#he fell first he hated humans first but in a twisted and ironic way its HIS gates that are open to humans and not heaven's.

[ahaura]

OH MY GOD SO THOMAS *DID* TECHNICALLY CHOOSE SATAN FOR THE LATTER HALF OF HIS LIFE?

OH MY GOD??????????? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#inbox #i know they probably had to cut stuff and choose what did and didn't go into the movie but like #we were DEPRIVED of this background and this window into his choices and feelings behind his decision to leave the priesthood! #like they said he lost his faith and implied it had to do w his visions but like he suffered a monumental loss and #in his greatest time of need there was only silence so who did he turn to? the one who heard his prayers #and would lend him aid in his time of need and defeat evil (if only to claim evil as his realm) #and then (even if it is hell. whatever hell actually is.) to say 'come home with me' #also the whole 'heaven is closed to humans but hell is open even on christmas' LIKE #he fell first he hated humans first but in a twisted and ironic way its HIS gates that are open to humans and not heaven's. #also them describing hell not as fire but as being out of god's sight does make me wonder what lucifer's realm ACTUALLY was like then. #INSANE MOVIE IS INSANE. some bangers in the script and some actually good questions it asks #but the padding that would have bulked up the story more and made it more tangible (?) was scraped off which is a shame.

[knightfire]

(The Heart’s Proximity RadioHusk AU)

Short: Rise and Shine

Wakefulness pulled at the scattered threads of Husk's brain, and he groaned against the tightness of his eyelids. His mind and body slowly began the arduous process of reconnecting as he reluctantly waited. Nerves twisted and popped as they snapped open the connections to his brain that put him back in waking control of the strange, overly-limbed body he'd been cursed with when he Fell.

Alastor liked to call their demonic forms divinely given. On mornings like this, Husk found himself spiteful, thinking Alastor was a nincompoop with a deep love for abusing language to fit a personal narrative of self-aggrandization.

Deep breath.

He didn't mean that.

He wasn't mad at Alastor; he was just pissed that he felt like shit first thing in the morning. What the Hell was wrong with him today, anyway? Had he slept in a weird position? Could he have somehow turned himself inside out in his sleep?

Husk forced himself to pry open his eyes and registered his surroundings with dull annoyance. He was still in the bedroom, settled among the many pillows atop the bed. He was not inside-out or in what he recognized as a strange pose, but everything hurt. His nest of fluffy cushions felt like a pile of rocks against his bones.

The cat chimera lay still, trying to ignore the discomfort as he got back in sync with his many sprawled limbs. A pain in his hip began begging for his attention, first with mild discomfort and then with screaming agony. It felt like a burning hot knot of twisted wire was trying to bore its way through his pelvis sideways.

If he could fall asleep again, he might feel better, he thought with sour annoyance. Of course, if he could fucking sleep like this, he wouldn't have roused from his dreams in the first goddamned place. A new prickly discomfort began to tap inside his skull, between his eyes. Whatever that was, he wasn't eager to speculate on it either.

Husk attempted to shift his position and bit back a yelp at the vicious, barbed fire iron that jabbed mercilessly against his bones. Goddamn, he was feeling his age plus some this morning, and how!

The feeling brought to mind a run-down hotel suite long ago, a token accommodation he'd resented as much as he'd clung to it in lonesome desperation.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself there. The cushions and pillows beneath him might as well be the torn, lumpy mattress full of broken springs that had been new three and a half decades prior. The dirty walls and floors of the room he'd spent his days in had been filthy and cluttered, covered with the debris of long-gone glory.

It was all garbage.

He kept it because it was all he'd ever accomplished.

"You keep your winnings, boy," his father had often said. "Someday, your winnings will be all you have left."

Fuck, he hated that the bastard had taught him that. He hated that he'd listened. He hated that he'd been born in the first place, on mornings like this. Whatever the size or appearance your soul's physical shell took, your body was only as old as you felt when you were in Hell.

This morning, Husk felt ancient.

Husk opened his sand-filled eyes again, dispelling the unpleasant mental image in exchange for the familiar cradle of reality. He was in his bedroom again, in the home he shared with his husband and son. He was no broken-down human man. He was a half-beast creature, damaged to various extents inside and out, marked with the calling cards of his sins.

His joints moved with twitchy, hitching reluctance when he pushed himself away from the surface below. His wrists ached. His forearms hurt when he rotated his wrists. Shouldn't his soul have fallen to bits long ago? His bones were grating against each other like crumbling concrete when he tried to shift his position. A nerve in his neck lanced down through his lungs when one of his wings made to rise and stretch. It felt like being skewered on a pike! If he'd had the ability, he'd have screamed.

"Fucking wings," he gasped against the torture. The rest of the tirade bouncing around in his brain had to content itself with never reaching open air. He couldn't draw a deep enough breath to speak aloud, and the spiking misery in his skull made thinking complicated.

His tail thrashed in helpless sympathy for his plight, and Husk spared a kind thought toward the appendage. When every bone in his body started to cascade into failure like dominoes made of chalk, the tail was always the last thing to go.

Alastor liked the thing. Maybe it held out as long as it did out of respect for the state Alastor would be in if Husk dissolved completely into dust, regrets, and pain.

One point to the tail: it might not be a complete waste of hellflesh.

Husk settled back into the loathed pull of Gravity and let his mind go blank with relief. The spearing sensation in his hip fluttered reluctantly away with the pulse of his sluggish heart. He'd have to rise in full at some point, but it wouldn't be right now. He had to get the feeling of existing settled down to something resembling bearable before he tried to get out of bed.

The leftover twinge in his upper back danced its way up and down his ribcage before exploring its way down Husk's spine. Maybe it was looking for its friend that had been jabbing him in the hip?

The spike of discomfort between Husk's eyes settled into a dull, steady beat. It wasn't lessening, but it wasn't rising. Small blessings, the acerbic demon reminded himself. The Almighty hadn't abandoned him in full just yet.

His ears were twitching. What in the wide world of torture was wrong with them? Husk's attention focused, analyzing and categorizing the irksome racket. He bit back a yowl of aggravation as he registered the distant Sound that had reached him.

Alastor was downstairs singing Minnie the Moocher at the top of his lungs. The refrain of "Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi! Ho-dee ho-dee ho-dee ho!" slid deviously past Husk's mental blocks to settle into his brain, where it would probably spend the rest of the day.

Husk fumbled for a pillow and pulled it over his head with a groan. If he ignored it, maybe it would go away. It certainly couldn't get any damn worse.

When the noise finally faded away, Husk let the pillow drop from his grip. Ugh, finally. Al must have finished the song and moved on to some new mischief. Maybe breakfast, if Husk was lucky. There was a faint aroma of peanut oil and cooking batter. The chimera sniffed at the scent, wondering how it didn't smell right for beignets. Maybe Al was making Calas? As he focused on what might be on the menu, the ache in his back faded, forgotten.

Another voice started a song downstairs, and Husk's thoughts left rice fritters. His son was singing something now, voice chanting words in one octave, then another, then a duet that became a trio as Alastor laughed and applauded. The kid's talent with his voice was something; Husk reflected with pride and admiration- until he recognized the song. Like the first one, it had burrowed its way into his prefrontal cortex to begin playing its annoying-as-shit chorus on a loop.

"Are you singing goddamned MMMBOP in this fucking house!?" he howled, launching himself from his bed and stomping for the upstairs hallway.

In the kitchen below, Chance and Alastor looked up at the ceiling in unison at the scream. The teenager, still singing in triplicate tones, spun in place and winked at his father. Alastor chuckled fondly and returned to dropping balls of batter into the hot oil of the pan.

"Well! Victory is yours today, it seems! I wonder if you'll survive it?"

Chance's song faltered at the malicious, conspiratorial grin on his father's face, and he burst out laughing at the threat. Husk's approaching, thunderous footfalls failed to send the boy packing; instead, he slid into one of the breakfast nook's chairs. Situated primly at the wooden table, he spooned a glob of sweet jam into the waiting cup of cream and a dash of coffee there. By the time Husk arrived at the table, full of spry vitriol for their morning antics, the teenager was halfway through his unholy concoction.

"Good morning, my darling one! So good to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today,” Alastor sang out as Husk glared sour daggers at their precious and very amused son.

The tension in the chimera's body fell away as if Husk had physically dropped it all. He reached for his own chair, defeated.

"You're both menaces," Husk sighed, accepting a hot mug of pure black bean juice. "You're both menaces, and there oughta be a law against it. Especially this early in the morning!"

"It's half past!" Chance objected, accepting a freshly-cooked fritter to drown in the mired dregs of his drink. With a matter-of-fact expression, he continued. "You know the rules, Mama. If the day keeps you down, we get you up!" So saying, he crushed his food into an aromatic, if disgusting, sludge with his spoon before scooping a portion into his mouth.

"Yes, by force if necessary!" Alastor agreed. He pointedly ignoring the culinary abomination sullying his unfortunate breakfast table to serve Husk a plate of open-faced fritters and a thick slice of hand-cut bacon, all steaming with his flavorful devotion. "I'll add today's song to the strike list! Enjoy your meal, love! I'll join you both in just a moment!"

As Al bustled off to mark down the winning musical performance of the day to the growing exclusion list inside the spice cabinet, Husk stared down at his food. It was precious stuff. Everything around him was utterly, indescribably priceless.

He couldn’t so much as reach for the butter dish at first. He didn't move until his husband seated himself and began bickering lightly with their son over his casual table manners. Surrounded by their familiar, loving chatter, Husk's soul felt warm, light, and content.

He felt so young at heart, so cared for.

How had he ever struck it so Lucky?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel alastor #radiohusk #hazbin hotel au #hearts proximity au #radiohusk chance #radiohusk au #fan character #fankid #alastor x husk #hazbinhotelhusk #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #husk #Alastor #your regular morning mayhem #wakey wakey husker

[psychewritesbs]

Hi....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from Tokyo Babylon? And why do you love them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the series? Thanks.....

HOLA! Thank you for your patience, I really wanted to give this a lot of thought but Jujutsu Kaisen dropped a massive twist so this took me a lot longer to get back to you. Without further ado...

Favorite TB characters

4. Tokyo

I don’t necessarily have any super insightful reasons for it other than just loving Tokyo. Also, this post does a fantastic job of introducing Sei-chan as a metaphor for Tokyo that I highly recommend you read.

The thing is that Tokyo is just... 

Larger than life? 

Intoxicating?

Exhilarating?

I’m a big city girl, and I’ve been privy to have visited a few of the most iconic and most populous cities in the world... Mexico City, NYC, Lima, Bangkok, Vancouver... but in my eyes, none compare to Tokyo. Ok maybe Mexico City, but that’s because I’m biased af by tacos and my people.

That said, I am a big fan of stories that feature cities as a sort of background character that defines the context of the story and serves as a container for it simultaneously. i.e. Your Name and Weathering with you by Makoto Shinkai. But I like that CLAMP takes it a step deeper by creating Sei as a metaphor for Tokyo as a corrupting force.

Of course, we also can’t ignore that CLAMP linked Tokyo to the ancient city of Babylon, thus implying that Tokyo and its inhabitants have become corrupted by their own ego’s baser humanity. Ironically, the ego is not necessarily “evil” or a “bad thing” in and of itself.

So it’s an interesting dichotomy given Subaru’s exalted spiritual role within the story and how Tokyo is considered a sort of sacred “place” upon which the fate of the world hinges in x/1999 and other non-CLAMP manga.

Not to mention the whole idea around God taking away humanity’s ability to understand each other--it’s almost foreshadowing for how Subaru and Seishiro’s dynamic evolves.

3. Sumeragi Hokuto

This girl.

Hokuto is one of my favorite female characters in manga. At first, you get the impression she’s just Subaru’s appendage because she is his twin--a sort of person who is there to be a foil to Subaru’s more sensitive and quiet nature.

And then, CLAMP brings her to life as an individual in her own right in the most magnificent way possible. Not only does she demonstrate depth, but she’s brave, compassionate... idk, this girl is the whole 9 yards and a bit more. 

I think some of my favorite scenes with her are when she spooks Seishiro. It says a lot about her character to openly and brazenly defy a person such as Seishiro.

I hate to admit I don’t spend a lot of time brain rotting about her so I don’t have a whole lot to say about her other than “I adore her” and that I love her chapter, Smile.

Honestly, what’s not to love about Hokuto?

2. Sakurazuka Seishiro

Ok let’s start with the obvious: He’s a massive idiot and a sinister creep, and I love him all the more for it.

Also, his love language is torture so... it explains a lot.

Basically, Seishiro is a conundrum. When you re-read TB and you know what goes down in x/1999, you kind of have to start to wonder about his sense of self.

Seishiro, as a character, walks a fine line between who he pretends to be and his temperament. Even though he puts on a specific mask in his interactions with the Sumeragi twins, Hokuto always knew he was pretending and even Subaru always expressed his desire to get to know the real Seishiro--thus implying he sensed something was off.

But that’s just it. Personality and behavior ≠ temperament. As humans we are multidimensional beings and those are but three aspects of being.

Also, this is where it gets complicated with him because he can pretend to exhibit certain personality traits or behaviors all day long, but his unchanging temperament is quite another thing. I’ve personally have always felt like it is Sei’s temperament what Subaru latched onto and fell in love with even if Seishiro made it a point to hold back and restrain the whole of his true nature from Subaru.

It’s almost like the Seishiro Subaru fell in love with existed at the intersection between Seishiro the cruel bastard that we know him to be, and Seishiro, the soul.

As for Sei, my best guess is that the same was true for him and that his ego mind/personality could not hold the tension of being inevitably attracted and drawn to Subaru’s temperament. The whole personality dichotomy between them was, in the end, just an excuse for Seishiro to remain in control of a situation over which he had no control.

As has been said multiple times in the fandom, the fact that Sei-chan even made the bet to begin with, is proof that he had already lost it.

Dammit Seishiro why can’t you just be normal ffs?!

That said, I love Seishiro both out of compassion for the tragedy of his character, AND as a clinical study on someone who is a total nutcase. 

Honestly, that’s one of the things I love the most about him? He’s SUCH A CREEP and just can’t be normal about Subaru.

1. Sumeragi Subaru

My favorite is, of course, Subaru.

I was talking with a fellow Pisces I recently met about a few Pisces characters, and in their own words: "I understand exactly how his fucked up little head works”.

So... I love Subaru because of who he is as a character and also because "I understand exactly how his fucked up little head works”.

Subaru is ethereal. Not of this world but in it. He’s soft and gentle and kind. But he’s also a bit of a liar and self-loathing and lacks boundaries.

Basically, Subaru is a masterclass in maladaptive empathy and compassion. This is not to mention that Subaru carries the burden of “the chosen one” and feels at odds both with his role and with his place in the world because of the exalted spiritual powers that he was born with. 

One of the things I really appreciate about him as a character is the symbolism that defines him as a character. That is his zodiac sign, Pisces, the last sign of the zodiac which is often associated with Christ Consciousness in esoteric interpretations of the sign’s symbolism.

So to me, Subaru is someone who unconsciously absorbs “negativity” and transmutes it into “light”. But in the end, there’s only so much Subaru’s human ego can handle, especially after Seishiro enters into the picture and does #the thing.

Now, apparently Christ Consciousness is also about unification and wholeness. Given Sei and Subaru represent the yin and yang, and bringing back the Babylon metaphor where God punishes the citizens in Babylon by taking away their ability to communicate... well... they’re totally written in the stars.

Anyways. So the thing about Subaru’s self-loathing is that it defines a lot of his actions and the way he thinks.

The last time I read TB from start to finish I didn’t create psychological distance between him and me, and as a result I spent the whole day lamenting the utter meaninglessness of life and existence. It’s not a pretty place to be so I kind of stay away from TB and keep a safe distance from “Subaru states of mind”.

Favorite TB Moments

In no particular order...

1. Tokyo Tower

One of the other things I feel influenced Subaru’s interest in Seishiro was that Seishiro “understood” him. Again, I may not be Subaru but I know how his fucked up little head works--perpetually misunderstood is my middle name. So to meet someone who (deeply) understands is like finding an oasis in the Sahara.

In this chapter we see them both disagree and meet in the middle about fundamental values. I am not sure if Subaru was already a nihilist at this point in his life, but he’s certainly starting to ask questions to give meaning to the experiences he has. 

The problem is that he trusts Seishiro bahaha. Oh God... Seishiro the nihilist giving life advice. The way I see it is... Subaru wouldn’t have become a nihilist if the inkling wasn’t already there.

Not sure if Seishiro influenced this or just fanned the embers of nihilism that were already burning inside of Subaru. After all, Subaru’s mental health was already not the best due to his work as an onmioji.

2. Don’t underestimate Subaru

Subaru is someone who on first impression is gentle and soft and quiet, not the most masculine traits or temperament if you think about it. In addition, if your lifestyle revolves around Western or individualistic values, then these traits are typically also perceived as weakness.

The reason I love to see Subaru demonstrate the opposite of his usual state of being is because it demonstrates that softness and kindness and strength can coexist.

In other words, he might not look it, but he can and will kick ass when needed. 

What I love the most about scenes of Subaru exerting power over others is that he’s still super kind and gentle about it. 

3. Seishiro’s reveal

I read somewhere in this hellsite about someone pointing out that the genre that defines Tokyo Babylon as a literary work follows the exact formula that TB follows. But alas, I have no idea how to find said post.

Suffice it to say that this is one of the most impactful moments in the story despite being told Sei is a sinister creep pretty much right from the get go.

The twist isn’t that Seishiro is a sinister creep, but rather the bet that Sei made with Subaru, and that’s what ultimately cuts deepest.

I have to say that from a writing perspective, this writing device is pretty cool because you’re basically distracting an audience with what you want them to focus on, and then you reveal the truth about that distraction and how that changes the story.

I’d say it’s a good attempt at a plot twist. And that’s actually one of the things I love about it is how the reveal is timed to Subaru’s own awakening to his sense of self and identity... just in time to have it shred to pieces by Seishiro’s little bet that he had already lost.

Nanase (CLAMP’s writer) is a sadist and I love her all the more for it.

Also the way Seishiro is depicted as a high schooler is total creepster on steroids...

4. Hospital scene

Do I like this scene for the out of context innuendo? Yes.

Do I love that Seishiro’s facade is starting to fall away and he can’t keep his hands off his prey? Yes.

AND this scene is also so loaded. I like to think that seeing Subaru cry was a shock to Seishiro’s ego so large that he had to create distance between them to establish control.

Like... he just couldn’t wait to get Subaru out of that hospital room or otherwise he might strangle him to death because his love language is torture.

Again, he lost the bet the moment he came up with the idea. Almost like he was trying to convince himself that what he experienced wasn’t the absence of “I can’t love” the whole time.

5. Sumeragi twins

The love and affection they have for each other is so beautiful...

I think it’s easier to see how much Subaru needs Hokuto. But Hokuto needed Subaru just as much.

And that’s that! 

TA-DA! Thanks for your patience once again anon and for inviting me to brainrot about Tokyo Babylon <3.

#ask the mental gymnastics anime girl

[azurefishnets]

AO3 Profile Fandom: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective Words: 1016

Summary: Cabanela waits for the paramedics. Cabanela waits for Jowd. Cabanela waits for death.

Cabanela really, really hates waiting.

Also, people need to stop making him laugh.

"Throw a battered Cabanela--physically or emotionally or both--at Jowd. He's the immovable rock; he can take it." W-well. It's ch.15 bait, you see. Happy? Ghost Swap??? to youuu, dear @siverwrites!

It hurt to laugh.

But there Jowd was, the immovable man, doing just that in lieu of his best friend. It was the greatest gift Jowd had ever given him; Jowd had come here first. He’d taken the choice to live first back into his hands. He’d taken the last gifts the unstoppable Cabanela could bestow in this life. What more could a man who followed the spotless path ask? He’d saved him and he’d likely destroyed him again.

The besplotched hero could stride out into the last night of the world because someone had left him a clean and tidy way to do so. It was something to be proud of.

Except.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. There was so much more that had to be done, so much more that Cabanela needed to say. Well, wanted to say. So he should just say it, surely, while his heart still beat and the sound of the name could hang lovely in the air.

“Jowd.”

His vision was getting dimmer, but he could imagine the look he was getting from the room’s only other human occupant. All right, fine, it wasn’t a lovely name. It was a heavy name, a name that thudded into the still air of the room like a boulder. But it was still lovely, because it was his.

“Jowd’s gone.”

The voice was flat, no-nonsense. The fingers binding his wounds and stripping away the ruins of his coat were gentle, but the sounds hung too loud in the air. He sounded a little choked, as if he were struggling to get the words out

“I know, man,” Cabanela said, his eyes squeezed shut. “Indulge me, baby. Could I get some tea?”

