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slasherhaven · 3 years

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HI, I discover your blog and i really love it. i dont know if youre already done it but could you do how the slasher would react to dreaming about they killed their s/o and wake up finding his s/o peacefully asleep next to them? im pretty curious (and sorry for my english :,3)

The Slashers having a dream were they kill you:

Thomas Hewitt

It was horrible and he woke up feeling sick.

In the dream you had been terrified of him, pleading with him to let you go, but you didn’t seem to recognise him. He didn’t recognise you either, you were just the next victim in the basement. Just a job. He woke up just as his dream self killed you.

He panicked, suddenly terrified of losing you, needing to see you.

But there you were, where you always were at night, practically laying on his chest, sleeping peacefully. You even had a small smile on your face. Nothing like in the dream.

He didn’t want to wake you, he knew it was just a dream but it had really shaken him. So, he just wrapped his arms around you tighter, holding you close and refusing to let go as he buried his face into your hair.

He loved you so much, he didn’t want you to get hurt, and the thought of being the thing that hurt you killed him inside.

“Tommy, are you alright?” you asked quietly, barely even awake. Still, it made him jump a little, he didn’t mean to wake you.

He just nodded, making you smile to yourself as you cuddled up to him some more, placing a light kiss on his chest before falling back to sleep.

Michael Myers

He hadn’t even realised it was a dream at first, he was stalking a house like he usually did, targeting the person inside. But then he realised that the house was his own, the one he now shared with you, and the victim inside was you. That didn’t seem to stop him though, he found his way into the house, taking you by surprise and driving his knife into your stomach.

You had looked up at him with wide eyes, hands clutching his arms. “Michael?” you sounded scared, betrayed...it wasn’t an image he would soon forget.

But then he woke up, finding himself in your shared bedroom, looking up at the ceiling of the dimly lit room.

It felt so...real...

He sat up and looked down at your place on the bed, finding you sleeping peacefully, unaware of the inner turmoil he was feeling. He did not like this feeling.

Killing somebody had never once left a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach but this did. If he killed you, you would be gone forever, and that was something that unsettled him more than he would like to admit.

You were sleeping deeply, so he luckily didn’t wake you up. He didn’t want to have to explain himself to you if you found him laying back down, shifting closer, and wrapping an arm around you, holding your body closer to his. He focused on your breathing and your warmth.

Maybe he was only just realising it but now, for once, he had something to lose.

Jason Voorhees

The dream was horrible. The scream, the blood, your limp body. You had been so afraid, so afraid of him, and he had killed you mercilessly, something he couldn’t even consider doing in reality. You had screamed before choking as the machete hit you. Jason had lowered you to the ground, your hand raising and leaving a bloody handprint on his mask before falling limp, the light leaving your eyes. You were gone...

And that was when Jason woke up, eyes wide and panicked.

The first thing he did was look for you, reaching out to touch you. Finding you sleeping soundly in his embrace.

You were here, alive and happy. Sleeping by his side, completely unafraid of him.

He didn’t want to wake you, he just wanted to hold you. So, he did.

He couldn’t help but tear up as he held you. It had all felt so real, for a moment he really thought he had lost you and it was painful, it had broken his heart before he realised that none of it was real. He wouldn’t be able to get that vision out of his head, of him stained in your blood...

You would wake up the next morning held in a tight embrace with Jason’s face buried in your hair, refusing to let you go.

Brahms Heelshire

In the dream, you had been busy and he was having a tantrum. You tried to shush him while getting on with the work you needed to do, but you kept denying him, ignoring him, telling him to give you a moment. Then you shouted at him. And then there was blood...so much blood. One moment Brahms had stabbed you, the next he was trying to stop the bleeding, begging you to stop. He couldn’t stop it, and he saw you die.

He woke up, shooting up straight in the bed, breathing heavily with tears in his eyes.

He was absolutely panicked. He hadn’t done that right? No, he couldn’t do that!

Frantically looking around, he saw you sleeping beside him, having clearly been disturbed by his sudden movement.

You woke up a little, sleepily asking if he was okay. He swallowed the lump in his throat before laying back down, cuddling up to you, holding you like his own personal teddy bear.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I wouldn’t ever hurt you. I’ll be good” Brahms promised you, the pain obvious in his voice.

“Of course you wouldn’t, Brahms. You’re a good boy. Why are you saying these things?” you asked but he just buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Bad dream?” you asked and he nodded. You sighed before petting his hair, slowly lulling him back to sleep before joining him.

The next day he would be on his absolute best behaviour, he couldn’t do enough for you. He would also be extra clingy, not letting you out of his sight for a moment.

Bo Sinclair

Bo had his fair share of bad dreams, he just wasn’t very open about them, but you knew. This dream was different though, it wasn’t about his childhood, it was of present day. He was taunting you as you begged him to let you go, promising to do whatever he wanted, asking him why he was doing this. But he only laughed at you, not caring, all before killing you. Watching the life leave your eyes as you reached out to hold onto him, your hand wrapping tightly around his wrist as you feel to the ground.

Bo woke up suddenly with an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. It was a dream, he reminded himself, chastising himself for being so pathetic.

Then he felt you shift beside him, moving closer and getting his attention. Bo looked down at you and slowly felt that feeling in his chest fade, replaced by warmth.

You were alive and well, and sleeping peacefully right beside him.

He wrapped his arm around you, letting you cuddle up to him some more.

He wasn’t going to wake you up because he didn’t was to share the dream with you, not just yet anyway.

For now, he was quite happy to just lay with you and hopefully get some more sleep.

Vincent Sinclair

Everything had happened so fast in the dream. A new group of victims had come into town and Bo had sent him after them. He did, as he always did, finally catching up to the last victim, stabbing them, killing them. Only then did he realise that it was you, looking up at him in horror, your blood coating his hands.

Vincent woke up breathing heavily, eye wide as he tried to ground himself back in reality.

He instantly looked to you, gradually calming down as he watched your body rise and fall with steady breaths.

He didn’t want to wake you up or disturb you, he just needed some comfort.

He carefully shifted closer to you, wrapping an arm around you and pressing his chest to your back, nuzzling his face against your hair.

He felt a tear threatening to fall and he just allowed it, as long as he was quiet as to not wake you.

All he wanted right now was to hold you and calm down. Everything would be alright in the morning, he knew that.

Lester Sinclair

Lester had a bad dream every now and again, just like everyone else, but they had mostly stopped since you started sharing a bed with him. Tonight seemed to be an exception. Lester never did the killing, he brought the victims to the brothers. This was no different. He had taken you into town, handed you right over to the twins, even when you begged him not too, both of you knowing what your fate would be. As Bo walked you away, followed by Vincent, you had looked back at Lester, begging him one more time, a look of complete betrayal and heartbreak on your face.

Lester startled awake, breathing heavily and sweating slightly.

His sudden movement woke you up, making you roll over to face him, rubbing your face sleepily. “Lester? You okay?”

“Y-yeah, just a bad dream...you’re okay, right?” Lester assured you, looking over you as if checking for any injuries.

“Of course I am” you frowned slightly, confused by his question. But he seemed to relax then, joining you in bed again.

“Good...good” Lester sighed as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you towards him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You just wrapped your arms around him and held him as the two of you fell back to sleep.

Bubba Sawyer

It had been an accident in the dream. He was chasing down an intruder, chasing them through the house, nothing too new. He thought that he had caught up with them, dealing with them using his chainsaw...but once the chaos was over, he saw you laying on the floor, your blood pooling around you.

Bubba woke up, instantly panicked and searching for you. But he found you sleeping with a content smile on your face right beside him.

He quickly moved closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest in a tight embrace.

The movement woke you up but you knew it was Bubba so you just happily moved closer and cuddled into him.

“You okay, Bubs?” you asked and he nodded, letting out a few concerned coos. “Bad dream?” he nodded again.

You lifted your head, kissing his cheek, silently assuring him that everything was alright, before cuddling up to him again. Falling asleep in his arms.

Billy Lenz

Bad dreams weren’t new to Billy but this one was. He was walking through the house and he had a knife in his hand, he had a destination in him, a victim was waiting for him. He slowly pushed the bedroom door open before stepping in, the slither of light illuminating your sleeping face. He moved over to you, raising the blade above his head before forcing it down into your chest.

Then he woke up with a gasp, eyes wide and frantic as he sat up.

The suddenness waking you up slightly. You asked if he was alright, altering him that you were alright.

“Bad dream” Billy murmured as he returned to you, tangling his limps with yours and clinging to you. “Billy wouldn’t hurt you. Billy loves you” he mumbled.

