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sokayisaidiot · 3 years

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Why Tommy is one of THE BEST written characters in existence.

Alright, that’s it

Here I give you my fuckin Take on why Tommy is one of the best written characters out there and can easily compete with best-selling Novels like Percy Jackson and Harry Potter. I’m sick of a trashing that doesn’t even make sense. So buckle up. Here I will tell you why Tommy has one of the best written characters in history of Books and Movies. Remember, I write this all in my perspective and take many examples of other character books as well

Before this all starts, I will also talk about the main characters of some series, since Tommy has the reputation of being a “main” character.

When I look at the books I’ve read, I see a large range of characters and there way of making the story interesting.

Now, to establish a good character, we need key points of motivations, to make them relatable and bla bla blub:

Personality

Part of the story

Their Powers

Flaws

Relationships

Prized Possessions

History/the backstory

The moral and story the character tells

First tho, I want to explain some words I’m going to use here!

Mary Sue/Gary Stu:

Those are characters who are flawless, have missing chunks of personality and mostly one way written. They are easy to achieve when you are trying to make your character look badass.

Examples in some Fandoms are

· Rey Skywalker (Star Wars Sequels 7-9)

· Hermione Granger (Harry Potter Movies)

· Bella Swan (Twilight)

Tree-System:

Imagine a tree. You plant something small and soon you have something giant with many branches, roots and connections. You have the seed you plant and with caring and care you let it grow. Then you have somewhat a sapling. The tree grows with the care and soon you have a tree with many branches.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personality

Negative:

Tommy’s personality is very brash and out of control = He’s barely containable in fights, going off to do his own risky plans and starting two or so fights. He can’t forgive a person very easily like Eret, who took it a long time to get forgiveness and Techno, as he shot Tubbo at the Festival. He makes decision that also cost his life like the duel because he hates losing

Tommy can be very lazy, giving the thought he wouldn’t have to do the hard work = Shown when he tries to steal the hearts of seas from Eret or potions from Techno, bargain with “drugs” by Puffy and Ponk or gives other people the work he doesn’t want to do like he did with getting cobblestone

Like a child, he often clings to close people and annoys others for attention = His desperate attempts to have company or someone praising him shows, when he tries to get Philza’s approval (or a pat on the back), constantly looking out, if Tubbo’s either okay or where his is,

He doesn’t like to wait or doing things in the long run = He constantly asks when something is finished, when they could go or in his exile, when he was allowed to go back to L’Manburg

He doesn’t show often his cooled down, scared and vulnerable side = He often overshadows his trauma with a facade of jokes and bad hidden hurt he brings out. When he talks about something bad, he’s clearly confused, not really knowing on how to understand it. Also he runs away from things he can’t control a panic attack like visiting the final control room or looking away from the holes in Logstedshire

He runs without head into a battle so often as possible = Only when they had their final showdown for the disc, Tommy was seen preparing in story, thinking it would be his last fight

---

Positive:

But as he has negative traits, his positive shows to many people clearly.

His unwavering loyalty to the closest of people = His loyalty to Tubbo, Wilbur And L’Manburg are, were and always will be a part of him. He stands against anyone who goes against that, even if it means pain in many ways.

Passionate about dear projects of his = You can see Tommy talking about his discs or see an video where he would spent days getting different discs. Those things are very known to be rare things, so for Tommy to possess it gives him somewhat power. L’Manburg was the same passion, even a bit more, as you can see he was ready to give up his most prized disk. The last and in the moment is his hotel

Bravery like no one makes him as one of the dangerous person on peoples hitlist = He stands up for others. He stood up to L’Manburg. He in the end didn’t care that he lost a life. When he sees a foe, he won’t stand down and submit, he will fight against the oppression and tell them that in the face. During the mission to get a visa, he stood against Schlatt, even if they were clearly in the loose of people and disadvantage. Or getting an apology of Sapnap for killing Niki’s fox. Fighting against 5 people with just one ally while the other is a hostage.

His leadership = There are not many people who can take it up, but Tommy is an exception. He can coordinate people with his loud voice and somewhat thought plans. He is charismatic, even if he’s not so good at it like Wilbur, he still can motivate people to fight for themselves or others. He’s seen to lead others into battle and taking in the fighting part a leading role

Unselfish. That’s one of the most arguable things about Tommy`s character = You can´t look at a kid and say he is selfish because he wants to get something dearly back. Especially Tommy, after he gave the things up, he cared about. But if something is happening again, he will lay it down to do the other thing. As seen by the egg, he had a hard time thinking what to do. He, in a long time, didn’t want to be catalyst for something to happen. Not when he in the moment could have stopped it. So doing this act for himself ones, was a good decisions, since they clearly weren’t ready for war

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part of the Story

Outside of the story:

Let’s all just get something “straight”. What would Dream SMP without Tommyinnit. Now. Don’t get me wrong. All the creators on the SMP are amazing. They are all wonderful and deserve every bit of Attention and fame they get. But just imagine.

We heard from Tubbo, he was the one, who got him into the SMP. Schlatt and Wilbur came because of a “visit”. Quackity was added because TOMMY said he was bored. And from that, we got somewhat of a tree system. As Tommy was invited and drawn into conflict by Sapnap (shoutout to best boy!), he got more people.

He also has the highest viewership and kind of shortest streams, since he is doing college next to Youtube and Streaming. He can’t give up his high viewers since all of those 200.000 (average) – closing 650.000 People (doing something like a big lore stream in prison or the disc final), choose to watch him.

Also a reminder again, Tommy has his storyline as does everyone else. When we saw Tommy and Techno during the partner up arc doing something with the dogs, they saw the start of the red vines arc BUT said they were on the wrong storyline. Tommy was asked by the eggpire writers if he wanted to be a part of the story and he said yes. Why do you think he nearly says nothing about the egg. He leaves it to the writers. Also, it was said by one of Wilbur’s Character descriptions, that Tommy was okay with others doing something with his character, while Techno was more reluctant with his.

Let me say it again, every creator is awesome and individual! Nobody should be compared to others. But with Tommy coming to the Dream SMP, there really was a change in the game.

Remember, that’s because we also have a BT (before Tommy) and AT (after Tommy) Timestamp in the wiki!

Inside of the story:

Now, with Sapnap, Alyssa, Ponk and Tommy in the first ever big conflict its shown the importance. People assume Tommy is one of the conflict bringers, even though he was dragged in it by having something stolen by Sapnap and then forced to fight with him, to get it back.

The Consequences he’s got where having his discs get stolen. This is what Tommy’s biggest character motivation was the first two seasons. Those discs are known on the server and when you think about gifting something to C!Tommy, it would be a disc.

Techno = Disc Wait

Badboyhalo = Disc Pigstep, Chirp

HBomb = Disc Pigstep, Wait

Tubbo = Stal

LazarBeam = Far

Tommy is a openminded boy who longs for funny little adventures and pranks, since he is just a young person. It’s in his nature.

So why, when he does something, are people looking on him?

Because the things he was and is a part of some of the biggest events. And him being so loud and brave and rash lets him stand out. If you look at the old (hah) Revolution of L’Manburg, who can you hear talking the most and the loudest? Tommy and Dream. They were the most outgoing about the war with Sapnap, Tubbo and Wilbur following. Fundy was more quieter (thankfully he has so much more lore now).

Tommy’s character is known to fall or be dragged head first in almost every conflict. He has connections to who? Mostly everybody. So of course he’s connected big parts to the stories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Powers

Okay. Every “main” character or character with huge importance to the story has some kind of power. Looking at Dream, who is a “demigod” or Ranboo who I don’t even have to talk about. So what about Tommy?

Well. He doesn’t have any. Tommyinnit is one of the people, we get to have as an “human” character

Hannah = nature “Spirit”

Karl Jacobs = Timetraveller

Antfrost, Technoblade, Ranboo, Fundy = Hybrids

Dream = Something something green blob

Awesamdude, Puffy, Philza, Sapnap, Eret, Schlatt = Adding Features (wings, eyes, body parts)

Badboyhalo, Skeppy = completely different species apparently

Tommy has, as we know of the moment, a not confirmed power. The assumptions of the egg are not clear, since we haven’t seen those interact in a while. All we know is, Tommy didn’t get hurt, destroying a part and not feeling anything, while being in contact. That in canon considered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flaws

As talked before in personality and also in an assumption, we see the pattern of loyalty and brashness repeating.

Flaws are the most important parts of a character. It shows the struggle of their adventure and learning how to live with it.

Percy Jackson learned loyalty is nothing, if you don’t have someone to project it on.

Harry Potter and Luke Skywalker learned being a hot head didn’t really bring him forward and it’s important to have a plan

Frodo Beutlin learned that it is okay taking care of yourself and what attachment means

Anakin Skywalker learned fear is controllable and it shouldn’t be a remaining part of your life

Tommy learned over the time that his rashness could hurt others, loyalty couldn’t come back to him like he gave it out and he learns even more in the coming future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Relationships

Tommy’s relationships is a mess of strings. Some are badly knotted and some are very clear.

A characters connections is an important part for the character himself.

Relationships in life are

· Enemies(-figure)

· Rivals(-figure)

· Friends(-figure)

· Family(-figure)

· Lover(-figure)

· Complicated family(-figure)

· Complicated friend (-figure)

Relationships are a part of everyone’s life. Not with everybody is a good relationship holdable. Either it’s because their hurting each other or another person. People change and that’s a part of life.

Tommy realized, even tho it hurt, that Techno wasn’t good for his mental state and health. It went against everything Tommy ever stood for.

And Tommy and Tubbo’s relationship wasn’t really that broken. It’s normal for friends to fight. Normal for them hit their heads in. Tommy and Tubbo were surrounded with people who were, at the time, a terrible addition to their mental life.

The Dream SMP doesn’t talk it out, hell the talking club was just destroyed because they preferred fists over words. So why do you think everything is going out with a fight, if it’s all they learned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Priced Possessions

Every character has to something a connection.

Might it be Percy Jackson and his sword

Might it be Harry with his glasses, broomstick and wand

Frodo and his stupid ring

For Tommy we all know it’s his ender chest inside and secret chest. He keeps many belongings in his chests and always has been one for those things. He kept flowers, compasses, Friendship signs and most importantly, his discs.

The care for something of items are important. Might it be a teddy, old photo or jewelry. People get protective over it, because it holds sentimental value to the person.

If you ask me, to let go of my teddy bear, I will show you my middle finger. Probably beat you up too.

You can’t just throw out your memories into a fire or pit of lava. This is just showing you never had a care and everything you had a memory with it before would have been gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

History/Backstory

We don’t have much here, but still something to work with.

A Hero doesn’t have an easy live. And it’s an said thing that every Hero needs an origin Story.

Tommy, said not really anything about his past.

All we know is that Tommy didn’t have anyone, presumably an Orphan, he knew the sleepy bois already a long time ago and he never learned on how to ride a bike, saying he never really had a family.

Signs that he didn’t even leave half a good life are:

· his knowledge on stealing and preferring this over working for it

· Liking to live in weird spaces like carved out holes in sides of hills (his hobbit hole or the basement by Techno) or living in his tent over a hole house

· His liking of cobblestone and dirt, which are easy gettable blocks

· Holding his goodies and friends close to him

· Craving for attention or contact in general

And now for the part with the dream SMP.

We saw how it changed him. We saw his trauma and all the bad things that happened to him.

And that’s why we say his actions came from those past experiences and things. We are NOT excusing them, but showing. Past trauma CHANGES a person. It brings experience and a heavy amount of pain and anger. ESPECIALLY at a young age, you will change due to your experience in life. You will grow worried and anxious. Tommy did that. He grew more anxious, angry, scared and also experienced.

Stop saying trauma doesn’t explain it. Yes. It does. His lashing out came from his past and negative experience. Imagine growing up in a world where this is the norm. War and banishing. As well as death. Tommy has reasons why he is acting and does stuff.

Understand it. You don’t have to forgive him or anything. But understand it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moral and the story the character tells us

When we see Tommy, we see a boy who went nearly through it all. Mental/Physical Abuse, Abandonment, War, Suicidal thoughts, betrayal, Death, etc…

He doesn’t show forgiveness for his abuser. Still has signs, that he fights with the past abuse, but he tells us a story of learning from past mistakes, that even in the darkest hours, there’s a way out. Things will, can and be ugly and those are dark hours, but in no way should you think that it’s over. Life is more than one way and can always turn into a new direction.

Life takes something old away from you. Life gives you something new. You lose someone, you find someone new. Friends can turn into enemies. Enemies can turn into friends. You can meet the weirdest people. You can meet the most amazing people. You can be alone and in the next second, you’re not. You will often lose, but you also can win if you give everything.

Life can be weird and that’s okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Fazit (that’s german)

The thing is, he is very real for many viewers such as myself. He acts like how many teenagers his age reacts.

He doesn’t be “baby”, because he shows the “ugly” sides of trauma. He shows that attachments are good and you shouldn’t forgive your abuser. In no way. He shows that acting out and lashing out are two things that happen, when you have been in wars for many times and nearly just know that.

He has many flaws and mistakes but those make him even more real. He is showing how he is growing.

As a person, friend, (pseudo-)family.

He is real to many of the viewer since he doesn’t have any powers that are existing in our world to solve their problems. He knows that nobody would have helped him and Tubbo against Dream if he didn’t pay others.

Also that you can’t be friends with everyone and that it’s okay that not everybody likes you.

Tommy´s character is the most human and realistic character in a way of how we would react. We are humans who are lashing out and who are having ugly sides.

And also please stop saying that, since I really can relate to Tommy and I don’t want to be feeling like a “bad-written Character”…

And Don’t even get me started on Tommy’s acting dude!

He is one of the best actors and that one livestreams! In from off 200.000 – 600.000 People!

On the face cam alone is so much to see…

· You can see his face with each emotion shifting,

· when something funnily weird happens, he looks dead eyes in the camera

The voice acting…

· His breathing,

· the stuttering in his voice,

· THE GODDAMN EMOTIONS IN HIS FACE

HIS MUSIC CHOICE!

· He changes the music fitting for the situations as in fighting scenes or funny moments.

· He also has some funny bits with his music.

· Like a goddam DJ!

The ingame character

· His movements and head stares

· The jumping around when he gets overactive

· Long stops when he thinks or is sad!

You can see, I am a person from Tumblr and saw way too much bullshit around tommys character.

Stop critiquing him so badly.

You could say, I woke up and chose violence

>:D

#tommyinnit #mcyt #dream smp #character analysis #dream smp character analysis

485 notes · View notes

someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk. The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

#ask #levihan #my writing #snk #the way this has kicked my ass for hjkjhg MONTHS #I'm so sorry for the delay but thank you so much for the prompt!!! I was so excited to work on it #and I'm glad I finally got it finished :)#sorry it once again got incredibly out of hand length-wise #drabble my ass

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detroit-smash-my-ass · 3 years

Text

Yandere Alphabet - All For One

Masterlist

Yes, technically this isn’t NSFW per se, but it gets into topics racy enough that I’m posting it here. And c’mon, who doesn’t enjoy delving into the twisted maze that is AFO? He’s neck-and-neck with All Might as the scariest yandere in this series anyway, but that’s another can of worms.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He’s very generous with the affection, but only if you’ve kept in his good graces. He’s not picky about doling out punishments if you act out. He keeps it fairly innocent unless the mood strikes, and even then he doesn’t care who’s in the room when he decides to seduce you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He’s the single most dangerous villain in the history of Quirks and has no hesitation to take what he wants when he wants. I feel like that should answer itself fairly well.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He’s gentle with you, but firm. His first priority is to make you dependent on him, and comforting you even as you demand answers. Depending on how violent/aggressive you get, however, he’s not above leaving you alone by yourself in a locked room for a while to stamp out that temper. As soon as you start acting nice, he treats you kindly again.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Not in the classic physical sense. He’s manipulative, yes, but he’s not going to force you into anything -- at least, not yet. He wants your will to bend and break before he truly starts doing things with you that you might otherwise say no to. Patience is key - and lucky for him, he’s got a lot.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He tells you very little about himself other than the basics you already know: all-powerful villain who can take and give any Quirk he gets his hands on. He might liken you to his little brother once or twice, and perhaps if in a good enough mood he’ll tell you stories of when they were both young, but otherwise he’s a mystery to you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Amused. There’s literally nothing you can do to him that hurts, and for a while he’s content to let you think you’re gaining back control, only to crush that determination at the most heated moment. If you continue to act out, however, he will start to lose his patience and will treat you harsher and harsher, outright abandoning you in a locked room with food and water delivered once a day until he feels you’ve learnt your lesson.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t; chances are, he’s already won. He does enjoy watching you go about, thinking you’re being sneaky when he’s already figured out your entire plan to escape. At the very last moment when you think you’re going to get out, he enjoys seeing the hope fade from your face as you realize you’ve failed. It gives him a lot of pleasure breaking you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Being locked in a cell, alone, with nobody to talk to until he arrives to bring you food. He only wants to isolate you like that when you’re being stubborn; otherwise, you’re locked in your shared bedroom.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

First and foremost, he wants to rule his new empire with you at his side as his loving spouse. Your Quirk is deemed helpful enough that, should you be able to, he would like a few children sired with you to see what kind of Quirks they would get (or not, in which case he’d be delighted to share one of his with them and train them to use it).

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He’s not exactly jealous, but rather paranoid. His way of coping with that is to keep you locked away. You’re his, not anyone else’s, and he wants you to accept that.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He’s very affectionate. Loves holding you in his lap as he caresses your hair, maybe a kiss or two on your forehead. He’s very charming, too; likes to joke around with you and is quite playful when you’re in his good graces.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He met you while you were briefly in Kamino Ward and afterwards desired to have you for himself. He found out where you lived and worked and started sending anonymous gifts (along with a cell number) in the guise of a ‘secret admirer’ until you agreed to meet him over text. When you did meet, you were a bit intimidated by his size, but after a few successful dates you were already falling head over heels.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Absolutely. Most of the time, he acts charming and enigmatic, but when you piss him off, everyone knows it. The sheer weight of his aura is enough to even make All Might shake in his boots, and for good reason. He prefers not to let his charismatic mask slip, though. It’s much easier to manipulate others when they believe you to be weaker than you are and think they have the upper hand at all times.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Depends on what you did. If he thinks you’re just being bratty, he may spank you, chiding you the whole time. If you piss him off? Total isolation. 24/7, 365-366 days a year. At least, until he believes you’ve learnt a lesson. You’re locked in a cell with only a cot, toilet, and shower, and he himself delivers food to you once a day as your only form of human communication. Cameras are trained on you at all hours that only he can access. He doesn’t fuck around.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

At first, he’s quite generous. He allows monitored correspondence between you and your family. He allows you to go places only with either him or Kurogiri present at all times. He allows you near sharp objects only with supervision (like when you cook dinner together). But if you piss him off, he takes everything away, including privacy. Get sick? Need an exam? He gets Garaki to check you out, and he watches the whole time.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can be exceedingly patient. His thinking is that you’re just a petulant child who needs to learn their place, and if he has to dole out a few punishments along the way he will. He just wants you to realize that he won’t let anything happen to you and that he just wants the best for you (that issue is subjective).