“Probably not a good idea. You have some internal damage and they may want to get you straight into surgery.”

It hurt to laugh. 

“Sure,” Cabanela said instead, twisting his mouth in an ironic smirk. “They’re gonna stitch me right on up, nothin’ like a few scars. Just let me bike riiight on over to the hospital.”

A sigh. “Lovey, if you would.”

Cabanela felt the familiar, careful weight settle on his chest. Well, he certainly wouldn’t dare to unsettle the lady. 

“The ambulance is on its way. Just be still.” The fierceness he heard surprised Cabanela. Surely that wasn’t concern for him. It was Jowd, always Jowd, that needed the concern. The caring. Cabanela could, as always, keep his own nose clean.

“Yeah, yeah, baby, you know me. Not movin’, nothin’ like it.”

“When you’re injured to the point that you are, you’ve got that right.” Footsteps, as the other man moved away. Lovey cooed, gently. It sounded like a name.

Jowd.

Lovey stayed. A little time passed. A junkyard required attention and so its supervisor attended it. And Cabanela…ached. There was a Jowd in his head, a ghost that was Cabanela’s alone, and Cabanela passed the time talking to him. He wasn’t sure any longer whether it was aloud or not, but still he could move his mouth if nothing else.

“Solved the case at last, old friend,” he began, a little tentatively. “Is it enough?”

“Enough for what?” Jowd’s familiar warm rumble. Cabanela’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. 

“For you, man. To move on.”

“Ha ha ha! You ask a lot of me to move on without you.” Cabanela’s fingers twitched and he raised them in a shaking caress to the air, to his Jowd’s chest, beyond caring what anyone in the room might think.

“Cruel to tease me, baby, even if you’re imaginary. I know you won’t have any problems.”

A torpor spread along his limbs, weighing him down even more than the living one on his chest. It felt as though he was being gathered in. Unheard, a pigeon squawked in alarm. The red lights flashed along white stripes in the road as the ambulance rushed to him. And his Jowd picked Cabanela up and held him close.

“I’ll have all the problems if you don’t make it,” his Jowd said, the words shivering through Cabanela’s limp body. His head dropped to Cabanela’s, his beard warm and scratchy along Cabanela’s jawline. “Stay here. For once in your life, wait for me.” 

It hurt to laugh.

“Heh. Been doing that along… old friend…” In the world, his hands drooped to his sides and he sagged. Paramedics swarmed. And yet, someone had his back. There was warm breath against his temple. A soft kiss, a cold breeze, a caress full of warning. Not Jowd. Who… ?

“Then, please, wait a little longer,” she whispered in his ear. “Please save him one more time by saving yourself. For your sake and mine…”

“Alma… I’ll… I’ll tryyy….” His heart was thudding heavily in his chest, like footfalls. Like a name.

Jowd. Jowd.  Jowd.   Jo–----

“Fools, you’re losing him!” Sharp voice and cold hands and bright lights and pain. Pain.

He could have gone right then, to where it didn’t hurt and the Jowd and Alma in his head stood tall and beautiful and full of light, inviting him into their embrace. But somehow, Cabanela fought back to the pain anyway. Not yet. The real Jowd still needed him and he could and would keep moving to the end of the world. Time to rest? Ha!  

It hurt to laugh. 

But he was alive to do and that helped him struggle back to consciousness as the paramedics strapped him onto a stretcher and rolled him into the waiting ambulance. He twitched a hand at Lovey and her human in a parody of the jaunty wave he’d given Jowd on the way out the door.

It could hurt all it wanted to. The pain could keep coming and he’d welcome it, for the sake of the important lives in his charge. Cabanela kept on anyway. What choice was there?

Somewhere, he thought Jowd might be laughing. And so, he’d stay. He’d stay until the world ended, for the sake of laughter that fell into the world like boulders, and then, together, they’d move on.

It hurt to laugh. But Cabanela smiled with Jowd anyway, and waited.

#ghost trick #ghost swap 2022 #fyeahghosttrick #siverwrites #writing af

[summerrainwinterbreeze]

Green tea and honey (Chapter 1)

Pairings⇻ Tiger hybrid! Beomgyu x Reader

Genres⇻ Fluff, mild angst

Warnings⇻ Unedited, Unbeta'd, Flashbacks, ptsd, mentions of death, blood, violence, kidnapping, unauthorised experimentation, beomgyu's point of view, depressive episode, body dysmorphia, beomgyu is traumatised,

Word count⇻ 1.7k

Synopsis⇻ And even when the sun falls and the night rises, when darkness hunts like feverish hounds starved and brooding, in the light is where I find you.

A/N⇻ Took way too long for way too few words. Nonetheless, I had to give something to excuse my absence. Will this cut it? I surely hope so.

He remembers how the first scream tore his throat bloody, how those that had followed were like phantom hands forcing salt into the wound.

He remembers the obscene snap and crack that rang brightly through the thick air when they twisted his tail, bending it at all the wrong angles.

He remembers the sharp tang of iron trickling from his busted lip, along his tongue, the saline taste a welcome.

He remembers how they loomed over him, faces blurred with shadows, indistinguishable against the dark of night. They laughed. A deep, hateful sound. They laughed at what he was, what he had become: A meek, writhing thing of ears and a tail of varying shades of auburn and copper, scarred by black stripes, his irises now burning pools of honey. A hybrid. Tiger.

He remembers the brooding ache that exploded in his jaw when milky canines sluiced past his gums, lips curling to a snarl. They'd kicked him then, and fat clusters of orange shot from his skin, talons digging into the cold concrete, streetlights baring blazing golden light upon him. He didn't feel it. Didn't feel anything around him. Solely the bright-hot pain rending him from within when the beast had churned, claws and fangs and savage will shredding his flesh, twisting his bones as deadly crack after crack sounded, bounced off of the empty walls.

He remembers having no control, grasping at himself desperately, like he was being sliced in half, like a piece of cloth being pulled apart with a sickening tear.

He remembers the clang of metal on the damp, dirty ground, gasps around him like a butterfly's kiss, then the endless growls and vicious roars that had spilled from him once the transformation had completed, the brutal, endless killing, body drunk on adrenaline -- fear. Blood spilling and staining and the final breath from the final body as it fell.

He remembers the empty exhaustion when his body was forced from tiger to human form, limp and cold and greedily sucking breath after breath into his shock-soaked lungs.

He remembers clumsily fumbling for his phone in his pocket.

He remembers you being the first person he called.

He remembers being proud of you, how brave you were, how hard you tried to keep the worry and concern and pain from your voice. He remembers leaning into it, feeling you next to him through the barrier the screen provided. Voice call, screen dark, sure. But you were there. You rubbed soothing circles onto his skin, your touch warm, your voice light, your presence his only comfort, keeping the trembling, the darkness, at bay.

He doesn't remember passing out, just waking up to you, face drawn to wariness, hurriedly shaking him, begging him to stand, scanning the yawning street from left to right, refusing to look at the fresh corpses surrounding the both of you.

He remembers, barely, dragging his sleep-slurred body to your car, dipping in and out of slumber as you brought him home. Your home. His home.

He remembers clinging to you, crying, shaking when the shock was over and the remorse, the pain, the anger, the fear, poured in. He told you about the laboratory, its bright white lights and dull concrete and chlorine saturated scent, about how they'd kidnapped him a few weeks ago, it being the reason for his disappearance. Them, the restraints, syringes, how he'd broken out. Pure luck is what it was. Luck and stupidity.

He remembers running the next day. This time from you, from himself, from your kindness, acceptance, his blood-soaked hands, his dirtied soul.

And now here he is. Crouched behind the shrubs in your garden, fixed completely on you, pure-hearted, unsuspecting, perfect, you.

He knows that it's wrong. But he's scared. Anxiety-filled and scared. Is it appropriate? Maybe not, but how could he approach you? He left without notice, reason or apology. Could he approach you?

He loves to see you in this state, suspecting that you had just woken up, hair messily freed, nothing but an oversized tee to clothe you. He could pick up your scent from here. Like something tangible upon his tongue, crowding his nose. He thanked every breath, simultaneously suffocating the stirring beast, the primal rumble building at his chest, its need to claim raw and heavy.

He debated it, going up to you, over and over but he couldn't. For every ton of muscle, he was worth, for every life he had taken, for every flesh shredding tooth, he could not move.

So he watched you work from afar, your hands quick and precise, removing pegs and pulling clothes off of the makeshift wire clothesline. A storm wasn't too far off, he could smell it in the air, senses sharpened since the . . . incident. When it hit, he'd have to drag his sorry self to the run-down shed he'd found shelter in a couple days ago, after he ran. He couldn't return to his apartment, they'd trashed it when they took him and even if they had not, he wouldn't be able to stand it, the heavy mental wound was still bloody and gaping, too fresh, too soon.

So he swallows, shuffles forward, then freezes. Again. "You're a fool," he scolds himself, "A worthless fool." But not even that can move his super-glued soles. What if he hurt you? Accidentally. He doesn't have enough control -- over himself, this new form, these weapons that he was now supposed to call his skin, his body. Your empathy couldn't be stretched so far. Or maybe it was pity. Maybe you saw him as a weak, lowly, brute, raw and uncut, ruthless. Maybe your kindness was fear-borne. Maybe eight years of friendship was destroyed within those weeks he'd disappeared, that night you'd found him, a murderer laying asleep amongst the bodies he'd slewn, no longer human yet too clumsy and uncoordinated, to be animal. Amongst humans and creatures, neither would accept him.

But you.

Wonderful, likely ridiculous, extraordinary, you.

He gave a careless glimpse to your house or cottage? The only one in sight for a couple hundred kilometres, the rolling fields, the distant line of forestry, the lake snaking throughout. He heard it all. Every drip of water over moss-coated stones, every bird call, each rustling leaf. He takes it in on an inhale, the constant, crisp breeze, weighted with rain yet to fall, your scent, your glorious, glorious scent, and the distant caress of blooming hydrangeas. On exhale, he stands, rising to his full height, and takes a daring step towards you. Another. And soon enough you're face-to-face, eye-to-eye, and fuck him but he swears that he sees it: a light flutter of relief, joy even, in your eyes. And fuck him and his smile, tight and uncertain, a hand lifted to scratch his nape, an awkward chuckle bubbling at his throat, but he could not be happier to see you again, to discover that the feeling was mutual.

He parts his lips to speak, choking on a greeting, small as it is, and contemplates handing you his entire soul when you take the lead, a sad slight smirk gracing your lips and saying "I thought you were gone for good, Beomgyu."

Visibly, he flinches. That is not his name. It could never be again. Who he was and is now could not be understood. Not by him. Not by anyone else. Beomgyu? The word was a joke.

He forces a smile that doesn't set fire to the kindle within his eyes, doesn't press crow feet into the corners, and in the attempt to lighten, animate his voice, it fluctuates between octaves. "You would miss me too much." He knows that you see right through him. You always had. Extending his hands towards the basket in your hands, he says in a voice more sincere, "Can I help you with those?"

Snagging onto your every movement is not something that he tries to do, rather, something that he can't prevent himself from doing. He traces the bob of your throat, the rise of your brows, and then your award-winning smile when you look down and remember the basket of clothes you hold. He reaches further but a single blink and his hands are red, warm, sticky blood dripping off of his fingertips, slipping beneath his blackened talons. In another blink, it's gone, and nothing but generally pristine skin remains, the occasional scab or bloodless cut from a clumsy, mild injury. A breath retreats to his throat mid-exhale, limbs trembling violently, he stares and stares. "I'm sorry." He flinches when all merriment drains from your face. "I'm sorry." He shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Breathe," you say and he nearly laughs but you repeat the word again and his lungs obey, the first breath a struggle on inhale, shaky on exhale. "It's okay, breathe." A silent command. "There you go."

The trembling simmers, breathing evening out. He sulks at your smile, given not for joy or pleasure but to calm him, to help him. He hates it. He hates that you force it, that you feel the need to, he hates what he's done to you. "I should leave." He catches the downturn of his lips before you can sight it, turning to leave but you clasp his wrist.

"It's not your fault." The words scathe him, boiled with such empathy and sweet understanding, and despite the lack of first-hand experience on your part he can see and feel and scent and taste and hear the intense sympathy you hold, roaring louder than whatever cursed creature tries to seize him. "It's okay. Stay."

So he will. But not without another attempt at a tease to at least shake some of your sorrow. "Sure you got enough room for me?"

"Always." Your bare feet wind through the ankle-length grass, headed to your house. "I drew a bath before I came out. The water should still be warm, if you want it, it's all yours." And for the first time in a long time, his smile is genuine.

#✨summerrainwinterbreeze #🐻beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fanfic #choi beomgyu #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu series #beomgyu reactions #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu drabbles #beomgyu blurbs #txt #tomorrow x together #tomorrow by together #txt post #beomgyu post #hybrid txt #txt series #hybrid beomgyu #tiger beomgyu

[ddarker-dreams]

Out With the Old. Yan Childe x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Brief mentions of injury and blood, typical yandere undertones. Word count: 3.2k. Notes: i absolutely loved writing this!! i never realized how badly i needed a yandere childe that’s so obviously whipped for his darling. :’))

i.

“Dearest [First],

I can only imagine the look that must be on your face as you read this. Don’t be too harsh on me for saying so, but I promise not a day goes by where I haven’t thought of you. Now stop scowling at the letter, it won’t do any good, after all; it’s just a piece of paper. I’d hate to come back home to see that you’ve aged from all that frowning at parchment.

Somedays I wake and fail to notice I’m in Inazuma instead of Snezhnaya. The scenery has its differences, of course, but it’s only when I realize I can’t see you that it truly sinks in. Writing this, I realize your judgment about my honesty only appearing in written form rather than in person is true. You’ve always had a penchant for keeping me in line, haven’t you?

Not that I can blame you.

You’ll be relieved to hear that the reason for my being here turned out to be a simple misunderstanding. There’s no grand coup d'état waiting to unfold amongst the lower ranks, so, unfortunately for me, it turned out to be a waste of time. On the bright side, that means I’ll get to come back home all the faster.

Tonia tells me that you’re doing well and I’m glad to hear it. I know your parents aren’t that fond of me, which is a smart call all things considered, but I hope they’re both in good health. Let me know if they need any help with their shop and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t let them know it was from me, or they might blow a gasket.

When I come home, I wonder if I’ll see your face among the crowd on the pier this time.

At the very least… consider not discarding this letter like the others. Really, I can’t tell who is more stubborn, me or you.

-Yours eternally, Tartaglia”

This is the first letter of his that you’ve bothered reading in some time, as he made a point of mentioning. It’s difficult to identify the exact feelings his handwriting and characteristic word choice inflicts upon you, ranging from relief to exasperation. He has some audacity, refusing to see you in person for months on end, only to carry on as if nothing happened between you.

With the letter in hand, your mind wanders back, hoping to find some hints of where it all went wrong.

You remember the words said to you on that late, fateful winter evening. The confident timbre of his voice then still resonates in your head at random, never muffling despite the years that have passed, ringing as clearly as a bell. Does he ever think about it? It’s hard to say.

“One day,” Ajax, or Tartaglia as he claimed his new identity to be, had told you, “I’m going to conquer this world.”

His breath materialized in front of him as white, vaporous wisps. There’s something about that particularly frigid season that felt like magic, more so than the Cryo Vision wrapped snug around your neck. You bit back a scathing remark and instead focused your energy elsewhere. Your gloved hand raised and hovered just above his split lip, a prominent frown etched onto your face at the fresh wound. Likely the first of many to come, you lamented.

Your Vision pulsated with life and light blue shone through at your command. The tender, bruised flesh on his lip began to close, before it faded away altogether. Tartaglia raised his hand to gently touch where it had been, now nothing but a faint memory.

With that out of the way, you placed your hands onto your hips and gave him a stern look. “I wish you’d stop saying things like that. It’s going to get you into trouble one day.”

He laughed and waved off your concern.

“If only. Things have been so dull lately, I wouldn’t mind stirring up a little trouble.” Tartaglia hummed, much to your displeasure. It was no secret in your quaint hometown of Morepesok that this boy had been spiraling down a dangerous path. Your parents said as much and even encouraged you to break off ties with him. This just won’t do, you thought.

“Ouch!”

You flicked his forehead and offered up your most intimidating glare. “So you are capable of feeling pain, huh? Good. If it keeps you out of fights, then I won’t heal you anymore.”

Tartaglia rubbed the spot and smiled sheepishly.

“You say that, but I’m sure you’d change your mind if I came to you all bloodied and battered. You’re just that kind of person.” When he paused to reflect, you raised an eyebrow and challenged him.

“Now what’s this? I’m what kind of person, Ajax?” You pinched his cheek, much to his vocal displeasure, mischief gleaming in your eyes. “Say it loud and clear this time.”

“The kind that always looks out for others, even those who don’t deserve it.”

Your arms fell limp by your side. At that moment, your heart twisted in a way it never had before. It could only compare to how it felt when Ajax had stumbled back home after missing for three, long days. You weren’t sure if you had heard him right — his eyes widened as did yours like he felt equally surprised — and he rushed to save himself. The flush that dusted over his face was most certainly not from the cold weather.

Tartaglia shot up and made way for the door at a record speed. “I told my old man that I’d be home before dark. He already worries about me enough as is, so... I’ll be on my way. See ya around.”

Your rebuttal was slow as your tongue felt frozen. Tartaglia waved to you over his shoulder and took off, leaving you to wallow in your muddled thoughts. What exactly had he meant by that? Why did his gaze soften and his usually boisterous voice drop in volume?

Questions flooded your mind, questions that wouldn’t be answered for years to come.

ii.

You’ve always found this area of Morepesok to be serene. There’s no buzz of the community gathering, chattering about the latest gossip and notable news, no vendors vying for people passing by to purchase their fresh early morning catch. The surroundings are nothing but peaceful, and most importantly, silent. In the summer, there’d only have been the sound of the rushing rivers that are now frozen over and humming insects.

Twigs and dry leaves crunch behind the tree stump you’re hanging out at, signaling an approaching figure.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Tartaglia sits down next to you, blades of grass rustling against him as he did so. You don’t bother to look up, instead feigning interest in your fingernails, staring at them intently. Anywhere other than his face, which most likely than not would be boasting his trademark grin. Seeing the fake expression that he plasters on daily would only add fuel to the fire that rages inside.

Your lips part after an uncomfortable silence settles in, the atmosphere growing tenser by the second. “So you’re a Harbinger now, huh?”

“You don’t look impressed like everyone else,” He notes, his language notably more tentative than usual. It strikes through your heart, piercing flesh and blood, your fingers curling painfully tight. If he notices, he decides not to comment. Tartaglia gives you the time to process your overwhelming thoughts as if it’d make any of this easier on you.

“How could I possibly be happy about that?” You snap your head, catching how he’s momentarily caught off guard before it’s covered up just as fast. “This… this is going to be the death of you, Ajax. And Archons, the worst part is, I know me saying that won’t matter in the slightest. That death would just be the result of a fulfilling fight to you.”

Your breathing grows erratic, to the point you’re forced to stop speaking to regain yourself. He doesn’t dare utter a single word — uncharacteristically silent — watching your every movement with calculating precision. It’s taking all your strength to keep yourself together, not wanting to come undone in front of him, feeling weak just for showing this much. This is why you were hoping to avoid him, but figures he’d go out of to seek you out.

“And if I don’t die? Would that make a difference in how you feel?” He challenges, tilting his head, voice dipping in volume. “You can be honest with me, [First]. It’s not just that you’re upset about. No, there’s something else.”

He knows you too well and it’s beyond frustrating. Your body language might be difficult for others to read, but not Tartaglia, who picks up on every little nuance with ease.

Your lower lip trembles. “I hate that this is what you’ve become.”

“So that’s it then,” Tartaglia nods his head, once, coming to terms with it as soon as the words left your lips; like he already knew it all along. “I figured as much, but to hear you say it… haven’t you heard of mincing your words before?”

Hugging your knees to your chest, you internally plead with yourself not to let the nonchalant words get to you. It’s his way of dealing with strife to act unbothered, you know this, and still, it strikes deep. What if this isn’t a façade, but who he really is now? That boy you knew and grew up with — Ajax, your dearest friend — he may be physically sitting next to you, but his soul is gone. Whatever happened in those hellish three days changed him forever. Now his flesh and bones are nothing but a vessel urged on by bloodlust.