“Did you hurt me in the dream?” you asked softly and he hesitantly nodded. “It’s okay, Billy. I know you wouldn’t hurt me in real life. I love you too” you kissed the top of his head, feeling him hold onto you a little tighter before trying to get some more sleep, you joining him.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

For Asa, bad dreams usually related to his childhood, not anything from his present life. Sometimes he would dream about his crimes but he wouldn’t call them bad dreams, he was very neutral on them. This...even he couldn’t feel neutral about what he was dreaming about right now. Of hurting you, not even making it quick, drawing your pain out before finally doing you the mercy of killing you.

As soon as he wakes up, he steadies his breathing and focuses himself.

It was a dream, nothing more.

But that didn’t change the sense of contentment he felt when he looked down to see you sleeping, arm around his waist and head on his chest. A perfect reminder that it really was just a dream, that you were still here, and he wasn’t going to hurt you.

He wrapped his arm around you some more, just holding you more securely without waking you up. He wasn’t going to discuss this with you, not right now anyway.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

In the dream, it was like you were just another victim. He had subdued you but you were still away, tears staining your face as you pleaded with him to show mercy. He just took the camera off of his shoulder and zoomed in on your terrified face, he was enjoying it. He soon put the camera back in place before pulling out his knife.

Your piercing scream of agony rang through his mind as he woke up, greeted by the ceiling of his bedroom.

He turned his head to the side, seeing you sleeping beside him. Perfectly well and unharmed, your arm resting over his waist.

You were alright, you were safe. He would never hurt you.

Jesse wrapped his arm around you, gently pulling you closer to him.

It was just a dream, he was well aware of that, and knew not to let it effect him too much. Still, the thought of hurting you made him cringe.

That would never happen, he would protect you, he promised himself that.

Otis Driftwood

It was a violent dream that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Just him carrying out his true nature but on you instead of a victim he couldn’t care less about. You had cried, pleaded, tried to get through to him, but he didn’t stop, he didn’t care. And then, you were dead. He had killed you, your blood staining his hands and clothes.

Otis is pretty used to disturbing dreams, they rarely bothered him, but this one definitely did.

He woke up, instantly focusing on you. How your head was resting on his chest and your legs was draped over his hips. Very much alive, not a spot of blood on you, perfectly content.

He never thought that somebody outside of the family could have such an effect on him. That somebody’s loss could...scare him so much.

His arm remained around you as he made himself more comfortable, causing you to shift closer as well, letting out a quiet, sleepy hum.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, nearly chastising the fond feeling he felt when you smiled in your sleep.

Baby Firefly

Gory dreams never bothered her, they couldn’t be any worse than reality, in fact she wouldn’t consider them nightmares at all. This though, this was certainly a nightmare. You were bleeding, crying, and in pain, but she was just giggling, being the person hurting you. And, just like that, you were dead and her giggling stopped, a look of worry spreading over her face.

She woke up, running a hand over her face and brushing off the dream. It was just a dream, you were alright.

There you were, sleeping right beside her. She knew that, she was looking at you.

Still, she shifted into a more comfortable position, brushing your hair out of your face and beginning to scatter kisses over your face.

She wasn’t going to mention the dream right now, it was silly. She just wanted to hear you wake up giggling at her playful attack.

Yautja (Predator)

Dreams weren’t all that common for him, at least not like this one. Even in teh dream it was an accident, him forgetting how fragile you were compared to Yautjas. And it cost him everything.

He woke up just as you died in the dream, leaving him with a sickening feeling.

But when he felt you shift, making him relax.

You were curled up on his chest, sleeping peacefully, just like you did every night.

He purred soothingly as he gently combed his clawed fingers through your hair, purring some more when you smiled and nuzzled into him.

You trusted him. Trusted that he wouldn’t hurt you, that he wouldn’t let anything like that dream happen. He just had to trust himself, and he could do that.

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cblgblog · 3 years

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Sorry I’m advance but one of my other favorite accounts just reblogged a Tony scene and people are talking about Civil War and how it made them Stan Tony, and how when they watch that movie they hate team cap👀 Then someone was all about how he was sleep deprived and how much pressure he was under and couldn’t understand how people didn’t like Tony because. Someone literally said that when someone says they don’t like Tony in Civil War they say “did you watch the same movie as me.” I’m baffled. Oddly enough someone else said, “he just wants to help everyone.” Sorry for the rant but I think people forget about what the accords are and what it would mean for people. Side note, I hope you’re having a great day/night 😀

No sorry needed!

I feel you man, I do. Honestly, I’ve unfollowed people based on similar posts when I was in especially Done moods, so.

Look on the one hand, the movie would’ve been a narrative failure if everyone was in favor of one side or the other, right? The whole point of the damn thing—besides giving the Mouse overlords more money—was to spark discussion, debate. Which, yeah, we’ll call that the tame description for what actually happened. But just, the thing was meant to split the fanbase so in that regard…winning? Thanks, I guess?

Film is also very obviously subjective, different strokes for different folks, so yeah, ten people can watch a movie and none of them are gonna see the exact same film. Let’s try to remember that this is, in theory anyway, a good thing. I just read a professional film review yesterday where I had the same reaction. What film were you watching, dude? Incidentally his reviewing partner said the same thing.

So honestly, no, they weren’t watching the same film as you or I or anyone else, because everyone brings their own biases and experiences and knowledge and interests into a thing, and that’s always going to flavor how it’s viewed. Again, let’s try to remember that this is good. In theory. Heavy on the theory.

That out of the way? Let’s get into Tony specifically so his uber stans can find this and scream at me on anon as though I just shot RDJ with a nuke.

Oh yeah, he was stressed. Oh, he was sleep deprived. Yeah, I’ve heard that. And that it’s Pepper’s fault, if she hadn’t left the poor baby, if she was there to rein him in, he’d be fine dammit, leave the baby alone!

Here’s the thing. You know who gets a pass on their shit behavior when they’re upset or tired? Actual babies. Actual babies and toddlers, and children, up to a point. Because they actually cannot always help themselves. Their bodies and brains are different, they have not learned better.

When you’re a 50-year-old man who’s supposedly the world’s bestest superhero, who wants, wants to be in charge of protecting the whole world? You need a little more self-control than that. The sleep deprived excuse works if you snap at someone before you’ve had your coffee, not for this. Roseanne Barr didn’t get to blame Ambien for her racism, Tony doesn’t get to handwave CW away because oops, I was tired.

Really? You’re a superhero, dude. Most of your teammates are tired too, that’s part of the gig. If you crash and burn this badly without your afternoon nap, fucking hang up the armor and go back to your billionaire playboy lifestyle.

Speaking of that, sure, right. It’s Pepper’s fault because she left him. Put aside the argument on whether that was justified or not (cough, it was and she should’ve stayed away even though they are adorable together). It’s not Pepper’s job to keep Tony sane. It’s not any partner’s job to do that for anyone. If she wants out, she has a right to that, without Tony going off the rails and blaming it on her. Seriously, he says part of the reason he backed the Accords was to “split the difference” with Pepper.

Dude. You were an asshole and you lost your girl. You destroyed all your suits, turned an emotional and mental corner in IM 3…and then relapsed 4 minutes later I guess because Whedon. Either way, Tony admits himself that he does not want to stop. So instead of doing that, or finding another partner who can accept that, you back an unjust international law that pits you against your team, your supposed friends? Go to therapy, have a pint of ice cream, cry into your pillow, send her more of those strawberries you sent her in IM 2 that she’s allergic to. You don’t go trying to change international law in ways that could ultimately affect millions of people because your girl left you.

Honestly—and thank God they didn’t do this but—the only way the Pepper excuse works in excusing his behavior in any way is if she’d died. Or been severely injured like Happy in IM 3. Still wouldn’t be okay, but, like Quill messing up their chance to stop Thanos because Gamora died, it would’ve been more understandable. Understandable, not excusable, and the way the MCU treats their women as manpain fodder, we’re probably legit lucky we didn’t get this.

As for him wanting to help everyone. He does in fact want that, I think. The problem is that his need to feel like he’s doing that is stronger than his rational mind, or his want to actually help in a constructive way.

Tony is too smart. He’s dumb as hell in many instances, mostly involving people and relationships, but he’s also too smart, and he’s been told for too long that he’s smart, and he’s bought into it. Ultron. Suit of armor around the world, protects the world, no more alien threats. It’s a simple concept on paper that fails in execution. So there are people with dangerous powers. Okay, we’ll make a set of laws to keep them from being dangerous, problem solved. But again, it isn’t.

