me?" Akaashi whispered as he lightly bit the shell of your ear. "Or have you forgotten?"

  Of course, you haven't forgotten. You were chained to this very room when you made them, after all.

  "N-no, I remember," you said, catching your breath. "I remember, Kei-kun."

  "Then say it," he said. "Look at me."

  You shivered as his palms swept over your  stomach; as he unfastened your bra, letting it fall down your arms.

  "Look at me when you say it."

  You felt your nipples harden, gooseprickles spread all over you, as the air hit your bare skin, cooling the sweat that made it glisten.

  "Please," he rasped.

  The eyes of the woman in the mirror was hooded, threatening to close as she puffed with each squeeze and caress to her tits, swiveling her hips against her husband’s crotch as he grinded into her. 

  "I will be happy," she said.

  Akaashi nuzzled your temple, using his rough fingers to tease your nipples just as he did, brushing them to and fro, then grazing the bumpy skin around until you're squeaking out his name. 

  And when he began pressing down on the stiff peaks with his thumbs, before rolling and pulling at them, the heels of his palm digging into your tits, you saw the woman claw at her husband's hair, a graceless affair that almost scratched his eye out, making him reach for both her arms to wrap them around his neck. 

  "I- I will..!" Her lips parted in a breathless scream and it was disgusting how lewd she appeared. "I will not run away!"

  The streak of tears on his cheeks touched yours when he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, his wet tongue gliding in so slowly as he deepened the kiss with a throaty groan.

  His other hand crawled down to your soaked panties. You couldn't contain the mewl that left you.

  Both of you gasped and struggled to breathe again after you parted from each other.  

  "You understand, don't you?" he rasped.   

  Two of his fingers slid down your folds, only to slither back up, then down again, smearing your cunt with its own slick.

  But he never touched your swollen clit, even though it's throbbing and aching to be rubbed and the hard bulge sitting between your ass grew harder the more you squirmed in his hold, whimpering like a bitch in heat.  

  You heard your husband sigh, his hot breath tickling you when he said, "This isn't about you now."

Belly pushed into the edge of the dressing table, rattling and battering against the wall with each forceful thrust, and your leg perched atop it, made numb by Akaashi's grip on your thigh.

  That was the first thing that you could recall when you opened your eyes.

  But your entire body was screaming in pain, so you knew that everything else that happened last night would come back to you soon enough.

  The flesh had a memory of its own. 

  You sat up with a groan and you didn't have to see the marks to know.

  His teeth were still nipping at you, biting you until they drew blood, only to follow with an apologetic lapping of his tongue. 

  You could feel him beneath you, his hands clawing you down to him, palms kneading your ass cheeks as you bounced up and down on his cock.

  You could feel him above you, gripping your wrists not unlike the cuffs that once kept you shackled. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling you close to him, filling you up with loads and loads of cum, squelching every time he sank down your weeping hole.

  And when your vision began to blur at the edges, he carried your body, mere seconds into fainting, to the dressing table. 

  The evidence of that stared back at you in shameful streaks and smudges, traces of your fingers on the mirror when he rammed your cunt from behind.

  "Are you happy?" Akaashi whispered.

  You don't know. 

  When he's just your husband who comes home to your arms and brings you sweets because he knows how much you love them; who dances with you in the kitchen and listens intently to you when you talk about that cute dog you saw at the park, were you happy, then?

  You don't know, but the woman in the mirror, in that moment, surely was.

  She even said, "Yes, yes, Kei-kun, right there, fuck me right there!"

  Her pupils were blown wide, eyes rolling almost over to the back of her head. And despite the cries that escaped her, there was a wide, dissipated smile on her lips,  spit trailing down her chin.

  "Look at you," Akaashi said, grunting when your walls tightened around his shaft. "You're clearly happy with me."

  "So why? Why'd you even think of leaving?" He rocked his hips, grinding his thick cock against that spot that had you holding onto the mirror. "Don't ever do that to me again." 

  You told him no, no, you won't run away again, but it didn't seem to placate his unease, nor his tears.

  "I'm so scared, everyday, that you'll leave me and- and- it feels like hell. I would rather die." 

  He kissed your nape as he huffed and said, "Because I don't know what I'll do without you."

  You never really understood why; what about you had caused him to single you out in the sea of people that had vied for his attention. Especially now as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

  There were dark circles under your eyes and Akaashi’s t-shirt was rumpled on your body, engulfing you whole with its size— a far cry from that lovely, dazzling bride that his best friend, Bokuto, had described you as on your wedding day. 

  But you’re aware, more than anyone, that Akaashi Keiji is the last person to care about appearances. 

  When he entered the room, carrying a tray in his hands, he gazed at that disheveled girl with eyebags big enough to be dragged around the same way he looked at her when he waited for her at the end of the aisle.

  “I made you pancakes,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he sat down beside you.

  You were tired so it didn’t dawn on you as quickly as it should that he made them the way you preferred. Four fluffy pieces stacked atop one another, sprinkled with powdered sugar, whipped cream and a smattering of berries on the side.

  He fiddled with his fingers when you only stared at it, so you immediately took the fork in your hand and sliced the pancake in half.

  “I’ll be taking some time off work,” Akaashi said as you took the food in your mouth. You only nodded, having noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual bespoke suit as soon as he entered the room.

  You felt him near you; felt his hand, warm to touch, cup your face.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were misty and, this close, it seemed that he, too, wasn’t in a good shape. “So please-” Akaashi licked his chapped lips, “Please don’t go.”

  “I won’t,” you replied, giving him the smile that you knew he needed. “I promise.”

  Then, as you moved to kiss him on the cheek, the chains that tethered you to the bedpost clinked softly beneath the blanket, and you didn’t bother to keep the tears at the bay.

  Akaashi wiped them for you when you said that you loved him. And when he asked why, you only shrugged and told him that the pancakes were so sweet that they could make anyone cry. 

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #akaashi x y/n #akaashi x female reader #Dark content haikyuu #yandere akaashi keiji

[blackkatmagic]

In labyrinths of reflections?! So excited!

I would love to see a drabble of Harley and Ivy reunion after Marc helps Ivy out of prison. ^^

There's ice cream melting over her fingers, a buzz of green in her veins, and a darkened shack in the middle of the park that’s filled with the sound of hitched breaths.

Ivy tightens her grip on the Arkham-standard prison clothes, takes a breath. The trees around her bend inwards, shivering, and she has to close her eyes against the surge of hope and relief and vicious glee that’s beating like a tattoo in her chest.

The Joker is dead. The Joker is dead. He’s dead and gone and an old god ate his heart, so it’s safe to say that he’s never coming back.

Just for that, she would walk barefoot over broken glass and take a swim in weed killer, the moment Moon Knight asked her to.

Harley is crying, and Ivy should likely feel worse, should mourn the pain if not the man. But she doesn’t, she can't. Harley is free of him, Gotham is free of him, and it’s a fierce, bloody, vicious joy in Ivy’s chest, the knowledge that he died and suffered. Not just for what he did to Harley, but—

That doesn’t matter. He’s dead, because Moon Knight killed him. Moon Knight is like her, like them, mentally ill but forged into a weapon, functionality and purpose and intent, and he killed the Joker. Harley is free because of Moon Knight.

A muffled, trembling sound, and Ivy pushes forward, through the darkened doorway hung with wilted vines and into the moon-striped interior.

There's no movement, no sign she’s been seen. Harley is curled in the corner where Ivy’s bed is half-collapsed and covered in the wild tangle of her citrus trees run rampant, face tucked into her drawn-up knees, her hair down. She’s in loose clothes, Ivy’s baggiest sleeping clothes huge on her small frame, and she’s not audibly crying, but she might as well be.

Silently, Ivy sets both cartons of half-melted ice cream down on the floor, then crosses the small shack and pulls herself up onto the listing mattress. Without pause, she leans in, wraps her arms around Harley as tightly as she can and just—breathes. Lets her hair hide them from the world, just for a moment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispers, and Harley’s breath catches on a sob. She grabs, hauls Ivy in and wraps her arms around her, and Ivy kisses her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her eye as Harley buries her face in her shoulder.

“Red,” she gets out, and the word cracks. “Red, Mr. J is dead. Someone killed him. I'm—I'm so relieved but I'm so sad, an’ I can't stop crying.”

Ivy never attacked the Joker, never confronted him. It would have made Harley angry, would have upset her, and Ivy could never risk losing her. Could never risk pushing her back to the Joker permanently, shutting down her one avenue of escape. She’d wanted to a thousand times, had thought about arranging accidents, or slipping him some poison, but—Harley is clever, and Ivy isn't a good enough actor to fool her. Harley would have realized what she’d done, and maybe the Joker would have been dead, but Ivy would have lost the one person she gives a damn about in the whole world. The trade-off was never worth it.

“I'm not sorry,” she whispers, not about to hide the truth. Harley already knows how she feels, anyway. “I'm glad. Him being dead makes me happy.”

Harley chokes on a sob, fingers bruising against Ivy’s skin, but she doesn’t pull away. Ivy doesn’t try to move, either, just leans in with a sigh, stroking Harley’s limp hair. “Moon Knight broke me out of Arkham,” she says quietly, and Harley stills, frozen, conflicted. There's a long pause, and then a watery breath, and Harley lifts her head.

“’S good,” she says, wiping at her eyes with the heel of one hand. “I know—I know how much you hate bein’ away from the sun, Red. I was gonna try to break you out, but the Bats were keepin’ an eye on me, an’ then Mr. J—”

“I know,” Ivy says, and shifts sideways, pulling Harley down onto the sagging mattress with her. The broken frame creaks dangerously, but Harley snuggles closer, tucks Ivy’s head under her chin and hangs on the with desperation of someone drowning. Gently, Ivy strokes her back, closing her eyes and thinking of a flare of white in the darkness, glowing eyes under the dark shadows of a hood.

When she’d first seen Moon Knight in the hallway, she’d expected a henchman come to break out their master, or maybe a new mercenary hired for a hit. Had only thought about charming him, tempting him in and then using him to escape. And maybe some part of her, impossible to turn off, is still thinking about the benefits of knowing him and the advantages he can provide, but—

He’s like them. He was in an institute at thirteen, and Ivy remembers all too well the long hours sitting in a psychologist’s office when she was a child, head bowed as she listed to the man and her mother talk. Remembers six months in the hospital, alone, desperate, after Jason Woodrue experimented on her.

The incident drove her insane, the files say. Ivy knows; she’s looked them up, torn through them to see what the Bats whisper about her in the darkness, and she’s seen those words printed starkly in black enough times to be burned into her brain. The incident drove her insane, like everyone in the world is one tragedy away from becoming mentally ill. Like Ivy was just sad and angry and that alone was enough to make her unstable. Like being in Arkham will fix her, or do anything but make her angrier. None of the doctors there give a damn about the patients, about anyone, and the ones who try turn out like Harley.

Moon Knight breaking her out and talking to her like a person, looking at her like she’s real and reasonable and not either a crazed villain or a mindless sex object did more to help steady her than her whole stint in Arkham. A little bit of understanding, a touch of his strange, brusque respect, and Ivy felt like she could breathe.

He’s like them, and he does what he thinks is right, not what the laws tell him to do. He’s like them, a little broken and a little crazy and a little good.

With her eyes closed, Ivy can feel the whole of Gotham breathing, the roots beneath the city and the branches spread through it, the weeds creeping up through the cracks in the sidewalk and hundreds of thousands of stately old trees, young and verdant trees, ivy and roses and flowers carefully trimmed and confined. She can feel each step that crushes the grass, the careless cruelty of a tree cut down, the gasping breaths of plants trying to breathe through the pollution. And, if she focuses, she can find a heavy pair of boots, moving more lightly than most across the park. The brush of a white cloak, the way he feels like moonlight on the grass, how the trees bend towards his presence. Like he’s carrying fresh air with him, as clean and cool as a wind across the desert, completely untouched by the smog and rot of Gotham around him.

Moon Knight, she thinks, and smiles, thin and wicked against Harley’s skin. Tightens her arms around Harley, then shoves, rolling them over and straddling Harley, knees locked against her ribs. Harley gasps, but she reaches for Ivy, tangles her fingers in Ivy’s hair and pulls, and Ivy kisses her, kisses her, kisses her, and never wants to let her up for air.

Moon Knight gave her this. Gave them this, even if Harley will never see it as the gift it is. He killed the Joker, set her and Harley both free, and Ivy’s laugh vibrates low in her throat as she cups Harley’s face between her hands.

Like them, she thinks. Moon Knight is one of theirs, one of hers. Ivy’s never been good at limits; everything she’s ever let go of has claw marks in it, and she’s willful, wicked, doesn’t have or want a code of honor of any sort. But—

“I think,” she whispers against Harley’s lips, still smiling, “that I just found my very own knight in shining armor.”

Harley laughs, too, even if hers is a little watery. “Don’cha mean your own Knight Light?” she jokes, and Ivy snorts and kisses her again.

She’ll keep one eye on Moon Knight, whenever he appears. Batman doesn’t like their kind, and he’ll like that Moon Knight broke her out of Arkham even less. Ivy doesn’t accept anyone easily, doesn’t take to strangers, but watching Moon Knight in the park, she felt…different. Wanted something other than to walk away and leave him behind. He’s an ally and an unknown and a god on earth, and Ivy knows a little bit more about that than she should.

He’ll need them eventually. That favor Ivy owes him will be called in. And—it’s not an entirely selfless thing. A steppingstone, maybe, to draw him closer, to pull him in.

Moon Knight doesn’t realize it yet, but if he tries to leave them—leave her—behind, he’s going to have claw marks in him, too.

[On AO3]

#my writing #harlivy #dc #marvel #marc spector #harley quinn #pamela isley #Anonymous #kat answers

[pseudofaux]

Thank you so much for opening requests! Could you write some smut for Seth/mc/Fenrir? Like she is on a recon mission with them smooshed between them in a tent and nervously let's slip being stuck between two men is her fantasy and they just... Do the bro nod and say they can make that happen. Filthy as you like please 🥵

OHOHOHOHOHO 💕💙~ 💦💦

Thank you for requesting! I hope you will see this and enjoy! ETA: WHEW almost done and it is more sensual than filthy but we are NOT TALKING H*ND H*LDING, YANNO?! Seth is doing A LOT. If I manage to post anything else tonight it’s a miracle. 🥵

(Requests are open for just a few more hours-- through the end of May 1-- if you’d like to get one in, reader!)

They are deep in Red territory, not far from the city’s edge but well enough inside the forest that they were able to cook a quick dinner earlier before extinguishing their fire and bedding down for an early night.

It’s a good thing they were quick about it, and a good thing they made it an early night, because the storm outside their tent is massive, the thunderclaps so loud and close they can all feel it in their teeth. Alice is a sport but they can tell she’s on edge... and when Seth notices she’s trembling between them in her cozy sleeping bag, he turns to her and says “Alice...?”

She laughs but the sound is high and shrill, and she instantly laughs again, at herself this time.

“Had no idea there’d be a storm,” Fenrir said. “This sucks, huh? Our tents are really sturdy though, don’t worry. Sirius has them inspected like his life depends on it.”

“That’s because one day it might,” Seth says in a drawl unlike his usual light tone. Brightening, he reaches for Alice’s shoulder and says “But that’s not a bad thing. It means we’re safe and dry, so don’t worry. You can go to sleep and one of us can keep watch for a while if that would help.”

His voice is so smooth and patient she can feel herself calming down. It’s like when a doctor explains something, she gets the exact sense of ease she needs.

Still.

“I don’t know if I could sleep,” she confesses. “I’m not usually scared of storms, this one is just intense. I could keep watch instead?”

Seth and Fenrir laugh at the same time. Not at her, not unkindly. She knows they mean neither would ever let her do what they should. They’re so protective she’s surprised she was allowed to come on this mission. Seth had said something vague about it being safest for her with them, and she hadn’t had time to press on what that meant.

“Not happening,” Fenrir tells her. “But if you can’t sleep, I’ll stay up with ya.” His fingers are gentle over her hand clutching at the top of her sleeping sack.

