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gyuluster · 3 years

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the prince and the jackal | {f}

collab oneshot | fantasy! au | 11.8k words

“Because the prince of the earth can make you fall not only for nature, but the boy who rules over it.”

s u m m a r y : in the Kingdom of Terrae, you, a metalbender, believe in the deforestation to modernise the land. As a member of the Lumberjackals, you thrive on cutting down trees and stealing resources until you get caught by the Crown Prince, Choi Beomgyu, a lover and embodiment of the nature you wish to destroy. However, instead of imprisoning you for your crimes, Beomgyu decides to show you the beauty and wonders of nature, leaving you to doubt your beliefs, your identity, and your very feelings for the certain boy determined to change you for the better.

w a r n i n g s : prince! beomgyu, woodcutter! metalbender! reader, reader hates wildlife and all things nature, beomgyu is sunshine and flowers and everything good, shit ton of wildlife and fantasy stuff, bts kim line are part of the lumberjackals so are evil in this story i am so sorry y’all, beomgyu has a pet squirrel called jisung yes han jisung, kind of enemies to lovers not really but im pretending it is

p l a y l i s t : fairy of shampoo by txt | colours of the wind by judy kuhn | willow by taylor swift

a u t h o r ‘ s n o t e : yes i am back from the dead to bring this fic hello!! this is a collab with @soobmint @juunnies @bffsoobin @honeyju pls do read their parts too they’re so sexc <3 do lemme know what you all think and thank you for reading!!

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“And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.” — William Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey, 1798.

“ONE MORE BLOODY TREE, AND I’LL SCREAM THIS FOREST DOWN!”

You ignored the complaints of your comrades, trekking deeper into the forest.

The sun was nearly drowned out by the towering shade of the surrounding trees, and there remained a constant buzz of the animals, either scurrying away or chirping in the skies. The cut up logs strapped on your back was a huge burden, and slowed your steps as you trudged onto the muddied pathways, staining your boots.

“_____, how much longer until we go to the markets?” one of the men asked, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Just a few more logs, Tae,” one of the woodcutters, Seokjin, answered, casting a side-ways glance at you.

“But we’ve already got so many!” the former whined, pointing to the goods over their shoulders. “We can make decent money today!”

Unsheathing your sword, you cut away at the vines in your path, masking your sight ahead. It must be here somewhere, you thought, eyes darting sharply to every flower and bush. It has to be.

“Haven’t you fools understood already?” a snarl resonated from the group. Your horse trotted past you as Namjoon, sat on top, brought out his machete, brutally slicing the branches of the towering trees. “The wood we’ve got won’t last us all year!”

His eyes blazed with a certain greed as he looked over you all. “We must find the Tree of Life,” he declared, strolling past you, cutting down the path. “One strip of its bark could bring us a fortune.”

You listened to his statements with raised brows, following in his steps. In truth, none of you had ever seen the Tree of Life. No one in the kingdom had for centuries — it had become something of a myth, a legend passed down from every earthbender to child of its origins, and its significance. You didn’t know the great specifics, but the whole group knew that if they were to obtain even a twig from the great tree, it could grant them millions worth of gold.

And that was something the Lumberjackals desired more than the wellbeing of an omnipotent tree.

Soon, the search progressed, your group cutting down a few Ebonies for its useful properties, but there was no heavenly legend welcoming you in all its finery. The sun was descending on the horizon, and although Spring was present, you were situated in the part of the forest where the gusts of the Ice Kingdom blew consistently in your direction. The cold was about to descend, and you were far from your home in the Metallum villages.

Taehyung, the youngest of the Kim brothers, held onto a nearby oak, all strength leaving him. “I don’t know about you, but I am not travelling any further.” He glared daggers at Namjoon, who showed no signs of stopping. “I’m setting camp here, and you can do nothing to stop me.”

Seokjin joined his youngest sibling, collapsing on the patch of grass beside the gathering of flowers as he shrugged off his work of the logs. “I vote a little rest, even if Joon does not understand its meaning.”

The said-man let out a scoff at those words. “You both are just bloody lazy!” He turned to you, eyes pinning you where you stood. “You’ll keep searching with me, right?”

You agreed, but when you saw the fatigue in your leader’s gaze you grabbed the reins from his horse, stepping beside him. “You need sleep, Joon,” you said, concern in your eyes. “I’ll do another search. You three stay here.”

Namjoon held your stare for a moment before swiping his leg over the back of the horse, jumping off. He handed you the reins fully. “Come back after dawn. Us three will take over from you.”

You had a right mind to challenge the amount of time he was making you explore, but you kept your mouth shut, heaving onto the animal. Dumping your logs of wood upon the ground, you dipped your head in farewell to the Kim brothers. “I will see you in the morning, boys.”

Taehyung waving excitedly as he set up camp, Seokjin going straight to bed upon his blankets, and Namjoon’s stare cold yet understanding, you cracked the reins as the horse began to gallop away from the oaklands, and deeper into the forest.

The moon barely lit the way as you delved deeper into the trees, the sounds of nature turning sinister as the owls began to hauntingly hoot, and the wildcats began to purr. You kept your sword close, in your hand as the other steadied your horse.

You let out a hard sigh as you commenced your searching. Sometimes, only when you were alone, you wished that Namjoon would snap out of his delusions. There was no Tree of Life, no invaluable source of fortune which would challenge the earthbenders and start their industrialisation. In truth, you only wished for a life more than just cutting down wood, but your leader’s promises could be much too enticing.

Perhaps he was right. Maybe with the metalisation of Regna Terrae the metalbenders would be able to progress. It was not like the Kingdom cared for the likes of you, nor the nature which brought you to existence.

Stupid, damned forest. What good had it ever done you?

Suddenly, you heard the harsh snapping of the twigs which wasn’t from your horse. In an instant you halted, pulling the reins as your eyes darted to every corner of the dark forest.

Silence.

You furrowed your brows.

The forest cannot be trusted. Even its silences were sinister and misleading.

Slowly, you got off your horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. “Keep still, Aurum,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Patting the mane, you turned and followed in the direction of where the sound was heard, every step quiet and cautious. There was little light, you having to rely on your ears alone, and the hands which touched trunk from trunk. In moments like these, you wished you possessed a more useful power than mere metal manipulation — firebending would have been nice, but you supposed that luck had never been in your favour.

Seething, you held onto your sword tighter, sending a little rush of power from your fingers as it sharpened the steel. No one tailing you would survive in your hands.

You then heard a little sigh, and whipped your head to the direction. Gritting your teeth, you rushed to the place of the origins, anger rising. Swiping away the branches in your path, your boots were the only sound among the quiet hush of the forest, along with the slicing of your weapon. Whoever was toying with you will not leave your wrath.

Swiping away the plants, you finally found an opening of grass among the trees. Squinting, your anger surged to find a distant figure standing before you, all masked in shadows from the lack of light within your surroundings. It stood statue-still, matching your deathly quietness.

But the figure did not seem like it offered death. Nor anything so dangerous as you promised.

“Come out!” you shouted, taking a step forward. “I know you were following me!”

No response.

“Scared, are you?!” Another hesitant step. “As you should be!”

Still, only silence answered, and the soft crunch of the leaves underneath your boots. You took a deep breath, shining your sword from the moonlight. A scoff emitted from you, nerves disappearing. This should be easy.

With an aggravated roar, swinging your weapon, you thundered towards the figure.

You rushed into the moonlight pooling onto the grass, eyes intent with damage as you willed iron-like power from your veins, and into your hands, swirling around the fuller of your sword until it reached its tip, ready to burst onto the figure.

It was then the shadows moved.

A flick of his hand. A soft glow within the darkness.

And all of nature followed suit.

You were taken aback as the thousands of vines circulating the surrounding trees unwrapped themselves from their trunks, and snapped towards you in thundering speed. You had no time to take in their stems swirling around your feet, cutting off your run towards this certain figure. A gasp escaping, you were pulled back by the impact, and let out a further scream as you began to fall flat on your face. Then, even more shock reverberated through you as your feet were pulled upwards, shooting your body up until you were suspended from a tree branch, your one foot wrapped tightly in the vines.

Your world all upside down, you shook your head vigorously, feeling the strain of your one leg under complete control of the tree. The thrum of powerful magic of nature resonated through your body, ceasing you from moving your free leg and kicking any potential passerbys.

Craning your head backwards, you saw with horror that your sword was clattered upon the ground, too far away to reach from the air. Straining your hand towards the grass, you willed your magnetic force, trying to lure your weapon into your hand.

The sword would have ended up in your grasp if another surge of the same natural magic did not break its path, sending it back on the earth.

Enraged, you looked out to the dark, sight distorted. “Gods, just come out already!” you screamed, swinging slightly by your sheer force. “Stop hiding in the damned shadows!”

There was a flutter of little animals coming out from the shadows. “Ha!” you spat, reaching for the dark. “Only sending a few creatures to scare me? You’re going to have to work harder than that!”

When there was another round of silence, you laughed harshly to yourself. “That’s what I thought.”

This time, however, you were not greeted by their usual, quiet answer.

More vines slithered down your frame, pushing your hands together. You gritted your teeth as the gnarly weeds tightened around your wrists, stopping yourself from using your hands.

Glaring daggers at the darkness ahead, you spat at the ground. “Show yourself!” you roared.

Your threats were answered.

Responded in an unimaginable way as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

You could not suppress your reaction.

The most enchanting boy you had ever seen revealed himself from the shadows. You could clearly see him from the light, the soft, child-like features amplified by his undoubted beauty — his mahogany locks curled around his face, cascading over his forehead. His gentle eyes promised great amusement, more so when they landed upon you, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. He was adorned in a fine green gown, few assortments strapped on his belt as leather boots, etched in ink, covered his feet. A crown of flowers and leaves settled in his curls, emitting its own, fantastical glow among the darkness.

The smile curved wider at your widened eyes. “Why so speechless now, my lady?”

By all the gods. Even his voice sounded like the sweetest honey in all the hives.

“I have come before you, now,” he continued, deeply amused by your bewilderment. “I have stopped hiding in those damned shadows, as you said.

“Where is your anger?”

Well, that seemed to bring your rage all back.

“It’s still here, you bastard!” you hissed, struggling in the rope-like vines as you tried to swipe your hand across his face. He merely took a step back, completely out of your range.

“Even without a weapon you are a force to be reckoned with,” the mysterious boy voiced out, raising his fingers as magic sparked from the tips. Instantly the vines encircled your arms, pinning them to your sides as the weeds wrapped around you completely. You were like a human-sized caterpillar, cocooned in vines except you would not turn into a butterfly and rush away into the forest.

This nuisance before you would make sure of that.

A satisfied hum escaped him. “There we go,” he said. “Now you won’t be of any danger.”

“Who even are you?” you demanded, glaring daggers at the sight before you. Terrible shame that the sight was something you wouldn’t mind witnessing for the rest of your life. Even if it was upside down.

A hint of surprise exposed upon his features. “Oh, this is amusing, indeed.”

He took a step towards you, you catching the faint scent of...flowers and trees and fruit and honey. You couldn’t really figure out a perfect essence — if nature had a scent, then this boy embodied it. “I am surprised you know not of me when you wish to destroy what I own.”

You raised a brow, at eye level with him, despite the loopy image.

Then, the gears in your head turned, and you were struck hard with the realisation.

When you wish to destroy what I own.

“Oh gods,” you slipped out.

The boy smiled.

No, not just the boy.

The Prince of Regna Terrae — the heir to the Earth Kingdom.

Choi Beomgyu.

Maybe this explained his otherworldly beauty. Crown princes of the earth kingdoms were known to be blessed by nature, so adorned the finest features known to man. Standing before you now, you cursed yourself for not seeing it before.

And cursed yourself again for cursing at him. Multiple times.

Beomgyu saw your eyes moving a mile a second and spluttered out a soft laugh, raising a finger so you focused on him. “I am glad you have figured out my identity. Now we both know what we are.”

His next words did not possess much hilarity. “I, a prince, and you, a Lumberjackal.”

The declaration had you gulping. There’s no escaping this.

He was not wrong in the slightest — you were a part of the Lumberjackals — a group dedicated to industrialising the Earth Kingdom, and giving it a head start from the other kingdoms who did not possess the natural resources that this land contained. You prided on deforestation, the cutting of wood and, even to a certain extent, the consumption of animals. Although you never participated in the last activity out of pure shame, you knew the Kim brothers certainly did, and enjoyed it to great extent.

“Do you deny it?”

You tried to look away, but his gaze was a little too intense. Even if it was reversed. “I do not.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he got out, and you could hear the pain in his voice. Could you even blame him? You destroyed what he held so dear.

Still. You were a metalbender. The desire for modernisation is in your very blood.

“I do what I must do, your Highness,” you grit out, struggling in your weedy cocoon. “It is the only way we survive.

“And I will not stop.”

The boy’s eyes widened a fraction, in pure disbelief. He could not comprehend this — how could one be so against the idea of nature? How could anyone be so resolute in the decimation of what they survived on?

Prince Beomgyu cocked his head, pursing his lips.

How could one hate a deity he considered so beautiful?

He said so himself.

“How?”

You blinked.

The boy continued. “How can you hate nature?”

His question took you by surprise — you did not really know the answer yourself.

It was not like you despised the earth in all its natural form. Sure, it brought you the air you breathed, the food you ate, and the water you drank. But what else had nature given you?

You soured upon seeing the Prince’s face. You did not possess the powers other Terrae citizens were gifted with. Your branch of magic was hard, unforgiving. Simply a practicality, only useful for finding resources and making weapons.

Where were your subservient vines? Where was your natural greatness?

With this in mind, you mustered up the most brutal expression you could offer to the boy before you.

“Because nature was not kind to the likes of me. So I shall not be kind to it either.”

This time, the Prince’s eyes widened even further, afraid they would pop right out of their sockets.

Once again, his mind was in a twist — how had his dearest accomplice, his most cherished friend, been unforgiving to his subjects? He would never consider himself sheltered, but this was something quite unheard of in his kingdom.

“I know you do not believe me, but this is the only explanation I can offer.” You paused, accepting your fate. “Untie me already so you can send me to prison.”

You felt something swirl beneath the boy’s brown eyes, irises sparkling with wonderment. His voice was soft, if not lost within his own thoughts.

“I believe you, jackal,” he said. With a final step towards you, he left little distance between the two of you, eyes at level with yours as you hung from the tree. “But I cannot be satisfied with it.”

Another blink, taken aback by his declaration. “Well...well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Shocking you further, he curled a little smile upon his lips. “Well,” he started, and as the smile began to widen further, he knew just what to do.

No, he was certainly not satisfied with her accepted hatred.

“We can start by changing that.”

It was your turn for your pupils to dilate. Gods above. This boy seems one chop away from a stump.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, but the boy was already turning on his heel, looking to the surroundings. He fell to his knees, feeling the ground beneath him with his hands. “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”

He did not deem to answer your question, only counter it with his own. “Do you have a horse nearby?”

You looked at him, surprised he figured it out by merely touching the grass. “Yes, but…”

It seemed that he did not need to hear any more, as he brought a hand out, fingers stretching. A tendril of green power burst from his palm, snaking through the dark air beyond your peripheral vision. The Prince was focused on his conjury, and you wondered what in Terrae he was trying to do.

Then, you heard a distant neighing, and found Aurum following the green trail of his magic, eyes glowing slightly.

You tried to escape the tight cage of the vines. “Gods, what are you doing with my horse?!” you exclaimed. “She hates strangers!”

The magic disappeared, along with the glow in her eyes. You could tell she was confused at her surroundings, about to raise her hind legs at the boy who spelled her. “She’ll kill you!” you warned, bracing yourself to witness the death of a prince.

It was then Beomgyu stepped towards the horse, gaze sparkling with kindness.

His hand touched Aurum’s face.

With no small amount of shock, you watched as the boy whispered to your horse, stroking her muzzle. You had never seen her be so friendly to any human she’s made contact with — by Terrae, she even deigned to show attitude to you, who had fed and groomed her since she was a mere pony. How was she sweetening up to someone she had just seen?

Maybe she’s still under a spell, you thought with malice, but then a more honest thought came to mind, and it only made you angrier.

Or perhaps animals can be just as enchanted with him as humans can.

“What are you talking to her for?” you interrupted them, letting out an aggravated groan as the cocoon engulfed you tighter. “You’re sharing words with her as if she’d spread them!”

Beomgyu slid his eyes upward to you. “I was just asking Aurum if she’d like to have an apple.”

“No, I’ll give her one myself—” you tried to say, but then stopped short. “Wait. How do you know her name?”

He looked at you as if you had asked the most ridiculous question. “Because she just told me.”

You stopped struggling in the cocoon. “What did you just say? Aurum told you?”

Hands never ceasing his comforting upon the horse, he raised a quizzical brow. “Pardon me, jackal, but do you mean to tell me that you...you cannot talk to animals?”

Maybe you were not wrong to think the heir of the Earth Kingdom absolutely crazy.

He gestured to the world around you both. “Can you not sense each and every creature nearby? Can you not hear their heartbeats, in sync to their purrs and murmurs?

“Can you not hear the very trees breathe around you?”

You did not know what to say. Perhaps you did not understand his words, what he really meant by a tree breathing. Was that even possible? You thought it unimaginable.

So you offered him the only thing that remained in your mind.

“I have never felt these things.”

The hand upon Aurum’s nuzzle paused, unable to accept the statement which you offered him.

His suspicions were confirmed. Your hatred of nature and all the beings which it birthed had rid you of your powers.

He had seen this before — lost souls who had done grave wrongdoings to the earth, and as a consequence, their very instincts were snatched, right down to the basics. There was no shortage of Lumberjackals in the palace dungeons, and upon closer inspection, he saw that these woodcutters felt no connection to their surroundings. It broke his heart seeing the lack of attachment, the lack of desire for exploration and yearning for their powers, but he knew it could not be helped.

Whoever crosses nature would not be forgiven.

Still, when he inspected the confused, tired gaze of yours, searching him for any suspected lunacy, he just knew that he could not toss you in another old cell. This plan he had in mind could not occur through rotting in one place for the rest of your life.

“Worry not then, jackal.” He raised his hand, magic blooming from his palm. “I am going to change that.”

Whispering to your horse, he listened for a soft neigh before heaving atop her back, hissing at the reins and other controls tying her down. You watched with slight fear. “W-wait a minute,” you started, trying to squeeze out of the vines, but with no luck. “You’re not going to just leave me here, are you?”

Patting Aurum’s mane, he voiced out calmly, “I wish with my whole heart, but then my plan will not work.”

You pursed your lips, watching his eyes sparkle with mischief. “If you were not a prince, I would have cursed you.”

With a flick of his hand, a rush of magic travelled to your cocoon; you felt yourself turning on your front, hovering you upright as the power gravitated you back on the ground, loosening the vines.

“Not like that has stopped you before,” he merely countered as he observed you shrug off weeds in slight humiliation. “Now get on. We have somewhere to be.”

He waited a moment, sighing when you would not oblige. “Is something the matter?”

You wanted to say yes — gods, you wanted to scream at him to get off Aurum, leave you alone and let you cut trees in peace, but of course, that would be an impossible route to take. You still had no inkling of why the Prince of your kingdom was having mercy on you, and you would be quite the fool to exploit it foolishly.

With gritted teeth, you kept your complaints behind your tongue as you brought your foot on the stirrup, heaving upwards as you brought your leg to the other side, settling upon the horse. “Now,” Beomgyu began, looking over his shoulder. “There is no need to be shy. You may put your hands around me as the horse goes fast—”

“I shall be completely fine, thank you,” you interrupted him, brows furrowed. What was this prince even doing? You wondered whether he was a fraud. With that power you witnessed, though, you highly doubted it.

And his features. There is no way a commoner could possess such enchanting beauty.

Flustered, you soured even further.

“Are you ready, jackal?”

You grunted out a yes, which was enough for the boy to command Aurum to start.

The horse, against your expectation, began galloping much faster, and with a yelp you were nearly sent flying out of the seat. Your hands, on instinct, wrapped around Beomgyu’s waist, and when you realised what you had done you cursed yourself for obliging him.

You could almost hear his grin. “I told you!” he exclaimed over the noise of hooves clattering against the rocky mud.

If only you could slap the heirs of kingdoms. “Just take me where you have in mind!” you barked back. “I need to be back to Metallum at dawn.”

“That will be just enough!”

The horse swept past more trees, animals scurrying from your path as the moon lit the dim forest path. You held onto the prince for dear life, refusing to acknowledge the hard surface beneath his silk, his ethereal warmth radiating onto you.

“Hey, jackal?”

A sigh. “Yes?”

“Your horse’s name.” A pause. “Aurum.”

You looked to the trees whooshing past your vision. “What of it?”

Beomgyu whispered for the animal to slow down, scanning his surroundings for his destination. “’Gold’. A very ingenious name.”

He glanced at your irritated face, and smiled. “My mare is called Argenti.”

Your mouth parted at the little revelation.

Argenti. Silver.

Before you could say more on the matter, the boy stopped the horse, cooing at her and praising her for helping him. Swinging his leg over, he jumped off the horse gracefully. He fixed his flower crown before turning to face you, falling rather awkwardly on the grass.

A small laugh escaping him, you daggered him with your gaze as you stepped beside him, a hand on Aurum. Your stare lingered as he took a circle turn of the surroundings, moon almost winking at him as it journeyed in the blanket of night. After a while, Beomgyu pointed to the tree nearby you, stepping past you to palm its trunk. “Here we go.”

Fingers stretching, magic spluttered as it swirled into the thick expanse of the leaves, nearly covering the sky with their excess. The matter squeezed through, and brought out the hidden vines, tumbling down till they reached the roots. Grabbing onto the plants, the prince turned his head towards you, an offer in his eyes.

You hated how you understood exactly what he meant. “I am not going up with you,” you retorted.

“It’s my arms or the dungeon.”

Gulping, you swallowed down your irritation for him. Taking a step towards him, you maintained a safe distance as you made sure he was aware of your distaste. “Just get us up already.” Damn the gods for making him so aggravatingly beautiful, you thought shamelessly as you looked at him. “Your Highness.”

Perhaps he knew, for the little smile was back, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulling you close. “That’s more like it,” he murmured out before willing his magic into motion.

Your breathing hitched as you were pulled rapidly upward by the vines, breaking through the surface of the leaves. You closed your eyes, feeling the scraping of the branches against your clothes until you felt yourself still, listening only to the deep breaths of the prince beside you. His hand was still snaked at your side.

“Open your eyes, jackal.”

Somehow, on instinct, you obliged.

And widened them further.

You were in another world entirely — the branches expanded beyond your vision, intertwining with the others from different trees, so intricately interlinked beneath your feet that they created a floor. Upon this branching surface there was a little room, decorated with every unusual object that one could identify. Beside the bed, interwoven by these branches, you saw an abundance of flowers and leaves, an lamp of glowing fireflies resting in the corner, and a thousand other items which needed further explanation.

Judging by the awe on your face, the boy answered you, heading to the small cabinet where everything was placed. “A collection of gadgets,” he began, using his magic to separate every object. “That I’ve bought or been gifted since my princedom.” He took out a few unrecognisable things and strolled to the wardrobe, made from the same intertwining branches, and opened the doors, rummaging through.

“What are you even looking for?” you asked, but were dutifully ignored as he kept searching. You admired the intricate scenery, the plush excess of leaves beneath your shoes, shielding you and the prince nearby.

You heard him let out a satisfied ah! as he closed the doors shut. He walked over to you, showing you the rather odd object — it was an unusually large ice cube, miniscule snowflakes etched onto its every side as it orbited slowly in Beomgyu’s hand.

Your curious gaze upon the gadget had him into explanation. “A present from the Ice Prince,” he said, admiring the cold gift in his palms. “It provides an infinite water supply, so is incredibly useful for long journeys.”

“Taehyun, is he not called?” You shivered at the thought. “I am shocked to think he is capable of such small kindnesses.”

Beomgyu slid his eyes to yours. “Taehyun is not the man that his subjects have painted him to be.” His irises swirled in an indecipherable emotion. “Sometimes, one cannot judge the character of another simply based on rumour alone. Only with having conversation can one truly have an honest opinion.”

A small part of you wondered if he truly meant that for Taehyun, or to you, another villain in the Earth Kingdom’s millennia-old tale. Whatever it may be, you looked away, wondering when you’d be able to leave the prince’s presence.

“Right,” you heard him say, pocketing the other unknown object in his breast pocket of his gown. “Let us go on ground once more.”

The boy was about to tug on the vines again when he was interrupted by a most unusual sound.

Well, not unusual, considering you were situated in a tree house, but the noise was so shrill you instantly looked down to its origin.

Before you was a little squirrel, cheeks puffed as its little hands perched on its sides. Its soft tail moved rapidly behind its body, indicating irritation.

Its small, black eyes were fixated upon the boy beside you. Letting out yet another squeak, you saw Beomgyu sigh out in exasperation, as if he had just remembered an important matter.