Tony is not used to problems he cannot solve. He’s a genius, right? He can fix anything. He should be able to fix anything. That’s how he feels. But not everything is zeros and ones and circuits, things that can be fixed mechanically like his armors can. The people he wants to protect are not built that way. But he needs to feel like he’s doing something, because he’s terrified of what happens to the world if he doesn’t. So he creates these simple solutions to complex problems. The suit of armor, the Accords. They sound good in theory, but the problems they’re trying to solve are bigger than they are. And Tony, way back in IM 1, he sat back for years, clueless that his weapons were being used for bad things. He says it to Cap in CW. When he found out what his weapons were being used for, he went in and stopped it. Whether or not he should’ve known that already is a separate issue here. The point here is that when he found out, too late or not, he went in and did something about it.

Tony needs to do something about it. Again, go back to Cap in AoU, Tony’s nightmare sequence. Steve asks Tony why he didn’t save them. Tony’s ultimate nightmare is that he sits back and does nothing, and his inaction causes everyone to die. Which is where you get Ultron. Something he came up with because of what he saw in space in Avengers 1, then doubled down on in AoU. It’s where you get the Accords. Oops, he caused someone to die, he killed Charles Spencer. Must do something about that right now so it doesn’t happen again, and he won’t have to feel this guilt. He should be collaborating with others to come up with solutions (no Bruce in AoU doesn’t count because Bruce was dumb there), or at the very least, taking more time to think through the repercussions of the things he puts out there. But he doesn’t, because he’s got his savior complex that tells him that he alone can and must fix this, and because he’s too dumb to realize how not-smart he is in certain areas.

“We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I’m game.”

Isn’t that what he says in CW, or something very close to it? Whatever form that takes. That’s the issue, right there, whatever form that takes. Realistically, yes, there should be laws regarding people with powers, the same way there are special laws pertaining to people who carry guns, or people who are licensed to fly planes. You have a thing/can do a thing that not everyone else does, so there are regulations pertaining to that thing. Laws change with the times, they always have. Some new technology comes up, eventually there will be laws that regulate it. As there should be, honestly. The issue with the Accords, Steve’s issue with the Accords, was not the basic idea. He says as much. He says that it could work, but there would have to be safeguards. Safeguards that are not in the Accords that Tony wants him to sign.

It's not a matter of oh, fuck the law, there should be no law governing these people, they’re above it. The problem is that the law as it’s presented here is unjust. There’s what, a month between Lagos and Ross coming by to tell them about the Accords? A month is not enough time to properly analyze such a big issue, Especially when you’re reacting out of fear, which is what happened with Lagos. People died because of an Enhanced person, an Avenger, in this case. Lawmakers don’t want that to happen again, they especially don’t want the political shit storm that comes with it. Damn, we look like we were asleep at the switch here, not having anything to throw at this problem earlier. Quick, let’s throw together this thing so no one can say we’re not addressing the problem.

Patriot Act of 2001, anyone? 9/11 happened, the public were rightfully terrified, the US said oh man, these are unprecedented circumstances, we’ve never had this before. Don’t worry though, we’re on this, we’re protecting you. The reality being that that bill simply gave the government too much power, most of it being used against people who were not actually threats, and it’s debatable, to say the very least, whether or not that law helped more than it hurt.

No law is perfect. No law ever will be. It’s not possible. We still have to strive for perfection though, have to aim there so that the laws we get are as close to fair as possible. Tony’s a big deal. If not for his “whatever form that takes” attitude, he might’ve been able to use his influence to pressure lawmakers into coming up with a fairer bill. Hey, I’m me, the public loves me, I will endorse this bill publicly and work on getting the rest of the team to sign, but you need to change this and this and this first, or no deal. Instead, he took the easy way out, the quickest, easiest way for him to feel like he’s atoned for his sins without actually doing anything. Whatever form that takes.

Tony’s not wrong because he backs the creation of a law that addresses these things. He’s wrong because he says himself that he does not care what that law does, specifically, so long as it exists. He’s wrong because he violates said law upteen times during the movie, while preaching to team Cap about what assholes they are for not backing it. He’s wrong because he cares more about feeling as though he’s tackled a problem than he does about taking the time to make sure that the thing he’s proposing is actually a good idea. He’s wrong because of what he does with Bucky, though that’s honestly a separate issue, for the purposes of this discussion.

Anyway, that was longer than I ever wanted it to be. Damn. Next time you see a comment about CW being the reason people stan Tony, just remember there are other people out there who stopped stanning Tony because of that movie. Everyone’s entitled to see a piece of media however they see it, and although the Tony stans are often the loudest, there are plenty of like-minded people out there who share your take on events. Block who you need to, unfollow who you need to, blacklist what you need to, and don’t let them get you down.

Hang in there, and have an awesome day :)

#pro steve rogers #pro team cap #anti tony stark #anti tony stans #anti iron man #anti team iron man

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zuzu-hotman · 4 years

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Ready To Love P.6 [[Zuko]]

Pairing: Zuko x Female!Reader

Warnings: The usuallll as well as mentions of death and darkish themes??

A/N: this is late and shitty im sorrryyyy

Pt.1,, Pt.5,, Masterlist

“....”

“What were you expecting him to return and sweep you away? Foolish.”, her words cut deeper than they ever had. Hitting the rusted old nail directly on it’s head.

Azula never much cared to talk to you. Not when he was here and not even when he had been banished, as he was now. However when she did speak to you, it was always when she knew she would inflict the most pain.

When she knew she could gut you so deep, it would haunt you for years to come.

She laughed as she looked down upon you. It was not a happy sound. Nothing like her older sibling, who had always laughed with joy in his heart, when he had it. Hers was cruel- meant to make you seethe. She had the gall to laugh in your face after telling you the ‘news’. You were sadly hoping for good news. You knew Azula was like this- you had always known she was not good. You just didn’t know her well enough to really determine if it was fully true.

Lesson learned.

“Oh, don’t cry now. Not when I haven’t gotten to have my fun yet! I’ve been absolutely dying for a chance to get rid of you! You see, you get in my dear friend Mai’s way!”, she gives you an eerie smile, “It’s only fitting that I, one of her dearest friends, takes care of the issue!”

She talks as if she’s doing some sort of favor. Like she’s doing something absolutely necessary. Your tears sliding down our face don’t stop her at all. She acts as if they aren’t there. She acts as if she hasn’t just told you your father was killed for his ‘crimes’.Killed for being an Earth Bender from the Earth Kingdoms. For being who he was.

For not being Fire Nation.

“You see, my Dad doesn’t care to do multiple executions in a day. Takes up too much time. You and your Mother are granted a sliver of mercy. You two are to leave immediately. Now, if you dare step foot in this land again, there will be no mercy, understand?”, she gives you a wide grin. “No more living here and no more Zuzu for you. See, I could have had you killed but since you’ve done nothing to me personally, I’ll be nice this once.”

That had made you snap, “Nice. Nice? You call that being nice?!”

Her face turns sour, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! You just told me my father was killed- you made no attempt to try and stop it! You come in my home and you tease me and laugh like you didn’t have a hand in his death! How did you even know who he was!”, you can feel yourself shaking. Can feel your deepest secret threatening to rise up within you. He’d told you to hide it while you were here, to never use it. How would you escape if you did? So close to the heart of the royal grounds?

“Hah. Your dad was a fool. Using his bending on palace grounds. He put up a real fight, but he was clearly outnumbered and outmatched. As all Earth fools are.”

She wasn’t going to tell you. That much was clear.

You tried to hold back, you really did. Azula just had a knack for bringing out the worst in people. You’re not proud of what you did. Yet you don’t regret it. The look on her face was priceless.

Perhaps you hadn’t actually beaten her, but it was as close as you’d ever get. Still, she always had the last word.

“He’ll never like you. You’ll be sad all your miserable life! You’re a fake! A liar! You never belonged here! Useless Earth peasant!”

So then what was this? You were certain she was right, despite how your heart had hoped. You were sure you’d see him with Mai- or with some other pretty Fire Nation girl. Someone other than you. You had especially believed this when he looked at you like that back underground in Ba Sing Se. He had finally seen you then. Who you were and where you came from. His actions at that time had you thinking he’d never see you as anything ever again.

Sure, you were wrong. He had wanted his friend back. You just didn’t know he’d want more. Much more.

Unfortunately, he took your stunned silence the wrong way. The hurt look in his face broke your heart for the split second he allowed you to see it.

“Right.”, he had said, “I’m sorry I- we should get ready to leave.”

