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supernaturalcharlie11 · 1 year

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No one ever talks about how lonely the war is.

How it rips families apart not only by death, but also by distance. We are some of the fortunate ones. Our family possesses enough magic to allow a certain amount of communication. Nothing personal, of course, the spells are too sacred for that. But every message means that my siblings are still alive.

I mostly hear from my sisters. Amethar is fighting on the rough waves of the dairy seas, searching for his newly wed wife. Even though it was the worst decision he could have made, the glimmer in his eyes had almost been enough to stifle my anger.

Almost.

I wish we had the time for him to be young and foolish.

Sapphria would love that. I can’t even imagine what kind of hideous plans the two of them would continue to come up with at Castle Candy. Our youngest sister is a force of nature on her own, but with the creative plans that Amethar cooks up sometimes…

Oh, how I wish we had the time.

Citrina and Lazuli are back at the Castle, keeping our kingdom save from within the church and the library. The war effort looks different for everyone. And if anyone dares get too close… Lazuli will snipe them right off their feet with her magical bow.

Sometimes even I hesitate to use its real name. Being killed by arrows is one of the worst ways to go in this war. Unpredictable. Impersonal. Silent. Lonely.

I weigh Flickerish in my hand. I can only hope that if I die on the battlefield, whoever deals the killing blow will look me in the eyes. Loosing is never honorable. But it would be the closest thing.

---

My steps echo from the hard candy walls. I had felt it from the moment she fell, but within these walls her absence is almost overpowering.

The young gummy knight stares into the air, mumbling again and again what he has already told me and my siblings.

That Lazuli knew what she was doing. That she did it, because she knew it would be worth it.

I don‘t doubt that for a second. But it doesn‘t give me or my siblings much comfort as we put our sister to rest under one of the blooming peppermint trees.

As Citrina says a prayer, a thought enters my mind unbidden. I try to push it aside, because I have told my sisters to get rid of this childish notion many times before.

But this time I am powerless against it.

This isn‘t fair.

Of course it isn‘t. War isn‘t fair. But it is always different when it‘s your own blood on the ground of the land you call home.

It‘s different when the light that goes out lives deep inside your heart.

I had always thought I knew pain through the battles I had fought in the past.

I didn‘t know anything. This pain is blinding and deafening. It cuts my breath short every time I try to suck in the sweet candian air.

And it doesn‘t stop.

Not when I leave again for Ceresia. Not when we hold our ground and celebrate a victory. It never stops.

And just when I thought that I had gotten used to it, a sending reaches me and rips the ground out underneath me.

A second piece of my heart is thrown into darkness as I try to understand how another one of us is suddenly dead. Killed in the shadows by carnish assassins.

Oh, Sapphria.

How could it ever come this far?

But the war doesn‘t wait for the grief to settle. Only days before I finally could have returned to Castle Candy, another sending arrives.

I thought I might get numb at some point, but the pain is sharp and cruel. Nobody can explain to me how it happened, but it doesn‘t matter anyways. Citrina is dead. Killed in the streets in broad daylight.

I have to return home to the only sibling I have left. I have to be there for Amethar and see with my own eyes what in my heart I already know to be true. That I am the last one of the sisters. The oldest who failed to do protect her siblings.

But there is something I have to do first.

The war is not yet over and if I don‘t stop Calroy Cruller, no one else will.

The battle cries echo over the wheat fields even though the front is some distance away. If it were silent, it could almost be peaceful. The golden wheat dances in the soft wind under the rising sun. I had never been one for sentimentality, but in this moment I miss the smell of peppermint flowers in full bloom. It‘s been too long since I have smelled them and the next time I will, comfort will be the furthest from what I am feeling.

The tiniest reflection of something moving towards me is all the warning I get.

Something thuds painfully into my shoulder.

My first instinct is to drop to the ground, but if Lazuli has taught me one thing, it‘s that arrows will always come down. So I run.

The next arrow hits me in the thigh, but I keep running. The pain is sharp and cold. My breath hitches in my throat. Arrows thud against my armor. I can see the tents in the distance. If I can only—

Two arrows strikes true at the same time. One goes through my hand. Involuntarily, my fingers open. Flickerish tumbles to the ground and finds its final resting place next to me as the other arrow digs its way underneath my plate mail.

I am on the soft ground before I know why. Everything spins around me. The arrows don‘t stop coming.

We all have to die.

I just wish I didn’t have to do it alone. Though that seems to be the way all Rock siblings have to leave this plane.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, I suddenly feel it. A presence that I haven’t felt in over five years. Ever since Lazuli did the brave thing instead of coming home.

We’re here. Don’t be scared.

The hole I had carried in my chest ever since they were all ripped away, suddenly fills with warm light as my younger sisters surround me once again. The pain subsides as the darkness eats away at my field of vision. My chest shudders with every breath.

Lazuli’s hand is in mine. Citrina’s lips place a soft kiss on my forehead and Sapphria’s arm curls around my shoulder. A translucent smoke surrounds me that tingles on my skin. They are waiting for me. Maybe Citrina has been right all along. She has always been the most put together of all of us, even though none of us ever admitted it.

The war is lonely.

But dying isn’t.

A last comfort, I think to myself as I close my eyes and let myself drift.

Now it is up to you, brother. I know you’ll do us proud.

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zhuhongs · 1 year

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hhhhh so im on a ridiculously long ride home and just my phone so tumblr diary entry time lol. if you have my instagram this will make more sense but yk. anyways. so yesterday was the last day of the semester and i was tbh pretty normal abt it. but leading up to it i was a mess and tbh i think my stomach issues actually came more from the stress of knowing im leaving but the alcohol seemed plausible enough an explanation so i ran with it. but nah i was just. hhhh overwhelmed. bc anytime i was out with ppl it disappeared and as soon i was alone and not busy i was like. oh theres the stomach pain. LOL. but yea. so i decided my going away present to everyone would be a drawing of them plus a message bc like. i always said i liked art but never rlly showed my classmates my art so i was like. welp lets go out with a bang. and it felt good bc i really wanted to do smth like this sooner. my initial plan to make a good impression was to print stickers of my art and put my IG on it and get close to ppl that way. but i was just far too stressed and thought itd be weird. so i just. Didnt. and i regret not putting in enough effort at the beginning. but i also feel like its okay, especially given my upbringing. i needed that time to myself to figure it out, and now i really know that i can just. talk to ppl. and not be afraid. bc the ppl i got closest to were the one i swore would judge me most bc of my own preconceived notions, but i told the the parts of me i hid the most and they accepted it. and could at least sympathize and actually relate and i just. why was i so silly. why was i so mean to myself to be convinced that i was so unacceptable that no one except for those who already knew me could accept me and enjoy my presence? i was so silly. i wont do that again, but if i do, it will still be easier than doing it this time bc I'll recognize the patterns and quickly snap out of it.

in a way, i really do feel like i needed all this time alone to process myself and rlly look myself in the eye and recognize the ways ive lived that i can just stop doing now that i have the freedom to be free of my past. and part of me feels like I'm saying that as copium bc i didnt connect sooner and i possibly could have also had a better time with others and still have come to realize the same things and more through the help and company of others. but i also know that i cant live life always thinking so much. so i just need to live and let the regrets be what they are, and move forwards. but the regrets do indeed linger. like i made the decision not to stay in taiwan. bc of well A. money and B. i felt like if i had more time I'd just fucking waste it like i wasted the first 4 months. i might as well force myself into a corner and see if that would make me do things i was too scared to do otherwise. and like, it worked! i did say fuck it and rlly just let loose bc i was gonna leave but now its worked too well. and like i wish soooo bad that i had those 3 months to fully enjoy every chance working out. Part of me says that its best to leave with that hope. rather than have taken that chance and it fizzled out. the thing keeping me from extending the most was honestly knowing I'd have my birthday there. and i could not take the possibility of spending my birthday alone... i legit couldnt stomach it. in the past i used to spend every bday alone but in recent years ive had a mazing friends that actually made my bday special and i just. I'm so used to having that day be nice that i really couldnt take the possibility of it being awkward. but now i realize that it wouldn't have been like that. it couldve been wonderful. but thats okay, in another life. or maybe a few years. who knows. im considering doing smth like this again in like 2 years after I've worked a bit. i have nothing but time. but man. sometimes i just wonder yk.

and last night i had a rlly good one on one talk with my classmate and that was amazing, but i got home and checked IG like a dumbass and say another group of classmates partying til 3am and i was like.... man i should've done that. but like, logically no. i had a great night regardless and i partied with those classmates last week. ive had my fill, and i had things to do today that i needed to be coherent for. but i couldn't help but thinking what if. and i know its not so easy to kill that voice inside my head. its always gonna be there. its not just me, thats the devil of SNS like instagram. bc you see the best parts of everyone's lives at all times and feel like you're missing out but you're not. you only see a sliver of what it really was..but yea. its okay. I'm still so very young. and i just need to treasure now and take whatever chances i get to nourish the connections i have right now and put yourself out there to make new ones when the chances arise. its okay, there is not life that can be lived without saying goodbye. but damn, yesterday at the school gates two of my classmates hit me with the さよなら and that. man i felt it in that moment. theres so much i wish i couldve said in all that time we had to spend together but i just held my tongue bc i was scared. but this was really playing social interaction on hard mode, like the cultural differences, the language barrier, the introversion, the fact it was my first time on my own fr, just, there were soooo many factors working against me specifically. and fuck man, i still did it. and i am still so young, i really can do whatever i want. it feels so weird. ive only been here 6 months but in a way it feels like this is how its always been. like the fact that im going home feels so strange. like i havent been there in years, i honestly cant fully grasp that im gonna be in a place where i speak the language fluently and am fully aware and familiar with my surroundings. like, why does that feel so odd. it does, i legit dont even know how to feel besides strange. i just have a strange pit in my stomach. but its okay. it will pass as everything does. but these days will always live on inside me as everything does. even if i can't fully recall it. so i just have to keep going as always. god. life is trippy man. but yea. Yea. thats it. i think

#🐌.txt #i just dropped off my shit at my friends moms place. now im going home to shower and clean my room.#then im going to get dinner and then go clubbing with my cousin #tomorrow I'll return my room and head down to taichung. and then just vibe. process everything. explore. im really nit expecting much.#i just know i have to keep seeing as much as i can til i leave. and then. fucking... 2 days at my friends moms place. and then. thats #fucking it folks!!! ship my ass back to the US!!

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florentium · 2 years

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Autumn in Braavos 1-4 please ♥️

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

Because I just can't leave well enough alone.

But sincerely, this series came to be totally unintentionally. Neither I nor Kelty had any great aspirations for the plot, it was purely an AU designed for some pre-series Jon/Theon smut, with the one concession being that this alternate Theon had just a touch more compassion for Jon, and Jon, sensing a friend, was attracted to that.

But, obviously, there is a time limit on that premise! The storyline from canon will eventually arrive, so it's hard to have a satisfying resolution, knowing what's to come. So we kept adding thoughts, scenes, what-ifs, and eventually we had a fully divergent AU on our hands.

All this to say the series is not necessarily well-planned, and has pacing issues. But for Autumn in Braavos, I liked the idea of a small slice of life scene from after they'd "made it". The lovebirds had successfully escaped their obstacles and dangers and... then what? Their idea of escape was a rather juvenile solution, literally just running away from their problems. It's their only way to exert power over their own lives at that point. But is that a satisfying ending, knowing what lies in store?

Also, I really enjoyed getting to write a new location. Braavos is so very different from lonely Winterfell. Heavily based on Venice, obviously, with peoples and cultures from all over the world. Living in a city has its merits and downsides, what would they each enjoy about living in an urban centre or dislike? Those ideas were fun to just explore without too much focus on plot.

The pregnancy subplot for instance came up pretty organically. Jon being preoccupied with his own mother and notions of legacy and never fathering children himself, the possibility of Theon never fathering children because of him; it seemed like a good source of tension and introspection. The same with Clara's story about aborting a bastard child. Would it be better if Jon had never been born? Jon certainly wonders that.

2: What scene did you first put down?

Jon thinkin' about hummingbirds! Our quiet sensitive boy. Literally the very first scene. Just as a little descriptive scene, I liked to imagine the little differences about Braavos that might appeal or stand out to them, where they might find themselves living, what they might be doing to get by.

3. What’s your favorite line of narration?

"The women of Winterfell were mostly married and mostly virtuous."