“Oh gods, I do apologise!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees as he held his free hand out, the other holding the hovering ice cube still. “I’m afraid I cannot feed you now, but would you be able to wait?”

The squirrel let out another squeak, and this time the prince flinched. You gawked at the scene — so not only can he command the trees, but he could talk to animals?

What can this boy not do?

“Ji, I am sorry!” Fishing out an acorn from his breast pocket, he offered it before him. “I have one, if it helps! I promise to feed you properly after I am done with a certain task.”

Even so, the animal seemed much unimpressed. It then turned its little head to you, and you could have sworn that its eyes judged your very soul.

It squeaked some more, and this time Beomgyu widened his eyes, cheeks flushing. “By Mother Nature, no!” He bellowed out, panicked eyes fleeting towards you. “No, I just met her today.”

“Are you talking about me?” You asked, raising a brow. The squirrel then made another sound, one you could not decipher but, judging from the boy’s reaction, could definitely take a wild guess. “By gods, is this creature mocking me?”

You were rewarded with further squeaking, but was instantly silenced by Beomgyu. “Ji, no! I cannot have you being sarcastic tonight. Save your grievances for tomorrow morning!”

And as the prince scooped the squirrel in his hand, he walked over to the bed, settling it on the sheets. “Stay here. I will be back.”

There was sure to be complaints, but the boy kept sending looks of apology as he stepped back to the edge of the exit, tugging on the vines. “Deeply sorry for Jisung’s behaviour,” he said, swirling the cube slowly. “He is grumpier tonight as I have not fed him this evening.”

“A pet squirrel, huh?” You interrogated, looking down to the grass below. “And one you can talk to? Is that how you could communicate with Aurum?”

Nodding, the prince held his arm out. “Are we ready?”

You hurrying my shook your head. “Not again!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll slide down myself. Without your help.”

Shrugging, the boy held on tighter to the vine. “Your wish, jackal,” he said, and jumped down. Perking up, you squatted down to see him descend smoothly down the tree, landing perfectly on the grass.

Grabbing onto the plant, you looked back to the grumpy pet, stuffing the acorn in his mouth.

He then stuck his tongue out, and you gasped at the audacity. “Rude!” You shouted, but we’re only answered with shrill squeaking. Ignoring the creature, you took the vine by both hands, and followed suit.

Your descent was much less graceful, landing instead on your backside. You were met with the huffed laughter of the prince, and you forced down the urge to beat him with his stupid flower crown. Or perhaps tie these vines around his neck and strangle him.

No, that would only result in him using his silly magic. Awful, attractive bastard.

“What are we doing now, Highness?” You wondered out loud, rubbing your sore backside. “Do tell me there is some use of your rather odd ice cube.”

Beomgyu, after strolling further into the woods, slowed himself for you to catch up. “There is some use, unfortunately for you.” He waved you over, stepping past the wild bushes in his path. “Follow me, jackal!” he called out to you.

Grudgingly, you did as he asked, hugging yourself from the cold breeze of the midnight, wondering where in Terrae he was trying to take you. The trees towered over you like intimidating strangers — if the prince spoke true, then you wouldtuly be unwelcome.

You were surrounded by this coercion until the forest opened up to an open grassland, encircled by the nature which looked down at you. Beomgyu turned to you, bringing out a few seeds from his trouser pockets and standing right in the middle of the circle.

“There you are,” he said as you stepped beside him. He glanced at the moon, measuring the amount of time he had left.

“What are you going to do?” you asked him, still clueless regarding the whole situation. Why has he not sent you to the dungeons already?

His eyes travelled to your face. With a half-soft scoff, he held out his hand, the seeds now in perfect view. “It is not what I’m going to do,” he began. “It is what you are going to do.”

The confusion grew within you. “What do you mean?” you tried to clarify. “What am I to do with these seeds?”

Beomgyu’s eyes promised answers. “Bring out your hand, jackal.”

You did as you were told, holding out your hand as he put the seeds in your palm, fingers barely brushing against your skin. He then descended, knees upon the grass as he patted to the space beside you. “Come, sit.”

Pursing your lips in thought, you knelt before the grass, seeds in your enclosed fist as your gaze never strayed from the boy. “Your Highness—”

Magic oozing from his fingers interrupted your demand, slipping into the earth. Slowly, but surely, a small hole was separated by the green matter, dirt being shovelled to create a dip in the grassland.

Once he ceased his conjuring, he jerked his head towards the new opening. “Place the seeds in the hole,” he instructed. “Gently now! Treat them with the utmost care.”

Grumbling in response, you leaned forward as you gingerly put each seed at the corners of the muddy dip, noticing a small spark with each placement of the grain. It was a bizarre feeling, but assumed it normal in the ways of gardening as you inserted the dirt over them, covering them fully.

You peered at the prince then, who brought out the large ice cube. Turning it rapidly, treacle of water dripped down to the ground, moistening the earth and feeding the seeds of its necessities. Putting the gadget back in his storage belt, he then returned his hand upon the damp mound, closing his eyes in a fixated peace. More magic swirled from his hands, but this time it encircled not only the place where you had placed the seeds, but you, all of you, engulfing you in its otherworldly warmth.

“Your Highness?” You whispered out, but he was murmuring, murmuring words you could not comprehend, words which felt like you were not meant to hear. His curls were being lifted slightly with the tendrils of his power, but he stayed rooted to his spot, carrying on with what you feared was a grotesque ritual.

You, too, became still when you felt fingers curl around your hand.

On instinct you looked at him, eyes widening — you should have expected his hand to radiate some form of heat, considering this boy had such an unusual glow about him, but this…

Despite the soft chaos around the two of you, the touch was oddly comforting.

His hand, dragging you out of your thoughts, led yours to the place you sowed the little grains of life, and spread apart your fingers till they covered nearly the entire, dug up earth. More matter escaped from his fingers, shooting further warmth upon the back of your hand, and travelling up to your heart.

“Close your eyes, jackal,” you heard him chant from his cocoon of magic. “I need you to see from within.”

“See what?!” You beseeched, but his fingers held onto you a little tighter, and, as if he commanded your very body, had your eyelids descend shut, cornering you into the chambers of your mind.

See from within.

What could you see?

Darkness. Eternal darkness, and rusted iron, spilled mercury, and all the grim faces of the people who wanted to decimate the very place you knelt in.

I cannot see! You screamed in your mind, because in the whirlwind of his power you felt alone, trapped in your own mind, trying to join in on a ritual which would cursed the likes of you.

But in reality, you were not alone.

No, not when you felt something foreign in your body.

You swore you stopped breathing.

Your fingers felt squeezed by another, but was ignored because you could see a whole other heartbeat which was not your own.

A familiar voice entered your mind.

“Do you see it?”

The prince’s voice; the soft, almost desperate inquiry, which you could not help but answer.

“Yes...yes, by Terrae, I do see it.”

And perhaps he said some more, but you were not listening to his words. His speech seemed a little insignificant to the little heartbeat — it was as faint as the scent of departure, delicate as a snowflake, and as real as yourself, the prince, and the neverending forest.

When you tried to lift your hand, Beomgyu’s fingers halted you still. You could not believe that you did not mind it. “Whose...whose is it, your Highness?”

You were positive that he did not hear you with the lack of volume you let slide from your tongue. However, he answered your question, almost feeling the joy radiating from his response.

“The seeds.”

Shocked, you opened your eyes, and found the Prince of Earth staring at you with an elevated joy. He gestured to observe your creation, and when your eyes fell upon the sliver of a stem which broke through the earth, between the spaces of your fingers, you wondered whether this was all a dream.

You could not help the curse which escaped you. The boy beside you spluttered into laughter, and you turned to see his face radiating with elation. The heartbeat, the one which you thought was under your control, proved you wrong as it skipped its beat along to his laughs.

“Wh-what are you laughing at?” You demanded, but you were unable to execute it with the anger you wish you held for him. He offered you a honeypot of smiles.

“You’ve brought life to the forest, sweet jackal.”

The little plant shivered in response, along with your own hairs at the back of your neck, which stood at his announcement. Its faint heartbeat grew louder, as well as your own in your ears.

“Do you feel it now?” he whispered, leaning ever so close as he looked to the forest around you. “Do you feel the trees breathing in your presence?”

Unfortunately, although you could sense your plant’s essence, the heartbeats of every tree in the forest were still unheard. You shook your head no, but that did not wipe the grin off his face.

“We have time,” he reassured you. “Just know that Mother Nature has hope for you still.”

He took your hand, putting another upon the back as he brought you a different kind of warmth. “I have hope for you.”

You parted your mouth, unaccustomed to the contact, the kindness...to all that he represented.

His eyes locked with yours, and although he had spared you the wrath of his palace dungeons, you feared whether you could escape the imprisonment of his gaze.

There was no doubt in your mind as you let yourself be arrested into his stare — the Prince of the Earth was not going to haunt just a single night.

FRATERNISING WITH THE HEIR OF REGNA TERRAE WOULD BE THE DEATH OF YOU.

Of course, that was not the last time you saw him — you had become something of a personal project to him, a sin which must be reversed. Almost every night after the fateful encounter, you snuck out from the fences of the Metallum villages, barely evading the suspicious eyes of the Kim brothers, and met with him under his treehouse.

You did not know why you endeavoured so ardently in seeing him. It was not like he had become any less irritable with his amused grins and unmatched power, but there was something about him which you could not fend off.

In a way, he made you believe you were worth more than simple woodcutting, selling oaks in the market, the empty promises of revenge against the Natural Kingdom.

Somehow, he made you realise that, maybe, you truly were deserving of a more memorable path.

These very thoughts accompanied you as the sun began to set, pulling your hood over your head as you swept past the familiar trees, reining in the urge to greet every woodland creature which scurried past you. The past few weeks, after many misunderstood arguments with the Prince’s pet squirrel, you learned the slight quirks which the animal possessed, his every movement and what it would signify. You had Beomgyu to thank once again, but each time you wished to do so, he would say the same, hair-rising reassurance.

“Fret not, sweet jackal. It is a pleasure to show you the wonders of nature.”

Sweet jackal. The endearment made you so flustered, and that aggravated you to the greatest extent. You had already shared your name with the boy, but he insisted on calling you this name, as if the two of you had already established an intimacy from decades before.

The very thought had your actual heartbeat racing.

You made sure to completely dismiss this foolery as you found the special opening of the grassland in sight, the glowing figure waving you over. A small smile involuntarily curled at your lips, hurrying closer till you fully saw Prince Beomgyu’s face clearly in the setting sun.

“You have arrived much earlier this evening,” he said in a way of greeting, fixing his flower crown as his squirrel played with the petals. “I would not say I’m displeased.”

On your part, you certainly were not either — he bore more finery than usual, his normal green gown threaded with gold swirls at the hems, small vines tied around his ears as natural jewellery. His hair was sprinkled with petals, a trait Jisung adored as he settled in the nest of his locks. His hands, too, were intertwined with dark vines, swirls wrapped around his fingers like extended rings.

By the gods, he truly was an exquisite being.

He noticed your silence, raising a groomed brow. “Is something the matter?” he asked, but when he saw your eyes dart to anywhere but his own, he immediately understood. You just managed to catch a satisfied quirk of his lips before he turned his attention to your plant.

Following his trail, you brightened up to see your creation in full bloom — bright red poppies, stark against the pool of grass, stood as they swayed to the evening breeze. You knelt down to observe them closer, and felt a peculiar sense of pride at sensing their clear heartbeat harmonising with yours.

“They’re my favourite flower,” the boy said behind you. “I have always adored how they stand out amongst all the others.”

Watching the poppies almost dance in the cool air, you stood upwards once again. “Then why do you not wear them?” you asked out of curiosity.

“Because my parents do not like me wearing them.” He gestured to the flower crown, at risk of being torn up by Jisung. “They say the colour is too harsh.”

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “At least they could have spared me on my birthday.”

You were about to comment on his parents when those words escaped his mouth. Your own mouth parted in surprise. “Your birthday is today?”

The prince mocked being stabbed in the chest, nearly sending the squirrel to the trees. Taking Jisung from his hair, he propped him on his shoulder. “You have truly wounded me, ____!” he whined. “All this time together, and you had no inkling?”

Although he was only jesting, it only embarrassed you further. “I truly am sorry, your Highness!” you apologised, clasping your hands together. “If I had known, I would have made you a present.”

“Oh?” He took a step towards you. His eyes danced in mirth. “And what would you have made me?”

That seemed to rob you of your speech. “Well, um…” you trailed off, searching your now useless mind of any decent idea for a gift, but he waved off your fluster, chuckling.

“It is no problem, dear jackal,” he said, looking at the red flowers once more. “Seeing your poppies in full growth is a gift to me anyway.”

You wished he had not said that; glancing at them now, you could only hear his fascination within the petals.

There he was again — staining your every entity of his remnants. How much more till he stains your very soul?

Jisung’s irritated squeak brought you back to the forest. You tried not to murder the damned creature as you muttered out, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Beomgyu groaned out. “I shan’t have you calling me that hideous title all the time.” He put a hand to his chest. “Have we not reached first name basis?”

Despite your surprise, you offered him a scoff. “Jackal is not my first name,” you jeered. “And please. You’re the prince of our land. Anyone who catches me being informal with you will surely have my head.”

“I would never let them,” he merely said. “Not before I show you one last part of the forest.”

You quirked a quizzical brow. “I think you’ve shown me half your kingdom by now.”

“But this is...quite different.”

The boy stepped closer to you, reaching out his hand. You found yourself warming up as he enveloped it with yours, a gesture so small yet so triggering to your nerves.

“Follow me, ____.”

With the tug of his fingers, you were led out of the grasslands and back into the jungles of Regna Terrae, catching familiar sights of ancient mahoganies and birches, different variations of trees all grouped together.

As the moon began to ascend, your anxiety increased. His hand worked wonders for your skin, but at the back of your mind, you could not shake off the image of the Kim brothers wondering where you had gone so long.

Especially Namjoon. Seokjin and Taehyung may have been much simpler in the brain, but the leader of the trio bore his suspicions of your whereabouts. He always knew you were never enthusiastic of your occupation as a Lumberjackal, so your sudden interest to roam the woodlands for hours into the night certainly had his ears perking. Of course, you always made sure to know that you were going without being followed, but in the end, the three brothers were quite unpredictable.

You just hoped that whatever the prince had to show you, it would be seen quick enough to leave.

The density of the forest began to increase, and you soon began to doubt whether you had been to this part of the Kingdom before. It was then Beomgyu’s hands flowed with magic, and completely changed the scenery. The ancient trees, trunks as wide and thick as horses began to move apart to make way for him and you, the squirrel holding onto his shoulder tightly as it too squeaked in surprise. Your own eyes widened as each element of nature bent to his will, creating an easier path for his boots to step onto.

It was clearly a sight for admiration. These few weeks you had begun to realise the power of the earth, and how rich and true its roots lay. You felt the faint hum of their essences as you rushed past them, hand still clasped with his, and you dipped your head in thanks to the trees, hoping that one day you would hear them sing welcomes to you.

Slowing down, the group was barred by the curtain of thick vines, hiding you from the world behind. “I have never seen this before,” you wondered out loud, but when Beomgyu let go of your hand, and stepped forward, hands stretched out, your curiosity reigned further.

Jisung quickly scurried from his shoulder, ending up on the muddied path as he watched with black eyes of the phenomenon about to occur. You made to make fun of the squirrel when the prince let out an aggravated moan, hurling your head to his direction.

His heavenly voice chanted in a millennia old language, huge power emitting from his finger tips and swirling to the tumbling vines of the entrance. You could see the sweat beading down his forehead at the sheer effort it took, but he stayed rooted, sending surges of green matter to the cold nature.

Slowly, the curtain began to withdraw. Blinding light cut through, and when the boy let out a roar, pushing the whole family of vines apart you hid your head from the white bursting through.

There was a deathly silence for a singular moment.

You heard his ragged breathing, lasting for ten seconds before it turned into relieved, panted chuckling.

Bringing your hand away from your face, you looked to see beyond the curtain.

Your very breath was snatched from your lungs.

Before you was the most enchanting deity of nature you had ever seen in your existence — it was a glowing white tree, trunk as wide as the two of you twice over, etched with milky-coloured wrinkles that contained sparkles of ancient magic. The leaves, much like finely cut diamonds, protruded from every branch which stretched towards every corner the eye could see. The diamonds were infinite, shining from the gentle light of the moon.

Even though you had never seen it before, you knew exactly what it was.

“The Tree of Life.”

Your gaze dared to break away to see the prince for a second, whose own breathing seemed to have halted. Sensing your stare, he looked back at you, his face half glowing from the deity’s light.

“I...I thought it did not—” you tried to say, but of course you could not when it was right there before you, as if it had been waiting to be found all its life.

“Exist?” He took a step forward. “Every myth is borne from truth after all.”

Indeed it was — you had learned of the Tree of Life when you were a mere girl, listening to fairy tales before being told to sleep. This Tree could not be seen by the common man, and legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk. Evidently, no one could prove this theory, but its mystery had what inspired so many people, metal and earthbenders alike, to find it, for opposing reasons.

You knew why Namjoon wanted to find it — for the amount of gold a singular leaf could bring him. Now, having accused him of believing in fantasies, you almost felt ashamed for having ridiculed his searches.

“Come.”

You perked up at the Prince’s voice.

“You must get a closer look.”

Picking up the pace of your feet, you fell into step beside him as the two of you started towards the legend come to life. The closer you approached the more enchanting it looked — the leaves glistened further, as if greeting you with their shine.

Jisung scurried between you both, his little head never straying from the Tree. It let out an awed squeak, and Beomgyu hummed in agreement.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?”

You shook your head, transfixed. “Never,” you responded, feeling the very earth shift beneath your feet.

If nothing else convinced you of the power of nature, then the existence of this deity certainly did.

You stepped past the boy, the grass hushed beneath your feet as you stretched out your hand. When your fingers touched the milky bark your breath shuddered out of you. It was simply unreal. The touch was surprisingly soft, so unlike the normal trees, and with each crack of the bark there was ancient writing inscripted within. With further shock you felt a very distant heartbeat as the fingers ran along the words, faint yet powerful.

By the gods.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” you whispered to the Tree, tracing the aged trunk. “Your Highness, is everything about the legend true?”

There was no response — you figured he was still star-struck, and you continued to admire the most beautiful force you had ever seen.

It was not until you heard Jisung’s shrill squeak that you turned around.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Because there he was, the one man you dreaded to see. The one man who held Beomgyu’s unconscious body in his hands as he dropped him upon the grass. You noticed the little dart on the side of his neck, and all the blood in your body was drained.

Kim Namjoon.

His answering smirk was more a flash of teeth. “Do you believe me now, ____?”

You backed up against the Tree, eyes darting to the prince. “What did you do to him?” you asked instead, voice void of any emotion.

“That does not matter,” he dismissed. “But of course, it would matter to you now that you’ve attached yourself to him.”

He took a step forward, his ebony machete glinting in the light of the phenomenon behind you. “Stand aside, girl. It is time to make our fortunes.”

On instinct, you stretched a hand out. “I cannot.”

The man was taken aback by your hesitance. “Whatever the gods do you mean?”

Gulping, you tried to steel your will, inhaling slowly. “I cannot let you do it, Namjoon.” Your eyes glanced at the still prince before glaring at the perpetrator. “You won’t get a single branch of the Tree.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, taking a step forward. “Oh, and you’re going to stop me?”

You brought out your own sword — the one which you promised to use on Beomgyu — and raised it toward him. “Do not come any further,” you warned.

It seemed the man was not not going to compromise.

Not when he swung his machete, well on his way to hack you to pieces.

You quickly brought your weapon upon you to deflect his aim, sending him forward, and away from the Tree.

He can try and hurt the Tree of Life.

Easily gaining step, Namjoon mustered his power, ebony sharpening from his fingers as he clashed against you, lightening-fast strikes of his machete having you strained. You never doubted the bastard’s swordsmanship — he was skilled enough to be a general in the King’s royal army.

A shame he chose his fighting for a darker purpose.

You tried to slice the free space of his abdomen, but the man was sharp, quickly dodging as he swerved to the side, another clash of weapons ringing around the forest.

“You cannot beat me, ____!” He roared, one hit after the other, sending you further back.

Taking every hit, you stumbled, gaining your step yet staggering once again with his sword. After all, you could not outsmart the master; he was the man who taught you to fight.

Even so, you refused to give up. “I can die trying!” You seethed as he brought his strength down. His weapon, screeching against your own, slowly descended, closer and closer to your neck.

A harsh groan escaping, you mustered all your strength into sending his machete aside, barely a spare second in your name before you whirled to your left, missing the power blow.

“All this for a bloody tree!” He screeched, thundering towards you. “We would have been rich, you fool!”

Another mighty hit, and you were sent back, averting his strikes with your sword. Because you were so exhausted, your magic would not burst from your hands, adding more power to your weapon. It was your melee strength, nearly all gone, and your nimble feet.

“What is all this for?!” He demanded, slicing at your cloak, cutting through the fabric of your trousers. The clash of weapons continued, faster and faster. “What is worth more than all the riches of the Kingdom?!”

Amidst the brawl, your eyes slipped to the figure before you. Distant, yet instantly recognisable with his eyes closed, and mouth parted, flower crown scattered around his head. Jisung, too, laid injured beside him, watching your fight with fear in his little eyes.

What is all this for?

You only had one person in mind.

But that was not enough.

No, not when that sliver of a second gave Namjoon enough time to strike you, sending his machete straight into your stomach.

A shuddered gasp escaped you as the machete entered through — a burst of pain shot through your entire body, echoing the fatality of your situation. Tears stung your eyes as you dropped your sword, looking at your opponent in the eyes.

The Leader of the Lumberjackals showed no mercy as he yanked out his weapon.

A moan rushed past your lips as you fell to your knees, gripping your blood-gushing stomach. Namjoon gazed down at you with no remorse at all. “Perhaps he was not enough,” he said, cold as metal.

He stepped past you, focusing on the glistening Tree of Life, its white treasures still exalted in the moonlight. Your body, completely spent, could not hold you upright, falling straight into the grass. Straining, you cried out as you stretched your hand out in vain efforts to stop him, but it was simply no use.

You had been defeated.

And now, after witnessing the most perfect element of nature you had ever seen, you were to watch it be decimated.

This is how it ended. You, fumbling for your last breath, your prince nearby and probably dead.

Namjoon raked his eyes over the Tree, grinning wildly. “Oh, you are going to make me the richest man in the Kingdom,” he declared, raising his machete till it hovered just before the bottom of the trunk.

He elevated his voice so you could hear. “Enjoy watching me destroy what you sacrificed yourself for!”

Closing your eyes, you were about to let oblivion take over.

You awaited the sound of his weapon against the bark.

What you heard was something completely different.

An explosion filled your ears as white light, even more blinding than the one before, had you squeezing your eyes further shut. You made out the screams of your once leader as it was drowned out by the eruption, and you tried to see what had so suddenly occurred, only to be greeted with more brazen lights.

What...what was going on?

When the deafening noise quietened, you picked up on the soft crunch of grass, edging closer and closer to you. A compelling force was felt against your dying soul, and you wondered if the Reaper had finally come to take you.

When you felt air-light hands on your abdomen, you did not expect death to be so warm.

Slowly, dragging open your eyes, you prepared yourself to be taken to the afterlife.

What you saw instead was something else entirely.

Something which made even the Tree of Life as a mediocre enchantment.

Looking over you was not human — not with the glowing, shimmering skin, sparkles and shine radiating off its golden, liquid body. Her eyes were white with the same light you had seen twice this evening, fluid locks of hair flowing all around her. Her lips offered a radiant smile, already bringing some life back into you, and her whole body, although similar to yours, was free of attire, exuding the light of a star.

Perhaps you truly were dead.

The being, however, proved you wrong with her words.

“Brave human,” she began, and her velvet voice had you clutching your stomach. “I saw what you did to defend me.”

You tried to open your mouth to tell her that you defended the Tree, but then your eyes dilated at the revelation.

The legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk.

But this...this god-like creature was not just a mere girl.

“You sacrificed yourself for my Tree,” she stated, voice echoing across the woodlands. “For my forest, my every creation, despite being an enemy of mine in the past.

“You deserve a token of my gratitude.”

Her voice nearly put you to sleep with the way it lulled in the midnight air. You wondered in your tired mind what she could offer you now that you were breathing your last breath.

Then, you felt her hands upon your stomach.

A loud groan escaped your lips as the torn flesh began to stitch on its own accord, courtesy of the magic which poured from the sublime being. Your whole body worked to heal you, reversing the damage done by your once leader, whose whereabouts you had no inkling of.

The pain, which once tore at every nerve within you, began to fade away, and you opened your eyes further after gaining the strength, fully taking in the earthly spirit which had restored you.

You parted your mouth, voice parched as you rasped out, “I...Beomgyu…”

A heavenly smile curled at her lips. “The prince is fine, soldier. It would take more than a dart to eliminate the heir of the Earth.”