He didn’t give you a chance to try to pull him back. Not that your mind gave you one either. You were still reeling, even now, sitting in Appa’s saddle, staring up at the passing clouds. Him? Love you? Since when?

How?

What was it that he loved about you- though couldn’t you ask yourself the same?

You had an answer though. Multiple answers, ranging from the way he smiled to the way he never saw you as just some lowly peasant. New ones being added like how he loved his Uncle and valued what he thought of him. How he’d proved his will and determination to change, to admit everything he was taught back in his own home was wrong. To make the choice himself to leave everything behind and do what was right, despite the massive hatred he had gained from his own flesh and blood.

His strength, no matter how it may have wavered.

Just him in general.

You should be on cloud nine right now- you should be feeling so light, so why weren’t you? What was holding you back?

“You think he’ll ever want you around anymore once he knows? It’s not your being an Earth Bender. It’s your lies. It’s you never telling him, or, oh.. not trusting him. Poor Zuzu..”

Her words still echoed to this day. Unfortunately, she still haunted you. From her smile as she shattered your life as you knew it, to the same one she wore when she saw Zuko react to you that day.

You couldn’t let her hold you back all your life, otherwise her lies would become truths. Zuko wouldn’t lie about something like that. He wasn’t Azula. You couldn’t compare the two.

The only comparison was the often bad timing. The difference was, Azula’s timing was bad because she was not on their side of things. She was an inconvenience. Zuko had no sense of time. A war was ahead of him. The world was on the verge of combusting as he knew it. There was no right time.

You could agree with him. Tomorrow was not guaranteed. A future was not promised, only hoped for.

So, as you moved your gaze to the back of his head in front of you, you made up your mind.

Words were not wasted in asking him to follow you that night. You didn’t care that you had just grabbed him from his conversation with Aang. Didn't think to respond to the look of shock on either of their faces as you took him by the arm and dragged him away. You also didn’t think of how it might be perceived on his end.

Zuko was sure you were going to chew him out. He followed you, matching your urgency with dread in the pit of his stomach. Had he crossed a line that night? Were you mad now? He hadn’t meant to upset you- he wasn’t lying. He had thought about it over and over and over again. He came to that conclusion after asking himself hundreds upon thousands of questions.

Why had he missed you so much? What was it about your laughter that he craved? Why did he enjoy clasping your hand in his? What was the reason for him always thinking of you when he was welcomed back home? Thinking of where he would take you and what he would show you? Now that you were both older and he had more freedom?

How come his heart cried for you when you told him the loss of your beloved father? What made his heart ache at you having to harbor a life threatening secret all on your own- being unable to tell him even when your life was once secure?

What was it about you?

The answer was not being his childhood friend. It was just being you. Being the best escape from his life at home. Being his definition of home. He’d been lost without you. Sad and hurt and unable to grasp why aside from his banishment and the brutal punishment from his own father. You were in his very bones and soul. He could live with you just as his friend if that’s what you wanted. He just couldn’t live with not telling you. Couldn’t go on thinking he might die and never get to tell you how he felt and how horribly sorry he was for everything.

Sorry you had to meet him and be hurt by him. Sorry his own Nation was the way it was. So very sorry he loved you so deeply despite being so young and new to such feelings.

“Do you truly mean what you said?”, you say after some fast marching into a quiet and far off area of the beach.

A few waves crashed here and there as he stared into your eyes, searching for something, anything to make sense of this.The salty air filled his lungs, mingling in with your own soft scent.

“Answer me.”, you say, impatient.

“Wh- of course I- why are you asking? I apologized- I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m not asking for an apology. I want a serious straight answer. Did you mean that?”

You looked determined and he’s not sure what for. Regardless, he braces himself for a smack to the face, “I did.”

You stare at him, unmoving for a few long beats of silence. “Okay.”

“...Okay?”

You nod, “Okay.”

Zuko is thoroughly confused. Okay what? What was this all about? Were you mad or not- he sees you raise your hands up quickly. He wonders if you’re going to hit him or bend at him- maybe shake the hell out of him. He probably deserved it, but you didn’t do that.

You reached up, held his face so softly in his face. The softest caress he’d ever felt in his life. Your small smile matched it perfectly.

“You just don’t learn do you?”

He couldn’t even question what you meant. He wasn’t given the time or even a chance. In a split second you had him swirling. Quicker than he could see, your lips were on his. Gentle as ever, capturing his in the sweetest way..

“ Yᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏɴᴇʟʏ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ..”

Pt.7

#zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko fic #firelord zuko #prince zuko #atla zuko #atla #fic #ari writes #ready to love #ooo pretty #it's 2 a.m my time im sorry #roughly a part or two left #!!!

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gnollface · 3 years

Text

“My time with the Gnolls.”

(Wrote this as a proof of concept for another anthology project, reading it again i want to revisit it.)

"My time with the Gnolls."

📷

(Wrote this as a proof of concept for another anthology project, reading it again i want to revisit it.)

Excerpt from "My time with the Gnolls" by Dr. Jaysis Une

“When i first began informing my colleagues and friends of my desire to begin an in depth study of the Gnoll race the responses were more or less what one might expect and largely (and unsurprisingly uniform.)

The consensus being that I had, quite simply, lost my mind.

What more could there possibly be to know? Gnolls were mindless blood thirsty demon spawn and

To embark on such a course was akin to suicide.

I took no offense,

I like them, knew well the stories of the savage and brutal nature of the minions of Yeenoghu

“The goddess of slaughter”

“The ruler of Ruin” and any number of other terrifying descriptors.

The Gnolls were little more than horrific and infernal automatons focused solely on slaughtering any living thing standing before them so that they may in turn slaughter any that might further be found behind those tragic souls.

And So while this was not my first dangerous subject to pursue, it was far and away the most

And as such i did my full due diligence as a man of science and assembled all the knowledge i had gained personally to that point and sought out master hunters, warriors and soldiers to add any first hand information i was able before crafting a master plan and outline to maximize my safety while still maintaining my ability to study and observe my horrific quarry. My preparations took the better part of a year before i felt comfortable to embark.

But as the old Gnomish saying goes “All great tragedy follows once great plans”

And i am ashamed to admit it was a humblingly short amount of time until,

despite my best efforts,

my worst fears had come to pass and I found myself captured by the Gnoll warband I had,

To this point, thought I was following from a safe distance unseen.

For reasons i even now still do not fully understand the Gnoll scouts did not immediately kill me but brought me back to their makeshift camp and threw me to the bottom of a roughly dug dirt pit

its top covered with a crudely made barred gate of sticks and branches.

I landed awkwardly and the hard soil and clay bottom with a sound that sickens me to recall to this day.

I had only just begun to gather my bearings and assess the nature of my situation when a low and gravelly voice reached me from a darkened corner at the other side of the pit.

"You must go…..out." it said.

I quickly jumped up from my knees to my feet and backed myself against the wall in fear.

I was not alone in my cell

But a very distinct terror washed over me as my eyes, now adjusting to the dark, made out the shape of my new cell mate, another large Gnoll.

A flood of thoughts filled my head, was this some kind of Chieftain?

Was I to be its food?

Perhaps a toy to be sacrificed to their demon goddess?

What should i do?

I was a researcher, a biologist, not a fighter, i would not mount much of a defense against this hulking creature.

"Wuh-what?` `I replied, shaking in fear.

"They keep you….for Flind. ( Referring to a massive gnoll often serving as warchief for the band )

“Flind mad...when others...leave no blood." The Gnoll explained to me quietly seemingly struggly to capture each word in its head before using it

It said all this without looking over.

For whatever reason, perhaps something in its tone, my fear began to subside slightly, something led me to believe perhaps my new cellmate was not the threat to me I immediately feared..

"Why have they thrown you in here?" I asked him (i think it was a him) surprising myself, the words had left my mouth before i even registered the idea of asking it

I cautiously lowered myself to the floor against the wall opposite him.

"I am...broken." He responded meekly and though i can't be certain, i swear he smirked and chuckled as he made this comment.

Gnolls make such a variety of noises it's often hard to determine.

"Broken?" I pressed, confused, perhaps in his shallow grasp of common he had misspoke?

With this he looked down from the barred ceiling and towards me for the first time,

what little light that was reaching us at the bottom of our hole now reflecting in his yellow eyes giving them the appearance of glowing cinders.

It sent chills down my spine like ice water.

"I am….clean of Yeenoghu, I no…..hear yeenoghu, I do not….heed, I am clean.

Broken...they say." he pointed upwards as he explained to clarify whom he was speaking of.