How ironic, you think. That your Vision lets you heal physical wounds, but not the unseen kind, which runs deeper than any gash could hope to. Maybe you were a fool for thinking you could fix him, revert him to how he used to be like nothing ever happened. Or maybe he let you try just to earn more time together for whatever twisted reason. Knowing that once reality settles in, you’ll go someplace far out of his reach, where he can never get you back. Sitting here, you realize that it won’t just be you losing him. He’ll also be losing you.

Is that why he is sticking around? To prolong the inevitable?

“When I look into your eyes,” you clear your tightening throat, not willing to let yourself cry. “There’s… there’s no light, no humanity, and you know it. That has to be why you chase all those stupid fights, all so that you can feel alive again.”

Tartaglia allows you the room to ramble without interruption, your venomous feelings that have long festered gushing out. When you work up the courage to look up, you find Tartaglia frowning, staring far off but at nothing in particular. So even he can sometimes be rendered to a loss for words, huh?

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the chilly air invading his lungs. “You’re wrong about one thing.”

Another cautious pause. He’s giving this a lot of thought.

“My fighting is not for the sole sake of the adrenaline rush, as enjoyable as that is,” he scratches the back of his neck and forces a laugh. “It’s so that I can get stronger. I told you, didn’t I? That I intend on conquering the world. To do that, I need to be the strongest, or else I can’t fulfill my promise.”

Your lips part, eyebrows furrowing together in irritation, but he places a finger to your lips before you can tear into him. The leather feels cool against your skin, and it’s just now that you realize how close he is to you. Having been so absorbed in your emotions, you failed to notice his stealthy movements, the two of you now shoulder to shoulder. Your heart thrums, reminiscent of that day ages ago.

“When the entire world lays defeated at my feet, what I want is to have you by my side. Until that dream of mine comes true, I’m afraid I’ll have to continue making you sad, but know that it’s for a reason.”

Tartaglia pulls his hand back, his finger lingering just a second over your bottom lip, finally allowing you to speak your piece.

You’re drawn like a moth to a flame to his lifeless eyes, which have seen more bloodshed in the past few months than you could ever fathom. Murmuring, you find it within yourself to respond, albeit so quietly he has to cant forward to hear. “If you accomplish just that… who’s to say I’d want to be by your side? The side of a killer?”

“Hm? Did I ever say you had a choice in the matter?” Tartaglia returns your inquiry with a bold one of his own, one that sends you recoiling in astonishment. He lets the words settle like fresh snow on the ground before laughing them off. You cross your arms over your chest, making your displeasure over his comment evident.

“Please, I’m kidding! Don’t look at me like that,” he puts his hands up in mock defense. “Ah, it’s suddenly feeling colder than usual. You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? I never thought that humble [First], the child of the town’s apothecary at that, would be so bold as to freeze me to death.”

Your nose wrinkles up and you hold back a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “Yeah, right. Like I could ever stand a chance against you in battle.”

“You might be surprised! I could make a warrior out of you yet. Think about it, Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa saw fit to bestow a Vision upon you, didn’t she?” He accents his words by pointing to your neck, where you prefer to keep your Vision. Subconsciously, your hand raises, delicately touching the icy gem.

“I’m not like you,” you shake your head at his jest. “Hurting others is the last thing I’d ever want to do, trust me.”

He hums, your words taking him back, memories flashing in his mind. “I know, that’s why I’ve always done it in your stead.”

“Whoever would’ve thought fending off bored kids with a wooden sword would escalate into you climbing the ranks of the Fatui.” Had it not been for the final part of the sentence, you would’ve found it endearing to reminiscence back to your early childhood together. Still, the frost around your heart melts at the sweet memory, despite your attempts to keep it hardened. This goes to show how much I cherished it, you muse.

Lips curling into a smile, you take him by surprise and lay your head onto his shoulder. His muscles go tense, body unresponsive to the affection you used to bestow upon him in heaps. It’d been so long that he forgot the warmth you radiate like you were the sun incarnate. He had once commented that he expected a Cryo user to be cold, only to be delightfully surprised by how warm you were.

“Maybe I was always terrible, and you just didn’t notice?” He proposes, to which you snort.

“That most certainly is not the case. I’m a better judge of character than that.” You scoff at the mere idea. No, little Ajax had been nothing but a darling, there’s no doubting it. Wherever you’d go, he’d follow as if his life depended on it. There was hardly ever a time where the two of you wouldn’t be seen paired together.

“You’ll get no argument out of me there,” Tartaglia rests his head on top of yours like he used to. The circumstances have undoubtedly changed, but it’s nice to feign ignorance for a few minutes. “Say, you remember when we used to sneak off and meet here, right?”

“How could I forget?”

Tartaglia nods his head in agreement. “I was always dragging you into trouble, even then. I’m not one to dwell on the past, but I guess it’s hard not to when we’re here.”

Now that he mentions it, it wasn’t an immediate shift into his now unhinged personality; like all things, it began as a gradual descent. You should’ve noticed something was awry with how frequently he’d come to you, boasting injuries of all sorts. Each was accompanied by a rehearsed explanation as not to alarm you. Unfortunately for him, in a small town such as this, word travels quickly. It was inevitable that you’d find out the bitter truth behind his wounds.

Maybe you always knew but didn’t want to face reality.

“There was this one time in particular that always stuck out to me,” he closes his eyes, reflecting. “When I said I intended to marry you when we got older, or whenever you’d have me.”

You’re amazed at how Tartaglia recounts it without so much as stuttering, the humiliating memory sending your head spinning. There were so many memories he could’ve mentioned and that’s the one he decides to go with? You’re certain he’s messing with you at this point.

“I-I thought we swore never to mention that again!” You exclaim, blood rushing to your cheeks.

He blinks when you abruptly lift your head and shrugs off your concern. “I don’t remember ever agreeing to that. It was you who kept insisting to take a vow of silence on it, for whatever reason. Personally, I find it cute, you were so eager to accept my proposal then.” 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This irksome teasing quality had reared its head alongside his other new shortcomings. The best way to deal with it, you’ve learned, is to keep the conversation going. Dwelling on it for too long never ends well.

“So, Liyue, huh?” You recall the gossip from the marketplace earlier. Some locals were fussing over the news that the Fatui’s latest Harbinger, Tartaglia, would be sent abroad for more work. There were murmurs of excitement over how a child from this seaside town managed to make it so far up the ranks. And to think they used to bemoan Ajax’s violent streak, you remember. Now that it’s beneficial to them, they sure have changed their tune.

“I wonder what it’ll be like,” he muses. “Anthon seems to think the people there eat rocks, for whatever reason.”

“Kids always say the craziest things unprompted.”

He seems agreeable to that statement. Neither of you utters another word for some time, instead thinking of both the past and the future. It’s not a comfortable position to remain seated in, yet neither you nor he complains about it. For a few brief, glorious seconds, everything almost seems normal again.

“Hey, [First].”

You hum in response. Tartaglia’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his eyebrows knitting together in contemplation. In the silence that follows, you swear you hear a sound akin to electricity crackling, the hairs on the back of your neck standing from the drastic shift in atmosphere.

“I meant what I said. Someday, you will be by my side. I don’t care what it takes, I’ll make it happen; even if you come to hate me.”

“Because once you make a promise… you keep it.”

And he intended to do just that.

#childe #yandere childe x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia #yandere tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions

[aetherarf]

When you get the chance... Can you write a ChiLumi story involving hurt/comfort by Lumine after Childe (Ajax) uses Foul Legacy Form and goes too far? Please include trauma of sort.

To make this easier: It’s storming and they are on DragonSpine (I REALLY love this area)

Have fun and Thank you!

I did my best to make it... angsty. Here you go!

@luciana-scarlet

[[ TW: Blood, Violence, Aggressive Behavior ]]

[[ Summary: Lumine wanted to go to Dragonspine, to complete tasks long since forgotten, letting Childe come along to help, only for everything to go wrong.

Word Count: 2'773 ]]

It was just a mission. Lumine had been going through her pack, and... she found a box. An odd box that she... didn't exactly understand. After spending an, admittedly, long time looking through scrambled notes

[ Aether was always better with notes, with keeping track of what was important... ]

She found out it had something to do with Dragonspine. She thought she was done with that gods [or, perhaps, Archons] forsaken place, the chill only just having escaped her bones after so many months...

"Ah, you want a coat?" Childe asked, and Lumine nodded, "Well, my only question is... for what? I'm not the best at fashion, but I know how to keep warm as well as any Snezhnayan. Actually, probably a lot better."

Lumine lifted her hand, and held up two fingers-

"Warmth, then," He had long since understood, "Does Paimon need one?"

Lumine hesitated for a moment, looking over at Paimon, who was bundled up...

Would she need to come?

Lumine shook her head, then shifted her hand to lightly pat on her chest, signifying only she needed one.

"Right. Paimon is going to stay in the Teapot, then?" He asked, looking over at her, and how pleased she seemed in this moment... and Lumine nodded. "Where are you intending on going, anyway?" He leaned forward a little, to be closer to eye level with her, "Anywhere I could come to?"

Lumine thought for a moment, then held her hands in front of her mouth, palms upwards and fingers forward, and curled her fingers up, wiggling them as she moved her hands forward, and blowing over her hands...

Dragon.

She crossed her arms at the wrist, fingers inwards except her index and middle, which curled inwards, she then used one hand to touch the back of her neck, and one hand gestured that she was holding something, and the other signalled that it was trailing down a string.

Spine.

"Dragonspine?" Childe asked, and she nodded, "I thought you hated Dragonspine."

She had reached over to the odd box and showed it to Childe, he lightly dusting it off as he examined the fine design...

"This has something to do with Dragonspine, and... let me guess, your adventurers pride won't let you leave it?"

She nodded, and he chuckled.

"Oh, I'll come with you, then. Can't let you freeze to death... Plus it'd be good conditioning for when you come to Snezhnaya with me." He nodded to himself, as though approving something, "Right, I have a coat, and if it keeps me warm in Snezhnaya, it'll keep me warm in Dragonspine... I think I know a place in Mondstadt that we could get you a custom, fluffy coat..."

He was already thinking about it, and Lumine could only smile. She'd get the best coat for the cold that money could possibly buy, and she didn't have to pay a single mora.

... ... ...

Bundled up tight, Serenitea Pot left at the camp (she never liked bringing it up the bitter mountain), and she had already began to climb the massive beast made of ice and stone, with Childe right beside her.

For some time, besides her stopping and warming her hands at any nearby fire or seelie, it was peaceful, the two taking a few brief moments to look over the ocean of snow resting over the rest of the mountain ...

Then Lumine began to shiver, and they went onward, likely to the next source of heat, or just out of the wind nipping at her nose and cheeks.

"We should come here more often," Childe hummed, as they stopped at a small, abandoned camp, equipped with the bare essentials...

But, when you came prepared, it was just a pleasant head start. Set up in a large, empty cave, there wasn't too much fear of asphyxiation, and it seemed mostly abandoned, other than a few animals.

Lumine was doing her best to start a spark with two stones, until there was a small, promising flame, setting a pot near it--

"Hmm..." Childe looked out the entrance to the cave, "There's a lot of Hilichurls nearby... I'd rather not get disturbed in the middle of a good time by them, you know?"

She was motionless for a second, then looked up at him, staring blankly for a long moment...

"Well?" He asked, a grin on his face, and she just sighed...

They probably have some reasonably fresh food stores there...

Her feelings on Hilichurls were awkward at best, but, at the end of the day, they were openly aggressive against humans, even whose who truly had no ill intentions and did everything in their power to leave them be, so she used that as an excuse to comfort herself.

Lumine nodded, and Childe cheered in excitement, jumping up, "Yeah! Come on, come on, let's do this!" He laughed excitedly to himself, grabbing her hand and hoisting her up to her feet, all but dragging her ahead as she struggled to keep herself from falling face first into the icy ground.

It didn't take long for them to get out of the cave, and... Lumine looked around, there truly wasn't much. She wanted to argue, to insist that the Hilichurls wouldn't bug them, but Childe turned and looked at her, a wild look in his eyes...

... He needs to vent energy.

Despite not really knowing where to go, and plenty of dragging Lumine around until she finally smacked his arm, a single warning before she'd leave him to freeze in the snow, and they found themselves to a camp... Lumine looked at the area, it seemed to try and house itself beside a sharp cliff, to hide from the bitter cold, but...

Avalanche.

She grabbed Childe's hand, tugging at it a little, and as he looked at her, she shook her head with a pouty frown. Sure, there were Hilichurls, but...

"Nah, I got this," he dismissed, not looking at her for a second longer, "You ready?" He asked, and his blades appeared in his hands, and the frost already began to freeze the tips, the blades...

She sighed, and with a single moment, her sword was in her hand. She looked at the guard, the eye-like structure that stared right back at her... Dread filled her gut, but that feeling seemed to become more and more prominent, nowadays...

"Now!" Childe shouted, with a wild laugh, and he had dashed ahead, the Hilichurl's ears popping up from their fluffy heads in their surprise at his volume, and then chanted out their own cries, running towards the both of them, and Lumine could only helplessly chase as Childe seemed content to destroy anything that moved--

And the battle was over quickly. Of course it was, Childe was thorough and quick, and his blades shattered within seconds as soon as he was done, but he was still looking around...

"Is that really it?" He asked, barely panting, "That wasn't anything... Just a dumb few... Hili... Churls..."

Lumine tilted her head to the side, looking up at him, and suddenly... the mild warmth from the sun disappeared, and a shadow loomed over her--

She was only able to turn around just enough to see a massive Mitachurl towering over her, and then with a brutal swing, she was hit right in the stomach, and thrown into the stone cliff face.

"Finally!" Childe snapped out, his blades returning, and he threw himself at the Mitachurl-

Lumine could barely even get herself off the ground as she helplessly looked at the scene before her-- Childe had not even gotten a single strike, his blades trying to hook into the chest of the beast, to rip open its flesh and to watch its innards fall out...

But the cold froze his blades, and they shattered like glass, and he fell to the ground, awkwardly mangled as he was too dazed to realize that he was not fighting, he was...

"Ajax!" Lumine shrieked, shrill enough that the Mitachurl had focused on her again, and with an unsteady grip upon the blade, the agony of its corruption crawling up her hand...

She could only purify herself, and the dread that hangs over her, and fills her lungs like smoke.

As it ran to her, she thrust her blade forward, piercing its face as its blood spewed onto her face, but what she didn't expect was ,just a bit above her own mark, a purple spear thrust out from it, just an inch from her face, the tip of it causing the lightest cut on the tip of her nose, holding her breath in pure terror, but the spear was ripped back out, and the Mitachurl weakly lifted its hand to the hole, before...

It all turned to dust, the bitter wind of Dragonspine whisking it away, and now... all that stood beyond it was the nightmare of Lumine's dreams.

"Oh," he said, spinning his spear of electro in one hand, the Foul Legacy's massive maw opened, but spoke without needing to move it at all, words coming from deeper within, "You know, I kind of like it when you look afraid." He said, idly, "Reminds me of when we met... the only worthwhile fight, beyond my masterrr..." He trailed on the end of the word, letting himself gently fall to the ground, walking closer, and closer, and when Lumine tried to jump out of the way-

The spear shot into the stone wall behind her, any movement in that direction would lead to electrocution...

And in the other direction, a spear of hydro. Touching it would, at best, freeze her hand, at worst, kill her flesh with cold and ice.

And before her, the Foul Legacy stood, staring down at her.

"Why can't you let me have my fun?" He asked, getting down on one knee, and Lumine lifted her hand, her hand hitting the stone wall, but she still held her blade, it twisted, pointing at the Foul Legacy with her iron grip...

He leaned closer, the massive maw widening more, enough that if he so desired, he could crush her head in a single snap, and roaring right into her face, she flinching, closing her eyes tight until he ceased...

And he panted.

"Tell me," he demanded, "Why can't you let me have my fun? Maybe," his head twitched, tilting back and forth rapidly, "Only you can entertain me..."

She knew this wasn't Ajax. She knew, deep down, it wasn't. Perhaps, perhaps the body was his, and he was the host, but as she looked into that single eye...

Holding onto her blade, she thrust it into that blue eye, stabbing it into the Foul Legacy's eye, getting it well over halfway in before it threw its head back in agony, thrashing around, "It-it burns! IT BURNS!" It shrieked out, and she only cursed herself, knowing the burning would fled to Childe's mind as well...

And as it held its own head, it bashed into the cliff, and above--

The rumbling.

The chaos.

And the encompassing darkness as snow had begun to fall,

Avalanche.

She could see, however, as though time slowed, there was a slight overhang, and...

She pressed herself to the cliff, and watched as the Foul Legacy be consumed by an oddly beautiful sheet of white and...

And it was over. She breathed heavily, seeing the mound of snow... A distant thought, she pondered if she should leave, but-

No matter her hatred of the Foul Legacy, that was Childe's body, Ajax's soul within that cursed form.

Not wanting to risk her Anemo to turn the snow to ice and to shred him to pieces, she fell to her knees- and dug.

Her hands- her gloves quickly became wet after digging, the heat of her own body, and she could feel her skin burning with the cold, digging longer and longer, tears falling, and freezing on her cheeks before they could fall to the ground, until--

The handle of her sword appeared, and the eye was fixed forward, before, it jerked to look at her, and the faux eyelids seemed to narrow, amused with the situation...

She let out an animalistic snarl, her hatred to the weapon leading to her grabbing the handle, grabbing it and throwing it off to the side- she knew she couldn't let its disease spread, but in this moment she did not care...

But it meant that he- Ajax, was just below, and a few more moments of digging had shown his face, and blissfully enough... there was no wound. It had not harmed him, thankfully.

She grabbed the sides of his head, and she put hers near his, her forehead and tip of her nose against his...

He was breathing.

She offered herself just a second, a second of knowing he was safe...

Before she continued to dig, and eventually, she had gotten him from the snow and the frost, carrying him back to the little camp they had, only stopping for a second to grab her sword, and a few other things she could quickly shove into her satchel.

... ... ...

Since she dragged him back, she had not left his side, never more than just a little bit aways, and she would keep looking back at him, bundled up, and tucked inside the sleeping bag...

Lumine sighed, and she returned to cooking. She didn't really care what was in there, some frozen vegetables [or, truly, should she say plants in general] she took from the Hilichurl camp, some meat, and a bunch of water [again, she should just say melted snow], so it'd be easier for Childe to just drink and then go back to sleep.

She hated Dragonspine, nothing ever good from this cursed mountain, having slaughtered its people once, and it wanted to slaughter any others who remained.

And right now, that meant her and Ajax.

Looking at the soup, she decided to throw some seasonings in there, just to, hopefully, make it more palatable. Childe wasn't picky, but... She never did like it when anyone would insult her, it was rare, but from time to time a foolish knight would say she ought to be at home, taking care of a man, and there was nothing more she hated than that...

But she did like taking care of one man, maybe just a bit... when he needed her. Not like he said she should do that, in fact, he acted more like a housewife than she did.

.. Miserably, she chuckled.

Childe weakly began to cough, and if she had ears of a dog, they'd be perking up, and she immediately rushed over, moving to her hands and feet to crawl a little closer, and Childe... weakly opened his eyes,

"Hey," cough, "Hey baby... How dead am I?" He asked, and she shook her head, shifting to sit on her knees, and looking over him, her hand resting over his heart... But he rested his hand atop hers, eyes closing, but he smiled in an almost... delirious way.

Childe inhaled... and exhaled.

"I know," he said, "You don't like it when I do it. If I'm honest, I don't like it either... feels like I'm cheating."

She shook her head, not happy at all with his only concern being 'fairness'... but he chuckled.

"I'm kidding... well, about the cheating thing." He inhaled, and exhaled, "I was just... I guess I was scared, but I scared you, too..." He sighed, his head lolling to the side.

Lumine closed her eyes for a moment, and sighed, "I don't want to come back to Dragonspine again."

Childe opened his eyes fully, propping himself on his elbows as he looked at her, "You," he swallowed thickly, "Didn't you have a... uah... Box? Box for Dragonspine?"

She just shook her head, and as Childe tried to sit up, she took the liberty of helping him, pulling him to her, and once he was sitting up, she took a second to hold him, likely excusing it to herself as 'just helping', and not that she wanted to hold him after horror of everything.

"I won't..." cough, "Press it... But I do want to know," Cough, cough, he sounded so miserably weak, "What are you cooking? Smells... good... or maybe I'm just really hungry."

As though on cue, his stomach grumbled, and Lumine could only smile helplessly... How... how silly. How ridiculous. She pressed a kiss to between his eyes--where she plunged her blade before, and got up to go get him some, noting to eat hers as quickly as possible, because knowing him, he'd probably inhale it in the fraction of a second if he had the chance.