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

You know how he (presumably) reacted to his beloved little brother dying? That. Again. And this time, he would be less lenient on those he deemed responsible. He rules with an iron grip.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Doesn’t feel guilty at all, and absolutely won’t let you go. It’s partially his Quirk to blame; when he sees something (or someone) he desires, he just has to have it/them. He considers you to be totally his, and he won’t stand for anything else taking you away.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

As stated above, it’s partially his Quirk, partially due to being born in a turbulent time of history. Quirks were still becoming more common at the time, and he was already protective of his brother due to his perceived Quirklessness and because he was using his Quirk for good. He made too many enemies that wanted to hurt those close to him, and due to his paranoia (as well as his possessive nature), force of habit dictates that he isolate those he deems his.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Condescending pity. He dealt with that kind of behavior once, with his younger brother, and it nearly broke him then trying to get him to see how much he loved him. Now he’s older and more patient, and all he can do is try and comfort you by petting your hair and telling you that it has to be this way, he just wants the best for you, why can’t you just understand?

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

When he does lose it, he doesn’t ‘go mad’ in the classic sense -- rather, his resolve hardens and he retains his temper. His is more of a tranquil fury - it’s not immediately obvious unless he chooses to show you. He wouldn’t physically hurt you either -- well, not enough to wound you. He would consider spanking, but he wouldn’t break your legs.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Oh, honey. You really think he won’t see what you’re doing and shut it down when you think you’ve gotten free? He’s All For One. There’s not a weakness he hasn’t already thought through.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Aside from light things like spanks, no. Mentally, though? He’s a manipulative, gaslighting monster. He will not hesitate to turn you against everyone you’ve ever loved if it meant you were more dependent on him alone.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He goes the traditional gentleman route: wooing you slowly enough that you don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. He reveres your body in all of its beauty when you get intimate, but he rather wants you to worship him devotedly.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If anything were to make him snap, it would be you (against all odds) escaping his grip. Maybe one of his underlings somehow slipped you out under his nose. Maybe another decided to just dump you somewhere. Either way, he’s going full lockdown mode and will not stop until he finds you. And believe me, he will find you.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

That’s probably the first thing he does if you’re stubborn/defiant enough. If you prove to be totally into it and are willing to be totally dependent on him, congrats! You get to escape with your will mostly unharmed!

#yandere alphabet #all for one #afo #yandere all for one

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missluthorwillseeyounow · 4 years

Text

Part II Wed By Candlelight (The Portrait of the Secret Bride)

Supercorp The Corpse Bride AU

Kara’s dreams that night are turbulent. She could attribute it to the fact that she’d had to endure dinner with Mon-El’s mother, but it’s far worse than any nightmare even Rhea could induce.

She dreams of her lady’s brother, returning home the prodigal son. But she knows of the atrocities Lex Luthor is said to have committed, of the wife and child he had left dead in his wake -- and Kara doesn’t want him anywhere near her lady. She can see the war Lena wages between her good judgment and her good heart, can see her vacillating between her love for her brother and her own instincts.

But Kara, who has no such attachment to him, sees how he brings nothing but discord and chaos into their lives. And she’s right.

Over dinner, he announces his plan to restore the Luthor name and fortune -- by promising Lena in marriage to his new business associate, a man named Morgan Edge.

It’s the first time she’s ever seen her lady truly angry. Lena’s fury emanates from her lithe frame in cold waves as she stands from the dinner table, straight-backed and proud, facing Lex with glacial eyes that burn with pent-up rage, before she throws her glass of wine in his face.

The second they’re locked in her room, Lena grasps Kara’s arms with desperate fingers. “We need to leave.”

“Lena--”

“I can’t stay here, Kara. Not like this. Not when he intends to shackle me to a man like Morgan Edge. I met him once, and that was enough. He’s a despicable cockroach of a man. I cannot stay here and marry him, Kara. I will not.”

Kara hears the steel in her lady’s voice, and loves her for it. She opens her arms and Lena melts into her, lips touching her throat, soft words murmured against her skin. “I won’t marry anyone but you.”

Kara huffs a small laugh against Lena’s hair. “Somehow I don’t think the Bishop will approve of that.”

“I don’t care. Hang the Bishop.” Lena smiles when Kara laughs again. She pulls away slightly, just enough for Kara to see the brilliant clarity in her eyes. “And hang the Luthors. Let them rot in this miserable place. We’ll leave them here. You and I can go somewhere we can be together.”

Kara’s heart pounds like a drum, and she takes one of Lena’s hands in hers. “You’d leave your family to be with me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Joy bubbles up in Kara’s chest, almost dispelling the heaviness that had settled there since hearing of Lex’s plans. “We could go to Kandor. My cousin lives there with his wife, they might have a place for us.”

Lena rests her temple against Kara’s, her lips brushing softly against her hair. “As long as I’m with you.”

Kara sighs, and the two of them stay that way for a long moment. It feels as if they are standing at a precipice, with the threat of Lena’s family surrounding them and the terrifying exhilaration of the unknown before them, freedom just within reach.

“I’ll leave for Kandor at dawn, to make sure Kal can make a place for us.” Kara brings Lena’s hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers in lieu of a ring. “I will come back for you, I promise.”

And Kara somehow, somehow, knows that this is the last night she will spend with Lena.

The dream shifts, and Kara finds herself in the dark of night, the wind whipping across her face. The horse she is riding on snorts in exertion as she urges the animal as fast as it can go.

There’s a fierce desperation in the way she grips the reins. She doesn’t know where she’s going, all she knows is that it’s a matter of life and death that she get there in time.

There’s a wound on her side that burns, but she just presses on it and keeps riding. Bruises have bloomed over her knuckles. Blood dripping from her eyebrow and an accompanying wave of dizziness tells her that she also has a head wound, but she grits her teeth and forces herself to stay on her seat. Nothing is more important than getting to her destination.

“Kara, we have to stop.” A man appears in her field of vision, riding alongside her. Something in her recognizes him as Kal, her cousin. “You’re bleeding too much.”

“No!” She protests violently, her voice breaking in the whipping wind “If Lex’s men found us, that means Lex knows that Lena and I were planning to run away. He’s going after her, Kal. We have to get to her first!”

She leans forward, urging her horse faster still.

Only, she never gets to her destination, because the dream shifts again, and this time, instead of a mount, Kara finds herself sitting at a desk, in a small, unfamiliar room.

Beside her, Kal’s son, Jon is sleeping peacefully in his cradle. On the table, at her elbow, is a solitary candle, its flickering flame casting a familiar thin light on Kara’s bowed form.

“Lena.” Her voice is little more than a whispered sob. The candlelight brings back too many bittersweet memories that make Kara’s heart ache and crumble, as if it’s dying a living death inside the cavity of her chest. “Lena…”

Kara swallows back a sob and wipes away the tears that blur her vision. She’s worked with less light before, she reminds herself, as she bends over the small locket, painstakingly recording every detail she can remember. She works ceaselessly and without the need for sleep, as if it were possible to bring her lady back to life with each brush stroke.

She knows -- She knows it’s impossible to bring her back. She knows it’s impossible to capture the warmth of her smile or the soft steel of her voice in a miniature portrait, she knows, but each brush stroke feels like a penance, a way to keep her alive.

When she’s finished, Kara seals it within the necklace. A secret only she knows.

This time, Kara all but forces herself awake.

She scrambles out of bed, nearly waking Mon-El in her haste. The floor is cold under her bare feet, but she doesn’t care. She scurries out of the room and down to the foyer where she’d left her coat.

Her hand plunges into the coat pocket and she triumphantly fishes out the antique necklace her mother had left her.

The exact same necklace in her dream.

Quickly, she retrieves a knife from the kitchen and pries it open as carefully as she can. It’s a painstaking process, trying not to damage a two hundred year old piece of jewelry, but finally, Kara’s efforts pay off.

The necklace opens to reveal the portrait Kara had seen in her dream -- a faithful likeness of Lena Luthor in miniature.

For the first time, it occurs to Kara that this is the only time she’s seen Lena outside of her dreams and their encounters. This solitary portrait is proof that Lena had lived. That she had been loved.

Kara’s breath leaves her in a rush, as she slowly realizes what this is.

A lover’s final gift, her penance, handed down her family for generations, from one bride to another, with the secret bride who never was inside.

She doesn’t quite know how she feels. It’s a lot to process, and it’s truthfully been a mad whirlwind of the past few days that barely seems real. She looks down at the locket in her hand. Lena’s face smiles up at her, the painting so devotedly true to her likeness, it almost feels like she’s alive.

Well, Kara thinks. If she’s doing this, she might as well go all in. They say every bride goes crazy before the wedding, after all.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Kara grabs her coat and shoves her feet into her boots. She spares a few seconds to root around for a flashlight in the hallway closet before setting out the door.

The air is chilly as she hurries along the familiar overgrown path. Somehow it’s less tranquil and more scary walking along the trail in the middle of the night, with the wind rustling through the trees and insects chirping. The serenity she’d felt before is gone in the oppressive darkness. In the night, everything seems much more ominous, formless shadows flitting around her, the night sounds loud in her ears. The leaves crunching under her feet feel more ominous than comforting now, and Kara finds herself jumping at every sound.

She draws her coat tighter around herself as she nears the graveyard, her flashlight illuminating a narrow beam of light that plays menacingly over the tombstones.

“Lena? Are you there?”

Kara’s voice is a tentative whisper, and she feels stupid. It’s cold, it’s the middle of the night, and she’s in a graveyard, looking for a ghost. Her steps falter, and she sighs, rubbing her arms to stave off the cold. Maybe it’s time to go home.

She turns to leave, but a familiar voice wisps in the wind behind her, making her shiver.

“You came.”

Kara whirls around to see Lena’s pale form behind her. The eerie silver radiance of her skin in the darkness makes her look otherworldly. But the dark red stains on the white of her red seem unnervingly real. Like Kara could touch the mortal wound on her abdomen and still feel the pulsing of blood within.

It reminds Kara of why she’s here.

Her fingers close around the locket around her neck, and she steps forward, closer to Lena. “I did. I… I think I can help you, Lena. I think I know what happened all those years ago.”

“What?” Lena’s voice is thin and hesitant, as though she can scarcely believe Kara’s words. “How--?”

“I see it. In my head, in my dreams every night. I see you and Kara. I’ve seen the love you had for each other, and I’ve seen -- so many things, but I need your help. I don’t have the whole story, there’s a side of it that’s missing, and it’s you.”

“I - I don’t understand, Kara.”

“What do you remember from the night you died?”

“I - I don’t… I don’t remember. So much of it is a fog in my mind...” Lena turns away from Kara, her hands flying to her temples. “It’s been so long. I’ve been waiting so long…”

Kara clutches the locket around her neck. “You have to remember. Please, Lena, remember. Because I have pieces of the puzzle, but you have the key to it. Try, please…. Look, you said you were waiting for Kara. But were you alone?”

“I… I think so. I’ve been alone for so long…”

“What about that night? That night you died?” Kara presses on, her hands coming up, wanting to take Lena’s arms, but she knows that there’s no body there to touch, so she lowers her hand. “You said the place where you were waiting wasn’t a graveyard then. What was it?”

“I - no, it wasn’t, I --” Lena’s voice is becoming higher, panicked and confused. Her beautiful face is lost and frightened. “I don’t know!”

Kara knows she’s pushing too far, and her instinct to comfort and soothe comes to the fore. She reaches out to touch Lena, and before she can remember that Lena is dead -- has been dead for two hundred years -- her hand comes up to touch her shoulder.

She touches nothing, but for a second -- less than a heartbeat -- her fingers meet resistance at the curve of Lena’s shoulder when there should only be empty air.

In that instant, everything changes. A shock comes through the end of Kara’s fingertips, and all at once everything turns white.

As the light blinds her, Kara hears voices in her ear. “Lex is watching, and the trip to Kandor is five days long. I can’t risk you leaving until I know there’s a safe place for us there. I promise you, Lena, I will come back for you.”

An unfamiliar voice. This time, a woman’s. “Lex has informed me that Morgan Edge is arriving tomorrow. This wedding must proceed smoothly, Lena. This is what you and I have been working for your whole life. What have I always told you? Everything I do, I do for you and our family…. We are so close, my dear. Everything we have lost will be restored to us. The Luthor name shall be revered once more, and we can become a family again.”

When the blinding light fades, Kara finds herself in the same old room in Luthor Manor where she and Lena slept. Except the sanctity of the tiny dark room has been violated by another.

Lena is dressed in immaculate white lace, flowers at her breast and in her hair. She looks beautiful and terrible at the same time.

Lex has her by the arm, his face a cold snarl above her as he holds up one of the wine glasses from the dinner table. His hand is wrapped around Lena’s forearm, and Kara rushes forward to rip him off of her, but there’s no use. Her hand passes through Lex, and he continues to sneer menacingly at Lena.

“You’ve never been poisoned before, have you, little sister? Well, I have. Arsenic has a very mild odor.” He holds up the glass to her face before throwing it across the room. Lena stiffens, but she doesn’t flinch. “Usually, one would never recognize it, but I know because my bitch of a wife put it in my drink the night she left me, sneaking off like a frightened little rat, just like you were planning to.”

Lex bares his teeth. “You women, you’re all fools. None more than you, baby sister. You couldn’t even think of a different plan.”

“I did.”

Lena’s free hand subtly disappears within the folds of her dress. As Kara watches, she silently withdraws a knife hidden within her dress and swiftly stabs it into Lex’s side. Lex yells in pain and his eyes widen as Lena twists the handle and pulls the knife out for good measure.

Lex groans as Lena pushes him off of her and leaves him lying on the ground. She gives him one last look, her eyes full of pain and cold anger. “Good bye, Lex.”

Without another backwards glance, Lena draws her cloak around her shoulders and all but flies to the stables. Her horse is there, ready and saddled, and she rides swiftly away from Luthor Manor.

Kara recognizes the path she takes. It’s the same path she’s taken away from the Inze house, the one that leads to the graveyard, and at once, her stomach is filled with dread. She wants to scream at Lena to take a different road, but Lena can’t hear her.

The dread worsens into full panic when she hears hoof beats growing louder and louder near them. She sees the same terror in Lena’s eyes when another horse cuts her path, and the mare she’s riding on rears up in fright.

“Lena!” Kara screams as Lena is thrown off the horse, her head hitting the ground hard. But Lena can’t hear her. She moans feebly on the ground, the back of her head covered in blood. She hangs onto her consciousness, and Kara watches fearfully as Lena tries valiantly to get up.

Behind her, Lex dismounts from his horse, his entire right side blooming red with blood from Lena’s knife. He advances toward her, hand on his side, and Lena stumbles, pulling herself away from him on her arms.

Kara frantically tries what she can to help, even though she knows it’s useless. Her hands can’t pull Lena up or beat Lex away as he drops onto one knee beside her struggling form. A glint of a blade is the only warning Kara gets before the blade Lena had used to stab Lex drives into her body now, and all of Lena’s breath comes out in a choked scream.

“You couldn’t just do what I asked, could you, Lena? Everything would have been perfect, little sister. Our fortunes restored, the Luthor name once again redeemed and exalted, and you would have been set for life.” Lex hisses in her face, flecks of his blood spitting from his mouth to her cheek. “But you had to go and spread your legs for some servant girl like a filthy whore!”

Lena closes her eyes, tears trickling down her face, and Lex laughs mirthlessly at her, voice lowering to a dangerous mutter.

“And where is she now, Lena? Where is your faithful Kara? She never came back for you, did she? You’re about to die, little sister. You’re going to bleed out in this godforsaken road, and she’s not here. You’re all alone.”

Kara screams at him, beats her ineffectual fists at him as he struggles to his feet, away from Lena, dropping her body on the side of the road. Kara drops to her knees beside her fading form, frantically trying to place her hands on her abdomen, as if she could close the wound herself. “Lena…. Lena….”

Her hands can do nothing. Unlike before, there is no resistance when she tries to touch Lena, her hands simply grasp thin air, even though the jagged wound on Lena’s stomach is terrifyingly real. Lena chokes on blood and air, and she can’t see Kara’s pleading face as she mouths her last word.

“Kara…”

All at once, the light blinds Kara again, and she’s wrenched away from Lena. She screams and tries to reach out, but to no avail.

When the light fades, she finds herself in the woods again, this time astride a horse, with Kal by her side.

She spies the limping form of Lex Luthor between the trees, blood trailing behind him, and she feels white-hot rage surge through her veins. She dismounts from her horse and lunges at him, dragging his broken body forward.

“Kara!” Kal’s voice tries to stop her, but Kara is beyond all reason.

She fists her hands into his bloodied collar and shakes him. “Where’s Lena??”

Vaguely, Kara realizes that she’s no longer seeing Lena’s memories, but Kara’s. The realization is lost when Lex laughs, and she wants to tear the smile from his face.

“You're too late.” Lex sneers, blood and spittle flying from his mouth, his face contorted in a terrible smile. “She’s dead.”

Kara finally screams her rage in his face. “You’re lying!! Where is she??!”

Lex doesn’t answer, just laughs and laughs. She wants to kill him, she could so easily finish the job, but she has to find Lena first.

She leaves Lex with Kal, and follows the trail of blood, her stomach turning and her heart pounding in her throat. From a distance, Kara can see where the trail ends, to a pool of blood and a lifeless figure dressed in white.

She screams. And screams.

It feels never-ending.

Everything shifts again, and Kara weeps against it, wanting this to end.

It doesn’t.

When everything rights itself again, Kara is standing in front of the old Luthor Manor. It’s in terrible condition, the west wing has caved in. Its shutters are broken and its windows empty. Like the family it served, it is dead now.

“There’s nothing left here, Kara.” Kal tells her “We should go. There’s nothing for you here.”

Kara shakes her head, resolute. “Not yet. I have a promise to keep.”

Their room is in disrepair. The bed they shared their love on is lifeless and broken, just like her lady. Kara grips the dusty sheets, tears slipping silently down her face. She would howl her grief out if she could. If she could, she would scream and yell and rage for the woman she loved and lost.

But she can’t. Her grief is too far beyond that.

So instead she drops the sheets and bends down to retrieve her oils and paints from their hiding spot in the floor. Nothing else in this room is retrievable, but this -- the last gift Lena gave to her -- is sacred.

That night, with great effort, she lifts the brush again. She can’t paint Lena’s face anymore. It hurts too much. That wound will never heal, but she can seal it within the necklace and place it above her heart.

Instead, Kara paints everything and anything else. She lets the brushes guide her, instead of her guiding them.

For a long time, she paints only in blacks of night and reds of blood and browns of earth covering the dead. She paints in slashes and heavy strokes that demand the weight of grief.

Sometimes the brush becomes too heavy in her hand, and she yearns to put it down, but Kara made a promise, and she is the only one left to keep it for -- herself, and the memory of a dead girl -- so she persists.

And then one day, baby Jon comes toddling into her room, burbling nonsensically around the fist in his mouth.

He waddles unsteadily toward her, tripping into her dress. She catches him with a small oof! And he laughs as a streak of paint smears his cheek. His hand splatters into her paints and he smears them over Kara too, making her chuckle.

They make a little game out of it, smearing paint all over each other, and Kara opens the brighter colors that catch his eye. Soon, both Kara and baby are smeared with greens and yellows and blues and pinks. She opens the colors that had been Lena’s favorites, and she lets Jon smear them onto her face.

She’s just teaching the baby how to mix paints to get orange when Lois catches them red-handed in the middle of their mess.

But instead of scolding them, Lois sees the first smile Kara has cracked in months and she shakes her head at both of them, chuckling, and marches them both off to get a bath.

And so Kara heals.

Slowly, and in small steps forward and many falls backward. But she learns to live again. She learns to build her life around the cavern in her heart.

Lois gives one of her paintings to her sister Lucy as a gift, and it hangs in Lucy’s sitting room for a while, until one of her guests, an illustrious and irrepressible widow named Lady Grant, sees the painting and offers to purchase it from Lucy on the spot.