A relieved breath left your lips. You then looked to the being, putting your hands above hers. “I am not who I was,” you whispered.

Mother Nature smiled down at you, and you knew then and there that perhaps the world is not so cruel after all.

“I know, brave human.”

The luminous creature ascended to her feet, letting go of your hands. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and turned on her heel. Struggling to your side, you watched as the otherworldly figure stepped up to the Tree of Life, looking at you one last time.

Raising a hand to her chin, she blew some magic towards your way, bathing you in sparkles. With a final beam, she slipped into the tree, enlivening the whole structure till it stood straight once again.

You truly could not believe what you saw.

Feeling the glimmer dancing on your skin, however, you knew this was not a figment of your imagination.

Mother Nature saved you from death.

Truly, utterly, ethereal.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard soft coughing nearby, and you heaved upward at the sound, your strength all present.

Beomgyu.

Upon your feet, you rushed to where he lay, stumbling from the hurrying as you fell to your knees, hands clinging onto his face. Jisung, his injuries healed from the celestial visit, scurried upon his owner’s chest, waiting for him to awaken.

“Beomgyu?” You murmured out, fingers stroking the soft planes of his cheeks. “Beomgyu, damn you, open your eyes!”

Tilting his face till it faced you, you watched as the prince’s eyes fluttered open, tired and wide and absolutely beautiful.

A trembling breath gasped out of you. “What…” he grated out, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “What just...happened?”

You willed the tears in as you caressed his face. “The legend was true.”

His confused gaze had you continuing. “Beomgyu, I saw the celestial creature when I was dying, and she saved me. It was true, Beomgyu, she healed me with her hands and—”

Your rambling ceased when the boy brought his fingers to your face. Warmth flooded your cheeks, and not because of how hot his hands were.

His smile could have easily beaten Mother Nature’s.

“You called me Beomgyu.”

He did not let you respond as he brought your face down to his, tilting it slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, enveloping you in a sweet kiss.

His mouth was warm, just like him, soft and plush, rendering you helpless over him. Your shock was quite prevalent, but you let the affection take over as you kissed him back, hands carding in his curls. He moved against your lips as his fingers stroked down to your jaw, savouring every feathered touch.

When he broke away, his breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed. He saw your own dishevelled gaze and chuckled to himself.

“I think this might be the best birthday present I have ever received.”

The Prince of Regna Terrae laughed some more when you refused to meet his eyes.

You were about to counter him when you heard another, completely new voice.

“You both could have done that without me being here.”

Your stare dove to his chest, to the direction of the sound.

Jisung the squirrel glared at you with the entire irritation of the Kingdom. “Oh what? So now you can hear me?!”

A yelp resounded from you. “How are you talking?!” You screeched. “You’re a bloody animal!”

“Oh, thank you so very much for stating the blatantly obvious!” He drawled, and you could not comprehend the sarcasm that just came from a bloody woodland creature.

You peered at Beomgyu, who was just as surprised as you were, despite his entertained features. “____,” he started, sitting up straighter. “Does this mean—”

Getting to your feet, you looked around the forest, the Tree of Life standing proudly.

It was then you sensed the heartbeat.

Not just your own, or the poppies — but of the entirety of the Kingdom.

Faraway, yet still present, it thumped against your chest like an echo of your own heart, a harmonisation of all the trees, bushes, flowers and animals. It was almost enchanting how it slowly thudded within you, and with such welcome.

Like greeting a friend you had not seen for a long time.

When you caught the Prince’s gaze, his entire face lit up.

Before you could say anymore, you were swept into the boy’s arms, engulfing you with a hug of eternal warmth. His voice rang along your soul as he declared to the whole word.

“Nature has accepted you, ____!”

You heard the clicked tongue of Jisung beneath you, and Beomgyu brought you at arm’s length before sticking out his tongue at his pet.

He looked to you once more, and saw the very emotions you dared not let yourself believe in.

“I knew you were capable of change, sweet jackal.”

The tears, this time, refused to be held back any longer.

The boy melted as he swept away each tumbling drop with his fingers, clutching your face.

As you leaned in this time, kissing him breathlessly, you tasted the smile which flourished upon his lips, drinking in your every essence.

You wondered, thinking away as your heart beat faster, whether this was still a dream, a vision which would end the moment you woke up, back in the cold village you once called your home.

When you felt the presence of the celestial being again, looking down from the branches of the Tree of Life, you knew that this was no delusion.

Pulling away, you turned Beomgyu to the glistening, living structure, both of you catching sight of her.

Mother Nature smiled at her heirs.

The both of you knew it in your hearts, simultaneously beating.

The heirs of Regna Terrae would not let her down.

#txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fluff #txt fluff #choi beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu #beomgyu oneshots #txt oneshots #choi beomgyu oneshots #beomgyu soft #choi beomgyu soft #beomgyu scenarios #choi beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x you #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you

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shozaii · 4 years

Note

can u pls gib me kunikida and dazai fluff hcs? i love them sm

(a/n):hello anon! why, of course hehe🥰thank you so much for the request!

@amourzai my cielo helped me with this fic ilysm☁🌹

masterlist

-------------------------------

fluffy hc’s

pairings: dazai x reader, kunikida x reader

warnings: none!

dazai osamu

despite being the chaotic person that he is, dazai tends to turn into the mushy soft puddle when he’s with you. swoons around you, always shows you his best side, brags about him being better than chuuya, basically what you see him do to atsushi, but it’s ten times more emphasized and complex.😌

when he wants to confess his feelings, he does it in a quiet, peaceful place. namely, while watching the yokohama sunset. may or may not have found time to walk back home alone with you, held your hand and locked his arm around yours. “i need to show you something special, love~.”

feelings to him is something so cherished, so sophisticated and important. as a person who has gone through a series of emotions; he prefers to let them out in private.

even kneels down and asks, “would you be mine, mon cheri?” while rubbing little circles on the back of your hand.

when dazai confesses, his eyes would look directly into yours. if anything were to bother him; consider his other side to be seen. and we all know we don’t want that to happen.

i don’t know why but i always imagine dazai’s hands to be soft and delicate, and lovely to hold. (yes, i have seen too many gifs of them and i am in love) anything he does with his hands are just so attractive.

blows kisses when he’s like across you. so it becomes a series of sending each other kisses when you’re like one metre apart....and when he really does miss it, he gets up from his seat, leans over and pecks your lips real quick.

height difference is pretty obvious between him and his s/o(unless you’re super tall :0). if you were shorter, consider the t e a s i n g 24/7. if you were nearly as tall/taller than him, the floor is all yours🥴

lowkey wish i was taller rn

okay but real talk - he loves carrying you bridal style. a lot. and here’s the thing, it happens at random timing. for instance, when you’re working on your latest paperwork. during a mission (just to boast how strong he is). very unpredictable but so adorable, you can’t help but blush harder.

“osamu! put me down or else....!”

“or else what, my honey bunch?”

“you’re not getting kisses for a week.”

mans sets you down with raptor speed. unless if he’s in a flirty mood, you would see yourself winning.

yes, he loves seeing you flustered. i feel like you can do so as well - but i headcanon him winning everytime. how do you win this...? maybe kiss him when he least expects it. do it.

cute pet names like belladonna, my love, mon cheri, any new language he learns, he uses them. and if he almost forgets them(because he collects so much), he writes them down on a sticky note, and sticks it on his desk. when he goes back to the dorms, he sticks it on the wall or some place he could remember.

dates with dazai are either during work hours, or the after hours of yokohama. and he makes sure you’re going to have the time of your life on every single date; so he plans a new activity on every one of them.

when he doesn’t have the chance to do so, he pouts. but when it has been replaced with a job given by the president/kunikida, there you go. a date and mission in your hands.

he gets this rush of energy when he realizes that what was supposed to be a relaxing date out just got a whole lot better with the mission.

dazai gives kisses anywhere he likes. nose, lips, cheeks, jawline, the list goes on. he even knows where you prefer him to do so. i’m surprised that he still isn’t a psychic.

double suicide? he would never think of it. all his life, he wants to find a reason to live. he does get his reasons - one of them is you. your tears to him are anguish and heartbreak at its worst. cue you crying while telling him to stay by your side.

“please...never leave my side,” you sobbed as you buried your face in his chest. “if i can stay alive in this place we call earth for as long as possible, then so can you.”

that moved him so much. a whole lot. “oh, belladonna. don’t you ever think i’m going away.”

silence.

“not without you.”

you punched him, and he couldn’t stop laughing. but he’d stop, giving you an unlimited amount of kisses.

b a b y. dazai is babie.

kunikida doppo

oh my god we have baby number 2.

in his eyes, you were the definition of perfection. he even tries to remember exactly when did he catch feelings for you. it was totally unexpected, according to him.

cue almost all of the members of ada teasing him all the time about him finally finding his ‘ideal’ partner.

but to him, it wasn’t the ideal that mattered anymore. you outmatched almost everything he wrote down. and man, was he the happiest person alive.

how does he confess...? well wonderful question. he didn’t plan it. the members did.

maybe yosano-san called you and told you about another ‘crucial case’ a few blocks away from your completed one and ‘since you were out there, you were perfect for it.’ you agreed because why not?

meanwhile, dazai probably said, ‘this case involves yet another series of men wearing glasses - you and me must go out to end this person.’

of course kunikida goes ??? ‘where are the evidences/pictures???” but dazai brushes it off saying ‘ah~ i left them somewhere.’ to which,,,well you already know. they went out and not even a minute after, the bandaged man goes missing. with the intercom, he leads him to - you guessed it - the exact same place you were in.

‘kunikida! you’re here for the non-existent case too...?”

‘non-existent? OHMYGODDAZAI-’

the line was cut off, and he goes on and on about him, until;

‘i can never be the same when i’m with someone i obliviously like-,’

he’s a huge mess when he’s around you, trust me. so him blabbering that out loud is completely normal.

butterflies in your stomach because you’re so in love with him.

‘i don’t know if this is the right time, but our friends probably did this for us. so i hope you’d be okay if i said my feelings are mutual?”

kunikida is alright with just a little pda, maybe some hand-holding and little ruffles on your hair because he secretly loves how floofy it is🥺when it comes to kissing, the furthest he would go is on your head. nothing more, nothing less.

he needs to maintain his composure *cough* but my mans right here couldn’t, you’re just too perfect.

so when you’re two alone, expect lots and lots of wholesome kisses around your face; and also loads of cuddles. this side of kunikida is what i headcanon today, folks. the ‘soft for you’ side. he lovesss it when he kisses your forehead, he finds it so cute.

p l e a s e kiss him on the cheek, kunikida would be all over the place.

if you go somewhere on a mission with someone else, he would be on his feet. he gets so worried, thinking of what might happen. don’t get me wrong, he trusts you in your job so much; he just doesn’t want you to get hurt.

so when you do return, he’s the first one at the door.

checks if you’ve eaten, if you’ve drank enough water, if you’ve gotten enough sleep. if you’ve not he’s just going to pull you to bed, holding you tight and lulling you to sleep.

during work hours, you walk over to him, wrapping your arms.

‘y/n....we only do this after work.’

‘so you don’t want my hugs then?’

stays silent and just lets you stay there for as long as you want. he will tolerate you and you only.

kunikida loves you a lot. sometimes he might not show it, but just know that the love he has for you is drastic it tears you up.

--------------------------------------------------

(a/n): i am s o r r y this took so long! ahh i’ve had so much to do and i really do hope this was worth it!

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doitwritenow · 4 years

Text

IronStrange Starter Kit - Master Fic Rec List for all Y’all Because You’ve been Asking and I’ve been Avoiding

Hi! All you anons and askers, I made a list!!! Hopefully some of these are what you’ve been after. :D

(Please reblog this, lol, I spent too much time on it...)

General rules: These are complete unless indicated otherwise, and end happily unless indicated otherwise. There’s a variety of ratings, as I have no qualms against smut, but I don’t usually read it outside of a larger plot. So I don’t think there’ll be many explicit stories on here. Word counts vary; I indicate general length but don’t go into specifics. What else, uh... Bold stuff is the headers and general subjects. I link the titles. Block quotes are author summaries. Enjoy!!

Okay so first off, there are a couple of Fandom Staples who just have leagues worth of good short stories, and if you haven’t read them, then definitely treat yourself to the array:

A Thousand Futures of Me and You - VisionaryGalaxy (Vishanti, what a legend, ily so much). This is a series of unconnected one-shots, each their own and covering a variety of tropes and moments and themes and AUs. They’re so fun (and/or painful and/or thought-provoking and/or tense and/or sexy)! In-character and amazing, consistantly.

Prompt Collection - amethyst-noir (Arbonne). (Also a legendary human). This is exactly what it sounds like: a series of prompt fills in all sorts of tones. You’ll almost certainly find something here that feels like it was just made for you!

Alright, onto the individual stories and series!

Long fics/series:

The of overqualified hands and pi figures series - lantia4ever. (This was my first Ironstrange story, and it is no less magical now.)

A series of one-shots, all set in the same alternate verse in which Tony and Stephen first meet following the events of the first Avengers and then continue to meet after that throughout the canon up until Infinity War and eventually beyond it. Becoming friends - and more along the way.

Time After Time - fancylances. (I love love LOVE this one. Highly recommended.)

Tony Stark is unstuck in time. Stephen Strange might just be the only person in the universe qualified enough to help.

Citizen Erased - Imagined. (This author. Just... such a wonderful, talented, stunning person who makes wonderful, talented, stunning works. This story is masterful.)

What do you do when no one in the world ever manages to remember you?

Anyone who sees Tony Stark promptly forgets he ever existed after mere seconds. When everyone he has ever cared about has lost their memories of him, he goes to Stephen Strange, possibly the only one who can help him lift the curse. But a terrifying danger is coming, and saving the world isn’t an easy job to do when no one can remember who you are.

if only the gods had mercy on us and it’s sequel a soul too deep - orphan_account. (Vishanti, this series... It’s so beautiful and emotional and heart-breaking and heart-warming. And it has so few views for so many words! One of my absolute favorites, VERY highly recommended.)

Tony Stark loved Stephen Strange. He loved him more than anyone could ever imagine. But then a terrorist group attacked the convoy. Then there was a car accident. In the middle of it all, there is tired, battered love. (And, maybe, a little bit of genius)

From the Top - lucifersfavoritechild. (Everyone reads this fic. Written by the blogger Monarch Of The Ironstrange Ship, it’s an MCU rewrite around the relationship. Very fun.)

“Stephen, if you’re . . . there somewhere . . . when I drift off, I’ll be with you again. I can’t wait.”

|| Personally, I think the MCU would be much better as a love story between Stephen Strange and Tony Stark. Don't you?

Starting from Iron Man, and going all the way to Endgame, with all the appropriate stops in between. Let's take it from the top.

UNFINISHED: Skin Deep - Mystical_Magician. (Super cool premise, and super interesting to read! The dynamic here is very fun.)

A battle that should have finally killed Stephen instead launches him into a parallel universe. Exhausted from centuries as Sorcerer Supreme, he chooses instead to explore this new world in any animal form except human. Having hoped for peace at last, he can't stand to be looked up to, to be responsible for others, to have the world on his shoulders.

If he'd hoped to avoid excitement, however, he really should have stayed away when he noticed an enormous explosion and a falling metal suit of armor as he passed through Afghanistan.

UNFINISHED: The End of Infinity - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec. Very long, very slow-burn. Canon-compliant Endgame fix-it. I’m trying so hard, lol.)

In 2023, the battle for the universe has been won. At a cost no one can forget, the fight is over—for all but one. Stephen Strange has an idea. An impossible idea spanning dimensions and timelines, life and death, and the lines of good and evil. But he's played impossible odds before—perhaps he never stopped.

All that Loki wanted was to fight, one last time, for the fate of his universe. So when he finds himself fighting for another, crashing into the past, he has a few intended words for the wizard that forced him there. But not before he finds a boy. Or, more accurately, before the boy finds him.

Peter Parker had been waiting for the next mission. He just doesn't expect it to come from the future, armed with a ridiculous story demanding a ridiculous quest. And he doesn't expect not to be able to tell Mr. Stark.

Tony Stark is trying to rebuild from the Civil War, knowing that someday, something will come that he needs to be ready for. And he doesn't know it yet, but two universes are trying to rebuild around him, and that something is already here.

Seven Stones. Five dead. Two universes. And one impossible quest to tie it all back together.

UNFINISHED: Sunrise in Exile - Ragdoll (Keshka). (Another fandom favorite! And for good reason. This is really really good!)

Tony does the math and realizes their best chance to save the universe is by... not confronting Thanos on his own turf.

So he steals a wizard and a spider and a space ship. And he runs.

(Three humans and an A.I in space, the alien friendships they make along the way, and discovering how science and magic might coexist in a universe where they can be one and the same.)

Shorter plotty ones:

Out of Suffering - Mystical_Magician. (So this author??? THIS AUTHOR??? Very very good, much yes, very good.)

Stephen Strange does not like people, but 14,000,605 lifetimes of fighting and dying alongside this small group have worn down his walls. He likes them, gods help him. He might even consider them friends. It’s really for the best that they all go their separate ways once Thanos has been defeated. In their eyes, he’s barely even an acquaintance.

Now if only Tony and Peter would stop surprising him.

moros - spookykingdomstarlight. (Almost got a spot in the angst section. Very good).

There were fourteen million universes Stephen had birthed into existence and let die and, in far more than he cared to count, the visitor standing before him had become something… dear.

Shaking is Caring - mariadperiad20. (This is just STUNNING. Highly loved.)

5 times Stephen's hands would shake, +1 time they didn't.

It's Kinda Chalky - DestielsDestiny. (This one’s pretty short, but definitely worth it.)

You can live an entire lifetime by looking into someone’s eyes. His sister used to say that all the time. Stephen never gave it much thought back then. These days, he can think of little else.

Something Magic - Imagined. (Beautiful!)

There is only ever one rule that matters:

do not fall in love with the enemy.

An Idiotic Theory - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec! I tried to be funny.)

His wizard has been cursed, again, and Tony's already used up his luck for the day.

(Stephen says it's not a curse. He says Tony's whole daily-allotted karma-based luck theory has minimal merit, citing the fact that Tony had come up with it while he was drunk.)

Tony really should have saved his miracle.

Love Through Time - babywarg (morphaileffect). (I love this one. It sticks with you.)

Tony discovers an old drawing of, and finally remembers, his invisible friend Stephen from when he was a child.

Alternates - doobler. (Super cool!)

After being punked by a lowbrow magician, Stephen finds himself falling through doors to otherwordly dimensions. How will he ever get home?

132 - 28ghosts. (Soulmate AU! Very fun, incorporates Stephen’s time-loop with Dormammu.)

Ninety-nine point eight percent of humans have a soulmate mark that tells them the age their soulmate will be when they meet them. Tony Stark has a mark. It's just that his is...different than most people's.

(Or: six people who aren't Tony Stark's soulmate, and one who is.)

and when the world falls (I will fall with it) - HeavenChild. (Another multichap soulmate AU. Absolutely lovely.)

Tony will give anything to those he loves.

People will take everything he gives before leaving him in shambles.

Rhodhey, Pepper and Vision have had enough.

Or the five times Tony had his heart broken and the one time he didn't.

i saw the end of the world - JumpToConclusions. (Why has no one read this fic??? It’s so good!!! Stephen knows the future since he saw it on Titan, and things grow more complex from there.)

Tony and Strange are trying to make this work, this being remaking The Avengers. ...And maybe they'll stumble into something else along the way.

Tiresome heart, forever living and dying - Mystical_Magician. (R e a d t h i s p l e a s e. The mythology is so cool and the symbolism is so beautiful and the prose is so satisfying. One of my absolute faves.)

As a fledgling crane, Stephen was too curious for his own good, and it was this curiosity that led to Eugene Strange finding and stealing away his feather robe. Trapped in human form, cruelly forged into the perfect son, not even his father's death freed him when his robe was so well hidden. He only managed to break his father's mold after breaking completely in the aftermath of his accident, and slowly gluing those broken pieces back together at Kamar-Taj, but not even magic could find what had been hidden. Enter Tony, after the defeat of Thanos.

Fluffy ones:

From The Outside - Live. (Hilarious.)

Being a sentient life-form surrounded by humanity can be hard. Especially when said humans just can't admit their feelings for each other.

Sleeping Iron Man - Golden_Asp. (Another fun one. Perfect balance of ridiculousness with a touch of angst to make it interesting.)

Stephen Strange stared at the Avengers on his doorstep, Tony Stark flung over Steve Rogers' shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "He touched something, didn't he?" "Yuup." or The one where Tony touches Sleeping Beauty's spindle, is put into an enchanted sleep, and everyone, even Rocket Raccoon, take their turn kissing him. But Tony only has one prince charming.

Doctor Ob(li)vious - lantia4ever. (One of my very favorites. So cute.)

Stephen starts getting some weird looks from the Avengers, spanning across disturbed, confused and even scared all the way to curious. He dismisses it at first until weird turns into knowing.

And knowing turns into realizing...even if the scheming teenagers had to all but paint it on the walls for him to do so. Oh wait...

Applied Combinatorics in Two-Player Games - 28ghosts. (Short and fun and full of snark.)

After a battle, Tony Stark and Stephen Strange argue about games.

“Chess is not a solved problem.”

“Has been since ‘97, Kasparov versus Deep Blue. Kasparov, 1; Deep Blue, 2; three draws.”

“Chess is a game, not a problem.”

The Courtship of Peter Parker's Father (Figures) - flyingonfeatherlesswings. (Peter plays matchmaker! Adorable.)

Peter couldn't stand to sit by while Tony and Stephen danced around each other any longer. Something had to be done.

Speaking Eyes - Vrishchika. (Not Steve Friendly. Tony is amazing in this. And Stephen is so fantastically dramatic.)

Tony has always had expressive eyes.

The Signs of Sleep Deprivation - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Another self-rec. <3)

"Tony said to put the potato in the dishwasher, so that's what I did."

Sometimes, Avengers just show up to say hi. Sometimes, they all show up at once, and Tony makes an party out of it. Sometimes, he invites the snarky, oblivious, somewhat insecure wizard because, and Peter quotes: "everyone else is coming".

Sometimes, something needs to be done.

Show Me Your Scars (And I'll Show You Mine) - Imagined. (Adorable. Lovely. Imagined does it again.)

The worst part is that Stephen keeps tucking his hands away, just as Tony wants to hold them. He keeps hiding them, surreptitiously, no matter what they’re doing. It’s only when Tony kisses Stephen, or hugs him, that he feels the hands settle on his back, uncertain, ready to pull back within seconds.

It only makes him want to cuddle up to Stephen even more, but he backs away, not sure if it’d be welcome.

Promise? Promise. - sharonscarters. (AU, kidfic, absolutely adorable.)

A four year old Tony Stark runs away from home and finds his Guardian Angel.

What The Doctor Ordered - wakandan_wardog. (Post CW. Kind of not Rogues friendly? So fun, makes me smile. I re-read this one a lot.)

The Rogue Avengers are called back to New York because the heavy hitters are going to be needed against Thanos. Of course, there are some truths that Steve Rogers will need to accept sooner rather than later. Tony Stark has moved on and Stephen Strange will not suffer fools lightly.

Hurt/Comforty ones:

Among The Chaos of The Stars (You're My Safe Harbour) - ShootMeDead. (Oh my vishanti. OH MY VISHANTI. So so so so SO good.)

Stephen has always been able to hear the stars. Tony is the only one who can silence them.

each night like a white noise frequency - Phierie. (I ADORE THIS FIC. OKAY. I LOVE IT. READ IT.)

Stephen is no stranger to making hard choices. He doesn’t regret his actions on Titan, but months later they weigh on his mind heavier than ever; the cracks begin to show.

Just An Accident - CucumbersInGold. (I really like fics with Stephen’s hands and the difficulties thereabout. Idk, just one of my favorite things. This is beautiful).

Stephen's hands act up.

Learning, Unlearning - Caaaaaaas. (More character study than anything else. Really good.)

Whatever Stephen wanted with life, life just didn’t seem to know what to do with him.

In which Stephen learns and unlearns some very important lessons.

your eyes have their silence - doctortwelfth. (Oh look it’s another scars fic. I told you I liked them.)

Tony is gentle with Stephen’s hands even when Stephen forgets to be.

Burning Lines Into The Snow - petroltogo. (Not very Steve friendly. Short and sweet.)

Post CW: It's not just the team that's so broken they are barely able to comprehend how many parts they're missing now, how many have been ripped and twisted and torn. It's Tony as well, right down to the core, the damage so far-reaching even he doesn't know how to fix it.

And then there's Strange, who has his own way of covering the cracks.

Old Bones - CJtheWeeb. (Owch. Dumb geniuses trying to be invulnerable.)

Sometimes Stephen Strange has great days, where he was nearly pain free and his hands still enough to where he could pick up a cup of water and barely spill a drop.