Though his common tongue was not very fluid he definitely demonstrated a level of intelligence i to this point had never seen exhibited in a Gnoll.

The scientist inside me roared to life, my mind overcome with questions and possibilities, no longer considering the very real danger of my predicament. I straightened myself into a more comfortable position and swatted some dirt from my pants.

"My name is Jaysis, well met." I offered.

He turned his head away slightly and side eyed me

seemingly confused and slightly suspicious before returning his gaze skyward.

after a moment or two, perhaps after consideration

"Hoontra, I am Hoontra"

The large gnoll offered back tapping his big clawed hands against his chest as he too straightened to face me better, it was then, as he came more into the limited light that i noticed he was gravely injured,

both his legs were badly broken.

"You're hurt." i pointed to his legs stating what must have seemed obvious.

Hoontra shrugged,

"Dead soon...gone...Home soon." he replied as he looked up at the night sky through the bars as if contemplating the stars, calmly, and remarkably so considering his words.

As the night went on I started to more clearly notice His mannerisms and movements. they expressed a thoughtfulness that surprised me more than his intelligence.

Gnolls with thoughts?

It was then another thought came to me.

If Hoontra was resigned to his imminent demise what hope could i possibly have?

Well if this is how i am to die, I thought to myself, then I shall die as I lived, and I again pressed the Gnoll for more information.

"How did you become Broken?...eh Clean Hoontra?" i asked him

and again the big gnoll shrugged, not breaking his skyward gaze.

"Hoontra battle..and fall...hurt..Hoontra look quiet place to die, find pretty place, many trees.That place... mama call me, I wake up….clean, no mad, no hungry, no red, just Hoontra. Hoontra and Mama." with this Hoontra resignedly smiled, I suppose i can't be certain it was a smile, an exposing of the fangs for a gnoll is no rare thing…...but i like to believe it was.

I took in what he said in stunned silence, here i sat having a conversation with a Gnoll, what would the others think of this story? I’d likely never learn the answer to that question.

There Hoontra sat staring skyward, he showed no sign of pain, no sign of anger, sadness or anxiety, just what seemed contentment as he continued to look out into the night.

But each answer Hoontra gave me only raised more questions in me

"Who is Mama Hoontra? Who cleaned you? " I asked

With this question again Hoontra looked to me and extended his large muscular arm to the dirt wall besides him and gently pressed his large clawed fingers against a roughly carved image of a Unicorn head.

"MeekiLee, Meekilee is mama." The coincidences were too striking to not be comfortable in assuming that "MeekiLee" was his pronunciation or interpretation of Mielikki the forest goddess.

I was gobsmacked, was it true? Could the Gnolls be cleansed of their demonic taint? Had the ranger goddess cleansed this gnoll? But my internal debate was interrupted as Hoontra continued

"Meekilee forgive and clean... soon Hoontra die and run in tall grass...forever, and Meekilee run with me." Hoontra looked to a small wooden circle carved with the image of a unicorn he wore around his neck tied with some shoddy twine. He turned it around in his fingers for a few seconds before shifting onto his back exhaling deeply, as he moved. For the first time it was clear that he was in some pain

"I sleep...you escape...wake up Hoontra...Hoontra help" I nodded and smiled at this most surprising beast and crossed my arms, a million questions rolling through my mind keeping the the reality of my imminent death at bay.

After some time my thoughts however were broken by the sudden sounds of battle above. Hoontra quickly straightened up eyes wide. With a stunning speed he launched himself forward on just his arms, dragging his broken legs behind him and grabbed me.

He pulled me behind his huge body defensively and lowered his head in a gutteral snarl, the black mohawk of hair running down his spine spiking upwards. I tensed in fear suddenly overwhelmed by everything going on around me,

was this it? was this how i die?

I sunk my fingers into the tattered cloak Hoontra wore over his back and I closed my eyes when suddenly a loud BANG rang out from above followed by several gentle thuds.

Hoontras body tensed suddenly and then he exhaled deeply and his body went limp as he collapsed before me.

“Hoontra!” i said loudly as I shook him, paying no mind to whatever was above.

"Jaysis! Jaysis Une! are you down there? " a human voice called down into the hole as light suddenly surrounded me.

"Yes! im here!" I responded as I looked up and saw three armed men holding crossbows and a torch.

"You ok?" another of the men continued.

"Im unharmed!" I yelled back suddenly relieved

but that feeling quickly changed as I looked down at the body of Hoontra.

"Ok just hold on a minute. we'll find some rope and get you out of there." the men said as they walked out of my range of vision.

I rolled Hoontra over onto his back as gently as I was able, he was shockingly heavy, I surveyed his arrow riddled body and sighed as I struggled to pull his arms over to cross his stomach in some feeble attempt at a show of respect.

There was no way the men would have known, How could they? who in a million years would ever believe a Gnoll could be anything, but well...a gnoll?

I sat beside Hoontra for a few minutes collecting my thoughts, now being able to truly appreciate how big a gnoll is, knowing, id likely never be this close to one again.It was then i noticed that his one hand was closed in a fist, grasping the small wooden symbol of his “Meekilee”

a peaceful smile, yes, it was a smile, on his scarred canine face.

"Doctor! we're lowering the rope to you now." the men had returned.

"Gentleman!" i spoke back "I'm going to need to take this corpse back with me….for study " i said to the men.

The leader sighed "Doctor, there are plenty of dead gnolls up here we ...." he tried to explain when i cut him off

"No, I need this one, ten gold for each of you if you help me get it back to my home." With this the men's eyes widened and with smiles they hurried off to find more rope.

Of course there will be no study.

There is a clearing in my garden at the base of an old oak tree surrounded by different flowers and bushes and such. It has a clear view of the sky and the stars at night, I often sit there to read my books by candle light or a small fire.

occasionally, distracted by the infinity of the night sky i stare off and wonder about everything

and nothing.

This is where ill bury my friend Hoontra and perhaps ill leave a carved unicorn so Meekilee will know where to find her son so they may run together in the tall grass forever.

#gnoll #gnolls #gnoll fiction #dnd homebrew #fantasy fiction #short story #dnd #dungeons and dragons #fanfiction #dnd story #dnd stories

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orangemarmalade101 · 4 years

Text

tsukishima and yamaguchi were an odd pair. one cared too much while the other cared too little. yamaguchi saw people come and go out of tsukishima’s life without a second glance. he always spit out cold words when said people tried to stay with him.

“you’re nothing to me “

“i never cared about you in the first place.

yamaguchi watched every time on the sidelines. observing their faces. their pain. their broken hearts. because unlike tsukishima he was obersevent. he saw the flower-filled trash cans and the less than alive look on their faces.

hanahaki has changed over the past generations. people could be fated to be with a person that would never love them back. they were not guaranteed a forever someone. what they were guaranteed was a chance to live if all emotions were to be void in them.

but the people who took that chance with tsukishima ended up in a hospital bed. their tears of sadness days prior replaced with a stoic expression. they took the risk with tsukishima but he did not love them back.

yamaguchi dreaded the pit in his stomach. he hated how much he had to excuse himself to the toilet. tsukishima was less than pleased when yamaguchi kept skipping out on practices. everyone but him knew the reason.

“why do you keep on skipping out on practice you dumbass. you’re supposed to practice every single day and now you’re slacking off??” tsukishima finally blew up.

“i-i’m sorry i just i don’t know. i’m not feeling well ok? please give me a break “

tsukishima has been with yamaguchi for years but even now he couldn’t pick up on his distress. yamaguchi was all smiles normally but now he was looking as pale as ever. but why did he care. its not his problem.

“im stupid as hell why did i ever think that “

tsukishima thought as he laid next to yamaguchi.

eyes shut in an ice cold hospital room. he never expected for him to ever have to go to the hanahaki unit, but here he was now.

days prior yamaguchi quit the volleyball club completely. his reason.

“it’s just not my thing anymore “ coach ukai stared at this once happy go lucky boy.

his eyes were filled with pain and fear.

“it’s ok. just go. i wish you the best of luck in your love “ he knew that was a lie. coach ukai saw firsthand the love stricken eyes of yamaguchi as he stared at tsukishima that were soon masked by fear. tsukishima’s indifference to the very obvious love that was directed towards him.

tsukishima only found out the next day when yamaguchi walked by the practice room without going in. he was over yamaguchi “skipping “ practice just because he was sick.

“yamaguchi let’s talk “

yamaguchi stared at tsukishima for a second without saying a thing. he wanted to confess. he wanted to say i love you so bad. but the flowers that he barfed up everyday showed that he had no chance. tsukishima did not love him

“yeah give me a second guys. i’ll take to tsukishima really quickly “

“why do you keep skipping practice. do you have no sense of responsibility or is that stupid brain of yours not working anymore “ his venomous words hitting yamaguchi the hardest.