Lady Grant proceeds to commission an entire series of paintings from Kara, and Kara rapidly acquires more patrons who marvel at her paintings, and praise her on the depth and emotion behind her work.

“One cannot help but be moved by them, by you, Kara.” Lady Grant tells her once in a rare moment of candid compassion.

Through it all, she never forgets her promise.

When, years later, she stands underneath an arch of white flowers -- plumerias, her lady's favorite -- Lois asks what her “something borrowed” is for the wedding, Kara doesn’t answer her.

Instead, Kara silently answers the woman in the portrait, sitting hidden in the necklace above her heart.

“My heart. It will never be owned by another, merely borrowed. He may become my husband, but my heart will always, always belong to you, Lena.”

______________

“Kara… Kara, wake up.”

Kara opens her eyes to see Lena’s face hovering over hers. The ground is cold and hard underneath her, sprinkled lightly with dew. Kara blinks rapidly a few times. It’s morning now, still early if the light is anything to go by, and the first rays of the sun are just brightening the horizon.

“Kara…” Lena’s eyes are relieved as she sits up, but her voice still holds a touch of concern. Her fingers hover lightly over Kara’s shoulder, touching but not quite touching. “Are you alright?”

“Do you… Do you remember now?”

Lena looks away from her, her eyes downcast and pained. Her voice breaks on a single word “Yes, I remember. I died on this road, and Kara, she never came. I was alone.”

“No.” Kara surges forward, ducking her head to get Lena to meet her eyes. “She came back for you. She… she may have been too late, but she came back. She never forgot you, Lena, not for the rest of her life. And she never forgot her promise.”

Lena finally meets her gaze, her eyes full of sorrow and hope long held back.

“Come with me. Let me show you.”

The path feels long and full of the things Kara knows now, but she and Lena walk through it side by side. Kara wishes she could hold Lena’s hand, but she settles for letting her fingers brush the outline of Lena’s.

She takes Lena back to her ancestral home, and opens the doors for her. The morning sun is just high enough now for the light to filter beautifully through the vast windows, painting the rooms with warmth.

“She made this home for you, Lena.” Kara turns to the other woman, who finally steps through the threshold with a look of wonder in her eyes. “All those years ago, Kara promised you she would build you a house filled with light and warmth, and she did. She built it from the ruins of the house where you first shared your love, and she’s kept it for you all these years.... All the women in my family -- every daughter that passed through these halls, every bride that said their vows here, all the way down to my Mother who was married here and left this place to me -- every single one has kept it.... And it was all for you.”

Kara takes the locket on her chest and opens it to show Lena the portrait her Kara made of her. “She kept you in her heart until she was ready to give you to her daughter at her wedding day. She was never able to be with you, but don’t you see...? Every time this necklace passed from one bride in this family to the next, she gave you her vows and she kept you alive.”

A strange sense of peace washes through Kara as she leads Lena through the halls of her family’s home. Lena’s home.

Lena touches the walls of the house, the flowers adorning the staircase, with reverent hands. There are tears on her face, but she is smiling as steps into the light filtering through the windows. She closes her eyes and turns her face to the light, as if she can feel its warmth. Kara stands next to her, feeling her heart fill at the sight of Lena in the home she was promised.

“Your brother cursed you with his last words when he made you believe she would never come back. That you were all alone. He kept you bound to your sadness for so long, but Lena…. your Kara loved you so much that her love for you spanned generations. You don’t have to let his words keep you bound. You can choose to be free.”

Lena’s eyes open slowly, and as Kara watches, her face becomes radiant, awash with blinding love and emotion.

“I…… I see her. I see Kara.” Lena’s reverent voice breaks into a breathless sob. “She says she’s been waiting for me.”

Lena turns back to her one last time, tears of joy shining in her eyes, and Kara knows she will never see her again. “Thank you.”

For a long moment, Lena glows so brightly that the light blinds Kara’s eyes. By the time her eyes open, the light is gone.

And so is Lena.

Kara stands quietly in the middle of the room and takes a long inhale. The melancholia of the past few days is gone. Even the anxiety of the last few weeks seems to have fallen off her shoulders. Instead, she just feels a lightness in her whole body, and a clarity of thought she hasn’t known in a long time.

“Kara?” Alex’s voice comes from behind her, concerned, and Kara turns slowly to face her. “Are you okay?”

Kara huffs a small laugh and beams at her. “Yeah, I really am.”

Alex moves to stand beside her. She’s still in her pajamas, and there’s a quiet sort of hesitation in the way she approaches Kara, all sisterly concern.

Kara smiles warmly at her and offers her hand. Alex takes it and they both look out the vast windows.

“I can’t go through with this wedding, Alex.”

Her sister turns toward her, studying her with a protective eye. When all she sees on Kara’s face is contentment and a tranquil sense of calm, Alex nods. “I know.”

“You do?”

“I could kinda tell.” Alex shrugs and gives her a knowing look. “You’re my sister, I know you. I was just waiting for you to tell me.”

“Does Eliza know?”

“Knowing her, she probably does.”

“Well, then.” Kara inhales long and deep. “I guess the only one left to tell is Mon-El.”

“Why am I not surprised that your groom is the last to know that he’s not gonna be a groom after all?”

________

By SorrowsFlower

This was so fucking hard to write (I actually had most of it written up but it was hard to join them all up together, but it JUST WOULD NOT LEAVE ME ALONE). There is an epilogue of sorts to this, but I think y’all can probably see it coming, so I might as well not write it lol.

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #the corpse bride #supercorp au #fanfic #my writing

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curiosity-killed · 3 years

Text

grey hours

word count: 1685 cw: mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation

“You can’t be serious,” Jisel said.

Callebero shrugged, passing the wine to Sirion at the third point of their little triangle.

“You can’t marry till you’re of age,” he said. “That’s two decades from your first nameday.”

Staring at him, Jisel squinted as if she could suss out a lie underneath. After a moment of futile searching, she turned to Sirion.

“He’s joking, right?” she demanded.

Caught in the middle of a sip, Sirion wrinkled his nose but still lifted his left hand to shake it once in the negative. Callebero leaned forward, a grin curving up his lips.

“Alas, were it not for the laws of this land, we really could have had a runaway romance as the rumors tell it,” he teased. “Here you could be imperial consort and—“

Wadding up the waxed fabric cover of the jar, Jisel threw it at his face. He caught it before it hit because he was a little shit, but he was laughing.

“And here all you’ve given me is my kingdom,” Jisel retorted, dry. “What a paltry betrothal gift.”

“Hie, I didn’t give you anything,” Callebero said, pointing at her with the hand clutching the pink fabric. “The whole scholarly court accorded you the title based on a thorough review of the histories.”

Rolling her eyes, Jisel leaned back on her palms, careful to keep to the fabric of the blanket she’d brought this time rather than the cold stone beyond it. Between them, Sirion wore a small smile, a little bemused as if he didn’t know quite how he’d wound up sitting with the two of them on the palace roof in the middle of the night. The bewilderment was fair, she supposed: it didn’t make sense for any of them to be sitting here under the sea-salt stars while Ancelm curled slumbering around them.

“Aeridians,” she griped. “Next you’re going to tell me that all the horses in the city have to be dubbed like knights.”

Callebero and Sirion shared a brief look, little more than a flicker of their gazes, before turning to her with solemn looks.

“No,” she said immediately. “No, absolutely not—“

Standing alone on the roof now, Jisel couldn’t remember what they’d told her—if they’d tried to spin together some nonsense tale or if they’d descended into laughter too quickly. She remembered the warmth of it, the easiness in their little knot tangled together under the bruised vault of night. Those nights dropped pearl-like into her memory, iridescent and gleaming against the stains of the changing years.

The sky hung heavy and low with grey clouds now, painfully bright and unmoving. Underneath their heavy blanket, the city seemed stilted, hushed. Even the grand bazaar was closed, its vibrant canopies folded up and tucked away under the punched-gut shock that threaded through the city. Jisel had come up here to escape that oppressive hush in the palace, but even here, the breeze was too limp and half-hearted to do more than brush against the ends of her scarf dangling down her back.

As a child, she’d read stories and heard people talk about grief. Enough young men had died during the last war with Alir that everyone knew someone who had died, from brothers and fathers to uncles and cousins. Every family had a missing son in those years. She’d heard them say that it didn’t feel real at first, that they kept expecting to look up and see their lost ones cross the threshold of their home, lit by the setting sun and safe in the warmth of home.

That was not why Jisel had come up here, to this flat roof paved with gentle memories. She’d prepared for this, over the last couple years, ever since Jimar, ever since Callebero came back cold and distant. Callebero possessed a remarkable force of will, and if he wanted to die, then no matter Jisel’s efforts, she would not sway him. So: Callebero was gone. She did not hunt his ghost in the crooks of these old stones.

But—Callebero had often been gone, these last years. Always running toward the sword and away from the sheltering wings of the castle. As much as she knew he was gone, it seemed unfathomable that he could never return. Was this what the Aeridians meant, she wondered, when they called for the spirits of their ancestors to walk in step with them? The hauntings she’d grown up on were curses and cruelty, malicious spirits dragging their victims down into an early grave out of envy and hatred. Yet every time she sorted through papers or read a line in the book by her bedside and thought ‘I’ll show Callebero this,’ her breath caught and she had to pause, fight to reorient herself to this living land.

The door creaked behind her.

Few people came up here at all, the point of her escape, and Jisel glanced over her shoulder expecting a servant or, perhaps, Fran. She stilled, gaze hardening.

For his part, Catterik seemed equally startled to see her. He stopped short with his hand still pressed flat against the door, halfway between the shadowed stairs and the dismal light outside. After a moment, he swallowed and stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind him. Jisel watched coolly as he crossed the terrace to stop beside the diamond-carved railing.

“Alir liked heights, too,” he said after a long moment staring out at the grey city. Swallowed. “Used to run old Riker ragged trying to make sure the imperator princep didn’t die from falling out of a tree or slipping out of a tower window.”

Biting down hard, Jisel turned her own gaze out on Ancelm. From here, she could see all seven minarets spearing up toward the sky, the ring of eight completed by the palace’s own dome behind her. Soon, the evening horns would sound from the westernmost towers to call the city home to rest. Their sound had felt unnerving lately, as if they suddenly were too loud in the uneasy quiet.

Catterik spoke quietly, but his voice was still too much for this shroud-grey hush.

“I—” he scoffed out a laugh that almost sounds wet. “I couldn’t stand him when he was young. I was so wrapped up in Alir, and he took her from me, and—”

She was never his, Jisel didn’t say. From what she’d heard of the hallowed emperor, Alir been no one’s but her own—and perhaps, for a brief moment, a part of her had belonged to her son. The rest—war-forged, restless, hungry with her own toothed ambition—had been incapable of being owned or tied down. As much as the gentry all scrambled to compare Callebero to his mamán, they differed in this: Alir had refused to be anyone’s, and Callebero longed to belong to someone.

Folding her hands behind her back, Jisel considered a small figure walking alone down the main boulevard of the city. From this distance, she couldn’t make out the colors of their clothes beyond a green smudge and couldn’t guess at the features of their face. For all she knew, it could have been Callebero walking to the palace gates to interrupt his own funeral. It could have been herself, the first time she came to Ancelm with her wide eyes and unwritten future.

“Jisel.”

She looked to Catterik coolly, jaw tight. Swallowing, he pressed his lips together and inclined his head in a gesture that almost looked like concession. He held her gaze.

“Praesidion.”

Better.

“The funeral tomorrow,” he said, tone strangely urgent. “Don’t go.”

Liquid fire dripped down Jisel’s back, a molten rage. It steeled her spine, forged a rod of adamantine in place of bone as she turned to face him fully for the first time since he intruded on this place of memory.

“Warming Alir’s bed did not make you Callebero’s malán, Imperator Viachi,” she said. “If you cannot stand the sight of a Capallan at his funeral, stay home.”

His lips pulled back slightly, disgust or a snarl starting in the pinch of his brows. Fuck him, she thought. Fuck him and the gentry he came from, all their gilt and hollow claims. Turning on her heel, she swept past to the door and tugged it open. He didn’t call after her, but as she stepped over the threshold, a servant skittered back. Bowing quickly, they yelped a frantic excuse she didn’t bother listening to. One would expect the imperial spymaster’s welps to be better trained, she thought as she followed the curling stairs down to the heart of the palace.

At least they weren’t subtle enough for her to worry about them catching anything of importance. There was enough unease to balance without having to consider whether some determined spy could get into her chambers to steal anything of use.

Only when she closed the door of her office did she finally pause and exhale. Reaching up to slip the heavy circlet from her head, Jisel tipped her head back to hang against her neck. From across the room came a quiet whine, and she sighed, straightening to walk over to where Nox laid. Without Callebero or Sirion to pester, he’d clung to her heels like a stray following the first kind stranger to offer it food. She didn’t know what to do with him, really. Without his master or sister, he was still a warhound—trained for the chaos and slaughter of the battlefield more than the quiet schemes of the palace.

She knelt down beside him, scratching behind his ears briefly before her hand settled into long, soothing strokes down his back. With a little chuff, he flopped his head into her lap and blinked his wet brown eyes up at her before settling in fully.

“I know,” she murmured. “I know, little love. It’s unfair, isn’t it?”

He offered no reply except the steady weight of his head on her thigh and the silky blanket of his fur under her fingers. In her other hand, the crown’s cold edges bit into her palm.

#tcp is ANOTHER story where the main character (or one of them anyway) dies in the first chapter #but it's fine #he gets better #story: tcp #my writing #ch: jisel #ch: catterik #fun facts for this: the fabric is pink bc i rlly wanna try dyeing shit with beets #hm thought there were more fun facts but maybe not

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

Lily (from "Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus", what else?) and Lenin and maybe some other people? Watch "Heathers". Reactions? Or what they get transported there? Sorry, it's just that I'm in this Heathers-obsession phase and since I love your work so much (and the fact that Trotsky is kinda sorta like JD) I've been wondering about a crossover like that. I honestly have no idea what your answer to this will entail.

I’ve been musing on this one for a bit now but I suppose it’s time to dig in and answer.

First, I’m not usually a fan of the “X characters watch Y thing” so we’re going to avoid that. Also, to Wizard Lenin, it’d undoubtedly be yet another one of Lily’s weird 80′s movies that she loves so much and forces him to watch. It’s less gory than Predator, but dammit Lily, high school isn’t like this!

Getting transported there is a similarly weird story. It’s such a muggle setting that it really doesn’t mesh well with the “Sisyphus” cast. Why would Lily and Wizard Lenin be stuck in this high school in Ohio? Would they even do anything besides go “That JD kid sure is weird” and “Wow, the death count here is higher than Hogwarts!”? Point being, I can’t imagine they’d get entangled in the true plot of “Heathers” and at best would be providing riff track commentary on this crazy high school.

So, instead, let’s go the good old fusion route. Let’s make the world of “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” just a bit more like “Heathers” and see how it pans out.

Because “Heathers” is all about the destruction of society from within, we’re axing Voldemort. Sorry, Tom, you got stuck in a magical mirror, eaten by bears, or something after 1943 and are going to be Sir Not Appearing in this Universe. As a result, there’s no Voldemort, but the deep societal issues that Tom took advantage of very much remain and are flourishing.

In this world, Lily is still a god, but is not immediately recognized as such by being the girl who lived. Instead, she’s just a strange, dangerously overpowered, nuisance that nobody likes. And her home life is trash.

I imagine in the world without Voldemort, Death Eaters, and a second war Lily and James’ marriage quickly crumbles. This is mainly due to the stress of marriage but also due to having a gifted, ridiculously intelligent, and creepy child. Within a few years, Lily Evans has the audacity to do what is never done: she divorces her pureblood lord husband and tries to vie for child custody. She loses, of course, as she’s a muggle born woman, and is basically banished from ever seeing her kid again.

James never really gets over this, Ellie looking so much like Lily Evans certainly not helping matters, and over the years grows very cold to her. She’s not a son so is useless to inherit, she’s nothing like him, and she’s just an all around disappointment. James very quickly gets remarried for political purposes, marrying a far less scandelous pureblood witch from pick your prestigious family, and they have a son meaning that Lily is no longer heir.

Lily thus attends Hogwarts as essentially the half-blood Potter. She’s for all intents and purposes a bastard child, one barely acknowledged by her father, and is also weird. As a result I imagine she’s bullied relentlessly much in the manner Luna is. For years.

I imagine Luna Lovegood is her only friend, as the pair have bonded over constantly having their stuff destroyed and being locked out of their dormitories.

Enter Lily’s seventh year and thus the plot.

The outside world is looming and Lily effectively has no future. Despite being the daughter of Lord Potter, she’s in a similar position that Tom Riddle was. She won’t be hired into the Ministry or basically any position thanks to her dubious heritage as well as the fact that no one likes her.

Mostly, she just wants out. She wants out of the country where everyone knows exactly who she is and where she came from. Her best hope for this is employment with the goblins but she needs recommendations from a professor. Her best bet is Slughorn, but while he’s always been awed of her ability after seven years of Lily the charm has worn off. Lily has never received an invitation to the Slug Club.

Lily realizes that to get out she must become popular so someone can vouch for her to Slughorn. Not to mention her life might become slightly, slightly, less miserable. So, Lily approaches the Heathers. Much like in the film/musical, Lily offers her services to them for the fee of making nice, pretending to like her, and getting her an in with Slughorn.

This spirals out of control as the Heathers instead do the makeover and make Lily suddenly cool. She’s suddenly invited to parties, people talk to her, it’s a whole new world.

Around this time, Lily in the room of requirement happens to stumble across the diary (nevermind how he gets there, we’ll pretend Tom just never managed to smuggle him out of the castle). Tom has been trapped in there, dying, and Lily obliviously informs him that all his ambitions and sacrifices amounted to nothing. There was no dark lord after Grindelwald, she’s never heard of a Tom Riddle, and everything she describes makes it sound like nothing has changed.

Tom Riddle inexplicably vanished off the face of the earth leaving only the diary behind.

Naturally, Tom is very pissed about this, and sets about plotting how he can return, trying to get Lily to open up by asking her for help returning him to his body. Lily does him one better and just returns him to his body without any sacrifice, casually remarking that she’s always been like this as long as she can remember, fully accepting Tom to yell “SHE’S A WITCH! BURN HER!” to her face as everyone else does.

Tom, however, is floored and everything he’s ever known to be true is thrown out the window. He decides to make Lily his new pet project.

Unfortunately for him, by this point Lily has a Slug Club to attend, only it goes horribly wrong. The Heathers have purposefully set about humiliating Luna, Lily’s only friend, and Lily has to very publicly break ties with them even though it means sacrificing her only real chance of leaving the country with gainful employment. Worse, the Heathers promise wrath the likes of which Lily has never seen before.

Lily, devastated and despairing, goes back to Tom and confesses all the shitiness of her extremely shitty life and how she doesn’t even know what the Heathers will do to her now. Tom finds this a little odd, as Lily has quickly proven herself the most powerful person on the planet, but he’s willing to play along. More to the point, Lily and Tom’s relationship goes from 0 to 100 as he is not only the first guy to show interest in her but he’s very very interested and very very hot. When Lily decides to beg Alpha Heather for forgiveness, Tom notes that he’ll come with, he’s better with people than she is.