She’s not sure, a few minutes later, quite how they pry it out of her— maybe it’s that last loud thunderclap startling her out of her wits— but she says it, right into the air where they’re both so close they can’t miss it.

“You know, this is really all a girl could want, one of you on either side of me.” It’s nervous and high again and she finishes it with a little laugh.

Seth and Fenrir aren’t laughing. It’s dark in the tent, but not so dark she can’t tell they’ve both propped themselves up on an elbow each and are looking at one another over her, still clutching the edge of the sleeping bag like it will hide what she just said.

“How d’you mean?” Fenrir asks. His voice is husky and hushed. She’s never heard him talk like that, and it makes her throat feel dry.

“Do you mean closer than we are now?” Seth’s voice is lower than usual, but just as steady as ever. It’s not a voice she thinks a person can hide from. She nods meekly.

“Much closer?” he prods.

“Yes,” she confesses on a whisper. “Much closer. Both of you... on either side.”

“They you should open your sleeping bag, Alice,” Seth whispers back, “And turn on your side so we know which one of us you want to kiss.” And as she is processing that, he adds “First.”

“Yeah, and don’t think you have to face that fox just because he thinks he’s calling the shots,” Fenrir says, audibly miffed.

Oh, oh dear. But also oh yes. She shimmies the zipper of her sleeping bag all the way open, down to her toes and back up, and turns toward Fenrir just to make up for Seth’s teasing, as though she can smooth everything over by choosing him first.

“Hi,” he whispers, freed of his own sleeping bag. He’s rolled toward her onto the open bag, and he smells woodsy in a very nice way. Like what the forest will smell like in the morning, probably. Clean and verdant. “Is it okay to--”

“Yes,” she says. She’s warm enough to feel his grin.

“Good,” he says just beyond her lips. And then he’s on them, and his arm goes around her and the other slots itself perfectly under her neck to support her. He kisses like he knows exactly what he’s doing. She has never been kissed by someone so good at all of it; the holding, the moving, the soft sounds he makes right into her mouth and the way he brings their echoes out of her throat.

There are hands coming around her, as sure as if they were being woven together, and they go right to her breast and the curve of her waist that she thought was flush against the ground. But it seems Seth is very good at finding openings. He curls his fingertips around her and it tickles in the slightest undeniable way through her nightdress.

Why on earth had she packed a nightdress for a recon mission?

Now make sure you have everything you need~, someone had told her.

He doesn’t let it stay on long. She can’t focus through Fenrir’s kisses to pay attention to how he does it, she mostly realizes that she’s been moved and that there are hands— three hands— on her breasts. If there were another pair she doesn’t think she’d be able to do the math.

She can still follow orders, though. When Seth says “Turn your head, Alice,” she breaks away from Fenrir with an apology kiss and goes to the other mouth that waits for her. He is right there, partially over her, in just the right spot that she can kiss him without stretching her neck so far it hurts. She breathes a surprised little exhalation into his mouth and Seth hums a little Mmmhmm, yes. It goes right between her legs and so does one of Fenrir’s hands, while his mouth dips to the breast Seth is holding for him.

Her cry is swallowed up in Seth’s mouth, and a mild thunderclap, nothing like what boomed before. It seems the storm outside the tent is mellowing as another increases within it. Seth doesn’t miss a beat, he swallows the sound and kisses her like he knows exactly what she’s doing, and she loses herself in it very quickly. He tastes like their dinner and spices that weren’t part of the meal. His tongue curls around hers silky and skilled.

Fenrir’s fingers are already inside her, and the way was easy. She can’t mind, she’s thrilled, but she’s a little embarrassed.

“He’s thinner,” Fenrir says against her nipple. “Just so you know.” And then he is drawing her out of herself with his mouth and she is whining into Seth because it feels so good, the fingers inside and against her, Fenrir’s sucking, Seth’s tongue.

“Longer, too,” Seth whispers. Fenrir snorts and it brings his teeth into her nipple just a little bit more and her moan is louder than thunder. The tent goes still and quiet.

“...do you like a little bit of hurt, Alice?” That’s Fenrir, but his voice is so smooth it feels like Seth.

“I don’t know,” she whispers back. “But I did like that.”

He does it again without the snort and yes. She definitely likes it. She realizes she has hands herself and she puts one on the back of each of their heads. “Good girl, Alice,” Seth purrs. The words vibrate against her tongue and she whines again, wanting to be good enough to hear that again.

“Oh?” Seth asks. He sucks gently on her lower lip, slowly enough to give her time to feel the way it builds in intensity, just like the pace of Fenrir moving his hand between her legs. “Do you want to be a good girl who gets a little pain and likes it?”

“Yes,” she warbles into his mouth, on the tail end of his question. “I do. With you both. From you both.” And then she is kissing Seth, perhaps to keep herself from saying anything else. His smile against her is sharp and sweet.

“Fenrir,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fenrir mumbles. His hand does something different, slipping out of her but then going right back in before she can be too sad about it. One of his fingers (she definitely cannot do the math) is rubbing at the spot she touches when she’s alone and fidgety in the night, the other (others?) are inside her, except for one that is speeding her slickness back and back, other a place she has not touched, to a place she has not even dreamed of touching, only hoped they would one day touch for her. And now they are.

“Good girl,” Fenrir breathes onto her skin, and it lights her up from the inside out. She had no idea she wanted to hear that so badly. She has always wanted to be good, always wanted people to think well of her, but this is something beyond her understanding of herself before she unzipped that sleeping bag.

“Mmhmm,” Seth agrees. “She’d be an even better girl if she opened up her mouth.”

Her jaw falls open before she can even think to do anything. She wants to do everything they want, so, so very badly.

“Good girl.” Seth purrs the praise and for some reason she says “Please,” not that she even knows what she’s pleading for.

But they do. They keep kissing her, but some of their hands drift away from her and she can hear the clinking of belt buckles, the hushed sound of zippers. Not the sleeping bag kind.

“Very good,” Fenrir is chanting against her breast. He’s moving back and forth a bit, more than he was, and when she realizes his body is moving because he’s stroking himself she feels so hot she worries she will catch the tent on fire and burn it until the rain outside cools her down. No such thing happens, but he does reach for her hand and pull it down, and then he’s in her grip, impossibly smooth and promisingly rigid.

“Fenrir,” she whimpers, and Seth bites her lower lip.

“No,” he says. “You can say his name into his mouth, Alice. Who are you kissing?”

“Seth.”

“That’s my good girl.”

“Our good girl,” Fenrir says, voice a little tight. She squeezes him gratefully.

“What can you be doing with your other hand, I wonder,” Seth prompts. She shakes her other hand just to figure out where it is and immediately pulls it down from Seth’s hair to stretch down between them and there he is, ready to meet her. He is slender. Slender and perfect.

She immediately begins to stroke him, too, pleased that a rhythm comes to her that is easy to keep. She kisses him firmly and pulls her mouth away. She has to tell them something important. “I’ve never... before...” she trails off, not sure how to explain, hoping they will understand like they have so beautifully understood everything else.

Seth shushes her and rubs his cheek against hers. “Sweet girl, we know. It doesn’t matter, but we know. We’ll take good care of you. Aren’t we already?”

“Yes!” Her voice is, again, embarrassing. But she can’t stand the thought that they wouldn’t know she values how good they are being to her.

He laughs against her so lightly. Like she has made a joke over tea. It sounds terribly sinful and if Fenrir wasn’t rubbing against the spot between her spots-- heavens-- she would really, truly go up in flames. But she would much rather live for more of the feeling of the pads of his fingers slipping against her, finding every place he can press.

“She’s good,” Fenrir says, and she knows he is talking to Seth but she is still so happy he has said she is good that she turns quickly to kiss him in gratitude. His amusement is in his laugh and his tongue. “Very good,” he amends.

“I know,” Seth says, and he puts a slim hand over hers and guides her to pull him up against her. “This first,” he whispers in her ear. “It will be easier, and then Fenrir will come in and make you feel better until it all feels good, I promise. Do you believe me?”

She nods and moans, and hopes her meaning is clear.

“You are such a very, very good girl, Alice,” he says slowly. “Be just a little bit better and breathe in for me, real deep. Deep as you can.”

She can feel him still holding one of her breasts. Surely he can feel how her chest expands as she breathes just like he said.

He presses against her and she cannot gasp because she cannot take in any more air. “Breathe out now,” He whispers. “You can go as fast as you want.”

And somehow it does help, with the way he is coming into her, even though she cries into Fenrir’s mouth. Shh, shh, almost there, he tells her, and kisses her sweetly, then not so sweetly, as she trembles. And then Seth’s hips are flush with her body and she groans. Not unhappily. This is foreign, but it is not uncomfortable or bad, only filling her up somewhere she craved him. He feels wonderful.

Seth is laughing in her ear. “Thank you,” he says. “So do you, sweet girl.” He settles behind her and moves his hands to her hips. His palms are comfortably warm around her and they make her feel safe.

“You did beautifully,” Fenrir says, nudging her with his nose. “Good job.” She manages a smile that trembles only because her body does not know how to handle what she is feeling, nervous energy leaving her body through little shakes.

Fenrir shushes her again and strokes her arm. “Okay?” he asks.

She takes stock of herself through the persistent trembles. “Could... be better,” she whispers, feeling bold.

“Is that so?” he asks. He sounds lively and bright, and she wants to throw her arms around him and cling to his brilliance.

“Hmm, is that so?” Seth repeats. “You’ve been so brave. If you want something, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart. We’ll give you everything you want.”

She drifts in the silk of those words for a moment, happily dazed. Then she remembers that one of her hands is around Fenrir, and she pulls him with a little more force. To her. “This,” she breathes, stroking him over the seam he’s made so slippery. “I want this,” she tells him.

“You can have it,” Fenrir tells her. “You want to put it in yourself or you want me to do it, sweetheart?”

“You,” she whines. “Please.”

“Those are some really top-notch manners,” he tells her, and presses inside without hesitation. Her breathing becomes moans; it is all her body can do. Seth, snug inside her, pushes her against Fenrir in a way she could not dream, not even when she dreamed of this. Fenrir swears and she thinks she might.

“Angel,” Seth praises after Fenrir stills, bottomed out deep inside her heat. “You could not be better. So good.”

They fuck her, there is no other word for it, but they do it gently. The give her so much praise she feels like if she opens her eyes she will blind herself by her own glow. She has never felt so surrounded (or filled) by care, glorious and sweet and full of adoration. It’s not long before she is wrung out.

But it is a very long time before they are done.

#ikerev fanfic #ikerev fanfiction #ikerev seth #ikerev fenrir #ikerev seth x alice x fenrir #pseu slings

[noctis-noctua]

I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

    The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today? 

    “Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

    “Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

    “I was planning on coming by later this evening.  Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic. 

    “I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage. 

    Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside. 

    He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother. 

    It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you. 

    In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you. 

    The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you. 

     Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere. 

    “To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

    “Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside. 

    “Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy. 

    “We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

    The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago. 

    “Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to. 

    “Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay. 

    “Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber. 

    “Deal!” 

    “Deal.” 

    They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

    “So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

    “Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke. 

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

#kaeya x you #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin impact x reader #genshin #noctis-noctua

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Prompt: Izuku's sick. Shōto takes care of him. In his hazed state, Izuku slurred things Shōto aren't meant to hear/know: him being diagnosed as Quirkless at age 4 caused him to endure a decade of bullying & being discriminated against those with flashy, powerful Quirks. Finished with him being suicide-baited/dared by Bakugō. But when Izuku is fully sober, he has no memory of telling Shōto the whole thing. (You're free to choose whether Shōto confronts Bakugō about it or not)

(Holy heckers I love this so much! :O 3000 words, this is the longest prompt I've done so far asdfghjkl Hope you enjoy!)

The moment Shoto's eyes landed on Midoriya, he knew something was wrong.

His best friend had just walked into class, disheveled and pale, with purple bags under his verdant eyes. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead and he was trembling terribly. Concerned, Shoto immediately jumped to his feet.

'Midoriya.' He called out as he strode towards him.

'Oh! Hi Todoroki-kun!' Midoriya turned to look at him, a wobbly smile plastered to his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘How are you?’

‘I was just going to ask you the same thing.’ Shoto dodged the question and came to a stop in front of his friend. When Midoriya tilted his head to the side quizzically, he raised his right hand to a freckled forehead and inhaled sharply at the temperature. ‘Midoriya, you’re burning up - you need to go see Recovery Girl.’

‘I’m fine, Todoroki-kun!’ Midoriya laughed in response, frantically waving his hands in front of him. However, his body betrayed his words when he swayed off-balance. He was about to stumble backwards when Shoto clasped his other hand onto his friend’s shoulder to steady him.

‘No, you’re not.’ He told him firmly, before using his quirk to cool the palm pressed against Midoriya’s forehead. The action elicited a sigh of pleasure from his friend that, in any other circumstance, would’ve had Shoto blushing.

‘Mmm, that’s nice.’ Midoriya leant into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. ‘But I’m not going to Recovery Girl. I’ll be fine - I can’t afford to miss a day just because of some stupid illness. I’ll fall behind and I already have so much catching up to do!’

‘What are you talking about-?’

Before Shoto could ask why Midoriya would even think that he was falling behind, Aizawa suddenly appeared and stood in the doorway, waiting expectantly for everyone to take their seats. Midoriya tried to use the opportunity to escape, but Shoto wasn’t about to give up that easily. He kept his hand secure on his friend’s shoulder, holding him in place, even when their teacher glared at them with exhausted eyes.

‘Please, Todoroki-kun.. I’m fine.’ Midoriya whispered, looking up at Shoto with an expression he recognised but did not expect from his best friend.

Fear. Midoriya had never looked at him like that before; Midoriya had never been scared of him before. Shoto felt a wave of disgust at himself, albeit he had no idea what he had done to cause such distress.

‘Mido-’

‘Is there a problem there?’ Aizawa interrupted, startling Midoriya. Shoto watched as his friend closed in on himself, as if preparing for an attack. Shoto knew that stance well - it was how he used to act when he first started training with his father.

‘Sensei, Midoriya isn’t well and is refusing to get help.’ He spoke, ignoring the rest of the class’s eyes burning holes into his back. ‘I’m not moving until something is done.’

He stared at Aizawa challengingly as he regarded the situation. After a few moments of silence, their teacher approached the two of them, took in Midoriya’s bedraggled appearance and grumbled.

‘Go and see Recovery Girl, Midoriya. You’re not fit for class, even a dope like All Might could tell you that much.’ He spoke gruffly, albeit his words were non-negotiable. ‘I’ll see that you are provided with some substitute work at the end of the day so you can catch up to your classmates.’

‘But Sensei-’ Midoriya began.

‘Todoroki, see to it that the problem child gets to the infirmary in one piece.’ Aizawa finished, his tone bored.

‘Yes, Sensei.’

Their teacher grunted approvingly, then turned and made his way to the front of the classroom. Shoto took that as their cue to leave, so gently ushered Midoriya out of the room, careful not to alarm him. Luckily, his friend went willingly, too exhausted to protest.

Once they were out in the hallway, Shoto closed the door behind them and gazed at Midoriya, who was struggling just to stand up on his own.

Shuffling on his feet, he asked quietly, ‘You want to lean on me? I can help cool you down a bit.’

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

‘O- Okay…’ Midoriya rubbed the back of his neck. ‘If you’re okay with that, that is.’

‘I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t okay with it.’ Shoto stepped forward and wrapped his right arm around Midoriya’s waist whilst the latter hooked his arm around his shoulders for support. Shoto instantly activated his quirk and Midoriya practically sunk into him as they started walking towards the infirmary.

By the time they arrived, Shoto was carrying Midoriya - who had passed out from exhaustion - in his arms. His friend had nestled his head in the crook of Shoto's neck while his arms hung limp at his sides.

Shoto nodded to Recovery Girl when she spotted them, and moved towards one of the beds. As he carefully laid Midoriya down, the healer sighed and walked over to meet them.

‘What’s he done now?’

‘He isn't well. He has a fever and has been acting on edge.’ Shoto explained, straightening back up. 'Aizawa Sensei instructed me to make sure he got here okay.'