“ohhh tsukishima i’m really sorry. i just know. volleyball just isn’t by thing anymore. i wasnt the best player anyway, and i wanted to try something new like baking!”

“you think you’re goo-“ tsukishima’s words we’re stopped as yamaguchi shoved a slice of strawberry shortcake into his hands.

it was the last thing he could do before he knew his time was over.

“here i know this is your favorite and since we’ll meet less and less from now on. i just wanted to say thanks for all your help through the years. “

“yeah sure “ was all tsukishima pushed out before he saw the fleeting figure of the green haired boy that was at his side ever since high school.

tsukishima went home with the cake slice still in hand. he didn’t know what he was feeling. why did he feel so guilt. he didn’t do anything wrong. maybe he yelled at his teammates a little too harshly today, but thinking back on it. that wasn’t true. he was quiet today. pushing out complaints when people asked him “what’s wrong” and saying that he’s fine. but yamaguchi’s comment didn’t sit right with him.

why would they meet less. its not like he’s gonna die. they’d still have class together. they’d still eat lunch together. and they’ll still hang out after school.

tsukishima stared at the slice a little harder. a flower?

“that fools in love now? “ tsukishima scoffed. taking a closer look at the light pink flower.

“a carnation?” a light pink carnation represented the regret of one’s love not being returned. yamaguchi dreaded how obvious his fate was when he saw the flower he barfed out everyday. but why would tsukishima know the meaning of such flower? why would he pick up on the wilted edges of the flower indicating that yamaguchi had less than a week to live. why didn’t he notice sooner?

there was no point dwelling on the past when tsukishima knew he couldn’t change anything. the hospital room was decorated in light pink carnations. that stupid flower he wished he knew sooner. tsukishima was never one to admit he cared about someone unless he was on deaths bed.

but now the one he cared about the most was on his. a loud cough pierced the silence of the room was yamaguchi shook awake. all color was gone from his body. he looked like he could barely talk. his eyes slowly opened as he muttered out one last phrase.

“it’s okay tsukishima. its ok that we weren’t meant to be, but i really regret not telling you i loved you sooner”

yamaguchi took his final breath as he felt all weight lift off his body. he finally said it. he knew that he didn’t need to hear the same harsh words tsukishima spit at every other person who confessed to him. he was fine with ending it at that.

tsukishima stared expressionless at the lifeless body on the bed. what went wrong? how could he not pick up on the hints yamaguchi gave him. the cake? the stares? his love? for once he showed an emotion other than anger.

tears welled up in his eyes. he felt sick to his stomach. tsukishima coughed.

“a pink carnation?”

if there was one thing he knew about hanahaki the was that fated partners coughed out the same flower.

oh how he wished he could take back everything he said that day. tell yamaguchi to stay and say what was on his mind. tell yamaguchi he loved him. tell straight to his face that yes he felt the same way too. but what could he do now. it was all karma coming back at him. all he could wish for was to meet yamaguchi again and tell him “i love you.”

the two lonely figures lay still in the ice cold hospital room. the uncomfortable silence should have been filled with yamaguchi’s laugh and tsukishima’s rebuttals. but the only sound was the dreaded *beep* of the monitor.

he was gone.

#tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima oneshot #tsukki x yamaguchi #haikyuu!! angst #tsukishima angst #yamaguchi angst #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu one shot #yamaguchi scenario #yamaguchi oneshot

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lenniewip · 4 years

Text

Unknown (A Sterek Wrong Number/Celebrity AU)

11.09 PM Unknown Number

>I’m writing songs about you again.

11.20 PM Unknown Number

>its stiles btw.

>in case you deleted my number

>I did.

>I mean I deleted yours.

>but I still remember it apparently

11:41 PM Unknown Number

>I only have 2 lines so far

11:57 PM Unknown Number

>I bleed you from my veins.

>I grieve you like I love you.

>alone.

>its better with the chords.

>u were always better at writing lyrics than me

12:34 AM Unknown Number

>u were better everything than me

2:00 AM Unknown Number

>I hate that I miss you

2:07 AM Unknown Number

>do u want to hook up?

>I promise not to propose again

2:15 AM Unknown Number

>im sorry.

>ignore me.

>im drinking

Derek blinked bleary eyes. His phone screen was the only source of light in his room, as he read through the flurry text messages.

What the hell is a Stiles?

2:17 AM Unknown Number

<I think you have the wrong number

>Lydia?

<no

>oh thank fuck

>I mean

>I’m sorry

>for disturbing ur sleep

>but im just glad I didn’t drunk text my ex all of this

>bullet dodged right?

>is this what near death experiences feel like?

<I wouldn’t know.

>of course

>hey

>seeming as I have you here can I ask you a quick q?

>all my friends are asleep

<probably because its 3am

<everyone’s asleep

>2.39

>and ur not

>asleep that is

>so?

>I’ll take your silence as a go ahead

>what do you think?

>of the lyrics

<im the wrong person to ask

>never experienced heartbreak?

<no

<all song lyrics just look like bad poetry to me

>oh

>yeah I guess it does

>not everyone can be Rupi Kaur tho right?

<do you want to be rupi kaur?

>sure

>not to be dramatic or anything

>but

>I want to be anyone but me

>think id rather be someone like regina spektor tho

<regina spektor?

>singer/song writer

>shes my fucking inspiration

>her lyrics are like poetry to me

>you should listen to her music

<I dont really listen to music

>what the fuck?

>are you an alien?

<no?

>nice fucking try ET

>thats exactly what an alien would say

<…you got me there

>akdjfen

>is this you admitting I was right?

<no

<but this is me going to bed

<because its now 4AM

>already?

>fuck

>ive got an early start tomorrow

>good night random stranger

>and thanks

>for listening

>or reading ig

<good night

“You’re late.” Laura frowned, arms crossed.

“Are you going to let me in?” Derek grumbled, still feeling the affects of having stayed up until 4AM the previous night.

Laura didn’t argue she just stepped aside to let him through into her flat. “You’re grumpier than usual.” She noted.

“Didn’t sleep well.”

Derek hated the look she gave him then.

The look that said he was broken. The look that said she wanted to fix him.

“Is…Is it the nightmares again?” Laura’s voice dipped to a whisper, like the question alone would be enough to send him over the edge.

“No.”

An awkward silence defended over the two of them, neither knowing what to say.

Derek clung to the silence like a blanket, wishing things could go back to how they used to be. Back to when they knew how to speak to one another.

But this was enough.

It was enough to know that they were both trying. Failing. But trying.

2:40 PM Laura

>I’m here if you need to talk.

Derek isn’t good at art, but sometimes it’s the only way he can express himself. Words had never been his forte.

So instead he doodles.

Shitty toddler level doodles that he never shows anyone.

Sometimes he thinks if he could bring himself to show Laura she would like it. Maybe she would even understand it.

But there was a bigger chance that she wouldn’t, and he would feel even more like a stranger to his own sister than he already was.

10:18 PM Unknown Number

>I don’t remember it anymore

<You have the wrong number again

>No

>This is ‘not Lydia’ right?

<right

>So here’s the thing.

>I always thought if I needed to text her I could

>And I thought maybe I got her number wrong because I was drunk

>But I can’t remember it anymore

<Oh.

>I have some of her things still

>I don’t think I’ll ever get to return it now

>Unless she messages me first

<When did you two break up?

>Last year

>and I know what you’re thinking

>’it’s October’

>and I should be over her by now

>Trust me I know

>So you don’t need to lecture me

<I wasn’t going to

>Oh

<Stiles?

>That’s weird

<what is?

>I forgot I told you my name

<You should throw away the stuff she left behind.

>you’re right

>I don’t like it.

>but you’re right

>…thanks

<What for?

>for listening

>reading**

>my friends are pretty sick of hearing me complain

>so this is nice

<sure

<anytime

>dope

>no take backsies

<am I going to regret this?

>for definite

>you’re stuck with me now

That night Derek saves Stiles’ number as ‘Bad Poet’.

Stiles keeps messaging after that.

Stiles messages like they’ve been friends for years, and Derek very determinedly does not analyse why it is he always responds.

Even when there are messages dated from Laura from three days ago that he hasn’t even been able to bring himself to open yet.

He also ignores how when he’s messaging Stiles the gaping pit that had made residence in his chest feels just a little less inescapable.