Nothing with huge thematic resonance or narrative drama. I was just proud of this clever line, the repetition. It just seemed like a Jon sort of thought, to view Winterfell in a flattering light, even still. In truth, the women of Winterfell are probably not more virtuous than those anywhere else in the world, but since they're Winterfell's women, to Jon, they must be just a tiny bit better.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

"There is nothing more worthy, or more horrible, than to knowingly choose between two bad paths."

Clara hitting Jon with some life lessons. Probably the closest thing to a thesis the work has. There is no "good" option, sometimes, but the choice must be made.

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hopeamarsu · 3 years

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Of potions and myths - Chapter 4

William “Ironhead” Miller x f!reader

Word count 3,6k

Warnings: Some insecurities, some angst, a lot of talking

A/N: We finally meet the elders and start to get into the bottom of what is happening. Basically a lot of talking happens.

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Six new people step inside Pope’s living room, making it feel very crowded. You watch them silently as they approach you, the hand on your hip tightening as the room settles. The connection feels frantic now, bouncing between your bodies as it tries to make sense of your emotions. He’s nervous, just like you are, you realize as you catalogue them. It feels daunting to come to this conclusion about the man who has kept a level head so far and has been a rock of calmness for you.

“Hmm… I sense a power in this room.” One of the elders speaks in a low tone. He steps closer to you, cocking his head to the side as his honey-brown eyes search for your soul inside. You refuse to back down, no matter how scared you are, and face him.

Will grips you tighter, his own eyes flashing to red quickly as the man comes closer and closer, until you are practically nose to nose. A warning growl rumbles out of his chest, but the elder only chuckles in response. He raises a hand to place it on Will’s shoulder and it looks like the Captain barely keeps himself in check and doesn’t bite the offending weight off.

“Calm down, William. I mean your mate no harm.”

Mate? What mate?

“What do you mean, mate?” Will asks, echoing your thoughts. The elder chuckles again before stepping back a little, releasing his hand on Will’s shoulder, and you can see the tension in his back muscles ease minutely. It’s still there, brimming under the surface, but now that the man has backed up, it’s easier to breathe.

From the corner of your eye, you see Pope, Frankie and Benny move closer to you, flanking your sides in support. This time Will doesn’t growl when Benny brushes your shoulder quickly with his own and you file the information for later investigation.

“I can feel the mating bond between you two. It’s very unusual that it’s even here, the bond hasn’t been recorded in centuries.” He muses and the others murmur something amongst themselves. They seem to converse in broken words and sentences, leaving you and Will and his brothers out of it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” You finally pipe up, growing more confused by the minute. Another elder steps forward and gestures for all to sit. “My apologies, my child. You are not one of us and this is something many of us have forgotten also since it’s been buried for so long.” She has a sweet voice, soft and calming. You feel somewhat better as she takes the lead.

“Please sit down. I will answer any questions you have, if you answer ours in return.”

You follow her words, pulling Will with you to the loveseat. Benny takes the armrest closest to you and Frankie the other, Pope choosing to remain standing behind you. Despite any worries or hesitations they might have of you, they will stand by their brother it seems and it warms you from inside out.

“Many centuries ago, the bond was a way of finding out the most compatible companion. A mate.” She begins.

”An unmated wolf would feel a pull, a connection, with the one best suited for them. The connection would grow over time, sometimes manifesting in the physical appearance of colored tendrils until a bond was fully formed. Mated couples often reported being able to feel extreme emotions from one another and if and when the other half of a mated pair died, the other never took another.”

So far you can tick off every box from the list. You chance a look at Will, but he’s looking intently at the elder speaking. As the crowd remains silent, she continues.

“But as the bond was so rare in the first place, it slowly became rarer and rarer as time went on and wolves stopped looking for the clues, finding alternative means of securing a partner. I think the last recorded bond between two people is over 300 years old. And it’s never been recorded between creatures either.”

She glances in your direction, her eyes knowing something that you don’t. You cock an eyebrow at her choice of words, but choose not to comment. Will also remains silent, not divulging your status which you are grateful of as the elder continues.

“The only thing that remains is that once a wolf has a partner, a mate, it is for life. Santiago, you are familiar with the wows of our clan when someone chooses a partner. Tenebo te in corde meo usque in sempiternum. Tu solus. The bond is where they originate from.” (I will hold you forever in my heart. Only you.)

You recognize the words to be Latin, though some of the meaning is lost on you. Judging by the sharp intakes of breaths from all the men around you, they are valued highly.

The elder isn’t finished yet though. Her eyes slowly turn yellow as she regards you. “How did this originate? How long have you felt this between you?” She asks gently.

“We met last night,” You tell her and witness several raised eyebrows as the timeframe registers. “He saved me from an, let’s call it an unfortunate event, and when we spoke outside, I started to feel this pull towards him. It’s hard to resist it and it grows as we become closer.”

“Closer?”

“For example, when we touch, skin on skin, there are these golden and silver tendrils all over our bodies.”

To demonstrate, Will traces your forearm with his finger and everyone in the room watches as a silver line appears, followed by a golden one. They dance and glow on your skin before disappearing after he lifts his finger off, fading away slowly. “The longer and more, uh, intimate the touch, the more vibrant the colors are. And the longer they stay visible.”

Pope coughs behind you and Frankie snickers at the words, but a sharp look from Will shuts both men up quickly. The elders seem nonplussed at the information, almost as if they were expecting it, and the man who previously studied you leans forward.

He starts firing off questions, about the intensity of the colors, the pattern and how long the tendrils stay on the skin after the touch ends and if you have any other symptoms. You and Will both try to answer as best as you can, with Benny piping up when it comes to the length of time but a lot of it is still shrouded in mystery.

It feels almost like an inquisition as the rest of the elders join in on the questions. You lose track of how many you answer and you can feel Will feel the same, the irritation running off him in waves. You talk about your past, your studies and your work, the emotions that have transferred over, how it affects you when the emotions hit you. You describe the dizziness, the magnetic pull, the happiness in the hum as you are close.

Will talks about his desire to protect, the warmth of the tendrils as they move on his body and the hunger that makes his wolf crawl and pounce in his chest, wanting to be let loose. He describes the anger he felt at the pub when he understood what would happen and the physical pull he felt to stay outside of your door and the worry he felt as your knees buckled when the wave of his emotions hit you.

When they are finally out of questions, you feel like slumping back to the couch in exhaustion. It’s almost like you’ve just ran a marathon and recited your entire dissertation at the same time. Benny hands you a bottle of water from the kitchen which you chug down eagerly, your throat parched. From the corner of your eye, you see Will do the same, emptying half of the bottle in a few gulps.

But there is something inside you, a question that burns in your mind that is begging to be let out. You turn towards the woman. “You spoke of the bond being between two wolves. But I am not a wolf, nor is anyone in my family. Actually, I’m nothing at all, just a mundane. Why has the bond decided to connect us?” Beside you, Will lets out a huff of disapproval, clearly disagreeing with your notion that you are nothing, but you ignore it now. You can grapple over details later.

“It’s a very good question, my child. But clearly the bond knows more than what we do now. The connection has always been rare and not all wolves experience it. So it’s not to say other creatures, or even mundanes such as you, experience it too but in a very rare form.” She looks at her peers, something flashing in her eyes before continuing hesitantly.

“Maybe…”

Will intejects quickly. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you need to try and complete the bond to see what happens. If it takes or if it was only a false alarm.” She offers finally, after a long moment of silence. You feel like the wind is knocked out of you. It sounds very ominous and there is even a chance that all this is for nothing? Your shock must show in your face, because she is hasty to continue.

“We are walking on uncharted territory here, so we don’t exactly know what is going to come once the attempt to complete the bond is made. So I would advise you to think carefully if you want to proceed with this. Once the decision is made, you would complete it here, within our pack grounds for safety.”

You mull over her words, trying to organize your thoughts. You feel Will reach out to you, surely with questions of his own but your next one slips out before you can fully comprehend the possible damage they might do.

“And should we want to break this connection?”

Your words hang in the air but it feels like a bomb has gone off. You feel Benny turn to look at you, his eyes burning on your face, and Pope lets out an involuntary sound of protest. The elders all look at you in surprise and you can feel your ears buzzing with static as they register what you just asked.

You start to open your mouth to explain you only want to know the options available but the body next to you jumping to his feet and stomping out of the house stops that in its tracks. You all watch as the broad shoulders disappear outside the house and a door slams in its wake.

You wince and hunch your own shoulders forward as you wish you’d stayed silent, maybe bought in your stones to help. You could really use a little extra now that the three men turn to look at you with disapproval.

Will doesn’t look at anyone as he rushes out, feeling the tightness in his chest spread rapidly. He can hardly breathe properly and as he leans over the terrace railing, he can feel the agitation of his wolf as the animal weeps and howls inside him.

He doesn’t see it but he knows that his eyes are flashing rapidly and he can feel the need to shift, to run and be alone in the woods. It itches under his skin, clawing out to change skin into fur and fingers into paws. He paces the porch, opening and closing his fists to stop himself from shifting in broad daylight.

Is he alone with his thoughts, his dreams, his hopes? Surely he must, because you can so easily ask about breaking the bond. Like this isn’t it for you like it is for him.

He knows it’s crazy to feel this way, to want something so big and grand after such a short time. He can’t help himself though and his wolf agrees; he’s fallen in love and he’s not going to change his mind.

It feels so different compared to all the times he’s had a girlfriend. Even the one time he had a fiancée, someone he thought he was ready to commit to, even then it didn’t feel like this. The burst of warmth he feels whenever you look at him, the undeniable pull he has when you aren’t touching each other and the mere idea that you don’t want this leaving a gaping wound on his heart. It has taken over him completely and he has willingly surrendered to it.

He thinks about his former lover, wincing at the final memory in the parking lot of Publix after the altercation, trying to find differences between that relationship and what is budding here.

Had the bond been there even then? Was that the reason his fiancée left, why he couldn’t calm himself down in her presence? Why she had to jump on his back and still it wasn’t enough to break his grip? Was he not damaged goods and a complete failure in love after all? Or worse yet, was he because it seemed so easy for you to talk about breaking the connection?

A soft tap on his shoulder makes him whirl around and face Frankie, who looks sheepish at being sent over to check on him.

“You good?” The other man winces when the words leave his lips, he can clearly tell from the agitated look Will is sporting that the blond man is definitely not good. He just shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, gazing off somewhere behind Frankie’s shoulder. Slowly Will gathers his thoughts, using the skills taught to him to place all his worries into tiny little compartments in his mind. He lets out a breath and counts them for later, before turning to his brother.

“Not really. Did the elders give out the instructions to break the bond yet?”

He sounds defeated even to his own ears but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Despite the want and need and desire to go all the way, whatever the completion of the bond means, if you won’t do it, neither will he. He won’t force it, never can and never will, and he will respect your decision.

“No. The elders are talking with one another now, gathering all the needed information so you can talk with your mate and make a choice. You know the question needed to be asked, deep down.”

“Yeah.” Frankie is right, Will admits to himself. The logical side of him wins out, but the sting of rejection is still there.

“At this point we don’t even know what it will take for you to try and complete it. But you acting like this, all out of character, doesn’t do any good. Your mate is just as distressed as you are about this, possibly even more considering this is all so new and unexpected, and I can smell the conflicted emotions on both of you. Find out the options, talk it out, make a decision together. It’s the only way any of this can work.”

“Mmmmm.”

“You know I’m right, hermano.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Fish, it won’t do you any good.” Will smirks as he claps his brother on the back and the other man only grins wolfishly in return before guiding them back in.

You sit and wait quietly inside, shoulders tight, mulling over your own thoughts. You wish you were with your books in your tiny cupboard of an office back at the museum, helping the elders figure it all out but you suspect that something this intimate would’ve been recorded into writing.

What does it take to complete a bond? You shift through your mind, trying to think of bonding spells but most of the ones you know only bind two inanimate objects to one another or help with the natural bond created in nature. Nothing about two humans, mythicals or not, connecting on a level deeper than normal. .

But would you want to break it or complete it? That is the million dollar question. Both surely have their risks but ultimately it is about if you want him in your life and if he has those same feelings. And your feelings are all jumbled up and you can’t help but to wonder if they are real or a byproduct of the connection.

As the two men return to the room and take their places, it feels icy cold when Will doesn’t touch you, choosing to sit as far as possible from you. You want to reach out, explain yourself and your thoughts, talk to him freely but he refuses to glance at you, keeping his head high and aimed forward. You are resigned back to silence as you wait for the elders to return with more news.