#genshin impact #childe #lumine #chilumi #childe x lumine #luciana scarlet #request #bark writes #hurt and comfort #angst #angsty bark

[hieludoboi]

In Our Next Life

A/n- I really should be writing my Daichi series but I got the idea to write this after reading the most recent chapter of BNHA

A/n- Damn, this is kinda a little bit of word vomit, but like that’s okay :’)

Pairing- Dabi/Fem!Reader

Summary-If not in this life, then the next, right?

Warnings- Abuse, Major Character Death, Endeavor, a little bid of blood? pretty violent, fighting and war, SPOILERS FOR MY HERO ACADEMIA CHAPTER 290

Y/n hated hero society. That much she knew. She often wondered how life was before quirks came to be. As a little girl, she would sit between her grandmother’s legs, mouth open in awe as stories of a time not her own were recounted to her, becoming reality on the tongue of her dreams. She wished she had been born in those times. No quirk, no corruption, no child soldiers… Y/n would often sit and wonder if maybe life could have been different in those times. Maybe her mother would have cared, would have loved her, and nurtured her instead of forcing her to grow her quirk until she became an unrecognizable monster when she looked in the mirror.

“We’ll prove ‘em wrong. Right, Touya?” Y/n mumbled to herself, her fingers clutching onto the small wooden frame that sat on her nightstand. She would become the hero her mother never could and avenge Touya. She would do anything for him.

———————————————

“Momma! Momma, I can’t!” Y/n screamed, face twisted in agony as the scarlet flames scorched at her face and skin, charring the flesh that was desperately trying to regenerate. Her hands fisted as much as they could into loose concrete, her delicate nails splintering against grey floors of stone and splattering them cherry red. She could barely see, the world around her blanketed in white except for his warm puddles of eyes.

 Touya was being restrained by Y/n’s mother, his legs kicking and thrashing about as he tried to claw his way out of the woman’s vice-like grip. Touya’s wailing and Y/n’s guttural screams joined each other’s in harmony, producing an ugly duet. It was dissonant, clashing against each other as it got swept up in swarming summer winds. Y/n wondered if this was what hell felt like. A never-ending inferno of red’s and oranges, mocking a pretty sunset with its demonic hues. She wondered if Touya’s sobs would play on repeat in her head for the rest of her life…

“Stop! Enji! Stop!” Y/n had got lost amongst the wires of time, not realizing that Fuyumi had run to get Rei in the disarray of chaos that they had trapped her in. And suddenly the flames had stopped, and Rei was kneeling beside her, letting frost roam over the charred body of the ten-year-old girl before her. A head of white was all she could see for a moment, and then Touya’s graying head popped up from behind his mother’s shoulder, begging to be let closer.

 Brown and blue, those hues brought so much comfort to her.Rei wiped her eyes, gently cradling Y/n and Touya’s bodies against her chest, enveloping them in a sheet of frost and comfort. It took a moment, but Y/n’s quirk eventually kicked in on its own, regenerating skin cells and tissue, restoring lost hair and patches of skin. At that point, Y/n knew that hell was Enji Todoroki.

————————————

“I’m sorry. He’s gone…” Fuyumi and Natsuo were the ones to give her the news. First, Rei was taken away, then Touya? God, Y/n was having the worst year of her life. She should have cried, she wanted to, and though her face contorted and her body heaved and shook with sobs, tears never fell. Tear ducts. They were the one thing that she could never regenerate.

Natsuo had held her as she sobbed into his shoulder, Fuyumi somewhere in the kitchen preparing a meal for them. Though they loved their brother dearly, they knew that Y/n and Touya’s connection went beyond theirs. They shared pain, abuse, and trauma that no one in their home could ever begin to comprehend.

“Please. Please take care of Shouto. He’ll do the same thing to him, and-” Y/n could feel the bile rising in her throat, burning her esophagus as she ran to the restroom. Her mother had died long ago in battle, and though she was free from their clutches, even though she was now alone to do what she pleased, the cinders of dully lit embers still prickled her skin. No amount of regeneration could get rid of the subtle scars that sat atop her skin, the burns from both Enji's and Touya’s flames being too much for her body to ever begin to handle.

—————————————-

Being a hero should have been the last thing she wanted to be, but here she was, hero suit and all, sat in a plush and comfy chair as she explained the basics of her quirk to the man who had been interviewing her. After all these years, she was sitting at Endeavor’s office, applying to work under his agency. Ironic, right?

“And this quirk is called Regen, right?” Y/n looked up from where her eyes had been focused on the subtle burn scars that still sat on her skin.

“Right. It allows me to manipulate blood flow, organs, etcetera, etcetera. If the human body makes it, or if it’s part of the human body, I can manipulate it. To activate it, I need to get at least four beats of a person’s pulse. Once I do that, I can manipulate their blood flow and organs. So I can either use them as puppets, or shut down their organs, but mostly I just restrict oxygen and blood flow enough to knock them out. I had to work really hard to be able to get it to do that, but my area of specialty is regeneration. I can do it to my body or someone else’s,” Y/n explained, a fake and yet oddly pleasant smile on her face.

“Any weaknesses or limitations?” The interviewer asked, nose buried in his notebook as he jotted down little notes.

“Well, my quirk subtly wastes away the inside of my body. I won’t age on the outside, but my insides age with every minute that I use this quirk. So I’m a little frail, but it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Injuries by fire or heat also seem to be the one thing I can never fully heal. Oh and I think it’s worth mentioning that I can never fully heal ailments in one sitting. I can do the heavy work, or begin the process of healing bigger injuries, but if I try and heal all ailments and injuries at once, it will kill me.” Y/n explained, motioning to the subtle burns all across her body.The interviewer nodded, jotting down a note or two. Before she knew it, she was stepping out of his office, stumbling into an all too familiar, broad chest. 

Quickly, she shoved the man away, her body beginning to tremble as the soles of her feet planted themselves firmly onto the carpeted ground, forcing her to face her hell. Looking up, she stared into cold, blue eyes. They weren’t warm; they weren’t comforting. They weren’t Touya.

“Ah, Y/n. It’s nice to see you here…” Enji’s voice was stiff, strained, and very obviously uncomfortable. Y/n couldn’t help but stare at the massive scar that was etched across one side of his face. He seemed different. Not just in appearance, but something within him had changed.

Enji cleared his throat, reaching his hand out to shake Y/n’s hand. And before she could stop herself, she flinched. Not just a little flinch, but a jump. Her eyes were wide and torn with fear, her body curling into itself as a small shriek threatened to jump from the confines of her throat. The burns across her body seemed to sear all over again, and she could faintly catch a whiff of charred flesh. Enji stopped in his tracks, retracting his hand and instead shoving them into his pockets.

“Uhm, what brings you here?” Enji asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. Y/n took a deep breath, straightening out the wrinkles in her suit before forcing herself to meet Enji’s guilty gaze. Why was she here? She could have gone with the brutally honest and therapeutic reason. She could be here to face her abuser and find some sort of closure, maybe even become number one while at his agency and drive him insane, do something to avenge Touya, or.

“Well, I figured since I already know you and you were sort of my mentor, what better place to apply than here, right?” Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, her nails digging tiny crescents into the palms of her hands behind her back. She sounded so unsure, so pitiful and… Scared.

“Right, well, I’ll be sure to approve your application then. Uhm, I’ll see you around,” Y/n nodded, watching as Enji walked off, leaving her to stare at his back. Had she made the right decision? Lord, she hoped so.

——————————

“Y/n?” Y/n spun around, the confused look on her face dropping as soon as she made eye contact with Shouto. The boy hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him. Yet, he looked so, disappointed? Disillusioned?

“Shou! I didn’t think you’d be interning here!” Y/n exclaimed, scarred hands clutching onto loads of paperwork. Shouto frowned, taking a step towards her and gently touching the faint scars on her hands with delicate fingertips. Y/n took in a breath, not realizing she had been holding it until Shouto pulled away.

“I didn’t think you’d be working here, Nee-chan…” Y/n gasped, the oxygen getting stuck in her throat. It had been years since Shouto had called her his Ne-chan. Had she failed him?

“Shouto…” Y/n trailed off, sad eyes averting from the first year’s fierce gaze.

“We’re having dinner tonight, a few friends of mine are going. Fuyumi and Natsuo wouldn’t mind seeing you,” Shouto mumbled before walking away, leaving Y/n to stare once again at someone’s back. Had she made the wrong choice?

———————————————

Y/n had spent way too much time getting ready for this family dinner situation. This would be the first time in years that should be setting foot into the Todoroki household. She never realized just how much fear it could bring her. But this time would be different, she told herself as she pulled on a yellow knitted sweater. Natsuo would be there, and so would Fuyumi and Shouto. They would be eating dinner, not training.And so with a deep breath, Y/n forced herself to walk outside and drive herself to the Todoroki residence. Things were different now. She was grown, a pro hero climbing the ranks at a rapid pace. She had to be over it at this point, right?

She should have known. Standing at the front door felt more daunting than it was. Her body seemed to tremble with each breath she took. All she could see was fire, all she could hear were screams, and all she could feel was the stinging feel of flames against her already marred flesh. This was her hell.She was half expecting Rei to open the door when she knocked. And sure enough, she was met by a pair of warm brown eyes and a head of white hair. Natsuo. Y/n could feel her body stiffen, turning to stone against her will. She had severely overestimated herself.

Dinner was anything but smooth. Fuyumi was trying, lord was she trying. It was a tense night, with Y/n sitting between Fuyumi and Natsuo, a comforting hand wrapped around her unsteady hand beneath the table. Fuyumi had always been very kind to her.

“So how’d you do it?” Fuyumi and Y/n looked up, their eyes focusing on Natsuo, who was spitting venom at Enji. Natsuo looked like a cobra, hood raised, and ready to strike. Enji stared at Natsuo with a confused look, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “How’d you manage to get Y/n into your agency? She hates you and everything about you, so how’d you do it?” Natsuo spat, brown eyes turning into pits of coal as he stared Enji down. Y/n felt herself grow cold, the pair of chopsticks damn near breaking in her iron tight grip.

“What’s he talking about?” Y/n looked up, her e/c eyes following each and every one of Bakugo, Midoriya’s, and Shouto’s movements as he explained what he could remember to them.

“Natsuo…” Fuyumi trailed off, a soft voice of warning between the two heated males. Y/n sighed through her nose before letting go of Fuyumi’s hand.

“It makes no sense. He’s the reason for all her burns. They were so severe that she couldn’t even regenerate the skin back to normal! Her tear ducts are gone and her lungs will never be the same from all the smoke she’s had to inhale! It makes no sense, Fuyumi!” Natsuo yelled, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Natsuo, I joined on my own. No one forced me. I had my reasons.” Y/n stated, looking away from Natsuo’s hurt eyes. Maybe she had made the wrong choice.

“He’s the reason Touya’s dead! How could you work with him!?” Y/n flinched, her body becoming a statue, the chopsticks falling from her hands and clanging against the glass plate beneath her.

“Natsuo!” Fuyumi yelled, eyes widening as Y/n abruptly stood up. She looked sickly, a pale and grey undertone taking quite the liking to her face. The entire table watched as she stumbled to the front door, struggling to pull on her shoes.

She left before anyone could say goodbye, shoving her body into the car that almost felt too small for her, yet she couldn’t leave. It felt like something was tying her to the house, and she hated it. Taking a deep breath, she opened her car door, relishing in the way the crisp air filled her damaged lungs. It wouldn’t hurt to go back, right?

Stepping out of the car, she ambled towards the courtyard, her eyes darting from area to area. It wasn’t all bad. She had made some good memories with Touya there. Like the time Enji wasn’t able to take his usual Sunday’s off to torment Touya and her. She and Touya had played hide and seek with Fuyumi in the courtyard for what felt like hours, playful grins adorning their round faces as they stumbled around the pillars and grass. Y/n and Touya were six at that time.

Finally, Y/n was standing in the middle of the courtyard, staring at the stone floors that had shattered her fingernails so many times. Wincing, Y/n brought her fingers to her lips, chewing on the tips of her nails and tasting the familiar metallic twang of blood on her tongue. When she pulled her fingers away, they were fine. There was no blood, no splintering, nothing.It took longer than she expected, wandering around the area and remembering key details of her life with every corner she walked into. And then she fell, tripping over a stray water bottle and landing hands first into the center of the courtyard, her eyes focusing in on the giant cherry tree just on the other side of the stone floor.

“We’ll be the best heroes! You can control the enemy like puppets! And I’ll scare them with my fire!” Touya declared, bright blue eyes sparkling with stars plucked from the heavens. Y/n nodded, a determined smile on her face. They were sat on the floor, their bodies bruised and sore from the sparring they had been forced to do earlier. Her s/c hands cupped Touya’s face, working hard to clear the bruises along his eyes and cheeks. “And I’ll never have to worry about getting hurt when I’m with you! Ever!” Touya said a closed-eyed grin on his face. They would never have to worry as long as they had each other. “Thank you, oh, and here!” Touya pulled away from Y/n as soon as she put her hands in her lap, quickly scurrying over to the cherry tree behind him to pluck a sakura that had fallen to the ground.

“Momma says that sakuras mean new beginnings or something like that! I just think they’re pretty! You’re pretty too. Hey! Maybe your hero name could be Sakura! Because you’re pretty, and you can heal people, and people can start again when they heal!” Touya exclaimed, stumbling over his words as he focused on tucking the Sakura behind her ear so the flower stuck out a bit. Y/n giggled, nodding at his suggestion. She would do anything Touya asked.

She hadn’t even noticed she was sobbing until she felt a pair of arms wrapping around her body. And for a split second, she thought the feeling of raindrops running down the apples of her cheeks were tears. When had it started to rain?

“Let’s go inside, yeah? Dad and the kids went to go help Natsuo. He left a little bit ago.” Fuyumi explained, helping Y/n stand from the cold concrete floor. Y/n sniffled, nodding her head. And as they made their way into the living room, Y/n finally felt a little at peace. She was grown now, a pro hero who could finally fight for herself. For the first time since she had walked into that courtyard, she left without any scars, any fears. She walked in on her own, did what she wanted, and left. Maybe, just maybe, that courtyard couldn’t control her any longer.

———————————

Y/n hated hero society. She knew that now more than ever. Here she was, fighting a war alongside child soldiers who were too young to be risking their lives for some ‘glory filled’ death. She was tired, so, so tired. Her muscles felt like they were wasting away with each breath she took. Her arms and hands were sore from being stretched out for so long. She was past her limit, controlling up to five villains with one hand, working her hardest to help heal five other heroes as they constantly hurt themselves with her other hands.

“Renge! You’re needed upfront, we’ll handle things here!” Y/n looked around, wondering exactly who had given her the command but couldn’t find the person to who the voice belonged too. She could only see the confident faces of her peers as she one by one let her enemies and allies go. Shouto was up front, so were his friends. Y/n took a deep breath. They weren’t too far from the front lines, and she was lucky enough to have been given a lift by some winged hero. She took her time in the air to heal herself, just a bit. She was going to die in the battle, that much she knew. She might as well die looking good, right?

“Come dance with your son in hell!!” Nothing. Nothing could have prepared her for the voice that rung through her ears, piercing her brain and heart in just one second. It had been ages since she had heard that voice. But he was dead. Stumbling as she jumped off of the other pro hero, she slowly walked to stand beside Shouto. And sure enough, there he was. His face was maimed, held together by staples and purple flesh, blue eyes resembling the marina trenches, his lips twisted in some crazed grin. It couldn’t be. Someone had to be posing as him. Touya was dead, he had been dead for years. Touya wouldn’t be a murderer, this wasn’t Touya. Y/n bit down on her lip, wincing as she tasted the blood that began to trickle down into her mouth. She was a hero now, and her priority was to help her comrades, not reminisce or let her past emotions get into the way. Even if it was Touya, it wasn’t the Touya she knew.

Y/n didn’t allow herself to think, her vision going spotty and body going hot as her hands stretched in front of her. She had felt his pulse enough times, and if it was him, he would bend to her will. But still, she hoped that his body would move on its own, she hoped that he wouldn’t succumb to her quirk. She hoped it was someone else.

Dabi felt himself going insane as he stared down his father and brother. He had wanted this for years, and now, here they were. Enji could finally pay for what he had done. Amongst the chaos, he failed to notice the way his body went rigid, a familiar cold grip wrapping around his veins. Where had he felt this before?

Dabi gritted his teeth, straining against the non-existent wires coiling around his veins, restricting his movements, and using him as a puppet. Vague memories of a childhood lost to trauma encircled his mind, and his vision seemed to be going spotty. But it couldn’t be. Not her, not Y/n. Dabi grunted, his knees hitting the ground as he turned to stare to the right. Sure enough, there she was, her costume ripped, her face bruised and bloody, her muscles wasting away behind the latex that wrapped around her body.

Her eyes were wild, seemingly blank as she focused in on his body. He had only seen that fear cross her gaze when she looked at his father, so why was she looking at him like that? Yet still, he found himself walking towards her slowly slumping figure. The closer he got, the more clearly he could hear the sobs that left her lips. She hadn’t changed, her skin just as scarred, her eyes just as empty and fearful. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him, and he knew it.

Grinning to himself, Dabi chuckled, catching her gaze and watching as she tried to remain indifferent.

“Your cries give you away, doll,” Dabi chuckled, the sound raspy and cold. Y/n flinched before closing her eyes and attempting to steady herself. “I missed you, y’know?” Dabi took a step towards her, blinking in surprise when he realized she wasn’t using her quirk on him. “I know all your weaknesses, I know the ins and outs of your quirk, and you’re letting me go?” Dabi mused, his burnt hand coming up to cup the side of her face. Y/n felt the sob rip painfully from her chest as she leaned into the touch, bringing up her maimed hand to clasp onto his.

“He really did a number on you, huh, Y/n?” Dabi said softly, his gaze becoming tender for just a moment before returning to its piercing and frosted state. Y/n nodded her head, letting her body fall against his chest, wrapping her arms around his disfigured body. Dabi grunted, eyes wide in shock, his knees buckling beneath him. They fell onto the rubble beneath their feet, knees bruising against crumbled buildings and twisted metal poles.

“You’re alive…” Y/n choked the words out through her sobs. Her hands gripping onto his shoulders, not willing to let him go. She couldn’t lose him, not now that he had finally come back. Dabi stiffened, his arms slowly wrapping around her shaking form. They sat like that for a moment, trembling against one another, against the mess of the surrounding city.

Finally, Y/n pulled away, her unsteady hands cupping Dabi’s face, her worried eyes studying his face and twisting in heartbreak. Why was she looking at him like that?

Y/n pushed Dabi away, her chest violently rising and falling, her breaths feeling like hornet stings inside her lungs and throat. His eyes were no longer warm, they were void of emotion; they were filled with hunger, a hunger she hadn’t seen in years. This wasn’t Touya. Y/n took shaky breaths. Her eyes screwed shut as she tried to convince herself that the man in front of her wasn’t the boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

Dabi felt his breath catch in his throat, his hand extending towards her before falling to his side. Why was she scared? She knew it was him, right?

“Y/n, it’s me. It’s Touya…” Dabi croaked, his eyes filling with pain as he crawled towards her. Y/n shook her head vigorously, shuffling back anytime he tried to come close to her.

“Stop it. You’re not Touya!” Y/n flinched at the scream that tore through her lips, not expecting the words to fly from her chest in the way they did. “T-Touya wanted to be a hero! Touya wanted to save people. He loved his baby brother, Touya, Touya wasn’t some sort of monster!” Y/n spat, the venom dripping from her words and splattering against Dabi’s eardrums.

“I did what I had to do!” Dabi yelled back, his eyes wide and filled with hurt. How could she say that about him? “I was willing to do whatever it took to show the world what he had done to me- to us!” Dabi explained, his voice wavering as he knelt among jutting pieces of cement and debris.

Y/n let her back rest against a random piece of wall, her chest heaving as her lungs struggled to obtain air. She had overworked herself. Her lungs were practically disintegrating. She was tired, and her body could no longer move. On the inside, she had the organs of a ninety-year-old. This was it for her, and she knew it. But at least she got some closure, right? Through her lidded eyes, she watched as Dabi rushed towards her, blue eyes filled with worry, and maybe even warmth.

“Hey, hey! No! You can’t go on and give up! You have to beat that bastard at his own game, remember? Become number one, drive him insane!” Dabi explained as he scooped up her limp body in his arms. Y/n blinked, her eyes cold and slowly dimming.