'I see.' She tutted, although Shoto noticed the way she looked over at her patient, clearly concerned. 'Well, at least he hasn't broken anything this time.'

She then met his gaze and smiled. 'Don't worry, Todoroki-shounen. I'll take care of him. You can go back to class now.'

Shoto sent one last look at Midoriya, as white as the sheets around him, swallowed heavily and nodded. 

'Okay.'

Just as he turned to leave though, he suddenly heard his friend grumble and whipped around in alarm.

‘Todoroki-kun?’ Midoriya mumbled, eyes still closed but face inquisitive. ‘Todoroki-kun, are you there?’

Shoto strode forwards and kneeled down, arms resting on the bed as he took his friend’s hand in his own.

‘Yes, Midoriya. I’m here.’ He spoke, trying to hide his worry in his even voice. ‘Go back to sleep, it’s okay.’

‘If I d- do, will you leave?’ Midoriya’s hand tightened around his, making Shoto’s heart clench. ‘Please don’t leave me.’

‘I won’t leave you, I promise.’ Shoto reached forwards and picked up the wet rag Recovery Girl had just set down. He then placed the damp material over his friend’s forehead, dabbing at his flustered skin. The healer merely sighed at the action and muttered something about telling Aizawa about his absence from class, but as long as Shoto didn’t have to leave, he didn't care what happened. He couldn’t abandon his friend while he was like this. 

‘Th- Thank you.’ Midoriya whispered, eyes falling shut against his will.

Within minutes, his friend was asleep again, allowing Shoto to reach behind him and drag forwards a seat to sit in. The chair scraped against the floor, causing Shoto to let out a wince, but Midoriya barely stirred.

Not long after, Recovery Girl came back to examine Midoriya and to tell Shoto that Aizawa had signed off for his absence just this once. Once the healer had finished, she confirmed the presence of a fever and prescribed at least a day of bed rest - not that Midoriya was conscious to hear it. She then tucked Midoriya in bed properly - if she noticed that Shoto was still holding his friend’s hand, she didn’t comment on it - and bustled off to update Midoriya’s lengthy patient record, leaving Shoto alone with him.

Shoto didn’t know how long he sat there, tracing his friend’s scars with his thumb and dabbing his temple with the cool material. Occasionally, Midoriya would murmur something unintelligible in his sleep and Shoto would watch the way his friend’s face scrunched up slightly, hand tightening around his under the covers to make sure he wouldn’t let go.

Eventually though, Shoto’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Leaving the cloth on Midoriya's forehead, he pulled out the device and found a message from Uraraka, asking if everything was alright.

Shoto begrudgingly let go of a calloused hand to type out a response. However, in the minute it took him to send the message, Midoriya's slumber quickly became less peaceful.

His head started moving around and his body twitched. Shoto instantly noticed the movement and pocketed his phone.

'Midoriya?'

He got no response. Instead, his friend started to thrash around in bed, his eyes squeezed shut. Was it his fever? A nightmare? He should go get Recovery Girl. As Shoto stood up though, suddenly his friend cried out.

‘No! No, please don’t!’ Midoriya's eyebrows furrowed and tears started to leak from his eyes as small sobs escaped him. Shoto was instantly at his side, leaning over the bed and taking hold of one of Midoriya’s hands once more.

‘Midoriya-’

‘Kacchan, no! Stop!’ His friend almost wailed, not hearing him. Shoto froze in place at the mention of Bakugou’s name, eyes widening slightly as Midoriya continued to writhe around. ‘Don’t hurt them! Hurt me instead!’

'Midoriya-!'

'I'm not quirkless anymore, Kacchan!' His friend exclaimed. 'No, stop!'

'Izuku!'

Shoto cupped Midoriya’s face in his hands as verdant eyes shot open, terror quickly being replaced with familiarity when he recognised Shoto.

'Todoroki-kun…' He panted heavily, staring up Shoto but not quite seeing him. His eyes were glazed over and his expression was one of apprehension. 'You're not going to hate me too, are you?'

Shoto was taken aback by the question.

'Of course not.' He frowned, wiping away Midoriya's tears. 'I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.'

‘Kacchan and I were best friends too.’ Midoriya turned in Shoto’s hands to look away, voice slurring slightly. ‘But when he found out I was quirkless, he started to hate me.’

‘But-?’ Shoto began, confused. What was he talking about? ‘Midoriya, you’re not quirkless.’

His friend hid his face in Shoto’s palm as hot tears dampened his skin.

‘I used to be.’ Midoriya whispered. ‘Kacchan used to bully me for it. All the kids were in on it too… So were the teachers.’ He whined at the memory. ‘They hated me for living and I hated them for hurting me, but I wanted to be a hero and heroes aren’t meant to hate others.’

Shoto’s mind was running a mile a minute as he tried to process what Midoriya was saying. He used to be quirkless? He was bullied? By Bakugou?

So many questions were on his lips but that didn't matter right now. Right now, his best friend was suffering and Shoto had to help him.

'I think heroes are allowed to feel hate towards those who have hurt them.' He remembered the hatred he felt towards his old man back in their first year. 'Heroes save people, sometimes they even have to save those that hurt them, but we're only human.'

'Sometimes…' Izuku mumbled, eyelashes fluttering against Shoto's hand. 'I thought they were right. That I would be better off dead.’

‘Midoriya!’ Shoto couldn’t help the surprised exclamation. Where had that come from? ‘How could you even think something like that?!’

'Izuku.' Midoriya turned to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. 'You called me Izuku before.'

'I-' Shoto struggled for words. He had to remind himself that his friend still had a fever and that his words were coming out unfiltered. He probably couldn’t even process what he was saying, let alone understand the weight behind his words. Nevertheless though, Shoto couldn't just ignore the revelation that Midoriya - his best friend, the person he trusted the most in the whole world - would ever think that he wasn't worthy of living.

He gently wiped tear trails away from freckled cheeks. 'Izuku.' He corrected. ‘How could you ever think that you would be better off dead?'

Several moments passed without an answer. Shoto searched Midoriya's face as his friend bit his lip, eyes never leaving him.

'They were so cruel to me.' He finally whispered, barely audible if not for the choked way he spoke. 'And when… When Kacchan told me to take a swan dive off the roof and hope for a quirk in the next life… I thought, maybe he was right. I was useless Deku, after all. I wasn't meant to be a hero. I'm just me, weak and pathetic.'

'No, Izuku. He couldn't be more wrong.' Shoto shook his head violently and sat down fully on the bed beside his friend. He leant forwards and rested his forehead against Midoriya's, not caring about how the wet cloth had fallen off to accommodate him.

He felt Midoriya inhale sharply at the contact but he didn't recoil from the touch.

Shoto swallowed heavily. 'No one can even compare to you. You're not just a hero, you're Kota's hero, you're Eri's hero, you're All Might's hero... You're also my hero. Quirk or no quirk, I can promise you that'll never change.'

'But-'

'A world without Midoriya Izuku is a world that I don't want to be a part of.' Shoto continued, his own tears threatening to fall. His vision of Midoriya became blurred, but he dared not blink, even as small sobs escaped his friend.

'Todoroki-kun…' Midoriya slurred, exhaustion finally catching up to him. 'You don't really mean…'

'I do, Izuku.' Shoto replied, desperation seeping into his voice. 'You're the most important person in the world to me and I don't know what I'd do without you.'

Midoriya sniffled in response, raising his trembling hands from beneath the covers and placing them over Shoto's own.

'You mean it.' He whispered.

Shoto knew it wasn't a question, but he nodded against Midoriya's forehead anyway. He then moved to lie next to his friend and took him in his arms, cradling him gently as the last of Midoriya's tears fell. When he eventually quieted, Shoto retrieved the damp cloth from the pillow and - after cooling it again - placed it back on his forehead.

Shoto stayed with him like that, long after Midoriya had fallen back asleep and even as his temperature rose significantly to fight the fever, causing sweat to cling to Shoto uncomfortably. Even when Uraraka, Iida and Tsu came to visit them at lunch, Shoto didn't move, resting his head against Midoriya's own as his friend used his shoulder as a pillow, his arms wrapped around him tightly.

As long as Midoriya needed him, Shoto refused to leave.

However, that evening, after classes had long since finished and Midoriya was sleeping peacefully at his side while Shoto worked on his homework, the door suddenly opened, drawing his attention towards the visitor.

You.

When Bakugou stood in the doorway, glaring at Shoto and Midoriya as if they had offended him just by breathing, Shoto found that his body moved before he could think.

☀️ ☽ 

'The fuck do you think you're doing, Icyhot?!' Bakugou shouted when Shoto slammed him into the wall outside the infirmary.

'What the hell do you think you're doing coming to see Izuku?' Shoto growled, pulling at the blonde's collar.

'None of your business, bastard.' Bakugou snarled. 'Get your fucking hands off me.'

'Oh no, we aren't done yet.' Shoto leant in and stared at the blonde, his eyes cold and unforgiving. 'Luckily for you, I want to be a hero, so instead of beating the shit out of you like I want to, I'll be nice.'

'You wanna fucking go, Half n Ha-?!'

'Izuku told me what you used to do to him!' Shoto shouted, not caring that he was drawing attention to them. 'The bullying! The discrimination!'

He watched Bakugou's mouth snap shut as recognition dawned on him. Shoto glared at him, eyes wide. 'That's right. Anything to say for yourself?'

When the blonde merely tsked and looked away from Shoto's piercing glare, scowling, that was all the confirmation he needed.

He tugged harshly on Bakugou's collar again, drawing his attention back to him. 'Here's what's going to happen, Bakugou.'

'Like I'm gonna listen-'

'Oh, you're going to listen. Because if you don't, I have no qualms with informing Aizawa-Sensei that one of his top students used to mercilessly bully and suicide-bait another for over a decade.'

Bakugou growled, but said nothing. Shoto didn't make idle threats. The blonde knew that - when Shoto said something, he followed through.

Shoto nodded once. 'Good. Here's the deal then. Stay the fuck away from Izuku. Don't talk to him - don't even fucking look at him unless it's for training. If you even lay a finger on him outside of that, there's not a pro out there who'll be able to stop me. Understand?'

When Bakugou remained silent, he continued. 'You may think you're such a big man, but you'll be pleased to know, Bakugou, that I actually like big men like you. When they fall, they make more noise.'

He leant in to whisper in his ear, 'And sometimes, when they fall, they don’t get back up.'

Shoto pulled back and shoved Bakugou away, enjoying the way his back hit the wall with a thud. 'Consider this a warning.'

Shoto turned away then, leaving the blonde to consider his words, and returned to the infirmary. The moment he walked in though, he was met with a pair of emerald eyes, staring at him knowingly.

'You're awake.' Shoto stated, approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge. 'How are you feeling?'

'Did I really…' Midoriya began, before lowering his chin to his chest. 'I told you about the bullying?'

Shoto stilled. Had he really shouted that loudly? How much did he hear? It didn't matter now though. After all, he couldn't lie to Midoriya if he tried.

'You did.' He confirmed, watching as his friend chewed on his lip. 'You also said… That he used to bully you because you were quirkless and…'

He trailed off. I can't do it.

Shoto had already seen how distraught Midoriya had been before when he had recalled the suicide-baiting and the depreciating thoughts that had stemmed from it. He couldn't make his friend go through that again.

'And?' Midoriya asked, worriedly.

'And…' Shoto met his friend's vulnerable eyes and sighed. I'll make sure he never hurts you again. I'll protect you with my life.

'And I just want you to know… While I don't understand what you meant by being quirkless, I'll always support you - I could never hate you, Izuku. That's a promise.'

Midoriya startled at Shoto's use of his given name, but he didn't question it. Instead, he sunk further into the bed and smiled at him.

'I guess I have a lot of explaining to do, huh?'

Shoto laid down next to him and the two of them stared up at the grey ceiling.

'It's okay, you need to rest.' Shoto reached out and took Midoriya's hand. 'I can wait. I'll always wait for you.'

#tododeku #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #platonic tododeku #pre relationship #tw: suicide-baiting #AgarJelly writes #bakugou katsuki #anti bakugou #tw: threats #bnha #mha #tw: mentions of bullying #i hope you enjoyed this :) #and now i sleep #because I'm exhausted and everything i write is starting to annoy me :')

[supernaturalfreewill]

Sam x Reader Warnings: none! A/N: Short update. This is part of a series! Find the other parts (and more!) on the Master List.

Your name: submit What is this?

Finally, you couldn’t stand to stay in bed a moment longer. You threw the covers off, having hardly slept at all, and limped into the bathroom, quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth. You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at your reflection in the mirror and smoothed the flyaways in your hair. You wandered down the long hallway, one hand sliding on the cool wall as you leaned on it to take some weight off your stitched-up leg, and turned into the kitchen. It was empty but for once didn’t feel lonely. You set about brewing some coffee and hummed happily while you measured the grounds. Everything felt new. There was (for once) a feeling of happy expectation in the air and you breathed it in with deep, relaxed breaths. You felt as if you had arrived at the top of a hill you’d been climbing for years and were looking out over a road stretched before your feet, smooth and unbroken as it meandered over verdant pastures and through cheerful woods.

You settled in to a fresh cup of coffee, cupping the warm ceramic in your hands and taking a deep breath in of the roasty steam, your eyes closed in a blissful smile.

The sound of soft footsteps caught your attention and you looked over to see Sam leaning on the doorframe, smiling at you. The grin that spread on your face was reflexive. Sam loved how your eyes crinkled at the corners. “Hey,” you said.

You felt your cheeks color with a blush and grinned at him again, tilting your head a little. “I was thinking about you doing that all night, too,” you said. Sam grinned again.

“That’s good to hear.” He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee before sinking down onto the stool beside you at the kitchen island. Neither of you could keep a smile off your lips. “How’s your leg feeling?”

“You know, it’s weird, but I hardly notice it today. It’s like my mind is… completely elsewhere,” you replied, raising your eyebrows at him and biting your bottom lip. “How’s your hand doing?”

Sam looked down at his cast. “Hardly remember it’s even in a cast.” You smirked at him again. “So,” he sighed, giving you a conspiratorial look, “apparently we both had the same idea this morning,” he said.

You cocked your head in a question.

“I went in to tell Dean that uhh… well, that I finally kissed you and he said you had already been in there.” Sam pressed his lips into a thin, amused smile. His eyebrows lifted toward the ceiling.

You let out a bashful laugh. “Oh, no. On a scale of 1 to 10 how pissed was he to be woken up again?”

Sam waved it off. “I’d say a begrudged four… He didn’t even pull a weapon on me, so that’s something. It was fine. He was just—he’s happy for us.”

“So… wait… you went in to tell Dean… Does that mean that he knew that you—?”

Sam ran a hand back through his hair again, a little anxiously. “Yeah… well… it kind of burst out of me a while ago that I was—” Sam had almost spilled the “L” word but he quickly rerouted, not sure you were ready to hear that yet, despite it being the truth, “—that I had feelings for you.”

You stared at him. “How long is ‘a while ago’?”

Sam blew an exhale out through his lips and tried to hide behind his mug. “I mean… maybe like, uhh, a month. Err, maybe more…”

“A month?” you repeated, your jaw hanging slightly open. Sam looked suddenly anxious. “While you were still with my sister,” you thought aloud.

Sam gulped. “Yeah, I… Yeah.” He tried to read your expression. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Can I ask… how long you—?”

Sam gulped again. He looked down at his coffee and sighed. “To be honest, I don’t even think I really know… it’s almost like I always have had feelings for you and I was just too stupid to realize it.” His eyes lifted to meet yours again. His expression was sincere. “I wasted so much time…”

“But Dean knew for over a month,” you repeated again, shaking your head.

Sam was running a finger around the lip of his mug. “Yeah, I just was scared—I—”

But you suddenly laughed and rested your hand on his arm, soothing his fears and sending a jolt of electricity through him. “No, Sam. It’s not that… I’m just amazed that Dean didn’t spill it. And maybe also a little annoyed.”