Tom, having hit a low point of nihilist rage thanks to Voldemort having amounted to nothing, poisons Alpha Heather and dutifully covers for Lily by writing her suicide note. This works. There is an ecstasy of joyous grief throughout the school as staff and students alike confess how they never knew the true Heather. Lily is astounded, Tom is ecstatic.

Lily tries to return to life as normal, goes back to hanging out with Luna, but also has to introduce Tom to the school. Tom suggests she mind wipes everyone, that makes Lily uncomfortable, so she instead confesses what she believes is the truth in that Tom was trapped in an enchanted object. Dumbledore nearly has a stroke, but since Tom Riddle never became Voldemort, it’s more that this is a solution to an unsolved mystery and the castle is glad Tom isn’t actually dead. They’d thought he got hit by one of those muggle bombs during WWIII or whatever it was the muggles had going on.

HA HA HA HA, but no, Tom says in response.

In the meantime Tom gets to witness Lily’s weird and strained relationship with her father, his friends, and her younger half-brother. Tom points out that Lily seeking out gainful employment is unnecessary. Lily doesn’t have to be a part of society, like all these worthless people around her, she’s so powerful that she can do whatever she likes however she likes it. She can simply leave the country, she could become a dark lord even, there’s nothing stopping her. Lily’s never thought of it like that before, to become a true part of society, to be accepted on some level by that society, has always just seemed like the obvious path to her. What else would she do?

Due to this, Lily and Tom’s relationship continues to grow as they’re really the first people to see each other as they are. Naturally, this is when shit hits the fan. Thanks to Tom, Lily’s invited to another Slug Club with him (Tom can still become minister even if he was trapped in a book for fifty years! Slughorn says). Lily gets hit on and nearly sexually assaulted by some of the boys there, Lily gets out, but the next day rumor circulates around the school that Lily was in a threesome with them.

Tom Riddle sets up a ridiculous scheme in which he fakes their murder suicide where they confess to being homosexual. Lily is increasingly horrified. The school, once again, is in an ecstasy of joyful grief over the loss of these two, beautiful, oppressed, gay souls. Lily realizes that Tom is A Bad Dude (TM) and tries to confront him. He easily confesses he cares nothing about these people and has decided he wants to watch society burn. These are the people who thought he had died in the Blitz and did nothing. They are people who cannot and will not change. They’re the absentee fathers who dote on far less powerful, pureblood, sons. Tom has officially, completely, given up on the wizarding world and now he will destroy it as quickly and horrifically as he can. Lily, not belonging to society, can pour the kerosene on with him.

This is getting a little too gnarly for Lily and she dumps Tom.

Unfortunately, he quickly becomes exceedingly popular thanks to his angelic face, his natural charm and charisma, and his understanding of people. He passes around a petition for suicide and bullying awareness that everybody and their brother signs. What they’re really signing is pages from the diary which, much like Death Note, promises him both their magic and their life force.

Tom confronts Lily and admits he’s going to murder everybody, an entire generation of wizards and witches gone in an instant, AND LILY CAN BE HIS DARK QUEEN! Lily and Tom get into a fight, Tom accidentally murders the shit out of her and is devestated, only of course for Lily to wake up later after he’s left because she was unwittingly immortal this whole time.

Rising from the dead, Lily hunts Tom down before he can blow up the school, and sucks him back into the diary. Upon graduation Lily makes up with Luna, still has no prospects and plans to go and be homeless in India, has hesitantly gotten in contact with Lily Evans, basically has no contact left with her father, and has a boyfriend diary named Tom who might be let out in fifty years if he promises not to blow up a school.

#ask #anon #lily and the art of being sisyphus #heathers

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tomandpeterthings · 3 years

Text

A (not so) Merry Christmas

[Irondad Christmas fic]

Summary: When Peter sees his gift, his mouth drops open, pupils narrowing as if trying to flee from the expanding whites of his eyes, causing Tony to grin widely and blather on about the technical refinements of the mask without even waiting for a proper reaction. Only when Tony breathlessly concludes his rambling, he notices how silent and numb the kid is. Feeling insecure all of a sudden, Tony clears his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, uhm... that’s it. I thought you’d like it.”

“It’s amazing, thank you so much. I love it,” the boy says, clutching the gift tightly. There’s no real joy in Peter’s eyes but an odd, oppressive sadness Tony has never seen before.

Or: How Tony found out there were three main reasons why Christmas was Peter's least favorite time of the year.

Rating: Not Rated / General

Length: 4.1 k

Trigger Warnings: Implied/Referenced past child sexual abuse, Angst

Read on AO3 or read here:

“You might have to think they’ve all forgotten to buy their god-damn Christmas presents until the very last minute,” Happy curses, pressing on the honk for the tenth time since entering the city.

“Another reason why I think Christmas is horribly overrated. I’m telling you, most of these crazy, belligerent people out there have forgotten what Christmas is even supposed to be about.”

“Oh yeah? And that would be…?” Happy’s amused eyes bore into Tony’s reflection in the rearview mirror. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe that cynical, not-exactly-the-religious-kind-of-guy Tony Stark has even one bit of actual Christmas spirit in him. Well, he’s not exactly wrong, but that doesn’t mean Tony can’t prove him wrong.

“It’s about the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Not about grown-ups running around like jolted chickens fighting over who gets the best and cheapest corn, trying to buy as much crap as possible for their ungrateful, spoiled children.”

“Ever heard of altruism or ‘Christian love’ before?”

“Altruism? It’s not altruism if you only buy all that nonsense to try and gain your family’s and friend’s affection. Some parents act like they don’t even think their kids would love them if they didn’t put a shit ton of overpriced presents under the tree.”

“Why exactly have we come all the way down here again?” Happy’s voice is dripping with so much sarcasm that Tony feels the need to pout. “This is different. I’m different and… he’s different as well. Everything’s different. You can’t compare that to anything of what I’ve just been talking about.”

Happy snorts, but before he could have made a snide remark, Tony has already closed the partitioning between the front and back seats. Although he’d rather die than admit it, he can’t help being excited by imagining the look on Peter’s face when he sees the advanced Spider-Man mask Tony has secretly been working on for weeks now. The kid will freak out.

Half an hour later they arrive at an apartment building in Queens. Happy agrees to wait in the car, so Tony walks towards the building alone. A resident opens the entrance door just when Tony is about to ring the bell, so he takes his chance, slips inside and takes the elevator up to the sixth floor.

Even though he’s only been here once, he still remembers where to go and knock. A few seconds go by before the door opens a few inches, revealing a few inches of Peter’s very puzzled face. “M-Mr. Stark? What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Underoos. I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to wish you a Merry Christmas. Can I come in for a second?”

The fifteen year old's eyes widen. “Uhm… s-sure, that’s… very nice of you, but you didn’t-you didn’t have to do this.” A little reluctantly, Peter opens the door wider, revealing to be wearing worn-out, outdated ‘stay at home clothes’. A rather unfamiliar sight, if Tony rules out that one time after the ferry incident when he made the boy wear a ‘I survived my trip to NY’ shirt and Hello Kitty pajamas.

The man walks in and Peter quickly closes the door. Nobody makes any attempts to move, so they keep standing at the doorway, glancing at each other rather awkwardly. “I uhm. Merry Christmas!” Tony eventually cheers.

The corners of Peter’s mouth turn into a smile, but it never reaches his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark.”

“I actually got you a present.” Tony casually takes out the wrapped gift and hands it over to the teen, who blushes. “Oh, y-you shouldn’t, uhm… I mean, t-thank you, but… you d-didn’t need to-“

“I wanted to, kiddo. Why don’t you open it up? Or should I put it under the tree?” Tony looks around the small apartment and frowns when he doesn’t catch sight of anything looking even remotely like a Christmas tree. “Where’s your tree?”

“We, uhm... don’t have one.”

“Why not?“

“Because we didn’t want one.”

Duh. “Well, in that case I guess it’s all right if you open it now.” Tony tries to keep his voice calm, but fails; he definitely sounds excited. Too excited…God help him. Fortunately, the kid doesn’t seem to have noticed anything because he simply nods and rips the cheesy Christmas wrapping paper off. When Peter sees his gift, his mouth drops open, pupils narrowing as if trying to flee from the expanding whites of his eyes, causing Tony to grin widely and blather on about the technical refinements of the mask without even waiting for a proper reaction. Only when Tony breathlessly concludes his rambling, he notices how silent and numb the kid is. Feeling insecure all of a sudden, Tony clears his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, uhm, that’s it. I thought you’d like it.”

“It’s amazing, thank you so much. I love it,” the boy says, clutching the gift tightly. There’s no real joy in Peter’s eyes but an odd, oppressive sadness Tony has never seen before.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem like it.” The engineer’s voice sounds so disappointed he’s instantly ashamed of himself, but he can’t help it… This is not what he expected.

“No, really, I-I’m sorry if I… I-I love it, I just don’t feel so good today.”

It’s almost impossible to believe him, but what other choice does Tony have? “Okay. But just in case you don’t, I can get you something else, it’s no problem, really. Or I can work on it some more if you tell me-“

“Trust me, Mr. Stark, please. You couldn’t have given me anything better. N-Not that you’d have to give me anything at all, I-I meant that… A-Anyways, it’s amazing and I can’t wait to put it on later.”

Tony sighs. “Okay, I trust you. But I don’t think your Aunt Hottie would appreciate you spidermanning around today, especially if you don’t feel good. Where is May anyway?”

“S-She uhm…she’s out buying some more groceries for dinner. She’s going to be back soon.”

Another lie. “I hope you don’t mind me waiting for her, then.” Tony raises his eyebrows challengingly.

The blush on Peter’s cheeks darkens. “A-Actually… She’s at work already.”

Already? It’s five pm… Then Tony remembers that May is a nurse. “Is she working the night shift?” Peter remains silent and glances down at his toes instead, giving Tony an idea about why the boy is so bummed. “Okay, what hospital is she working at? I’ll give them a call, they can’t force her to work when you’re here all alone and-“

“They’re not forcing her, she volunteered.”

“Excuse me?” Tony knows he sounds reproachful, but he doesn’t care. If his own father thought business was more important than family time, all right, but May? She’s the only family the kid has left.

“Christmas Eve is a very busy night at the hospital.”

“You don’t have to defend her, Peter. I know this is not my business, and if she thinks it’s okay to leave you alone on Christmas, fine, but I won’t have you sitting here all by yourself. Get dressed, I’m taking you to the compound with me.”

Peter’s eyes widen, though not in excitement. In shock. “N-No, I’m fine, I really am.”

“Cut the act, kid! Pepper would love to officially meet you and after Germany…” - Tony hesitates and clears his throat - “I mean, the Avengers are all busy this year, so there’s no danger of anyone finding out about your identity. Go change, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

“No, please, Mr. Stark, d-don’t make me go with you!” Shocked? The kid’s not shocked, he’s terrified. There are tears in his eyes and he’s visibly shaking. Tony has never been more confused in his life. “'Make you go with me?’ I’m sorry, but… What am I missing?”

“N-Nothing, I just don’t want to-to have to go anywhere, please!”

Tony let’s out an exasperated sigh. “Peter, this is not normal behavior. I can see you’re horribly upset, and I gotta say, I’m disappointed that May’s apparently too egoistic to-“

“She’s not egoistic,” Peter hisses through clenched teeth, glaring at the older man, letting the tears fall freely now. “In fact, I begged her to volunteer, and trust me, she didn’t give in easily.”

At first, Tony’s too stunned to respond, and when he finally speaks, his voice is somewhat rasp. “But… why?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Because it will distract her from… certain things.”

And suddenly, Tony knows. At least, he thinks he does. “Is this about your parents?”

“N-Not really. Partly, maybe, but… she never really knew them that well. She’s not related to me by blood, my father was my uncle’s brother, not hers.”

Oh. Tony suddenly feels very stupid. He knows the boy had an uncle but he has to admit that he’s never given him a lot of thought before. Automatically, his eyes glance over to the pictures hanging on the wall almost right behind Peter. “Is this… the first Christmas without him?”

Peter looks down on the ground again. “No. He died December 20th last year.”

Tony has never felt worse in his life. There he is, an arrogant billionaire insulting a teenaged orphan’s last living relative whilst trying to buy his affection by overwhelming him with a ridiculously expensive gift, too ignorant to realize that the boy’s grieving the loss of his uncle. “I…I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.”

“Actually, I could and should have known. I’m sorry I never asked you about what happened.”

“It’s fine,” Peter emphasizes, “I don’t want to talk about it anyway.”

“Well, now I’d feel even worse about leaving you alone today.”

“I won’t be alone, Mr. Stark. I’ll have a chat with all those criminals who can’t even keep themselves under control on Christmas Eve. And before you ask, May’s fine with it. Knowing that I’ll be distracted too is what made her agree to work the night shift.” Peter gives a teasing, half-hearted chuckle. “What about you, though? I never took you as someone singing Christmas carols under a decorated tree, but seems I was wrong?”

He’s not. Regardless of his shitty childhood memories, what would have been the point of celebrating? After all, Tony never had any kids he could have spoiled with presents, but now that he has one – sort of; kind of; where the fuck is he going with this? – he intended to do exactly that. Not that he would admit it, though, especially not after it completely backfired. "What can I say, I’m full of surprises. Anyway, if you change your mind about it, you can always give me a call.”

“That’s really nice of you, Mr. Stark, I really appreciate it. But as I’ve said a million times already, I’m fine. We haven’t really celebrated Christmas ever since I was eleven and went to the zoo or to the theater or something instead. And that’s what May and I will do tomorrow. To, uhm, revive the tradition after p-pausing for a year.”

Okay, now Tony’s even more confused. “You were eleven when your parents died?”

Peter looks like he deeply regrets what he’s just said. “Uhm… n-no, they died when I was six.”

“Then why did you stop celebrating when you were eleven?”

What happens next, Tony hasn’t seen coming at all.

“Nothing happened,” the boy snaps at him, face distorted in irritation. “And I’d really appreciated it if you stopped interrogating me and… treating me and my family like freaks just because we’re not acting like all those fake people out there stressing themselves over literally nothing while pretending everything’s fine although it’s not.”

“Wow, wow, wow, wait a second… I thought everything is fine? Or were you actually just pretending yourself?”

“Why do you even care all of a sudden?” Peter hisses, eyes swimming in new tears, “You have no idea how I feel because you hardly even know me, and just like you said, you never bothered before, so don’t act as if you suddenly do.”

Great, now Tony’s angry too. Mostly at himself. “You know what? You’re right, in one point. I don’t really know you that well. However, you’re wrong if you think I don’t care about you. I might not win any ‘mentor of the year award’ but I… I do fucking care, all right? And I’m going to prove it to you.” With that, Tony walks away from the stunned teenager and flings himself onto the couch like he owns the place. “I won’t leave until you’ve told me everything that’s bothering you. And don’t think I’m not serious. I’ll stay here until next Christmas if I have to.”

“You…you are…” Peter’s lost for words when he thuds over angrily, “I can easily throw you out or call the police if you don’t leave.”

“You won’t, though. Come on, kid, you can talk to me. I know you’re hurting… you can trust me.”

“Oh yeah? Like you trust me, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“You forget I’ve been an actual fan of yours for as long as I was a little boy. I’ve read and seen enough interviews to know that you hate Christmas, and yet you’re giving me crap because I don’t like it either. How come I have to justify myself but you don’t?”

Tony grits his teeth. “Okay. Fine. I did hate Christmas because my father mostly didn’t give a shit about spending time with me or mom, so she mostly locked herself in the bedroom all night, crying. Until James Barnes took her from me, leaving me with no-one to spend even a depressing Christmas with. Only through the Avengers I found out that celebrating can actually be kind of fun, but now most of them don’t talk to me anymore and I admit I had been a little bummed about it until I realized I still had Pepper and…and you. I thought you’d be happy if your old, grumpy mentor brought you an upgrade for your suit, but I guess my own excitement for finally having a… uhm, a young person to give a present to made me blind to your actual feelings. I don’t want to be blind, though. I want to see, understand and… make it better, but I need your help for that, kid.”

Peter’s openly crying again. “I-I’m really s-sorry, Mr. Stark. I-I wished I could tell you b-but…I d-don’t know how.”

Promptly, Tony feels guilty. “Hey, there’s nothing you have to apologize for and… gosh, I didn’t mean to force you to talk about anything. I mean, I guess I did by threatening to stay here until you talk, but I only said that because-“

“No, I… It means a lot that you’re so… p-persistent, but…” Peter takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. “It’s just… everything bad that has ever happened to me has happened around Christmas time. The accident my parents got into… it happened on December 10th. I don’t remember a lot from that Christmas apart from crying non-stop, but at least, it wasn’t my fault it had happened. Not like… the other two things.”

“What do you mean? Why would it be your fault that your uncle died? That’s certainly not true, Pete, and you can never think it is.”

Peter chokes out a sob. “Y-You don’t even know w-what happened, so s-stop saying that.”

“Then proof me wrong.” It’s an obvious bait, but the poor, desperate teenager immediately takes it.

“R-Remember the day we met? I told you that I’ve had my powers for six months… Actually, I got bitten on December 13th, j-just a week before my uncle died. It was…so confusing. I suddenly had powers I didn’t know how to control and I couldn’t even tell anyone about it. When I finally stopped freaking out about it, I started sneaking out at night to test my abilities on roofs of buildings a few blocks down the road. One day, Ben and May realized I was gone and tried to call me, but I didn’t have my phone with me.”

Peter pauses for a second to catch breath. “I hadn’t had any webshooters yet so I-I walked home, not knowing that U-Uncle Ben had gone out to go look for me. When I was passing a drug store two blocks down our street, I heard the alarm go off and then a guy was coming out of the broken door and rushed by me. I-I already knew how strong I was… I could have run after him and easily beat his ass but I w-was still scared. Scared he could hurt me, scared Ben and May found out about my powers, scared I’d end up getting delayed and caught…So I let him go. I remember thinking that it wasn’t my job or responsibility to stop him. U-Unfortunately, U-Uncle Ben t-thought it was his.”

Tony’s heart clenches in horror. “He saw him too?”

“H-He’d been l-looking for me in the street l-leading up to the c-corner right in front of me. S-Some other witness cried out t-to stop the thief and w-when he turned around the c-corner, he… s-stumbled across B-Ben, who didn’t hesitate one second and t-tackled him to the g-ground and tried to k-keep him at bay… T-Then I heard his scream. I immediately ran over b-but… I-I couldn’t do anything to help him. T-The guy had stabbed him f-five times in the stomach. H-He died half a minute later.”

“Peter,” Tony croaks weakly, “This wasn’t your fault. It-“

“Y-Yes, it was, didn’t you listen? If I h-hadn’t sneaked out, this w-wouldn’t have happened. If I had taken my phone with me, it might not have happened. And if I had s-stopped the guy, it definitely wouldn’t have happened. I could have done it, but I didn’t, because I was scared and selfish.”

Tony has a sudden flashback to Peter telling him his reasons for becoming Spider-Man. 'When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen… they happen because of you.' Why the fuck has he never questioned Peter about it? He really is the worst mentor, friend, surrogate-dad-whatever-the-fucking-shit ever.

“No, Peter. It’s NOT your fault. If this is your argumentation, then you’d have to blame the guy’s mother too, or your mother, for that matter, because if neither of you were born, this wouldn’t have happened either. That’s not how it works. Trust me, I’ve been blamed by so many people for letting their loved ones die or ‘killing’ them because I did or did not do what they thought I should have or should not have done. Even if some of them might be right in a way, I realized I had to stop making myself go crazy over things that are unforeseeable consequences of events completely out of my controllability. And you have to stop too. We make hundreds of choices every day, and each and every one could lead to something utterly unexpected. The only one who’s to blame for your uncle’s death is the guy who decided to use that knife.”