Today was not one of those days.

something taken, something new - meowrails. (So in-character. The premise was a little off to me, but I’m so glad I decided to read this one. I really really like this fic.)

The ChronicConnection implement and app allows a person that lives with chronic or illness-induced pain to transfer their burden temporarily to a willing loved one.

Tony and Stephen sign up as beta testers.

Angsty ones (happy ending unless otherwise mentioned):

day one - days4daisy. (THIS IS SO GOOD OKAY IF YOU READ NOTHING ELSE ON THIS LIST READ THIS).

Three days in Stark Tower. Stephen must be in bad shape if he just agreed to this.

His Merlin - babywarg (morphaileffect). (This author keeps showing up on this list because they are A LEGEND. A LEGEND I TELL YOU.)

As a child, Tony imagined himself a Knight of the Round Table. Little did he know he would grow up to be a king. And that he would have a wizard by his side to lead him to either glory or destruction.

there is no heart for me like yours - turtle_abyss. (Soulmate AU! Wonderful. <3)

Being able to feel your soulmate - a phantom touch, a bone-deep awareness - is a divine torture. To know, but not see. To seek, but not find. To feel someone holding your hand and not be able to hold theirs.

Grace - StrangeMischief. (*cries in beautiful fic* Happy ending!)

“Pain’s an old friend.”

Us...Me - StrangeMischief. (This will hurt you. So melancholy. Pepper and Tony live their life, and Tony remembers. Not a happy ending.)

“I don’t believe in happily ever after.”

One-Thousand Cranes - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec, sorry. Hopeful ending.)

After it all, a man with shaking hands makes a wish.

courtesy - deathofglitter. (Dealing with the fourteen-million futures. So good.)

Stark looked at him like he looked at the amulet that rested on his chest like a steady promise - dutiful, a bit burdened, and trying to hold a profound lack of personal emotion whatsoever, still personal enough to protect as anyone would a precious object.

La Douleur Exquise - BananasofThorns, StrangeMischief. (More pain. Pepper and Tony, and Stephen watching and trying not to wish. Very good, no happy ending.)

The before was easy. There were fewer boxes in their minds and no chains around their hearts. There was no hurt. No tears. No dreams.

But those days were long gone.

Stigmata - babywarg (morphaileffect). (AU! Soulmates again. Very interesting, beautifully done.)

Since Stephen was little, mysterious wounds have appeared and disappeared on his body, leaving mysterious scars. His mother says it's because he's one of a Pair, and he's absorbing pain meant for someone else.

*wipes brow* PHEW! That gotta a little more in-depth than I first intended... Have fun, my MysticIron friends. Happy quarantine.

887 notes · View notes

morwensteelsheen · 3 years

Note

If Faramir went to Rivendell, how would the whole ttt/rohan plot be different?

A good question that I have spent an unreasonable time thinking about! My first LOTR fic was going to be an attempt to answer this, but then I got so wrapped up in not having the answers that I sidelined it and wrote WC instead. So I think instead of giving you one definitive answer I’ll give you a couple scenarios I think are plausible? If that’s not too much of a cop out lmao? Apologies in advance for the inevitable spelling errors, I did this on my phone and my dyslexia is off the charts today.

I think it’s basically unavoidable that he goes via Rohan first, geographically he’s sort of left without an option there. When he’s there, we get into this issue of whether and how he and Éowyn interact. Worth noting, I think, that the Unfinished Tales has Éomer living in Aldburg by the War, but Éomer does seem to imply he’s around for Boromir passing through. Is this because he knows and already is a fan of Boromir? Maybe! Or maybe Éomer goes to Aldburg after.

But I digress. We have to ask the question of whether Faramir falls in love with Éowyn because he was always going to fall in love with Éowyn, or if it’s because the things he’s gone through immediately preceding it primed him for it. I — perhaps quite cheaply — come down on the side of Faramir always having it bad for her on first sight. And contextually I think that comes from his, rather sweet, enunciation of the way his regard/love changes for her. He says that at first he pities her, and then he gets to know her and he doesn’t pity her anymore, he respects and admires her. That’s an interesting dynamic to bring into play in basically every AU, because you get this double barrel characterisation of his attitude to her changing, and his own character maturing/sharp edges softening.

I think he off the bat he sees that she’s beautiful, and immediately is drawn to her for that. Shallow? Maybe! But, to badly paraphrase my ol fav Victor Hugo quote — love always begins with a glance.

I imagine he stays for a short while, maybe a week, two at most. At this point I think that Éowyn’s basically viewing him as an official guest that she has to entertain, and I think Faramir is, in his own, slightly stilted, slightly wanky way, putting the moves on her. This can go, imo, one of two ways. She can either be receptive to it (which is a nice thought!) or she can be aware of it but mostly ignore it because, really, she’s got lots of shit on her plate.

Either way, he leaves Edoras at some point. The big question is where does his go from there?

One thing I toy around with is that, given his pre-existing relationship to Gandalf, maybe he’s willing to trust the Istari a bit more and goes straight for Isengard? Which, and I think I did the math on this once a few months ago, would have him arriving at Isengard around the time Gandalf’s getting his shit kicked in by Saruman lol. I think this could be a really compelling plot point, but I’ll be very honest with you, I 100% don’t have the imagination or writing skills to figure out how it proceeds from there, so I’m not going to try to.

If he goes the normal Boromir route, he still loses his horse at Tharbad and walks (lmao jesus???) to Rivendell. When he gets there, I think he’s immediately going to have everything he knows put to the test in quite jarring ways. First off, he’s going to be infinitely more deferential to Elrond, Aragorn &c when they’re trashing Gondor. He’ll push back a bit, no doubt on that, but he’s going to be starstruck by Aragorn in a way that Boromir just wasn’t.

No real difference I imagine between Rivendell and Lothlórien, except that he’d definitely be laser focused on palling about with Aragorn, and he’d probably spend more of his time being friendly with Frodo than with Merry and Pippin tbh (not in a douchey way, I just think he and Frodo vibe a little better. Though I bet he and Merry had some interesting chats about pipe weed history).

The underlying question here is what sort of relationship does he have to the ring? I don’t buy this idea that he’s not tempted by it, I just think that what the ring offers him is a bit shit. We don’t know what the ring tempts him with, he’s not clear on that in TTT. I can’t really see the ring being like ‘oh I’ll give you a king to follow’ because that is some intensely nerdy shit, but is somehow the one thing I could see Faramir actually being tempted by. Regardless of what it offers him in this AU, he resists it on the basis that he’s got this mythical king he’s been desperate for, and he’s not gonna risk that for anything.

Lothlórien comes next, and oh my god when I tell you this is the part I genuinely have no answer for. I stopped writing my first fic at Lothlórien because I couldn’t cope. Tbh it probably lowkey fries Faramir’s brain, and for so many reasons. The whole godmoding Númenórean stuff he’s got going on probably interests Galadriel a bit, and so that whole conversation is going to be wildly different than it was for Boromir. But what does she say to Faramir? I have no idea. I really don’t. There’s also probably a million and one things also going on psychologically for him at that point, which makes dealing with this bit difficult. Really difficult. So I’m gonna, uh, conveniently smash cut away.

Parth Galen! Again, another two potential splits here. The first, (from here on out I’ll refer to as Plot A) which I find rather endearing, is that he goes off with Frodo and Sam when Frodo makes the decision to split. I don’t know that I believe he’d do it, but it proves for a very delightful interpretation of his character.

Plot B is that when the Orcs show up, Faramir survives not by virtue of his being a ~ better warrior ~ or whatever than Boromir, but by the terrain surrounding Parth Galen being something he’s far more in the habit of dealing with, and by virtue of his having a bow at his disposal. I know there’s room for an interpretation of Faramir as not primarily an archer, but narratively I think that’s less interesting. So he’s an archer. He’s an archer and also his priority is on Aragorn first and foremost, so Merry and Pip still get taken, and Frodo and Sam use the hubbub to GTFO, which is actually slightly more in line with the movie’s chronology, funnily enough. The three hunters become four, and then go on Merry & Pippin’s trails.

In Plot A, they’re hauling ass across the Emyn Muil, bolstered in some ways by Faramir’s experience as a Ranger. The problem is the issue of getting into Mordor and whether or not they pick up Gollum. I think, in a way that frustrates me immensely, they do end up taking Gollum, not because they need a guide, but because Gollum fulfils this deep psychological need for Frodo, and I think he would have argued for keeping Gollum regardless. Faramir is going to be fucked off about this, but will ultimately, I think, be deferential to the ringbearer.

So they go across the Dead Marshes, but they do NOT attempt the Black Gate first because Faramir’s not a fool. Do they go to Henneth Annûn? I say yes, but with the caveat that in all likelihood Boromir is gonna be there, which is gonna complicate stuff tremendously.

Over to Plot B!

The four hunters go to the Mark! They meet Éomer! Hey! Éomer recognises Faramir! (And he’s probably a little fucked off that he lost his horse lol). But whatever, he knows this guy, so he’s probably gonna be like, uhhh, everything you saw before in Edoras is much worse now. Also my cousin's dead and everything is bad. Here’s some horses, sorry for maybe accidentally killing your pals, see ya! And at this point I think Faramir’s probably having a, hmmm, g e n t l e p s y c h i c c r i s i s, because if he’s still very 👅 for Éowyn (which he is, sorry, he has to be) then he’s going to want to go there ASAP. Obviously though that’s not gonna happen, so: Merry and Pip chasing, Gandalf finding, Edoras arriving.

Which means Éowyn. If, at this point, she and Faramir already have something of an arrangement going on (nudge nudge) then she’s really not gonna give a shit about Aragorn. You know how in TTT it’s not even clear that she actually sees Legolas and Gimli? 100% that vibe with Aragorn too. Théoden’s gonna get his house in order, they’re going to head to Helm’s Deep, and Éowyn’s gonna get named head of house. (Faramir, if he starts off just thinking she’s beautiful, is going to have quite the paradigm shift here, because he’s going to have to start reckoning with her as not just a beautiful woman, but as a very, very intense person. This is how his love for her starts to mature.)

Sometimes I dream about him being like, ‘hey! I have some first hand experience of ruling a kingdom, how about I stay and…….. lend you a hand……..’ to Éowyn while she’s keeping watch on Edoras. This is wildly unlikely, but a delightful thought nonetheless. In the more likely case, which is that he goes to the Hornburg, she’s going to start feeling some strain about this whole war shebang, and it’s going to lead to some difficult conversations. Chief among them is that Faramir, as second son, actually has basically nothing to give her, which is not exactly a great position to be in when you’re in love with the niece of a king. I’m of the opinion that Éowyn’s not fussed by that stuff (she agrees to marry him when he’s prepping to give up a shit ton of power anyways), so she’s probably like, 'no, fuck you, we’re getting married.' And then he leaves, and it starts to emotionally unsettle her more and more.

If they don’t already have a thing, then it either begins at this point OR he gets overshadowed by Aragorn. In either case, off to Helm’s Deep he goes.

Helm’s Deep happens, I think Faramir ends up extraordinarily impressed by how the Rohirrim handle the Dunlenders afterwards, which also begins to soften his harsh opinion of them more generally.

They go to Isengard, Pippin looks in the Palantír, and away Pippin and Gandalf go. Both Gandalf and Faramir here would recognise that it would be batshit insane for Faramir to go back to MT now, because Denethor would read him like a picture book and he’d have to admit to the entire mission of the Fellowship.

Over in Plot A, I think we’re going to have some real emotional complexity vis a vis Faramir showing up at Henneth Annûn with two hobbits, a ring, and Boromir in control there. God, it would just be a disaster. My incredibly generous interpretation of this is that Faramir keeps the plan vague enough that Boromir lets them pass unhindered. My less generous interpretation is… yeah I don’t wanna do it tbh. It’s not pretty. It's also, to be clear: not an indictment of Boromir as a character. His response is entirely rational for someone expected to lead a kingdom and for someone put up against the unbelievable power of the One Ring. The reason Faramir continuously gets to pass largely untempted by the ring is because he's a guy with no actual responsibilities once you take the Rangers away. His understanding of his duty to Gondor is almost entirely conceptual in nature. He can think and talk about defending Gondor as it once was because there are several people above him in the hierarchy defending Gondor for what it is. This is also not an indictment of Faramir. He and Boromir just have wildly different realities to contend with.

They are going to go through Cirith Ungol even though Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass both speak Sindarin and don’t cotton on to what its name implies lol. This whole scene is much shorter because Faramir’s significantly more cautious, so there is no Orc capture and Sam doesn't take the Ring. This is where things get a bit complex, and where I don’t think I have the imagination to say much more. Sorry!

Back in Plot B, the lads catch up with Éowyn as they prep to go down the Paths of the Dead. If she and Faramir are a thing, this is where the real emotional distress kicks in for her. All of the men in her life have, at one point or another, functionally abandoned her, and here’s Faramir, love of her life, about to do the exact same thing. Faramir inevitably goes with the Grey Company even though she begs him not to. When she tries to convince them not to go down the Paths at all, he is in the fortunate enough position to throw up his hands and say 'not my call, actually. King’s in charge,' which lessens the emotional conflict there somewhat.

No part of me doubts that Éowyn wouldn’t then immediately go over his head to Aragorn. She would, she absolutely does not give a fuck. And she’s going to get knocked back re: joining them in exactly the same way as in the book, because Aragorn’s take here isn’t actually dependent on her personally, it’s dependent on the duty she’s been charged with, which is taking care of her people. (Also going to be an interesting narrative parallel to a later conversation between Faramir and Aragorn after the Pelennor, which I’ll explain in more detail later.)

Faramir will, perhaps somewhat less dismissively, say this to her. He learns much more obviously the way to talk to her on her own terms, and he’s not gonna fall into the trap of letting her be like ‘you just want me to wait and die after all the men are dead.’ He’s going to probably give her some line about her being the last organised line of defence, and he might even invoke Haleth! It’s not going to work, because Éowyn’s very aware of the apocalyptic nature of all of this, but it’s not going to cause such abject hatred and fury as it otherwise would.

If she and Faramir are not a thing, her emotional distress is as it is in the book, except now Faramir’s trying not to pout in the background. He might even step in to try and soften the blow.

Regardless, she ends up as Dernhelm, she rides to the Pelennor.

Boromir is the one responsible for the Osgiliath retreat, and because it’s heavily implied that Faramir only keeps his seat because he’s got this dumbass Númenor garbage going on ('master of man and beast' — king Beregond), Boromir’s going to get killed by the Witch king here.

This is going to send shockwaves through not just Denethor, but Minas Tirith more generally, because Boromir is fucking adored. Denethor’s going to go high holy crackers much quicker, mostly because Gandalf is a shit stirrer and is going to waste no time at all in announcing that Aragorn, The Rightful King, is on his way, and Denethor will — correctly — surmise that Faramir has chosen Aragorn over returning with whatever Isildur’s Bane is to Gondor. This is the end for Denethor.

Éowyn rides from Dunharrow, slays the Witch king. Faramir and Aragorn show up with the Army of Dead, Faramir does not end up injured, but does end up as the Steward (obviously) and (obviously) aware that Éowyn is in the HOH. And also that everybody else he loves is dead. Yeehaw.

Here’s where I think things get really interesting. I think, counter to the way this is portrayed a lot of the time, Faramir doesn’t go to the Black Gate at all. I think he stays in Minas Tirith, not just to organise the wider range defences (esp the Rohirrim dealing w the Druadan) but in this very grim preparation to lead the retreat from Minas Tirith if/when Frodo & Sam fail. I think he's kind of fine with this for two reasons. The first is that him being conscious to process the death of his father, and it coming hours after the death of his brother means that he's going to have a personal-political crisis, and he's going to have to take the defence of Gondor more seriously than he did before. Second, Aragorn's going to tell him to fucking stay put, and he's going to be fine with it because it means he's going to get to spend the last few days of his life with Éowyn.

He and Éowyn reunite in the HOH, there’s still a lot of deeply emotional stuff going on, but, at least now Faramir’s conscience is clear re: marrying her because, well, he’s the Steward now. Also their reunion is going to take on greater significance because she’ll have killed the thing that killed his brother. So, that’s a lot.

If they are not a thing before the Pelennor, she's still going to drag his ass over to the HOH so she can bitch about being stuck there. But this time he's not a fellow hospital-prisoner, he's having to actually do things, and he's going to use that to his advantage in terms of keeping her from doing stupid shit. I think he's going to try to involve her in some of the strategic questions re: the retreat if the Morannon feint fails. I think he's going to make a point of talking to her to get her help on dealing with the Rohir forces that are in and around the City. I think that's going to go a huge way to helping to ease her misery, and it's going to be such a significant vote of trust in her (even after she's done the unthinkable and deserted her people) that she's going to fall in love with him here, as per. And the contrast between him and Aragorn is going to be all the stronger for it.

So yes. Those are just some of the possibilities I think! Sorry for the word dump!!

#asks #faramir /#lotr /#fgtrau #hc

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mizutoyama · 4 years

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Fluff Alphabet (Charlie x Alice edition)

I was tagged by @cursebreakerelmswood & @cursebreakerfarrier! Thanks!

A= Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

I would say that, for Charlie, it’s probably Alice’s courage and willingness to fight for what is right, no matter how strong her opponent might be. He also has a thing for her bright green eyes.

For Alice, I would say it’s Charlie’s trust in her. The fact that he’s ready to stand by her side without questioning her actions or decisions (doesn’t mean he doesn’t worry). She doesn’t need to convince him to help her every two seconds. She’s also attracted to his warm brown eyes and the sweet smile he always has for her.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Nope. For Charlie, his dragons are his babies, not to mention he has a collection of nieces and nephew. For Alice, her adventures keep her so busy, she doesn’t really see how a baby would fit into it. (Not to mention she’s already the godmother of a certain Teddy Lupin...)

C= Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

I basically answered that in detail HERE. But basically during their Hogwarts days, they either cuddle outside or on a couch in Gryffindor’s common room, Charlie’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. Later on, spooning is also a favourite cuddling position.

D= Dates (What are dates with them?)

To Andre’s (and my) regret, they don’t go out on many dates during their time at Hogwarts (meaning not many outfits to create... *author and Andre cry in each other’s arms*). They do go to Hogsmeade together once they are a couple, but not as in a formal date, just like they would when they were mates. After the Battle of Hogwarts (BoH), while they get back together, they don’t really go on dates either as Alice is still busy with her own adventure...

E= Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

Alice: You are my anchor.

Charlie: You are my Antipodean Opaleye!

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

I actually wrote a fic where Charlie realizes his feelings for Alice HERE. But to summarize it, he basically realizes his feelings for Alice during the summer between Year 4 and 5.

As for Alice, while I do plan to write a fic about it eventually, she basically realizes it in the Portrait Vault when the stones fall on her friends and her first thoughts go to Charlie.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

This question has the potential of being NSFW... But, hum, let’s just say that yeah, they are gentle with each other. He caresses her hair; she caresses his cheek. Her hand grazes his chest; his grazes her waist... You get the picture...

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Fingers intertwined, but as they don’t like to be touchy-feely in front of others, they do a whole lot of pinky holding.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Charlie’s very first impression of Alice was that she didn’t seem as weird as people assumed. Then he saw her first “duel” with Merula, and just thought she was awesome.

Alice’s first impression of Charlie was that he seemed shy and a bit strange as the first time they “interacted” he kinda just stared at her and didn’t say a word. It took some time for her to change her mind... (Him making fun of her book didn’t help...)

J= Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

During their Hogwarts days, mostly Charlie, since Alice doesn’t have any competition, while Charlie is well aware a certain Slytherin is interested in his girl.

Post-Hogwarts, they both are. Charlie sees her dating the aforementioned Slytherin, and Alice gets wind of some of his hookups, and, yeah, they seemed to imagine the other would remain celibate and patiently wait for them. Talk about double standards.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Let’s start with the first kiss. While who initiated it is not clear, it happened at the end of the Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor match in their 5th year, in front of the entire school.

As for how they kiss afterwards, definitely no PDA. Little kisses here and there can happen in public, but nothing big. Sometimes, when she feels playful, Alice will tease him by pulling his tie to make his face come real close to hers, as if she’s going to kiss, before releasing his tie and walking away. If they have make-out sessions, they try to find a secluded place where no one will catch them.

L= Love (Who says ‘I love you first?)

Charlie, after they escape the portrait vault, but it doesn’t really go as planned.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

For Charlie, probably the time they fell asleep in the field near the Weasley house during the summer before their 5th year.

For Alice, the time they danced in the courtyard during the Celestial Ball.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil one another? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Alice coming for a wealthy family, Charlie mainly spoils her with affection and special things he does for her.

Alice, while also showing her affection through gesture, also has a tendency to gift him rare books about dragons. It does make Charlie a bit uncomfortable, as he can’t really give her anything as valuable, materially speaking, but that’s not why Alice is doing it. She just knows how much he loves dragons and she wants to make him happy, because seeing his smile is worth all the money in the world.

O= Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

For Alice, red. Charlie’s a redhead, he’s a Gryffindor... The colour red just represents him.

For Charlie, blue and green. Green because of her eyes. Blue because she wears that colour a lot and she’s a Ravenclaw.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Alice will sometime call him Dragon boy. As for Charlie, the one time he tried calling her “babe”, the death glare he got in return convinced him to stick to Alice.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Reading books.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Cuddle in the Gryffindor common room in front of the fireplace and read a good book. (Maybe a make-out session in a secluded part of the castle if the mood strikes...)

S = Sad (How do they cheer each other up?)

Depends how sad they are. If Alice is basically overwhelmed by her emotion, she first needs her space. Once she has calmed down a bit, Charlie knows he can come in with the hugs. So if she’s upset, but not overwhelmed, it’s cuddle time.

In Charlie’s case, if he’s really sad, she’ll hug him and gently pat his back and his hair. If he’s just mildly upset, she’ll get him to talk about dragons.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

For Charlie, he likes to talk about dragons and his family.

For Alice, she likes to talk about books she read, her latest adventures, a random fact she learned recently, etc.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Well, besides talking about dragon, cuddling with Alice helps Charlie relax.

For Alice, who is more of an introvert, while cuddling with Charlie does help her relax, she has moments where she needs to be alone, so reading a book or listening to music relaxes her.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

While neither has a tendency to brag, Alice will gladly brag about beating Tonks or another one of their friends at a board game, or winning a duel against Merula when she feel particularly annoyed by her (“Most powerful witch at Hogwarts, my arse!”). She’ll also be very proud when she gets good grades, but won’t brag about it.

Charlie will act very proud when he wins a Quidditch game, but won’t brag about it. He might “brag” when he discovers a new info about dragons.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

As of the time of this writing, there are no wedding planned. With the ups and downs of their relationship and because of certain events, them getting married seems forced.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Their very first dance was to the Sleeping Beauty Waltz by Tchaikovsky, so maybe it holds a special place in their heart. If they ever come across the song “Once Upon a Dream”, it could become their song since the melody can be found in the waltz. (For people who may not know, the musical score and songs of the Disney movie are actually arrangements or adaptations of numbers from Tchaikovsky’s ballet.) Other than that, they also danced to Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade two years after their breakup. They also danced to So Close at Bill’s wedding (I know, it’s a song from a 2007 Disney movie, but who’s to say it didn’t exist in the wizarding world before?). Here’s the playlist I created for them. (It’s always a work in progress...)

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Well, at the beginning of their 7th year, Charlie is actually considering proposing to her after they graduate, but their lack of communication makes it that it doesn’t happen.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Really? Dragons! Of course! (and a cat)

I tag @aleksia-aries-hogwartsmystery @lunasilvermorny @samshogwarts @mira-shard & whoever else that wants to do it and hasn’t been tagged yet.

#fluff alphabet #charlie weasley x alice beaumont #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley #alice beaumont #jacob's sibling #hphm #hogwarts mystery

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terapsina · 4 years

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the ones that seek and find (six years in the relationship of harry and luna)

My first actual Harry/Luna fic for @lunaaaalovegreat who wanted me to write something for them. Here goes nothing.

summary:

“You can go when we say you can go, Loony,” the biggest of the bullies says and pulls up her wand higher, now pointing it directly in the girl’s face. Harry doesn’t know the bully’s name but thinks she might be a third year.

A third year who looks about ready to cast a spell at an unarmed first year in a fight that’s three to one. He thinks he’s seen quite enough.

“Hey,” Harry yells to startle them and pulls out his own wand, “leave her alone!”

/or/

By chance of fate Harry Potter meets Luna Lovegood in his second year instead of his fifth. It doesn’t really change anything for the magical world at large but it changes quite a lot for the young witch and wizard themselves. Here are six glimpses into their relationship from the moment they meet until the end of the war.

--- ao3 ---

--- i. - Year 2, January ---

The wizarding world is vast and magical and filled with wonder. And at the end of the day, most of its fate comes down to chance. In this way, it is not at all unlike the muggle world.

Four little boys share a compartment on a train and spend the next seven years becoming the terrors of Hogwarts. Two decades later a mountain troll wanders into a girls’ bathroom instead of some abandoned classroom and so forges a lifetime long friendship between three first years.