Sam’s hand came to rest over the top of yours and his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, sparking with electricity and sending both of your hearts leaping. “Wait… so Dean knew that you--about me?” Sam asked.

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed.

“Huh…” Sam said thoughtfully. So, Dean knew that you both had feelings for the other through basically the entire, torturous process. “I really can’t believe he didn’t yell it out in frustration. That must have been driving him—”

“Completely insane?” came Dean’s deep voice from the doorway. He was leaning against one side of the frame, just the way Sam had been, with a crooked smile on his face. “It was. It was driving me insane. Do you know how hard it is to listen to someone pine and wring their hands over something for months and months all while you have a piece of information that would probably solve everything, make everything better, and you can’t share that? It sucks. It’s terrible. I hated it. It worse than sucks. I never want anyone to tell me anything ever again!” he finished dramatically.

You and Sam exchanged tight smiles before shooting him an apologetic look. “But you kept your promises. Both of them,” you said, giving him an impressed look.

“You’re goddamn right I did,” he said, straightening up. His green eyes drifted down to your hand on Sam’s arm, and Sam’s hand on top of it and his smile widened. “And now look at you. A couple of gimpy cripples in love,” he said.

You and Sam’s eyes both shot open wide and you looked over at Sam briefly before staring back at Dean, your mouth now hanging open. “…What did you just say?” you asked him.

“Oh—” Dean seemed to realize what he had just let slip. “Uhh… Dammit. I—umm…” he shrugged and gestured vaguely, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Dean—what did you just say?” you asked again. You really thought maybe you had imagined it. Had Dean really just said “in love”?

You now looked at Sam and though his eyes were wide like yours you didn’t see any turmoil in them. He cleared his throat and looked down again at your hand in his before meeting your eyes steadily. “He said ‘in love’,” Sam said. “And I’m not going to try and correct him because that’s the truth. I’m insanely in love with you. And I don’t even know how long I have been.” He nervously licked his lips but his eyes didn’t stray from yours. “And if you’re not ready to say that—if that’s just too fast, or too much right now then, that’s fine but—"

Sam was interrupted by three loud, echoing bangs coming from the direction of the front of the bunker.

“Was that just someone knocking?” Dean asked. His answer was another series of bangs.

“Someone is knocking,” you said. “Who the hell would be knocking here?” Your heart started to race, your mind immediately jumping to worse case scenarios.

Sam looked at Dean and the two of them were immediately a blur of action. Dean suddenly produced his pistol, which he apparently always had on him, and pointed vehemently at you. “Y/N, you stay here! You’ve got a messed-up leg!”

“Dean, I can—”

“No!” Dean roared. You looked at Sam for help and he only gave you a sympathetic look, shaking his head, and gently grabbed your shoulders.

“He’s right. Just wait here. We’ll check it out,” he said.

“You’ve got a fucked-up hand!” you called after Sam, sliding down off your stool and landing hard on your feet which sent a jolt of pain through your injured leg. “Goddammit…” you swore under your breath. The Winchester brothers had already disappeared into the front room, and you hobbled toward the doorway.

The brothers clattered up the stairs to the heavy metal door which served as the front entrance to the bunker. Dean got ready with his pistol aimed at the entrance and Sam was waiting to heave it open.

Dean nodded and Sam quickly unlatched the lock and yanked the heavy door open as hard as he could.

“Oh.” Dean immediately lowered his gun when he saw who had been knocking. “Uhh…” his eyes found Sam who stepped around the door to look outside.

Sam’s mouth dropped open when he saw the figure. It was your sister. She was standing there, looking out of place and wringing her hands.

“Hi,” she said, quietly. “Umm… Sam, can we—could we talk?”

Dean awkwardly cleared his throat and glanced at his little brother’s face, which was still just frozen in that same stunned expression. “Well, I definitely don’t need to be here.” He thumped Sam on the back and rushed down the stairs as fast as he could, but not before shooting a seriously unhappy glare at your sister.

Sam still hadn’t said anything and was just staring, wide-eyed at her.

She stepped over the threshold through the open door toward him. “I really need to talk to you. I’m sorry to just show up here but it’s—it’s important.”

You were waiting anxiously in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and chewing on your thumb nail. You straightened up when Dean burst back into the room. He was scruffing a hand through his hair and his face was muddled with confusion.

“Who the hell was it? Where’s Sam?” you asked urgently.

Dean’s eyes snapped up to your face. How should he say this? “Uhhh… it’s your sister…” Probably best to just get it out.

You stared at Dean blankly.

Dean stared back.

You forced in a deep breath and let it out, doing your best to stay calm. “Sam just kissed me last night. You just spilled that Sam is in love with me and I didn’t even get a chance to tell him that I’m in love with him too and now you’re telling me that my sister, the one who CHEATED on him, just showed up at the front door of the bunker?”

“…Yeah, I think that about covers it,” Dean said wincing.

“And did she say anything?” you urged.

“She just said she needed to talk to Sam…”

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared daggers at Dean. “And you didn’t tell her to go to hell?”

Dean mouthed wordlessly for a moment. “I don’t think—That’s not—I’m not getting in the middle of this again!” He pointed emphatically at you again. “No! I will not be in the middle!”

You pressed a hand to your forehead. “Shit…” you muttered under your breath.

#sam winchester #sammy fanfics #sam x reader #sammy the moose #sam fanfiction #reader insert fics #supernatural #spn

[starlightsearches]

Could I please request a Hades and Persephone AU/ inspired piece for Kylo? I really think that aesthetic suits him so well 😍

Verdant

I’m still taking more requests, so if you have an idea please send one in!

Pairing: Hades! Kylo Ren X Persephone! Female Reader

AN: No warnings for this one, I don’t think. It was really hard to write because I don’t know anything about greek mythology, but I love the way it turned out 🥰

The field is verdant, wild, overflowing with flowers—the long grass kissing your ankles and the palms of your hands as you walk on your own. The warm sun strikes your skin, painting your field golden in the morning light, like the whole earth is yours to do with as you please. A false promise, as always. You sit gently in the clearing, flattening the greenery beneath you into a soft place to lay, stroking the tendrils of fragrant earth sprouting beneath your fingers. A peaceful moment—maybe one too many.

You begin picking the flowers, your hands working of their own accord. Weaving the patterns is second-nature to you, and you pluck the blossoms up by their stems, choosing only the most fragrant, the most beautiful, the flawless work of your hand. There’s freesia and daisy for innocence, you think to yourself, and sweet pea for bliss. Peonies for compassion and hyacinth for playfulness. Your hand stops, hovering over the asters. A symbol of love. You brush past them, grabbing some bluebells instead. It’s best not to think that way.

The crown is finished, and you admire it for a moment before placing it on your head. There’s a creek nearby, with still and shallow waters, and you wander over, taking in the full effect of your reflection. It’s truly lovely. If only there were someone else there to see it.

“Fit for a queen,” the voice startles you, deeper than any of the nymphs, who can’t be too far off. You jump, the crown falling from your head and into the water, and whirl to face the unknown visitor.

There’s a man standing before you, and his face goes rosey when you look at him. He’s tall, and strange, not like the others who inhabit this realm, or the humans, either: his hair is long and dark and falls over his face, skin dotted with freckles and so pale it’s almost translucent, even in the lemony light of the sun. But he’s soft to look at, all round pink lips and dark brown eyes, and a warm feeling finds its way into your chest.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says.

“Who are you?” you ask. He’s shifting nervously in the grass, looking over his shoulder, back the way he must have come. You’ve never seen him before—never  really seen any man before—and you have to wonder if all of them are just as timid.

“Some people call me Ren.” You hum in response. It’s almost like a joke.

“Some people call me Kore,” you say back, and he scrunches his nose in distaste.

“It doesn’t really suit you.”

“What does suit me, then?” Is this what flirting is? You hope so. It’s making him nervous, and you like it.

“The crown you were wearing, certainly. I’m sorry that it’s gone.”

“Don’t be, I make them all the time.” You’re feeling guilty, suddenly, and you try to move past him. You’ve talked for too long already. If your mother found out . . .

“Please don’t go,” he says, grabbing you by the wrist. His touch is cold on your skin, but pleasant, like dipping your hand in the stream. He speaks again, “I was hoping you might . . . make me one of your crowns?”

“What will you give me in return?” you ask, and he hesitates.

“What do you want?” You don’t have to think before you respond. 

“A kiss.” You want to be nonchalant about it, but just saying it makes your heart race, and you look away, hoping to hide it. You try to look at ease, sliding your hand into his and pulling him towards the flowers. You can’t look at him.

“A— a kiss?”

“Yes. I’ve never done it before. I want to know what it’s like.” He nods, and swallows hard, and you can feel his hand tremble in yours. So he wants it too.

You pull him into the densest part of the field, guiding him to the ground and sitting beside him, and then take a moment to study him in silence. He looks back, a little uncertain, but you can tell he loves the way you look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading you,” you say, and he quirks an eyebrow in confusion, “I can’t just pick the flowers at random. All of them mean something. You have to choose the right ones to send the right message,” you explain in a low voice, gathering a few blossoms and beginning the crown. 

You can feel his eyes on you, less guarded now that your own are occupied, and his gaze sets you on fire, makes you want to melt into the ground and become one with the earth. Or maybe you want to melt into him, find yourselves so intertwined that he cannot look at you without seeing himself reflected back. The very idea of it thrills you, and you scold yourself half-heartedly. It does you no good to think that way.

“We’ll start with amaryllis, for pride and determination. They make a lovely base. And then we’ll add some astilbe. They symbolize patience, waiting.” You look at him, and something new occurs to you.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me?” You phrase it like a question, but you know it’s true before he confirms it. The flowers don’t lie.

“I found your field a little while ago,” he admits, “but I didn’t dare approach you until today.”

“Why?” You shiver at his admission, your eyes on him, not bothering to look at the crown in your hands, stringing together the purple asters and lilacs on memory alone.

“You’re—” he starts, and swallows before continuing, “a bit intimidating,” and you laugh, a sweet, pealing sound that brings a tender smile to his face.

“Intimidating. Me? You must be joking.” The crown is almost done. You fill in the gaps with some dahlias, add a few chrysanthemums, and admire your work.

“Yes, intimidating. Regal, even.” You move onto your knees, place the crown on his head, leaning over him where he sits. The high grass is shielding you from the rest of the world—a private place for secret acts. Against your better judgement, you bring your hands down, running them over his hair, brush the soft strands into place beneath the flowers, and he catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it close to his lips, his breath tickling your skin and sending pure light into your veins.

“What made you change your mind?” You’re whispering without thinking about it; the moment feels sacred and you’re terrified of desecrating it. He presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, and for a moment, the world stops.

“How do I look?” He dodges the question, but you can’t ask it again, can’t do anything but stare at him, drinking him in. His apprehension from earlier is gone, and now he’s permissive, attentive—tuned into your heavy breathing, the hammering of your heart.

“Beautiful.” It’s true. The crown is nice, but it’s nothing compared to his radiance. His long eyelashes catch the light of the sun as he looks down, pleased by the compliment.

“My payment?” It sounds desperate because it is. What had started as mild curiosity had turned into full-blown need, clawing at your insides like you’ll die if he doesn’t give you what you’ve asked for.

“If you insist.” He takes your face in both of his hands, gently, like a prayer. You’re not breathing, and you can’t remember how, can only focus on the shrinking distance between his face and yours. Somehow it’s impossibly fast and painfully slow, and then your lips meet, and everything is as it should be.

The contact sets you alight, and you pounce on him—you can’t help it—knocking him to the ground beneath you. It’s like you’re starving, possessed, consumed by him. The kiss is sloppy, on your part at least—but you can’t get enough of it, running your hands through his hair, pulling him close. You’ll never get enough of him.

He’s still beneath you, unmoving, and for a moment you worry that you’ve gone too far and you sit up, embarrassed. He follows, a little dazed, a dopey and vulnerable look on his face. You knocked the crown from his head with your urgency, and some of the flowers were crushed beneath him in the fall. You resist the urge to brush up against him again, and pick it up, run your hands over the blossoms, reviving them and avoiding his gaze.

“What was that?” he asks, but you don’t look up, handing him the crown back in shame. The evidence of your failure is gone, the flowers restored to their original perfection, but the guilt runs deep in you, until it is replaced by the sensation of his hand on your jaw as he pulls your gaze to meet his. His touch awakens something in you; you want to feel him everywhere . . . which makes what you’re about to do all the more difficult.

“I know who you are.” You say it, even though it will ruin everything. Purple asters and chrysanthemums. The flowers don’t lie.

“When can I see you again?” He looks a little pained, now that you’ve caught him, but there’s a want there too.

“Never.” You were right all along. It does you no good to feel this way. All you’d ever know is heartache.

“Please,” he begs.

“This field, this realm—for all it’s beauty—is nothing but a gilded cage, and I am its sole prisoner. If you ever come back, my mother will find out, and she will be furious.”

“I have to see you again,” he’s insistent, and he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, his cool touch setting your world on fire. You kiss him again, more gently this time, as a parting gift, and he pulls away too soon.

“Come with me,” he says. 

“You’re insane.” He’s breaking your heart all over again, and try as you might you can’t help but imagine a life with him, far beneath the earth, in a place where the sun never shines. It would be worth it to stay by his side.

“I cannot leave you here alone.”

“Loneliness is all I have. It’s what I’m used to.”

“Come with me,” he offers you his hand this time, and you don’t have to think before you take it.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren au #hades! kylo ren x persephone! reader #star wars fanfic #my writing #i know flower language is victorian #please don't judge the historical accuracy of my fanfiction #can you guys tell I don't know what I'm doing 😂 #requests #also purple asters mean royalty #and chrysanthemums mean death #in case that wasn't clear

[kianmaydelcam]

Hey all! I wrote something for my fictional writing class; I'm pretty proud. I present my short story, Protector of the Stars. Sorry in advance for the long post.

The plain before Nava was awash with the golden glow of thousands of campfires, the lights almost twin to the stars above her. This time tomorrow, she knew the verdant green plains would turn crimson as the Amaranthian people, her people, fought their last battle in a desperate bid to win their freedom from Ashya, a crude, brutal country determined to become an empire.

She snorted. They were foolish for believing they could enslave Amaranthia, a country of light and learning, a beacon of knowledge and hope in a dark world. Or perhaps they targeted Amaranthia first for those reasons. Either way, the fate of Amaranthia and their world would be decided tomorrow.

“My Queen,” ventured a young, feminine voice from behind her, interrupting her quiet brooding. It was a voice she treasured above all others.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘queen’ or ‘majesty’ or whatever fancy title they come up with, Nya?” Nava turned to smile at her younger sister. At 16 years old, Nya was already a great beauty. They might both have the silver hair and blue eyes that were characteristic of their people, but Nya took after their mother, with her courtesan-like features. Nava had the look of a warrior, albeit a feminine one. It was fitting, she supposed, considering the rebellion and eventual war she led her people through the last six years.

“Would you prefer ‘royal pain in the ass’?” She smirked. “At least, that’s what General Navin would like to call you after you decreed that you will duel that two-faced usurper currently occupying that stupid golden throne alone.”

“He can call me whatever he wants. This is my burden to carry, not his.” Nya began to respond, but Nava interrupted her, already knowing what she was going to say. “Neither is it yours, Nya. Our people need their Silver Flame leading the charge tomorrow.”

At the mention of her earned title, Nya smiled. She won that name after she recovered their sacred, silver flame that was gifted to them by the stars from one of Ashya’s nastier generals. The Silver Flame was eternal, requiring no air nor fuel, and was her people’s most treasured artifact. Nya’s recovery of it earned her both the title and the love of their people. “Yes, but they also need their Queen,” Nya sighed. “And I need my big sister.”

“Even if I die in this so-called suicide mission, I will always be with you in the stars.” She closed the distance between them and drew Nya into a hug. “I love you, but I need to do this.”

“You’re just like Father; stubborn and proud.”

“And you, little one, are just like Mother. Charming and loved by everyone.”

“We will win this for them. For Mother, for Father, for Sam,” Nava’s heart sank at the mention of her betrothed’s name. “We will win this for everyone we lost.”