Peter has been listening silently, a tear dropping from his cheeks onto his lap every now and then. His voice is shivering when he finally speaks again. “W-What about S-Skip, then?”

“What’s a Skip?”

“A, uhm… a g-guy I knew. W-We’ve been friends when… when I was eleven and s-shortly before Christmas-” Suddenly, the boy breaks into heartbreaking sobs, causing him to shake so violently he can hardly speak. Oh god. Please, don’t let him be another person who had died. “I-I trusted h-him because I t-thought he g-genuinely liked me b-but…but t-then he…”

Tony quickly puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. What the hell is going on? “Hey, hey, shhh, you don’t have to tell me, it’s fine, kid.”

“M-Mr. Stark I-I’m so sorry. I don’t want y-you to…to t-think that… I d-didn’t want it, b-but he was s-seventeen a-and w-way s-stronger than me.”

And just like that, Tony freezes in shock. The boy can’t possibly be implying that- “Did that guy abuse you?”

“Y-Y-Yes,” Peter chokes out and the man forgets to breathe. “O-One d-day when I c-came over, he…he m-made me t-touch him and t-touched me too… I d-didn’t even understand it at f-first but then he…If I-I hadn’t been s-so s-stupid and n-naïve to think t-that someone w-would actually want to be my f-friend then he c-couldn’t-“

“No, Pete, stop. Please look at me, now.” It takes a few seconds, but then the teen eventually glances at him with his wet, puffy eyes. Tony gently grabs the boy’s shoulders and turns him further around to face him, trying desperately not to break into tears himself.

“You have to listen, Peter. There are cruel, sick men and women out there who’d do anything to get what they want. If that guy wanted to… do this to you, he’d have found a way, no matter what. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, nothing. It’s not wrong to want a friend. I know what I’m talking about… I was horribly lonely too when I was a young boy. And you… you’re so pure and kind-hearted… I’m so proud that you didn’t let that disgusting man take that away from you. I knew you got physically strong when that spider bit you, but now I know that you’ve always been strong. Stronger than I could ever be.”

“R-Really?” Peter sobs, looking doubtful.

“I swear. Without my tech, I’m nothing but a weak, bitter, middle-aged man who’s used to drown most of his pain in alcohol and drugs instead of speaking about it. I know you won’t ever end up like this, but…I still want you to promise me that you’ll talk to me if you need to, okay?”

“O-Okay. I promise. B-But you’re not-”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Tony interrupts, smiling fondly. “Do you want to tell me more about this guy?”

“I…N-Not really, if t-that’s okay.”

“Fine by me. But you have to tell me if May knows and… if he got what he deserved.”

“S-She knows, yeah. Actually, she and B-Ben… they were so sweet to me. They wanted me to-to talk to the police and at first I didn’t think I could do it, but then I saw y-you and General Rhodes on a newspaper title page …I realized that you wouldn’t let him get away with it and risk even more children getting hurt. He’s in jail and will be f-for a few more years.”

“And that guy from the drug store…?”

“He’s been arrested a few weeks after the incident. I… I actually helped with that…”

Tony lets out a sigh of relief. “You really are an extraordinary kid, even more so than I had thought all those past months. I really couldn’t be more proud of you. You are an inspiration, and I feel very blessed that I’ve had the luck to get to know you.”

Peter snivels, and when he leans forward, apparently aiming for a hug, Tony does too. Before he knows it, he's holding the kid in a tight embrace, absentmindedly rocking him back and forth softly, trying to get Peter to stop shivering. After what feels like forever, the boy eventually speaks, voice slightly muffled due to Tony pressing him so close to his chest. "Uhm, Mr. Stark?"

"Hm?" Tony hums affectionately.

"I-I was actually going for the tissue box."

Tony's eyes shot open, heart leaping in his chest. Dumfounded, he turns his head while still holding onto the kid for dear life, muscles tensing up when he sees that there’s indeed a tissue box on the coffee table right next to them. Oh crap. He lets go of Peter so fast it looks like he's been stung by a bee, face blushing in embarrassment. "S-Sorry, I-I thought-"

He's cut off by Peter breaking into a series of soft giggles, rewarding him with the mischievous, yet shy smile that has won over Tony's heart long before he even knew it. "I'm just kidding, Mr. Stark."

Okay, should he shout at the kid or hug him again? Tony settles for the latter when Peter's infectious smile eventually rips a barking laugh from the man's throat. Relief washes over him and a comforting warmth is spreading through him from head to toe. "You’re such a dork."

They embrace again and Peter finally stops shivering, snuggling closer, even. Tony doesn’t know when exactly he’d overstepped the mark of ‘We’re not there yet’, but one thing he knows for sure: He won’t let anyone or anything hurt Peter ever again because if by his life or death he can protect this kid, he will.

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spiderson #MCU fanfiction #irondad fanfiction

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jiamour · 4 years

Text

christmas in july

pairing: johnny x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2k

summary: domestic christmas dad johnny, that’s it, that’s the summary

a/n: i wrote this two years ago so its not great and its bullet point which is annoying but im posting it because i was thinking about domestic dad johnny

・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ ・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ . 。・

“suh soojin stop throwing snow at your brother we have to go!” you spoke loud and stern trying to get everyone in order because you were already late

you were going to the christmas concert in the park that started 10 minutes ago

you had everything perfectly planned out

or at least you did until your son, hyungsik, refused to leave the house without hot chocolate

or your daughter somehow breaking all of your thermoses the night before while having a tea party

or your fucking husband johnny who existed only to wreak havoc and start a seemingly endless snowball fight

you felt johnny’s arms wrap around your waist and his head rest on your shoulder

“come on yn they’re kids let them play” he hummed into your ear his tone smooth and sweet

“no” you shook him off and walked towards your kids clapping your hands as you spoke “we have to go i am not missing the concert for the fifth year in a row because of you guys”

finally they listened, swishing their mittens together to get rid of the snow and running off in front of you with their infinite supply of energy

you lived in a small town so the concert was about a 10 minute walk away if your family didn’t decide to take any detours

something of which was inevitable

you were stopped first to buy santa hats for the whole family which johnny said we’re absolutely essential

then obviously you needed candy canes

and of course marshmallows for the hot chocolate

but other than that it was a no distractions walk

you walked into the park and to your relief the band was still playing christmas music that you’ve already heard 1000 times that month

you and johnny sat on a hay bale set out as seats at the very back while your kids played in the snow right behind you

you listened intently as a loud rock version of deck the halls blasted from the speakers on the small stage

for about 3 minutes

and then the song ended

the lead singer took the mic off the stand and began to speak once the scattered applause from the frozen people in front of you ended

“that’s the end of our show thank you so much for coming. merry christmas everyone”

they left the stage

your head dropped into your hands

you had missed another year

at this point you don’t know why you kept trying

johnny softly moved your hands away from your face and lifted your chin so your eyes met his

“next year okay” he said in a soft mutter, his nose and cheeks tinted pink from the cold

you nodded with a sigh and went to get up and walk all the way back home

before you could move johnny grabbed the ends of your scarfs and pulled you into him

he kissed you softly trying to cheer you up

and of course it was working

even though it was happening while you were sitting on itchy cold hay and groups of loud people were leaving around you

it was nice

or at least it was until your daughter chucked a snowball at the both of you

when you turned to look at her she was glaring a hand on her hips “there’s children around, y’know! no one wants to see that!”

ah the homemade cock blocks strike again

johnny leaned down and rolled up a snowball with his bare hands tossing it back at your daughter

“this means war soojin” he said in a over expressive triumphant voice making your daughter laugh and begin to stock pile snow balls into her pockets so she could have quick ammo

johnny got up from the hay bale and ran towards your son getting an “alliance” as he called it before picking him up on his shoulders handing him snowballs so he could throw at both you and soojin

one badly aimed snowball by johnny went flying past you and hit an old lady in the distance who glared back in surprise

when her eyes met his he ran.

child on his shoulders and all

“sorry” you waved to her hearing an angry mutter in response

your head fell into you hands again

once again your childish husband embarrassed you in front of the whole town

・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ ・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ . 。・

it was 9pm when you got off work and driving home in the snow was a pain

it was almost pitch black when you pulled up to your house, you sighed as you got out of your car hating the extreme cold

you hit your boots against the edge of the door to get the snow off before opening the door and entering your warm cozy house

while you were gone johnny and the kids had decorated it

which is why it looked a little bit of a mess

but you still loved it

shivering from the chill of the cold you shrugged of your jacket and took off your boots

quiet christmas music played in the front room where you assumed johnny was still decorating

a box sat on the stairs filled with decoration so you decided to help

you were about half way through the box when you heard johnny’s angelic voice begin to sing

outshining the song on the radio

“oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining”

his voice made your heart skip a beat

it was so peaceful and beautiful that you didn’t want to interrupt

you continued decorating swaying to the music as you went along

“fall on your knees, oh hear the angels voices. o night divine, o night when christ was born”

how did you get so lucky

eventually his voice brought you closer to him wanting to hear more

he was hanging the last of the decorations on the tree not hearing you come in

quietly you walked over and hugged him from behind, arms around his waist and cheek against his back

he jumped a little but relaxed into your touch

to your dismay his singing stopped leaving only the quiet radio

“hey baby” he hummed turning around so he could hug you back and rest his head on top of yours

“keep singing” your voice was slightly muffled from the sweater on his chest “you’re going to make me a christian”

he laughed and paused for a second listening to the song before singing again

“chains shall he break for the slave is our brother and in his name all oppression shall cease” he sung beautifully swaying both of you slowly back and forth

“fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices o night divine, o night when christ was born o night divine, o night, o night divine” the calm aura and his honey smooth voice made your eyes droop and his arms tighten around you pulling you even closer

he kissed the top of your head before singing again until the song ended

“i love you a lot” you hummed into his chest and you felt his heart speed up as well as his small loving chuckle

“i love you too”

・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ ・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ . 。・

johnny took a sip of coffee adjusting his over sized and useless glasses as if they actually helped him see (he claimed they made him look like an intellectual) as he looked through the flyers

he shifted the flyer over to you pointing to a robot at the top “don’t you think hyungsik would love that”

“johnny we got all their gifts, we still need to get something for your parents and we’re already over budget” you yawned out rubbing your tired eyes and taking a sip of your own coffee to try to wake you more

“but yn~” he whined, even though he was a grown adult and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes “okay, i don’t appreciate the sass”

“you’re such a child” you scolded playfully and kissed his pouting lips

“don’t you want our creations to be happy baby” he asked still pouting despite the the kiss, holding the flyer right in front of your face

“oh my god fine” you huffed grabbing the flyer and folding it up, he did a silent cheer “but you have to find something under $50 for your parents”

“that’s fine my mom just knitted you an ugly sweater” he said laughing at the end and your mouth fell open in a shocked oh

“MY MOM KNITTED YOU AN UGLY SWEATER TOO” you yelled out happily, hoping you didn’t wake the kids

“we’re going to look so awful this christmas” johnny laughed out “this is amazing”

“i can’t believe your mom hates me that much” you laughed as well, taking a bite of toast

“what? no. she doesn’t hate you, she just loves knitting” johnny stole the toast out of your hands and took a bite but after a second he choked “wait a minute..”

“does that mean your mom hates me?” he cried out a frown gracing his face “i thought we had something special”

you shook your head in response “she doesn’t hate you she’s just pretty sure you’re an alien and she doesn’t trust you”

“yn what the fuck”

・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ ・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ . 。・

he had strategically planned this out

watching your patterns when you walked through the house

analyzing trends and odds to figure out where to put it

well actually he just placed mistletoe everywhere

obnoxious christmas music blasted through your house

people were everywhere with mugs of eggnog and hot chocolate

his plan was perfect

and yet he couldn’t find you

“what are you doing man?” mark came up to johnny who was standing alone placing his left hand on johnny's shoulder, a mug in his other

“searching,” johnny answered immediately his eyes refusing to stop scanning the room to look at mark

mark hummed in response then took his hand away from johnny’s shoulder “wait, why?”

“i had a perfect plan and it’s getting ruined” johnny muttered frustrated watching another couple kiss under the mistletoe he had set up for you

finally he spotted you happily talking to some friends a small smile grew on his face now that he could go through with his plan

he watched you move around the room from friend to friend beautifully smiling and laughing making his heart skip a beat

“dad,” soojin whined, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention but he didn’t break his eyes away from you

“not now soojin, daddy is plotting” he said a mischievous smile on his face

“you’re so weird” she mumbled before walking away a wave of her hand over her shoulder

it took a few minutes for mark to catch on to what was happening

“you are aware she’s your wife, and this plan is stupid, right?” mark teased

“and your opinion is unwanted” johnny responded

just when he did, your head turned to him having felt eyes on you

you met his eyes and smiled softly, waving, making his knees feel weak, still not used to your charms after all these years

as soon as you stopped talking to the guests johnny walked over to you and tried to gesture you into directions were mistletoe hung but each time you turned and went the wrong way

he didn’t know what he did wrong

he thought he planned this perfectly

but nothing was working out

you noticed johnny’s plan after the first few small pushes in the direction of the mistletoe and from that point on you tried to tease him

you saw his frustration and pout growing as well as him trying to hide his disappointment at the same time

you made sure to avoid the mistletoe the entire time

by the end of the night johnny had given up and stuck to just holding your hand sadly

together you said goodbye to the guest as the all left

mark patting johnny on the back saying a “better luck next time buddy” before leaving

johnny sighed when everyone was gone and began to walk back into the house to clean up

“hey johnny” you spoke quickly before he could walk away gaining his attention

on your tip toes you attempted to hold mistletoe that you had stolen from the walls over his head

he smiled so brightly when he saw immediately falling into a kiss with you

you couldn’t have wished for a better christmas

・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ ・。.❆.・。❅.・。❉ . 。・

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alinaastarkov · 4 years

Note

I don't think it's clear for you that Dany using a slave army means she's a slaver. She should have freed them rather than attack several cities, ruin hundreds of thousands of lives and unleashing a deadly plague that'll kill millions. The way her dragons ate children is just a small part of how destructive she is. I'll never forget how she refused the only ally coming from a Westerosi family and how she laughed at Quentyn Martell. She doesn't understand diplomacy or how to peace or make allies.

You’re right! It’s not clear for me because that is utter fucking bullshit.

Did you even read the books? Cause Dany did free them. After ensuring that the monsters who put them in chains, and would have killed her to continue their oppression, were dead, she freed all of them.

"Spears!" Dany heard one Astapori shout. It was Grazdan, old Grazdan in his tokar heavy with pearls. "Unsullied! Defend us, stop them, defend your masters! Spears! Swords!" When Rakharo put an arrow through his mouth, the slaves holding his sedan chair broke and ran, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. The old man crawled to the first rank of eunuchs, his blood pooling on the bricks. The Unsullied did not so much as look down to watch him die. Rank on rank on rank, they stood. And did not move. The gods have heard my prayer. "Unsullied!" Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. "Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see." She raised the harpy's fingers in the air . . . and then she flung the scourge aside. "Freedom!" she sang out. "Dracarys! Dracarys!" "Dracarys!" they shouted back, the sweetest word she'd ever heard. "Dracarys! Dracarys!" And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.

One of the first things Dany had done after the fall of Astapor was abolish the custom of giving the Unsullied new slave names every day. [...] Grey Worm had remained Grey Worm. When she asked him why, he said, "It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one drew the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free."

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. [...] They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

Yes, she bought them first. Why? Because she was explicitly told they would not obey her and continue to obey their slave masters. If she had tried to inspire them to kill their masters without buying them they would not have listened, and the masters would have made them kill her instead. So, she buys them, inspires them to kill their masters when they are no longer under their thumb, an opportunity they clearly relish in by the way, and immediately frees them so they can choose whether or not to stay or go and, if they stay, they will be free men with wages and rights and freedoms. So, she did free them, and them being free meant they were free to join her. And the sacking of cities was, surprise, TO FREE MORE SLAVES, IDIOT. She didn’t go to Yunkai or Meereen just cause she likes destruction, she goes there to free hundreds of thousands of men, women and children from bondage and end thousands of years of oppression.

"Mhysa!" a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. "Mhysa! Mhysa!" Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. "Mhysa!" they called. "Mhysa! MHYSA!" They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. "Maela," some called her, while others cried "Aelalla" or "Qathei" or "Tato," but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother. The chant grew, spread, swelled. It swelled so loud that it frightened her horse, and the mare backed and shook her head and lashed her silver-grey tail. It swelled until it seemed to shake the yellow walls of Yunkai. More slaves were streaming from the gates every moment, and as they came they took up the call. They were running toward her now, pushing, stumbling, wanting to touch her hand, to stroke her horse's mane, to kiss her feet. Her poor bloodriders could not keep them all away, and even Strong Belwas grunted and growled in dismay. Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. "They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!"

And whose lives did she ruin? Slave masters, oppressors, men who viewed other humans as property. If she hurt anyone else it was purely by accident because she is a 15 year old girl who has had to dismantle an entire economic system and replace it with a new one. It is an insurmountable task that has never historically been achieved without any mistakes or harm coming to others. That would be impossible. So you must be complaining about the slave masters’ lives she ruined on purpose. Cause, yeah, she did ruin their lives on purpose. She did destroy their livelihoods built on owning people and kill a few of them because they were completely reprehensible people. And you know what I say to that?

Seriously, if you’re upset she killed slavers then you’re the slavery apologist, not her and not us. And are you now suggesting Daenerys caused the pale mare on purpose? Seriously?? Have you read the books? Do you have any idea how illnesses work? Read a little up on it then get back to me cause that suggestion is straight up ridiculous.

Her dragon killed (not ate) one child and her response to that was to immediately lock them up in a dungeon because she couldn’t allow it to happen again. Nice try, Karen.

Lmao “she doesn’t understand how to make allies”. Did you forget Xaro? Barristan? (And that was without even knowing it) Daario and his whole group of sellswords? What was marrying Hizdahr if not making allies and securing peace? There are more on this list. Btw, yes she laughed at Quentyn for a moment. And immediately after she stops others from insulting him.

"Fifty thousand?" mocked Daario. "I count three." "Enough," Daenerys said. "Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy."

She also had Quentyn stay at the palace so they could continue to talk, only refused him because she was already engaged. And that marriage would secure her people peace and security in the present, where Quentyn’s offer would only help her in the future/ if she abandoned her children, which she was not prepared to do. Any idiot can see that she could not have “accepted” Quentyn’s offer even if she wanted to, and all that happened to Quentyn was his own fault. I love the kid, but his mistakes are on him, not Dany.

So, you’re full of shit nonny! 👏

#asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #does your arm hurt from all the reaching?#seriously who can read the books and come up with this?#still laughing at being upset she ruined slaver's lives #like i'm supposed to feel sorry for those bitches?#i DON'T #miss me with this bs #the dragon's daughter #Anonymous #neve has mail

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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Acutely (coda to 15x13 ‘Destiny’s Child’, Dean/Cas, 2.5k)

ao3 link

Jack said he's sorry, after getting his soul back.

Jack said he's sorry, and he's looking at Dean. They're all looking at Dean.

Jack said he's sorry, and Dean can't take it. It's too much. Like a frog thrown into a boiling pot he hops out, jumping out from the room towards safety. Doing his best not to succumb to the pain.

He can't hide forever, let the wounds fester. It's too much to deal with on his own, though. Can someone help him through it?