The only sound is the ticking clock on the wall as all of you are wrapped in your minds. It ticks forwards slowly but surely and as the hour chimes a change, one of the elders return into the room. He isn’t the one from before, but a short and stocky man with a gentle expression on his face and keen eyes, something that distantly reminds you of Pope. He faces your group huddled in the loveseat and behind it.

“May I speak to William and his mate alone?” He asks, aiming his words to Will’s brothers. They all nod and vacate the room with touches of support for him. Benny twists his body to hug Will, his eyes flashing blue again. He gives you a look, something that is hard to decipher, as he mumbles something into the older man’s ear before releasing him.

You both want to know what he said but also not. It can’t have been too good if his eyes changed. You have come to the conclusion the shift in color is triggered by something, maybe emotional triggers or more. Yet another thing you don’t understand yet, you think dejected.

Once the room is empty, the man sits in the armchair. He seems to ponder his words carefully, trying to decide the best course of action and you wait, holding your breath. The silence grates your nerves. If only you had your stones with you, but you hadn’t thought to pick them up. Usually you didn’t need them unless there was a special occasion and the whirlwind of the morning had swept you away. So you can only mumble out a small calming spell and hope for a placebo effect.

“We have a tentative idea of what the completion of the bond is. There are some details that are missing, but we are in talks with the other packs to fill them out. We also have an idea on how to proceed should you want to break it. But I must warn you, going down that road will be complicated and painful as it requires separating your souls and making sure they never reach out to one another again.”

The elder pauses, his eyes turning calculating. He looks at Will first and the man faces him head-on, the soldier inside him coming to life as he shuts down his emotions. His jaw is tight and his shoulders set, the air around him still.

You watch the transformation and when it clicks, it chills you to the bone. You are no longer in the presence of Will, but with Captain William Miller of the Delta Force. A man or wolf no more, but a war machine, with a single thought in his mind; to complete the mission. There are no if’s or but’s, he will take the instruction and decision and execute it to perfection.

The elder turns to look at you, his eyes searching for something in you. Whether he finds it or not, you cannot tell, but the elder breaks the connection after a while and turns away from you.

“To break it, you’ll each drink a potion every night for seven nights and on the eighth, you will perform a ritual to separate your souls from one another. After it is done, you’ll be escorted home and you can never return here. William, you will be escorted home also, but you cannot return to the places you’ve been together. For the rest of your lives, you’ll need to take extreme care not to bump into one another as it will be most painful if you do.”

He pauses as he lets the words sink in, watching with interest as the soldier listening to orders doesn’t flinch but you do, your eyes once again betraying the worry inside you.

“Should you want to complete it, you would need to make your souls bare and intertwine them to one another. This can be achieved by giving into these urges you feel.”

“Urges?” Will speaks finally, the word coming out clipped and void of emotion. You wince internally, but try to keep your face blank so as to not alarm anyone. If this is going where you think it is going, the next words will confirm your theory that sprung up in your mind as soon as the elder mentioned souls.

“You will need to be intimate with one another. As in have sex. And he will have to bite you as you reach an orgasm. This will bind you to one another for as long as you live.”

The shock on your face is clearly written as you fully understand the words and the meaning behind them. Wait, what? He’s going to bite you?

Of potions and myths taglist: @mylifeisactuallyamess @luxmundee @innerpaperexpertcloud

Everything taglist (I fully understand if you want to skip this one, please let me know and I’ll remove you!) @clydesducktape @wayward-rose @themuseic @miraclesabound @clydesfavoritegirl @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @mariesackler @princessxkenobi

#william miller #will miller #william ironhead miller #will ironhead miller #will miller x f!reader #cw: mythical creatures #cw: werewolves #cw: dash of angst #will miller fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #my writing #charlie hunnam fanfiction

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beccarooni · 3 years

Text

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

#my fic #fanfic #thor fanfic #loki fanfic #infinity war au #infinity war fix it fic #thor odinson #loki odinson #brodinsons #thorbruce #thorbruce fic #multi chapter #mcu fic #long post #2k #bruce banner #angst

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 2 years

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ok whats yur thoughts on ppl thinking either j or p pinned more for the other. Im seeing that alot recently of either john fans or paul fans tryna make it seem one of tjem was way more preoccupied or desperate while the other gave two crumbs about them. do you think its true that one cared more and why is the discourse that way

Okay so

1) I've literally never seen anyone on tumblr say they think one of them didn't care at all, only seen people accusing others of thinking that; probably purposely being hyperbolic.

2) I think people get the impression that if someone for example doubts Paul was interested in John sexually (for whatever valid or invalid reason; that's not the point here) that means they think Paul wasn't as invested as John. Or maybe there are people who think that way.

Regardless, for me I think one should separate the nature of someone's connection to someone from its intensity. (While acknowledging that the people in question grew up with the notion that your SO is the be-all, end-all of relationships, so there's definitely somewhat of a link between nature and intensity)

3) Quantifying attachment is... weird and tricky, IMO. I think they both felt somewhat similar intensities of love/longing for each other, but perhaps one or both would go through more "independent" periods where the intensity went down a little (John in 59/60 with Stu; Paul getting acquainted with London buddies in 65/66) and also those feelings could sometimes present in vastly different ways — and I think it's not invalid to possibly judge one more than the other for how he went about expressing his love (whether it was Paul repressing his emotions or John lashing out).

Note: I don't think it's particularly fair to compare the more "strange" post-December 1980 feelings Paul has shown to have regarding John to anything John expressed about Paul because.... John didn't go through his estranged best friend being murdered mid-reconciliation. The closest comparison would be to John's post-Stu feelings but that isn't nearly as well recorded so....

#ask #anon #jp #meta #discourse #hope this makes sense anon

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pineapple-frostyfruits · 3 years

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Okay, let's do something else. What if mercs found out that Y/N doubts themself? Like the way they look or what they do. Or they notice they aren't really confident with their work anymore.

(Oh ho ho did somebody not check URLs and determine reblogs from original posts? ~)

[I tease. But for you, yes, I'll do it anyway]

Scout: You could never really see it from the outside unless you knew what to look for, but Scout is very insecure. About his masculinity, about his capability at work, about his ability to even have a friend. To find out someone close to him - one person who he legitimately cares about and openly cares about him - to realise they doubt themselves and feel insecure too sometimes actually takes a weight off his shoulders. Even someone as amazing and wonderful as you could feel insecure or doubtful.

He spends his entire day, mid-fight or not, just chatting to you about what it is he finds hard to believe in himself with, and what you find hard to believe in yourself for, and you both get the silent solidarity of knowing someone understands - and will always be there for you.

Soldier: Soldier is confused at first. It didn't make sense to him. Someone as awesome as you? Feeling like they weren't amazing? But that's wrong! You are amazing! More amazing than a bald eagle flying through fireworks on a glorious American summer day! Who lied to you about how amazing you are? They will get a rocket to the face! And then a fist to their face! If any of their face is left!

You explain to him that it's just yourself, some memories here and there warping the perception you have of yourself so you could never really "see" yourself from the outside. So you assume the worst. He nods - he gets that, now - and he decides that whenever you seem down, he will start telling you exactly how he percieves you - every wonderful, glorious, blessed part of what he sees.

Pyro: Pyro sits you down at their tea party, gently placing a paper hat on your head before sitting down opposite you. They don't talk to balloonicorn or ask you to play, like they normally would, but instead they wait - watching you. They place their hands in their lap, and you can feel their hidden eyes looking directly at you. After a while, if you say nothing, they bring out a box - a box full of art supplies. They draw a picture of you - of your face - and then draw an "evil" version of you (its just you with huge black streaks under your eyes, greyer skin, and a big black cloak). They then point at you, give a thumbs up, then point at the evil version and shake their head.

They let you keep their drawings, and also promise you to draw a whole lot more, because they want to remind you that no matter what you don't believe in yourself for - no matter what you think you did wrong or what you're beating yourself up over - you do not try to have bad intentions, you are not a truly evil/bad person, and you are someone they - and the entire team - trust and care about. They will remind you about it every second of every day if they must.

Heavy: Heavy does not say anything at first - he quietly walks over to a table, sits down, and pulls out a chair for you to sit. If you do not take it, he trusts you to know your limits. You can sort yourself out, or come to him, whenever you need to. The choice is yours. If you do sit with him ... he quietly asks you what is wrong. He then waits for a reply - and if you deflect he will simply shake his head or say "no." If you want more of a reply, tell him. Tell him what makes you upset, what you doubt in yourself. He's listening to you for a reason.

Heavy will place a hand on your back [nearly covering all of it], and will tell you that "You are strong. You see Heavy's muscles - I can lift many thing - but you are best kind of strong. Strong in heart. It is a strong that Heavy had to learn - is not easy. Yet you are strong, you keep going. You are best kind of strong - keep doing your best. Is not easy, fighting inside mind is hard. But you make it this far already, da? No point giving in to the lies of your mind now. Keep being strong - if gives Heavy something to look up to. And he will always - always help however you need."

Engineer: Engie stops what he's doing, smiling softly and kindly, as you walk past him after he finds out about how you're feeling. He saw you earlier, when he was busy with something else, and he realised just what was going on with you. Now, later, he put down his wrench and his work outfit, and gently called out your name, asking you to come talk with him, please. He will keep politely prodding you to talk to him until you actually talk to him - or at least someone else - about how you're doing. If/when you come to him, he will be relatively quiet, but still brimming with his politeness and southern hospitality.

He'll softly ask what seems to have you down - he may know you're upset, but he would like to hear why from you, not just assuming. After you tell him what it is, no matter what it is, he'll nod softly, tapping his gloved hand against the bench or wall he's closest to. He'll talk about how your insecurities don't define you, how you're a wonderful person, someone he's glad he met here, and how no matter what you may think you're like, the team knows you. He knows you. And if you where half as bad as you thought, they'd tell you. You're a good person - and good is more than enough.

Demo: He's the second most outright, besides soldier. He'll ask you straight up if anything is wrong, what he can do. He has a very serious expression on his face, but it softens when you quietly tell him it's to do with self-esteem and doubting yourself. He'll pull you in for a strong, warm hug [if you don't like hugs he'll simply pat your back or nudge you gently with his shoulder]. He's going to comfort you for the rest of the day - just gently pampering you so you know how much he loves and respects you.

If you're not feeling better by that night, he'll have a serious - but not harsh - talk with you about how/why you're feeling like that, and discussing how he relates and can help, or anecdotes that put the situation in new light so its easier to care for yourself. It's the best way he knows how to offer comfort and advice - and for you, its less trouble than taking a breath to him.

Sniper: Sniper is his usual self - that is to say, quiet and socially anxious. He'd much rather just using a letter or a phone call to try and talk about issues. Seeing your face, watching you possibly cry, it's too much for him. He can't. But after half a day or so of knowing you're off about something, it becomes too unbearable and he has to help or he'll explode, he bets. He quietly slips you a note, or walks past you and murmers just loud enough to hear - either way, he asks you to visit him at his camper after the match.

Once you're there, he offers to help you get up on the roof - where you find a pile of pillows and blankets and a citronella candle. He lights the candle and invites you down to stargaze with him, watching the desert sky - and while he doesn't have to look you in the eye, he begins to tell you how important you are, how he's always so starstruck by the things you do, how sometimes he wishes he was more like you. After he feels the blood rush to his cheeks, he stops talking and hides his face, clearing his throat before suggesting you both go back to stargazing.

Medic: Medic would comment to you that he knows something is off - he won't stop what he's doing, he'll just keep up his schedule whilst he casually encourages you to tell him. The moment you let up - and he will not stop pestering you until you do - he will scoff at the notion and tell you that you're wrong. Just straight up saying that you're very clearly not as bad as you think, and anyone can see that. It's obvious you're an amazing, attractive, intelligent and skilled person. He's seen literally every part of you, inside and out! He should know! If you're still insecure about it, though ... he'll sit down, stop working [for once] and he'll talk with you about it.

He may occasionally be brash, or not mince words when commenting on what you say, but he genuinely means it from a place of goodwill. If anyone else ever said the things you thought about yourself, he wouldn't hesitate to correct them and fight them if they kept being an asshole. He has to remind himself that is you saying this, and not you repeating what someone else said. Once he's gone through it with you, counterpointing your issues with yourself until you had no more you could think of, he smiles softly and asks if you'd like to feed Archimedes with him. He'd be happy to let two of his favourite living creatures interact - and hopefully it would let him dote on both of you at once.