The charge began at dawn, and Nava was forced to watch as the two armies, her soldiers in silver and Ashya’s in gold, collided in a clash that she swore rattled the sky above them. Even from here, she swore she could see her sister, resplendent in her silver armor and battle crown, leading from the vanguard. Swords flashed crimson in the early light, and already, the moans and cries of the dying and injured reached her at her vantage point almost a mile away. Her place wasn’t with them, not today.

She turned from the carnage and entered an old forgotten tunnel, a tunnel that her scholars said would lead her right to her quarry, King Garrow of Ashya. It was a small miracle when they discovered the tunnel led under the thick city walls of Ashya’s capital, Athurna. From there, its long, windy passages led straight to the castle’s dungeons.

Her spies told her that the king would not participate in today’s battle, due to his not entirely unfounded belief that his soldiers would annihilate her people. After years of wins and losses, her people were tired and many had called for peace at any cost. Walking through the damp, dark tunnels, her sword like quicksilver in the sparse light of her torch, Nava was alone with skittering animals and her thoughts.

Even if she was successful today, Nava would face an even bigger challenge. Becoming the true Queen of Amaranthia. She could still hear the hushed whispers that followed her through the countless war camps. Nothing like her sister. She chose war. Does she even care about us? Nya was quick to shut down any talk and comfort her, yet she still wanted to scream at them. She did this for them. She led them through hundred-mile marches, fought at the head of her armies, and accumulated numerous scars, both mental and physical, for them.

Despite that, despite the stars choosing her, she still did not think she was the right person to be Queen. She would rather serve as her sister’s loyal general. Nya was wise, strong, and even enjoyed the court politics. Hell, she even thrived under the shriveling gazes of their court that left Nava wanting to hide forever. But if she gave her crown to her sister, she would not only condemn her sister to the shackles of the throne, she would spit upon the will of the stars. Their crops would die, their children would be born deformed, and Amaranthia would fall into ruin. No, she could not and would not run from her fate.

Yet, as she walked through the catacombs, she allowed herself to daydream and reminisce. Anything to keep her mind from her impending fate, be it her death or crown. She pictured Sam, strong and alive, walking next to her, his silver hair practically glowing in the dim light. He could hear his laugh, twinkling like starlight, as he pulled on her braid when she was 15. They were betrothed the next year. She loved him, and he loved her. He made her feel like she could do anything. But she couldn’t save him when it mattered most. She sent him on that mission; his death was her fault, despite what Nya said.

All thoughts left her, however, when she reached the door she knew would lead her into the castle’s dungeon. Her mouth dry, she summoned her courage and pulled open the handle, sword ready at her side. She came face to face with a dozen guards pointing swords directly at her chest.

Summoning her notorious swagger and confidence, she sheathed her sword and crossed her arms. “What are you waiting for? Take me to the rat who calls himself King of Amaranthia.”

The guards, foolish in their arrogance, did not bother to disarm her as they grabbed her by the arms and led her through the extravagant palace. She did not dare reach for her sword or numerous dagger hidden in her black, leather armor, nor did she allow any expression to cross her face but that of cool detachment, boredom even. It grew difficult, however, as she passed by the numerous expensive trinkets and luxuries that were paid for by the blood of her people.

She did, however, allow herself a vicious smile as the guards pushed her onto her knees in front of the king. She was shocked when the guards left her and their monarch alone in the giant throne room, but she did not dare allow it to show. They even let her keep her sword. Did they not understand that all Amaranthian royalty was trained as warriors from the moment they could hold a sword?

“Nava Amaranthia.” For a man who considered himself Lord of the Realm, he was of surprisingly average height, yet his honeyed voice sent chills down her spine. “I am most curious; do all Amaranthian royals take on their country’s name?”

“Yes, your majesty.” She smirked. “I assume you already knew that, so let’s get the annoying small talk and eventual banter out of the way. You killed my mother, my father, and my beloved Sam. You enslaved my people, separated mothers from their babes, and turned brother against brother. I, Nava Amaranthia, Queen of Amaranthia and Guardian of the Stars, sentence you to death.”

Her sword whined quietly against its sheath as she drew it. The king laughed quietly and stood, drawing his own sword. “You do realize, Nava, that if you kill me, you take your throne?”

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes.

“You, the Queen who has led her people to death and destruction. My spies have told me exactly what your people think of you. Your generals barely tolerate you, your people fear what rash decision you will make next, and you are responsible for the deaths of thousands. Your sister, however, is loved by all. Wouldn’t she make a better queen?”

“The stars made their choice, and I will live with it.”

Nava did not give him a chance to respond as she closed the distance between them in two strides and struck. She was shocked when he blocked her blade with inhuman speed and, with an almost lazy flick of the wrist, knocked it out of her hands. The taste of ash filled her mouth, and she could not prevent the fear that made her heart pound. Shade.

She must have whispered the word out loud, because the king laughed as his eyes, even the whites, turned black. “Correct,” he said and stabbed her, the blade ice in her stomach.

He did not pull the blade out, and instead, leaned with a lover’s closeness to her ear. “How else did my armies almost wipe out your people in less than a year?”

Shades were evil beings that infested their land, harmless unless called upon by foolish sorcerers. They brought devastation to the world, and the fact that she was now in the arms of one stole her strength away faster than the sword in her gut. This wound would kill her, she knew it in her very bones. She could not, however, allow this monster to live. Doing so would doom her sister and her people.

She whispered, her voice already weak. “You were right.”

She did not give the king a chance to respond as she flicked her wrist and a silver blade shot from her vambrace into the king’s heart. “Nya would make a better queen.”

A dark wind filled the throne room as the king’s face contorted into an ugly mass of rage and pain. His body dissolved into a pile of ashes as shadows fled from his body and dissolved into nothing. Nava dropped to her knees. Outside, she could hear and feel a panic spread through Ashya’s ranks. No longer under the influence of the Shade, Ashyan men and women looked around in confusion and laid down their arms, and a flurry of nervous activity and shouting could be heard in the halls leading to the throne room. Amaranthia’s cheer of victory and relief even reached Nava. They won. They finally won.

She did not know how long she laid there, the sound of her rasping breathing filling the giant room. Minutes, days, years later, she could hear armored feet running towards her. Nya’s blurry face was suddenly in front of Nava, and a pang of longing wrenched her fragile heart. Her beautiful, wise, and loving sister was about to lose her last living family member.

“Hey there, Squish.” Nava referred to Nya by her childhood nickname.

“You know I hate that name.” She could hear the tears in Nya’s voice as she gently placed her head in her lap.

“Stop,” Nava gasped. “If I’m going to die, I want to at least be on my own two feet.”

“Shut up, you’re not going to die.” Nya was shaking her head. “The healers are coming right now. They can fix this.”

“No, they can’t.” Nava sighed. “Please, help me up.”

“You never said ‘please’ before, so don’t start now.” She was openly crying now but gently lifted Nava to her feet.

Stars swarmed in her vision as she stood upright and looked down at her sister’s face. So beautiful, so full of life. Even the blood and gore speckling her armor and face did not diminish her beauty. So many words filled her mind and weighed down her tongue, yet she could feel the stars calling her home. Not long now, so she settled for the simplest.

“I love you,” she said. “You’re going to be such a great queen.”

Nya let out a scornful laugh and glanced at the pile of ash near them. “Not as great as you. Looks like you killed yourself a Shade.”

Nya’s face crumpled. “Please don’t leave me, I need you.”

“You never did. Go, marry that General Navin. Be happy.”

Nya drew Nava into a hug and whispered, “I will. I love you.”

“I love you more, Squish.”

As Nava’s vision began to flicker and fade into darkness, three bodies came into view in front of her. Their edges glowed silver, and she, suddenly free of pain and weakness, ran into the arms of her beloved and walked into shining starlight with Sam, her mother, and her father. Above Amaranthia, a new star winked into existence.

#original story #fantasy #its short and lacking right now #maybe i will write a book? #i was only allowed 9 pages

[maple-writes]

Dissidia final week

this took much longer than I thought it would, but here we go! Thanks again @dissidia-writeblr for your patience hosting!

It’s been a great time!

###

Sitara and Zeth made quick on their agreement. Within the hour they led Richard and Volt out of the city, and not long after the four of them were out of Torr and standing back at the base of the mountain. After being in the city the air felt so much quieter without the buzz of little robots overhead but the peace and quiet didn’t last long though as a shadow fell chilly over the clearing. They turned, and Volt squinted up at the airship that blocked out the sun. Surprising for it’s size, it was near silent as it approached.

Sitara turned towards them with a grin and Volt tore her eyes from the ship.

“Thank you so much for letting me study your tech! I’m sorry about the officials of Torr. I’m going to have Zerith, the captain of this ship, send you to Velaris. No one will follow you there. It’s abandoned. There won’t even be any of the beings. You’ll be safe. And here.” She pushed a packet of paper into Richard’s hands. 

He held it carefully, lifting the tucked-in flap to peek at the papers. Volt watched as he scanned the text and his eye widened.

“This is all the information I have on your tech. I also wrote down how to fix your broken tech as well. I hope this helps!” She grinned as a ladder came down from the airship. 

Richard re-sealed the packet, returning her smile. “I don’t know what to say, thank you so much.”

Sitara didn’t have a chance to respond before a woman with an eyepatch over her right eye climbed down the ladder and smiles at Sitara. “Where would you like me to take them?”

Sitara pulled out a pouch of money and hands it to the woman. “Velaris. They need to get away from here.”

“Wonderful! I’ve already sent others over there to get away as well. They’ll at least have company.” She looked over at Richard and Volt and bowed her head. “My name is Zerith, and I’m the captain of this humble vessel. Let’s get going.”

Richard and Volt returned the greeting, and after a brief goodbye to Sitara and Zeth, followed Zerith up the ladder and into her airship. As curious as she was about how the ship worked, more importantly how to operate it, Volt was grateful when Zerith left them alone to rest during the journey.

She and Richard sat on either side of a little table in a small side room, quiet with only a faint engine hum reaching through the metallic walls. Volt’s eyes wandered. Panels set in the wall probably led to electrical controls, or… Something. This ship was so unlike what she was used to she didn’t even want to bother guessing how it worked.

The soft thud of Richard setting the packet of papers on the table made her turn. He nudged it towards her.

“What do you think?” Richard said. “Can you use this?”

Volt picked up the packet and slide out the stack of papers. It was thick, more pages than she’d thought when Sitara had handed it off. The papers rustled as she thumbed through them. Notes, diagrams, schematics… Clearly the girl had been busy, and she seemed to know what she was doing too.

Volt tucked the pages carefully back into their packet with a hopeful smile. “I think letting her look at you turned out to be a good idea. Its detailed, clear, and I think it might just get us somewhere. I’m sure for the parts I don’t know how to do we can find a technician who can. I know a few people.”

“Really huh?” Richard returned her smile. “That’s great news.”

It was, wasn’t it? Volt ran her hand along the edge of the papers. Maybe this whole ordeal would turn out to be worth it after all. It was a weight off her shoulders at least to finally be getting somewhere, to finally have hope that she wouldn’t have to worry about him breaking down beyond repair.

His chair squeaked as he stood with a stretch and a yawn. “Well, I think I might try and get some sleep. You should too.”

“I had a nap in the workshop.”

“Yeah, but does that really count? It’s been a long day.” Richard jerked his head towards the hallway. “I think I saw somewhere comfortable around the corner.”

For a moment Volt considered arguing, but then maybe he was right this time. She sighed, letting her shoulders fall as she slipped off of her chair and tucked the files under her arm. It really had been a long day.

#

Hours later, Zerith announced over the intercom system that they were getting close, and Richard watched the approach through one of the little windows lining the corridor towards the ship’s exit. They passed over mountains, deserts, jungles, prairie, finally slowing as the ship descended over a forest and Volt called for him to hurry up.

They reached the forest floor and just like that, Zerith’s airship was gone, drifting silently farther and farther away until it disappeared over the canopy. Richard craned his neck to stare up at untamed branches tangling from tree to tree, draped with soft moss and laden with verdant leaves. The sunlight that filtered through them reached his shoulders stained green and cool. Even the air felt green, refreshing and earthy.

“You know,” He turned to Volt with a grin. “Of all places to hang out and wait, this isn’t half bad.” He stretched his arms above his head, cracking at least three joints with successive pops. “Don’t you think?”

Volt shrugged, but eyed the ground-level ferns warily. “They really meant it when they said this place was uninhabited.” She swallowed and stepped just a little closer to Richard’s side. “I’ve never been much into camping, there’s too much that could go wrong out here, too much to think about, too many unknowns. How long are we going to have to survive out here? Is it cold at night?” She shook her head with a deep sigh. “I think I prefer cities, at least then I know what to expect.”

“Hey, at least there’s no one here to worry about.” Richard leaned out in front of her, hoping to distract her before she worried herself too much more. “How about we start by having a look around?”

Volt sighed. “Fine.”

She let him lead the way through the undergrowth, watching every stick and leaf and rock with distrust. Sure, she was probably right about some of the things she was worrying about. Neither of them really had a whole lot of outdoors experience, neither really knew how long they were going to be stuck out here for, but for now at least Richard was more focused on how springy the dirt was under his feet and trying to figure out what noises were birds.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Hey, do you think we’ll see a bear? Like a grizzly bear? I saw some on an old TV show a few weeks ago and they were pretty cool, I hope we get to see one here.”

“What?” Volt shook her head. “No, I sure hope we don’t see a fucking bear. Do you know how big those things are?”

“But they looked so nice just hanging around that river.” He grinned, wide and teasing. “Wouldn’t you want to just go and sit with them? Just hang out with them and—”

Volt gave his arm an exasperated smack. “No! Do not go sit in the fucking river with a bunch of fucking grizzly bears Rick.”

“Okay, okay,” he held his hands up before breaking into another grin. “What about cougars? How about—”

“No!”

“But they look so soft!”

Volt huffed, though by the tiniest tugging of a smile on her lips, she wasn’t as frustrated as she pretended to be. “You know what?” She pointed at him. “Sure. If we see a cougar go right ahead and pet it, see what happens.”

“I will!” Richard gestured dramatically towards himself with a smirk. “I’ll pet it and it’ll purr and it’ll follow us around and fetch—”      

“I think you’re thinking of dogs now.” Volt shook her head. “But why not? Go hang out with a pack of wolves while you’re at it.”

“Wolves come packaged?”

Volt sighed again, but this time couldn’t hide an amused smile. Her steps seemed a little less stiff, and her shoulders a little looser. Richard smiled as relief spread sweet through his chest. It was nice to see her starting to relax again.

“Very funny Rick.”

“Thank you. Though I guess by now I’ve scared off most of the wildlife anywhere near—”

Shouts.

Richard snapped his head towards the sound, antenna by the side of his head fanning out and quivering as he tried to find the source of the noise. Volt fell silent by his side. She glanced between him and the direction of the noise, waiting.

“We’re not alone,” Richard whispered. “Something’s happening over there.”

He hurried forward as quickly as he could without noise, Volt following close behind. The shouts got louder, yelling, screaming, snarling, human. The trees thinned out and they crouched behind two side by side trunks, peering out at the edge of the forest.

Crumbling ruins of what might have once been a settlement stood covered in moss and writhing with people fighting inside. Looked like humans, humans fighting against…

“What are those?” Volt stole his words.

They looked like people, but with wings on their backs covered in black and white feathers. A lot of them, fighting against the humans in the ruins.

Volt glanced at Richard. “Are those, are those the beings everyone’s talking about? They aren’t supposed to be here.”

“There aren’t supposed to be people here either.” Richard murmured.

He leaned forward, shifting his weight to one arm and trying to see more of what was going on behind the ruined walls. Something to make sense of the noise and the fighting and the wings. Something wasn’t right.

“Whatever it is,” Volt continued, “It’s none of our business.” She started to turn. “Come on, lets-“

A flash of a dark ponytail caught Richard’s eye and he froze, staring with wide eyes and a quickened heart.

“Will’s in there.”

“What?”