And a year after that a twelve-year-old Harry Potter doesn’t feel like going back to the Gryffindor common room to be gawked at by the few people in even his own House who think he opened the Chamber of Secrets. Instead, he goes wandering around the castle, the soles of his feet skidding against the stone floor of the hallway and mind filled to the brim with flashes of resentment.

There’s tittering laughter of more than one person coming from around the corner from Harry and he stops in his tracks as soon as he hears it. There’s something a bit cruel about that sound, something colder than amusement. Something familiar.

Slowly he leans forward to get a glimpse of whatever is waiting for him, what meets him is the sight of a blonde first year with a blue tie, she’s being cornered against the wall of the hallway by what looks to be three of her own housemates. There are wands in their hands and mean looks on their faces.

Harry’s jaw clenches in reaction but for a moment he doesn’t yet know how to proceed.

And then the girl speaks in a voice so serene he almost thinks he’s misread the situation. “We’re gonna be late for Charms.”

He wavers in place, considering if he should just turn around and leave before they notice his presence. But no, he knows what those jeers mean and he knows what bullies look like.

“You can go when we say you can go, Loony.” The biggest of the bullies says and pulls up her wand higher, now pointing it directly in the girl’s face. Harry doesn’t know the bully’s name but thinks she might be a third-year.

A third-year who looks about ready to cast a spell at an unarmed first year in a fight that’s three to one. He thinks he’s seen quite enough.

“Hey,” Harry yells to startle them and pulls out his own wand, “leave her alone!”

“Mind your own-” The girl who had been about to cast starts saying and then almost jumps out of her skin alongside the other two bullies when they turn to see him, looks like the Ravenclaws believe he’s the Heir of Slytherin too. Great.

“I said,” he glares at them “leave her alone.”

For a moment they blink in mute shock, then they scatter like frightened rabbits with a fox on their tails, and despite how that was exactly what he wanted them to do something twists in his stomach. He hates that they’re afraid of him now like he’s actually responsible for releasing the monster that is petrifying other students.

He avoids looking at the girl left behind, almost afraid that the young witch he just tried to help will look just as frightened. But when he looks at her she’s just staring at him with a calm look, head tilted a bit sideways and blinking slowly.

“Hi. I’m Harry.” Harry says, suddenly a bit uncomfortable under that wide-eyed stare, so without knowing what else to say he stares back.

She has messy pale blonde hair falling across her shoulders and down her back, it doesn’t seem to have been combed today, - or possibly the day before that as well. There’s a necklace of tiny pine cones in a strange rainbow of colors hanging around her neck. And she’s staring at him through wide-open eyes, it would almost make her look surprised but the look in them is as serene and measured as it had been when she’d been facing the bullies a minute before. Finally, he notices her holding a stack of books to her chest, each of them seems to have some kind of flower stuck between the pages and hanging over the bindings.

Harry’s not entirely sure what kind of an impression the picture she makes leaves on him but there’s something very loud and strange and interesting about it.

“I know.” She finally says after that extended pause and what were they... oh right, he’d introduced himself. “Everyone has been talking about you, they think you’re the Heir of Salazar Slytherin.”

“Oh.” He mutters, his mood souring again.

“But of course I know that you’re not.” She tells him absently like she hasn’t noticed his reaction at all, or like she has but knows not to focus on it. Harry can’t quite pin her down.

“You do?”

“Yes, it’s quite obvious, Salazar Slytherin was an elf and you’re not an elf, so you can’t possibly be his heir.” The girl says. “And I’m Luna by the way. Luna Lovegood.”

Harry stares at her, eyebrows furrowing. She might be the oddest person he’s met yet - well she would be if he didn’t know the headmaster, - but he’s still inexplicably relieved by her words. It’s nice to know someone outside of Gryffindor believes him too.

Even if that someone is making his head spin a little in confusion.

“What did they want with you anyway? The other girls.”

“Oh, they’re just infested with Wrackspurts,” Luna tells him.

“Wrackspurts?”

“They’re magical creatures that float through the air and get into your head through your ears. They make one quite confused.”

Harry’s not sure if he believes that, he thinks he’s right and they’re just bullies. But then again he doesn’t really know all that much about the magical creatures that are or are not real, so he doesn't think it would be right to dismiss them as fantasy either. After all, he hadn’t known about House Elves before he met Dobby either.

“You said you were late for class?” He says once he realizes he doesn’t know how else to respond.

“Yes but there’s a shortcut through there,” she says and points to a spot that looks like any other spot on the far left wall “I have a few minutes to spare.”

She is however starting to look a bit antsy, arms squeezing the books closer to her chest, so he guesses she really is going to be late and is just being polite now.

“I could come with you, make sure you don’t run into any more girls with... confused heads.” He offers.

“That’s very nice of you, Harry,” Luna says, smiles at him, and starts walking toward that wall, he belatedly notices that she’s also only wearing one shoe on her feet.

“What happened with your shoe?” he asks, a suspicion already very present in his head.

“Oh, the Wrackspurts hid it. It’s okay though, I’ll find it eventually, I always do.”

The Wrackspurts need a lesson in manners and Harry wonders if he can get Fred and George to help him give it.

Luna stops by the wall and before he has time to wonder if there really is a shortcut there Luna has leaned forward, hummed a quick tune he can’t quite identify and the wall is quickly transforming into a doorway.

He follows Luna all the way to Flitwick’s classroom as they chat about things Harry only halfway believes exist. But later after they’ve parted ways and he’s back in the Gryffindor tower being slaughtered in chess by Ron, he realizes it was the first time since he found Mrs. Norris hanging by her tail on that wall that he forgot about being Hogwarts’ pariah.

It was kinda nice, making a new friend. He wonders if tomorrow during breakfast he might find her for a quick chat in the Great Hall.

--- ii. - Year 3, November ---

It’s the evening after Harry finally fully managed to escape the Hospital Wing, and it’s been almost a week since the Quidditch game that ended up introducing his broom to the Whomping Willow but Harry still can’t stop mournfully staring at the broken remains of his Nimbus 2000.

It seems so stupid to feel like crying because of a broom but it was the first brand new thing that really belonged to him that he loved. It was his in a way that nothing else has ever been before. And now because of some Dementors, it’s nothing but kindling for the fire.

Not that he could ever bring himself to burn it - not that he’s allowed to anyway, the broom is interwoven with so many charms that setting it on fire would probably make it explode or something. He wishes he was just allowed to keep it at the bottom of his school trunk but apparently it counts as a safety hazard and the school needs to dispose of it safely.

So here he sits on the seating around the Quidditch pitch, the splinters on top of the blanket in front of him, with Ron and Hermione on his right and Luna on his left, waiting until he can bring himself to turn them in to Madam Hooch so she can do whatever it is they do with old and broken brooms.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione tells him and reaches past Ron to pat him on his shoulder.

He nods at her in thanks but can’t quite hide the pained grimace that follows it.

“Yeah Buddy, I’m really sorry.” Ron echoes her and gently bumps his side with his elbow.

“It’s okay,” Harry says past the Bezoar stuck in his throat and squares his shoulders to begin getting up, it’s just a broom, he should stop acting like it’s the end of the world.

“Hey, Harry?” Luna finally interrupts him for the first time since they sat down almost fifteen minutes ago, she’d been sitting quietly beside him the entire time, her elbows occasionally touching his own as one of them moved. He was just leaning forward to start wrapping the splinters back into the folds of the blanket but at her voice, he stops to look at her.

She’s got a thoughtful twist to her head like she’s considering an idea she’s been musing over.

“Yeah?”

“Can I take that piece of the handle?” She asks pointing at one of the larger remaining pieces of his Quidditch broom.

“Why?” He asks and is echoed by the voices of his two best friends asking the same question, each of them with a slightly different inflection. Ron sounds gobsmacked. Hermione, exasperated. And Harry just curious.

Luna doesn’t answer any of them, just keeps staring at him in that assuring and very calming way she has.

“Sure?” He finally tells her and passes her the splinter she had pointed to.

Luna takes it from his hand with a smile and jumps forward for a quick hug before skipping away. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stay in place, watching her leave back towards the castle.

“That girl is so strange,” Ron tells him, a flabbergasted look on his face.

“I know,” Harry says with a grin. That’s why he likes her.

“Ready, Harry?” Hermione asks after letting out a long sigh, Harry knows she doesn’t really know how to react to Luna, they’ve been friends with her for a year now and he knows that Hermione doesn’t dislike Luna, that for the most part, they get along okay, but that sometimes she kinda drives Hermione a little crazy.

And Harry’s never going to say it, he’s not stupid, but he sometimes thinks it’s good for Hermione to be left wrong-footed as her logic crashes against Luna’s irregularity. It pulls her out of her head when she gets so stuck in obsessing over her schoolwork that even Ron and Harry can’t quite manage to make her come up for air.

“As I’ll ever be.” He says, putting away his musings and finding himself suddenly better prepared for what he needs to do as the three of them finally head off towards the broom shed.

---

It’s about two weeks later that Luna finds Harry in the library and drops in front of him a little red parcel decorated with doodles of lions and snitches he’s pretty sure Luna did herself.

“What’s that?” He asks, picking up his head from the books on the Patronus Charm he’s been going through on Professor Lupin’s suggestion.

“A holiday gift.”

“It’s not really Christmas yet?” He says but takes the package into his hands anyway.

“I know. But I finished making it and Daddy and I are going to be in the Norwegian Forests looking for Heliopaths this Christmas, and it seems rather cruel to make an owl fly that far with a package. So, happy early Christmas, Harry.” Luna says and sits down on the other side of the table from him.

He slowly unwraps the package, not wanting to tear up her little drawings, and feels something in his chest tightening and warming up unexpectedly as soon as he finds himself looking at a miniature carving of his Nimbus 2000. It’s even painted the same colors as his broken broom.

“Wait.” Harry flings up his head to look at Luna, realization dawning. “Is this why you wanted that piece of my broom?”

Luna nods seriously at him and looks directly back, face filled with honesty and voice as genuine as he’s ever heard it. “It’s really sad to need to throw away something you love. I thought you’d like to keep a part of it, even if it’s only a piece of woodcarving.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry tells her, eyes filling up with the sort of tears he’s almost not too embarrassed to shed.

--- iii. - Year 4, December ---

He leaves Cho in the Owlery, his face flushed with mortification and feeling like he’d like nothing better than for the earth to swallow him whole.

The pretty Quidditch player turning him down stings a bit, - alright, a lot - but that’s not really why he’s running away, he doesn't think. It’s just, well, he’d been trying to pick up enough courage to ask Cho to the Yule Ball for ages and now he doesn’t think he’ll be able to summon up any kind of will to ask anyone else. And as one of the Champions, he’s not allowed to go by himself, which honestly sounds like a lot more attractive option.

So once he’s back in the castle he titters in place, unable to decide where to go now. He could go find Ron so they can simmer in misery together but that won’t really save him from whatever Professor McGonagall will do to him if he doesn’t find a date for the first dance.

Which leaves him with a very narrow list of other options. Really it leaves him with only two.

And Hermione will definitely roll her eyes at him for waiting until the last minute instead of dealing with it months ago when the ball was first announced, so he decides his best bet is to head toward the Ravenclaw common room instead. He just hopes he’s fast enough not to accidentally run into Cho again.

“What can’t talk but will reply when spoken to?” The knocker asks once he’s walked all the way up the spiral staircase.

“Don’t know.” He says and ignoring the indignant squawk of the bronze eagle uses it to knock on the door.

After about half a minute the head of some upper-year Ravenclaw comes into Harry’s line of sight past the edge of the door, the boy rolls his eyes and vanishes just as quickly. Harry just sighs, used to it by now.

A minute or two later Luna comes out to meet him.

“Hey, Harry. What’s up?”

“I need your help, do you have a minute?”

“Sure, I was gonna go down to the lake to paint something in a bit anyway, we can go together if you want.” She offers.

The lake is all the way on the other side of the castle from the Owlery so he nods and waits as she goes back into the common room to grab her art supplies and a set of warmer robes. Once she’s back, her warm Ravenclaw scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and her fluffy Pygmy Puff earmuffs - a gift from Ginny for her last birthday - on her head, he follows her down the stairs.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief once they’re outside and haven’t run into either Cho or Cedric, - who he at the moment doesn’t quite feel like seeing either, even though he does like Cedric.

They cast a pair of warming charms and he drops to sit beside her on the ground, there are a few minutes of comfortable silence while he watches her setting up her workstation. Not that it can really be called that, Luna likes to put all her paints around her in what looks like the randomest of orders while the canvas rests on top of her crossed legs.

He’s never quite been able to understand how she doesn’t get uncomfortable within five minutes. But he’s seen her rest like that for hours at a time as she paints whatever comes to her mind so he’s stopped thinking all that much on it by now.

“So, what did you want to talk about, Harry?” Luna finally asks as she uses a spell from her wand to start mixing up three kinds of blues together with some pink.

He opens his mouth but no sound seems to want to come out so he decides to change the subject instead. “What did you want to paint, anyway?”

“A Crumple-Horned Snorkack.” She says and looks at him, waiting and clearly not at all fooled.

Harry’s fingers start twitching in his lap.

“I tried to ask Cho to the ball but she’s going with Cedric,” Harry says in what seems almost one breath. “And McGonagall will kill me if I don’t get a date because the Champions are supposed to open the dance.”

“Alright,” Luna answers but doesn’t turn back to her work, clearly aware that he hasn’t gotten to his point yet.

“Will you go with me to the Yule Ball, please?” He rushes out and then blinks, surprised, he was just going to ask her if she knew anyone who didn’t have a date yet but now that the words are out he realizes this is the perfect solution. Luna is his friend. Going with Luna will be fun and he won’t spend the whole evening with someone he barely knows. The only other girl he could say that about would be Hermione, and he’s not stupid, Ron might be an oblivious idiot about it right now but Harry knows that if he asked Hermione his best friend would kill him. “We can go as friends.”

“I don’t really have a dress robe.”

“Oh.” He says, disappointed.

“But I guess Daddy can send me one of Mom’s old ones, I think I have enough time to alter it to fit me if we hurry,” Luna says and looks at him, a measuring sort of look on her face like she’s considering how serious he’s being. Then she seems to nod to herself and smiles at him. “Alright Harry, I’ll go to the Yule Ball with you. As friends.”

And Harry smiles back at her, for the first time kind of excited about going.

--- iv. - Year 5 - April ---

Since the latest number of Educational Degrees, the number of detentions Umbridge has been assigning to students has grown. But until now he’s only noticed some of the upper years with bindings around one of their hands as evidence to the same kind of lessons she’s been failing to teach Harry all year.

But that remains the case only until Harry turns a corner on his way to the Room of Requirement one day to set up for the latest DA lesson and runs into Luna and a crying first-year Hufflepuff. The boy is clutching his hand to his chest while Luna’s kneeling on the ground in front of him and trying to calm him down.

“It hurts,” Harry hears the boy sniffle.

“Luna?” He says and then to make sure he understands the situation adds - “Did Umbridge-?”

“Yes,” Luna says in a voice that he’s not sure he’s ever heard from her, it’s sharp and cold and furious.

Harry gets the feeling.

He wavers in place for a moment uncertain of what to say or do to help the upset little Firstie calm down, or even if he should just go find someone better equipped for it, - like Hermione or a Professor, - but then decides to follow Luna’s lead and joins her on the floor in front of him.

“What’s your name?” Harry asks as gently as he can manage.

“Billy Wardyworth.” The boy whispers wetly.

“Can you show me your hand, Billy?” Harry asks, starting to rifle through his pockets for something that could help - he hasn’t left the Common Room without it since his own detentions started getting bad, - and grimaces once the boy does. The skin is swollen red, there’s no blood or visible words yet but he can tell just by looking that Billy hadn’t gotten away with just a few lines.

He pulls out the little bottle of Murtlap Essence that Hermione made for him and quickly unscrews the top. “Here, this should help.”

Luna seems to understand what he’s doing because she takes out her wand to cut away the edge of her sleeve with a spell and as soon as Harry’s done applying the soothing solution on Billy’s skin takes over to wrap it securely around the boy's hand.

“Better?” Luna asks once she’s done too.

Billy nods, still sniffling but starting to wipe the tears from his face with his unhurt hand.

“What happened? I haven’t seen Umbridge forcing that sick quill on anyone younger than a fifth year.” He asks Luna now that Billy is starting to look a bit better. Not that he thinks their High Inquisitor is doing it out of any kind of moral standpoint, his guess would be more along the lines of her being aware that it might be the thing that pushed the rest of the teachers over the edge into just killing her.

The feeling McGonagall has been projecting is certainly that the only reason she hasn’t already is because getting sent to Azkaban would leave her students entirely unprotected.

“You know she’s been reading all incoming and outgoing mail right?”

“Yeah?” he says, it’s why he hasn’t written Sirius anything in ages.

“Billy’s dads didn’t.”

“What did she read?” He asks, his stomach sinking with a bad feeling but Luna doesn’t say, just shakes her head angrily.

“Papa got bitten last year,” Billy says, eyes on the floor and pulling his knees closer to his chest. “Dad was just letting me know everything went okay during the full moon so I wouldn't worry. He’s been doing it every month.”

And Umbridge is the one who drafted that anti-werewolf legislation that Sirius told him about. Of course, she’s also the kind of person who would take out her hatred for the boy’s father’s very existence on an eleven-year-old.

Harry starts cursing but when Billy flinches Harry’s insides twist in guilt at realizing how the Firstie might have taken it.

“I’m glad your dad is okay,” Harry says, trying to fix it and once Billy looks back at him hopefully he for good measure adds -”Umbridge had no right to do that.”

“Thanks.” The boy says.

Harry and Luna share a look and slowly get to their feet.“Come on, Billy.” Luna says, extending her hand to help the boy get up too. “I’ll walk you to Professor Sprout, I’m sure she’ll figure out how to make certain Umbridge can’t give you any more detentions with her.”

Harry catches her hand when she starts to turn. “Want me to come along?”

“No, we’ll be alright,” Luna says, squeezing his hand and smiling a bit weakly at him. “You’ve got stuff to set up.”

“Okay. Stay after?” He says vaguely, not that he thinks Billy would tell someone about Dumbledore’s Army but they did all sign the scroll. And he’s not at all enthusiastic about finding out exactly what kind of spell-work Hermione did on that parchment.

“Alright,” Luna says and then leaves, the little boy tucked against her side.

--- v. - Year 6 - July ---

The funeral happens on a cloudy Monday morning. Harry’s head feels like it’s moving through sludge or maybe through something more sticky, like toffee made by Hagrid.

He barely notices the world around him, though somewhere at the back of his mind he’s aware that to his right Hermione is crying in Ron’s arms. That Luna’s head is tucked into the hollow of Harry’s neck and her hair is tickling his face with the breeze from the wind. That somewhere behind him Ginny is squeezed between Fred and George who showed up this morning in the company of the rest of the Order. That Neville is standing there too, pale-faced and strong-jawed with hands around himself and tears running over his cheeks.

Harry himself isn’t crying.

Harry’s mind is too full of what he needs to do now to cry. And whenever a flash of green lights up in his mind, whenever he sees Dumbledore pleading and then falling, whenever he sees Snape killing him, the grief in his chest gets burned up by rage.

But he knows he doesn’t have time for that either.

He needs to find the Horcruxes and destroy them and he doesn’t even know where to start. They’re at war now. He knows that technically they’ve been at war since the end of last year, or even since Cedric died in that cemetery in what now feels like lifetimes ago. But now that Dumbledore is dead it’s really, truly here in a way it hadn’t been before.

And the idea that it all now rests in his hands is crushing.

But he has no choice, he’s going to need to find a way to do it, to kill Voldemort. To save his friends. To save everyone.

He barely hears the service. Barely notices as it finally ends and everyone gets up and starts walking back for the castle or out towards Hogsmeade.

He does notice it as Luna pulls on his elbow to change the direction of their steps and head for the lake. Harry lets her guide him, exchanging a last tired look with Hermione and Ron when they stay on their path.

Minutes later they’re alone, watching the play of wind against the surface of the water when Luna speaks.

“You’re not coming back to Hogwarts next year.”

“No.” He says, not at all surprised that Luna knows that, she doesn’t know about the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that he has to destroy but she’s the most observant person he’s ever met, she’s probably read his plans in his face.

“Okay.” She says.

He looks at her and feels his heart starting to hurt as soon as he does. Through the past year he’s started to notice his feelings for Luna changing, Merlin they might have been changing even longer, maybe since before he asked her to the Yule Ball in his fourth year. He just knows he’s almost said something a hundred times by now only to chicken out at the last moment. Because he cares about Luna so much and he doesn’t quite know how to risk their friendship on what feels like the most terrifying gamble ever.

And now that he can’t because it wouldn't be fair, he wishes he’d taken at least one of the opportunities that had come before.

He wishes he knew what she would have said.

“But Harry?” Luna says, staring up into his eyes. Her own eyes, wide and full to the brim with a kaleidoscope of thoughts.

“Yeah?” He asks, a little breathless. Her eyes are so beautiful.

“After you’ve done what you have to. When it’s possible. Come back then,” she says and he knows she’s not talking about Hogwarts. He’s not sure exactly what lays behind her words, and it would hurt either way right now so he chooses not to linger there and just nods.

Then Luna smiles sadly at him, and leans in to place a quick kiss on his cheek that leaves a line of burn from the spot on his skin straight into his heart and then hugs him so tightly it’s almost hard to breathe. His own arms clutch around her like he’s afraid to let go.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Luna whispers into his ear.

“Goodbye, Luna.”

--- vi. - Year 7 - May ---

“We did it,” Ron exclaims in dazed shock. Like it hasn’t really hit yet. Harry looks at him and then has to look away because there are tears in his eyes and behind the shock, there’s the avalanche of grief just waiting for Ron to slow down enough to be buried in.

Fred is dead.

So are Remus and Tonks.

They did it. They won, Voldemort is finally dead, his Death Eaters have been defeated and they’ve won the war. But the Great Hall is filled with dead kids and dead members of the Order and somehow the price feels too high. He knows the price was always going to be too high and yet now that he has space enough to let that truth crash into him he doesn’t know what to do with it.

So he doesn’t, instead, he wraps one arm around Ron, the other around Hermione and then they hold each other up long enough so that they’ll be able to stand on their own. Even if only just for a few more hours.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, - tears of grief mixing with tears of relief, Hermione’s hair in his face, and Ron’s hand squeezing his arm, - before he notices that they’re not alone. That there are three more survivors by the window behind them.

But finally, he notices them, Neville, Ginny, and Luna, the trio who held up Hogwarts while Harry, Ron, and Hermione were hunting for a way to save their world. The people who years ago went with him into the belly of the beast trying to save Sirius.

He can’t believe they all survived. He’s so glad that all six of them survived.

He smiles at them and laughs. Suddenly so giddy he doesn’t even know what’s coming over him.

“Hey,” he chokes out and then suddenly their hug grows by three and all of them are giggling like they’ve been hit by overpowered cheering charms. They’re all bloody, injured, and dirty with sweat. And they’re alive, and it’s over, and it hurts but it’s also the best feeling ever and Harry hasn’t felt this free in- maybe ever.

There’s tears running over his cheeks and a smile on his face and he doesn’t know what tomorrow looks like.

---

Turns out tomorrow is cold and windy and the sunrise by the lake is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a year. The sky is red and golden and blue and purple all mixed together.

They’d all spent the night at Hogwarts. Not all of them having anywhere else to go, many of their homes having been compromised and destroyed and burned down months ago. It was so strange, sleeping in the Gryffindor dormitory after so long as if nothing had changed, except that there were adults, - even parents, - down in the common room.

Harry had woken up first and restless he’d left before anyone else was even stirring.

Now he’s by the very edge of the lake, his back to the destruction of much of the castle and eyes on the sky. Admiring something he hasn't had time or heart to look at in what feels like years.

When she comes to join him he doesn’t feel surprised. It almost feels like he was waiting.

“Hey, Luna,” he says as soon as she drops beside him and slides her hand around his elbow, leaning her head against his shoulder. He slips the fingers of his hand through hers and smiles when she squeezes their palms together.

“Hi, Harry,” Luna says, toeing off her shoes and socks, - each a different color, he notices, his heart clenching at this reminder of Dobby - and sticking them into the water.

Her head is warm against his cheek and his mind snags on the memory of the last time she was in his arms. Not yesterday when he had arms full of friends and Luna was just one of them but before that when he was regretting never having said anything, never taking any of the opportunities handed to him.

This feels like another of those moments.

And this time he decides to be brave.

“Luna?” he says and turns his head to look at her, their faces only inches apart when Luna turns her own head too. “I-”

Words fail him but slowly he picks up his free hand and tucks her hair behind her ear, carefully so that it doesn’t snag against her radish earring and lingers there.