Derek can’t bring himself to tell Stiles his name. He can’t bring himself open up, even though there’s a large part of him that wants to.

He’s not above admitting he’s scared.

Derek draws Stiles sometimes.

More accurately he draws a vague pair hands texting on a phone, because he has no idea what Stiles actually looks like.

Derek refuses to let himself dwell on that though, because they are happy drawings.

The pictures of Stiles are pretty much his only happy drawings right now.

They don’t always talk about Lydia.

Sometimes Stiles messages Derek song lyrics he’s working on.

Other times it’s memes, or just a bunch of emojis.

Once Stiles had just messaged him what Derek could only assume was a list of everything he had eaten that day.

Sometimes Stiles messages in rambles - and Derek can’t always keep up with the boy’s run away thoughts, but even then he never feels lost the way he does when he’s trying to interact with literally anyone else.

And sometimes it’s 2AM. Those are simultaneously Derek’s favourite and least favourite texts.

2:02 AM Bad Poet

>sometimes I feel like too much

>and too little

>at the same time

>u ever feel like that ET?

<not really

>its like I’m infinite, and meaningless

>like a never ending echo

>or a recurring decimal

>I just stretch on and on forever but theres no point to it

>I have no depth

<youre not meaningless

<you’re a rhythm.

<like breathing

>…

>was that a regina spektor reference?

<it might have been

>I thought you didn’t listen to music?

<well someone said her lyrics were like poetry

<so I thought I would check out a few songs

>well fuck

>what did you think?

<she’s good

>you spelt ‘amazing’ wrong

<I still prefer poetry

>of course you do

Derek stared at the texts an ache filling his chest.

Derek was the opposite of infinite. Everything he touched turned to flames.

10:30AM Bad Poet

<my sister bought me flower seeds

>I didn’t know you had a sister?

<she’s everything I have

>oh

<and I think she’s trying to trick me into therapy somehow

>…with flower seeds?

<yes

>you sound extremely paranoid

>maybe therapy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you?

<shut up

>noted.

>keep me posted on how your gardening goes

>also

>as a side note

>you know you have me too right?

>if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m right here for you

<thanks

>anytime

On Derek’s birthday Laura insists the two of them spend the day together, and Derek knows better than to argue.

She buys him a cake and they spend hours sat next to one another silently. Two strangers desperately trying to keep hold of one another but with an ocean dividing them.

Once their family had been so alive.

And it was all Derek’s fault that was gone.

They both knew it.

Sometimes Derek wondered if Laura hated him as much as he did.

He was too scared to ask.

That night Derek chased the ache in his chest away with a drink.

And then several more followed.

1:14 AM Bad Poet

<seh haars me

>sorry bud, you’re going to have to try again

>try spell checking before hitting send

<she.hates mee

>who?

<larn

>are you drunk?

<yeh

<tyongs ndrf

*Out Going Call: Bad Poet*

The phone rings twice before being picked up. “Sorry. Stupid keyboard is so small. Impossible to type.” Derek mumbled, his words slightly muffled by his cheek being pressed into the sofa cushion.

“Wow. You’re really sloshed huh?”

“No.” Derek denied. “Just tipsy.”

“Right. So what was it you were trying to tell me? Someone hates you?”

“Laura.”

“Who’s Laura?”

“My sister.”

“Oh.”

“She looks at me like she wishes she could fix me.”

“That doesn’t sound like she hates you, bud.”

“She should. I can’t be fixed.”

“You’re right, because you’re not broken.”

Hearing Stiles say that Derek could almost believe it to be true.

“I mean it. You’re not broken. You’re just a different shape than you used to be. But the shape you are now is beautiful.”

Derek closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. “Do you sing?” He finds himself asking.

“What?”

“I know you write songs, but do you ever sing?”

“Oh…” Stiles sounds uncomfortable. “I guess… Yeah. I do.”

Derek hummed in the back of his throat. “I bet you have a nice voice.”

“Th-thanks.”

Derek tried to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn, which makes Stiles let out a jittery laugh.

Derek tries to memorise the sound of It, but it’s so fleeting, it’s already slipping away from him.

“I think you need to go sleep, ET.”

“Yeah.” Derek agrees.

“Goodnight bud.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you stay on the phone? Just for a bit longer.” Derek clutched on to the phone like if he could grip tightly enough it would make Stiles stay.

I don’t want to be alone. The words die on Derek’s tongue.

“Sure.” Stiles didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Sleep pulled at Derek’s consciousness, unravelling his grip on reality.

“Stiles?”

Stiles hummed in answer.

“Your shape is beautiful too.”

A small whimper came from the other end of the phone. “Thanks.”

7:50 AM Bad Poet

>how are you feeling today?

<better

>good <3

Derek holds his phone tightly and wishes that he had more to say. Just to keep the conversation going.

He also wishes (not for the first time) that Stiles was more than a faceless entity on the other end of the phone.

But it’s the first time he feels the want like a physical ache in his chest.

Derek had never been good with words, but if Stiles was here in front of him Derek would probably give him a hug.

But everything Derek touches eventually dies, and a larger part of him is relieved for the distance.

Derek plants the seeds his sister got him that day.

9:48 PM Bad Poet

>would it totally weird you out if I wanted to do another phone call?

>don’t feel like you need to say yes

>I just enjoyed talking to you

>and hearing your voice

>ugh.

>why are words so hard?

<I wouldn’t be opposed to a phone call

*Incoming Call: Bad Poet*

“Hey.” Derek feels breathless as he answers the phone, anxious excitement clawing it’s way up his throat.

“Hey.” Stiles sounds equally out of breath, and that helps.

Derek chews on his lip, scrambling for something to say. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted. “Anything.”

“Helpful.” Derek said sarcastically.

“I mean. There’s one thing. I didn’t want to ask when you were drunk because it felt a little like taking advantage. And I don’t want you to think you have to answer-”

“Stiles.” Derek interrupts before Stiles could break into a full blown ramble.

“Tell me your name.” Stiles breaks. “Please.”

Anxiety grips his heart. But… he couldn’t stay scared forever.

“It’s Derek.”

“Derek.” Stiles repeats his name in a reverent whisper, as if committing it to memory.

And hearing Stiles say his name makes everything worth it.

Phone calls become a regular thing between the two of them over the next month. Always between late in the evening and the early hours of the day.

The next time Derek spirals he doesn’t drink before he calls Stiles, but he does cry on the phone.

The next morning he wakes up to a text from Stiles.

6:42 AM Bad Poet

>you need to talk to your sister

And Derek knows he’s right.

It’s not easy confronting Laura. He has two separate anxiety attacks on the walk to her apartment alone.

But he forces himself to take the dive.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” He tells her, even though it’s not okay. Laura’s hate might be the only thing in the world that could break him beyond repair.

Laura looks horrified as she stares at him. “I don’t- Obviously I don’t hate you Derek.”

“It’s my fault that they’re gone.” Derek addresses the elephant in the room.

If he hadn’t fallen in love with Kate.

If he hadn’t broken up with her, just to try and prove a point when she refused to say ‘I love you’ back…

There never would have been a fire.

Their family would still be here if it wasn’t for him.

“Fuck that!” Laura let out a harsh noise. “Derek, none of this was ever your fault. You were a kid, and even if you weren’t… You never set the fire.”

“I might as well have.”

“No. If anyone… I was your big sister- am your big sister. But I was so fucking wrapped up in myself. I didn’t even know about Kate.”

The last time Derek had seen Laura cry it had been at the funeral, so it took a second to fully sink in what he was seeing.

He found himself crying to.

“I’m so sorry, Der.”

Derek stumbled forwards pulling Laura into a crushing hug. Laura hugs him back just as tight.

They spend hours refusing to let go of one another.

He realises he fell asleep on Laura’s sofa when he woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. But he had no idea where it was, and he was too tired to move.

He feels Laura moving and the sound of the phone ringing gets louder before cutting off abruptly.

“Hello?”

“No - Derek’s asleep.”

“Maybe call at a more reasonable time?”

“Who is this?”

“Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Derek let sleep over take him once more.

2:29 AM Bad Poet

>sorry for calling so late

>you’re asleep so I’ll just take to you tomorrow

9:07 AM Bad Poet

<sorry, I was really tried

>no worries man

>you’re allowed to have a life outside of me

<was something wrong?

>no I was just bored, and didn’t realise how late it had gotten

>im fine

>how are you?

<im good actually

<I spoke to Laura

>yeah?

>I’m proud of you

>how’d that go?

<we both cried

<a lot

<and I ended up falling asleep on her couch

>look at you, opening up and shit.