“We. We were supposed to do that…” Y/n whispered, her hand weakly reaching up to try and hold his face before meekly falling onto his chest. Dabi took an unsteady breath, taking hold of her cold hand and pressing it to his cheek. “I hope, that in our next lives, we’re able to live the life we always wanted…” Y/n mumbled, her fingers finding purchase on his pulse. Dabi blinked, eyes going wide as soon as he realized what she was doing.

“Stop it- stop! You’re going to die!” Dabi yelled, his voice cracking as she restricted his movements with her quirk.“I was going to die anyway. I knew this would be my final battle, Dabi, so let me die looking at the Touya I knew, and not you.” Y/n mumbled. Dabi could feel the way his sobs racked his body. Her face and body beginning to grow pale, her eyes tired and almost dead as she poured what was left of her into his recovery.

A weak smile grew on Y/n’s face as she watched the burns on his body begin to heal, the staples falling off one by one as his skin slowly began to go back to normal. The flesh beneath her fingers grew soft, the color returning to its pale and rosy state.

“Could you imagine how different our lives could be?” Y/n whispered, a sad smile on her face as she watched the patches beneath Dabi’s eyes disappear. “Sakura and Touya, pro heroes, working side by side… Y’know, I never felt like I could take that hero name. I settled with Renge. Sakuras symbolize starting anew, remember? I never felt like I could start again. I felt, that after Touya died, I had to grow through mud,” Y/n explained, her chest rattling with stinging wheezes, her face growing gaunt and grey.

Dabi took a shuddering breath, his hand gripping onto Y/n’s free hand, nodding along to the words that weakly slipped from her lips, getting lost in the chaos around their bodies. 

“I’m right here, Y/n. Touya’s here…” Dabi sobbed, pulling her body closer to his, willing her to see him for who he was, for who she knew him to be. Y/n shook her head, the hurt in her eyes eminent despite the way they shrouded with death.

“You only look like Touya,” Y/n murmured, flinching as droplets began to fall onto her cheeks. She looked up at him with a feeble gaze, watching as the tears collected in Dabi’s eyes before dripping down his face. Frowning, Y/n attempted to brush away his tears with her thinning hand. Dabi sniffled, looking down at her body as it wasted away in his arms. His eyes held yearning, an agony that only they knew existed. And for a moment, they even seemed tender as he stared down at her. For a moment, Touya was there.

“In our next life, Touya…” Y/n rasped, her hand falling to her side, her eyes dimming until there was nothing left. Touya could feel the way his body broke down, the agonizing screams ripping past the confines of his throat and getting lost in the battle behind them. He could feel the tears rushing down his cheeks, dripping down his chin and filling the dips in her now scrawny face. Her chest shuddered one last time, her final breath raking past her lungs and dissipating into the wind.

He stayed there for what felt like hours, curled around her body. She was thin, pale and so, so utterly broken. Touya couldn’t help but wonder how they had gotten to this point, what their life could have been like if he had just gone to her, looked for her. In his quest to destroy his father, he had lost sight of himself, and ultimately let his ambitions get the best of him.

Touya took a deep breath, harshly wiping the tears off of his face. He gave Y/n’s hand one last squeeze, gently laying her body amongst the mounds of rubble where someone was sure to find her. He could only hope that they would meet again.

“In our next life, Y/n…”

#bnha dabi #mha dabi #touya todoroki #bnha touya #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #bnha imagines #bnha oneshots #bnha x you #mha imagines #mha oneshot #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst #mha angst #dabi angst

[akatsuki-shin]

Review: Scum Villain’s Self-saving System (SVSSS)

Notes:

(Very) long post ahead

Contains spoiler

This is my personal review and does not represent the entire audience, you are free to agree or not agree with what I’ve written here

Feel free to reply/send me a message if there are things you want to discuss

Summary:

SVSSS tells the story of Shen Yuan, an avid web novel reader - particularly the stallion genre - who died suddenly from food-related incident after having just finished reading a famous (yet controversial) web-novel "Proud Immortal Demon Way".

Upon his wake, he discovered that he had been transmigrated into the world of that very novel, moreover into the body of the story's most-hated scum villain, Shen Qingqiu.

In his previous life, Shen Yuan had frequently criticized the "Proud Immortal Demon Way" and its author, "Airplane Shooting towards the Sky", for he found the web novel full of wasted potentials. Now having been sent to live in that novel's story, a mysterious system assigned him with a mission to fix the very plot he had been denouncing - and of course, to save himself from the tragic end of the original Shen Qingqiu, who was fated to be mutilated into a human stick by the story's protagonist, Luo Binghe, his own disciple.

STORY: 7/10

I personally have not read a lot of "isekai" stories. However, what makes SVSSS interesting to me, compared to most transmigration stories I've seen in the past, is because the main character was not thrown into a completely strange, unknown world, but rather into the universe of a novel he had been closely following up until the very last second of his life.

And what's more? He does not have complete freedom in modifying the story however he wants, but supervised by a mysterious system that will reward him for correct decisions, and punish him for wrong choices - with being deported to his original world as the ultimate punishment should his points fall below the set limit (a.k.a. he would really lose his life because he is already dead in his original world).

The fact that Shen Yuan, now living as Shen Qingqiu, possessing complete knowledge of the original story, yet still unable to foresee what butterfly effect his actions will cause to the plot and characters is perhaps the most appealing aspect of this novel.

Shen Qingqiu in his previous life was no different than us - a normal, modern young man from the 21st century. His thoughts and opinions on the situation, the way he reacts on certain matters, his internal monologues are all realistic and easily relatable. It feels as if I myself have partly become Shen Qingqiu, as well, looking at how the story progresses from a first person point of view, because if I were to be in his shoes, I would probably react in the exact same way as a modern person thrown into an ancient fantasy world.

Nevertheless, this "omniscient reader" point of view is not without a flaw. Although Shen Qingqiu himself is gradually blending in, accepting his new life in the ancient cultivation world and no longer seeing the other characters as mere "fictional characters", because his mindset is that of a modern man, I find it difficult for myself as the reader to perceive the world of SVSSS as an actual, stand-alone world. Until the very last page of the story, I still feel like I'm looking at a fictional world, feeling detached to the universe and characters because I'm not "living" in it.

Another aspect that I think could've been improved is the romance development between Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe. I have full confidence that post-story Shen Qingqiu loves Luo Binghe with all his heart, but I seriously have no idea when and how he reached that point.

In the first half of the story, upon having accepted his new life as Shen Qingqiu, his feeling towards Luo Binghe is more like fondness and endearment. Perhaps he does like the character Luo Binghe, and considering that he, along with the rest of the web novel's readers, hated the original Shen Qingqiu to the core, of course he wants to treat Luo Binghe and the other characters better (otherwise, how could he save himself from that nightmarish fate as a human stick).

Later on, he learns of his mistake, how he could've made better decisions, and tried to understand Luo Binghe better, redeeming himself. Perhaps his love towards Luo Binghe began to grow along this path, but I honestly don't see it being told to me, as the reader. All of a sudden he is willing enough to "offer" himself to calm the maddened Luo Binghe. He's been proclaiming himself as a straight man all this time and never once did I see him agreeing with himself that he is going to accept his feelings for Luo Binghe. When I read this later part, I feel like I've just jumped over a huge chunk of development. Because up until that point, Shen Qingqiu still only gives me the feeling of a teacher who adores and cares for a special disciple of his.

All in all, if I were to summarized the plot, I think SVSSS is an interesting, curious story. The fact that Shen Qingqiu was tasked to fix the original novel's flaws makes me want to continue reading for as long as I can. What change is he going to make? What effect will be caused and what chain of events will follow? Furthermore, if you're looking for comedy, then you've come to the right place. With an internet-literate modern man experiencing living in an ancient, fantasy novel, Shen Qingqiu's reactions will never be boring to see. Even the banters and exchanges between characters are so realistic to the point that it is almost possible to imagine them visually.

Also, BingQiu is cute, I take no criticism.

CHARACTERS: 6/10

The distribution of that overall score of "6" is actually as follows:

3 --> Shen Qingqiu

1 --> Shen Jiu

1 --> Luo Binghe + Yue Qingyuan

0.5 --> Liu Qingge

0.5 --> Everybody else

Notice that in the previous section, I barely talk about any other character than Shen Qingqiu? It's not just because he is the main character, but because the other characters are seriously that un-interesting. In fact, I regret to say that personally, I think the characters are this novel's weakest point.

Or to be more precise, the characters' depth.

Shen Qingqiu by himself is a great character. He is calm, logical, knows when and where to put his "omniscient reader" knowledge to good use. He is effortlessly hilarious even if he himself doesn't realize it, but at the same time, despite the mountain of curses he often uses, he is still a good person at heart. I think he is the sole reason that the story could remain interesting until the very end.

But sometimes he is a bit too ideal, almost always having the correct solution and/or countermeasure to every situation even if the plot has changed massively from the original web novel that he knows. Especially when it turns out that he has discovered a way to revive himself after self-destructing at Huayue City, it makes his initially heartbreaking sacrifice less......touching. Because it feels as if he's been scheming this to be freed from the current ordeal, maybe to escape the system, as well.

Furthermore, no matter how much of an expert he was of the "Proud Immortal Demon Way" universe, he still just passed away and was transmigrated into a foreign world. Although the system initially banned him from being OOC, other than some panicky internal monologue, there was almost no trace of him looking distraught when being faced with the unthinkable situation.

Plus, Shen Yuan was different from Airplane Shooting towards the Sky who, even if he were to return to his original world, would have nobody waiting for him. The description of his family was pretty clear. Not only he comes from a well-off household, his family seems to be quite a happy and harmonious one (especially how he used to dote on his younger sister). How come there is not one single moment when he thinks about the family he has left behind and simply carries on with his new life as if nothing happened?

Now Luo Binghe, the second main lead and the one paired with Shen Qingqiu.

Before he fell into the Eternal Abyss, his character actually seems pretty solid. But post-darkening, I don't know why I can't get a good grasp of his character.

The "clingy, crybaby boyfriend" aspect is pretty clear, no complaint there (although the moments of his crying feels too comical for me). Other than that, I don't really feel the "powerful Demon Lord" vibe from him.

Yes, there are descriptions of how powerful he is, how frightening he can be. But it's just not solid enough for me. I understand that he is supposed to be a character with unstable mental, but there are simply not enough part where he is shown to be a proper, powerful Demon Lord because he keeps breaking down each and every single time. The "glass heart maiden" aspect isn't bad, but when it's used in an overly comical way, the character simply loses the charm he's supposed to have.

Even Yue Qingyuan, who's only a minor character, had such a strong charm that slaps you with the biggest plot twist in the whole story when it was revealed (to us, the readers) who he actually is.

Ironically, the original Luo Binghe (Bing-ge) was able to present the character's true image and complexity even if he only appear in less than 10% of the entire story.

And even more ironically, the original Shen Qingqiu a.k.a. Shen Jiu, is probably the most complex character to have ever existed in there (and he only appears in, what, a couple of extra chapters).

(You know what? If MXTX just goes with the original Luo Binghe x Shen Qingqiu, including all of their complexity, I think the development, conflict, and resolution could've been more deep and complex - but yeah, it ain't gonna be "Scum Villain's Self Saving System)

Liu Qingge is okay and actually quite lovable. It's just that I feel it's too easy for him to appear anytime, anywhere there is a problem, as if he's some easy way out.

Other than those I've mentioned above, I literally don't have anything to comment on the other characters because... I don't even know if there's anything to comment. They really come and go just like that and leave no big impression on me.

TECHNICAL ASPECTS: 6/10

This here is basically just some technical things that were a bit unfortunate, because if only they were improved, the story could've been better.

1. The story is clearly written from Shen Qingqiu's point of view, but it will suddenly switch to Luo Binghe's inner thoughts every now and then, making it inconsistent.

2. Description of time and environment. Sometimes it's really difficult to tell in what kind of place the scene is happening, whether it was day or night, whether the characters still remain in the same place or have move elsewhere. Transition when switching locations is also not described enough.

3. As much as I love the story, I feel like it's progressing too fast without any significant crisis. It just ends like that with no massive ordeal or mystery to be solved. I think this is related to Shen Qingqiu's "omniscient reader" point of view because it makes me feel like "hmm yeah, it's just another part of the story, they're going to go through this just fine"

Still, I understand that this is MXTX's first novel. In fact, most of the aforementioned issues (including the characters) have undergone immense improvement in her second novel (MDZS), so I don't think I have anything to worry about.

OVERALL SCORE: 6.3/10

It's worth to read, really. If you just want to enjoy a cool, funny, and cute "isekai" story, I can definitely recommend this. But don't expect some deep philosophical shit, because half of this novel is made of shitpost (I shit you not).

Moral of the story though?

See how market demand kills content creators' freedom and creativity.

Airplane Shooting towards the Sky, the author of the controversial stallion "Proud Immortal Demon Way" literally told Shen Qingqiu at the final chapter of the main story:

He's actually written deep, aesthetic stories before, but they were all unpopular. Only when he wrote this harem novel full of fan-service - disregarding plot depth, plot holes, cheap characterizations - did he finally gain popularity and was able to obtain sufficient income to feed himself.

He was grateful to Shen Qingqiu for "messing" up the plot of his novel, changing it into how it is now, because it allows everything he originally wanted to write - but couldn't - to come true.

In previous chapters, he also said that he actually wanted to make the original Shen Qingqiu into a three-dimensional, more complex characters, but the netizens didn't appreciate it and were complaining instead. Hence he was forced to make the original Shen Qingqiu into a plain old scum villain with no redeeming quality at all - even though in his original script, this character has a complex background that causes his current known personality.

Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua might be talking about it in their usual, funny bantering, but who dares to say that this isn't an issue being faced by almost all content creators in the whole world?

How many content creators have been forced to sacrifice the creativity value and quality of their work in order to satisfy the taste of majority?

How many content creators have been made to revise their works by editors in order to fit into a certain agenda or market trend?

Unless you're a massively popular creator or a powerful individual, chances are you will never have the chance to create a content you truly want to make for a living.

In any case, there may be other authors who are better than MXTX in this world, but I love her works because despite the fictional content, the comedy, the silliness, etc, there are still at least one aspect that reflects the situation of the real, current world, and when you realize it, the realization can be quite a slap to the face like "hey, wait a minute, she's right you know?" See less

#Scum Villains Self Saving System #SVSSS #BingQiu #Shen Qingqiu #Luo Binghe #Review #Danmei #Mo Xiang Tong Xiu #MXTX

[wipodu-ao3]

Making it work - a HTTYD fanfic

Read it on Ao3. Join the Discord!

A Fem!Hiccup AU.

Summary:

Hiccup had made up her mind. Dragon killing was not for her, no matter how much her father protested, she was done with it. She was done trying to fit in. She was going to be who she wanted to be, it's not like anyone cared.

[Ongoing]

Hiccup shut the door of the house with force. Every time! Every time she made a mistake her father humiliated her. He thought he was just raising her with ‘the Viking way’, but she knew he could do that in the privacy of their home and not outside for the whole village to see! He just didn’t… he didn’t know how to raise a daughter.

She understood that. She accepted that. But she wasn’t lying! Hiccup had really shot down a Night Fury! Well if no one believed her, she would go out on her own. Nobody cared enough to stop her. She would show them that she wasn’t lying, that she was capable of being a viking as much as they were.

Hiccup left the house using the back door, to avoid any of the taunts she would undoubtedly receive. She knew the woods of the island like the back of her hand, she spent a lot of time there. It was like a second home to her and even with the setting sun and darkness approaching she didn’t fear getting lost.

Being in the woods helped her relax and get away from… everything. From her father, from the bullies, from the scrutiny of the tribe. Her only friends were Gobber and Ruffnut, as sad as that sounded, she didn’t mind. The other teens her age weren’t that kind to her. Her cousin made fun of her constantly, the twins always joined in, but Ruffnut always did so in a teasing way, not like the cruel way the two boys did.

Fishlegs was her friend once, but ultimately he succumbed to the pressure of being one of the ‘cool’ vikings. And Arne… Arne was indifferent mostly, he didn’t make fun of her, he even helped her at some points in her life, but he wasn’t friendly either. He strived for greatness and was Stoick’s favorite without really trying.

Stoick always talked about Arne, how great the boy was, how he will grow up to be a great viking, how the boy would make a great Chief. Like Hiccup didn’t know these things, the crush she had on the boy was enough proof that she did. She hid the crush as best as she could, not because she cared what others thought, no. She hid her crush because her disinterest in the subject was the only thing keeping Stoick away from arranging a marriage with the boy’s father.

She walked through the forest with confidence, she had drawn a map in her notebook just to keep track of the places she had been already. Hiccup crossed out another place on the map, no Night Fury there. This was getting irritating. She knew that the God’s had it out for her, it was already obvious at that point! So why, oh why, couldn’t they give her a break?

“Oh, the gods hate me. Some people lose their knife or their mug. No, not me. I manage to lose an ENTIRE DRAGON?!” She exclaimed, airing her frustrations to the sky as she shut her notebook forcefully.

She slapped a branch out of her way, but it came back and caught her eye in its way. Hiccup glared at the branch with hatred, but something got her attention. The branch was snapped – scratch that – the whole tree was snapped in half. The only thing that could’ve done that would be… the Night Fury!

Hiccup followed the ditch that had been carved out by the falling dragon. She didn’t care about the dirt she got on herself as she ran forwards, twisting her ankle a bit, she didn’t feel the sting, she was too excited. As she reached a small hill peering over it, she was it. The Night Fury was there! Bound and helpless, easy to kill.

She approached the dragon carefully. It seemed to be dead already, that didn’t diminish her spirits, all she needed was a part of it to show to her father and then… then he would leave her alone, she would show what she could do and he would finally be proud of her.

“Oh, wow. I did it. Oh, I did it!” she could help but exclaim, “This fixes everything! Yes! I have brought down this mighty beast!” she boasted as she put her leg on the body.

The body under her foot moved, startling her quite a bit, she took out her dagger with shaking hands. The dragon was alive, that changed things.

“I'm going to kill you, dragon. I'm going to cut out your heart and take it to my father.” Her voice trembled, but she kept trying to reassure herself, “I'm a Viking. I am a VIKING!”

Hiccup looked over the dragon, from its bound tail to his open – oh Thor it was open – eye. She tried to steady herself, but her eyes kept going back to the frightened eyes of the dragon. Those eyes were so… human. The Night Fury was as scared as she was.

“I did this,” she whispered to herself, her voice filled with remorse.

She lowered her dagger as she started to feel guilt overwhelm her. She did this. She had taken this beast and shot it out of the sky for her own gain. Hiccup didn’t have the guts to go through with it, she didn’t have what it takes to take a life for her own temporary gain. Because with her track record, it would be only temporary.

She looked down at the dragon, the dragon had accepted his fate, but Hiccup had other plans. No one believed her, no one would know that she let the dragon go. She kneeled next to the beast, taking the bolas rope and pulling it away from the body, cutting every rope one by one. With the last rope the dragon shot up, pining Hiccup under its claws.

This was it, Hiccup hadn’t thought things through, had she? Of course the dragon would be mad! Well, with the hot breath of the dragon fanning her face, she accepted her fate. What a way to go! The tribe’s disappointment killed by a dragon, how ironic in a way.

But she wasn’t dead. The dragon had leaned in and when she thought it was all over, the Night Fury just roared in her face and flew off. She was alive! She pulled all of her strength and stood up to head back, she didn’t make it far as her vision went black.

When she woke up, it was already dark. Oh Thor, her father was probably back home and he was wondering where she was. She did not want to deal with him tonight! But she still made her way home, her bed sounding way better than the cold forest floor.

As she made her way inside, her heart fell when she saw her father still up. She sighed to herself as she tried to get pass him, she didn’t succeed.

“Hiccup.” Her father’s voice stopped her halfway up the stairs.

“Dad,” she greeted him back.

“I have to talk to you,” Stoick turned to her, his eyes widening at her dirty appearance.

“I have to talk to you too,” Hiccup agreed, she would have to tell him that she was giving up on dragons sooner or later, but sooner was better.

“I've decided I don't want to fight dragons anymore.”

“I think it's time you learn to fight dragons.”

They said at the same time, then again they spoke simultaneously.

“What?”

“You go first,” Stoick told her.

“No, no, you go first,” she insisted, buttering him up might stop him from getting angry after she told him that she didn’t want anything to do with dragons.

“Alright. You get your wish. Dragon Training. You start in the morning.” Stoick said in conclusion, without even asking her what she wanted.

“Oh, man, I should've gone first!” Hiccup was panicking, this wasn’t the plan, “Uh, 'cause I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough... bread-making Vikings, or small home repair Vikings--?”