Luna’s mouth twists into a little knowing smile that’s hard to misinterpret and then she leans forward and all Harry has to do is finish breaching the distance before his lips touch hers and his mind comes to a slow gentle stop.

Luna’s lips are warmer than the sunrise he’d just been admiring. They move slowly against his like she’s exploring this feeling alongside him, or like she’s searching for proof of one of her strange creatures and the answer is somewhere inside him.

His heart beats slow and steady but also impossibly loudly in his ears. And his entire world narrows down to Luna’s lips against his, Luna’s hand in his, the side of Luna’s face against the palm of his hand, and the softness of her hair between his fingers.

A lifetime later when they pull away from each other and the world slots back into place he doesn’t feel any different. He’s still exhausted, and a bit lost and mourning for far too many friends but he’s also just a little bit less alone.

“Thank you for coming back, Harry,” Luna says and moves back into his side, chin resting against his shoulder.

He smiles.

They stay like that for a minute and then Harry finds himself wondering out loud what he hasn’t let himself consider in his head. “What are we going to do now?”

“What do you want to do?” Luna asks, voice measured and thoughtful.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I do either,” Luna says. “But won’t it be wonderful to find out?”

He thinks about that. About how until now he’d only known that he either had to kill Voldemort or die trying when he didn’t know what he’d do after the war because there was no ‘after the war’. Now his future is wide open and he has no idea what he wants to do with it but he does have choices, - chances, - in front of him that he didn’t before.

He could join the Aurors like he planned even though it no longer feels like as attractive an option now that he’s spent so long fighting. But he could. Or he could think more about Hermione mentioning once during DA how he’d make a good teacher. Or he could join Luna if she still wants to go off exploring the world and finding new magical creatures. It might be nice to take a vacation away from Britain.

He could play professional Quidditch. Or help the Weasleys fix their home. Or get to know his godson. Or help Hermione find her parents.

The future is just a hand’s reach away now and it all looks so amazing.

“Yeah,” he muses aloud and pulls Luna closer, “it really will be.”

#lunarry #luna x harry #harry x luna #luna lovegood #harry potter #hp fic #lunarry fic #fanfic #mine #otp: nargles in the mistletoe

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hysteriium · 5 years

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The Irony of Fate [1]

Gif not mine folks!

(A/N): HEY okay so I know this is kind of taboo considering the whole controversy surrounding this film and while I don’t agree with the labelling, I don’t wanna get political on my blog. I think Joaquin is an amazing actor, he’s a lovely person and I’ve completely fallen head over heels for his portrayal. I’ve loved the Joker ever since I was a kid (guess I’ve had coulrophillia for as long as I can remember lol), I’ve watched him evolve on screen, and in the comics, for as long as I can remember and I guess, as dumb as it sounds, it’s a character that’s been part of a large chunk of my life. So, in sum of my very long, convoluted message, I hope the people who may have a problem with me writing a fic/series on Arthur Fleck/Joker, are able to respect my position as I am with theirs; everyone’s entitled to hold their individual positions, and I won’t fight that, what you believe is totally okay and I’m not here to shoot it down. Thank you :) - Kat

M A J O R S P O I L E R W A R N I N G S!!! (IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT ALREADY PLEASE DO NOT READ).

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn't seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word count: 2134

Warnings: none; let me know if you think there should be any.

It was cold.

The meandering, tickle of wind brushed against Arthur’s half-bare form, caressing the soft skin of his chest, while weary arms wrapped around his fragile body, riddled with goosebumps. The front of his neck, which was exposed as it rested against the top of his sofa had his head dangling off the rear of it. He ignored the chill that spread across his body, a shiver that travelled as swift as a racing river; icy and immersive. Encapsulating.

It was the only thing he had felt in days.

Perhaps weeks.

His hair was long and untamed, the fluffy strands which occasionally brushed up against the structure of his cheek, due to the wind, acted like a concerned friend.

Or at least that was what he thought.

In all honesty, he wasn’t certain what friends felt like.

The flashing of the tv screen before him was disregarded, as well as the noise it discharged; with its aim nothing more than to provide background noise to Arthur, he lost himself in the static it transmitted. Though the thought spirals, which occurred day after day, were far harsher, and unlike the little device in front of him, couldn’t be switched off.

As he eyed the ceiling, he became conscious of the paint chipping away at the corners of the roof as well as the water damage caused by small leaks from the apartments above him. It had led to the discovery of discoloured small sections in the ceiling; sunken, and dark were the bubbles that formed. Most worrying of all, was the mould which peeked out from the fragmented paint, festering and collated. It strangely didn’t bother him, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care as his blue eyes raked across the surface of the cream, shabby ceiling. Vacant and void of emotion. Cold and uncaring.

Another breeze crammed itself through the window, dancing its way to him.

The cycle repeated.

Shivers.

Goosebumps.

Thought spiral.

Wind.

Everything was the same.

That was, until he heard something.

Something new.

It was melodic, yet stifled as his thoughts suffocated him. It trickled inside from the alleys of Gotham, crossing his open, dilapidated window.

Singing.

And it wasn’t the type of singing you heard every day - no it was touching; unique. And it came from deep within. From the heart. It was something rare, something Arthur had only heard a few times in his life. While he was often surrounded by music - his mother's influence - he rarely connected with any.

This though...this was different.

The tune wrapped around his form like a firm lead of rope, binding around his chest with a great, complex knot, one impossible to escape, and further, one impossible to unravel. The spell had been cast, and he had been enchanted.

He lifted his head from its lazy hanging position, abruptly sitting upright, supporting his back against the couch while his fingers fiddled in his lap. Instantly, he found himself drawn to the window, hypnotised like a man in love as he stumbled towards it, scurrying.

Another gust of wind.

His hands were shaking. Whether it was from the sudden feeling of liveliness or nervousness he couldn’t distinguish, though they gripped the window frame tightly and he thrust his head out, first hitting the top of his head against the extendable part of the frame, before shaking the pain away and righting his position. Wild eyes darted across the filthy, littered Gotham streets, the busy, gloomy city sinking into his now sparkling, curious eyes, searching for a source.

It took a few moments before he finally found it - a woman - just across the road from his apartment, meters away. She stood in front of a store, an acoustic guitar in her grasp, one hand sliding up and down the neck to find the perfect notes, while the other strummed. Her guitar case was fixed below her, open as bills, pennies and dimes were scattered inside it, tossed in by those absently walking by. In a way, the thought of those strolling past, who had yet to stop and appreciate her sheer talent, made the bushy brows at the top of his head crease into a frown. His blood boiled. No one appreciated art these days.

She wore a red dress, elegant and fitting, extremely well dressed for the streets of Gotham. Almost strangely formal. She was beautiful though, graceful even, as her form swayed with the music, completely invested in the lyrical masterpiece that passed her lips.

Arthur had to pinch herself to make sure she was real.

To him, she was otherworldly. Angelic.

He was frozen and rendered speechless as his breathing caught in his throat. Even though he was observing her from his dingy window like a common creep, he felt compelled to talk to her, to get to know her, to know every little detail about her. Was she kind? Was she as sweet as she looked? What was her favourite colour? Did she like comedy?

As he continued to mentally question her from above, he felt reality slipping from him. It was escaping from his grasp, melting like candle wax, or perhaps like putty in his hands, the goop raining down from the gaps of his fingers. He could feel the daydream occurring, the blurring of his vision as he zoned out on her form - and only her form.

The only important thing illuminating the dull, insignificant seconds that plagued his life like a cancer.

He’d walk up to her, a hand nervously fixing his hair, tugging at the strands if he encountered a knot. First, he’d wait for her to finish the rest of her song, standing nearby with an encouraging smile, one she’d promptly return. She’d continue the sway of her hips, a move he’d find hard to restrain his eyes from drinking in. Somehow he’d manage.

He’d practically be bursting with excitement when she finally reached the climax of her song, clapping frantically. She’d bow, a large grin plastered on her face as she does so.

“What’s your name?” She’d say.

“A-Arthur. M-my-my name is Arthur.” He’d stutter out, the fidgeting of his fingers while noticeable, he’s thankful she ignores.

“Nice to meet you, Arthur!”

He’d perform a little dip of his head, an idiosyncrasy he couldn’t help as he laughed nervously, replying with a soft, “you too.”

Next, he’d compliment her - on her singing. He’d be honest too, trying his best to articulate the feelings they evoked within him. It was a difficult task. Arthur learnt that the hard way as they carried on talking for a while.

It remained this way, soft, sweet and casual - until he made her laugh.

It was the most beautiful, infectious sound he’d ever heard. It was something to add to his ever-growing list of likes. He was well and truly hooked, an addiction he wasn’t willing to shake off.

Like a curse, something he could never stray too far from, he’d think about the dreaded, intrusive laughter that tended to emerge at the worst times. He’d obsess over its emergence, wondering just when exactly it would spontaneously occur. Would she accept the card he’d force into her hand? A simplistic explanation of his condition? Would she understand? Would she think him a freak?

Even in his mind, he couldn’t escape ridicule.

The negative thought threw him off track. No longer was he able to picture her smiling eyes boring into his own, the large stretch of her grin, and the teeth that briefly bit into the bottom of her lip as she laughed, a small involuntary action. No longer was he able to picture himself smiling back, his lips pursed into his lips, the soft crinkle of his eyes and the subtle rise of his brows. It faded away like a fog, the happiness that bubbled in his stomach popping along with it as he snapped back to reality. Harsh and brutal. The upturn of his mouth deflated like a tire, slow and agonising once he was confronted with the truth.

He hadn’t actually gone up to her. He was still centred at the window in his mother’s grossly, illegally defective apartment; trapped in a home he firmly believed had never met the standards, even in its inception. Along with the new outbreak of ‘super rats’, a phenomenon he was well acquainted with, things were only set to go further downhill.

Because of this, he’d have to settle for the next best thing.

He disappeared from the window, retreating into one of the other rooms. Hands gripped the wood of the chair - one precisely chosen for its comfort; a chair pleasant enough to sit down on without his backside turning numb. After he dragged it to the window, the continual, ear-piercing groan of wood against wood was a sound that had piqued his mother’s interest from the other room, an attraction Arthur quickly and almost desperately shot down. Once he found himself semi-relaxed in the chair, he rested his head against the window frame. The air which blew against his face, filtered through the lifeless room, lifting the curtains beside him.

He didn’t know how long he sat by his window, absorbing the stunning tune which serenaded his ears. The setting sun had coloured Gotham by then, and the beautiful girl before him. Its orange glow sunk into her skin, somehow making her more dazzling in his eyes. All he knew was that he couldn’t peel himself away, nor his eyes, or attention. He was well and truly charmed.

All good things must come to an end though, a concept Arthur hated. When she finished her last song, his heart leapt out of his chest, and his gut churned with dread. Was he ever going to see her again?

This thought was promptly put aside when she finally looked up at him, their eyes locking. Although she was some distance away, he could still see the slow smile forming on her face and the small wave she gave him.

He quickly, and rather nervously returned the acknowledgement, the mini-debate in his head promptly cut short as his mind blanked and he darted for the door. Turning the doorknob with extreme force, he threw the door open and slammed it behind him, running for the stairs. The elevator in his building had a bad track record, and had done nothing in the past but inconvenience him. He was sure to miss her if he took it - hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d catch her taking the stairs.

Nevertheless, he persisted, shoving the thought away.

His feet moved on their own accord, his hurried descent echoing throughout the empty stairwell. It was multiple, exhausting flights before he got to the bottom. His heart was racing and his breathing was ragged as sweat formed on his forehead; not only due to the strenuous workout he had endured but also because of the fear of her departure. In a burst of confidence only then had he decided to talk to her, a confidence that seemed to completely leave his disappointed form once he reached outside, slamming into the fire escape exit and into the littered streets. She had left, and he had been too slow.

He sighed.

Off Arthur went, performing the walk of shame back to his apartment after searching for her red dress for the 100th time. He ascended the stairs, hair hanging low, along with his head fixed towards the ground.

Oh, the irony of fate.

-----

It was a few days later when he saw her again. She popped up into his mind a lot, more than he’d like to admit. Her beauty, which was not something to sneeze at was often the first thing he thought of, followed by the songs she sang. It was this he remembered most and he often found himself replaying them, a calming mantra as he relished in her delivery. He found he did this when he was having an especially bad time.

The effect she had on him was yet to dissipate.

Considering the imprint she had left in his life, despite Arthur observing the woman for what had probably only been a few hours, he could recognise her voice anywhere.

So, it was quite a shock to Arthur when he heard her voice on the television. At first, he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it, believing she was outside again. The thought had the blood rushing to his cheeks and the sweat glands in his palms working into overdrive. It took a few more seconds for Arthur to realise that the beautiful, unique voice that had once, for a short period, softly soothed his woes was in fact, right in front of him on the cubic form of entertainment.

On the Murray Franklin show.

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #dc x reader #batman villains x reader #kind worried for this fic ngl #clowns #clown x reader #slow burn #i think #pls no hate #not trying to start shit #joaquin phoenix joker #joker 2019

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oberynmartell · 4 years

Text

unmasked — a mandalorian n*sfw alphabet fic

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

he knows he can be rough sometimes. knows he grips you too tightly and holds you too closely, knows that when he’s done fucking you that you cant so much more than twist weakly in the sheets he had just rucked up, cheeks glowing with a lazy grin. so he takes care of you, washes the spit and cum from your body, the spit from your face.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves your hips, loves the way they press flush against his when he’s inside you, loves the way his hands fall naturally upon them when you sit astride him. loves the way they fit perfectly against his back as you curl behind him, when the nights grow too long and the nightmares too dark, and you rise silently and walk around the small cot to the side he has claimed as his. when you wrap yourself around him so that he can sleep knowing that for once, with your arms locked around him, your cheek against his bare back, your soft words against his ear, he is safe.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

he can’t get enough of it, watching the way his cum looks against your skin, slides down your back or glitters on the curve of your belly like the prettiest tionese jewels he’s ever seen. he lets his fingers run through it, lets them push it back inside of you, not wanting to waste it, not wanting to leave you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

you wake each morning to a hard cock and a hard man, his hips pressed flush to yours as he pulls you against him, arm locked so tightly around your middle that you could barely move. you wiggle your hips, tease him, let his cock settle in the cleft of your arse before pushing back. he wakes up not long after that, but you know his secret— know that as he seemingly moved in his sleep, he was awake the whole time.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) + bonus jealousy

you don’t talk about past lovers, you don’t need to. as far as your mandalorian is concerned there’s only ever been you, only will ever be you. he had never thought of himself as jealous before, never thought he’d mind anything his lover had done in the past. but he can’t stand the idea of thinking of you with anyone else, can’t stand the thought of someone else touching you where he touches you, kissing you where he kisses you.

F = Favourite Position

he has you any way, and every way. has you on your back against the cot you shared or on the cool metal floor when he just cant stand the thought of taking the few extra steps. he pulls you down in his lap as he sits at the helm, rubs his cock against you, always always hard. he has you against the glass of the side port windows, works you slowly as he fishes his cock out and sheathes himself within you, your back digging into the bolts and handles of the door. even has you in the refresher, when your skin is wet and steaming and he finds the only thing he’s too weak for is resisting the way you smile at him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

he likes to makes you cum, loves to make you cum, but his very favourite is to make you laugh. ever the man of few words he can have you giggling just from the way his bare fingers slide down your side teasingly as he slides into you, or the way he flutes the ends of your hair and tickle the sides of your face with it.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

his hair is dark and course, a slight curl to it that has your eyes sometimes flicking to the crown of his head, to the visor of his helmet. you wonder what colour the hair on his head is, the shade of his eyes is, wonder if he blushes when he looks down at you or watches carefully as you sleep. when you fall to your knees to take him into your mouth, nuzzling your cheek into his belly, and hear the sudden hiss of metal as his gloved fingers lift up your chin, you’re more than happy to find that not only does his face reflect the love etched so plainly across yours, but that his eyes are just as bright and deep as you dreamt they’d be.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

he likes to watch you while you sleep, the way your chest rises and falls so easily, with the child’s head pillowed against your soft breast, his small fingers reaching up to tangle in your hair or in the linens of your clothes. you look so peaceful when you sleep, like an angel your mandalorian wasn’t ever sure existed before now, before you, with your eyes fluttering so peacefully and your lips parting in dream.

even when you drool, even when you mumble in your sleep, when you groan as you turn on your belly and drape your whole body across the bed you had asked him to share with you. he can’t help but chuckle at the sight of you, can’t help but let his fingers run affectionately across the slope of your cheek, can’t help but bend to let his lips press to the soft slope of your brow, as he thinks how much he cares for you, how deeply and completely in love he is with you

J = Jack Off

sometimes when he’s teasing you, when you’re being a brat and he’s punishing you, he makes you sit back in the cockpit as he pushes himself down in his chair and fishes his cock out of his breeches, makes you spit in his palm for him so it glides easier against the soft skin of his cock as he slicks himself up. your mouth waters at the sight, at the way he touches himself so languidly, like he’s in no real rush at all, and you want to sink to your knees, want to take over the task for him, but you know better than to end the game too quickly, know better than to disobey him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) and L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

his favourite place to have you is in the cockpit of his ship. sometimes you think he wants the entire galaxy to see you, wants them to see the way your bare body shows through the clear glass of the helm, the way your mouth falls open when he drags the head of his cock against the walls inside you, the way your face burns with pleasured heat at the way he palms at your tits. he’d let them look all they wanted, let them know who you belonged to. your mandalorian wants the whole galaxy to know that you were his— and that he was yours.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

you go out of your way to tease him sometimes. you wake him up in the mornings with your cold toes sneaking up the legs of his pants, the way you arch your back purposefully pushing your arse back into his hips, and you grin lazily as you feel his cock already beginning to take interest in you, sliding between the cleft of your arse in the way that has him groaning. you reach across him when he sits at the ships controls, let your breasts drag across his arm or reach other and squeeze his thigh just right, just between the pads of his armour and the thicker material of his pants. you never fail to get him going, to turn him on so quickly and so completely that it’s as though you’ve flipped a switch inside of him.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

he’s too strong, he thinks. so strong that it’d be easy to hurt you, and he’d never hurt you. he’ll pull your hair, give a soft smack here, a light tap there– only ever just enough to tease you or punish you for being a brat, but never anything harder, never anything that could actually hurt you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

there’s nothing quite like going down on a mandalorian. watching your face reflected in the polished steel of his mask, seeing every expression you make, every expression he makes you make, when he pushes into you and seats himself to the hilt, the dark glass of his helm revealing everything and nothing at all. you can see yourself on your knees, sloppy, always so sloppy for him it seems, a mess of spit and drool and grasping hands, so hungry for him that you can barely manage to get his armour fully undone before your fingers are fumbling with the laces of his beeches and pulling and pulling until his cock springs free.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

every time he takes you, every time he lets you take him, you don't know what to expect. you know that pleasure is coming, orgasms bright as the sparks of stars that flash as he pushes into light-speed, know the heat and the tingling and the brightness is approaching. but you can never quite predict the way he's going to take you. he likes you quick and dirty, fucking into you like you haven't got any time to waste, he likes you slow and languid, like you can spend all afternoon just exploring each others bodies, just discovering each others pains and pleasures. he likes when you're atop him, fucking up into you as your grind against his hips, your thighs spread, your back curving back as he pushes deeper and deeper as you sit astride him like some great desert rider. you take him to the hilt without struggle, without complaint, until you can feel him up in your cervix, up in your belly, up in your throat.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he prefers to take his time with you, to undo you slowly and thoroughly, to feel you tremble and hear you whine. but sometimes he just needs you to bad. he needs to be inside of you, needs to feel you clench around him, feel your lips smearing up the clean glass of his mask, your soft skin beneath the gloves he’s too hurried to shuck off. sometimes he just wants you quick, when he’s just caught and delivered a fresh bounty and his blood is up, when he’s battered and bruised and you think that maybe, just maybe, he thought he wouldn’t make it out of this one alive.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

he wants you any way, every way. sometimes it doesn’t matter where you are, what you’re doing, something in you just sets him off, flips a switch inside him that has him pressing you back into trees as you cross through the woods or pressing his cock into you as you walk around city corners at night.

he’d protect you no matter what, you both know it, so the risk of discovery and punishment is minimal, and that excites you, excites him. and sometimes you think he wants to be discovered, wants someone to find him with his hands up your tunic or on his knees with your legs wrapped over his shoulders.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

sometimes its almost too much, how long he can fuck you, how long he can stave off his own orgasm as he chases yours. sometimes he makes you come so hard and so often that you feel almost faint, feel almost exhausted by the prospect of coming around his cock or his fingers again. somehow he knows your body as well as you do, somehow knows when you can take more and knows when you veer off into oversensitivity, and he takes mercy on you, lets you sink back into the sheets and fall instantly to sleep.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

when he’s with you, there’a no need for toys. he wants to feel you come on his fingers, his lips, his cock, wants to feel the way you tighten around him, writhe against him, moan right in his ear as you fog up his mask, instead of dulling and cheapening the pleasure he could be giving you by using a toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

you like to act and he likes to tease, likes to act like he’s mad at you and he won’t touch you, but you can both see the way his cock presses up against his breeches, see the way he shifts to seek out some relief for the way you’ve made him so hard he can barely stand it. you stare up at him with your big doe eyes, teeth biting into your bottom lip as you sink into his lap and press your lips against his mask messily, smudging the steel in the way you know he would hate anyone else to do. he lets you do it, lets you make a mess of him for a few moments before he gives up the game and stops his somber appearance, pushing you back so he can fish his cock out of his trousers and get your mouth around him, or so he can push into you and make you moan so pretty for him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

he loves the sounds you make, could get drunk off them. the way you whine for him as his fingers tease you, pinching your nipples, circling your clit, the way you gasp when he pushes inside you, so hard and deep that for a moment he seems to knock the very breath out of you.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

he likes to hold your hand. at first you think he just wants to show you off, wants to take your hand and cross his fingers with yours, wants to show everyone around who you belong to.

but he does the same when it’s just the three of you, when the child snores softly in the basket beside the bed and you’re lying beside him in the cabin, when his big arms are around you and he pulls you so close against him that you can feel every smooth edge and plain of his beskar steel against your back. his fingers reach for yours like grasping vines, winding through your fingers, his bare thumb stroking against your palm softly, tenderly.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

he’s handsome, your mandalorian, when the days shed to weeks and the weeks fly quickly to months. before long he’s removing his armour for you, removing the beskar steel he’s enveloped himself in until he seems to shine bright as an assassin droid. his skin is dusky, a shade of olive that still stands velveteen soft beneath the many nicks and scars he’s accrued over so many years of bounty hunting.

you want to kiss each one, and you do. down each raised scar and silvery mark, all the way down his firm chest and belly to the cock that hangs lazily between his legs, waiting for the attention you’re only too happy to give. he’s big, spanning the width of you palm so that your fingertips can barely close around him, and when you lean forward and take him passed your lips again— no matter how many times you’ve done this, gotten to your knees before the chair at the helm and taken him into your mouth like you were taking something special, something holy— it takes you a moment to adjust to the intrusion, to stop yourself from gagging.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

first thing in the morning and last thing at night, in the afternoons when you share lunch at that little table in that little kitchen you’ve made such a home. in the evenings when you sit beside him in the cockpit and the stars reflect on your face like the shimmer of fresh-water pearls, or in the middle of the night when he wakes to find you lying beside him with the child in your arms, so sleepy, so soft, so sweet that he cant help but touch you, hold you tighter.

Z = ZZZ (…how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

not until you’re asleep, not until he can feel you sink into sleep and he can scoop you up into his arms and pull you against his chest, until he can see the even respire of your breath as it fogs the visor of his mask and see the gentle flicker of the eyelashes that slope against the curve of your cheek. he rests his head against yours, the soft words he whispers coming out slightly metallic through his modulator, but no less loving, no less kind, no less easy to hear how much he’s in love with you.

more mando fics?

if you enjoyed this story please consider sending me a coffee!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandowhoreians #drabbles #fic: the mandalorian x reader #fic: the mandalorian

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beyond-the-mirror · 5 years

Text

Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Well this chapter took longer than expected! But it’s finally done and I hope it’s up to your expectations.

Tagging @thedyingmoon and @minteyeddemon since they were very interested in the concept of this fic. Please enjoy!

Warning: Child abuse, please read with caution. If this theme makes you uncomfortable you can skip the first part in italics.

............

Chapter 3: Songs of Innocence and Experience

“Gather round everyone! Come to our Freak Show and see! Bear witness to the most shocking collection of human abominations on earth!”

A rather tall man shouted at the top of his lungs, inviting the crowd into a rather dull tent situated behind him.

Fortuna’s local carnival was definitely not the most impressive touristic attraction the city had to offer, located in a barren terrain at the outskirts of it. The rides barely received any maintenance, small piles of garbage accumulated in some corners, and the stench excrement coming from the pet zoo impregnated the air. As unappealing as the entire carnival looked, it still offered the commoners a chance at having fun for a very few coins.