It’s no secret, where he hides. Where he ran away to after Jack broke down in an apology. Overwhelmed by the sorrow in the younger boy’s voice; his remorse for actions Dean hadn’t mentioned in so long. Dean barely made it before his knees buckled, collapsing on his bed instead of the floor. Face pressed against the pillow Dean counted his breaths while ignoring the heavy lump sitting in his throat.

He loses track after seventy-five, mumbling ‘one… two… three… four… five…’ over and over until he felt like his feet were farther from the edge than they had been. As he lifts his head, Dean takes stock of himself. Grimaces at how sweat dampens both his shirts, dark fabric clinging annoyingly underneath oppressive denim. And as the knot unwound in his stomach, Dean realizes he hadn’t eaten yet. Hunger gnaws at his awareness, begging for attention. Thinking about food, though, guides his paths towards the kitchen and – ultimately – Jack, again.

There’s not much of an appetite left after that.

Instead he blindly throws off his outer layer, then his undershirt. Bends, clawing at his laces and when they unravel, he yanks them and his socks off, too. Discards his jeans by flinging them into some far corner. Red boxer-briefs are all that remain, for the moment. In the next second Dean reaches for a set of pajamas. Picks the set at the top of the pile. Cowboys riding bucking broncos on the pants while lasso script spells out ‘Save a Horse’ on the shirt. As he pulls it overhead, he hears something shift nearby. Turning, Dean finds Cas watching him from the hallway.

“Crap,” he hisses, tugging the shirt down. Cheeks burning under Cas’s intense gaze, “Ever hear of knocking?” Instincts say he should cover himself, but midway through wrapping arms around his midsection Dean realizes what a ridiculous notion that is. Actions aborted Dean’s fingers twitch before they retake his shirt’s hem. Twisting it as the awkward silence continues. “Cas?”

This breaks Cas from whatever trance he fell under. Cas steps into his room, “Sorry, Dean, you left your door open.”

“Right…” If his hands weren’t busy strangling fabric one would be rubbing a hole into the back of his neck. “I – uh, must’ve forgotten.” Dean finally fights back the static drowning his mind, releasing his shirt hem. “What uh… what’re you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

Sweet, but totally despicable. Cas’s earnest tone easily overpowers his crumbling defenses, making the flush across his skin deepen. Lips pursed, Dean dips his eyes so he won’t fall prey to the deadliest of his angel’s weapons. Angel blades have nothing on those baby blues. “Thanks,” he coughs, shrugging, “but I wasn’t the one having a full breakdown five feet from the cookie cereal…” He sits down once more, at the foot of his bed, squeezing his knees. “How is Jack, by the way?”

“He’s calmed, somewhat,” Cas tells him, slowly pacing Dean’s room. Picks up Dean’s stray button-down, loosely folding it while he talks. “Sam had a brilliant idea of taking him for a drive.”

“A drive? Is that allowed?”

“Well, Billie didn’t appear and tell us no….” He sets the shirt on Dean’s dresser, claiming the nearby chair for his own. “They left awhile ago. Not sure when they’ll be back.”

“Awhile, huh?” Dean snorts, arching a stern brow. “And you’re only visiting me now?”

Cas stiffens, “Yes. You see – um…” Stuttering, Cas stalls for time as he thinks up an answer.

Tension leaks out of Dean’s shoulders watching him, seeing his angel go through human motions. Dragging a hand through his hair and pulling at his tie, both alight a familiar warmth in his heart. He snuffs that flame a second later, knowing how dangerous it would be if he let it keep. “Kidding,” Dean sighs, smiling, “I’m glad you waited. Probably wouldn’t have been this… chatty?”

“Of course…” Cas says, nodding, “I figured you’d need some time alone… to – to sort through things.”

He’s being generous. Dean used all his strength to not remember the pain stricken across Jack’s face. The wound is still so fresh, Jack ripping off the scabs with a frenzy caused by his soul’s return. Mary’s death hurting like it happened yesterday. “Maybe you should’ve given me five or ten more minutes, then,” he chuckles, tapping at his temple, “still a mess up here.”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm what?”

“Oh, nothing –“

“Bullshit, Cas,” Dean leans forward, a more devilish expression on his face, “C’mon. Tell me what’s going on in your mind.”

“Nothing you probably don’t already know,” Cas says, “I’m… trying to wrap my head around this whole day. Jack getting his soul back… it’s remarkable. But also, troubling. How could that even be possible and – and will it last?”

“Don’t think about it too much, man,” he says, “what happened with Jack it’s… it’s a gift. Probably one of the few we’ve ever gotten that’s come with no strings attached. A win.”

“Have we ever gotten a win like that?”

It’d be so simple. Unfortunately, Dean chomps off the head of his one-word confession. Swallows the three-letters alongside all his other feelings. By the time the corpse of it decomposes in his stomach, Dean realizes it’s been too long since he last spoke. Cas waiting, staring at him. An awkward chuckle bubbles forth, his breath reeking of ashen sincerity. “Bout time we got one, then, don’t you think?”

He concedes, mouth thinning in a cunning smile. “I suppose we are… but enough about what I think.” Dean’s lips pinch tight. “I think we’ve delayed the inevitable conversation. Don’t you?”

“No,” he says, “we can delay it some more. Like… what was up with those bootleg versions of us?” Dean scoffs, “I bet that other me doesn’t even know what pie tastes like… too busy cramming caviar down his throat.”

“You might enjoy caviar. I hear it’s very popular?”

“Caviar’s only popular because it’s expensive,” Dean tells him, “and all those rich dudes spent too much money on it to hate it, so they lie and convince others it’s good and it’s an awful, self-servicing cycle.”

“I didn’t know you had such strong opinions on caviar?”

“I’ve got strong opinions on just about everything…” Dean makes the mistake of glancing up, catching sight of Cas’s judgmental bend of his brow. “But you don’t wanna hear any of those…”

“Not right now, no…” Cas stands, drifting towards his door. “I guess you were right, you do need more time by yourself. Perhaps in the morning –“

“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry,” he says, rising, grabbing his elbow. The touch sears even through the jackets and shirt; Dean’s grasp on it firms, savoring it. “Y’know how… how tough this has got to be for me, right?” His throat cracks on the last word, eyes glistening. He feels the tears brimming behind them, pooling, waiting for release.

Cas sighs, dropping any pretense of exiting. “I do,” he says, hand hovering over Dean’s briefly. Considering if he should. A short argument, as it gently embraces his hand; the one chaining Cas to him. “That’s why I want you to speak. Free yourself of the burden… let me help carry it with you.”

“You don’t have to, Cas,” Dean says, “You’ve got your own things, worries t’deal with –“

“That won’t stop me.”

Stubborn. A double-edged sword that makes up the arsenal of Cas’s traits, all weapons Dean would gladly throw himself on.

Cas quiets, then, waiting for Dean and his response. Words were unneeded. Dean can decipher all he thinks by looking into his angel’s eyes. Captivating, whether in the harsh fluorescents of his bedroom or the soft moonlight of an abandoned church. They always make his head dizzy, thoughts unspooling like Dean drank half a bottle of whiskey or smoked three joints. The more he stays the course, the worse it gets. He nearly forgot hellhounds were baring down on them, Sam their last defense against the creatures, because Cas’s eyes hold a magic that quells any fear or worry gnawing at Dean’s senses.

“Dean?”

“It hurt being around him,” Dean whispers his admittance, inching closer. Chests almost pressed together. Noses dangerously close. His toes practically climbing atop Cas’s dress shoe. “I hate that that’s true but… it is. Because as glad as I was to see the kid still kicking it… I’m just reminded of her.” Cas’s thumb rubs a comforting circle into his knuckles, Dean dropping his gaze there. “Reminded of what he did. How he just didn’t… didn’t get it, y’know. Couldn’t tell that it was bad. He – there was still this… this disconnect. And after he came back I could tell he’d look at me and try to find the words t’apologize but they were never there. And without them, we’d never move past it. He’d still be hurting, and so would I… Which sucks because – because I know you think of him as your son, but y’know… I think of him as mine, too –“

“I like to think of him as ours, Dean.”

“Yes, well…” he clears his throat, tongue wetting his lips as he recovers. Dean chooses tactical evasion, ignoring Cas’s comment and moving on. “He’s like… my second chance. He is a second chance. A second coming, really – sorta like Jesus –“ He pauses, gaze darting towards Cas’s face. “That doesn’t matter. I just… I wanted to make things right with Jack, but he didn’t know how – and I sure didn’t know how. So we were circling each other, doing nothing. I could feel things festering. The happiness that came after Jack’s return began fading; instead of relief there’d be dread whenever he walked into a room. Got it into my head that things’d never get any better, and there was no way of fixing this rift between us.”

“But with his soul, he finally understands,” Cas says, “he’s apologized. That’s what you wanted?”

“It is. I… yeah,” Dean shudders, neck suddenly weak. It bends, Dean’s chin saved from touching his neck by Cas’s forehead supporting his. There noses are beside one another, lips a breath apart. “I know it’s for the best but… seeing him cry, all I wanted to do was hug him. Let him know it’d be all right. Except I ran I… I couldn’t say anything. He was hurting and that – that made me hurt even worse. And then I felt glad he could feel hurt… it sorta spiraled from there.”

Cas hums, Dean’s mouth vibrating with the note. “You were overwhelmed,” Cas says, “there’s no reason for you to be ashamed.”

“Yes, there is.” Dean scowls, “I’m middle-aged, can gank a monster twice my size without blinking, but the second a situation gets too touchy-feely I stomp on the gas and speed through all the red lights.” While Dean talked about Jack, a highlight reel of all his shortcomings playing on a giant screen in his mind. Times where Dean’s emotions short-circuited. Fried his circuits, caused him more pain than necessary. Many of those scenes feature a recurring character, shaped like a man in a trench coat. It flickers out, leaving Dean with a blank slate. That fades, too, and Cas’s face is there.

“It’s not fear, Dean. Not at all,” he says. Protest swells, but with a sharp look from Cas it wanes. “Trust me, as someone who knows you… knows your soul, you – you are not afraid of feelings. Not at all.” He smiles, Dean leaning back for the full effect. Blessed by heavenly light. “On the contrary,” Cas continues, “You embrace your emotions. Unfortunately… sometimes you feel too much and that – that can be particularly difficult to manage. I remember when I was human, sometimes the smallest of ripples in my heart caused me great pains. Something modest like being cold or hungry… or in pain, were too much for me to express. Your capacity for feelings, your intelligence and understanding it’s… fantastic. But there are limits. We all have them. You feel too much sometimes that you cannot express yourself or even deal with them.”

Dean’s tears prick at the corners of his eyes, dangling. Still unshed. “It does feel like that,” he says, “Sometimes it’s… like there’s a highway, and it’s rush hour. Traffic on – on all sides. No one’s moving, and I’m behind the wheel and I want to go but I can’t and I… I get so angry that I can’t.” He lets go of Cas, slipping from his loose grip. “S’what I’m feeling right now.”

Cas accepts Dean’s need for distance, hands retreating into his pockets. “And what I’m here, to tell you, is this. You might be behind the wheel, but you’re hardly alone in that car. Sam’s there. Jack’s there. And I am most certainly there.”

Dean nods, wiping a hand down his face. “Thank you, Cas. I… needed this.”

“I’m glad to be of service, then.” Cas’s tone fell, a discordant pluck of the harp that triggered Dean’s worry. Before he could ask about it, his angel floats away. “I should let you get your rest. Today was exhausting…”

Halfway out the door, Dean stops him. “Cas, wait!”

“Yes?”

Standing there, framed by his doorway, waiting for Dean to continue with shining eyes, Dean thinks his angel never looked more gorgeous. And he wants to tell him. Despite how the words stick in his throat, the sweat dripping from his forehead, and how his feelings might be received, he wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything. Finally.

That flame from earlier, snuffed out, relights. Burns hotter than Baby’s engine gunning down the highway. Ballooning, spreading through his veins and disorienting him. The room spins, his vision blurs, but Cas stays clear and firm. It’s right there, on the tip of his tongue –

“Yes, Dean?”

He’s cold. Doused by an untimely thought that quells any of his passionate desires, leaving him charred, ashen, and helpless.

Dean notices the frown lines around his mouth. The way his eyes drooped in a way they’ve never done. Shadows stretch across his body, slithering, hiding most of his expression from Dean. But he senses a tiredness there that, on Cas, seems foreign.

The moment passes. It wouldn’t feel right, anyway.

“Just…” his face hurts from the tight grin he forces, “I go both ways.” Blushing, he amends his statement. “I mean, I don’t have to give you all my baggage – I can… I can also help you carry some of yours, if you’d like?”

Cas tilts his head, light revealing a gentle smile. “I’d like that. Night, Dean.”

“Night Cas…”

A closing door never felt more ominous.

Dean stares at it, chewing on his lip. Chest aching, heart beating against it with the force of a storm wreaking havoc. He walks towards the switch, flipping it off. Bathing the room in shadows. Making it easier. “Cas,” he says aloud, looking ahead into the endless darkness. “I love you. After this is all over, and we don’t have any more fights heading our way… I’d like for you to stay. With me. And we can have the life we both deserve. I just… I want you to know what I’m fighting for. It’s not the world. It’s you. It’s us.”

He slips under the covers. Talking to empty air didn’t make the feelings disappear, or easier in dealing with. But it’s a start.

Maybe he’ll do better in the morning.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel coda #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x13 destiny's child #better late than never lol

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fanfiction-funtime · 3 years

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Alexander Vodka lines

I did most of the characters, but some I don't know or genuinely can't think of anything. Hope this is good >-<

Hello: Hey there, your that Traveler fella ain’t ya? Hope I don't owe you copyrights for the name. Hm? I don’t? Well then, what can I help ya with?

Adventures? Sure why not, I could use the inspiration.

Two names: You’re curious why I have two names? Well it's sort of a thing in Snezhnaya that officers and other high ranking people have two names, like how harbingers do. Since I’m a high ranking member of the Schneznayan authors association, well former member, I have the name “Eis Cay’zar” meaning “ice ruler”. And Alexander Vodka is a pen name. Hm? What's my resistance name and real one? Well now Traveler, a man must have some secrets.

Change of tone: Ah yes, people often find the way I change from more eloquent speech to more casual off putting. Well it's the same reason I wear two sets of clothes: sometimes I feel like looking like an old noir hero, other times I like looking like a new age caped crusader. Sometimes I like sounding high society, other times I enjoy sounding like I’m from Khaen’ria.

How do you know about Khaen’ria: Well I was looking for accents and found out about a place called “New York” or something, a bit of investigation and I discovered everything. My source? That's a secret, ehe.

Good morning: Mornin’ Traveler! What's in the mornin’ paper?

Noon: Lunch time, my favourite time of the day. Let’s go get some pizza, I’m famished!

Afternoon: Almost time to punch out, let's go knock some skulls first.

Night: *yawn* Today was fun, thanks buddy. Get some shut eye, or if you can't come meet me at (wanmin/angels share/the tea house), first rounds on me!

When it rains: I am so glad I got over my fear of contacts.

When it rains(with glasses outfit): Hey can we get under something? I can barely see!

When it stops raining: The smell that comes after rain has always been one of my favorites.

When it snows: Perfect weather to bundle up with a nice hot cup of hot chocolate!

When it stops snowing: Do you ever miss home, Traveler?

About freedom: I warned Barbados, you know that? I knew that as long as he saw it coming, Signora wouldn’t stand a chance. But he just looked at me and said, “good, when I’m gone mondstadt will be truly free of the gods”. That’s a man I’d follow to the depths of the abyss and back.

About Venti: Speaking of Barbados, he’s a great drinking buddy. Me and him knock back a couple hundred rounds whenever I’m in Mondstadt! Course I’m always paying the tab, but I consider it a way of repaying him for making songs about my books.

About Kaeya: The cavalry captain? He’s pretty cool if you ask me, modeled as Rex Mondoleon for the cover of a historical fiction book I made. But I’d still like to know what he’s hiding behind that smile.

About Diluc: Don’t tell him I told you this, but one time I found Diluc after he was hit by an abyss spell that made him drunk. While he was drunk he kept ranting about how sorry he is for kicking out his brother. The poor guy has all that forgiveness in him but he’s too afraid to let it out.

About Jean: The acting grandmaster of the knights is someone truly deserving of respect. She leads by being a good person and earning the respect of her people, and she has never once tried to cover up the mistakes of the knights. In fact if a knight makes a mistake she’ll rush out to fix it. Jean should be the grandmaster, not that crooked old bastard.

About Lisa: Lisa was my first friend in Mondstadt. She mailed me about getting copies of my books into the Mondstadt library, I said I’d do a signing to promote a new one, one thing led to another and now we have tea every ninth day of the month.

About Rosaria: Don’t tell anyone, but I’m very sure she’s a vampire. A nice one, but still.

About Barbara: Awe that little doll? I once saw her kill multiple fatui because they threatened some sick and injured travelers. So I think she’s a great person, takes compassion to save lives and guts to handle taking them as well.

About Bennett: Bennett? Yeah I know him, nice kid. He likes my books but kept breaking them, so now I make special enchanted ones so he can’t break them even if he tried.

About Razor: The guardian of wolvendom? He’s a weird one alright, but he’s not a bad guy. I taught him how to read and write.

About Fischl: That crazy kid? I don’t care what everyone else says, she’s nice. People need to learn to just leave people alone, she’s not hurting anyone with her persona.

About Noelle: You will never find someone more dedicated too...well anything than Noelle is too the knights and her training.

About Klee: Klee and I are great friends! Nothing is more stimulating than massive explosions!

About Amber: She always has interesting stories to tell, like one time where she got rid of some bandits by making a dummy merchant cart filled with explosives! Or the time she had to help a kid get her pet giant snake out from the cathedral!

About Zhongli: Heh, he thinks he’s slick, but I know he’s Rex Lapis. Gotta say I kinda hate him for just giving up his gnosis, however he did it to free his people so I can’t be mad.

About Ninnguang: Never much cared for economics because I don’t know much about ‘em, so I can’t say anything about her business sense. But I can say that she’s a great leader who puts her people first.

About Keqing: Haven’t talked to her enough to know much, but she’s dedicated to her people and that's enough for me. Her dislike of blind faith in the gods is definitely enough to make me want to get to know her better though.

About Qiqi: Qiqi’s a nice kid, I don’t care what anyone says her being a zombie doesn’t make her bad.

About Baizhu: Snake man? Nice guy, helps me be accurate in my books. Always worry about him though, one hot breeze and he’s out like a light.

About Xingqiu: Xingqiu always tries to hide his good deeds, and while I can respect anonymity I can’t let a hero go unsung. So I’ve written multiple short stories about him using a different name, and put in the beginnings that it’s based on a true story.

About Chongyun: His popsicles are great inventions, I’ve played around with the idea a bit and made flavored ones. So far I’ve got strawberry and grape down and am working on this weird fruit called a..Banananana? I think?

About Beidou: Captain Beidou is so cool! She tells me stories about her journeys out to see and I write about them, but after seeing her in action I can’t really say that I do her justice.

About Kazuha: Kazuha has suffered so much, yet he refuses to give up and curl up away from the world when he so easily could. I have immense respect for him.

About Xianling: You’d be surprised at how good slime and boar tusk can be.

About Xiao: I’ve written down many myths and legends of the yaksha, but sadly I've never seen him in person.

About Verr Goldet: Oh she’s great company! Good business sense, and always polite.