“You'll need this,” he said as he pushed an axe that he got from the wall into her hands.

“I don't want to fight dragons,” she disagreed trying to push the axe away from herself.

“Come on. Yes, you do,” Stoick laughed her statement off.

“Let me rephrase: Dad, I can't kill dragons,” she pleadingly told him.

“But you will kill dragons.”

“No, I'm really very extra sure that I won't.”

“It's time, Hiccup.” Stoick forcefully said to her.

“Can you not hear me?!” she exclaimed in frustration.

“This is serious, Hiccup!” Stoick yelped, “When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you. Which means you walk like us. You talk like us. You think like us. No more of... this.” He explained gesturing to her.

“You just gestured to all of me,” she rebutted in offence.

“Deal?” he asked her.

“This conversation is feeling very one-sided,” She complained with a frown.

“DEAL?!” he basically shouted as he pushed the axe to her once again.

“Deal,” she sighed as she took the axe, seeing the conversation going nowhere.

“Good,” he said satisfied, “Train hard. I'll be back. Probably.” He told her as he picked up his things and left the house.

“And I'll be here. Maybe,” she whispered to herself, she looked down at the axe she could barely hold up, determination filled her, she knew what to do. “But you won’t like what I’m going to be,” she said to the empty house with a smirk.

‘I wonder what Ruff is up to?’ she thought to herself as she let the axe drop from her grasp.

#angst #fluff #httyd #httyd fanfiction #hiccup #fem!hiccup #astrid #au #toothless #tuffnut #ruffnut #snotlout #fishlegs

[trulyinspiringmovies]

Spider-Man: Homecoming

“Spider-Man: Homecoming” is weird to me since I think it’s a great movie, but it doesn’t fill me with the same wonder as the Sam Raimi movies.

Peter Parker is craving more action after the airport battle that took place in “Captain America: Civil War”. He wants to be able to help with Avenger-level threats. Instead, he’s relegated to being just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He stumbles across a few guys selling Chitauri tech infused with human tech. Peter realizes that if he busts this whole operation, it’ll be his ticket to becoming a full-on Avenger. It’s a shame that no one seems to believe in him or even want to listen to him.

This was definitely a different Spider-Man movie than I was used to. When I first watched this film, I didn’t know how to feel. At that point, I was used to a certain type of Spider-Man movie that involved high stakes and crazy climactic battles. This felt like it was constantly in the shadows of all the other MCU movies. My friends that I watched this movie with hated this movie. They said it strayed too far from the source material, but that was kind of the point, so I didn’t really see their point of view. It’s a bit difficult to show Spider-Man as this cool superhero if he’s constantly being belittled and compared to Iron Man in his own solo movie. Still, this movie expertly manages to capture a time period for Peter that hadn’t really been done up until that point. High school Peter is a lot of fun to watch. His crushes on girls seem more innocent and fun. The Peter in Sam Raimi’s movies always seemed to be on the brink of losing Mary Jane forever. This movie fits really nicely into the overall MCU, but in doing so, fails to really stand out on its own for me. Having the suit be created by Tony Stark is really cool to look at, but it strips away the meaning of the suit for me. Personally, I prefer when Peter makes his own suit because it really adds to the fact that he’s just a high school student struggling to make ends meet. If you upgrade the suit, but make the settings blander, then it’s taking away a golden opportunity to see Peter shine in a way that’s never been showcased before. I think future installments of Tom Holland’s Spider-Man remedy this problem, but it still stuck out to me when this first came out. The Vulture is handled so expertly in this movie. I love how he’s an actual scavenger in this movie. Michael Keaton was the perfect choice for this role. Tom Holland showed how good of an actor he was with two scenes in particular. First, the obvious scene was when the rubble fell down on him. It was hard to watch him struggle because he cries out like how a teenager in serious trouble would. Second is the scene where he tells Aunt May that he lost the Stark internship. It caught me by surprise and I found myself getting emotional for him. The twist in this movie was great and caught me by surprise in the theaters. The reveal was so great and it abruptly added tension in the best way possible. The car ride scene with Adrian Toomes and Peter was brilliantly shot. In fact, there was a lot more to this movie that was done really well. At the end of the day, this movie still had a bit of problems for me. It’s a little more forgivable now that I’ve seen “Spider-Man: Far From Home” and am going to see “Spider-Man: No Way Home”. As its own movie, however, it still pales in comparison to the originals.

★★★★

Rewatched on December 14th, 2021

#Spider-Man: Homecoming #July #2017 #Action #Superhero #Comedy #Science Fiction #Adventure #Fantasy #Teen #PG-13 #Jon Watts #December 2021 #4 stars

[obeymeluv]

Random Spooky Thing

Something spooky I thought about. I don’t know what really got me thinking about it besides spooky season and the fact that the boys are 5,000+ years old and have probably made secret friends/lovers with a few non-RAD humans over the years.

This is pre-RAD program, post-fall. Boys are still probably at odds with their new demon instincts or have just barely settled into them.

Trigger warning for scary situation. Namely: almost being a legit sacrifice for a demon summoning. 

I also have personal headcanons that the bros used to be Avatars in heaven, but for the trait opposite of their sin (Lucifer would be humility, Mammon would be charity/giving, Asmodeus would be love (I guess?), Satan doesn’t count because I don’t think he was in the Celestial Realm when it all happened (based on where I’m at in the game). Beel championed a good harvest/abundance. and Belphegor had the blessing of reinforcement/encouragement/inspiration/productivity)

Lucifer’s got unexpectedly long so this part will have Lucifer and Mammon only. I have to study for exams and stuff TT_TT

Lucifer:

The concept of being summoned by dark magic is very foreign and forceful. He hates it, and he hates that this is what his life is now

There was a certain beseeching vulnerability to humans when they prayed - it was soft and glowing and he misses it

This is a rough yank, like he’s nothing more than a petulant child that needs to be dragged around. Or worse, some dog. 

He spills out into the human world and it smells of smoke and brimstone and ground ingredients he’s starting to get familiar with 

Lucifer’s used to being intimidating in an angelic way, but he can feel the magic spill off of him here. He can feel his aura manifest into something dark and terrifying.

His eyes now glow in the dark; he can see a reflection of them in the humans’ eyes.

They give a very archaic, overdone address (”O’ great Lucifer...”) and he doesn’t even let them finish before he’s scoffing.

The fall may have broken his wings and shattered his reality, but he’s still fairly arrogant and ready to lash out

There’s a beautiful smell that makes his stomach ache something ungodly now that he’s a demon, and Lucifer realizes with abject horror that a wounded human is somewhere in this room

Celestial Realm or not, his eyes still have the ability to see human souls and intentions. There seems to be a lamb among these idiotic wolves

He sees that dagger rise, the muffled wail enough to pierce his ear and Lucifer snarls as he snatches that hilt in an iron grip

It’s enough to break the human’s grip and send his hands down the dagger, spilling rancid blood

“If you wish to summon me, do it with your own blood. Lay yourself before me and beg.” he says in a voice that is so grating and booming that it makes him flinch a little

His voice was never like this in the Celestial Realm and it makes him angry that it will never be angelically velvety again. Just something semi-twisted and possible of corruption

Perhaps because of the blood or the injustice, Lucifer throws out his wings and punishes the mortal for their insolence. Then the others who try to dogpile him and throw their books at him and shout words that have no meaning.

His grip now crushes things, and he forgets. Pinching is basically stabbing. A shove is basically a fracture.

You’re sobbing uncontrollably when he approaches where you’re being held and Lucifer realizes that he looks a sight. Truly frightening. He never had these murderous impulses as an angel and still surprises himself when he falls to them. They’re still so new!

“Be not afraid,” the words are comforting but fuzzy. They feel foreign on his tongue. He pets your hair. “I shall do you no harm.”

He has to remind himself that he’s so much stronger in this form, tugging and ripping at the rope while trying not to break your little limbs.  

You have this resigned trust, this hope, this faith that he will keep his word and it makes him miss humans. Makes him miss Lilith and how he’d catch her and Belphie sneaking around to watch them.

You ask him if he’s really Lucifer, like that Lucifer. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is. Instead he says, “I am the Morning Star.” and insists on taking you home.

He will guide you home, the bringer of light.

You hug him and it’s the first burst of warmth--genuine warmth--he’s felt since the fall. “Thank you, Lucifer.”

He’s called back by a greater force--Lord Diavolo--and prefers to forget the whole thing happened. That he ate people. That they almost hurt you.

He secretly checks in on you from time to time but doesn’t have the courage to talk to you again. 

Every time he looks at you, he’s emotionally drained for the rest of the day. He’s starting to understand what Lilith felt so strongly about and it just makes that gaping wound that much deeper.

He drowns his guilt in Demonus and damns his hypocrisy. 

Mammon

He hates being summoned because it burns like when he fell

It reminds him of his body screaming in pain as he adamantly tried to hold onto his Holy Weapons during the fall. His body converted during the fall and Holy Weapons are sheer agony for demons.

The burns on his hands were deep and tender and took days to heal. He doesn’t even remember how he broke his wing, but he knows it drags and its lame. It can’t unfold as well as the other one.

Being summoned just leaves a bad taste in his mouth because he disagrees with being cast out, in general. Seems like some of those angels were morally corrupt, not them! How could what he and the others did be considered wrong?! 

Mammon hates the fact that turning into a demon really ripped the veil off his eyes. He used to be a symbol of charity and giving, bringing joy to people, and now he just sees how nasty they are on the inside. Scummy, scummy people.

“What’s your business with the GREAT Mammon, hm? I’m a busy guy, ya know.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looks disinterestedly around the room.

Dull souls, the lot of ‘em. Not a nice smell in the bunch! Some shiny bits and bobs he might take for his time, though.

Sometimes he bites his own tongue to try and fight off the demonic powers that converted him. To get his brain back on track. He doesn’t WANT to be so blunt and careless, so trained on shiny things. but it’s like he can’t help it!

It burns in his soul and sometimes he can hear his old self, his old ways, fizzling out like his wings as they disintegrated not long ago

The dumb humans start ranting about sacrifice and exchange and Mammon stops them cold, louder than them. It’s mostly the ‘older brother’ voice but he forgets that a demon is just scary to humans.

“Not really interested. What else ya got?”

No one expects that. He can tell. They take the thing off your head as if that will change his mind and something about the shininess of you catches his eye. Makes him feel kind of like a puppy.

Is it your soul? Your earrings? The genuine innocence of a human? How glittery your tears look?

He knocks them aside with his wings, stomps over to you, and picks you up (chair and all). 

They start yipping about how he technically accepted the deal and how he needs to do their bidding or grant them a favor. “Hang tight, sweets,” Mammon sets your chair down before pointing out every technicality on how the deal wasn’t finished and the terms weren’t agreed upon.

Technically they just summoned him; they didn’t complete a pact ritual

“I’m takin’ that--he points to you--just because I can!” Mammon laughs at the dumb little humans. “You guys didn’t do your homework! I’m the Avatar of Greed!”   

One of them tries to sneak around behind him and stab you (like that will change anything?!) and Mammon notices. He grabs the one in front of him by the face, throws him into the one by you, and just starts swinging

He doesn’t kill them, but he DOES raid their pockets of shiny things and interesting things. 

Mammon takes the knife, the weird clasps off their ensembles, and breaks the chair to set you free. Debates on taking the screws, but tosses them over his shoulder (not good enough)

As an act of good will, you’re recruited to pillage this lame location they picked

He gets you home with a spell, some kind of homing magic, and just stands there looking at you quietly. He didn’t really look after humans like Belphie and Lilith did so he’s not sure what to do

The urge to comfort is strong but the genteel pat is corrupted by the desire to feel your earring between his fingers. Some guttural demon noise of glee comes out of him and it makes him embarrassed. He never used to make noises like that...

You unhook your earrings with a tentativeness that reminds him of the humans who left offerings at his alter, fretting over if they were good enough and wondering what they would bring.

You fold his big, tan fingers over the earrings and Mammon holds onto them for a while after he finds his way back to the Devildom. It’s his first gift as a demon.

He ignores getting yelled at and the little brothers pestering him about why he smells good, telling him that they’re hungry. and all their other little gripes. 

Mammon never goes looking for you after that, trying to fill the ache in his soul with time and money and fame (oddly?) but he thinks of you often. He keeps your earrings in a special box at the front of his magic-locked hoard room. On his bad days, he’ll go sit in that empty room of knickknacks, open the box, and stare. 

He picks up the little things, careful not to break them with his nails or strength. “You’re one silly human, aren’t you?” he smiles at the twinkling jewelry.   

#Obey me! #Obey me! x Reader #Obey me! Lucifer #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Obey me! Mammon #Lucifer #Mammon

[braindeacl]

Splinter | Solomon & Eilidh

SETTING: The woods. TIMING: Current, early morning. PARTIES: @shroomsbysolomon & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh means to put an end to Solomon’s trail of death, permanently, but ideologies get in the way.  WARNINGS: Drug use

Anger had driven him from his home. Rage had fueled the destruction he’d left in his wake all those miles from here. But it was fear that brought him back; heavy in his gait and thick in his throat. It was fear that coaxed him toward the coast, that sent sharp aches through his body and violent shivers up his spine. He’d been gone too long. What might have happened in his absence? No, no, he couldn’t rationalize it that way, he—

How was he to reconcile this?

It had taken several centuries to forget the first time, and he wasn’t sure how many more centuries he had to spare.

Lumbering through familiar forests, a sense of calm began to worm its way into his anxious mind. Perhaps he had strayed too far—this was his home, after all. His roots were here, in more ways than one. His thoughts drifted to soft lips, the snarling curl of a scar amidst a warm smile… sunlight streaming in through the window, all golden and peaceful.  For a moment, blissful memory overtook the hate that had inspired his trip out west, cleansing his conscience of all the horrible things he’d done to those people—

As with all things, it was not meant to last. A sound snapped Solomon from his reverie, golden eyes darting to his left, where they fell upon a most peculiar figure in the distance. A beat of silence passed between them: the human-shaped silhouette, half hidden by foliage, stood small before the towering fae, all bark and thorns and lichen and antlers. 

An uncharacteristic vocalization bloomed in the leshy’s throat, deep and growling. He recognized this one. He’d seen them out in his woods before, coming upon the bodies of the unfortunate souls he’d turned into hedge hounds… as well as the ones that the vines had refused to make hosts out of. Even after the first failed attempt, Solomon had persisted, not having any better explanation for his own existence and hoping that perhaps one would work out.

“What do you want?” he snarled, his ancient, unnatural voice pouring forth from the skull that adorned his head. 

It started as an attempt to find answers. Searching for potential leads on the gateways that kept sprouting about White Crest. But the trail led nowhere. Might as well have fun heading back. Eilidh took to the forests, exploring what they had to offer. When Eilidh came upon the first body, she was a mixture of disturbed and intrigued. Just as the corpse was a mixture of flesh and plant. It had been hard to distinguish at first, the protruding vines blending in with the surrounding vegetation. But something felt off. On closer inspection, she noted the way the vines curled and twisted into a familiar shape. A human shape. Unlike most of the hedges she’d see in town, which were forced into poses by the cut of a blade, what lay before lacked any sort of obvious manipulation. This was simply how it grew to be. Out in the middle of the woods. Interesting. Further inspection confirmed a suspicion. Someone had been snipped of their true form, forced by powerful magic into this construction. Part of her wondered if this had been the fate of all the hedges she had seen moving about town. But unlike those, this was still. More plant than creature. Is this how all the hedges will end? One side winning out? 

What started as a fascinating oddity became a repeated occurrence. Again and again. Sometimes it was like the forest floor was made of those bodies, for they looked one and the same. In perfect tandem. The harmony was almost beautiful. But the amount was becoming concerning. Whoever was the cause clearly had no plans on slowing down. How long until the forest was only corpses? She began to take the inspection seriously. Time was taken to observe the area, face obscured so she may not be observed as well. A plan began to formulate. She suspected fae, perhaps a nymph. An angry one. Her iron dagger was close at hand. 

Over time, she noticed a pattern. Realization brought forth a path in her mind; a path that hopefully led her to the source. Following that trail of death, it brought her to the being before her. Massive in form. Something powerful. Maybe even ancient. She had seen such a sight before, lingering near the bodies, but for her was from a safe distance. Only a vague idea of what she would face. That luxury was lost as the being placed their sights on her, and she was able to fully behold what she had gotten herself into. Her hand immediately went to grab at the syringe of Bliss nestled near her chest. No more close calls, it was time to do this right. James was saying something, probably an attempt to stop her. She couldn’t hear. Didn’t want to hear. Fuck the consequences. Temptation gnawed at her hands and throat as she gripped the needle. The cravings willed it.  

She stabbed it into her neck.

Only enough for one hit remained. Her lucky charm. Pressing down, the contents filled her, worming its way through her body. Too soon to fully take over, she waited. Staring. Something sent a shiver down her spine as she fully studied her target. Ancient knowledge banged in her head, wanting to be realized. Details previously lost came into focus: head replaced with skull, towering like a tree, horns outstretched like branches. Horns like branches. Horns. Familiarity caused her to gasp. This didn’t seem right; part of her was skeptical. But before that side could win, the other part willed her to proclaim, voice in awe, “Adharcach aon… Carson a tha thu…” 

Staring the stranger down, Solomon could tell by the tone of her voice that she was overwhelmed by his appearance—not an uncommon reaction, truth be told, but something was different about it, this time. Something that reminded him of the way the humans used to react to seeing him many hundreds of years ago… shortly before they would begin to treat him like one of their gods. 

He didn’t know the language that she spoke, but it sounded old, like the one he’d been taught growing up. Taking a step toward her, the leshy growled out a warning, though it was in the tongue of long-dead vikings. “Get out of my forest,” he commanded, “and do not return.” Not caring if she understood the language, he took another threatening step toward her. His long digits splayed out in a way that made them seem ready to attack, antlers angling down toward her. 

“You are not welcome here,” he added in English, just for good measure. 

Eilidh’s thoughts were still swimming in a pool of questions. Why had The Horned One taken on this form? Should she offer him something? Was this even real? An illusion? Did she get hit with something again and was seeing things? The being that stood before her was exactly as she had imagined him all these years, these centuries. The Horned God. She’d never thought she’d see him like this. Usually he could only be felt—in the leaves, the bark, the grass below—his presence permeating everywhere, everything. Her body was electrified at the sight. 

She did not understand him. And he did not seem to understand her, which casted a heavy shadow of doubt above them all. But the way he spoke brought upon a memory she had thought was long lost. Momentarily transported back centuries ago, she recalled a man. A vampire. His voice carried the same rhythm, the same flow and pitch. The same forgotten song. Even then, in the encounter so long ago, it was understood what he spoke was old and long gone. How much older it has grown since. Whoever stood before her was very ancient, or was very good at pretending to be. 

His image, who he appeared to be, was still causing confliction, contradictions, in her mind. Awe? Confusion? Anger? She wasn’t even sure whether to move, leave, or remain frozen. But in her pause, the drug was able to finally make its nest. It stole all those questions. Quieted her mind for a moment. Until the anger, no longer having competitors, was able to move to the forefront. Her body felt electrified for a different reason. Power.

Glamour activated, it was like her form suddenly struggled to retain its shape. It shifted and lurched this way and that. Fighting to be free from this humanoid container. Nothing about her looked the same for long. “ToUGh shIt.” Even her voice fought against her. “I’vE seeN wHat you’VE doNe, FUcker.” Her iron dagger was drawn, preparing for an attack. Fast clicking emanated from her. Teeth chattering. Too fast to be human. Then she was on the move. Not directly at the other being, but in the general vicinity. Here, then there, back again. Maneuvering through the trees as if she had ran through the area many times. 

That spark of anger ignited, and it was fueled by something Solomon did not fully comprehend. There was a voice in his head that demanded sacrifice, that demanded he protect it, no matter the cost. He was compelled by something unseen, a phantom that haunted him—draped over him like a blanket made of shadow. It was warm, though, that wispy embrace… inviting. Solomon was beginning to lose himself in it. The heat bloomed and rose in his chest, the flame licked higher and burned brighter until it was white-hot, blinding him to reality.

All he knew was that he had to defend. 

Golden orbs tucked away in black pits struggled to keep up with the rapid, erratic movements of his enemy, his large head jerking this way and that as he took a wary step back.

“I did what had to be done!” he bellowed, heart racing as she drew near. With a furious stomp, the leshy dug his trunk-like feet into the earth as roots erupted from them, racing through the soil in all directions, trying to create a protective circle around him. They lashed out of the ground wherever the stranger flicked into existence, reaching with the intent to strangle, but never quite quick enough. The glint of metal in his attacker’s hand sent a shiver of fear up his spine: he might have had very little understanding of what he was, but as a fae, he had discovered at a young age that iron was something he did not want to be injured with.