The announcer, known by the many staff members as Mr. Buoncuore, kept beckoning at the passersby, some of them feeling curious about what lurked inside the mysterious tent that housed the Freak Show, and paying him for an entry ticket. After enough people had gathered around to form a small group, the man flashed his rotten teeth.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves to witness our fascinating collection of nature’s most bizarre wonders. Please come in, let our tour begin.”

The inside of the tent was poorly lit, only a few lights worked and they hardly illuminated anything. Mounted walls divided the ample room into narrow cubicles where the “freaks” were showcased, at least the stage lights in each cubicle did function properly.

Unlike the jovial environment outside, the interior of the installation was rather gloomy and almost depressive. As the group was guided through the pavilion, they were introduced to the freaks displayed, which included a bearded lady, a pair of conjoined twins, a man covered head to toe in dark thick hair, and many more. Some performed small circus acts to entertain the spectators, others simply sat in sorrowful silence as they were being watched. Poor unfortunate men and women whose only sin was being born with a malformation, condemning them to be mere exhibitions to the morbidly curious side of mankind.

At the farthest end of the pavilion, a single cubicle mounted over a short stage platform and hidden behind a red velvet curtain stood out from the rest. Many believed this one to be the final and most important specimen in the freak show, and couldn’t wait to find out just what was hidden behind the fancy curtain.

Finally reaching the end of the tour, Mr. Buoncuore gathered everyone at the front of the small stage. Many whispered voices expressed their intrigue at the mystery behind the curtain. And soon enough, Buoncuore made an announcement.

“And now, we shall reveal to to you our final and finest specimen of our valuable collection. Prepare yourselves to be amazed, for this is no ordinary freak after all, one so outrageous that mere words can’t describe its cursed existence.”

The crowd stared in complete suspense at the cubicle. After a brief pause, Buoncuore continued with his speech. “I present to you, an unfortunate soul forsaken by God, a soul marked by demons themselves since the day they were brought to this mortal world. I present to you… Il Figlio del Diavolo! The Devil’s Child!”

Immediately the curtain was pulled up, revealing its interior. The crowd gasped at the sight.

A little boy, only five years old, was chained to the floor at the center of the cubicle behind a set of bars. He seemed malnourished, his skin a sickly pale color, and his long black curls were dull and unkempt. The infant wasn’t wearing a shirt nor shoes, only an old, torn pair of pants that reached bellow his knees. Several bruises and cuts covered his fragile body, some were already healed, others were still fresh.

However, what caught everyone’s attention were the deep dark markings that covered the child’s entire torso and arms. Swirls of black ink coursed through the boy’s skin, reaching up to his neck and the tips of his fingers in intricate and surreal paths and patterns. The ink had such a saturated color, an unnatural aura in them, it was obvious they were no regular tattoos; in fact, many swore they could see the ink actually moving on its own.

The sight was so surreal, so unbelievable…

“I-I-It’s a demon! A demon!” One of the spectators yelled at the sight before him. Other voices soon accompanied the first comment. “A demon has claimed this boy!” “That child is not human!”

Uncertainty and confusion took over the small crowd at the sight before them. They pointed at the boy, looked at him in utter disgust, mocked him, whispered profanities and insults at his tiny figure.

And yet the child simply laid still where he was chained with a vacant stare, the spark in his green eyes long lost.

Empty eyes, devoid of any hope.

“Take this you monster!” a teen member of the group picked up a pebble from the dirty ground and threw it at the imprisoned child, hitting him on his head and making him flinch. And soon enough, the rest joined the teen, throwing pebbles at the poor creature, who simply retreated back as far as his shackles permitted and curled up on the ground. Although most of the pebbles couldn’t reach him thanks to both the distance he kept and the bars blocking him, a few still managed to hit their target, leaving another set of cuts and small wounds on his already scarred skin.

The crowd continued their assault relentlessly while Buoncuore simply observed the scene in amusement, his fingers tapping at the handle of the silver cane he always carried pridefully with him.

Tears started to run down the child’s soft face, whimpers shaking his minute body.

“I-I’m not… I-I-I’m not a monster… P-Please stop… I b-beg you…”

He prayed for salvation, for mercy. Every single day, he prayed and prayed…

… But nobody came to save him.

............

His eyes shot open, heavy pants leaving his lungs in a desperate attempt to recover oxygen, a thin layer of sweat covered his face and body making his skin glisten in the dim light of his chamber.

The man sat up on the mattress to try and compose himself, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He ran a hand through his ebony locks, a habit he regularly did when feeling anxious in general.

It was merely a nightmare. One he wished he could forget, but kept coming back to haunt no matter how much he tried.

After a few minutes passed and his body finally relaxed, giving him the chance to stand up from his bed and lightly stumble towards the bathroom. Finding purchase in the old porcelain sink, he opened the tap, letting out a sigh of relief when a stream of clean fresh water managed to come out of it. At least the well that provided for the house hasn’t dried up yet to his fortune.

The man proceeded to wash his face and hair, hoping that the cold water could give him at least a sense of tranquility from the turmoil his unsavory dream caused in him.

Closing the tap, the man looked up and stared at his own reflection in the mirror in front of him. The ethereal markings on his partially nude body greatly contrasted with the almost sickly pale skin, looking almost alive as if the were made of slithering wisps of smoke and ashes. Rising a hand towards his face, he once again slicked his hair back, examining the now uncovered part of his visage. New lines had begun to appear, where they would stop at his neck now they started to crawl up his jawline, through his cheekbones and up into his hairline. Some stopped right below his left eye, others seemed to have redirected towards the bridge of his nose.

This new changes were not unusual though. It had been a long time since the lines had last developed after all.

What would happen if they managed to cover his entire face? He didn’t know. All he knew was that the markings will not stop growing. All he knew was that, although he was indeed intrigued by this phenomenon,

a voice deep inside his head assured him… he would not like the answer at all.

............

“We are starting with ‘Lo vidi e ’l primo palpito’. On your positions now!”

Tech rehearsals had begun for ‘Luisa Miller’, the next play to be performed at the Opera. As the current choreographer and dance captain, Trish strived to make rehearsals flow as smoothly as possible. Major setbacks were inconceivable for her, and with a personality as fierce as a lightning bolt, no one dared to challenge her authority nor her decisions.

All the backup dancers and extras took their respective places, their blocking already approved and stablished with no further changes. Meanwhile, Madame Carlotta beckoned her assistants to fetch her prop bouquet and apply some throat spray to her before starting a few vocal warm-ups. After readying herself, she signaled for the maestro to start the aria.

“Non temer: più nobil spirto, alma più calda di virtù non mai vestì spoglia mortal. M'amò! l'amai!”

As Carlotta paced around the stage, the backup dancers began their routine. You twirled around gracefully, perfectly following the path you were instructed to as the scene required. This was Luisa Miller’s, the main character, first aria. A serenade was brought to Luisa in celebration of her birthday, the townspeople gathering and dancing joyfully around her before settling down and letting her continue her song.

“Lo vidi, e 'l primo palpito il cor sentì d'amore; mi vide appena, e il core balzò del mio fedel.”

Once again, the dancers began moving, this time in line to present Luisa their gifts. Carlotta moved between the townspeople, bowing at each one and receiving her gifts. However, you noticed that her steps were longer than necessary, making her invade the blocked paths of some of the dancers. One misstep from her and she was suddenly right in front of you, completely oblivious to her current position. You tried to step out of her way but-

“Quaggiù si riconobbero nostr'alme in rincontrarsi formate per amarsi Iddio le avea in- AHHH!”

You moved a bit too late. Next thing you knew she had collided against you, which caused her to trip and fall backwards.

“Cut the music!” at Trish’s orders, the conductor and the orchestra immediately stopped. The actors and dancers looked distraught at what just happened, worry visible on their faces.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” You immediately reached out and offered a hand to Carlotta to help her get up, but a quick slap against your palm was the only answer you received.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Don’t you know how to move across a stage you amateur?” Carlotta screeched angrily at you while her assistants rushed to her side to help her stand on her feet. Some of the actors as well as Nico ran to your side as soon as they noticed how hostile she was acting towards you.

“But I was just following the blocking! I swear I didn’t mean to-“ You tried your best to defend yourself, you were completely sure you had been in your assigned space and you had even noticed how some of your fellow dancers had trouble maneuvering around Carlotta.

“Oh shut up you-“

“Enough!” Trish interrupted Carlotta’s rant, the entire theatre going dead silent at the powerful tone of her voice. She calmly strode towards you both, a composed but stern look in her eyes. “What exactly happened?”

The moment you opened your mouth to explain, Carlotta interjected furiously. “This girl did this on purpose! She stepped out of her place and because of her mistake I tripped. It’s obvious she hasn’t learned the choreography properly, you must place her at the back of the stage right now!”

Before she could continue further with her rant, Trish silently raised her palm ordering her to keep quiet, then turned to you. “(Y/N)?”

Taking a deep breath, you calmly offered your side of the story “… I’m sorry Madame Trish, but I’m pretty sure I was following the steps correctly. I did my best to avoid running into Carlotta but I couldn’t do it on time.”

Trish acknowledged your words before stating. “It seems this was merely an accident and gladly nobody got hurt. Carlotta, please remember that your blocking hasn’t been stablished as of yet and that we could always modify it to grant you more movement and better avoid this kind of incidents. Alright everyone, on your positions once again!”

With a loud clap from Trish, everyone hurried to their respective places. However, before she could leave the stage, she faced Carlotta once more “As for your request, I’m afraid we can’t grant it. Not only is the blocking already approved, but these last seasons (Y/N) has proved to be an excellent dancer and actress, surpassing by far all our expectations. Now please return to your position.”

Carlotta was fuming, her poor assistants trying their best to calm her down.

At that moment, you began to fear that working with her wasn’t going to be easy at all.

............

Unbeknownst to everyone, the Phantom stood hidden at his usual spot in box number 4, his deep eyes watching over the rehearsals taking place at the stage bellow him. As the backup dancers started their routine however, his gaze was fixated on you right away. He observed carefully your graceful moves, your perfectly calculated steps around the stage.

You looked ethereal, beautiful, marvelous…

“AHHH!”

His eyes widened at the incident that just happened before him. The newest soprano had collided against you, her prancing around the stage careless and imprudent. You offered the woman a hand, only for her to swat it away rudely.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Don’t you know how to move across a stage you amateur?”

Taken aback by the rather explosive words, he was suddenly filled with rage and anger. And the more he watched the scene bellow unravel, the more furious he would become.

He witnessed you trying to help her, trying to defend yourself from her cruel and harsh words. How dare this woman do this to you? You who were a marvelous dancer, you who worked hard to get to where you were now. Hellfire couldn’t compare to the wrath that was coursing through his veins.

“Enough!” The choreographer, Madame Trish as he recalled, stepped on stage. She calmly listened to you both, and rightfully acknowledged that what happened was only an accident and that it definitely wasn’t your fault.

Carlotta was left fuming, even though she requested for you to be moved to the back of the stage, she was denied much to his amusement. He lamented that such an awful woman had to be hired as the lead singer, especially since the former one was wonderfully skilled and kindhearted.

Letting out a sigh, the Phantom continued supervising the rehearsal in secret, wondering if this Carlotta woman would pose a threat to the success of the opera house due to her harsh personality.

One thing was certain though. If she dared to hurt you in any way, he would have to teach her a lesson.

This opera house was his sanctuary, you were his angel of music. And let God and Lord Sparda know, he was willing to defend both from any harm at all cost.

............

“I… I wish to show you something (Y/N)…”

“Huh? What do you want to show me V?”

The boy retreated back briefly through the trapdoor next to him before reappearing with a few objects in his arms. One was a leather-bound book and the other was a long silver cane.

He stood before you awkwardly for a moment, a blush adorning his soft cheeks, before sitting on a wooden crate nearby and patting the spot next to him, silently inviting to take a seat.

Once you settled by his side, he handed you his book. “It’s a book of poetry, an anthology of William Blake’s works. My… my mother gifted it to me. She used it to teach me how to read.”

Your tiny fingers gently traced the details on the cover. Golden lines and ornaments decorated the leather in gorgeous patterns, forming a “V” at its center. Opening it, pages covered in exquisitely handwritten letters and breathtaking illustrations were revealed to your eyes. You could see why V loved this book so much, both the poems and the drawings were absolutely delightful, not to mention that you now understood why V would talk in such a polite and proper way.

“V… this is so beautiful!” you smiled at him and he returned the gesture with a timid one too. Carefully placing the book next to you, you turned to eye the cane still in V’s arms. “May I see that one too?”

The smile vanished from his face. He hesitated a bit, but eventually handed it to you. It was splendidly crafted, its form elegant and the handle had many pretty and mesmerizing details. However, unlike the time he lended you his beloved book, he remained silent.

“Would you tell me more about this cane?” V’s eyes widened, his adorable smile long gone now and his eyes now expressing worry. “I… I don’t know why I have it…” he quietly replied. “The only thing I know is that it’s important for me… but I’m not sure why…”

He looked away from you, and for a moment you thought you saw a small tear forming at the corner of his eye. Quickly placing the cane on the box, you pulled V into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry V… I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry for making you feel sad.”

At first he tensed when he felt your arms wrap around his form, but soon melted into your warm embrace and returned the hug. When you finally pulled away, you returned him his book. “Let’s change the subject. How about you read to me?”

Taking the book, his eyes immediately lit up. “Um… I still have some trouble pronouncing certain words, will it be a problem?”

“Not at all! And don’t worry, if you have trouble with a word I can help with it if you like.”

Once again, his lovely blush decorated his cheekbones. You read together, taking turns with each poem. When you both reached one titled ‘The Divine Image’, V asked you for a little help since it contained two words that still gave him a little trouble.

You patiently recited the poem first and then let him repeat it again until he could get it right.

“And all must love the human form, In h-het… heathen, Turk, or Jew…”

Although he was very eloquent when speaking, V still struggled on how to correctly pronounce a couple written words. Still you would always encourage him to keep trying, that one day, he will have no problem reading at all.

“You’re doing great V. Almost there, you can do it.”

“Where Mercy, Love, & Pity d-d-dwell, There God is d-dwelling too.” He gave one last sigh after finishing the poem.

“See? I knew you could do it!”

And for the first time since you met him, V let himself laugh. It was such a lovely and heartwarming sound, one full of joy and innocence that you could never get tired of hearing.

............

In a dark, candlelit room, the Phantom sat in front of his desk. He was working on a particular opera of his own creation, a project he started many years ago and yet it seemed to be nowhere near completion. Along the years the Phantom wrote many musical pieces, songs and poems, but this particular one was the most important of them all.

This one opera would be his Magnum Opus, his greatest masterpiece.

And once he finished it, he would finally consider his life accomplished and let the darkness take him away.

As his eyes skimmed through the page, he suddenly paused. His gaze turned to a leather-bound book on the desk next to his many drafts and notes. Picking up the book, he let himself rest for a while, opening it and reading its contents once again. The poetry and the illustrations in the book brought some memories back, ones he will always treasure with great joy and nostalgia.

His thoughts wandered back to you, his angel of music. “My angel… La mia angela… I promise to hold you and protect you always…

Just like you held me and protected me many years ago…”

#devil may cry #phantom of the opera au #dmc v #v x reader #v x you #self-insert #fanfiction #fanfic #warning: sensitive content

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moonraccoon-exe · 5 years

Note

(1) Hello Coonie! *hugs you tightly* So good to hear from you too. I had some stressful days too. I went to Berlin with my mom for a couple of days for our annual city trip and as soon as I returned I fell sick and had no voice for days. Gladly I am well again. And now the 40 degrees hot weather is killing me. It’s the hottest in Germany since we started recording the weather. But don’t wanna complain too much. Berlin was amazing. We visited the botanical garden, wich was so stunning.

(2) The cacti were blooming and the Water Lilies and they had a pond with beautiful Koi Carps. And we visited the Pergamon Museum. Sadly the huge antique pergamon altar was being restored but I got to see the beautiful Ishtar gate and the market gate of miletus. And one day I will surely get so see the altar. :3 But how are things for you? The stressful stuff over? And hopefully the heat isn’t so bad where you are. And lots of luck for you so you will be able to see the blood moon next time.

PERIDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*HUG SQUEEZES*

PERIDOT, YOU MUFFIN, IT’S YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤❤❤

Hewwo Peridot!!!! Happy to be answering to you again!!

Aaah, I’m sorry to hear that you had some stressful days. Lamentably those come and go and all we can do is deal with them. Sorry you had to go through that, though, it’s never comfortable or enjoyable!! Wishing you some really nice restful very wonderful days now

YOU WENT TO BERLIN AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! I know it’s just the yearly thing to you but holy shit is it a goal for me!! I bet it’s really beautiful! I’m really glad to know that you had a blast in there!

Though yet again I’m sorry to hear you fell sick and, to make it worse, you were received with such weather. I’ve heard indeed that it’s been a hellhole over there, which is super strange! You europe people are known for constant rain and cold weather, and I mean, even when it’s summer it’s no comparison to tropical countries…so to know you’ve been at 40°C!?!?! That’s HELL, not even me in a tropical country have been in that heat!!! Very close, though, and if we were at 40 I didn’t check, but it’s not usual and GODS if I MELT at 31 I can’t imagine what 40 must have felt. AND TO BE RECEIVED IN THAT HEAT RIGHT WHEN YOU FELL SICK?!?!

Holy cows, I’m sorry about that Peridot! No wonder it was super stressful days to you, it must have been awful, terrible! ;A;

What matters is that you’re doing okay now and much better. Really happy to know that!!! Your voice is back and you’re back on track hek yeh!

YOU WENT TO SEE BOTANICAL STUFF IN BERLIN I WANNA GO I WANNA GO I WANNA GOOOOOOO ASLDKJFGLKDJ LDKAJ

BLOOMING CACTI. THAT SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM, CACTI ARE SO CUTE AND ADORBS AND I LOVE THEM just don’t have them because papa said they’re usual home for spiders? and I’m TERRIBLE WITH SPIDERS KALJSDKLDGJADLK BUT I LOVE SEEING CACTI!!!

HOH!? WATER LILIES’ POND HAD KOI CARPS!?!?

I L O V E KOI CA R P S

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It must have look SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO stunning!!!! What a breathtaking mental image, to get to see a beautiful pond with the roundish leaves idk the name in english and the lilies all over it and the adorable, beautiful, mystica Koi swimming around…AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT!!!!!!!!

HOH! Pergamon Museum? Never heard of it! BETCHA IT’S GLORIOUS THOUGH, Imma look it up in better detail later on!

Aaw, sorry to hear that you didn’t get to see the huge antique altar. I guess it must be one of the main things to see, and even if not, huge and antique and altar? That sounds like something important and that I’d love to see for sure! Sorry that you missed it, but we shall take it as good that authorities are doing restoration works! c:

GASPS.

AN ISHTAR GATE!?!?!?! HOLY ROLLY MACCAROONIE THAT SOUNDS LIKE AN INCREDIBLY VALUABLE, ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL THING!!!!!!!!!!! I JUST GOOGLED IT AND IT LOOKS SO BEAUTIFUL LIKE HOLY WOWEE YOU GUYS HAVE THAT!?!?!??!?! .A.

AND THE MARKET GATE OF MILETUS!?!?!?!??!?!

HOW HAD I NEVER HEARD OF THIS MUSEUM BEFORE HOLY FUCKING MACCAROONIES THAT SOUNDS LIKE ABSOLUTE MADNESS, IT’S INCREDIBLE I CAN’T BELIEVE IT, ISHTAR GATE AND MARKET GATE OF MULETUS ALL IN THE SAME PLACE AKLSJDKLFAJGDKLGDJALGKADJGLKADGJA I CAN BARELY IMAGINE WHAT THE ALTAR LOOKS LIKE!!!!!! HOLY WOOLY ROLLY WHAAAAAAAT!!!

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AKLSDJFALKDGJDALKGJAD

*FLAILS ALL OVER THE PLACE*

PERIDOT BUDDY THAT ALL SOUNDS SOOOOOOOOOOOOO FANTASTIC AND SO VERY BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!! NO WONDER YOU ENJOYED BERLIN I MEAN??? AKSDJFLKAGJADKLGJADKLGJADLKGJAD THAT SOUNDS LIKE A FREAKING EPIC TIME, MUSEUMS ARE THE BEST THING EVER AND I ALREADY LOVE THE PERGAMON MUSEUM AND IT’S A GOAL NOW THANK U

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Peridot, I’m SO happy you got to go out of routine to see wonderful things and go places!!! That’s what does best to the soul, traveling, even if it’s just to other parts of the country/city you hadn’t been to before, especially so to museums and other things alike!! It’s WONDERFUL for you, I’m happy to know all of this!!

Thank you for asking how I’m doing! It’s been good but I’m getting tired really easily. I’m going into uni finally on the 5th, and I’m not THAT excited. It’s on the top 5 of the biggest/most important of latinamerica and it’s free (well, okay, 0.20 centavos which is according to internet 0.01 dollars per semester), so it’s like the absolute dream of so many people, there’s a lot that move from other states to the capital and the suburban areas (same school but it’s got like 10 campuses), which is huge because the country is huge so moving state isn’t like an hour away,some are literally 19 hours away by car, but I’m just eh?

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m super exccited about what I’m going to learn. I’m just not on sync with everyone else? Like my bro is super proud and bragging everywhere that I’m into that school (he studied there too) and my parents are like KAJSDLKAJGDA WELCOMING CEREMONY YAAAAAAY and as happy and excited and thrilled as I am about the classes, I’m just not...in the hype? lol it’d difficult to explain

Not to say that I think about school and I get tired. Walking there, going daily, it takes me out of my routine, which is good but it wears me out mentally. I don’t know, I just...I’m really exhausted mentally and thinking about school wears me out even more. So sadly no, the stressful stuff is just starting. I hope it won’t interfere too much with my fic writing and blogging because I love it :c I want the knowledge but tihngs like homework or exams are like ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

And another good thing besides it being a super renowned school so I’m eager to learn despite everything else is that as a student of that school I get free medical, psychological, and tooth-thing services, which I think I need a lot, all three of them lol Don’t worry I’m not feeling bad or anything, but I’m underweight, my teeth don’t hurt but gods know I haven’t been to the dentist in YEARS, and there’s some stuff I’d like to talk with a psychologist just to know I’m not dragging some weight I don’t even know exists.

I don’t know if I’m not excited about school itself, or if I’m just mentally exhausted which I try to justify with not being excited? Hasdanga ah man who knows. But thank you for asking!!! :3

And thankfully no, the heat isn’t so bad!! It was bad some days like mid spring or starting summer, I don’t know, like SUPER HOT, there wer nights I couldn’t even sleep, but thankfully summer has been really rainy and very cloudy. Not going to lie, it’s still more heat than I like because I love the cold so even the ‘normal’ heat tires me and I hate it, but overall it’s been rainy and chill

BUT ANYWAYS PERIDOT

Like always I’m SUPER HAPPY to get to be replying to you yet again!!!!!!! Thank you immensely for taking the time to write to me and for letting me know what’s up!

Sending you my WARMIEST FLOOFIEST SHNUGGLEZ and lots of magic, my friend!! Have a WONDERFUL night!!(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

#peridot-chrysolite #peridot #coonreplies

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ladyfl4me · 5 years

Note

A,E,F,G,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S,T,U,V,W,X,Y,Z ;o

Okay *cracks knuckles* let’s go! F, M, and S have already been taken from this list, so feel free to send in... B, C, D, or H, I guess. Yeehaw. This is really fucking long.

A: How did you come up with the title to [TMWCIFTC]? -- It started, as many things do, as a bad pun. The novel The Spy who Came In from the Cold was a cold-war spy thriller, about a British spy who goes over to East Germany as an apparent defect, except he’s actually there to spread misinformation and fuck shit up. He falls in love, becomes disillusioned with his superiors, and is shot dead over the corpse of his lover after climbing over to the east side of the wall. Needless to say, this is nowhere close to what happens in TMWCIFTC. I chose it early on because of the literal meaning: there’s a moth(man), he’s coming in from the cold WV weather, boom shaka laka, we have a title. Over time, though, it’s evolved into another meaning. Indrid himself is coming in from an isolated, lonely existence: he’s rejoining the family that cut ties with him, he’s in love, he’s warm and safe. The moth sure did come in from the cold, and hopefully he stays that way.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [TMWCIFTC], what would it be about? -- Hm. Considering my entire TAZ fic career is a tangled hairball of sequels and prequels, I kind of have this base covered. At the moment, TCOS - aka The Children of Sylvain, the sequel to TMWCIFTC - is about three things: a Pine Guard road trip race against time and the feds, the Spanish Sylvan Inquisition That Nobody Expected (least of all Jake and Hollis, who have to set aside their differences and past conflicts to save Kepler - and who knows, maybe they’ll fall in love along the way), and Alexandra the Interpreter getting woke to Sylvan politics and doing what she can from the inside to change them. In other words, it’s going to be a massive sequel that is the finale of the Amnesty alternate universe I’ve created. It’s this series’ Endgame. (That reminds me, I need an actual title for this collection of stories I’m writing. The “Tin Cinematic Universe” doesn’t quite have the ring to it that I’d like.)