Richard watched, eyes locked on as much as he could see of Will as he fought against the winged people. He looked different, and fought different, but it was him without a doubt. Out of the corner of his eye, Zero was there too.

“Zero too.” Richard’s voice dropped to a growl, something whirring faintly as systems started to activate. “I can’t tell if they’re outnumbered. We can’t leave them.”

“Are you sure about this?” Volt whispered. “We don’t know how long you’ll have to recover between now and when we get sent back home. They could return, whatever they are.”

“If we win now that won’t matter.” His claws dug into the soft dirt, tensing to charge, eyes locked on the ruins ahead. The skin of his arms flushed with blood shunted to the muscle. “We owe them don’t we?”

Volt nodded. “I’ll find somewhere to scout. Watch for me.”

Richard returned the nod and sprung forward, tearing across the short clearing towards the ruins. He leapt the wall and slammed into one of the winged people that knocked Will to the ground before she could attack again. He landed hard on top of her but she slipped out of his grip just in time, escaping with only a gash across her shoulder.

She spun to face him again just as he lunged. He tore at her outstretched arm and pulled her forward, raking claws deep along her side and catching against solid ribs. Blood smeared hot and bright against his skin as she stumbled back, light and dark patches swirling across her skin.

Richard rushed for her again until a flash of red hair and a shout made him whirl. Zero fought two of them, the winged people, his back against a solid stone wall. Magic whirled all around them, fast and violent and desperate.

He ducked around debris scattered from a collapsed roof towards Zero. One of the winged people turned just as Richard caught his elbow and thew her back. He turned on the second and his claws met skin just under her ear as he tore across her neck.

She staggered back, blood welling immediately at the wound. Snarling, Rick turned from her to the other but before he could attack the winged man kicked him back, thrust his arm and sent a shock of magic flying past his ear.

The stone wall collapsed on top of him.

Richard didn’t move, stunned under the weight of the ancient stone on his back. The rock across his shoulders pressed down on his ribcage. He gasped, head spinning when he couldn’t take a breath. The fans, why weren’t the ventilation fans kicking in? They were working just last week. He gasped, heart racing and frantic in his compressed chest.

He shook his head out and brought his elbows in, pushing up just enough to free up space to breathe. His arms shook and his shoulders ached as he caught his breath. Shit. This was going to hurt for a very long time.

His hearing came back loud with shouts and magic crackling through the air, and Will’s voice in his ear.

“—okay? Hang on, Zero! Come help.”

Zero appeared on Richard’s other side, magic swirling over both arms as he helped Will shift the stone enough for him to wriggle himself free. He got to his feet and shook off the dust and pebbles. Good, nothing seemed broken, structurally at least.

“Are you okay?”

Richard gave a thumbs up, scanning the ruins for more of those winged people. They must have been busy elsewhere, fighting within what was left of the building, because for now at least they were alone.

He glanced back at Will and Zero. “What’s going on?”

“The Chikara—those guys with the wings—they captured our friend.” Will answered. “And now they want to take our magic and use it to torture more innocent people and make them fight to the death for eternity.”

For a second he could almost feel cuffs on his wrists and the sting of cold water on broken skin. He growled, narrowing his eye as he caught a glimpse of one of the Chikara through the ruins. “They’re going to regret that when we’re done with them.”

#

Volt skirted the ruins until she found what was left of what was maybe a small tower, maybe not, but definitely tall enough to see over the rest with enough of a ledge to hide. She scrambled up to the top and ducked down behind what was left of the low wall at the top, watching the battle below through cracks in the worn wood.

Glimpsed through the cracks in the structure, there were humans, and there were people with wings, and they fought with what must have been magic. Well, most did. A few looked almost as lost as she felt, fighting however they could. It was messy, disorganized, and whatever it was they were fighting over, it must have been important.

She scanned what she could see of the ruins and swore under her breath. She couldn’t see Richard anywhere.

“Enjoying the view?”

Volt jumped, whirling to be face to face with one of the winged people. Black and white flowed beneath his skin like spilled ink and he tucked his wings behind him. She instinctively reached for her gun before remembering it was still laying useless at home.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “What’s going on here?”

The man glanced down at the fight below. “This? This is a fight for our world.” He nodded towards a group of the humans. “These people are traitors dead set on destroying this world with magic they don’t understand. If you help us take care of them, we can help you get home immediately.” He looked at her again. “What do you say?”

Volt kept her mouth shut and eyes locked with his. What was she supposed to say? She glanced down at the ruins below as a movement caught her eye. Will and Zero helping Richard out from under a collapsed wall. She set her jaw and turned to face the winged man again.

Maybe he was right, and Will and Zero and all their friends running around down there were evil traitors hellbent on burning everything to the ground, but what did she care if something happened to this world? Of the two sides, only one had ever done anything for her or Richard.

“I’m afraid you’re too late to win me over.” She took a step back towards the edge of the ruined tower, glancing back over her shoulder to make eye contact with Richard across the ruins. Turning back to the winged man, she held one hand behind her back and beckoned for him.

The man frowned. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to go home?” He took a step towards her. “We can get you there right away, and these are traitors. They’re dangerous.”

Volt backed away, the back of her calf bumping into what was left of the low wall. “In my world I’m considered a traitor too.” She grinned. “A traitor twice over.”

A quick whistle came from the ruins below and Volt stepped up onto the ledge, her heels backed up against the open air.

“Tough luck.”

Before the man could react, Volt dropped from the ledge. Her stomach lurched until Richard broke her fall, catching her from the side and rolling along the ground. They came to a stop and Volt shook herself off, glancing up at the rooftop. The winged man was gone.

“Thanks, Rick.” She turned back to him. “How are you holding up?”

Richard groaned as he dragged himself up but stuck out a thumbs up anyway. “For now.” He grit his teeth and glared. “The Chikara tortured these people. They’re going to pay.”

“Do it.” Volt stood and offered a hand to Richard, her anger mirrored in his face. That winged bastard had the audacity to call them the traitors? “Tear them apart if you want, I’ll take care of you later.” She looked up as Will and Zero appeared, joined by others she didn’t recognize but were probably on their side. “I’ll do what I can, just give the word.”

#dissida #dissidia writeblr #the ending is kind of rushed cause idk where i was goign with it lol #but this was a fun one! #richard #volt

[kendrixtermina]

Cindered shadows Reaction

tl;dr - Fodlan is a crapsack world and I want to strangle Rhea (or break Amyr on her again). Yuri is a very good contrast to the others and a cool addition to the ‘verse  for all that he is basically Joker XD

I took live notes while playing

One thing to take note of here is the house leader’s “canonical” classes (Fortress Knight/Warrior, Hero/Paladin, Assasin/Wyvern ride, though some of those assume the budding talents to be unlocked already) as well as just more of a look into what their dynamic is when they’re together - as such well-contrasting characters I always thought it was a shame that they didn’t interact more so I’m glad for this

 Edelgard is always somewhat standoffish/ closed off and generally the ‘logical’, least personable one, Claude is surface-level friends with both. Dimitri would like to think they are full-on BFF, calls Claude “my friend”, defends him etc. Claude’s friendship with Edelgard is very banter-driven, but there (the bit where she says “wow this trap could have been your idea” and hes flattered). Of course both of these carry over into their post-timeskip interactions especially when they part on good terms (Dimitri always does, and Edelgard easily can part with him on good terms, but Claude, though he doesn’t like the thought of them dying,  wouldn’t take risks on either them) - and of course it’s Claude who proposes the feast after the mock battle where they all eat together. Edelgard and Dimitri were never friendly (at least not during the academy), but at this point they’re civil. 

Claudes Dialogues are BRILLIANT like he really shines in this one (Edelgard probably gets the least exposure but all of this is set before the reveal, so she has to keep her cards close to her chest - Or maybe there just cant ever be enough Edelgard for me lets be honest)

First impression of the Ashen Wolves is that they’re all very dramatic with a lot of bluster (Hapi being the contrasting exception but over-the-top in concept) - they have really been the Kings of their own little world, having a lot of free reign underground, accountable to few and throwing down for the heck of it

So it’s Yuri Leclerc and he was adopted by a Kingdom noble, the same Gwendal and Lonato served  and who dies if Arianrhod is blasted, but it seems like unlike wish Ashe who was taken into the family this was just a temporary gig for him

That makes him a commoner, which by itself is a big difference from the other three. Dimitri is and always was the crown prince whereas Edelgard suddenly ascended the sucession list due to tragedy and Claude has a much doubted claim on both sides of the border

I suspected he was going to be from the kingdom as we already had the Alliance, the Empire and the token Foreigner accounted for - also ‘Yuri’ is a slavic name like ‘Dimitri’ - though being adopted he isn’t necessarily from there

(Later we learn that he was in fact born in a village in the Kingdom)

Also liked the callback to count Gloucester’s sheming and how he had Balthus spy on Claude

They do go through some work to flesh out Abyss and make it feel lived in as a sort of society. 

Just look at that very very makeshift classroom. Few down there were getting any sort of education before Aelfric set this up

They do something clever here where Balthus tells you part of why he’s wanted, prompting the question of everyone else’s stories

This idea of a wretched hive beneath the Church reminds me of Amsterdam where the big church was in the prostitutes’ quarter and they actually had flourishing trade agreements going on

But as a hiding place for outcasts it shows us all the uglyness about fodlan and how much persecution/ need for change there really is (Really wants me to play Crimson Flower again. Or Verdant Wind.)

There’s people “chewed up by the Nobility”

Duscurians and Almyrans

Many in the church want the place “purged”, Rhea wouldnt go so far but is at the very least unsympathetic

Tons of Banned Books (is this where Seteth puuts them?) Claude and Linhardt have a field day over it

That poor woman (probably Dagdan since she talks of a war) who was persecuted for believing in other religions (which was a thing under Rhea - I’ve been saying it, Shamir and Cyril are “allowed” because they work for Rhea which to her is the same as believing, both are “working for her family/ for us instead of against us” because Sothis is not just her god but someone she knows personally)

Yuri and his trouble are a sort of quasi-police or keeping order, reporting to Aelfric. As his second in command Yuri is a sort of “prince” and already lead his own bandit troupe, or perhaps more a chieftain than a prince, he’s a leader, an authority but not an inherited one but 100% selfmade, he comes from nothing - People call him “boss”,

One wonders if he already dressed in this noncomforming manner before comming to the abyss

He is very very self-reliant, decides and opines for himself, gives Byleth backtalk, very much a natural leader who owns his influence entirely to that natural-leader ness 

Byleth asks very good, very direct questions 

Hilda, Linny and Ashe are here because of their connection to the Abyss characters and the information they can provide - Ashe knows Yuri, Linny knows his book lore, Hilda heard rumors from Holst...

Here we get to appreciate why Claude keeps Hilda around she knows all the gossip, all the ‘local’ information that Claude doesn’t have, she’s an excellent info source

Lets appreciate that it was those three specifically because they were slacking off

Ppl say there the church scorns them pretty much I like how they’re no longer even pretending that the church is nice

The four MCs, meanwhile, might all have ended up here in a different life; If El had escaped the experiments she could’ve been like Hapi, Claude was already an outcast, Jeralt fled with Byleth as a refuge(or could have been sent there as a mercenary to torment the locals and then decided to stay there instead), maybe not young!Dimitri, but timesskip Dimitri was outright a vagabond and says in his lecture questions that he travelled many places and temporarily lived in slums he didn’t go full murdery until a few years in, as Gilbert recounts

AU where they all grew up  or met in the Abyss is what im saying, and the four MCs and Yuri team up. The slitherers still stir up war, perhaps Duke Aegir or Arundel made themselves Emperor etc. 

Characteristically, Dimitri really likes the idea of a secret haven for the outcasts (see all his dialogues about “acceptance” and general ‘help-the-orphans’ thing) - but also characteristically he’s a bit of a tool for the status quo- “Claude don’t be rude this guy is giving out charity~” but the issues Dimtri the issues they shouldn’t need to hide anyways and this is why I prefer the ‘revolutionary’ routes (CF and VW) - though to his credit Dimitri does do charity and stop ppl being poor when he’s king. 

Claude is absolutely having a field day, this is right in the way of his “Political program” - “What you’re helping the poor and downtrodden by barely tolerating them in a sunless hole where they have to hope the church doesn’t decide to purge them” They basically live in ever present danger

Bit sad that they had Edelgard “tied up” catching up with Constanze rather than stating a reaction to the abyss as a whole though it’s probably very deliberate that she keeps her cards close to her chest - As constance asks “What is the princess doing here?” - investigating that’s what. She mostly asks questions or voices conclusions - shes certainly also investigating for her own purposes

But of course Dimitri and Ashe, pure as always, immediately want to help the locals

Edelgard meanwhile is thinking strategy, talking of capturing and interrogating the enemy

Of Yuri ppl tell you both that he’s a real scoundrel/ “our scoundrel” - he loooks out for them so they obey him, “when I say jump they jump” - a Mafia leader of sorts. He’s like Claude in the ‘motivating ppl through taking care of their interest’ parts but claude’s alliances are looser and no one does “jump” like Yuri projects authority, its not quite the honor loyalty Dimitri inspired because he “pays”, Edelgard projects authority but it’s loyalty to the cause more than personal loyalty, and she’s an ideologue and inspires the same in her followers theres no “pay” from Edelgard. She warns you that you might die and that’s it. She is the same herself. 

I think Yuri would die for another the way that Claude and Edelgard would not, like when Aelfric got his mom putting her in danger was never an option. I don’t think you could pressure Edelgard with a hostage, she’d just be like “Hostage-kun, I won’t let your death be in vain” and then tell their captors to screw themselves. 

He has things in common with all the others - he has a certain honor and a people-driven leadership style like Dimitri (rather than ideals-driven like Edelgard, Claude and Seteth) - though unlike Dimitri his honor is only for the “in” group, he cares about protecting his turf, his people... and nothing else. Thus he doesn’t fit into the revolutionary (Edelgard, Claude) vs restorer (Dimitri, Seteth) dichotomy because he’s not concerned with the system as a whole - he doesn’t like it or have faith in it, but he will absolutely work with it when it suits his aims (such as when he makes his own alliance with the church behind Aelfric’s back, or just working with Aelfric in the first place)

This alliance is probably also supposed to give a reason why the Wolves would sttick with the church later (though Hapi’s non CF supports talk alot about reforming the crap institution that it is) even though they mostly have reason to dislike them

Like Edelgard he is calculating and ruthless more than Dimitri or Claude. (He laughts at peeps who fell in his trap) But you couldn’t see Yuri sacrificing an ally like Edelgard does (like with Dimitri the people come before the plan) and Yuri often markedly does NOT tell allies what they’re getting into while El makes a big point of telling everyone the risks and allowing them the chance to step out

In a way he’s Claude with a edge but without the big vision. Yuri is the most small-picture, Claude the most big-picture of the lords

They also have a different relationship with trust - some describe Yuri as “devoted to his own but too trusting” , he says it’s a choice... but he is never really fooled, just pretending to be, he solves a great part of his plot on his own. 

Like Claude and Seteth he prefers to play it safe/ know he can win (though Claude and Yuri arent against calculated risks) whereas Edelgard and Dimitri will do what they think is right with no guarantee of victory and don’t care much if it kills them or their followers

Otherwise tho they have a lot in common and are fast friends XD Yuri makes some great observations “Wow look at you three trying to suss out each other’s motivations must be exhausted”

“Doesnt take a title to have an agenda“ - Yuri and Claude are really... a “takes one to know one” situation

Claude tells us they generally get along tho (”Any misunderstanding might spark a war... ”... yeah)

Likewise, Yuri immediately gets that Claude’s friendliness is esentially “maintaining neutrality” more than actual allegiance

Yuri also seems relatively forward in romantic matters which is unlike the others lol

Remember how I was frantic for Claude/Linhardt or Claude/Hubert friendship content? Here’s another great team that ought to have interacted more, I could even see them working romantically assuming that Claude would be so inclined. 