Spy: Spy stiffens slightly at the idea of talking to you. He knows he should, that it would make things easier, but ... he has a habit of running from difficult scenarios. Even basic consoling is strange and "dangerous" to him. However ... you're important to him. You're a good person, and he wants to stop running ... what better way to start sticking with things than comforting you?

He's awkward, at best. He, for once, doesn't know what to say. He offers you something you like - be it a drink he's seen you go out of your way to buy, a food item, a trinket - just something to break the ice. If you're willing to talk more than 3 words, then he'll relax a little, and occasionally the two of you will switch between talking about ... anything. Anything that could take your mind off of doubts and bring more to light the good parts of you - god knows theres more of those in you than in him. It ends up being quite cathatic, and he suggests doing it more. No matter what you decide, he understands - and he's happy he could "help" any way he could.

#tf2 #tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #tf2 medic #tf2 soldier #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 demo #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #ask #request #tf2 x reader #god damn if yall want more of this or whatever tell me and I'll make a side-blog #hot damm

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hiccstrxd · 3 years

Text

Heart in disguise

I mixed muse and the crush prompt together and behold the outcome! Read it on ao3.

Summary: Callum couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she had become the primary subject of most of his artistic compositions, though he can admit — if a little shyly — that somewhere along the way, when the mistrust faded, new feelings arose in its place.

Sometimes he’d find himself drawing the unfamiliar curve of a horn or the foreign form of a hand; a face with sinuous markings underneath the eyes or the rather pointy tip of an ear instead of the usual rounder ending.

It caught him unguarded, leaving him baffled.

The features were new, unlike anything he has drawn before and they intrigued him to no end. He wanted to depict them on paper when possible, study them from afar, learn more about this newly discovered truth about elves not being the bloodthirsty monster people claimed to be.

Or maybe he just loved drawing her.

Callum couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she had become the primary subject of most of his artistic compositions, though he can admit — if a little shyly — that somewhere along the way, when the mistrust faded, new feelings arose in its place.

They have come a long way since that eventful encounter in the castle’s hallway. Somehow, they have grown closer – there’s a bond that wasn’t there before, a dynamic that has changed throughout their journey. And a feeling that ran deeper than mere friendship. Sure, he likes to consider her as one of his closest friends – his best friend, dare he say – but there was something else that Callum couldn’t wrap his finger around no matter how hard he tried.

Because it’s new, it’s thrilling, and it’s completely different than anything he has felt before.

He is no stranger to the concept of having a ‘crush’, after all, Soren used to refer his infatuation towards Claudia as such. But unbeknownst to him, there has been something akin — if a bit more serious — blossoming deep in his chest ever since they started their solo trip that has thrown him off guard and left him with a heartwarming afterthought.

It started simple, taking notice of small things that he has overlooked before. Like the way her ears twitch whenever she is excited, or how they droop down when she is either feeling emotional or crestfallen. The very thick accent that he has come to found absolutely endearing, especially when at moments it just gets even thicker on its own accord. The glimmer in her eyes when she talks about something she deeply cares about, or a notion she firmly believes in.

How she is one of the strongest, bravest, and most determined individuals he’s known and how she doesn’t credit herself enough – which he tries to remind her whenever possible – and that past that hard exterior lies one of the gentlest, most selfless souls.

Then came the increasing heart rate, the blushing when she decides to tease him or when her hand brushes against his by accident, and the warmth that pools in his chest when she smiles that fond smile of hers.

And, sometimes, he can’t help but put them on paper, to freeze those little moments that captivate him so much, that make a fluttering sensation settle in his stomach when he so much as looked her way. Just thinking about it makes his heart swell and the corners of his mouth to involuntarily twitch, because – when he stops to think about it – how could he not develop feelings for someone as fierce and smart and kind and beautiful as Rayla.

The way he feels safe, feeling like everything thought impossible is possible around her, weightless by her mere presence and encouraged with a sole smile shot his way.

“What are you smiling at?” She said with a light laugh upon laying eyes on him. He might have looked utterly ridiculous with a silly smile on his face and a love-struck expression towards nothing in particular.

He cleared his throat and fought the crimson color from spreading across his cheeks but to no avail, “Uhh... nothing,” Callum adverted his eyes, fearing they could give him away.

She slowed down her pace and came to walk next to him, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder. Zym was perched on his own shoulder, watching with wonder in his eyes everything around him, but when hearing the conversation taking place, he leaned his little body forward to have a better look at his two – out of three – favorite people. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Because since a mile ago you’ve been zoning out, and now you won’t look me in the eye?” Her voice carried a humorous tone, one he has become familiar with as of lately. It’s heartening to see her at ease, less uptight, and with her walls down.

He flinched but soon covered it with a small laugh, “Seriously, it’s nothing.” Callum gave her a reassuring smile, one he thought was convincing enough to drop the subject but even he thought it lacked genuineness.

Rayla hummed again, “Whatever you say, sad prince.” Zym chirped behind him as if saying he wasn’t convinced either. The betrayal.

“Well, if nothing’s wrong then come, I want to show you something.” He barely registered when her fingers laced together with his and yanked him to a direction that definitely would take them a little off track, but he couldn’t make himself care about the slight detour.

It wasn’t the first time that they held hands, but he’d never get tired of how their fingers fit together almost perfectly, almost as if that was supposed to be.

She took them to a meadow where a ton of fluffy little creatures made their afternoon a whole lot better. And later that day, it was unavoidable to not draw the scene that was very much printed in his mind; Zym playing around with the adoraburrs, Rayla laughing without a care in the world – a sight that as of recently does not fail to make his heart soar.

Drawing has always meant more than just a diversion. It was more than just a form of manifestation, more than simply portraying tangible things on paper. A charcoal in his hand felt like the whole world on his fingertips — it’s what made him feel complete, fulfilled.

His art embodies who he is and everything he has come to love over the years.

So it should really come as no surprise as to why Rayla has been filling page after page of his sketchbook, why drawing her brings him such delight. Maybe he has developed feelings for her, and the sudden pang of heartache whenever he thinks about it it’s hard to ignore because the sentiment — he is rather positive — is pretty much one-sided.

But he likes her beyond what words can express and right now, her friendship and everything in between, means the world to him. Perhaps one day, they could take one big step forward in their relationship and he would no longer have to cloak his heart’s true yearning.

(They do).

#rayllum #rayllum fic #rayllummonth2021 #my writing #this is all fluff #no regrets #the dragon prince #rayla tdp #callum tdp #it's pining callum for ya

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Hey! I hope you’re doing well. You’re writing is always great and I get excited when I see you’ve posted something new. Would you consider writing a little something with platonic Caduceus and reader where they have similar personalities and interests, but different backgrounds? Maybe the reader doesn’t have any family to speak of? I’m open to any character class or race :) thank you!

I’m doing well. I’m glad you like my writing and thank you. It’s really nice to hear people get excited when I post new things. I never expected people to like it at all 🙈. I hope you like the way this one turned out 😘

You were typical city folk. Born and raised in the heights of civilisation; the pride and joy of the Law Bearer Erathis herself. Raised at the temple of the Raven Queen as a foundling the clergy were the only parental figures you knew and they were hardly parents. Your relationship with them is less of a parent-child dynamic. They were your caretakers and supported which is more than a lot of people can say but you missed out on parental pride, love and the ability to confide in someone in such a way. You missed out on the relation with siblings. No running around the hallways of the temple, no secrets between just you and them, no protective older sibling or a younger one that gets away with everything. You had no weird aunt or uncle to tell you ridiculous stories or take you on adventures every so often like the books you’d read as a child.

Your childhood never bothered you because it was good and happy, just in a different way. You found a mother figure in the Matron. You’d get dreams sometimes, waking up with a single black feather on your pillow. She gave you an appreciation of all things living. Death is a sacred thing but it’s the life that counts. You made it your goal to nourish that what needs a little extra attention and preserve what can be saved before its time, conforming to the natural order. The Matron of Ravens taught you death is just as sacred as life and so you valued it and vowed to upkeep her commandments and preserve that natural order of life and death.

As a child you spent much time within the public parks and gardens. You had an affinity unrivalled. Making flowers blossom in spring and keeping the branches and roots healthy during the colder months, curing diseases, healing ailments as well as returning to the earth what once came from it upon the passing. When you were old enough these habits carried over to ‘living things’; a term you had to disagree with because all that grows lives. You became part of the clergy and continued your life within the temple of the Raven Queen.

You were never confined to the temple life. Your work took you far and wide, your expertise wanted by the many. You had tended to the ailments of kings as you had commoner, treating no different. You had tended to the pristine gardens of royalty as you had the fields of a farmer. In the eyes of the natural order all lives are equal in the end and so you treated them in life.

When a group of strangers came knocking at your door looking for an expert you were surprised by the colourful bunch on your doorstep but heard them out regardless. You were faced with the story of a cursed forest, a sanctuary of the natural order to be disturbed, a family missing and a new one found. A story of beacons of endless stars, possibilities and souls of the preserved to be reborn, conflict, war and death. Stories of salvation, resurrection, a fight to preserve the natural order and save the lives of the many. Stories far and wide yet to be told.

You were needed. Your expertise was needed and when a raven landed on your windowsill staring at you, studying you and awaiting your response you knew it was time to leave behind the life you knew and venture into a strange new world of adventure and the unknown. How could you turn them down? Your help was needed and while the venture might be a bit longer and much riskier than your usual ones, the task remained the same. You’d travel with the Mighty Nein for a while and aid them for however long they needed you.

You grew to love the Mighty Nein like the family you never had but you have to say from the very beginning you felt a natural gravitation towards the colourful firbolg, a radiance akin to that of the life you vowed to preserve. Caduceus did not hide he felt a same sort of gravitation towards you. The two of you were often paired together on watches or went out together to stock up on supplies for the road, spell components and the likes. The two of you while at first glance are day and night, as your respective deities are when compared, but those who look closer know you are in a way, one and the same.

You’re sitting on the jungle floor eyes closed listening to the nocturnal critters make their way through, searching for food, hunting and finding their hideouts, burrows and nests before the sun rises and morning comes. A smile on your face, as you take everything in over the soft snoring and slight twisting and turning of some of the Nein. You hear someone sitting down next to you.

“Good morning.” You say peaking through one eye seeing the pink haired firbolg cup of tea in hand. The two of you had always been and probably always will be the early risers of the group. Old habits? Perhaps so.

“Ah, it is, isn’t it?” He offers you a cup of tea. You take it with a quick thanks blowing away the steam and cool it down a little before you take a sip. A good cup of tea never fails to wake you up properly.

“How are you feeling? Getting closer to where the Wild Mother has been sending you?” The two of you look out seeing the first light barely bleed through the trees. Caduceus waits a little before speaking, contemplating his answer. His brow furrows.

“I’m unsure.” Caduceus mentally retreats just a little bit, watching his expression you can see the thoughts rush through his head. You know he worries for his family and how you might find them. A lot is unsure at these times. You can only hope for the best and prepare for the worst but you have faith.

“You’re worried, for your family. For what might have become of them?” He gives you a bit of a smile and nods. It’s clear Caduceus hasn’t directly been faced with the notion of mortality in this sense close to home whereas in any other situation he’d be fine.

“I’ve been waiting to see them for a long time. While I trust the Wild Mother’s path, I can’t help but find myself doubting if they are well.” You try to find a way to best approach his concerns and ease his mind. The words of comfort either of you would offer to those coming into your respective places of worship do not apply to this situation nor would they be particularly helpful. You’re not dealing with the dead, just the possibility of death of loved ones.

“You trust her path and you believe she’s at your side?” You ask deep in thought as a light breeze rushes through out of nowhere. The Wild Mother must be listening. Caduceus relaxes a bit more knowing she’s there. Despite what some may think, the breeze may just tell you what you need to know.

“Yes. I believe so.” He smiles watching the leaves blow, the breeze being carried away into the distance of the early morning jungle, a couple of birds scattering as it comes along.

You take a moment, close your eyes and reach out your senses sending a little prayer to the Raven Queen. You’re met with a sense of warmth, a soft cawing of a raven flying away and a small light in the darkness.

“Then they’ll be alright in the end. I don’t sense my Matron’s presence in relation to you. You’ll be reunited with your family once more.” You interpret the signs she shows you. While they might not be a certainty you have faith she would not let you down.

“That’s nice.” You return to staring into the jungle in comfortable silence for a while.