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? -- eh, it kind of depends. It’s like a buffering bar on Youtube videos. I outline what I can until I run out of ideas, then start writing, then add outlines to the end, until the outline is complete and I just have to keep writing.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? -- I don’t have one for reading, but for writing, I fucking love structuring chapters around songs. Classical or otherwise, I love music. All my stories play in my head like a movie screen, and I just do my best to describe what I’m seeing in my head with an accompanying score. It’s not so much a guilty pleasure as it is a writing process. Frankly, I don’t think I actually have a guilty pleasure; the act of writing itself is all the happiness I need.

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic]. -- An alternate ending for The Devil Went Down To Georgia would be... interesting. It ended with Boyd-as-Jersey-Devil scaring the pants off some poor broke college kid, who stole his worthless fiddle; then he changed back, and he and Ned went on their merry way to go break into Aubrey’s house and send everything down the drain. If there was one thing that I could change in there, it would be how fast Ned ran. If he ran a little faster, he would have seen the alley; he would have witnessed Boyd turning into the Jersey Devil, or at least turning back into himself; and he’d get a very rude awakening as to what Sylvans are and that his partner (in crime, and everything that mattered) was a fucking cryptid. God, that’d be a fun AU to write. Who knows, I might go do that someday.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with? -- At the moment, the only angsty idea that I’m actually conceptualizing is a Hollis/Jake angsty breakup for TSG. (Spoilers, I guess.) I once wrote a very grimdark ending to TMWCIFTC where everyone fell through the ice and drowned. It wasn’t fun. I’ve also mentally killed off each Amnesty protagonist and NPC in various ways, but I never felt comfortable writing them down. I only write angst with a happy ending because those are the kinds of stories I need to hear.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting? -- 9 times out of 10, I just throw it into the void. I write as much as I can in big chunks, and then kind of hope for the best. TMWCIFTC, for example, is a completely unedited, unbetaed vomit draft. I usually do a quick reread of my oneshots to catch grammar and spelling errors, but other than that I just trust myself that it’s fine.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? -- Can I get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night? Can I please get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night??? I was 14 chapters into that bastard before I a) became a more casual MCU fan and b) discovered TAZ. It was such a niche fic with such a niche structure - LOTR as galactic Asgardian propaganda to cover up Odin’s mistakes - that at some point I lost interest in it. I just saw Endgame though, so now I might get some inspiration for stuff to bastardize.

O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters? -- Characters. When coming up with character backstories, I can usually find ways to slot their lives together that necessitate a plot. I love character-driven stories, where their actions actually do shit and their words actually mean something, in favor of getting dragged along behind the plot like tin cans behind a car.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?) -- I’m definitely an architect, but in a really messy way. My friends can attest that I do an insane amount of planning for each story - often in their DMs, sorry about that, Fae, Cro, Indy and Aline 😬 - and all that usually ends up in a stream-of-consciousness rant outline on Google Drive. Knowing where the story is going helps me a lot, but the planning I do is definitely just building flower beds in which to sow seeds. Or building a greenhouse. I plan the bare bones of a story, and things get really wild within it, but it does follow a logical plot structure.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations? -- I have a lot of respect for the people who can successfully pull it off, but idk if i’d ever want to do one myself. I get really possessive of my stories and ideas and like to be the one in charge of their execution. That being said, some collabs have produced amazing stories. I don’t mind reading collab fics, but actually being in a collab grates on me more than it should.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence? -- I’m definitely influenced heavily by Neil Gaiman. I read American Gods and Good Omens a lot while I was trying to write TMWCIFTC; not only was it a good brain break, but I was able to pick up a lot of tips on scene pacing, concise yet expressive language, and character interactions. My creative wriitng professors have always told us to read so we know what to steal - not in terms of content, but in execution.

On the fanfic side, @miamaroo is a huge inspiration for me. I’ve been reading Northern Migration a lot recently, and I love how its canon divergence is so worldshaking and so complex, but is still familiar in nostalgic yet terrifying ways. I read it back in October, went, “Huh, I wanna do something that wild. And if miamaroo can do it then I sure as fuck can too,” and I started planning TMWCIFTC during that one month dead zone the McElroys took last year. Northern Migration is one of the best, most coherent, most stunning, and most incredibly written TAZ Balance AUs I’ve ever read, and if I hadn’t read it, I wouldn’t have been inspired to take the fuckall huge plunge into TMWCIFTC.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist? -- Bed sharing and cuddling, hand kissing, wrist kissing, whump, sympathetic villains. Canon divergent AUs are my absolute favorite things to both read and write. Anything that would turn me into Charlie Kelly slamming his finger on a bulletin board screaming, “CAROL,” is a fic I would give my life for.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand? -- Not a fan of a) woobification and b) flat villain characterization, to the point where the story is riding on villain tropes instead of an actual person or plot. Character nuance is always something I look for when I read. I don’t usually get bitter about tropes, though; some stuff, when subverted, works really well. I fully subscribe to don’t like, don’t read, don’t write, which is why I don’t write anything that warrants AO3 content warning tags or an Explicit rating, in favor of focusing on plot. Every author has a reason for what they write and how - be it their level of experience, personal preference, or simply the joy of writing something and getting it out there - and I respect that. Within reason, of course.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much. --

@miamaroo, for reasons I’ve already discussed. My favorite TAZ Balance author hands down. Read Northern Migration and give it the love it deserves, or I’m replacing all the faucets in your house with silly straws.

@transagentstern. Fae has a bunch of absolutely incredible fics and an amazing grasp on characterization. We come from the same place with AUs, in that canon is but the bare planks on which we put the drywall of our plot an characterization. They structure AUs and character backstories from the ground up in believable and emotionally raw ways. Also they have great music taste. I especially like their interpretation of Indrid in Moth to the Flame; he, like all the other characters in the story, is far from perfect, and his character arc is explored in relatable ways that I love to read.

@keplersheetz. Aline - theneonpineapple on AO3 - researches like a motherfucker and has a wealth of knowledge/experience/viewpoints to draw on, making author-author interactions with her an absolute delight. She’s also doing the lord’s work with rarepairs. Spin a wheel, find a ship, and she’s probably written for it or at least conceptualized it. Reading her character studies and stories of the old Pine Guard - aka Mama’s original crew, before the current PCs joined - is always a delight. I’ve also hashed out a lot of details for The Children of Sylvain, especially for Mr. Boyd Mosche, guilt-wracked Jersey Devil extraordinaire, with her help.

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose? -- Not gonna lie, I’m fine with a lot of stuff that’s out there right now. It’s been a hot few months since I’ve actually stopped to read fic, but from what I recall, most of the fics I’ve read have done a good job of keeping things intact.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones? -- The vaguer, the better. With really specific prompts, it usually feels as if the story’s been written for me already; with vague, general prompts, I have more agency to explore my own ideas. Some accompanying detail is usually nice, though. For example, the coffee shop/college/flower shop AUs that @transagentstern wrote are my ideal prompt for drabbles: premise, a little bit of open-ended detail, clear explanation of what’s going to happen while leaving the rest up to the imagination. Good stuff. If it’s for a long-form piece, though, I prefer full agency, or even just some time to lie facedown in the dirt and wait for an idea to strike me.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer. -- Yes.

Y: A character you want to protect. -- Tim.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate? -- I do read lots of major character death, yeah, though not always for TAZ. There’s something cathartic about seeing a character die, but sometimes it sits wrong with me in ways that I don’t like. As for writing, I’d rather kill a character for a reason rather than for shock value/for the Feels, though said Feels can accompany the reason.

#anon please dm me so i know who u are #please #i'm begging you #i'm in hell #asks #anon #ask game

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incorrectinkheartquotes · 6 years

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DUDE HARRY POTTER AND INKHEART CROSSOVER

capricorn is literally voldemort i just wanna say that straight off the bat. well technialy if we’re going by how they serve the plot + timing + comparison to the other villains he actually becomes quirrell who is the villain of the initial arc and equally as spooky, and also a figurehead for the series’ later main villain (with an association with death) i.e. the adderhead but i digress.this isn’t going to be a Crossover™ crossover but if it was then meggie would be harry and holy i want that fic. (meggie would lives in the attic of her caring but distant aunt elinor’s house after the mysterious disappearance of her mother, and later, her father? p l e a s e)anyway while we’re talking about meggie, she’s a gryffindor. i know what you’re already saying, “but @IIQ!! she’s CLEARLY a ravenc–” shut the fuck up this girl is a gryffindor from her blonde little head to her little wiggly toes. in book ONE she a) hears her father has been kidnapped and immediately attempts to run off and save him with the help of a mysterious stranger who promises her aid, without hesitation, b) actually runs off to save him with the help of twomysterious strangers who promise her aid, c) stands defiant and unbending in the face of terrifying and horrifying people, odds, and actions, and d) actually saves the day at the end, and only didn’t finish the job because she couldn’t kill someone. despite her book-loving ways she shows no particular perchant for knowledge or intellectual interest. literary pursuits do not a ravenclaw make. anyway meggie is a gryffindor, and also the perfect age for admission into hogwarts. i’m not saying this story should have already been written but maybe i am.mo? is a hufflepuff. i will not be providing evidence for this because he just is, i said so.anyway my point is: wizard!mo who completely withdrew from the wizarding world after the death (?) of his wife (a non-witch), raising his young daughter in the muggle world. a young meggie suddenly having inexplicable magic heritage being revealed to her at the age of 11/12, and getting sent to hogwarts shortly thereafter. (this supports my living-with-aunt-elinor au concept since she’s from resa’s side of the family (non-magic) aka she didn’t know the magical world existed and can’t/doesn’t prepare meggie for the reality of world they live in, especially when meggie is forced into it.)dustfinger is a slytherin but NOT for the reasons you’re thinking. it’s tempting to claim slytherin bc of ambition since he has one (1) goal he’s determined for, buuuuuuut that’s a temporary phase of his life and honestly who WOULDN’T be doing anything in their power to get back home if suddenly uprooted into a far, far away land? rather, look at the other traits of slytherins: ambitious, shrewd, cunning, achievement-oriented, traditional, and with a strong sense of self-preservation. who’s that sound like? (he’s definitely not a gryffindor, lmfao, and he’s not really either hufflepuff or ravenclaw. slytherin! farid is either a gryffindor or a hufflepuff, i think. a gryffinpuff.

i was going somewhere with this but i don’t remember anymore so here’s my lineup:

gryffindor: basta, black prince, brianna

ravenclaw: fenoglio, darius, barn owl

slytherin: elinor, capricorn, adderhead

hufflepuff: violante, roxane, mortola

thank you for coming to my ted talk i don’t even like harry potter but i want this au.

#ask #au

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willag42 · 6 years

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Yuri!!! On Ice Fanfic Recs with Reviews ["P” Authors]

Note: Doing some major reformating of the YOI fanfic rec pages. The pages that include my reviews are now having the posts separated alphabetically by author (see below). I am also creating separate page(s) that allow filtering the fanfics by category. It's a work in progress, but I'm having fun with it.

This page includes my YOI fanfic recs (with reviews) for authors whose names begin with "P".

Note: For any authors whom I don't know the gender, I refer to them with they/them. If any authors wish to correct me, please do so.

AUTHORS REC PAGES: #0-9 -- A -- B -- C -- D -- E -- F -- G -- H -- I -- J -- K -- L -- M -- N -- O -- P -- Q -- R -- S -- T -- U -- V -- W -- X -- Y -- Z

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Refer to this masterlist for all of my YOI fanfic recs.

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Phyona (@rageofthenerd)

The way Phyona writes the interactions between Yuuri and Victor are some of my absolute favorite. She writes them as good-natured rivals, always ready to compete against one another; as both coach and both student, willing to direct and support one another; as best friends, willing to tease and goof off with one anther; as lovers, passionately invested in one another; and as soulmates, completing and fulfilling one another. She is amazing at writing both comedy and drama, switching between moods and creating the appropriate emotional gravitas. But her stories have positive messages about growth and becoming stronger together.

Nerve Endings

Rating: Explicit Words: 74.1k Status: Complete Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Canon compliant; Post-season 1; Domestic fluff; Anxiety; Miscommunication; Learning to relationship ❤❤❤❤❤ Summary: When Yuuri moves in with Victor in St. Petersburg, they have to work through Yuuri's anxiety and Victor's secrets to find their balance. ❤❤❤❤❤ Review: This is my favorite post-season 1 fic where Yuuri and Victor learn to live together. This is a story of their interactions off of the ice and how they inspire each other to be better people and boyfriends. Their interactions are awkward but eager at the beginning, and slowly they learn to work through their issues and grow closer emotionally and sexually. One of my favorite parts about this story is when Yuuri has an anxiety attack and almost convinces himself that Victor doesn't love him like he loves Victor, but he's able to work through the negative thoughts and recognize that it's in his head and that he doesn't deserve to think of himself like that. I really like how he is able to work through it himself, which I think is a powerful message. I recognize that this isn't necessarily possible for all people. We all need help at times and sometimes can't work through things by our own power, and that's why emotional support and medical science are so important. But don't discredit how much you can do yourself. Yes, Yuuri is an anxious bean and he can't help his brain chemistry, but he doesn't let it rule or excuse his decisions. He learns to accept and empower himself for both Victor and himself. I love this sort of hopeful and powerful message.

Puppy Love

Rating: Teen Words: 10.4k Status: Complete Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Canon divergent; Dog Yuuri; Curses; Dead Makkachin; Hurt/comfort ❤❤❤❤❤ Summary: When Yuuri gets turned into a dog, the last place he expects to end up is Victor Nikiforov's apartment. He learns quickly that the only thing worse than being his idol's pet, is watching him pine for someone else. ❤❤❤❤❤ Review: A wonderful oneshot that is both humorous and sad. Victor is suffering the loss of Makkachin and becomes attached to puppy Yuuri, and Yuuri simultaneously wants to hide from Victor and emotionally support the man through his grief. The story is charming in how these two become closer in this weird situation that does eventually correct itself. And they have an appropriately awkward yet happy and honest interaction at the end.

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Piyo13 (@piyo-13)

Most of Piyo13's stories are fluffy short stories, about 50/50 Victuuri and Phichimetti. All are appropriately sweet. Her wraiths pinned to the mist is a longer fluffy story where Yuuri and Viktor are scientists in Antartica. Her meatiest, and my personal fave, story is a series that takes place in an alternate canon universe where everyone has daemons - external physical representations of a person's inner self. She's currently written three fics in this universe, and I look forward to whatever else Piyo13 writes in it!

hollow ground

Rating: Teen Words: 40.9k Status: Complete Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Canon divergence; Daemons AU; Gold medal ending ❤❤❤❤❤ Summary: There's no rules regarding where a daemon has to be in relation to their skater, only that they aren't allowed on the ice. This has always seemed a little unfair to Yuuri. After all, he loves skating like he loves his own soul; why can't he have both? ❤❤❤❤❤ Review: There are several things I love about this story. First, the daemons are adorable and help enhance the story and character scenes without overpowering the characters we already know. They're given their own character without taking up the spotlight, which I feel is the best way to write OCs. Second, despite it being an alternative retelling of the series, every scene feels fresh. Piyo13 is selective about which scenes she covers from the anime, avoiding only retreading over what's familiar. The scenes are altered enough with the presence of the daemons to help them feel new. Additionally, she doesn't let the scenes drag, capturing Yuuri's thoughts succinctly and with wit, and then moving on to the next scene. Even better are the original slice-of-life scenes Piyo13 added to further develop characters and relationships. Moments between Yuuri and Phichit talking over chat (about more than Victor) that delve into their friendship; a moment after JJ's flopped SP where Yuuri helps JJ become motivated again; a moment at the end where Yuuri's parents tell him how proud they are and he thanks them for their love and support; and then all of the new moments between Victor and Yuuri, like when they first start practising pair skating. Third, and probably the best, the last few chapters fix all the major grievances I had with the anime's ending. (Note: If you don't want anything spoiled, stop reading right now). Yuuri gets the gold medal; Chris and Otabek end up on the podium with him; Yuuri and Victor's decision to return to the ice doesn't feel rushed (they return to Hasetsu before discussing their decisions); and, most importantly, Yuuri's decision to return to the ice is only influenced by his own realization that he loves it and that he doesn't want to stop what he's had with Victor just yet. It's not debased or obfuscated by rivalry, when Yuuri's main character arc was always that he's his own worse enemy. The series also includes two side stories: a falling star can't fall forever, a prequel about Victor and Vasilisa; and life's not a paragraph, focusing on Chris. Overall, this is an amazing story.

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possibleplatypus (@possibleplatypus)

possibleplatypus has recently started writing fics for this fandom. They've posted two on their AO3 account and have a few more ficlets and one-shots at their tumblr. I would love to read whatever else they bring to this fandom given the quality and creative storylines they've already brought to the table.

a song that never ends (Series, 2 works)

TECHNICAL SUPPORT Rating: Teen -- Words: 18.8k -- Status: Complete -- Summary: Research had needed a new field-tester (they always needed new testers, as most Aurors would “test” an artefact only once before screaming to be reassigned), and thus the most decorated Auror in recent history was currently shouting into a modified “smart phone.” Viktor was quite certain that phones were not alive, so he did not understand how they could be intelligent. He found that when it came to Muggles, it was best not to think too deeply into things. “THIS IS NIKE,” Viktor bellowed into the thin, rectangular case. “CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?”

movie night Rating: Teen -- Words: 2.5k -- Status: Complete -- Summary: However, they had barely started Howl’s Moving Castle before Yuuri wondered if he had made a mistake. "What a fascinating concept! What spells do you suppose Howl is using to keep his, er, moving structure up?" Viktor refused to call it a "castle." A terrible mistake. ❤❤❤❤❤ Words: 21.2k Status: Complete Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Harry Potter AU; Aurors; Crossdressing ❤❤❤❤❤ Review: In this series, Yuuri and Viktor are both badass Aurors during a moment of downtime at the beginning of the story - Viktor forced into being a field-tester for the Research Department, and Yuuri recovering from his first, long-term undercover mission. What's really unique about this story is Yuuri's situation and what lead to it. He has taken on a new persona to help ease himself back into his life. Yuuri is amazing and adorable no matter what gender he is, and here he is both. I love how comfortable he is as a woman or a man and how his mannerisms change (and remain the same) across the two. There are a lot of misunderstandings during the first half of the fic - Viktor slowly falling for "Yukina", who reminds him of another Japanese man he was charmed by a year before - but eventually Yuuri opens up completely to Viktor and they become partners. So, so wonderful and sweet! The 2nd fic is a cute, little side-story after they've become partners, where Yuuri tries to show Viktor a Miyazaki movie... and proceeds to regret it once he realizes Viktor's one of those people who must always question and/or nitpick a movie out loud while watching. Haha. The ending where they re-enact an early scene from the movie is horrendously adorable though.

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powerandpathos (@agapaic)

Excelsior by powerandpathos (@agapaic)

Rating: Explicit Words: 77.4k Status: Work In Progress Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: (Mostly) Canon compliant; Except homophobia exists; Post season 1; Pair skating; Lesbian OCs ❤❤❤❤❤ Summary: Yuuri has won the Grand Prix, which was everything he thought he wanted. But for Yuuri, an end to skating could mean an end with Viktor, and when two female skaters approach them with an offer that could make them or break them, they are put to the test more than ever. Can they rise higher than they already have? ❤❤❤❤❤ Review: Another "homophobia exists within the canon universe" story that is still unique and interesting with how it handles the characters. Yuuri and Viktor are approached by a pair of female lovers who want to do a pair skate with each other at an official ISU competition, and they want Yuuri and Viktor to be their pair skating partners to get them to that point. Yuuri is an idealistic activist who never even really knew he was one until given the opportunity to make a difference. He can be a bit ignorant, following his heart on the matter and not fully understanding what he's sacrificing until in the thick of it and starting to be overwhelmed, but he's brave and kind and his heart is in the right place. He can be a bit preachy when it comes to Viktor's choice to support from the sidelines, but still loves him and tries to find a middle ground. Viktor is the pragmatic realist on the other hand, knowing that supporting this endeavor will cause him to lose his prestige and gold medals. Initially he's insensitive about Yuuri's choice, but eventually agrees to support him but in ways that won't cause him to sacrifice his hard-earned legacy. It's not that he doesn't believe in the cause, but rather he's not willing to give up that much. I personally enjoy this taken on Viktor and find his opinion a valid one, even though Yuuri's lines up more with my own ideals. Eventually, he does fully join and support the cause when things become more personal, but before then is a lot of struggle between the two to find middle ground and maintain a supportive relationship. It's a realistic struggle that I'm certain many couples can sympathize with, and I appreciate the story for going there. This story's greatest strength is the real-life issues, struggles, and reactions these characters face, and yet their desire to continue to support, fight, and love one another. It's a really great story that I hope powerandpathos decides to continue again some day in the future.

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proantagonist (@borntomake)

Drive

Rating: Explicit Words: 28.1k Status: Work In Progress Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Canon divergence; Road trips; Post Sochi GPF; Fluff; Feels; BFFs saving the day ❤❤❤❤❤ Summary: Yuuri remembers the Sochi Grand Prix banquet. He knows what he had the audacity to ask his idol, but that doesn't make it any less confusing when Victor Nikiforov shows up at Nationals two weeks later with a bouquet of roses in hand and a smile that doesn’t fool anyone. Victor has lost his drive and should be prepping for the European Championship instead of flying to Japan on a whim. After a crushing defeat at Nationals, Yuuri is in the midst of a crisis himself. Good thing they have their best friends – Phichit and Christophe – at their sides to keep them from falling apart. When Victor learns Yuuri must return to Detroit to finish college, he makes a rash decision to come to America with him. But why rush the journey? There's more than a week before classes start, dual existential crises to escape, and a budding romance to nurture. Time for a road trip. (A story in which two sets of best friends road trip across America together.) ❤❤❤❤❤ Review: Man, we aren't even to the road trip yet - we aren't even back in Detroit yet - and I'm already in love with this fic. proantagonist writes some of the best character interactions across all YOI fanfics - between Yuuri and Phichit, Yuuri and Victor, Yuuri and Chris, etc. And I am already so strongly invested in all four of the characters here. Chris' advice is halting Victor from his most unintentionally harshest commentary. Phichit is providing the emotional support that Yuuri needs at this time. And Victor and Yuuri are forming a connection earlier due to their friends' support. The latest chapter is my fave - they've pretty much had the entire beach scene conversation from episode 4, Victor has opened up about feeling lost at this moment in his life, Yuuri has an anxiety attack and snaps out all of his frustractions, Victor meets him in the middle, and they agree to help each other through their rough patches. Everybody is so supportive and wonderful, and I love such positive relationships. It's a sped-up version of their relationship from the anime with less miscommunication issues. And while I can definitely appreciate a slowburn, sometimes you just want to avoid a repeat of the same scenarios or the miscommunication tropes. That doesn't mean that there isn't a potential for more angst or miscommunication (I mean, there's always this fic's version of "Let's end this"), but everything is at a pretty healthy point currently. It warms my heart. And the roadtrip aspect just has the potential for so many more warm, supportive moments. I can't wait for more!

Winter Song Universe (Series, 2 works)

Winter Song Rating: Explicit -- Words: 156.5k -- Status: Complete -- Summary: Yuuri was aware that at some point — a moment in time he couldn’t quite place — Victor had become his boyfriend. There wasn’t a single instant when it happened. It was a slow awareness, as if Victor had silently been asking the question for months now, and Yuuri had been giving him the answer a little more with each passing day.

Falling (Victor's Story) Rating: Teen -- Words: 69.7k -- Status: Complete -- Summary: "What do you want me to be to you?" "I want you to be yourself." And wasn’t that just the funniest thing? This whole time, Victor had been trying to figure out which mask to wear to make Yuuri happy, when all he wanted was for Victor to take it off and show him the real person beneath. ❤❤❤❤❤ Words: 226.1k Status: Complete Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Canon compliant; Post season 1; Scenes between episodes; Fluff; Smut ❤❤❤❤❤ Review: In a lot of ways, I consider this the essential companion fic to the series. The story takes care to be true to the canon material while fleshing out the characters and their relationships with each other more. It doesn't spend time rehashing what we already see in the series; instead it focuses on fleshing out the scenes between the episodes and after the end of season 1. The story mostly focuses on the developing romance between Victor and Yuuri and has a lot of very well-written smut and emotional hurt/comfort scenes. For those perhaps confused by some of the characters' actions or motivations in the series, this story provides one potential interpretation by a fan who has extensively written and thoughtfully considered many potential headcanons on her tumblr. It's clear she deeply cares about the characters to spend so much time analyzing the series. She takes a lot of care to remain faithful to the series, while still fleshing out the Victuuri romance. It's a beautiful story.

#Victuuri fic recs #YOI fic recs #P authors

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