Hapi/Sylvain, too! Because they’re both cynics

But despite her cynism Hapi is also characterized as considerate

Yuri likes board games! hes in the board game squad with Hubert, Claude, Sylvain and Edelgard. The Board Game squad is incidentally the Best Characters club

 He’s not big picture and only develops something like that toward the end of his support chain (to fight poverty)

So in a sense his style and the hole in it is more like Byleth’s own - he learnt practical leadership in the field and applies it for those he likes. He’s more self-directed

aaand more undercover fun

It seems that both the slitherers and Alferic were after the Chalice at the same time - the Death Knight’s presence hints at it, Metodey’s confirms it. So far I’d assumed he was one of Edelgard’s loyalists like Ladislava but it seems he works directly for Arundel, Edelgard is not too friendly with him and accuses him of “Disrespecting her house” 

Since Aegir was in power during the Bridgid and Dagda war, the slitherers could definitely have had something to do with how Constance’s family was treated, if they were onto her secret - I don’t see how Aelfric could have done it

Bold of El to order Jeritza away in broad daylight. At this point she’s probably come to accept that no orders are gonna keep him from Fiting PPl where he can, especially her she is a very tough opponent

I trusted Aelfric until he spoke. The voice is... its not a good guy voice. Same with how the eyes are drawn

then he called people “his flock”

“They are charitable only when it suits them”

“they have eyes and ears everywhere”

Yeah. I’ve always said that Rhea is like one of those millionaires who give their pocket change to charity but then support policies that keep people poor. Hopefully no one will keep arguing that she cares about the poor or the disenfranchised. 

“Her grace thinks its a nuisance”- This tells us alot. Alfric had to convince Rhea to give half a rats ass about the poor but still speaks of her with honorifics. That’s the crack in his soul right there

I also love how Yuri protests whenever anyone - the church etc make plans for him, hes very self-governed

Hapi, Lysithea, El and Byleth should have a “victims of human experimentation” support group

Alternatively, Cursed People support group with Hapi, Marianne, Bernadetta and Dimitri

I like the C supports with Byleth and Balthus as well as Hapi because they tell us not just about them but about Byleth - Both adress Byleth’s go-with-the-flow tendencies and lack of own direction, though Byleth makes clear that by this point they actually like the professor gig

“I could see this person just about anywhere”...in a bad way. Oh but Hapi you too can be recruited to all routes XD No she’s right. By-By is being used and she should tell them. 

MORE PARENTS LORE I rejoiced so much and this was such a cool thing to adress here

At first it seems that Rhea was also after the chalice but turns out she had written it off and the one pursuing it within the church was Aelfric

But you all do catch the implication that she did this all before and “great tragedy” resulted? Right? You get what that means?

For once she actually noticed a mole though Aelfric likely wasn’t subtle

It results in a zombie dragon because she meant to revive a dragon not a human

By now people should really be used to Rhea handing out legendary treasure to byleth

there are friendly reminders of the western church purge still going on

I like how constance smells a spy right away

Also the contrast between Hapi’s jaded “Lets just give them the thing so they leave us in peace” (Yes, Lapis Lazuli) and Constance’s “We can’t let them have the artifact! theyre bad” - Constance might be shrill but she’s a person of action

The sunlight thing is a tad over the top/unrealistic but it’s not per se the cliched split personality thing, more like going outside brings out the bad memories after hiding away underground for so long (she tells mercedes as much) while she otherwise covers it with bluster. Her parents and older brother were killed and her hometown destroyed, after all. She is still basically talking the same overdramatic/ formal way

Perhaps two sides of nobility like the pride but also the demure good breeding n shit, there is some forced quality to the bluster even indoors

But ultimately she’s pretty hard working and determined underneath

At one point Hilda says something like, “You sure that we should interfere? I don’t want to make anything worse it might be better to stay out” - This right here is why you can’t get CF Hilda

Further Hilda facts: She had countless suitors and knows her way around “magical doo daads” and fortune telling

Having her mildly superstitious is of course a fun contrast to claude

“Compared to you even Hubert looks like a spring chicken” lol

I was going “Linny I love you” the whole time

Speaking of love... The moment I decided I loved Yuri is when I learned why he was expulsed - because the church sent him to kill someone he knew and rather than be upset, or thing how he might change society to prevent it or draw other conclusions from it... He refused on the spot and fough church ppl. That’s when I saw how he fits with the other characters. What the contrast was.

Yuri is one of those rare types who would never give the full voltage in the milgram experiment

Because see? That ties back so well into the themes

One of the main scenes that contrasts the house leaders is their reaction over having to fight Lonato. They all sympathize to a degree, but none acts against it. Claude and Edelgard show their dislike of the church and want to stop crap like this, but right there right then, they play along for the sake of their plans. (Claude’s plan at this point still involves stealing relics)

Dimitri is the closest to Yuri in that he immediately regrets it massively and says they should have found another way (in part because he is against the notion of “sacrifices for the plan”) but this realization comes to him only after all is done because ultimately he follows authority/ sees some good in it and the status quo

Yuri,  meanwhile, flat out refused. Yeah he also killed whoever the knight escord was but he refused

Also let this sink in: Yuri was slated for execution because he refused to kill someone he knew. This is what might have happened to Ashe, Sylvain etc. if they had refused to fight Lonato or Miklan. 

Aelfric arranged for him to fight someone he knew but that’s all he did, the rest is the result of normal church policy and then begged for pardon (meaning the normal policy would be to kill him) The mission might have gone to a different house, but the church constantly makes ppl fight ppl they know. You realize just how easily all our beloved characters could have ended up just like Yuri?!

I loved how, when offered info about their parents, Byleth immediately seeks it out with no delay

“Never discard a wild hunch lol“ Claude I love you Linhard I love you

Generally we see Dimitri being the local people person and catching onto details about people’s emotions and dispositions , while Edelgard is like, “Investigate this, investigate that” (i love that about her), and Claude is the oddball/curveball and follows his intuition. Yuri goes on instinct, Seteth, if I had to say, on experience perhaps, certainly caution. 

So she doesn’t even recognize Dimitri. She did say that “she can’t say the name” so she probably never learned that her little friend was the prince. Can ppl stop acting like she snubbed Dimitri or like she has any reason to treat him like a brother?

I don’t think he pieced it together until the ball, and she only realized either during the parlay (AM) or some time before their final confrontation (She distinctly knows by the time she killed him)

Another poignant moment is when she basically didn’t trst Aelfric and only started considering that he might be good by the time Team Slither showed up. Yeah she’s not trusting and would have zero base assumptions that any church ppl are good

By the time she learns about the Nuvelle crest she’s so done like, “Are there any MORE conspiracies I should be aware of?” And indeed there are

Aelfric is sort of a consequence of Rhea’s coverup certainly not an 1D villain. He started doubting her after the coverup began semi thinking for himself and at first this led him to try and make the abyss less chaotic and speak in their favor before Rhea, but then when Sitri’s body fell into his hands he was just too tempted

And UGH remember when I said that for all that im not a Rhea fan, i don’t thnk the human experimentation was so bad because she didn’t harm anyone and it seems like the homunculi lived out normal lives? yeah i take that back

Even if Sitri wasn’t healthy enough to travel she didn’t need to be completely isolated exept for trusted church peeps

This would have happened to Byleth. You see how this would have happened to Byleth? Completely isolated and controlled?

Oh Jeralt jeralt baby you were so right to flee with Byleth so right

Worse because Rhea was a parental figure

Also she kept creating more homunculi though they turn out frail and basically live miserable lives

and the first attempt with the chalice probably did kill ppl

sitting with the corpse all the time is creepy too

doest that mean Byleth won’t rot either?

So she was a book worm - Jeralt did say she was brainy

It did start as a mentor crush, much like Byleth’s own relationship might

I love how Edelgard is all subtly concerned after Yuris fake attack

I wonder how that apology line was phrased in Japanese, “useless” seems a bit harsh given that Edelgard generally seems to love her father, but there is no denying that he lost control of his empire and that as a result villains wrecked havock all over it so there’s nothing better she can say there excuses wont help constances situation

Like this must be very hard for her

Constance’s support definitely confirms that it was the Seven Families/ ie the PM and Arundel who did this to her (also lol at the concept that she basically wants to make Byleth her very own Hubert or Gilbert)

Edelgard is saddled with all this stuff from the previous administration - I mean so is Dimitri with the instability, the recent anexation of Duscur and part of Sreng... but she gets confronted with it more, iDK if it’s common knowledge who’s really in charge

Because Yuri is concerned with his turf, not the world, it makes sense that “his” route would be the sidestory. I kind of wanted a part 2 in the sense that I like this cast and want more of him as a main character but I also get why there isn’t one... because he wins no matter what. Lucky seven! He’s the one who can’t lose (except if you dont do the sidestory I guess) ”He works with whoever’s in power to maintain his own, just like when he made the deal with Rhea. He gets all three house leaders and Byleth to promise that they will look out for the Abyss so his bases are covered no matter who wins.

- even so he basically solved his own problem and Byleth’s presence just kinda gave him the opportunity . Well, one defining factor is that they trust Byleth exactly because they don’t “seem like a typical church funky

Still since Rhea tells us the backstory here what use is the silver snow ending? I suppose she doesn’t mention the homunculus/ “I created you” bit but the lack of decay and the transplanting heart bits do sort of hint at it

Certainly a contrast tho, like in SS you learn the magicky parts us in CS you get way more about who mommy actually was as a person

Poor, Poor Byleth. This must be such a mindfrick for them. Like I had so many feels for By-By

It’s so weird to go back and have the Yuri & so present throughout the monastery,but  not know us yet

#fe3h #cindered shadows #ashen wolves #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem three houses #three houses

[huberts-private-counsel-archive]

can i request hcs for a guilty rarepair of mine? specifically angst headcanons for hubert/dimitri?

Anon, I do hope you realize what you’ve done here. You just asked me for angst for a ship...and did not give me any hard limits. And the last time that happened, Ferdibert got completely destroyed. Time to do the same to this ship I say, since you didn’t give me any limits :)

As for the route...let’s go with Verdant Wind, shall we?

Edit: putting this under a read more because this is like...almost 2k words dfjhsdjh i went OFF

Truth be told, the news of Dimitri’s execution hit Hubert much harder than he thought it would. After all, he had made the choice to abandon him in order to serve Lady Edelgard. No matter their relations at the Academy, Hubert thought he would’ve been able to shrug off his attachments easily. Yet when it was made public that Dimitri had been executed - for a crime Hubert knew he didn’t commit, no less - he still found himself mourning the prince. No, not just mourning. Grieving.

It was absolutely ridiculous, Hubert told himself each time he found himself thinking back to what had once been (and what could have been, had he chosen to stay with his heart than follow his duty). Yet time and time again, he’d find his thoughts caught on Dimitri before said thoughts sent him down a spiral of “what-ifs”.

And then came the battle at Grondor.

Admittedly, Hubert had felt his heart soaring when he realized that it truly was Dimitri across the field they had fought on five years ago. He couldn’t deny the ghost of a smile that wanted to appear on his face realizing Dimitri had survived. Of course, he chased it away before Lady Edelgard could see 

Then he actually encountered Dimitri, and any levity that had been left in his heart completely vanished. Because even if the being before him looked and sounded like Dimitri, even shared his name...it just couldn’t be him.

The Dimitri of the Academy had been kind. Even if there had been blood staining his hands, even if there had been ghosts following him, he had at least been attempting to wash it off and keep pressing forward (unlike Hubert, who merely let his hands grow more and more stained, allowed more and more ghosts to join his ranks, anything for Lady Edelgard’s cause). The Dimitri of the Academy often had a soft smile on his face, his blue eyes somehow radiating warmth whenever he spoke. It was enough that Hubert had found himself being drawn in five years ago, a moment of weakness that Hubert was selfish enough to indulge himself in.

The Dimitri in front of him could not be the Dimitri he had known five years ago. 

The Dimitri in front of him was missing an eye, the missing one covered by an eyepatch while the one remaining was an icy blue, missing all of the warmth of their school days. The Dimitri in front of him was drenched in blood, ghosts practically nipping at his heels. The Dimitri in front of him did not smile, a hate-filled snarl instead marring his face. 

The Dimitri in front of him did not recognize who he was. All the Dimitri in front of him cared about was revenge.

Idly, Hubert wondered if he could have prevented Dimitri from falling to this fate. If, just if, he had chosen to remain by Dimitri’s side, could he have prevented Dimitri from falling so far? Kept him from being consumed by his ghosts until they were all that drove him? 

He heard the call for them all to retreat. Perhaps he should have stayed closer to Lady Edelgard, but he had to see Dimitri - this is not Dimitri, his mind tried to remind him, but Hubert found himself ignoring it - for himself, perhaps try and convince him to stand down.

Instead, now he was the one retreating. The heavy armored steps behind him told him that Dimitri was following. No, no Dimitri was already injured as is, if he tried to follow, he would just get himself killed (and even if that would be better for Lady Edelgard’s cause, a stupidly selfish part of Hubert still wanted to save what was left of the man he had fallen in love with all those years ago).

So he stopped where he stood, whirling around to face Dimitri as the former prince (would he have been a king by now? Hubert can’t help but wonder) staggers up, Hero’s Relic clutched tightly in his hand.

“Wretched rat,” Dimitri (not Dimitri, not Dimitri, his mind continues to say, perhaps trying to save his heart any more pain) nearly growls out, “get out of my way. Unless you want me to tear the head from your shoulders as well?”

Hubert wasn’t sure if Dimitri truly didn’t recognize him, or if the hate clouding his thoughts had been enough to completely change his view of Hubert. He wasn’t sure which one he’d rather have be the truth.

“Dimitri, you’re injured. If you stand down and retreat, I will allow you to go with your life.” What was he doing? Hubert knew, knew he should be killing Dimitri now while he had the chance, but...

But Hubert was only human. And every human had a weakness. Hubert’s happened to go by the name of Dimitri. He prayed that Dimitri would listen to reason, that he would simply retreat and Hubert wouldn’t have to end the life of the man he loved (and still does, damn his pathetically weak heart).

Unfortunately, Dimitri didn’t. And he lunged towards Hubert, a roar erupting from his throat as he raised his Hero’s Relic and Hubert readied a spell, but he wasn’t even sure if he could cast it in time (that was a lie, Hubert knew perfectly well he had only gotten faster in spell-casting since their days at the Academy, he would be able to hit Dimitri before Dimitri could ever hit him)-

And suddenly Dimitri let out a gasp of pain, suddenly pausing in his charge as he winced. Hubert felt confused, until he saw the shaft of a lance sticking out of the back of Dimitri.

Ambush.

Considering he hadn’t been skewered through yet, while lances and arrows alike continued to pierce through Dimitri’s armor (not Dimitri, not Dimitri) as the man tried to keep himself standing by using his Relic, Hubert could only conclude that these were Imperial soldiers. His legs eventually buckled beneath him, and Dimitri fell to the floor.

There was a cold weight in Hubert’s stomach. 

Imperial soldiers did come out of hiding, some cheering about having taken down Dimitri. One of them even pats Hubert on the shoulder, thanking him for being there as bait for him. Hubert barely feels himself nodding. His whole body feels numb, his mind a complete and utter storm.

Quietly, he hears himself tell the soldiers that he will take care of the body. And none of the soldiers are eager to stick around - not even a minute later, all of them are gone. Hubert approaches Dimitri’s - not Dimitri’s - body, intending to at least give him a proper burial, when suddenly he moves.

Hubert startles, his eye widening as Dimitri lifts his head up from the dirt, a heavy haze present in his gaze as he weakly calls out -

“H...Hubert...?”

Dimitri.

Hubert knelt down in the dirt beside him, carefully lifting Dimitri up so that they could face each other. Dimitri shouldn’t even be alive right now, it was impossible, no one could survive that many lances and arrows piercing their body (and Hubert knew he wouldn’t, he would succumb to them soon, sooner if Hubert tried to remove any of them). And yet Dimitri was staring at him, Hubert feeling something in his heart stir at the familiarity of his gaze.

The Dimitri from the Academy wasn’t gone after all. 

“D-Dimitri, I-” Hubert wasn’t even sure what he had been about to say, maybe an apology or even questioning if it really is him when Dimitri began speaking again, effectively silencing him.