“What do you miss the most? About home and your family I mean.” You ask a bit out of the blue but you couldn’t help yourself wondering with everything drawing closer and the uncertainty of how you’ll find the Stone family, and what you’ll encounter there.

“Old habits. The people. The simplicity of life. I’d say the piece and quiet but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Just different kind of noise. You know what I mean.” Caduceus reminisces, dopey smile returning at the memory of his family. You’ve heard some of the tales of his shenanigans when it comes to his siblings. He’s confided in you and you vowed to keep those a secret. Who knew Caduceus could be quite the prankster?

“I don’t actually. I never had a family like yours. The Mighty Nein is the closest I’ve ever gotten to the meaning of a family.” You look over to the sleeping shapes. You wouldn’t trade them for the world but can’t deny it’s still not the same. The others can attest to that.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I apologise if I offended you.” You smile at him. You’d stated before you loved your found ‘family’, the clergy but they were never your real family. It just hadn’t come up your dynamic with them was not the same as a more typical even dysfunctional family.

“It’s quite alright. I never knew my birth family. I knew the clergy at my temple and that’s alright. I always wondered what it would be like to have parents to confide in, siblings to spend time with, perhaps even share interests with and people who love me unconditionally, people like me but also not. Do you get what I mean?” Caduceus nods in agreement and thinks for a second.

“I understand. Though you might come to take back the part about wanting to spend more time with siblings. They’ll grow on you like ivy in places you don’t want it.” He laughs a little and you join him.

“They can’t be that bad.” You joke the both of you laughing as quietly as you can trying not to wake the others up.

“I’d love to meet your family. From what you’ve told they’re wonderful.”

“They are, in their own ways but don’t tell Calliope I said that.” Caduceus bumps your shoulder and you bump back finishing the last of your tea. You’ve heard enough tales of Calliope to know you better not tell her or she might never let Caduceus forget he admitted it so openly to someone else outside of the family.

“I’m sure they’d like you too. If you wanted to you could come back to the Blooming Grove with us one day. Clarabelle always wanted another sibling. She thinks Calliope is a bit too stoic. The two of you would make great friends.” Caduceus finishes his tea and you’re a little taken aback. You look for any kind of jest. He must be joking right?

“You’re serious?” Caduceus laughs a little at your reaction.

“Unless you don’t want to. I think you’ll fit in right along. Our ancestor used to be a champion of the Raven Queen. She might appreciate the return of a new Clay. Not by blood but by heart.” You recall the story he once told about the champions Stone, Dust and Clay of the Matron. You feel a pull in your heart out of nowhere and swear you hear a raven’s caw in the back of your mind. She’d be satisfied.

“I’d like that very much if they’ll have me.” With Caduceus reassurance his family would very much like you and get along with you you’d see where this would go. Perhaps you would become an unofficial Clay. Your friends are just your chosen family after all so why should it be different?

You’ll see where your path leads and you’ll stick with Caduceus until either of you grow tired of each other. Not that either of you see that happen. You’ve grown thick as thieves to the point where you could call yourselves siblings. If the two of you claiming yourselves siblings extends into his family then you’d love nothing more.

A place. A purpose. A home. You’ll have to put the world back into tune first but once the Matron and the Mother call you both home you’ll stick to the path until homeward bound you both be. Both of you lost in thought come to the same conclusion. Caduceus pours the both of you some new tea, cooling it down a bit you both take a sip.

“That’s nice.” You say in unison watching the nocturnal critters go to sleep and the early risers come out and go about their daily business.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #critrole x reader #caduceus x reader

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byunbaekby · 4 years

Text

You Are: Loved (l.dh)

Pairing: Haechan x Gender Neutral Reader Summary: In a world where the things people say about you show up on your skin, you become both intrigued and apprehensive when your skin tells you that someone loves you. Warnings: Mentions of depression, self-harm (please do NOT read if you are sensitive to self-harm. I tried to keep it as toned down as possible, without using descriptive words or actions as it is essential to the theme.) Word Count: 5.3k

You stare at him from across the hallway.

Lee Donghyuck.

He is the epitome of perfect as you know it—dark brown hair, barely brushing his bright expressive eyes often upturned into a smile on the canvas of his honey tanned skin like sand on a burning summer’s day. The resident class clown, you often hear him in the hallways before you see him, for he’s quite notorious for his jokes and boisterous laughter. For such an easy-going guy, you’d expect that he’d slack somewhere in the fashion department but no, his outfits were always put-together and flattering to his figure.

It makes you question, is there anything wrong with him?

His greatness is not just to your eyes either. The proof of it is written on his skin. The words which others use to describe him, in the all-knowing universe where the gossip of others becomes proof on your skin; friendly, handsome, generous, funny, talented, popular. They slide up from underneath his shirt onto his neck, make themselves known across his arms. Those are just a small number of the words that decorate his skin, large and visible even from your distance across the hall.

Lee Donghyuck is a superior human being in all forms.

So, when you heard from Renjun, the closest person you could call a friend, that he had overheard Lee Donghyuck saying he loved you, you of all people, your first instinct was to think that Renjun was joking. Playing a prank on you. It wouldn’t be the first time someone at school decided to mess with you, the endlessly new student.

But then the word came.

On your skin, you discovered it after a shower one day when you were staring at yourself in the mirror, at the cuts from your own hand that decorate your body.

Loved.

Your skin told you that you are loved. This meant that someone, out there in the endless infinity of the world, had spoken into existence that they love you.

It was small, barely noticeable on the stomach sandwiched between Well-behaved and the largest of them all, Unwanted. But you found it nonetheless, and immediately your mind flickered back to your friend’s words.

Lee Donghyuck.

There was no way.

It was definitely a joke; you could already hear him tossing it back and forth in cruel joking between him and his friends, followed by grating guffaws against you.

But no, Lee Donghyuck was not like that. He was not cruel enough to throw an unwilling soul into that of his comedic tendencies. You had only spoken a few times in passing, in classes that you shared, yet you felt that it was clear enough to see that though playful, Lee Donghyuck was benevolent in all forms of the word.

So you plan to confront him.

As soon as the warning bell sounds, sending all of Donghyuck’s friends away from their formed circle of laughter, you move. Donghyuck as well begins to leave, about to head out for his next class but you’re quicker, you’re already behind him and pulling on his backpack by the time he has turned to leave.

You pull him back, holding him by the backpack in a sea of people.

“Woah,” he sounds, before his eyes find you and in turn, light up. You hate it; he’s so cheerful, welcoming all the time and with the way he gazes at you you can almost believe the notion that he loves you.

“Oh, hi Y/N,” he beams, a bright smile on his tiers. “What’s up?”

“What’s up is,” you begin, releasing his backpack to cross your arms across your chest whilst trying your best to look annoyed. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but I want you to stop.” Because it gives you hope, and that is the last thing you need.

The confusion is evident on his face as he blinks at you. “What.. do you mean?”

“You don’t love me.”

A sheet of realization falls over his features, and his eyes soften. A gentle smile, almost amused smile makes home across his lips. “But I do.”

The ease with which he comes to this response only causes you to further your brows even further. You had, upon learning of his “feelings” toward you, thought it to be a complete joke or ruse but now as you observe the way he stares down at you, with the typical lighthearted eyes of his, you begin to fear that they are genuine.

It’s absolutely insane.

“We’ve only talked to each other like, twice. You can’t love someone you don’t know,” you argue.

“But I do know you. I know your name, Y/N, I know your age considering we’re in the same grade, I know that you’re currently in foster care and you’re staying with Jisung’s family. I know that you don’t really stay in the same place for more than a couple months which is why you mostly stick to yourself. To avoid getting hurt when you inevitably have to leave. I know that you like painting, and I’ve deduced that you’re most likely just trying to avoid getting adopted by anyone for another year until you turn eighteen.”

You stare, silent and speechless.

“I know all these things from the few times we’ve talked, I’ve figured these things out from the comments that Jisung shares about you occasionally, I’ve learned these things by watching you. And I’ve come to love you because—” you purse your lips in distaste unconsciously at the idea of love, of him loving you, once again. “—I see that you’re strong. I see it in the way you hold yourself, the way you live your life.”

He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you, he can’t. He thinks that he does, that he has you figured out because of this little crush he’s harbored on you over the two months you’ve been in this town, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know that you’re unlovable.

“You don’t even know what love is,” you spite at him bitterly, feeling your walls rise taller, if even possible. “But I do. I learned it, because of you,” he speaks earnestly, the idea of being late to class not a bother to him. “You’re seventeen.”

“There’s no age limit on love.”

He’s naive. Love is not adoration or obsession or the excessive attention that you have failed to notice from him until now. Lee Donghyuck is too kind, and nowhere near close to knowing what love is.

His words leave you speechless—speechless that someone could be so thoughtless, so careless and willing to throw themselves into the abyss that is blind love. The final bell rings, signalling that class has started and you’re both now late to class.

With no words left to say, only indignation and frustration in your stomach, you brush past him with a sigh. “Leave me alone, Lee Donghyuck.”

Though you don’t look back, you can feel his eyes on you, and can almost visualize them burning into your back, kind as always but uncharacteristically glazed with worry.

You can’t really recall when it started.

It was definitely sometime in your early years of secondary school, when the image of the words on your skin became too much for your psych to handle.

The act wasn’t fueled by anger, or a desire to cause pain upon yourself, but rather a need for an ability to counterattack the words which mocked you. So you took the blade, and crossed them out.

Unwanted—because since you had been placed into the foster system at age seven, no family ever wanted to adopt you. The words were sprung from hate and gossip from others, who observed that you would never be able to find a place. Perhaps they also stemmed from your mind itself, in which you too began to believe that you were unwanted anywhere.

Well-behaved—because though you were well-behaved, always doing your schoolwork and abiding by any rules set by your temporary foster parents, you were never affectionate. You showed little personality to them, and they couldn’t form bonds to you. Thus, whenever your few months’ time ended, they always commented that you were well-behaved, but not what they needed in their family.

Strange—because no one had taken the initiative to get to know you, to learn you beyond the label you held of being the new kid. Not that you had given them an opening or chance to, anyways.

Alone—because you spent most of your time to yourself. This one you didn’t mind as much. Even though Park Jisung was one of the more welcoming foster siblings, claiming that he that had an insight to your perspective because he too had been in your position until he had been adopted by your current foster family, you refused to allow your interactions with him to grow beyond small talk over dinner and quiet rides to school.

There are more words, currently crossed out and blurred by scars across your body, but those were the first.

Now, as you stand in front of the mirror in the Park household bathroom, you cross out the one tiny word that Lee Donghyuck had gifted you, and watch with a slight wince as red begins to cover its existence.

The next time you speak to him again, he has pulled you aside much like you did to him.

A week has passed, exactly seven days, and you think that Lee Donghyuck must have some sort of compulsion because he speaks, “I thought about it for exactly seven days.”

It?

“And you’re right. I can’t love someone that I don’t know.” Finally, you think. He has come to his senses. The idea of someone harboring such romantic feelings for you, however naive and misplaced, has worried you for the past week.

“Which is why I’m going to get to know you.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “That’s the exact opposite of what I told you to do,” you chastise, crossing your arms across your chest once again. He notices, and reaches out to touch you, pulling your arms from your chest. At his unexpected and unwelcome touch, you nearly slap his hands away.

“I want to get close to you. Not to date you, or anything. I don’t need that. I just want to be your friend.”

“No.”

He doesn’t seem fazed by your abrupt answer. “You said that I can’t possibly love you because I don’t know you, so give me the chance to.”

No, you retort quietly in your head. He can’t possibly love you because you don’t want to be loved, because you can’t be loved. You can’t allow yourself to form such connections to people, only to leave. You can’t be loved, you’re not a whole person, just a shell.

But you don’t tell him this. Instead, like a coward, you pivot. “You’re not going to get the chance, Lee. So listen to what I say, and leave me alone.”

Like your first encounter, you turn and walk away. You don’t catch the disappointment in Donghyuck’s eyes, which are normally bright and full of laughter.

It hurts, loving someone who doesn't love themself.

You find that you enjoy art, especially painting, because you enjoy drawing a different reality than the one that currently houses you.

One of the positive things about your temporary home with the Parks is that Neo Culture High School has an amazing art studio, open to students at all hours. So, more often than not, you find yourself in the studio for hours.

It had given a slight sense of pride, seeing the word Talented appear on your skin, just under your ribs. It was likely the first positive word to be marked onto you that had no negative connotations in your life. However small, it reaffirmed the fact that you had worth.