About Gorou: Many people rightly attribute the Resistance’s survival and victories to general Kokomi, but it’s wrong to say general Gorou isn’t a brilliant strategist. He knows how to rally his men against impossible odds, and how to keep them standing against them. I’d follow general Gorou into battle any day.

About Ayaka: Ayaka seems so lonely, I hope when this is all done she can have some form of social life.

About Thoma: Thoma’s as cool as he seems. He always has a level head, and solves problems smoothly and without issues.

About Yoimia: KABOOOM!

About Kokomi: One time I was doing an interview of her excellency, to boost morale and draw new members. I intended on asking for her autograph, only for her to ask for mine! I’ve been riding that high for a while now and still ain’t come down.

About Signora: I hate fatui, but without that she has some good qualities: most of her power is her own unlike most other harbingers, and she’s a sharp dresser. Plus she’s actually justified in her choice to join the fatui, not excused, but isolation can justify many crimes in my book. But no matter what I can’t forgive her. She attacked my friend without a chance for him to fight back, and was unfairly cruel. Nothing can justify that, and I will not forgive her as long as she remains unapologetic for her cowardly cruelty.

About Childe: Fatui are scum, but Childe’s probably the best of them: he personally tries to keep civilians and the weak out of fatui business, and he’s only in it to make sure his family lives well. He also is powerful on his own, but most of his strength is the Tsaritsa’s well deserved gifts. Still though, he’s just a single stressful day from losing all his morals. I can’t leave the fate of my homeland to a madman like him, not unless he gets therapy.

About Scaramouche: Scaramouche...that bastard, it’s been five years and he still owes me 30,061 mora.

About the Fatui: The fatui are really just people who are lost or genuinely believe they’re in the right, and while I can sympathize and respect many of them I can't agree nor can I just stand by and watch. The grunts usually aren’t that bad, honestly they’re more like underpaid graduates new to the workforce, but the fighters you see daily? Almost all of them are scum no better than raiders, and debt collectors are the worst of them because they’ll do anything they can to scam you out of everything in their contracts.

About us-commissions: You know, if you’d like to commission a biography it’s 100 mora per ten pages.

About us-inspiration: You’re a font of inspiration for me, ya know that?

About us-fellow rebels: I’ve been with ya enough to know that this path you’re on, the one to find your sis/bro, you’re fighting against something far beyond my ability to deal with. I won’t abandon you, I’ll be here every step of the way.

About us-friends: We’ve been through a lot pal, I’m glad to call you my friend. Please, call me my rebel name: it’s Belgrade, named after the city where some very brave men took their last stand against oppression.

Hobbies: Well you have reading and writing, otherwise? Can't think of anything.

Favorite food: Grilled tiger fish, come get it while it’s hot!

Least favorite food: I really wanna try it, but I can’t have almond tofu. Or any nuts. Closes my throat right up.

Something to share: Hehe, I got embarrassing dirt on all the harbingers. Signora? She has a Tsaritsa body pillow. Scaramouche? He knits sweaters for his pet pig, cute but he hates letting people know. And Childe? Hoo man, the pics I’ve got on him have put a pretty mora on my head.

About me: Hey have you seen my dice? I wanted to teach the mondstadt kids how to play them...hm? What?! No, not gambling! It’s, uh, a tad embarrassing...h-hey look! Literally anything else, let's pay attention to it!

About me II: Alright! These rolls are great, can’t wait to use them next game. I’m so proud of Fischl, so young yet so imaginative. She’s already-ah! T-traveler! What are you doing?..

You know I’m the one meant to be learning the secrets here.

About me III: Back in Snezhnaya, everyone looks down on things that don’t “conform” where even the most rigid of nations like Inazuma have stopped caring. Adults can't play games, men can’t wear dresses, can’t even have a “weird” sense of humor. No laws against it, but being outcasted is...it’s not good…

About me IV: I wish I grew up in Mondstadt. The kids there are so free to be themselves, and the adults aren’t pressured to be nothing more than working hands. It’s not perfect, after all people are rude to Fischl and Benny for being “different”, but it’s better that’s for sure.

About me V: Hey traveler...this is...no it’s not embarrassing. You’re my friend and I have no reason to be embarrassed by wanting to enjoy time with you! Fischl’s going to run a pen and paper dice game, ever played one? It’s super fun, you get to be anything you want really, and it’s a great way to bond.

You will? Great! I’ll help you make a character!

Alexander’s troubles: It’s so hard to find publishers these days. Noone wants an actual plot, they just want twist after twist. What’s up with that?! Shock value is no substitute for characters you love living fulfilling lives.

Happy birthday: Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday you crazy bastard, happy birthday to you! Seriously pal, you put yourself in harm's way every day it seems, we literally met when you were fighting an actual god! Actually, know what? No danger all day! We’re wrapping ourselves in blankets and just relaxing!

Feelings about ascension-intro: woah, somethin’ feels different. I like it!

Feelings about ascension-building up: man, I’m feeling inspired all of a sudden! Hey traveller, give me a prompt!

Feelings about ascension-climax: HA! I don’t know what high I’m riding but I like it, I just finished writing a whole book series!

Feelings about ascension-conclusion: WOO! YEAH! ULRICH MIKAEL KEEPS WINNIN’!-I-I meant Alexand-ah forget it, I’m feelin’ too good to care!

OCs:

About Louis: That crazy inventor guy from Fontaine? I heard he got used by the fatui, damn shame that. Noone deserves to have their heart played with like that.

About Spritefather: You ever heard of Spritefather? I’ve only heard legends, but the fanmail I keep getting tells me that sometimes things are only legendary until someone writes them down.

About the Storytraveler: There’s this woman who travels from universe to universe to fix things, she’s in Teyvat right now. You should meet her, really nice person. But her powers are a bit weird, why does she transform like that? It takes so much time!

_____________________

Tagging: @love-psxlm, @storytravelled, @genshin-obsessed, @golden-wingseos

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin oc

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stuckonstarker · 4 years

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Ocean’s Gift

King Anthony Stark longs for something more. Tonight he will have his deepest desire granted.

| mentioned/implied abuse |

King Anthony Stark sits on the throne. His throne.

It’s silent and cold in the throne room. It’s silent and cold across the kingdom.

The silence began with Maria and Howard Stark’s murder. The coldness began with Anthony’s coronation.

The silence is noticeably absent from Anthony’s mind, though. His thoughts race a mile a minute as he tries to comprehend his parents’ death.

Nausea rests heavy in Anthony’s stomach. He knows the throne is not where he belongs. He’s never wanted the title of king, but his father made him train for it.

When Anthony was younger he would dream of running away from his princely duties. He didn’t have a clue where he’d run to. But that didn’t stop eight-year-old Anthony from staring out his window into the starry night, looking for an answer to a question he didn’t know he had.

Despite the lingering resentment Anthony has toward his father, the death of his parents hurt.

It feels like a rug has been pulled from underneath his feet. Anthony can hardly bear walking past their portraits everyday. Being reminded that he’d never see them again.

The murderer still hasn’t been found.

The kingdom’s people are growing anxious. With the murderer on the loose and Anthony as their newly appointed king, the people are going through many changes.

They don’t believe in Anthony’s ability to care for a kingdom. That’s all anyone ever talks about anymore. Either the murder or the incompetence of the new king.

He agrees with them.

There are few things Anthony is good at. Running a kingdom doesn’t make that list by a longshot.

It’s due to a number of factors, but mostly, Anthony longs for more. Wistful thoughts have plagued him since he was a young child.

He’s always felt like there was something - or someone - greater out there waiting for him.

His father told him that those were tales. Howard told him many things but most importantly:

“Stark men are made of iron, Anthony, we do not cry. Do you understand?”

Young Anthony nodded, a stuffed animal held tightly in his grasp.

“Answer me when I talk to you,” Howard commanded.

“I understand, father,” Anthony said, voice small with fear.

Anthony shakes his head, hoping to shake the memory away from his forefront.

Howard was a cruel man when he was alive. The way he treated Anthony and Maria was an open secret. But the man was a good king. That’s the only thing people have focused on after his death.

What a great king Howard Stark was.

They never see Anthony crying into his duvet wondering why he was never good enough.

The sky is filled with stars.

They reflect in the ocean like little sparks of silver.

Anthony looked out with a big smile. His stuffed animal held tightly to his chest.

He wondered who else might be looking out into the night sky. He wondered if he’d ever meet that person. He wondered if that person would love him just as much as he loved them.

Anthony hates silence.

It breeds thought. Thought breeds remembering. Remembering breeds pain.

Anthony hates silence.

Sometimes, though, when all is silent, he can hear something - or someone - just beyond the ocean shore.

He ignores it most of the time. But it appears whatever is calling to him has grown tired of being ignored.

This time, when Anthony hears it, it’s loud and distinct.

It’s a song.

Anthony’s quite unsure of the lyrics, or even what song it is, but it’s beautiful nonetheless.

The notes are delicate in the air. The singing is soft and consoling.

It sounds like someone calling out to him. But he doesn’t know why.

Anthony turns to his guards. They look unphased. He briefly wonders if they hear it too.

Anthony asks, “Can you hear that?”

The guard waits for a second then replies, “What are you hearing, Your Majesty?”

“Someone singing,” Anthony answers.

The guard shakes his head, “I do not hear singing, Your Majesty, I can go look if you wish.”

Anthony hesitates, the soft singing fading away, before he says, “That won’t be necessary, I think I’m just a little tired.”

The guard nods.

The singing is gone.

Silence takes its place.

Anthony stares at his hands, quite unsure of what he should do next or if he should even do anything at all.

There’s a quiet desire in his heart to run to the ocean and meet the voice. To travel the seas until he finds what was calling to him.

The desire steadily grows stronger.

But Anthony can’t go past the kingdom’s walls.

He’s the king, after all, and - no matter how much he may hate it - it is his responsibility to take care of the kingdom.

Maria would want Anthony to be the kind-hearted king Howard couldn’t dream of being.

So, for now, Anthony sits on his throne.

But, he doesn’t have to stop dreaming.

He can still dream of a life where he runs to the ocean and finds what he’s looking for. Anthony isn’t sure what that is, yet, but he hopes one day he will find out.

Then, the silence is shattered with James Rhodes’s entry. His footsteps are heavy, the ring around the throne room.

James has a glint of pity in his eye when he looks at Anthony, ever since his parents died.

It sends a sick feeling through Anthony’s stomach. His fingers are shaking. He can’t get them to stop.

“Yes?” Anthony asks.

James bows, “I am worried about you, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t have to address me like that,” Anthony says, “you’re one of my closest confidants.”

James doesn’t falter, “It’s only befitting. You are the king.”

No response.

James sighs, “I am worried about you, Anthony. I don’t want to see you befall an unfortunate fate.”

“That would be a shame,” Anthony says.

His eyes are distant, his fingers absent-mindedly tapping against the throne’s armrest as his left leg bounces.

Anthony’s mind feels as if it’s filled with fog.

He says, “James, will you do me a favor?”

James hesitates, “What is the favor?”

“If anything should happen to me,” Anthony begins, ignoring the unpleasant expression on James’s face, “I trust only you and Virginia to take care of this kingdom.”

James nods, “Of course. But, may I ask, why would anything bad happen to you?”

“You may not ask that,” Anthony says.

James sighs and, after another tense moment of silence, leaves.

Anthony’s heart pangs with guilt, but he knows it’s for the best. He’s not sure of how he knows.

He’s not sure of much these days.

Anthony often wishes he were a better friend to James. The man certainly deserves it after all Anthony’s put him through.

James was the only person to ever understand Anthony’s yearning.

Well, he didn’t really understand it, but he accepted it.

Anthony hates how his heart drags him from the kingdom. There are many people who deserve more than he can give. His desire for more has built a brick wall between him and the ones he loves.

James’s footsteps fade into silence.

Anthony is alone.

He sits in the throne room, silently contemplating the future.

He looks out of the window, the sun is beginning to set.

Anthony decides to head to his bedroom where he can fear the future more comfortably.

The long corridors that lead to his bedroom are lined with intricate golden details. The walls are covered with ocean-view windows.

It’s one of the only things Anthony appreciates about his castle.

Sometimes, when he is desolate, he’ll look out to the ocean tides as they crawl against the shore and he’ll hear them speak.

He doesn’t know what they say and, yet, he can still understand them.

Anthony’s bedroom is grand; decorated with deep reds and golden accents, he has only the finest silk sheets with a beautiful tapestry.

His room is one many people would envy, but it only feels Anthony with a deep sense of emptiness.

He doesn’t focus on that for long, though, as he changes from his royal attire to satin silk pajamas. It is considerably more comfortable and much more befitting for a crisis, Anthony thinks.

He sighs, stepping out onto his balcony.

The spring air is fresh, crisp against Anthony’s face. He inhales, he feels much more at home when he’s overlooking the ocean’s breeze.

The sky is a sunset of tangerine to a deep, royal purple. It’s beautiful to look at and Anthony briefly ponders who else might be gazing at it.

Stars dare to peek out from the sky.

He envies the stars, so high above, he wonders if they see everything. He wonders how much they know and if they would ever be willing to share that knowledge.

Soon enough, the entire sky is encased in a diamond sky.

Anthony peeks down below, where the ocean calmy rests. The night sky makes the ocean black, but stars bounce off the water’s reflection giving the ocean a glittering appearance.

He longs to go out into the world, to be freed from the pressures placed on him. The shackles of the Stark name had dug into his wrists for years and he wished to be released.

There is a dull ache in his heart.

But Anthony’s heart never mattered. It didn’t matter to his father or mother, or to the kingdom, so it certainly doesn’t matter now.

Late at night, though, with the moon as his only witness is it still a sin to long for something more?

He takes in a deep breath and looks down at his hands, white from the gripping the railing so hard.

The sky above him is fully overtaken by the night.

Anthony prefers the night. It’s calmer. The bustle of the town slows to a halt, the overwhelming noises of the day mellow out. All the bright, oppressive colors soften to gentle flame-lit pastels.

He can hear the waves below him slowly turn into a melody.

The silence morphs into a gentle lullaby. The voice is calling to him softly, consoling his pain and healing his wounds.

The longing to chase after the singing leaps up into Anthony’s throat, choking him with its intensity.

His heart screamed for him to run to the ocean. Anthony wanted, he wanted so viciously that it scared him.

It’s a faint hum that’s carried from the ocean. It’s calling to him.

The words aren’t distinct but they comfort Anthony. It speaks to his soul. For the first time, he feels complete.

The fog from his mind lifts.

Anthony reaches out and whispers, “I can hear you.”.

The singing grows faint.

Anthony can still hear it, but it’s slowly becoming a distant memory. It ignites a spark of panic in his chest. He can’t bear to lose another thing he loves so.

Anthony whispers, “Tell me what I need to do.”

The singing fades to silence.

The world freezes. The tides halt, the stars lose their twinkle, and the air is thick and restrictive.

There is only silence.

Anthony looks out into the darkness.

He’s searching for an answer or, even, a question to ask.

He feels himself begging for something, a sign to continue.

Then, he hears it again. A small song gifted from the ocean.

It has a vice grip on Anthony’s heart. It drags him closer and closer to the sea without him moving. It’s promising freedom.

Anthony listens.

“What do I do?” Anthony asks.

The song fades into an angelic voice that whispers: “Follow me.”

Anthony nods, following the singing voice into the darkness.

It feels like walking through a dream.

Every step he takes is light in the nighttime air.

The darkness around Anthony fades into a blur as the singing becomes his flame. It’s like there’s a magnetic pull that’s dragging him to the ocean shore.

Slowly, the singing begins to fade and the world around Anthony defines itself.

He realizes that he’s on the shoreline, water creeping up to his bare feet.

Anthony takes an anxious step back.

Through the distance, the ocean is singing to him. The song is carried through the waves.

Anthony squints, trying to see through the foggy horizon.

Through the mist, a human figure appears. They’re walking on water.

As they come closer, Anthony is able to see their features.

It appears that they are actually a he.

And he is gorgeous, with curly brown hair and wide, brown eyes filled with playful intelligence. His lips look soft and plush to the touch with a pink tint.

He smiles, setting Anthony’s heart aflame.

“Who are you?” Anthony asks.

He says, voice like a harp, “I am Peter, a water spirit. I am here to grant your heart’s desire. Whatever that may be.”

Peter walks up to the very edge, where the ocean meets the land, and then beckons: “Come closer.”

Anthony hesitates, but steps closer submerging his feet in the water.

Peter smiles wider, placing a hand on Anthony’s chest. It feels surprisingly warm having Peter’s hand on his chest. It sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach.

Underneath Peter’s hand, Anthony’s chest glows a bright neon blue.

Anthony smiles, “It doesn’t normally do that.”

Peter smiles, saying, “I know what you desire, Anthony Stark.”

Peter pulls his hand away from Anthony’s chest.

The loss of contact nearly makes Anthony whimper.

Then, Peter leans in and his soft lips press against Anthony’s own.

Suddenly, it feels like heaven has opened up for Anthony himself.

The kiss is chaste, but it’s filled with a gentle longing that Anthony’s been searching for. Anthony’s hands come up to caress Peter’s face.

Peter moans into the kiss, then pulls away.

“Come with me,” Peter whispers.

The words echo in Anthony’s mind but he doesn’t think he could ever say no.

At a loss, Anthony merely nods.

Peter raises his hand and covers Anthony’s eyes.

The sun is slowly rising on a small cabin in the middle of the forest. It overlooks a lake with glittering water.

Inside said cabin are two lovers.

“Tony,” Peter said, his voice was stern but there was a smile on his face, “you’re going make her spoilt.”

Tony shakes his head, “Nope, she could never be spoilt.”

And there’s the lovers’ daughter, Morgan.

She smiles, “I would never ever in a million years dream of being spoilt, pa.”

Peter shakes his head in faux-exasperation, “You two are too much.”

Morgan says, “Like you aren’t the most dramatic person ever.”

Tony snickers, hiding his smile behind a half-burnt cupcake.

“First of all, shouldn’t you be grounded?” Peter begins, “also, I am not the most dramatic person in the world. That award goes to your father over there.”

Tony nods, “Yea, kinda offended you didn’t think of me first, Maguna.”

Morgan giggles, “I think you’re both equal.”

“Okay,” Peter says, “now I’m offended.”

Tony couldn’t think of a place better than here. It was his home.

Sometimes, though, he’ll walk outside at night and look up at the starry sky and wonder. Then, Peter will walk up to him and lay his head on Tony’s shoulder. And they’ll look up at the stars together.

And they’ll wonder together too.

#starker #fluff #angst #starker fluff #ironspider #max writes #please read pls

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oikaw-ugh · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu but Noragami AU (not acurr8 but really self-indulging)

a/n: Recently just finished Noragami S2 and am now currently reading the manga and I just can’t get enough so...

Bokuto x Akashi

Bokuto is definitely a shrineless god before he met Akaashi.

Like Yato's case, he shifted from one regalia to another because divine instruments couldn't handle how laid back of a god he is.

Akaashi, however, is a new spirit and was found by Bokuto (like Yukine) & BOY, IDK HOW AKAASHI ENDURED IT.

He's so laid back that Akaashi's human name and vessel name are both Akaashi (since Bokuto does not stick to one clan name) but just with different pronunciations.

Anyhow, w/ Akaashi's guidance, Bokuto slowly gets recognized by people and the other gods, eventually owning a shrine.

Although prosperous, Akaashi is actually burned out from carrying Bokuto's ass from time to time. As his exemplar and the only regalia, he manages the shrine, checks the wishes, maintains his god's image, keeps in contact with other gods occasionally.