“This does not concern you!” the leshy tried again, focusing his attempts to get a handle on her to hold her still.

As Eilidh’s feet struck down, the ground below awoke. Roots shot out, cracking the soil, like nightcrawlers returning from a winter’s nap—wriggling, writhing, grasping—with only one goal. Stop her. But they only touched her shadow. Their attempts grew more powerful, more desperate, the closer she came to where the being stood, hidden behind a barricade. Coward. The sight alone would’ve culled any lingering wonder as to who the being was. This was no god. This could be killed.

This could be a meal.

Her teeth snapped in anticipation. Hard click of canines that wanted to bury into the other’s head. The thought was distracting enough to allow a root to knock on her heel. Almost enough to lose balance. Almost. Onward it went, the eternal game of cat and mouse—but who was which? In the repetition of actions, her mind wandered to the previous words. What had to be done. When humans uttered that phrase, a weak attempt at justification, it made her want to rip their throats. And they ironically would want to do the same to those who simply did what had to be done in order to survive, gore and all. Was the latter true in this case? Ever the curious soul, even with a tampered mind, she barked out. “FeEl FRee to eXplAIn yoUrseLf bEforeee I eAT yOu.” The chase continued, continued, continued; her energy seemingly never ending, the roots seemingly ever growing. Her patience, however, had a limit. Erratic feet found a singular goal, and she grew closer. When the roots became frantic, instead of retreating, allowing the stalemate to carry on, she pressed onward. Switching to the defense, her blade was in motion, aiming a slash at any root that dared to come near. 

That rage was returning as Solomon failed again and again to catch her, to stop her—it was burning white hot in his skull, bleeding out to his chest and stomach, smothering him. He felt something catch, but just as quickly as it had made contact, it was gone. The leshy let out an infuriated wail that made the branches of the trees around them shiver in response, and doubled down on his efforts. Only now… now something was hurting him. Cutting into his roots, burning like the anger that was making him lightheaded. 

Fear escalated to panic, threatening to overtake him until finally—there! Got her.

“The humans,” he moaned, the root that had managed to catch his attacker’s foot snaking around her ankle and working up her leg, “they hurt us. They come into my woods and cut them down—” The barrier fell away as Solomon emerged to face whoever this person was, his lithe body trembling with emotion. “—they kill the creatures I call my family, they burn our home to the ground!” One root had become many, each grasping at her and trying to hold her in place, recoiling in pain with each slash of her weapon. And yet Solomon still lamented, the anguish laced in his tone only fueled by her attempts to break free. “I must take back what they have claimed, I must show them—listen!—I must show them that they are not the center of all creation! Can you not understand that?” 

Eilidh continued to slash—the resulting wails only fueling her frenzy. But it was her against an army; she could only hold them off for so long. The distinction between ground and root was lost. All below writhed: reaching, reaching, reaching. She would not back down. Until something forced her to. Attention could only be divided so many ways; a hand can only be in so many places. One of the roots darted out from such a place. Ensnared its prey. To the ground, she fell.

Is he… monologuing? She did technically ask for this. Nevertheless, she preoccupied herself with repeatedly stabbing the root snaked around her leg. More quickly followed. One replaced the battered root that had been encircling her shin. Others gripped her attacking arms, trying to slow her movements into less offensive blows. She bit into the barked flesh, ripping off pieces with her canines. Their hold diminished until her hand was free to send another flurry of stab, stab, stab, stab. Discarded bark littered the forest floor, revealing wooden innards. Weakened by her ambush, or discouraged by her hostility, the roots peeled away by the will of her hands. Freedom at last. She rolled, and when feet struck ground, she returned to a sprint. Intent on continuing the chase, waiting for the next opportunity to arise.

But with her predicament solved, his words started worming into her brain. Just as the roots had done to her body. Encircling. Ensnaring. Contorting her to a new position, a new viewpoint. What he said struck a chord with her. It did make sense. If Bliss had been stripped from within, she might have even felt sympathy. Or she might have discarded his words as bullshit. She wasn’t sure. The drug wiggled its way through her mind all the same, dancing with his words. James saw the look on her face; tried to remind her about something. Something she couldn’t bring herself to care about now. “Ya gOt A poINt.” She readily admitted, musing out loud. Sprint turned into a brisk jog as her legs lost some of their fire. “So tHOse bODiees ouT thErE. THat’s tHeem?” 

Seeing her break free, Solomon fell into retreat. She was by far the toughest thing he’d encountered in quite some time, and he had apparently grown weak with such easy domination of his foes. Roots slithered back toward him, reforming into his body as he took a few steps back, waiting to see if she would come running at him again.

She did, and he continued to move back, lashing out again and again with the extensions of himself, paralytic thorns whizzing through the air as he tried to put her down a second time.

It wasn’t until he noticed the change in her body language and how her pace had slowed that he too allowed a moment of respite, grasping at a tree trunk as he passed it by, worn down from the constant effort of defending himself. 

“Some of them,” he answered with a growl, pushing off of the tree to keep moving away from her, though it was certainly less energetic at this point. “Others are retaliation… for the centuries of destruction.” The wounds she had left him with were sapping his strength, and after a few more steps, the leshy dropped to one knee and leaned forward, a shudder running down his spine. “Please,” he groaned, “please, don’t… I have to care for this place.”

The tides were turning in Eilidh’s favor, and the cravings enjoyed that very much. Seeing him relent under the weight of his injuries, his actions. The excitement tingled down her arm, her fingers, shaking against the handle of her blade. But she did have standards. It seemed his soul was not as ripe for the picking as she hoped. Virtue could be found in his actions, at least from her type of sensibilities. Disappointing. She had been so close to finishing. He was practically on his knees, waiting to be eaten! She could still continue, just for sustenance instead of satisfying that side of her nature. But as he brought up the need to protect, to provide for the surrounding habitat, Eilidh remembered his own nature. Killing him would remove this forest its guardian. 

She looked to James, her source of moral direction when in this state. He was cautiously eyeing the being, anger clear on his face, but the wink of sympathy in his eyes betrayed him. She recognized it easily, an expression he wore frequently. Always such a gentle soul. But his fleeting moment of empathy sealed the being’s fate. If Eilidh had watched longer, the two would have locked eyes. He would have motioned for her to carry on, frustration and anger and sadness at the other’s cruelty urging his damning hands. He would have sentenced his death. But instead, Eilidh looked away. Considered his importance to the flow of this environment. Considered further still the unreadiness of his soul. Perhaps in another time, another place, it would become much riper. Richer. Delicious. 

“KeEP tHaat shIt ConTained to thOSe wHo HUrt tHiis PLace, or I’lL fiiiND yoU AGain.” Though some of her wished he would go against her words. Ripen his soul. Give her something to truly feast on. With that she started to leave. Footfalls as silent as James’ protest might as well have been, falling on deaf ears. 

#splinter #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. solomon h. #glitch tag #drug use tw

[ratplagues]

🔥 any dishonored thing of ur choosing -deathoftheoutsider

wah okay!! i will talk a bit about the outsider and void then..i dont really wanna frame it as a Hot Take bc i have no interest in starting shit or whatever like ill interact with whatever i want to in this fandom and ignore the rest and everyone else is free to do the same but.

I do not think The Outsider is a “character” in the conventional sense, much less that it does his character or the allegory he wields any justice to be shipped with anyone in the series (at least without seriously considering the implications and framing it in a way that completes the allegory. more on this later)

the outsider and his void are an allegory for Otherness; i’m namely gonna frame it as queerness and neurodiversity, but really anything could fit as long as it’s about you feeling seen as a marginalized and othered person. he is written to represent this allegory, not to be a person with a satisfying narrative arc or dimensions. this is why some people feel that he lacks depth-- he’s not supposed to have depth compared to others in the series, he’s mostly a vehicle for what he represents, and is supposed to be easy to identify with or recognize.

he was born to a life of hardship, suffered at the hands of the rich and powerful, was ignored, cast out, etc. etc. a familiar story. poor, queer, nd, really whatever you wanna frame it as. he was a nobody outcast. in comes the envisioned, they pick him to serve as their martyr and idol without his permission. he then had his name cut away and forgotten, and was thrust onto a pedestal to spend the rest of eternity being worshipped by other outcasts who had suffered at the same hands he had. he has something greatly in common with those who worship him, including the very people who stripped his mortality from him in the first place, but because of this shared hardship (and nothing else), his own autonomous personhood was disregarded completely in favor of The Community needing someone Just Like Them to idolize. if this sounds familiar, that’s because it should!!

his humanity was taken from him, and in his place, an idol was created. his human body is frozen in stone in the center of the void-- retired. out of commission. no longer needed. he was immortalized, transcended. this is traditionally desired, although dishonored is trying to convince you that it is not actually desirable. in the age of internet content creation, you can be immortalized without even being present, without knowing about it. you become what you can do for other people, and what you cannot. people fall in love with an idea of you, the idea of you being like them, and other people come to hate you deeply without even knowing you. people came to hate the outsider more deeply than he ever had been when he was human-- he wasn’t seen when he was human. a pedestal only helps you to be seen. the outsider had the choice made for him to achieve immortality in exchange for the simple joys of being un-known.

he spends all of doto trying to convey this idea to billie through the hollows:

"There is freedom in being hated. There is license in being cast out. Some learn this lesson a little too well."  "These people lay their thoughts, their petty wants, their murderous desires in front of me to witness. I cannot turn away." "We carry what was done to us through the rest of our endless days. No one asked if we wanted it." (i like this one. he speaks for the community-- this is a shared experience, one everyone can recognize. however, as a Queer Figure, he never asked for this. he never asked to be immortalized. i like the double meaning here)

not to mention, the entire extent of the outsider’s Sole ability and influence on the real world is to “choose” people and give them untold power over others. this is a fun ironic twist on what marginalized groups endure from powerful people, (dishonored is largely about power imbalances and socioeconomic hierarchies) but it’s also fun to think about in the context of the role model/fan framing-- so many worshippers give their lives to be “chosen” by him. it’s easily framed as an exaggeration of otherwise very real power imbalances and often the flagrant breaching of boundaries existing between creators and fans.

and on the subject of the VOID...ohht he void.....

the void should be a haven for queer folks. for nd folks. it’s wanted by so many to be a safe space, it should be, it’s the Other World! it’s renounced by the abbey, crusaded against, even. but it isn’t. it’s just this limitless, eons-old horizon that hungers and starves for something to fill it. if the outsider is the lament of queer idolatry, the void is the lament of queer Hunger. it is roaming, and restless. it does not belong to the outsider; the outsider cannot survive without it. it’s the desire to belong, not a place of belonging.

the void craves this idol, this outsider-- i, for one, have often experienced hunger for a truly moral and just role model, someone to make the world Right, and i know this is another shared feeling. those who worship the outsider, who drive themselves mad trying to see him or be chosen by him, are suffering from this idol hunger. you see this in a lot of queer and nd kids and young adults. i grew up just having my life and interests like, punctuated by different fixations on different people that i didn’t know at all, only fell in love with the idea of. it happens a lot.

there’s a couple more doto quotes that really highlight this for me:

"They carve my mark into the old bones bleached by the sun. They carve my mark into their skin. They learn true hunger in the Void." "All these charms, these runes and fetid offerings on shrines made for me, will be nothing more than objects worn of meaning. Bones and dead things, thrown into the dirt."

“They learn true hunger in the Void.” is something that i wanna touch on real quick. people can spend their lives obsessing over the idea of what they think the void will cure for them, will fix in their lives, only to find out that it’s just a hollow manifestation of the emptiness they’ve felt all their lives. it’s not the needs met, but the need itself. you have to make the home, it doesn’t already exist and you can’t fucking run to it. it is heartbreaking, frustrating, one of the bleakest messages i’ve ever encountered in a game, but i’ve never felt more seen. by submitting to these ideas, the idea of a perfect unhuman human and the idea of a perfect otherworldly home, you are surrendering your humanity. you’re not only being transformed by the powers gained (if they are gained), you’re essentially dissolving with hunger after never having these needs met. you see so many people in these games whittling themselves down to nothing but base need. empty apartments occupied only by shrines, sometimes containing their corpses. journals of people dedicating their lives to the worship of the outsider, always ending darkly.  "I will find this empty place. Somehow the key to open the Void will fall into my hands. In time, I will learn the secret and he will call to me as he called to her."

not to mention The New Envisioned-- prolonged exposure to the void will always, without fail, turn a human into silver void stone. these creatures can no longer interact with or acknowledge the mortal world. they have surrendered themselves to hunger, and cannot be saved. this is celebrated by the cult, honored by them, even. i honestly like....i pity them, and i hate them, and i recognize that i’ve been those people, lmao. when i was at my worst as a teenager, i wasnt so much a person as i was just a shell full of hunger and heartbreak. my personality was defined by who i was a fan of. i think i definitely was Less Human then. the cult of the outsider is a universal experience!!

dishonored, at its core, is a celebration of humanity. it asks you to celebrate human emotion and weakness despite greed and bigotry. the powers are not to be wanted, they are to be ignored, refused. it is human to hunger, but it is Queer and Divergent to make hunger your life’s meaning, to need to learn the secret, find the key, be chosen and loved and cherished, to be made whole by some perfect thing. to find your humanity in something un-human. dishonored sees all that, mourns it with you, and then asks you to find humanity in each other !! love the spine of your lover, the blood draining down the docks, the pause to stretch languidly in the sun of a work day.

and finally...on the topic of outsider shipping....i dont think that, in his god form, it does him much justice to be shipped with anyone. he’s not much of a person, just a projection of his former self and a vehicle for his allegory as discussed-- im sure he could be shipped like this, but it just isn’t satisfying to me in any way. however, let’s talk a bit about his lethal and nonlethal ending. DOTO asks you to make a choice. is it better to give him an abrupt and merciful ending, after deciding that the fury he’s endured at the hands of others’ famine is too much trauma for any mortal to live with? or will you decide that it’s only fair to give him a chance to live the life he never got to, to return his humanity that was taken without his consent? if you choose to free him from the void, i think you can very very easily make the argument that he can be shipped with corvo, or anyone else that can easily be shipped w/ ppl. he’s finally free to live his life as a queer man, can explore the simple and complex joys of being human with other people, navigate the hills and valleys he never got to before. corvo’s just a nice pick bc 1) experienced human/inexperienced human is good, 2) they know each other, but they don’t. this is a good setup. 3) corvo is an older queer man and uhh you cant convince me otherwise lol! and older queer/younger queer is a self indulgence for me. also corvo is just nice. i think he would enjoy helping the outsider navigate his new humanity.

just some thoughts i have running through my head all hours of the day :) this is really long cuz its a combination of a lot of infodumps from discord lmfao

#m #doto #death of the outsider #dishonored #Anonymous #long post

[starlightshore]

Why do you think Toriel & Asgore barely speak about Chara? Asriel has been mentioned by both but Chara's just a throwaway line or two. I think the meta reason is that Toby wants Chara to be as mysterious as possible but in universe? I feel like maybe they didn't see Chara as their child

i want to state real quick, not directly at you anon but to anyone reading: chara dreemurr was a integral part of the dreemurr family and a caring child. they were asriel’s sibling and these are all facts, anyone who wants to fight can just leave

now that is out of the way, let me explain my two cents about this. 

 I think the main reason we don’t hear about chara too much from them is that asgore and toriel are characters we don’t see much of.

The most we see of Toriel is in the first section of the game, the tutorial section. Her status as ex-queen and the adopted parent of the other fallen children isn’t known yet! And as basic story telling, we wouldn’t hear about Chara this early when it’s a reveal for the end of the game.

Asgore is used VERY sparingly. (ba dum tish) He’s mentioned by a few people throughout the game as this lovable fluffy fool, but our first impression is how he SO wants to murder our butt. This is set up to show how he’s a broken man of regret, how he’s turned himself into a monster (figuratively) and he can’t stop being one or be redeemed without adopting you or dying. He’s full of determination to continue what he set out to do, out of obligation for this people. He’s a parallel to your determination to finish the game. There’s a reason we hear his voice when we’re brought back from death.

Because there’s only so many lines of dialogue between asgore and toriel, we don’t have time for them to be reminiscing about Chara or Asriel. NEITHER talk about EITHER sibling at all ingame directly. We hear Asgore mention his son, and it sucks he didn’t mention chara, but I think we miss some important context in that line.

“We could be like...Like a family...No. That's just a fantasy, isn't it? Young one, when I look at you...I'm reminded of the human that fell here long ago...You have the same feeling of hope in your eyes.”

Asgore offers to adopt you just as he had for Chara. But then he remembers his actions, how Toriel has been gone for a hundred years and 6 children he murdered. He thinks of you like he had Chara, but now he’s got clarity and the determination to “fix things.” Oh God I’m making myself sad because this is literally Chara’s plan but reversed.

“There is an ancient prophecy among our people...One day, a savior will come from the heavens.... I believe the one that was prophecied was you. Somewhere in the world outside...There must be a way to free us from our prison. It pains me to give you this responsiblity, but...Please. Take my soul... and seek the truth.”

This is good writing, Chara’s hope and the prophecy are connected by these paragraphs, directly explaining why Chara killed themself. Asgore, like Chara, feels it’s on them to die for the benefit of someone else’s freedom. It’s just a twisted reflection of it, Chara died so Asriel can cross and kill 6 humans to save monsters. Asgore killed 6 humans so monsters could be free, but now he’s killing himself so a human can cross instead.

But yeah back on topic.

“Ha... ha...I'm sorry...I couldn't give you a simple, happy ending...But I believe your freedom......is what my son......what ASRIEL would have wanted. You are our future!”

This is foreshadowing. This is bluntly telling the player that you didn’t get the good ending, and it hints that it’s Asriel who is going to be involved with getting it.

And here’s some conversation from before.

“I remember the day after my son died. The entire underground was devoid of hope. The future had once again been taken from us by the humans.”

I believe Asgore doesn’t mention Chara directly here because it would muddle the message. Humans are what killed Asriel, and regardless of what Asgore knows of, Chara is involved in that. Asgore thinks Chara died of natural causes, but it’s their death that set off the direct events to Asriel’s death. In the day after their deaths, Asgore vows to destroy humanity. It wouldn’t make SENSE to name drop or call attention to Chara being his child right here.

“I just want to see my wife. I just want to see my child.” This admittedly, is cruel to not mention children here. Chara was already called Asriel’s sibling and it was stated “lost two children in one night.” There’s no excuse for Asgore not to mention Chara here. I’ll admit, it’s an odd choice. We also see Chara’s bed is undisturbed, Chara’s chair at the dining table is still there. He clearly still mourns them just the same as Asriel. The only reason I can think of is that Asgore still feels pained by humanity and by extension, Chara.

As for Chara not being name dropped in the alarm clock? I think that’s more to do with keeping it vague like you say anon. I think it’s a little more than that though.

I think if we look at how their name and frisk’s are used in both the no mercy route and pacifist. Of course Flowey calls you Chara in both routes, but in the no mercy route he’s proven right. Chara looks at the mirror and says “It’s me, Chara.” vs. “Still just you, Frisk.” I think it’s cleanly: in the no mercy route Chara’s forcefully takes autonomy over Frisk and eventually gets their SOUL and is seen by the player. It’s the only route we really see Chara actively act within the world and make choices outside of the player (striking Sans twice in order to kill him, killing Flowey)

This is in direct contrast to the opposite, its only in the pacifist route Frisk is named and is directly called onto outside of “the human.” Frisk, only though completing the best ending, can be revealed as who they are. Chara doesn’t get grounded into the present, they’re exposed by their past. Chara is named only by Flowey and the tapes.

The game is ALL about the actions and reactions of Chara’s suicide, how it’s hurt this community and destroyed lives. Asgore is forever colored by the deaths, Toriel trapped in loneliness trying to fix things. Monsters mourn, they want revenge and hope. It’s a reflection of Chara’s desire for revenge, put onto the very people they wanted to save. It’s supposed to be ironic and a warning that violence -self hate, murder, killing innocents, is wrong. It warns to parents of kids having this pain, and how they need to be addressed and given extra care for. (not that Asgore or Toriel knew the extent of what was going on, I’m not implying it’s their full blame here, but Chara was a child.)

It’s through the act of a community coming together to protect Frisk that they’re able to break the barrier. While Chara didn’t have the same opportunity as Frisk, the situation is able to end peacefully out their new efforts of guiding Frisk. 