It was through your constant visits to the studio that you met Huang Renjun, a Chinese exchange student who planned on attending the top arts school in South Korean upon your graduation. He too felt like an outcast, though he was much more approachable than you. You have formed some kind of friendship, if painting together while sharing stories is your closest value of friendship. Yet you still refuse to call it a friendship. It is a work partnership.

You think it’s Renjun who enters the room when you register the sound of the door opening around 4PM on a Friday afternoon as you’re hard at work on a new piece.

“Hey, Jun. What do you think about this piece? I was thinking something along the lines of a city skyline,” you muse, back to the door as you continue your work. Renjun is always honest about your work, so you value his opinion.

Then you hear Lee Donghyuck’s trademark lilted tone behind you.

“I think it’s beautiful.”

You whip around in a millisecond, your once soft tone replaced by one of disregard. “What are you doing here, Lee?”

“Just enjoying the open studio on a Friday afternoon.”

You frown, turning your attention back to the canvas before you as he pulls up a stool and seats himself near you, eyes on your painting. He’s right, you cannot ask him to leave because the studio is an amenity to the school.

So you simply keep painting, and ignore his presence as best as you can.

This continues for weeks. On all days after school except Tuesdays and Thursdays, Lee Donghyuck visits you in the art classroom and simply sits there, watching you paint until the clock strikes seven. Then he walks the two of you out to the front of the school in silence.

Everyday he offers you a ride home, but you reject him. You prefer walking home.

At first, he just sat there, watching you with careful yet entertained eyes as you transformed blank canvases into art. Then, after a while of sitting in silence, the talkative Lee Donghyuck could take no more and began to talk. He filled the rooms with stories of his life, while you painted and pretended not to listen.

Some days he talks more about his feelings for you. Not in an overbearing way, of course, for he has begun to sense your discomfort with such a topic. But rather, he talks about his revelations for his supposed love for you as though you were a different person.

It becomes a bit more bearable, when he discusses his admiration for the strong person he knows through school rather than you specifically. If you allow yourself to believe that he isn’t talking about you, you find yourself listening more easily.

He doesn’t once again say that he loves you. Instead, he talks about the things he loves about you. The name doesn’t leave his lips but you know it is for you. He speaks highly of your intelligence, and the headstrong way with which you carry yourself; of the passion you hold in every stroke; of the way you try to protect yourself by ignoring others.

Though your name is never uttered, soon the words Strong and Passionate appear on the canvas of your skin on your inner thigh, because Donghyuck has you in his mind.

It is then you begin to think that Lee Donghyuck knows you too well despite you giving nothing to him, and that scares you.

It scares you to think that you can be so easily read, like the ugly words on your skin. As much as you attempt to cover them with long sleeves, you have to roll them up to paint.

The only time Donghyuck mentions the phonetics of these words is when he goes on a slight rampage. He hates the world you live in, and this comes as a quiet surprise to you, for you thought that the lighthearted Lee Donghyuck could not hate anything in his life.

“It’s so stupid,” he spits out, tapping his feet frustratingly on the floor as he sits in his familiar stool. Unbeknownst to you, he had overheard someone calling you strange again. A socially awkward weirdo with no place in the world, had been the exact words. It had filled him with rage. “We live in a society where people can judge you based on the judgements that others have already made. It’s so.. messed up. Who cares what people say? Do the words that other people have muttered about me matter more than what that one person can discover for themselves?”

You don’t say anything, keeping your eyes trained on the canvas as you paint, but you think silently to yourself that it’s quite hypocritical of him to complain as such, seeing as his skin is decorated with the most positive of words.

He addresses this next, though. “Look at me. I have these meaningless words on my skin, but just because someone else calls me nice doesn’t mean I am. It’s almost like I can’t be rude, I can’t yell at someone for messing up my order, I can’t be a normal person with normal reactions. It’s like I have to uphold certain expectations that people have of me.”

You’re about to roll your eyes, because what a burden it is for people to think that you’re amazing and kind, but then he continues.

“And, people avoid others because their words say they’re, what, strange? Who cares? Who am I to assume that someone who is weird in the eyes of another, will be weird to me?”

A frown perches on your lips. You are strange, that is what your skin tells you. And Donghyuck has chosen for himself to disregard the words of others to deduce his own perception of you.

“Someone could be my soulmate, but I would avoid them because the universe and its people have labeled them as a freak, or crazy, or rude, or—” he cuts himself off, because he begins to get too passionate over the idea of it. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he retreats, knowing by now how you get when he begins to raise his voice, however in good intention.

You speak up. Your voice is dry, because you rarely converse with him on these days when he visits you.

“Some might consider it natural selection.”

If he’s shocked at your sudden comment, he doesn’t show it. “That makes no sense.”

But to you, it does. Some people aren’t meant to lead great lives, where they fall in love and die surrounded by people who will always remember them. Some people are meant to lead mediocre lives, where people avoid them because of their labels. You might consider yourself one of them.

Donghyuck shuts this idea down right away, shaking his head with so much fervor that his dark hair shakes. His voice is soft when he speaks. “No, it’s not natural selection. You can believe that but I don’t. Because everyone deserves to love and be loved at some point in their life. Not everyone gets that, if people only see them for the labels on their skin.”

To love and be loved.

It has never occurred to you before that it is an essential part of life.

Later that day, when you take your normal exit from the studio and Donghyuck, as he always does, offers you a ride home in his rundown truck, you accept.

In the following weeks, the word on your skin grows and moves.

At first it had been sandwiched the two words you hated most. Then it moved. All that remained in the space it once occupied was the scar of the cut you had imposed upon it, except now there was no word to be crossed out.

You had noticed its absence immediately after a shower one day, and for a millisecond you feared what that meant. Had Donghyuck’s love for you disappeared, as did the word?

But no, you found it soon later on the curve of your hip, bigger this time. It had needed more space, because Donghyuck’s love for you had grown.

This leads you to believe that though he never uttered such words in your presence, he was still saying it to himself. He didn’t need you to hear it, but you knew.

This time, you don’t cross it out.

Your time with Lee Donghyuck, the golden boy of Neo Culture High, begins to extend beyond the art classroom.

He begins to give you rides home. Sometimes he searches for you when he has something on his mind. On occasions when you find yourself feeling especially empty, you visit the convenience store he part-times at under the guise of needing snacks or paper or any other excuse you can make.

Excuses, because you can’t let him know that you actually miss him when he’s not around. Miss his presence, miss the way he lets you be yourself. Unlike you had expected, Donghyuck accepted you for your quiet self.

You had thought originally that he had expected you to open up at one point, to let him in. But you didn’t, because that wasn’t you. He knew this without asking, and accepted it. As popular as he was, he never forced you into a situation you didn’t want to be in with people you didn’t want to talk to.

He, like you, was perfectly content filling the silence between you, for he talked way too much and you talked way too little.

That is why, one Friday when he drops you off at the Park residence after your usual time in the studio, you lean forward in the car and kiss him.

It is your first kiss, and no words are enough to explain the way you feel when you finally give in to him, to yourself and admit that you wanted to indulge in this feeling a little while longer.

So you give no words, and leave his car. He wordlessly smiles after you, and drives off.

The danger in this is that you begin to accept his wordless proclamations of love.

Days spent in the art studio once characterized by silence are now peppered with quick kisses and shared banter. Short rides home begin to turn into aimless driving around the city as an excuse for more time together.

It should scare you, but it doesn’t.

To love and be loved. His words from that one day remain clear in your mind. Is it love?

The first time you feel the lick of panic in your heart is when he says it.

You are sitting underneath a tree atop the hill that overlooks the tiny town. A sketchbook in your hand, you are working on monotonous drawing of a nearby flower. Donghyuck watches, as he always does.

Then he says it.

“I love you.”

You knew it already, as proof of his love already existed on your skin. Yet when he speaks it into existence, it crosses a line. You have yet to say the words to him, and though you could scream at yourself to admit it, the words never leave your tongue.

Panic begins to sink into you, hollowing out your chest as your heart drops into your stomach. What if you can’t say it back because you don’t love him? Because you are incapable of love, as you had long convinced yourself of many years ago when you found yourself indifferent to the idea of being adopted.

You had tried for months to ignore the timeline that was ultimately against you, choosing to believe that you could exist in a world with Donghyuck for as long as you chose.

Your time with the Parks was coming to an end in a matter of weeks, and you were almost sure that they would not adopt you. For the first time in your life, did you want to be adopted?

No. Freedom was so close, only six months short of your eighteenth birthday when you could be promised liberation.

It only occurs to you now that you cannot choose Donghyuck over your goals. This realization fills you with a heavy dread, and you feel like crying. In fact, tears sting at your eyes as you slam your sketchbook closed and Donghyuck watches you with wide eyes.

Fleetingly he wonders if he had been wrong. Wrong in assuming that you were ready to hear such words.

You stand, rising to your feet. Then you walk away.

And of all the times that he has watched walk away up to now, this hurts the most.

You love him.

You love him so much that it consumes your entire being. You love him so much that even though you avoid him for days, you cannot paint anymore, for the pungent scent of such colored varnish only reminds you of him.

You love him so much that you hadn’t even realized when your art had turned into him. Donghyuck on a stool, watching you. Donghyuck down the hall, mouth open as he’s caught in a familiar boisterous laugh. Donghyuck kissing you while his hair falls over his eyes.

You love him so much that when you realize it, at near three in the morning, you break into cries and sobs. In the early hours of the morning, you turn on the shower and mute your sobs with the sound of water hitting your skin.

When you emerge, you stare at your bare body in the mirror and gaze at the word that decorates the expanse of your hip. These days, it seems to be the only word that matters.

As much as you despite its existence, as much pain as it has brought you, you don’t feel the desire to erase it from your skin. So you throw your razor away, and take the trash out as the sun begins to rise.

When the Parks tell you that they have made the decision not to permanently welcome you into their family, you are numb.

Jisung sits at the opposite end of the table, looking apologetic. Mr. Park opens his mouth.

“It’s not that we don’t like you, Y/N. You are very respectful and well-behaved.” There it is again. You have come to hate that word. “But we have come to find that we cannot support another child. We hope that you find a family to accept you and love you, even if it’s not ours.”

Mrs. Park’s voice follows next, and you offer a tight-lipped smile as she speaks cautiously. “We really have enjoyed having you here for the past six months. Feel free to reach out to us, whenever you need something.”

“Of course,” you tell them politely, though you highly doubt you ever will. This place has too many memories that you no longer want. “Thank you for everything you have given me.”

You say it to every family you have stayed with but you truly mean it this time.

The weekend you are due to leave, you visit Donghyuck.

You have only been to his house a few times in the past, and finding your way there on foot in the dark past midnight is even harder. At first, you had avoided him, going so far as to stop visiting the studio out of your dedication to ignoring him.

Then he had stopped searching for you.

You had thought that meant that he had given up, but then the word on your hip began to grow and grow with every passing day, until it went from being a tiny script to occupying almost your entire hip.

He still loved you, even as you gave him reason after reason not to.

You began to suspect that this love he had for you was not the result of naive adoration or the desire to get to know you, as you had thought originally. No, the love he holds for you is deeper than he ever let on and deeper than you had ever allowed him to show.

So, when it nears 1AM and you find yourself tossing rocks at his window, he opens up to no surprise.

At first, he just holds you in his bed in the darkness. He doesn’t ask for an explanation, rather he gives one himself.

“When I first saw you, I knew you were different from what your words told the world. I felt like… you were unwanted because you didn’t want people to want you. You were alone because you preferred it. I knew you were a strong person because of the way you carried yourself.” The image of the word Strong on your inner thigh flickers in your mind. It had been inflicted by him, and now he says it aloud to you.

“I used to lay awake at night, whispering in bed to myself that I loved you. Because I wanted you to know that someone in the world loved you.”

You close your eyes from where you lay with your head on his chest, because you begin to feel tears well. But he continues. “I guess somewhere along the way I really did fall in love with you. And I’ll continue to love you, to make sure you know you’re loved.”

It is a promise, a promise lost on his lips as you lean up and kiss him for the first time that night.

Until morning comes, he discovers you for all that you are. When he slips off your shirt and sees the scars, imposed upon your skin as a means of blurring the inevitable words that mark it, he kisses them.

You had always seen Lee Donghyuck as a boy of laughter and jokes, but he does not laugh at all that night as he brushes away your fears and insecurities.

When you wake, you dress and leave with silent tears.

Your social worker picks you up the next day, and you leave the town for the next though your heart stays in Lee Donghyuck’s bedroom.