As an easy-going god, oftentimes Bokuto accepts shady or weird mortal wishes in which Akaashi suffers a lot. Although he manages the wishes, odd wishes slips from his sight from time to time.

"Bokuto-kami, how many times did I tell you that we don't take cooking wishes?"

Bokuto: "But she paid for it..." 👉👈

"Bokuto-kami, we don't cook."

Bokuto: 🥺

That damn look of his does not work at Akaashi anymore. It used to when he was still new but NOPE, he's not taking any of his whining stares.

To be fair, Bokuto is a pretty decent god. Happiness of his worshippers matters to him the most (hence, why he accepts wishes no matter how odd they could be).

One time someone wished for him to search for their lost sparrow and this got Akaashi going weak because HOW UNIQUE DOES A SPARROW LOOK FROM ONE ANOTHER?!

As for Bokuto's relationship with Akaashi, it's doing good. Akaashi knows his limits as a spirit, keeping Bokuto healthy.

Bokuto does not forget to check on Akaashi from time to time as well. He believes that telling everything to the master you serve makes a god-regalia relationship very healthy.

Akaashi begs to disagree though (Bokuto once insisted Akaashi to tell him how he poops-)

Kuroo x Kenma x Lev

Why Kenma and Lev? For no particular reason. I just like it.

Well, Kuroo has been a god for the longest time and knows his shit well in contrast with Bokuto.

He's cool and easy-going. Not to mention, he is also a god you can rely on when you need to get rid with Ayakashis (phantoms).

Kenma has been his regalia and exemplar for the longest time as well and is as cool as his god.

Kuroo is usually laid back and at the same time, very serious (depending upon the situation). He can be very cheeky at times and corny with his words.

Kenma is oftentimes composed. Although lazy, he is actually very organized and logical.

Kuroo, being the cool god that he is, thought to his self one day: "Ah, I should probably get another regalia."

Kenma: ??? Excuse me?

The reason why we have Lev!

VERY CHAOTIC. Totally clashes with Kuroo and Kenma's attitude which makes Kenma scowl from time to time.

Kuroo is rather amused though and has decided to keep Lev with his side.

Lev is a new spirit they found in the streets during a request.

He's very energetic and active for a spirit, honestly.

He loves to pester Kenma. He treats him as his senpai which makes Kenma pissed most of the time.

Lev: "Kenma-san, please teach me how to create a borderline-"

Kenma, with fingers pointed at Lev: "Restrain!"

But despite of that, Lev is very useful when it comes to fighting. He's a very strong regalia that compliments well with Kenma.

As for their god-regalia relationship, it's fine. As their god, Kuroo can immediately sense if something is off with his divine instruments and he does not hesitate to confront them about it.

Which does not happen all the time, though. Kenma knows his limits and he teaches Lev all the things he must remember as Kuroo's divine instrument.

But even when it's not needed, Kuroo insists on having this corny open forum where he, Kenma, and Lev share their sentiments with one another.

Kenma calls bullshit. Lev thinks it's actually important for his growth.

Kuroo before starting the open forum: "Remember that we are like blood in our veins, we must-"

Kenma: "This is stupid."

Lev: "INSPIRING, SHOW STOPPING, JAW DROPPING!"

Oikawa x Iwaizumi

God's divine instrument? More like baby sitter.

Oikawa's regalia, Iwaizumi, has been Oikawa's babysitter regalia for the longest of time.

Oikawa, let me tell you, IS A VERY BITCHY GOD.

High maintenance and is consistently attracting drama from time to time!

Oikawa: "Iwa-chan, did you hear what that child said?"

Iwaizumi: "No."

Oikawa: "He said MY HAIR LOOKS NORMAL!"

Iwaizumi: "... because it is?"

Oikawa: "NO!"

Oikawa throws tantrums from time to time, whining about how the flowers didn't bloom at the date their supposed to bloom, how he woke up with his hair ugly, how the worshippers are not praising his beauty, ANYTHING THAT HE SEES, HE SAYS SOMETHING.

This is really stressful for Iwaizumi, honestly. He's been receiving complaints from other gods about how Oikawa bothers them.

Not to mention, some of his worshippers are declining because of rumors.

Worshipper 1: "I heard if Oikawa-kami is not in the mood when you pray, you'd actually get bad luck instead!"

WHICH IS NOT TRUE in most cases

And his approaches with his worshippers wishes could only be lazy or DRAMATIC.

One time, a worshipper asked for his guidance on his first date, Oikawa and Iwaizumi actually tailed that person on his actual date.

Oikawa: "Iwa-chan, they're walking on the street. Push that boy towards his date!"

Iwaizumi: "What? Why?"

Oikawa: KABEDON!

But on a serious note, Oikawa can be very serious when needed and that gives Iwaizumi the chills because who would expect that from a dramatic god?

Iwaizumi at times like that would either keep his mouth shut or just constantly stare at Oikawa, thinking he's sick or something.

Like, Iwaizumi: "Oikawa-kami?"

Oikawa, looking at Iwaizumi with a serious stare: "What is it?"

Iwaizumi: Nothing 👀

As for their god-regalia relationship, it's normal. They're more of like buddies.

Oikawa would surprise Iwaizumi occasionally, asking him to go out of the shrine at night to drink sake he received as a gift at their roof, looking at the stars.

How dramatic

And he occasionally gives advices to Iwaizumi, in which surprises Iwa since Oikawa doesn't really strike as someone who can give decent advices, really.

Oikawa, drinking his sake: "People can be fleeting for us spirits and gods. But you know what's something that will never leave you?"

Iwaizumi: "What?"

Oikawa: "My beauty."

Kageyama x Hinata

PRIDEFUL. PRIDE PRIDE PRIDE.

Kageyama as a god is really prideful to the point that his regalias give up on him.

And even though he has grown attached, his pride forbids him to ask them to stay.

"Fine! It's not like I needed you that much, anyway!"

Kageyama on the outside: 🤬😈💢

Kageyama in the inside: 😭🥺👉👈

And this is where Hinata comes in.

Desperate, Kageyama had no choice but find any spirit he could see to make as his regalia.

He finds Hinata one day just lingering outside his shrine, took him in because he needs one he was an understanding god.

His relationship with Hinata is CHAOTIC.

They just clash all the time! Somehow, the energetic, cheeky, helpful personality of Hinata just don't fit with Kageyama's indifferent, logical, rational personality!

Hinata: Kageyama-kami, it says don't step on the grass!

Kageyama: Nobody's gonna see us. What's your point? It's fastest if we walk here!

Hinata: It says DON'T. STEP. ON. THE. GRASS.

Kageyama: I said WHAT'S. YOUR. POINT?

Hinata just really knows which buttons to press to make Kageyama angry, you know?

He made him so angry that he was glad he made his vessel name 'BOKE' (take note with the caps please) since he accidentally named him BOKE.

Their bickering just don't stop. They keep on fighting that the neighboring gods just decided to nickname them as 'cat and dog'.

On requests, they don't get along as well! Hinata hates how Kageyama deals with wishes which affects his performance as a weapon.

Kageyama: What are you doing? Don't go dull on me.

Hinata: Not until you tell me you won't kill that butterfly!

Kageyama: It's not a butterfly, it's a phantom!

Sadly, their contradiction also affects their relationship. Hinata, feeling oppressed and contradicted from time to time, would unconsciously sting Kageyama.

Even knowing that it's basically an abomination to sting your master, Kageyama still decides to keep him and would talk it out with Hinata.

He'd approach Hinata when he's doing nothing, sitting beside him but still making sure he's meters apart from him, looking somewhere (definitely not Hinata's face)

Kageyama: Tell me what you're feeling... (he says that in a low tone, too embarassed to hear himself talking in this way with Kageyama.)

Hinata would roll his eyes and admit what's it that's bugging him anyway and Kageyama would low key work on it the next day (getting stung is no joke)

That basically explains their god-regalia relationship.

#haikyuu imagines #noragami imagines #noragami scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #bokuaka #kuroken #iwaoi #michiru kagemori #lev haiba #bokuto koutaro #akaashi keiji #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kenma kozume #kageyama tobio #Hinata Shoyo #honestly i think i've been possessed when writing this #but i love it nonetheless #bokuto i can be your hiyori if you want #please

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ghostmartyr · 4 years

Text

SnK 129 Thoughts

This month: More people screaming and dying.

Next month: Probably more people screaming and dying.

Eventually: Just a whole heck of a lot of screaming.

(Not dying because there will be no more people.

They will be dead.)

Sooooooooooooooo.

Uh.

This chapter has people screaming and dying in it.

As well as the continuing strangeness of actively rooting for Reiner and Annie.

Ayep.

Ding-dong, Magath is dead?

Yet again, we land on the problem of a chapter that is largely self-explanatory, and the perhaps deeper problem of people committing themselves to doing a thing once a month, even if they’re not sure they’re able to do said thing. There’s good stuff here, I’m just hesitant to start talking about it lest it comes out like a random spew of instantly forgettable bullet points.

Since I don’t care, I guess we’ll start with Magath dying.

I don’t care. Moving on!

Theo Magath is a man who has always cared for the children under his command. Even though they’re Eldian, he has routinely gone above the expected amount of effort in securing their safety. He is the one who worries and waits for Reiner, Annie, Bertolt, and Marcel to come home. He is the one who destroys the worst of the military he’s a part of so they can stop depending on titans. He cares.

What a fucking bastard.

Keith Shadis dies with him. After a life of trying to make himself special, putting lives at risk every step of the way, he finds an appropriate time to make his exit. He’s the one who raises every fighter out in the port. He’s the one who has watched as the other instructors kill them so that they can find the ones strong enough to make the cut.

He’s the one who picks Eren up and brings him back to his bed after he inherits his father’s burden.

One thing I do think is important to note, whenever I’m inspired to say, ‘Fuck Marley,’ is that Paradis is not great.

Paradis has child soldiers too. They’re just slightly older.

Paradis fully expects their soldiers to go out and die too. Their consent just skates through needing air quotes.

Paradis has a corrupt government run by self-interest -- until they have a coup.

Magath’s job, his entire career, has been to make the most of the enslaved Eldian lives he’s been handed on a platter. It is his job to train children up to murder people. If they are not good enough at murder, they will be fed to other children.

Shadis feels more comfortable. He’s been a reasonable authority figure for most of the manga, with his worst crimes being in his past, and even that reveal coming with a greater show of humanity than any other displayed that night. He tries to run Eren out of the military before he destroys himself. He worries for the boy, and gives a voice to the struggle of trying to be special when you’re most gifted at fucking up.

Paradis’ military, at the start of the main plot, gets its recruits via shaming teenagers into being willing to die, or starving teenagers into being willing to die.

The primary difference between it and Marley’s system is that in that section of the totem pole, the oppression level is relatively neutral. The wall systems are kind of fucked, the nobility is kind of awful -- but like. Their last genocide was what, two years ago? And it was killing poor people, not people people.

Everyone in Paradis’ military has to deal with the fact that they’re in a shrinking safe space and they’re either going to starve, or monsters are going to eat them. That is the great equalizing force. If their commanding officer fucks up, he is going to get eaten. If the person next to them fucks up, they are going to get eaten.

They are not crouching down, approaching tiny children, and explaining that it is for the good of humanity that they are the ones eaten because their blood is dirty. Anymore.

Fuck Marley. Fuck its internment camps, fuck its slavery, fuck its brainwashing, fuck how it turned Good Eldians and Bad Eldians into war rhetoric. Fuck just about everything it has to offer.

Paradis is fucked up in the spirit of everyone there being equally fucked (unless you’re rich) (or nobility). Marley is fucked up because it’s made being fascist, warmongering assholes a national policy.

So you have two men on a boat waiting to die. They’ve both sent children to their deaths. They’ve both pushed over the lines trying to let their uniqueness carry change instead of doing the difficult legwork it actually takes.

One of them is not an active agent of genocide.

One of them is.

They both have sad feelings.

It is sad.

The important part is however badly they fucked up, the traumatized children they’re leaving behind are about to be more traumatized, and they’ve realized what a bad thing this is.

Only not really because Keith did his job, did his first job badly enough to find a new job, did that new job, and has continued doing that new job up to the point where he’s blowing himself up, and has no particular qualms about any of that since he’s pretty much been acting his conscience the whole time.

I’m lingering on this because you have both people who trained up our primary cast making a choice for the good of humanity, and dying the same way. It is a clear and obvious parallel, and it is being milked.

But it’s one of those parallels that makes me twitchy the longer I look at it. Probably because of that conscience part. These men play the same role, but besides their stages having massive differences, their choices do as well.

Magath’s conscience doesn’t stop him from shouting racist rhetoric at a preteen on a battlefield. In his introductory scene.

Shadis’ conscience, however warped some of the intent is, leads to him quitting and passing his job up to someone more qualified.

...Essentially, Shadis is kind of a bastard for a lot of things, but Magath is a fascist bastard, and continues to be a fascist bastard even when he takes steps to overthrow a fascist regime, and I know and appreciate that Magath realizes this and feels bad about it, but it’s hard not to resent the manga comparing Shadis and Magath so strongly.

Magath’s fucked up a lot. It’s good he admits it.

Shadis feels like one more person who sees death as all he has to offer the world.

In a series that actively opposes that line of thought whenever it comes up, it’s really difficult not to find the whole dynamic frustrating. Yes, the manga doesn’t say these two people are the same. They’re just in the exact same boat making the exact same decision.

Like that other group over in their boat.

Shadis is looking to die. Magath is looking to make a last stand.

I don’t think I’m doing a great job of putting into words why it’s so aggravating for me, except, you know. Fuck Marley. Also Magath helped cause all of this. Keith’s sort of sat around feeling various forms of guilt for years over things he screwed up because he was trying so hard.

Shadis forfeits his life.

Every other time someone with that mindset is ready to die, it’s met with no, you’re not done yet.

Shadis doesn’t get that. He’s done. Magath is the only one there to tell him otherwise, and Magath has his own problems.

There’s a vibe here that these two old teachers have outlived their purpose. Their kids are grown, for better and worse, and they’re the ones who will control the turn of the future. I don’t oppose them making that decision, but in Shadis’ case, it really comes off as him being cool with whatever, now that he’s made his stand.

Ugh. I don’t like it, but articulating why is probably best represented by me sulking and crossing my arms. Artistically, I get it. They’re the same piece on opposite ends of a chessboard.

But they’re different people and aaaargh.

Anyway, we continue the proud tradition of making Gabi cry.

Sorry about your life, Gabi.

In other news, we continue to not have any way to stop Eren.

Like.

At all.

We have an estimate of four days before Eren succeeds in wiping out a continent.

Their only chance of stopping that is powering up an airship, using some of that good ol’ talk-no-jutsu, or killing Eren.

If they take the route of killing Eren, all of the Colossals he’s been ordering on their walk will stop being under his command. Because he will be dead. Meaning that the continent, as well as our heroes, will now have to contend with a wild hoard of Colossal Titans out for a stroll.

Which is bad.

It’s basically where Paradis started out, but worse in every possible way.

Even if they manage to have someone on their team eat Eren, there’s a good chance that OG Ymir might not react well to her savior being axed. There’s a similarly good chance that the ability to use the Founder’s power just won’t be functional.

So if they kill Eren, they will stop having intentional destruction.

Instead, we will have unintentional destruction, of which there will be a lot.

Leaving us with talk-no-jutsu.

When the last attempt at talk-no-jutsu led to Armin punching Eren and being bad at it. And Eren punching Armin and being less bad at it.

Basically, everyone’s really hoping that by communicating with Eren, they can somehow make this all go away. There is no evidence that this will work, and no evidence that any of the added backup plans will do anything but cause different problems, but by golly, they’ve completed step .5 of their 3-step plan to maybe changing their circumstances.

(Step 1: Get Air Boat Step 2: Fly Air Boat To Eren Step 3: Talk Eren Out Of Genocide)

BOY I SURE AM HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS PUTTERING ALONG WITH THAT FORWARD PROGRESS. WHAT CHAMPS. GOOD FOR YOU.

YOU’RE STILL FUCKED.

I AM SO HAPPY THAT WE ARE SPENDING ALL THIS TIME ON A PLAN THAT DOES NOT SOLVE THE FUNDAMENTAL PROBLEM OF HOW COMPLETELY FUCKED YOU ALL ARE.

IT IS NICE THAT YOU ALL FEEL LIKE YOU ARE CONTRIBUTING USEFUL THINGS TO YOUR SOCIETY. YOU DO YOU.

YOU ARE NOT ACTUALLY HELPING.

BUT MORE OF YOUR FRIENDS ARE DEAD FOR A GOOD CAUSE.

I’m not upset, I would just really like all of this to feel meaningful. Right now there’s a ridiculous amount of stress and dead bodies going into a goal that could easily end up pointless.

There’s merit to that as a story, but none of that stress lands properly, because the tension of “will they save the day or won’t they” isn’t dependent on what they’re doing here. The ticking clock might be making the characters stressed, but it’s not where the consequences lie.

I will continue to complain about this every month because I can.

In more positive news, Connie is best boi and no one appreciates him they way that they should.

Once upon a time, Reiner bullied Annie into taking a more active role in murdering Marco.

One of the arguments he used to provoke her was that she saved Connie’s life.

Not long after that, Reiner and some other recruits find themselves stranded in Utgard Castle, where a titan gets in and goes after Connie. Reiner charges in, gets his arm chomped on, and through everyone’s combined efforts, the titan gets shoved out a window.

Annie and Reiner both make the choice to save Connie’s life, even though it does nothing to benefit them.

In this chapter, beheaded and missing their arms, Connie swoops in and saves both of them.

The first taste of this technically goes to Mikasa, because she can’t help being a hero. She doesn’t like Annie. Annie is about the only human being whose existence can make her lose her temper. When a soldier gets behind Annie, Mikasa is there to back her up. It’s done casually and smoothly, because Mikasa’s just that good.

We’re still left with multiple shots of Annie staring at Mikasa.

Later followed with her staring at Reiner.

Annie and Reiner are used to being the traitors. They’re the ones their friends have every reason to hate. They’re the ones who spend years living with the victims of a war they brought to their shores. They’ve never expected forgiveness. They’re condemned, and almost welcome it.

Their trio interplay is never great. Reiner is trying too hard, and shielding Bertolt. Annie gets stuck with the grunt work, and knows they’re the bad guys. They don’t get along. They’re comrades, and allies, but their friendship is never portrayed as anything but their last lifeline.

Reiner and Bertolt are friends.

Annie’s the only one who has her fight with the Survey Corps alone.

This time, Reiner’s there, and he’s protecting her.

If you dig into any combination of these relationships, there’s not exactly a shortage of rot. They’ve all hurt each other, and they all know it.

But at the end of the day, they’re all just a bunch of damaged kids looking to be found.

None of the surviving cast is without a shoulder to lean on. They’ve made the decision to be there for each other, and as bleak as circumstances are, Annie’s face spends so much time this chapter shouting that she’s never been able to have that.

Even Magath, who goes off with the intent of dying alone, doesn’t.

There’s still some human warmth left in the world, and that’s what they’re trying to protect.

Please just do it with an actual plan, I’m begging you guys.

Also, Floch gets shot! So that’s nice.

I do not see a corpse.

That is less nice.

Isayama also gave Falco a fucking birdsona titan.

We’re not without things to cheer.

Tune in next month for more screaming and dead bodies.

#Shingeki no Kyojin #SnK 129 #Theo Magath #Keith Shadis #the inherent fuckery of child soldiers #shingeki no spoilers #SnK spoilers #spoilers #tl;dr #chapter post

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