Chara realizes that Frisk has to live their own life, and to let others move on. It’s important for them to not treat this world as a game, to let these characters be happy and move on.

Anyway that’s all to say that Chara’s active presence vs. to how they’re framed by the past and alluded to in vague terms (mainly directed towards how similar they are to Frisk) is kind of the point of how ghosts shouldn’t posses people and rule over other’s lives. (or, specifically how the player shouldn’t view themselves as Frisk) That’s how I read what the no mercy/pacifist contrast is meant for. While I’d prefer Chara to be name dropped and called their child NOW especially, it IS a step up from just comparing Chara to Frisk. I can only hope in the future they can be referred to more, that even ghosts deserve to live and be seen. ):

#Anonymous #sucide mention #ask to tag #long post

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 9. ) “Acheron?” Beyond mere passing curiosity, it was the urgency supporting Bonnie’s need to understand the man sitting behind the wheel of his ridiculously expensive car that scalded her tongue. He was ever evasive, enigmatic and rarely straightforward where his past was concerned. But none of it quelled her demand to search for the truth. She didn’t seek it for personal gain either, she only sought to soothe the battle-weary hearts of her hunters. During the long weeks of bonding with each one of them, Bonnie convinced herself their inner peace was too valuable to be overlooked. Neither was the sharing type yet she was determined to help them heal wounds inflicted centuries ago, in a time innocence still characterised their human lives. And only the deepest betrayal could taint it. Riding in comfortable silence, Bonnie suspected the indecipherable Dark Hunter would resort to the infamous technique called feigned indifference where he pretended not to hear her while she would be forced into accepting his choice for silence. Stoic, and his features impassive, Acheron Parthenopaeus held all the charisma in the universe with full lips pressed against one another into a thin line. His gaze seemed focused on the road but behind that wall of opacity from his shades, Bonnie couldn’t be certain. And if her senses were correct, then he was, most definitely, eyeing her with the stealth of a predator. She felt the burn of his gaze on her. “Back at the comp—“ He sighed. As if the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. “You want to know.” He interrupted her train of thought. “About the... incident from earlier.” The wilderness that rolled naturally from the contained storm of his voice offered her familiar security. A balm to her soul, she would never grow weary of it. It was almost as if he could read her innermost thoughts. And though she knew Dark Hunters possessed different gifts, Acheron seemed to be the rarity to that rule. The odd one out. Kyrian once told her he was the first one to be created. And she figured that was why he shared similar abilities to those of his brethren. Perhaps Kyrian and him were even more alike than her initial evaluation, conducted on the spot, back in Sanctuary when she first met Ash. Their personalities, however, differed significatively. “I—I probably can’t imagine...” she started but her words lost their direction when Acheron steered the Porsche into a new destination. No longer on their way toward the Garden District, it wouldn’t be long until Bonnie recognised St. Louis Cemetery’s aged iron gates. The car came to a stop near its old entrance. And without another word, he vacated the cramped space to welcome the fresh air of February. At first, Bonnie didn’t dare moving. She was paralysed in fear, mostly. The waters in which she swam were dangerous and treacherous, she knew of the promise navigating through the past and what it could potentially entail for the one taking a peek, even if brief, into that old chest of memories. She sensed barely contained pain, and worlds of sorrow and unrestrained grief. Outside, Acheron sat on the hood of his car. Alone. His chin slightly raised, it was obvious his gaze was lost to the skies already painted with the light tones of dawn. The night had come fast but the sun showed signs of similar elation for its return. It was now or never, she thought. As she opened the door on her side, left the car and took a seat next to him, Bonnie registered no movement from the embodiment of enigma himself. His shoulders slumped, his gaze finally sought refuge in wide-open doorway to her soul —those forest green eyes he had gotten lost in on multiple occasions before. But Bonnie wasn’t having any of it by allowing him to hide behind the comfort of his ever present shades. Hesitantly, and watching him from beneath curtains of thick lashes, her fingers took possession of his sunglasses as she slowly stripped his eyes naked. She knew what to expect but the gasp of appreciation still escaped. Liquid mercury swam quietly in his eyes as he watched her disarming him. Bonnie was the first and only one to accomplish that since his rebirth. And while he said nothing, a furious tic thrummed visibly along his jaw. She expected the momentary peak of anxiety after the bold exposure of him. A small grin stretching her lips, Bonnie folded his sunglasses and slid them inside her jeans pocket. For the time being, she was holding them hostage. Despite her calm facade, her heart suddenly became a professional gymnast as it did flips back and forth like there was no tomorrow. “It’s okay, Ash. If you prefer to keep your story to yourself,” she interrupted their silence at last. Besides panic and desperation, she was hit with a fathomless wave of grief the likes of which the young witch had never drowned in before. The raw intensity of these emotions flooring her, she was left breathless for several heartbeats. “I just... I hate seeing the torment of your past shadowing the light in your eyes.” Staggering from the onslaught of emotions, tears prickled her eyes. “You’ve been so hurt. I can sense it. I can.” Her chest rose and fell repeatedly. “You still bleed from your wounds. The past still holds you prisoner. And I don’t even know for how long! I can’t imagine the damage that’s caused on your soul.” Disturbed, Bonnie quickly wiped away the disgraceful tears that managed to escape her defences. The gates were now wide open. Beside her, her companion chose immediate silence. Frozen by the prejudice of his past, he walked trough the wastelands of memories without realising her fingers interlocked with his as she slid her palm on top of his massive hand. An earthquake-like tremor shook the whole of him. “It’s eleven thousand years.” He stated matter-of-factly. Surprise and shock registered on her face. It couldn’t be, her meagre knowledge of history told her it wasn’t possible. Yet, the exhaustion etched on his features spoke a whole different tale. “How is tha—?” She started. “That history lesson is too long and complex for tonight.” His gaze wandered to where their fingers stood united, Bonnie’s index finger stroking his knuckles. “And Bonnie? I’m soulless. All Dark Hunters are.” Promptly rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the arm. Like a masochist, he smiled down at her. “Ow.” Acheron massaged his arm, successfully allowing them both a reprieve from the growing tension. “That ought to teach you not to smart-mouth me! You know what I meant. It may not inhabit your body, Ash, but it’s still yours. Still bleeds. I can see it, you know?” The soft, tangent urgency to secure his understanding clung to the breaths expelled. Since the moment she had been brought into their lives, Bonnie had been silently collecting data, studying and gathering every ounce of information about her warriors. Acheron and Kyrian, in particular, as both had been the ones she had spent the most time with. After careful analysis of her research, she was fairly confident Ash loathed the thought of having someone at his back. He even recoiled with the exaggerated proximity of another. With that thought in mind, and wanting to test her theory, Bonnie leaned closer. Purposely invading his personal space. Even though it was minimal and discreet, he drew back. Inside her chest, the thin walls of her beating heart cracked. The desolation mirrored in those pools of mercury laying waste to the fields of her weeping soul. ───Just how much misery has he been put through? Persisting, she tried again. “Back at the Mikaelson’s, before Klaus showed up, you…” With her insides twisting in oceans of anxiety, she lifted her gaze to his face. The urge to see him impossible to bypass. He was now peering right through her. “I know.” Serene but resigned, the direction of his gaze shifted so that he was staring at the horizon whilst pushing closed fists into the pockets of his worn-out leather coat. Soon, the first timid rays of sunshine broke free. Tearing the darkness apart. Had she been sharing this moment with Kyrian, they’d be on their phrenetic way home. As a norm, Dark Hunters were banished from sunlight, yet their leader stood as exception to that rule. Nothing about Acheron Parthenopaeus was ordinary. After several minutes spent in absolute silence, and with a defeated sigh, she rose from the hood of the car and handed him his shades, certain he had murdered the topic and buried its corpse. Her hands tied, Bonnie decided to respect his deafening silence and privacy. “Come on. Let’s face King Stubborn. I can almost hear his tirade from here.” It was her way of letting him know of her decision. “It was my nephew.” Halfway through her march to her side of the car, Bonnie froze. Her curls bounced back and forth with the abrupt movement of her head as she looked back at him. She almost doubted she heard him when he didn’t elaborate. His tone had been so low as well, as if afraid of the damage the words would deliver. Hesitantly, she approached him again. ─── Was Acheron Parthenopaeus finally allowing her to take a peek into the fortress of solitude of his soul? The sunglasses still caged between his fingers, calloused by countless battles, Bonnie found herself peering deeply into the oceans of mercury of his eyes. Saying nothing, the petite woman simply reached for his hand, securing it between her fingers as she gave him a nod of encouragement. “He was murdered while I lay in a drunken stupor in the room next door. His death and my sister’s, his mother, are on me, Bon. Their blood still stains my hands.” Without pretending she was privy to all the details of that tragic night, Bonnie shook her head vehemently. “It wasn’t your fault, Ash. You would probably be killed too if you had gone into their room… And besides, something tells me you weren’t drunk because you felt like partying. You’re not that type. You were drowning. Weren’t you?” She lowered her chin while her thumb and index finger secured his. Turning his head her way, she then forced him to look back at her. “Weren’t you?” Again, she asked. “That’s no excuse, Bonnie.” Rising from his spot on the car hood, the Dark-Hunter swiftly made his way to his side of the car. “I let them die.” With a sense of finality, he tucked himself behind the wheel of his Porsche. But Bonnie couldn’t disregard the raw vulnerability drenching his words. The agony exuding enough to rob the air inside her lungs. Enough to inject her with a weakness capable of driving her to her knees. Leaning over the passenger’s seat, Acheron opened the door to welcome her inside. And without another word, she took her place beside him. A stirring of magic began tickling her senses then, like a foreshadowing of sorts. In the cramped space, Acheron touched her arm in the midst of shifting gears as he brought the engine to life. Taken by surprise, Bonnie gasped loudly. Not by the touch itself but the sudden flashes of ancient memories taking her brain hostage, without an ounce of mercy. Lying in a pool of his own blood, Acheron Parthenopaeus struggled to rise from the slippery floor of the grand palace. Lost to his anger and bloodlust, his attacker, a male figure of pure perfection with a golden aura, sank his knife into Acheron’s heart before slicing him open up to his navel like a hunted animal being gutted by a barbarous predator. The brutality of the scene alone successfully stealing the remaining air flowing through her lungs. “You died that night, too.” She stated in a whisper, haunted by the violence still burning behind her eyelids. This time around, he didn’t elaborate. But he watched her, from the corner of his eye with a strange light reflected on his gaze. The assertiveness supporting her revelation pushing him to put his every available resource to use, he was soon faced with a growing mystery Acheron couldn’t quite figure out yet. Still petrified by the sudden revelation on both parties, the pair rode in a rather strained silence for the remaining journey. At Kyrian’s antebellum mansion’s gate, the young witch finally dared a peek at the man sitting beside her. “Ash—“, she started only to be interrupted by him. “You don’t have to apologise, Bonnie.” He paused as if weighing the impact of his following words. “I wanted you to know. For some reason.” The air of mild astonishment clung to him furiously before quietly leaving her to her own thoughts as he braved the path toward the main entrance of Kyrian’s exuberant manor with regal superiority that bled from every pore without an ounce of vanity exuded. “One day, Ash. One day, you will tell me every secret you’ve buried deep in your soul. Then, I’ll set you free.” With that whispered vow, Bonnie vacated the car to follow him and, finally, confront her latest source of woe. Their gazes locked instantly as she stepped through the door. The cold morning’s timid breeze blowing, dragged her curls behind her shoulders as her fingers made haste to shield Kyrian from the invading sunlight. Even in darkness, the ancient Prince’s blonde curls glistened like an aura of mortal divinity. Incapable of staying unaffected, her heart quickened at the sight. And though his stance prevailed rigid and unfaltering, Kyrian stood silent. Almost defeated, and at a loss for words. In return, Bonnie’s demeanour evolved through different discharges of emotions as her thoughts raced through her mind. Neither willing to break the silence of discomfort. Drowning in conflict, she entertained their staring contest for a little longer just so she gave herself the time to examine the source of all her current heartache. Convinced her stubborn Dark-Hunter had recovered from most of the damage done to him the previous night, she finally mustered the courage to reveal her intentions of returning to Mystic Falls for a few days. “You look better already. That’s a relief.” Pause. Fidgeting fingers found temporary shelter in her jacket’s pockets. Then she cleared her throat. “Ash is taking me home for a couple of days.” ─── There. It’s done. Best to just blurt it out and take them both out of this misery. Unsure he had heard it right, he sought Acheron for clarification. Or any indication of the meaning behind her words. As the sole witness to their exchange, characterised by tension and uneasiness, Ash chose not to elaborate. Leaving that pleasant task to her. “I’m gonna find Nick. There’s something I need to discuss with him.” And just like that, he vanished toward the kitchen. Betrayal spoiled Kyrian’s patrician features. As a member of the male community, he had hoped his boss would join forces with him in solidarity. To dilute the growing tension building between him and Bonnie. But no, the old bastard slipped through the cracks at the first chance. “Why?” Defeated, he couldn’t even hide his dismay. It took him several heartbeats of aching silence to finally tear it apart. In his head, Kyrian had already demanded her all the answers but none were brought into the light. Only that broken whisper seemed to matter. “You know why.” She murmured back, without wasting a heartbeat. Though Bonnie wouldn’t admit it out loud, her poor bruised heart cracked even further. Pain oozed from it like poison as it continued to pump blood unknowingly of the destruction caused. Suddenly lightheaded, and with weakened knees, she sought swift support from the nearby sofa just to avoid worlds of embarrassment. His rejection had been enough. It stung like a viper’s attack and now she bled. She just wanted to bleed alone for a couple of days before raising her chin and throwing her misfortune over her shoulders as if nothing had transpired.

Guilt-ridden, at least he had the decency of showcasing remorse by fixing his stare anywhere but her eyes. “I’m going upstairs to pack. Can you, please, tell Acheron I’ll be ready in a few minutes?” Sighing in extreme desolation, she left him alone to his thoughts. The whole packing process didn’t take her even twenty minutes, she had been taken to New Orleans against her will after all. A bittersweet smile tugged at the ends of her lips as the memory of the first encounter with Kyrian invaded her thoughts like a Trojan’s horse. She nearly laughed reminiscing on their first exchange of words and how much he had feared her even though he had been the one kidnapping her. Instead, a choked sob escaped. Life had to have a grudge against her, she pondered. All her efforts to turn things around when nothing went right could never hold the walls that sustained any form of happiness. It took her a minute of sitting on the bed that had been hers for several weeks to pull herself together. Her emotions ran haywire and she was having some trouble taking their reigns. Once certain she wouldn’t break as easily in front of him, Bonnie grabbed the bag with her clothes. But as she was leaving her room, she felt the urge to leave a memento that would remind him of her. Aware of his instant appreciation for relics, Bonnie decided to gift him with one of her grandmother’s old necklaces, a witch’s talisman. Her favourite and most powerful. Hoping he would find it after her departure, Bonnie made her way downstairs to find both Kyrian and Acheron waiting for her in a silence that felt strange, thick with tension. “I’m ready to go.” She announced bravely while focusing her attention on the straps of her bag, avoiding Kyrian’s burning gaze. Sensing the unresolved tension between them, Acheron gave Kyrian a meaningful stare with a message only privy to them both before getting up and making his exit. “I’ll wait outside for you, Bonnie. Whenever you’re ready.” Emphasising that last sentence, Ash conveyed his belief the two of them should trade some parting words before her temporary departure. In silence, she nodded and waited until Acheron was outside. “I don’t want you to go, Bonnie.” Kyrian’s delivery almost like a plea took the young witch by surprise. She had expected to be one breaking the silence. “I can’t stay and pretend nothing happen. I’m not like that, Kyrian.” The anguish in her voice becoming more solid with each word. “If I’m coming back here to fight against this enemy alongside you then I need time to put my priorities in order.” Unable to withstand the sound of heartache in her voice, her fallen Prince closed the gap between them and took her face with both hands. Admiring the beauty of her strength, Kyrian closed his eyes for a few heartbeats as he cursed his very existence. For the first time in over two thousand years of solitude and misery, his heart awakened from a long death. But they could never be, regardless of his feelings toward her. That would be a direct insult to his vow and the goddess he served. Resting his forehead on hers, temptation bit him hard as they stood on the verge of goodbye. ─── I love you, Bonnie. The words never came. Instead, he breathed in her perfume. “At least let me be the one to take you home...” With tears prickling her eyes, she attempted her escape but he wouldn’t let her. Kyrian remained frozen as if willing to extend their moment. “I can’t. If I allow it, I’ll just delay the inevitable. Better to just rip it off and hope for the best.” Inside, every wall crumbled to the ground. There was shards of glass everywhere. She was a wreck, bleeding and the ruins of what could be would become unfinished dreams. “I should go now, Kyrian.” Fighting off a sobbing session, she rubbed her eyes to dry unspent tears. After all, nothing would change even if she cried. Opposite from her, an ancient warrior stood deep in thought. Tormented by visions of a future he never meant to have or share with another, Kyrian remembered the tragedy of his human days, mostly marked by the betrayal that had murdered him. An inner voice had once convinced him he was not worthy of love but looking down at her, the infamous “what if” tormented him aggressively. Saying nothing, her Prince pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes to savour the bittersweet moment as he committed into memory every piece of her. “Be safe.” The softness of his whisper practically snuffed out Bonnie’s remaining strength as her knees buckled. With a tenderness that rivalled even her grandmother’s, Kyrian caressed her face one last time as if afraid he might not see her again. He was determined to make her departure the hardest one yet. Only by Bonnie’s perseverance did she manage to break them apart. “I will.” Finally turning around to leave, their fingers crossed paths in intimate touch and his self control flew out the window. Awakening from self-inflicted slumber, Kyrian closed his fingers around hers and pulled her back, drawing her into his body by surprise. He, then, stole her breath with a searing kiss, full of longing and unspoken promises her warrior vowed not to disclose in fear of what might befall her were he to defy the goddess he served. Bewildered, Bonnie gaped at him. Giving her half a smile, he knew he had to let her go but his fingers refused the separation by caressing her face while his midnight eyes dove deep into her soul. “You shouldn’t have done this.” The words came barely above a whisper as she enforced their physical distance by taking his hands hostage. “Goodbye, Kyrian.” Barely holding on, with the grip on her emotions fading with each heartbeat, she made a hasty retreat. The front door slammed, effectively shutting another chapter of her life as the weakened walls guarding her heart crumbled. She couldn’t breathe through the onslaught of heartache and agony. ─── Was this what she was destined for? Her gut-wrenching sobs, though quiet, didn’t go unnoticed by Acheron who waited for her by his Porsche. Rather unsure on how to approach her as Bonnie’s heart bled without restraint, he took calculated steps in her direction in hopes that she would note his presence. And she finally did. “I’m ready.” The strain she put on to have her voice sound remotely even through the remains of her shattered heart reinforced Acheron’s respect for her. Perturbed by her breakdown, the ever observant but quiet Dark Hunter offered her a modicum of solace by drawing her trembling frame into his chest, surrounding her with his strength through an unusual embrace. Massive hands stroked her hair with inimitable softness. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Bonnie Bennett.” The admiration reflected on his lilt administered a sense of temporary serenity. “Just remember it is not an obligation to be strong 24/7. Sometimes we have to drown before we can return to shore.” Struggling for words, she merely nodded. “Alright, then. Shall we go?” As if pulling a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, Ash offered her his hand. “We aren’t taking your car?” She asked, perplexed. Tearing a rift in her skies of grief, Acheron Parthenopaeus conjured a disarming smile she felt particularly victimised by. “No. Not this time. Have you ever traveled through the time-space continuum, also commonly known as teleportation?” Openly gaping at him, she then glanced at his exposed palm, the tears making it a near impossible feat. A stirring of excitement unleashed a few wild butterflies in her stomach as her fingers touched Acheron’s calloused hand. “Should I be afraid? How does it work?” Like any other creature, she grew hesitant just as treaded these unknown waters. “For me, it’s like breathing. Do you trust me?” Assuming an almost defensive posture as if expecting the worst, he stared at her intently from behind his trusted sunglasses. Waves of relief rolled off of him when she nodded. “You know that I do.” His fingers had barely taken possession of hers when he dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “You can open your eyes now, Bonnie. You’re home.” She did. One glance around them confirmed his claim. In fact, he even brought them to her grandmother’s unkept porch, once again proving her his powers far exceeded those of his brethren. Apart from the light discomfort in her stomach, she felt fairly confident on her competence to teleport. “It was easier than I expected…” She mumbled as realisation gutted her. She was back. Back in Mystic Falls, her so-called cursed birthplace.

#charmeddelicacy #the mardi gras conundrum