The next six months in a new city go by quickly.

Before you know it you are eighteen, and free from the system that has made you a lonely victim for eleven years. You move to Seoul, the big city, and freelance as a painter.

Soon, you can afford your own place. You buy yourself a phone and find yourself wanting to contact Donghyuck though you have no idea how to.

As you suffer through the hungry artist life, the years pass before your eyes.

You fall in love again, with many people. You think it is due to Donghyuck’s presence in your life that you can.

You think about him often. Even as the years go by and you never return to that small town again, he occupies your thoughts. You wonder how he is doing, what he is doing, if he is in love. If he has found someone for him that can love him the way you couldn’t. You’re not sure even now if you are capable of loving yourself, but love exists in your life, thanks to Donghyuck.

He has taught you love. Occasionally you reflect upon the person you used to be, that fearful person who confronted Lee Donghyuck from across the school hallway because you thought that him loving you was a joke. It is because of him that you have grown.

True to his words even after you have left him high and dry, Donghyuck keeps his promise.

Though time passes by, the word inked into your skin upon the expanse of your hip does not shrink in size. It does not disappear, as you thought it would when he would eventually stop missing you. For years the universe continues to tell you that you are on his mind, and your heart warms at the idea of Lee Donghyuck laying in bed somewhere in the world, whispering to himself that he loves you for the sake of reminding you that you are loved.

#nct imagine #nct angst #nct dream imagine #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #haechan imagine #haechan fanfic #haechan #nct #nct dream #donghyuck #donghyuck fluff #haechan fluff #haechan angst #donghyuck angst #donghyuck image #nct dream fanfic #haechan x oc #i cried real tears writing this

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kaiitykuppycake · 3 years

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Why R U The Series is one of the best BL dramas out there and it's about almost nothing.

and it was a trip. A great one. One we are not soon to forget in our trails on the BL spectrum. I watched this whole show with my good friend and partner in BL crimes @ahhhnorealnamesallowed

THIS IS ALL MY OPINION AND MY THOUGHTS ON THE SHOW. WE JUST FINISHED IT AND I HAVE THOUGHTS FOR DAYS.

*SPOILERS AHEAD* (kinda minor)

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

The Plot: Okay, this is gonna be fast and loose. This show is a slice of life so therefore it has almost no plot (at least nothing over arching and complex) and it only centers around a bunch of kids going to university and most of them falling for each other. Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself. Zon has a sister, Zol who has been writing fanfiction about him and an upperclassman, Saifah, whom she saw him kissing by accident. When asking her to stop writing, he thinks he's cursed himself. This spirals him into a notion that ha's in a BL novel. On top of that, he is tasked with being a musical act with Saifah for the charity concert for the school (faculty?) soccer team. Hilarity and soft romantic stuff ensue as they prepare with Saifah teaching Zon guitar. On the other hand, Tutor is a sweet boy that is nice to everyone (except Fighter in the beginning) and helps anyone who needs it. His family is in heavy debt and he works to earn his own money and pay for school any way he can, especially with tutoring his schoolmates. He is good friends with HwaHwa whom he has known for years. He has caught the eye of his upperclassman Fighter whom he met as a freshman. Fighter is a shy tough boy who needs to get his grades up and has a big crush on Tutor and doesn't know what to do with it. His father has him dating Hwa, whom he doesn't love, but she loves him. The two navigate their feelings and sassy, steamy and emotional things ensue.

The couples: Fighter and Tutor are up there with my favourite BL couples of all time. Up there with the ranks of DeanPharm and WatTine. Their chemistry was so ON POINT and ORGANIC I could have believed Saint and Zee had been grown in the most wholesome garden known to man, it was just THAT believable. Their story starts with some friction and MAJOR sexual tension. Like so much that it's acted on once or twice in a couple of scenes before they even confess their feelings. It's valid of course because Fighter is too unsure of his feelings for Tutor so while they're getting close to being hot and heavy, he tends to blow it off as "teasing" *eye roll* which is its own can of worms, especially with how it fucks with Tutor's emotions in general. All in all, their coupling happens and once it does, you will treasure every moment of it. Every. Steamy. Moment. Honestly, these scenes were so good it was bordering softcore p*rn. I'm not kidding. Did I also mention their duality? Oh yeah. Tutor tops whenever he wants to and he has Fighter wrapped around his finger once they begin their relationship proper. It's one of the best parts seeing Fighter doing his job as a top but then Tutor throwing us a curve ball and rolling Fighter over to do the same. *chef's kiss* Refreshing.

Saifah and Zon started with intrigue and ended with adorable. It felt earned even though they didn't have much drama to wade through, at least not as much as FighterTutor. They have a whole sequence of them going on a "date" to get a guitar pic and stuff to make one into a bracelet for Zon as Saifah teaches him how to play. It felt awkward and out of place with the lack of development their relationship had at this point, but they were leading up to it so it ends up working out. Their confession is full of awkward and ADORABLE wholesome energy. This whole couple's arch is so innocent and wholesome as they become more comfortable. Where FighterTutor can't keep their hands off each other, SaifahZon can't keep their eyes off one another. Do you want soft hand touches and forehead kisses without steamy make-outs? This couple is for you. I found it a perfect contrast in dynamic and romance compared to Fighter Tutor and it was refreshing when we got time to breathe.

the side couples: Honestly, I wish we had more time to develop and see them more. The actors had great chemistry and worked well together, but they didn't get enough time to develop as couples with all the time being dedicated to the two main couples. I think it's fully valid to stick most of the time to the main couples. that's what people come for, but I found it disappointing because I liked all of them. Here are my thoughts on each: Japan and Tanthai were cute. Blue, Champ and Dew could have had WAY more screen time ESPECIALLY with Champ and Blue which had WAYY more implication than Blue and Dew together. Junior, Natee and Zen are all Zon's friends and served as this series' equivalent of 2gether's Fong, Ohm and Phuak mixed together with both Man and Boss in their loud crackhead energy. They have their own dynamic but with my limited experience with series, they are the closest I could compare. They are all adorable and Zen kind of has a thing for Zol but that doesn't get far...Finally Hwahwa and Day are adorable but only seen a couple of times in the series. While Fighter is "dating" Hwahwa, Day is the main person taking care of her on her birthday and when Fighter dumps her. They're cute but I wish we got more of them.

My biggest con with this show is the fact that the side characters are hard to remember. They come in so randomly sometimes that once they cut to a random side couple like Japan and Tanthai, I had to stop and think whom we were in a scene with. It didn't take long to determine but it felt like we should know, but we didn't right away. This only happened with some characters but it could have been rectified with more time. No ones fault, just a nitpick that doesn't take much away from the overall series for me.

Overall, this series was a wonderful thing to have in my life for the few weeks my friend and I were watching it. It was well shot, SO well-acted, and it was generally beautiful inside and out. I HIGHLY recommend if you want to watch something you can just sit and relax to. It certainly brightened up my days.

#why r u the series #fightertutor #saifahzon #saintzee #review

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

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—

It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me." Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #kana: just admits to himself he has a crush on axa #aloth: does this instead #next up: super fun times at the fantasy psychiatrist's office!#thanks for reading ♡

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drangues · 3 years

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Point of No Return (Raised Together AU)

Dazai Osamu is twelve years old when he commits his first real crime.

In the future, he will rarely remember crimes of this magnitude, regardless of how bloody or brutal they will end up being- In the end, they all blur together, and when asked, he’d say he couldn’t care more about one or the other. Which man died screaming over what isn’t something that affects him.

(In the far future, he will rarely remember crimes of this magnitude, though not for lack of trying, and not for lack of regret.)

But this crime- His first crime- Will always, always stick with him.

(This crime, even in the far future, is one he feels no true regret over.)

He remembers that it began with blood.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Nakajima Atsushi has been gone for twenty-two hours, thirty-four minutes, and seventeen seconds by the time Dazai decides that he needs to figure out where the Headmaster has taken his closest- And only, if he’s being honest- Friend.

(Yes, he had been keeping track of the time.

Yes, he has not learned That Man’s name. He refuses to.)

It was, admittedly, a very risky decision on his part- After all, if he was caught after hours, looking for the Headmaster’s favorite unfavorite child, it wouldn’t be him that would get punished. He learned, after the first few times he tried to intervene, about how That Man seemed to enjoy punishing Atsushi for “corrupting” the other children.

(He remembers when he realized. The stench of burnt flesh still feels like it clings to him, and the echos of Atsushi’s screams ring in his ears when he’s alone.

Dazai has found that all he can do for him is be well once they see each other again. Someone needs to clean his wounds.)

Nonetheless, finding Atsushi was a risk he had to take- Punishments normally took half of this time at most, provided it wasn’t a full moon (Look into that, he reminds himself, why then- But no, no, not important-). That it was taking this long over something so stupid was… Concerning.

He slips out of his room.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It doesn’t take Dazai much longer to figure out where That Man has placed Atsushi, though getting there is another matter entirely- The orphanage is a big place, after all, and if he gives away what he’s trying to do, it could make things worse.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to find any keys once he gets there- Dazai has long become used to picking locks, and the ones at the orphanage are hardly new.

The basement door creaks as it swings open, and he holds his breath for what must be a minute while he waits and sees if anyone heard.

Nothing.

He sneaks down the stairs.

(It was what he found at the bottom that broke him.)

xxx——xxx——xxx

The first thing he notices is that Atsushi is curled up in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf and either entirely unaware of his presence or too terrified to care.

The second is the small, dark puddle under Atsushi’s tiny body.

It smells like rusted iron.

He wastes no time at all in going to his side, and the dull noises of his feet hitting the floor don’t bother him. He doesn’t have to worry about their caretakers hearing him down here.

(God knows they’d complain about having to hear the screams.)

“Atsushi,” he does his best to keep too much emotion out of his voice, because that isn’t what he needs, right now. “Atsushi, are you- Can you-“

He chokes back the obvious questions of ‘Are you okay’ or ‘Can you stand’ because the obvious answer is no, but he needs to say something-

“Atsushi, can you see me right now?”

It takes a frightening few moments for the silver haired boy to even register his words, and another few moments for him to respond, but when the glaze recedes from his eyes, just a bit, and he nods, Dazai sighs in relief.

“Good. That’s- That’s good,” he swallowed. “Can you- Talk?”

Another pause, and Atsushi coughs, voice weak, but-

“Ye-es. Yes, I can- I can talk, Osamu-san.”

He sounds like he’s been screaming.

“Sorry for taking so… So long-“

“It’s fine, it isn’t your fault, don’t apologize- Here, I’ll help you up-“

Atsushi freezes, grip going tight, and his mouth opens to respond, but Dazai is already lifting him up, and-

There’s a pained, hazy whine, and Dazai freezes. Looks down.

Ah.

Why didn’t I look more closely?

Dazai has found the source of the blood, it seems- It seeps from a clearly painful wound on Atsushi’s foot, reopened from its attempts to close thanks to Dazai’s efforts.

Not that it could close.

It’s been nailed to the ground, after all. And the nail hasn’t been removed.

He stares, eyes blank. Tremors run up and down Atsushi’s body, and he realizes, belatedly, that he’s still holding him.

Very, very gently, he sets him down, doing his best to be mindful of his foot.

He stares again.

They’d nailed his foot his-

They’d shoved and nail to it and just-

They’d-

Dazai thinks, somewhat morbidly, that the nail makes Atsushi’s foot look even smaller than it is.

It probably went through bone.

It must’ve hurt so much.

There’s so much blood-

He blinks, feeling sluggish and hazy. Atsushi. Right. He needs to- He needs to make sure he’s okay. He needs to get the nail out.

There’s a hammer, not too far away. Just out of Atsushi’s reach, actually.

Dazai picks it up, noting, distantly, that there’s blood on the head.

He thinks he knows what this was for.

Luckily, the hammer can be used to remove the nails. Dazai doesn’t know if he could do it with his fingers.

“I’m going-“ his voice sounds hoarse. He clears his throat. “I’m going to try to… Remove the nail. Okay, Atsushi?”

He gets a blank stare in response.

“Atsushi?”

The boy jumps this time, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He nods, though, hands shaking.

It’s silent, and Dazai doesn’t know why he can’t move his body.

“They. He. He tried to make me- To make me h-hammer it in myse-“ Atsushi chokes on his own words, shaky violently, now. “I c-couldn’t- The hammer- I-“

“It’s okay.”