“I-I...I’m sorry..I couldn’t r-recognize..you..” Dimitri said quietly, and Hubert had to force down the hysterical laughter. Of course the first thing he said was an apology.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing, where’s your base, I-”

“H-Hubert...y-you of all p-people...should know...” a weak laugh came from Dimitri, one that pulled at Hubert’s heart and had him blinking back tears.

Hubert couldn’t find it in him to speak. A surprising amount of his effort was going into trying to keep his tears at bay.

“I-I’m...’m so s-sorry beloved...” and there it was, that damned pet name that Dimitri had used back at the Academy, the one that never failed to set Hubert’s heart on fire - not until now, where the only thing it did was weigh it down, “...that I-I have...have to l-leave you l-like this...”

Hubert opens his mouth, intending to tell Dimitri he is indeed a fool for allowing himself to die like this (and how Hubert was an even bigger fool for allowing this to happen). All that comes out is a choked sob. 

“P-Please...” Hubert feels Dimitri’s hand raise up to his cheek, and Hubert can’t stop himself from clutching at it like a lifeline. Dimitri coughs, one wet with blood that Hubert wished he could erase from his mind as soon as he hears it. “P-Promise me...something..”

“What is it?”

“Don’t...don’t let me h-haunt you...y-you don’t...” Another cough. “You don’t d-deserve to b-be...be haunted, like t-this...”

“I...I promise.” The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, but the grateful smile Dimitri gives him only makes it more bitter.

“T-Thank you...I...love you...” 

The words are almost whispered, then Dimitri is slumping against Hubert, finally going still. Hubert can only stare at where Dimitri had been just moments ago, before a hysterical sob claws its way out of his throat.

“I-I love you too, y-you fool,” he chokes out, but really, aren’t they both fools for letting this happen to them? And he stays there for as long as he dares, holding Dimitri’s rapidly cooling body before creating a makeshift grave, marking the grave with some stones and a wildflower before heading back to Lady Edelgard, trying not to think about the fact that Dimitri’s blood is now staining his hands as well.

(Later, when Hilda returns to Claude and the professor to report that Dimitri has died, she chooses to leave out the more private parts of their conversation. It was clearly a moment meant for the two of them to be alone, and she was intruding enough as it was. She did admit that Dimitri regained his mind in his final moments, but that was all she would say.)

Later, when Lady Edelgard asks about what took him so long, Hubert simply tells her that he had to take care of unfinished business, but the former king of Faerghus is dead and buried. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling when Lady Edelgard smiles and tells him that she’s grateful to him for what he’s done.

He goes to his office, trying to ignore how Dimitri's blood is staining his hands now. Trying to ignore how Dimitri has joined the legion of ghosts that haunt him, except his ghost is the loudest in its cries for justice and how could you.

Later, when he’s felled in Enbarr, he finds himself staring up at the sky. He almost wants to laugh. Perhaps - no, this is what he deserves for allowing Dimitri to die like he did. This is his karma. He closes his eye, choking on his own blood as he wonders if Dimitri will continue to haunt and berate him even in the afterlife.

It isn’t as though he doesn’t deserve it. Not for what he’s done.

(When Hubert opens his eye again, it’s face-to-face with Dimitri. He waits, expecting Dimitri to ask him again why he let him die, or why he hadn’t stayed with him to begin with, when Dimitri - a surprisingly weak smile where Hubert expected anger if not hatred - suddenly pulls him into a tight hug, To say Hubert is startled would be an understatement - even still, he waits for Dimitri to say something, anything to break this illusion of a remotely pleasant reunion.

Dimitri doesn’t say anything Hubert predicted him to. 

All Dimitri says - with warmth and guilt and even more so love present in his voice - is, “Welcome home love.” 

And Hubert can’t stop himself from hugging back, trying not to choke on his sobs as he thinks about how he’ll never let Dimitri go again - he refuses to repeat his past mistakes. Not now, not ever again.)

#fe3h #fe16 #fe hubert #fe dimitri #hubert von vestra #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #congrats anon! first time dimitri has been tagged on this blog! #and its for this #i hope you're happy because i'm not #fic #thinking thoughts #humitri #dimibert #as for the dumb ship name? hmmm #how abouuuuuut... #princedark #because...yeah why not #again anon i hope you're happy because i am not I AM IN HURTING VILLE AFTER WRITING THIS #oh yeah uh #verdant wind spoilers #tw character death #....yeah oops

[trishmilburn]

An Exploration of The Untamed’s Romance & Mystery, Episode 3

Disclaimer: This post and others in this series will be filled with loads of spoilers if you haven’t seen The Untamed, the Chinese drama based on Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s novel, Mo Dao Zu Shi (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation). My chief interest in doing this series as I re-watch the drama is to chronicle the development of the romance between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, but I also highlight the progression of the mystery that helps bring them together. Keep in mind that I’m writing these posts with the knowledge of what’s going to happen throughout the series and having read the novel.

On to Episode 3...

We’re still in the past, when our main characters are teens. Wei Ying and his adoptive brother and sister, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, are at an inn, wanting to rest for the night before proceeding onto the Cloud Recesses, where they are headed for a lecture series. But the inn’s owner is telling them that they can’t stay there because another lord has booked the entire place. When two young women, disciples of the Jin Clan, arrive to make sure all the arrangements have been made for their lord’s arrival, Yanli realizes who must have booked the inn – Jin Zixuan, the only legitimate child of Jin Guangshan, head of the Jin Clan. Zixuan is also Yanli’s fiancé, though we realize the relationship is strained because it’s a marriage arranged by their mothers, long-time friends, when Zixuan and Yanli were very young. But more on that later.

Determined to get a room for the Jiangs’ party, Wei Ying pulls out his charm and his adorable, mischievous smile and starts flirting with Mian Mian (remember that name), one of the two Jin disciples. Gradually, he convinces her to let him have a room. But that new arrangement quickly changes when the inn owner comes to the room and says they have to leave. When Wei Ying and the Jiangs step into the hallway and come face to face with Jin Zixuan and his entourage, there is a brief moment of truth on Zixuan’s face before he hides it. When he saw Yanli, it’s obvious he likes her. This is something that is more obvious to me on this second viewing, though easily missed when you’re still trying to figure out who everyone is and how they relate to each other.

As they are leaving, Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying note how sad their older sister is after the encounter with Zixuan, and Wei Ying wonders what Jiang Fengmian (Cheng and Yanli’s father and his adoptive uncle) was thinking to arrange a marriage between their sweet senior sister and that flowery peacock.

When we first see the Cloud Recesses from a distance, it looks cool and verdant, the exact kind of place you’d expect the Lan Clan to reside. I kind of want to live there, except for all those rules we’ll soon learn about. When Wei Ying and the Jiangs arrive at the gate, they realize they accidentally left their invitation to the lecture series at the inn during their hasty departure. Wei Ying is trying desperately to get the Lan at the gate to let them in because is a long trip back to town and it’s going to be dark soon. But the gatekeeper says they can’t enter without the invitation.

Cue the entry of Lan Wangji, aka Lan Zhan, the man who will eventually become the most important person in the world to Wei Ying, though he hasn’t the first clue about that yet. Neither of them do. But the look on Wei Ying’s face when he sees this incredibly handsome man with the cool, emotionless exterior reveals at least some interest. It’s just curiosity at this point, but I believe a little seed of attraction just sprouted somewhere inside Wei Ying, one that will grow and grow in the days and months and years ahead.

The Lans who are accompanying Lan Zhan carry in a man on a stretcher. Jiang Cheng wonders how the man died, but Wei Ying says he’s not dead, just possessed by evil sorcery. This observation draws Lan Zhan’s attention, seeming to surprise him, though he says nothing.

Wei Ying shifts his argument for allowing them entry to the Cloud Recesses to Lan Zhan, since he has the power to overrule the rule. But Lan Zhan maintains the whole no invitation, no entry stance. Frustrated, Wei Ying continues to argue until Lan Zhan puts a muting spell on him and walks away. The original Lan at the gate tells Wei Ying the spell can only be removed by a Lan Clan member but if he doesn’t struggle against it, it will dissipate on its own in five minutes. But Wei Ying, being Wei Ying, continues to try to talk. Lan Zhan, who is a bit up the path now, stops and partially looks back over his shoulder at the sound of Wei Ying’s struggles. That right there is his own curiosity planting the seed of something more within him. He will deny this…until he doesn’t.

After night falls, we see the Jiangs sitting around a campfire as they wait for Wei Ying to return from town with the lost invitation. Surprisingly, Lan Zhan arrives at the campsite and lets the group in despite their lack of an invitation. When Wei Ying returns to find his family gone and no one guarding the gate, he tries to enter only to find there is an invisible barrier. But Wei Ying easily passes through after drawing a spell/talisman in the air. He’s pleased with himself as he heads into the Cloud Recesses with not only the invitation but also two bottles of Emperor’s Smile, an alcoholic beverage famous far and wide for its taste. But he’s already started breaking several of the many, many Lan Clan rules. First, he broke the barrier to enter. Then he has alcohol. And finally, he climbs over the wall surrounding the Lan compound. And his entry does not go unnoticed. Once atop the wall with his alcohol, he notices Lan Zhan watching him emotionlessly from nearby. When Lan Zhan informs him of the rules he’s broken, Wei Ying replies that he’s never been to the Cloud Recesses before so how could he possibly know about those rules? And then he proceeds to break another by trying to bribe Lan Zhan with the Emperor’s Smile.

When Wei Ying tries to drop into the courtyard below, out comes Lan Zhan’s sword, Bichen, to stop him. Soon they are engaged in a sword fight on the rooftops under the moonlight as “WangXian” plays in the background. That’s their song, though we haven’t gotten to its creation yet. I mean, who doesn’t engage in a bit of swordfighting before falling in love, right?

In the midst of this, Lan Zhan thinks that Wei Ying is “impenetrably thickheaded,” while Wei Ying tells Lan Zhan that he’s “heartless, unreasonable, pedantic and old-fashioned.” This string of adjectives earns Wei Ying a second dose of the muting spell.

Next we see Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan’s older brother, examining the “dead guy” and telling their uncle, Lan Qiren, how strange the marks on the guy’s body are and how this situation is something they’ve never seen before. (Oh, but it’s not going to be the last, dear Xichen.) Xichen tells Qiren there have been reports of disappearing cultivators, and Lan Zhan was asked to investigate. When Xichen hears someone outside, he covers the guy with a cloth before Lan Zhan brings the misbehaving Wei Ying before his two elders. After hearing what happened, Lan Xichen tells Wei Ying that while it’s understandable that he didn’t know the rules yet, he’ll still be punished. Okay, not fair, but that’s the breaks in the Cloud Recesses. (But if the Lans are that strict and unyielding, this also gives us a hint of how out of the ordinary it was for Lan Zhan to let the Jiangs in without their invitation, and you have to wonder if he thought Wei Ying would be with them when he did so.) Xichen asks his younger brother what he thinks will be a suitable punishment for Wei Ying’s infractions, and Lan Zhan responds with copying the house rules 300 times. There are a LOT of rules for the Gusu Lan Sect – as in more than 3,000 of them. Imagine how unexcited Wei Ying is at the prospect of copying them 300 times. He struggles to say so though he’s still under the muting spell, at least until Xichen tells Lan Zhan to release him from the spell.

But after Wei Ying tells Xichen and Qiren about the whole disagreement at the front gate regarding the lost invitation, Xichen reveals to Wei Ying that not only has his family safely arrived in the Cloud Recesses but it also was Lan Zhan who allowed them to enter. Lan Zhan tries to prevent his brother from revealing that latter fact, likely not wanting Wei Ying to know he caved and that Wei Ying’s protests might have had something to do with him changing his mind, but it didn’t work. Wei Ying approaches Lan Zhan to apologize, but Lan Zhan grips Bichen tightly and backs away from him. At this point, Lan Zhan is not only cut off emotionally, he’s also uncomfortable with physical contact with other people. This boy is holding a lot inside, as we’ll see in the future.

Wei Ying spots the covered body and asks if he’s dead because he wasn’t earlier. All three of the Lans seem surprised when he says this.

Cut to the Heavenly Nightless City, home of the Qishan Wen Sect. I personally think this place is inappropriately named because it looks more like Mount Doom and tells the audience in no uncertain terms that these are the bad guys of our story. Wen Ruohan, head of the sect, is speaking to a pretty young woman named Wen Qing. He’s instructing her that she’ll be going to the Cloud Recesses the next day, accompanied by Wen Chao. Her task while there isn’t so much to learn but to find one of the shattered pieces of Yin Metal like the one found at Great Brahma Mountain (which is also sometimes translated as Dafan Mountain). This metal, if all the parts are brought together, is tremendously powerful. Wen Ruohan wants to use it to subdue and rule over all the other cultivational sects. Yes, he’s a very bad guy who has a very dark and uncomfortable looking throne. Wen Qing asks if she can take Wen Ning, her younger brother, who has been weak since he was young, with her. Wen Ruohan asks if she thinks he’ll be mistreated if she leaves him behind, and though she says she’d never presume to think such a thing, that’s exactly what she’s thinking. Must protect cinnamon roll Wen Ning at all costs! Wen Ruohan agrees, saying that Wen Ning’s unique body might actually help her. I didn’t realize this statement was a clue and foreshadowing when I watched The Untamed the first time.

After Wen Qing leaves, we see Wen Ruohan snap his fingers. Instead of it being a Thanos-type dusting, this snapping actually activates the dead-ish guy back in the Cloud Recesses. He opens his eyes to reveal pure white and he sits up. Wei Ying and the Lans come to the conclusion that he’s a ghost puppet. When Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan step outside, Xichen tells Lan Zhan that the person who is using evil sorcery to control the ghost puppet may have great ambitions and that the disappearing cultivators may be just the start of their evil actions.

Then we have a lovely moment of brotherly conversation in which Xichen tells Lan Zhan that he’s never had to worry about him, that he’s mature and dependable, but wonders if his expectations for him are too high. He then tells Lan Zhan that among the visiting cultivators are several who are Lan Zhan’s age and he should make some friends. When Xichen says that he thinks Young Lord Wei isn’t bad, Lan Zhan looks surprised – or as surprised as Lan Zhan ever looks. This early in the first viewing I hadn’t yet grasped how very good actor Wang Yibo was at conveying Lan Zhan’s feelings through microexpressions. He was, in fact, a perfect casting choice for this role, though early feedback from fans was reportedly less than enthusiastic. Well, he showed them. Ha ha! Wang Yibo IS Lan Zhan now. I’ll never be able to picture anyone else in that role.

Xichen continues, saying that though Wei Ying acts out of bounds, he is also clever, quick-witted and has a bright personality. He is likely thinking these qualities would be good influences on his quiet, serious and closed-off younger brother. He notices Lan Zhan is once again gripping his sword tightly. When he asks Lan Zhan if when he fought with Wei Ying if their skills were evenly matched, Lan Zhan doesn’t answer and simply walks away. Instead of thinking his brother rude, Xichen actually smiles in amusement. He likes seeing that someone has finally gotten under Lan Zhan’s skin and cool exterior, making him act out of character. We have just witnessed the first step in Xichen becoming WangXian’s biggest shipper.

Finally we see Xue Yang, a beautiful but deadly and kind of crazy dude, with several of the ghost puppets (the missing cultivators) at Mount Doom…oh, I mean Heavenly Nightless City. Seriously, this is the most colossally misnamed place ever. It literally looks like it’s night all the time and is about as heavenly as, oh yeah, Mount Doom. Wen Ruohan tells him to help him find the other pieces of Yin Metal so he can subdue the other sects, mwahahaha. Xue Yang has agreed on the condition that Wen Ruohan keep his promise to give him what he wants, something that at this point remains unrevealed.

And thus ends Episode 3. First steps toward true love have been unknowingly taken while the baddies are being bad.

If you’d like to read my examinations of the previous two episodes, you can find them here:

Episode 1

Episode 2

#the untamed #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #lan xichen #wen qing #xue yang #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi #mdzs