Dazai’s own voice sounds hollow, to his ears. Atsushi looks up at him, tears trailing down his face, eyes wide.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

He kneels down, movements careful, and slots the hammer over the nail, doing his best to ignore how firmly it settles against Atsushi’s skin.

That Man really drove it in-

Hands tighten on his shoulders, and before he can think too deeply about anything, he pulls the hammer up and away from Atsushi’s foot.

Then he throws it, as hard as he can, to the other side if the basement.

Dazai doesn’t remember being this angry before.

“It’s okay,” he says again, voice dull. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay-“

Atsushi cries.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Atsushi liked to tell him about the books he read, in the quiet of the library, as he hid from the other children, or even the adults. He talked about fantasies of children escaping their tormentors, of candy houses in the woods, about true love born and raised at midnight.

(“Osamu-san,” he’d wondered aloud one night, rain pounding at their thin walls as the cold seeped into their bones, “Osamu-san, wouldn’t it be nice if that was us?”

It’s a foolish notion, Dazai knows it is, but he’s never been one to keep Atsushi from the things that keep him alive and close by, selfish as that may be.

“It would be, he’d replied, “Maybe it could be, one day.”

Atsushi had giggled, then, the sound muffled by his hands and the cold and the pain weeping through their bodies like mud.

It was a nice sound.)

He talked, sometimes, about the characters being mad. He’d mentioned that sometimes, they were so mad they saw red, so angry that they couldn’t control themselves.

So furious they couldn’t think straight.

Dazai is not seeing red. He is perfectly in control, and he is, most definitely, thinking straight.

He considers, for a moment, if this makes him a monster, for what he’s about to do next.

No, he thinks. No.

It doesn’t.

Because a monster is shaped like a grown man with an awful haircut who takes and takes and hurts and hurts, who targets the only goddamn person in the world that Dazai cares about.

A monster uses a god-shaped hole to justify his actions.

And a monster is going to be dead by day’s end, because Dazai is going to kill it.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It isn’t as easy as simply up and leaving Atsushi to do the deed, however- His friend is in no condition to stay with him while he does what he has to do.

Even now, Dazai can see the small tremors running up and down his body, and choked, raspy wheezes pull their way from his throat. The aftershocks of his crying fit, no doubt.

He purses his lips, tucking the smaller boy under his chin as he thought.

Perhaps… He could leave him down here? Not permanently, of course- They’d need to escape- But sound didn’t travel well between the basement and the main house, so he wouldn’t have to hear anything.

The key would be making sure he didn’t have to look at the source of his trauma when he was alone.

Dazai hummed under his breath, eyes mapping out what he could see in the darkness- There was a cage, at the far back, but there were manacles there, and he doesn’t fancy having Atsushi wait for him inside of iron bars, so that’s a no. The corner to the left of the cage is also out, because that’s where he’d thrown the hammer and nail. Definitely not the center of the room, because there was still a blood puddle there…

His eyes fell on the right corner, right behind the rickety stairs that led into the basement.

It was dark, so he doesn’t think Atsushi would be forced to see the rest of the area, even if he turned around. It’s positioning meant that it would hide him from any adults who came down the stairs to investigate, though Dazai hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Definitely not perfect, but it would have to do.

“Atsushi,” he murmured. His voice was still dull, and he winced. “Atsushi, I’m going to move us, alright?”

There wasn’t a verbal response, but he felt the boy nod his head as much as he could, with it still tucked under Dazai’s chin. He took that for consent and, after a moment to brace them both, he lifted him halfway off the ground, keeping a careful arm around his waist so he didn’t fall.

(As much as Dazai would love to simply carry him, the orphanage hardly feeds them enough for him to be able to. He’d just exhaust himself, and he couldn’t be tired.

Not now.)

Once they’d moved, Dazai took great care in positioning Atsushi so that his back was to the center of the room. He went to pull away, then, but the panicked whine he got in response made him hesitate.

“Don’t leave. Please, please don’t leave me alone Osamu-“

“I’m not going to,” he pressed his face against Atsushi’s hair, sighing. “Atsushi, there’s. There’s something I have to do, okay? I won’t be gone long, I promise. Just stay here and I’ll be back soon.”

Atsushi’s hands don’t loosen their grip on his arms, but Dazai can’t bring himself to care.

Eventually, still shaking, they let go.

“Promise?”

Dazai smiles, then.

“Always.”

It was not a nice smile.

xxx——xxx——xxx

After convincing Atsushi that he isn’t leaving permanently, Dazai makes his way up the stairs- He’d considered, just for a moment, taking the hammer with him, but he doesn’t want to risk drawing Atsushi’s attention to it, again.

Best to leave it where it lay- Not like he wanted to touch it, again.

Unfortunately, this did mean he had to think of a new way to get rid of the Headmaster- Finding another hammer would take too long, after all, and now that he thought about it, there was too much risk that it’d make noise.

A knife, then? He knew the way to the kitchens, and while it might be messy, he doesn’t think you can mess up slitting someone’s throat.

Even if you are eleven and horribly malnourished.

Luckily for Dazai, the kitchen happens to be close by- Really, it’s just a matter of avoiding the floorboards that creak and being very, very quiet when he opens the drawers to look for the right thing.

Definitely not a butter knife, he thinks to himself. A cleaver is too big, though- Could i use it efficiently? And a steak knife might be too small…

His eyes fall on one of the larger knives in the set. A kitchen knife, was it? Seems light enough… Seems large enough, too. He picks it up for a moment, testing the weight, swinging it once or twice- Atsushi mentioned characters in his books doing that once, he thinks, and it’s something to do, if nothing else- And he thinks on what he’s about to do.

If this works- If Dazai really walks out of this room, knife in hand- A man will be dead by daybreak.

His hands will be bloody. It isn’t a decision he can take back, once he makes it.

Is he really going to do this? Can he do it? Does he want to-

(He thinks of Atsushi, curled up and shaking in the center of a room, tiny foot nailed to the ground-

He thinks of a piercing, painful hunger, of seeing Atsushi’s arms bloodied from how hungry the boy was-

He thinks of cold, of midnights full of pain, spent curled up in the corner of his shared room with Atsushi, thin arms wrapped around each other, murmured stories spilling from the silver haired boy’s lips-

He thinks-

“Osamu-san, wouldn’t it be nice if that was us?”

“It would be. Maybe it could be, one day.”

He thinks-

“Promise?”

“Always.”

He thinks, he thinks, he thinks-)

xxx——xxx——xxx

Dazai stares up at a wooden door- The stuff of nightmares, for kids like him, for kids like Atsushi. The home of their monster under the bed.

He opens the door, careful to keep it quiet.

Nothing moves in the darkness. He steps inside, closing it with a quiet click.

He wants to do this. He has to do this. They’ll both die here if he doesn’t.

He won’t regret it.

He can’t.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It’s warm, is Dazai’s first thought.

He stares at the body on the bed, blood slowly but surely seeping into the fabric of the sheets- Probably staining it, too, now that he thinks about it.

Good, he thinks, spiteful. That Man didn’t deserve clean place to die. Really, he deserved worse than a simple stabbing, too, but Dazai was short on time, and it was dark, and if the Headmaster has woken up and alerted someone-

He shakes the thought off, the action reminding him of the blood caking on his clothes and his skin. He made a face at the feeling.

And now it’s sticky. How fun.

Unfortunately, he and Atsushi need to leave- After all, he has no doubt that the other orphanage workers would claim it was Atsushi or himself who had done it, and he sees no reason to believe that whoever came to investigate would doubt them.

(He’d considered, briefly, killing the other workers to give them more time- They were just as much monsters as That Man was, after all… But no. Leaving was more important.)

He hopes Atsushi hasn’t been too upset while he was gone.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Getting back to Atsushi turns out to be the easy part- He opens the door with ease, still making as little noise as possible, but steps down the stairs leading to the basement loudly enough to alert Atsushi that someone is coming.

It’s getting out that’s the problem.

Because as it turns out, stepping foot out of the only place you’ve ever known, no matter how awful it was to you, is terrifying for both of them.

Dazai stares up at the gates before them.

Of course this is where he freezes. In front of gates. Not even when he’s killing someone. Of fucking course-

Atsushi’s hand tightens around his own, and he realizes, belatedly, that they’ve been clinging to each other since he got Atsushi out of the basement.

He tightens his own hand in response.

“Dazai-san,” the silver haired boy stops, face hesitant and voice hoarse. “Dazai-san, we… Need to go. Right? You’ll get in trouble for- For helping me if we don’t.”

Atsushi looks up at him, eyes still somewhat distant, but.

But it was better than it was.

Remember why you’re doing this.

It isn’t as if Atsushi doesn’t understand the situation- His friend is hardly stupid, and he knows what the blood that covered him means- So instead of arguing, he begins scaling the gates.

Opening them would make too much noise, right now.

Dazai refuses to ruin this. Not when they’ve come this far.

xxx——xxx——xxx

It had taken them a day to get out of the woods that surrounded the living hell that had been their life (they could’ve been quicker, but better safe than sorry- Atsushi is certain he heard people looking for them, after all).

It had taken them a further week of living on the streets, terrified of being found and dragged back, kicking and screaming, to find any hope of salvation.

(“I don’t want to go back, Osamu-san,” Atsushi had sobbed on their second night. “I don’t want to go back, they’ll take you, they’ll hurt you-“

“It’s okay, Atsushi. It’s okay-“

“Don’t go,” Atsushi choked out, shaking. “Don’t go, don’t go, you promised-“

“I did,” he pressed a kiss against Atsushi’s hair, eyes blank. “I won’t leave. I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise-“

The words had continued well into the night,)

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be calling it salvation.

It’s warm.

Dazai stares at the man across from them, eyes dull. Atsushi is buried in his side, half trying to avoid looking at the bloody corpse on the medical table, half unable to look away.

He doesn’t think they’ve been apart for more than a minute since their escape.

Ōgai Mori turns his gaze to them, eyes wide, and there’s a touch of something unhinged there- But Dazai tightens his grip on Atsushi’s hand and remains in place.

They have nowhere else to go, after all.

“Both of you,” the black hair man starts, “are my witnesses… And the only other ones here to witness the last words of the former boss of the Port Mafia. He died of illness, and passed on leadership to his doctor with his dying breath.��

Mori’s grin stretches wider.

“Isn’t that right, Dazai Osamu-kun and Nakajima Atsushi-kun?”

And Dazai thinks of meeting the man, and his words at the time.

(“Twenty-three stab wounds,” he’d murmured, “is not an insignificant crime.”

Dazai knew a threat when he heard one, and the man smirked at his unasked question.

“Join with the Port Mafia, and I can promise protection from the consequences of your actions. You’ll be well suited, I’m certain.”

Dazai… Considers. Slides his gaze down to Atsushi, tucked into his side, eyes wide and the tell tale purple-on-gold of his ability peering at the one who’d invaded their temporary hideaway of an abandoned building.

(And hadn’t that been an event in and of itself- Discovering abilities, discovering that they had them-)

Mori’s smirk stretches wider, and Dazai thinks, absentmindedly, that only monsters how that many teeth.

“And your little friend can even join, too.”)

Dazai is sure that, if not for No Longer Human, it would be claws digging into his side instead of Atsushi’s tight grip.

Neither of them move, though, and all Dazai can do is stare at the man in front of them.

If it was just him, he wouldn’t care. If it was just him, he could deal with it. But it isn’t just him.

(Dazai thinks of bloodied nails and hammer and an aching, desperate need-)

They have nowhere else to go.

Against his side, Atsushi gives a tiny nod.

“Yes, Mori-san.”

xxx——xxx——xxx

Dazai Osamu is twelve years old when he commits his first crime in a fit of desperation.

It won’t be the last.

xxx——xxx——xxx

Point of No Return- (Expression) Phrase denoting when one must continue on with their current path, due to turning back being physically impossible or dangerous in some manner

xxx——xxx——xxx

Author’s Note: Nyanon here again- And here’s what I’ve been working on! Hopefully this lives up to my last little… Drabble? One-shot? Though it’s definitely more violent than the last one… Uh, whoops?

Also, super sorry if this wasn’t word for word on anything that popped up in universe? For example, I couldn’t completely remember Mori’s little speech to Dazai… Hope that’s alright!

#bsd #bsd fic #dazatsu fic #dazutshi fic #dazushi fic #dazai x atsushi #dazatsu #dazutshi #dazushi #anon #nyanon #nyanon fic #I LOVE THIS SO MUCH WHAT THE FUCKKK #atsushi nakajima #dazai osamu #submission

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