>think I might cry now

<shut up

>literally never

>better men have tried and failed to silence me

2:40 PM Laura

>Want to see a movie on Friday?

<sure

One night Stiles calls Derek just to say his name in stupid ways, and laugh himself stupid after each one.

“Duhreek.”

“Doreck.”

“Fuck. I’m getting a stitch from laughing.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” Derek is smiling as he said it.

“Deeruk.” Stiles wheezes out.

Derek just closes hie eyes and listens.

“I’m so fucking glad I know you, Stiles.” The words fall out of Derek’s mouth without much thought.

He only realises the weight of his words when Stile’s laughter pulls to a stop.

“I uh-” Stiles stammered. “Me too. Fuck. You’re the best thing to happen to me in…so fucking long. I’m glad I know you too Derek.”

Derek finally admits to himself that night that he’d fallen at least a little in love with the stranger from the unknown number.

He keeps trying to draw Stiles, but he can’t. Vague shapes just don’t cut it anymore.

He wants to map Stiles out with his eyes and translate it onto the page.

He wants to be able to see the smile behind the laughter.

He wants.

1:58 AM Bad Poet

>do you think you day we’ll actually meet?

>maybe not intentionally

>maybe one day we’d pass each other in the streets and not even know

>maybe we already have

Derek couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t notice Stiles.

<is there ever a moment when you’re not talking?

<I think id recognise your voice and know it was you

>maybe your face would make me speechless ;)

<I think id still know

<but if you want to be sure… I could send you a picture?

<of me

>dkfajd

>for reals?

>you would do that?

>you?

<well…not for free

>there’s always a catch

>what do you want?

>my soul?

>a blood debt?

>you can have whatever it is

<I meant you’d have to send me a picture too

<geez stiles

The next text takes an unnervingly long time to come through.

>I could do that

>a photo for a photo

>I kind of look like shit rn

>so no judging me

Derek spends the next two minutes fussing and fidgeting to take a good photo. No matter what angle he took it from the bags under his eyes were noticeable, and so was the week’s worth of stubble he had yet to shave off.

And maybe this was a terrible, awful, idea.

But Derek would send one hundred bad pictures if it meant getting to see one of Stiles.

He forced himself to press send on the last picture he took.

As he pressed send another photo came in.

Derek’s fingers shook as he hit the button to download the image.

His heart stopped.

Stiles was beautiful in every sense of the word, and Derek found himself unable to look away. Even when he heard the small dings of incoming messages.

But he couldn’t ignore them for long, because it was Stiles. And when ever Stiles messaged Derek had to answer.

>Fucking hell

>are you for real?

>you gave me a heart attack

>am I being catfished right now?

>when do you think you were going to tell me you’re the most fucking beautiful man to exist ever?

>how the hell to you look like that as 2AM!?

>Derek

>oh my god

>you gotta respond my dude because I’m freaking out a little bit

>still there?

>did my selfie scare you away?

>I would have tried harder for a nice photo if I knew I was talking to an adonis

>Derek?

<still here

>of thank fuck

>so…

<so?

>come on

>your going to give me a complex

>the selfie…was it okay?

>I know it’s not much

>but we can’t all be greek gods

<its beautiful

<you’re beautiful, stiles

>oh

>thanks

Derek is so far gone that he makes the picture of Stiles the home screen on his phone.

9:49 AM Bad Poet

<Laura wants me to meet her boyfriend

<this is all your fault

>how is this my fault?

<because she never wanted to introduce us before

<and then you got me to talk to my sister

<and now she wants me to meet him

>…and this is a bad thing?

<yes

>because?

<I don’t make good first impressions

<it’s going to be awkward

>yeah probably

<you’re not helpful

>I wasn’t trying to be ;)

>have fun, Derek!

Meeting Laura’s boyfriend wasn’t as awkward as Derek thought it was going to be. But it was strange.

Derek hadn’t been expecting to meet someone so soft and kind. He was nothing like any one that Laura had dated before.

But he also wasn’t used to seeing Laura smile as much as she did around him.

Maybe not all change was bad.

Derek tells Laura about Stiles by accident. Or more accurately he mentions Stiles once by accident (not even by name) and Laura had badgered him until he admitted that he had made a friend through a wrong number.

“There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“I know.”

God did Derek ever know.

But Stiles is different.

“Just…be careful.”

“I am being. I promise.”

Laura reluctantly lets it go after that. “So…what’s he like?”

“He’s…he’s like bad poetry.”

“Oh god. You’re in love with him aren’t you?”

Derek can’t bring himself to deny it, but he does tell Laura to shut up.

Derek fully embraces being in love with Stiles on the day he tells Stiles about his drawings. He’d never told anyone about them before - not even Laura. But telling Stiles had been easy.

‘It reminds me of line art’ Stiles had said when Derek had sent him a photo of the doodle he had been working on. “I love it’.

A warmth flutters through Derek’s veins.

It all goes sideways on the day Laura goes on Derek’s phone to check the time.

She’d raised one eyebrow at him looking amused.

“I thought you didn’t listen to music?” She said, a teasing note to her voice.

“I don’t.” Derek shrugged.

“A huh. So why do you have a picture of Stiles Stilinski as your wallpaper?” She asks.

It’s so startling to hear Stiles name coming out of Laura’s mouth that Derek’s brain refuses to function properly. “How do you know Stiles?” He asks weakly.

Laura laughs. “He’s not exactly a niche celebrity Der. He was a really famous YouTuber before he started selling albums.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks as his world slowly unravels before him.

No.

She had to be wrong, because Derek couldn’t be in love with a celebrity. Stiles couldn’t be…

“Hey are you okay? You look really sick?”

“He’s famous?” His throat is dry.

“Yes? Are you okay? What’s wrong? You’ve got to speak to me Der. Use your words.”

Derek just shakes his head because he can’t.

“It’s him.” He manages to get out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Laura. It’s him.”

It takes a moment to click but Derek knows when it does because a look of thunderous wrath takes over Laura’s face.

“I’ll kill him.” She seethes, shaking with anger. “What kind of fucking punk thinks that this is a good prank to play?”

“What?”

“No one is getting away with catfishing you, Der. I’m going to hunt this fucker down, and then I’ll rip him so many new ones that he going to look like SpongeBob when I’m done with him.”

And god, Derek hadn’t even considered the thought that Stiles might not even be Stiles. The thought of Stiles being a liar…

The gape in his heart grows a little bit bigger.

And it all falls apart.

It takes hours before Derek can convince himself to confront Stiles.

11:08 PM Bad Poet

<you’re stiles stilinki

>fuck

(And yeah, it was really him).

>how did you find out?

<Laura

>I was going to tell you

<Were you?

>Yes

>I’ve wanted to for ages

>It just never felt like the right time to bring it up

<I wish you had decided on the right time was sooner

>Me too

>I’m sorry

>Please don’t hate me

Derek did not think it was possible for him to hate any part of Stiles.

<I don’t

>Thank fuck

>seriously

>can I call you?

<sure

Derek closed his eyes after sending the text and waited for Stiles to ring. A heartbeat later his ringtone sounded off.

“Hey.”

“You believe me right?” And Stiles sounds more frantic than Derek had ever heard him before.

“I believe you, Stiles.”

“Are you sure, because I can prove it if you want? I can do a video call? Or I can tweet literally anythi-”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Stiles lets out a small whine, that reaches through the phone line and yanks at Derek’s already tattered heart, unraveling him just a little more.

“Meet me.” Stiles said, taking Derek by surprise.

“What?”

“Please. I meant to throw a please in there, I’m just really fucking nervous right now. Meet me please. In real life. I uh- I was going to ask when I finally told you about the whole being a celebrity thing. It’s still weird to say that out loud. That’s part of why it was so hard to tell you. But the point was you beat me to the punch with the whole reveal thing, but I still wanted to ask.”

“Stiles…”

“And it’s not that I was trying to use my influence or fame to pressure you into meeting me. I just wanted to be in a space where we were one hundred per cent honest with one another before I asked you. You can still say no. Of course you can, I don’t know why I’m- my point is I hope you don’t say no.”

Derek feels his heart break in two.

“Stiles…I can’t.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t fully realised just how many worlds apart the two of them were when he had fallen in love with Stiles. It felt even more impossible than it had before.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave him feeling hollow.

“No. Don’t apologise. This is just me getting carried away. It’s okay.”

I love you. The words never leave Derek. They can’t leave him.

There was no way this could work, and he was far too scared of breaking the tentative connection they had with his useless words.

It was better for him to just… fall out of love.

6:17AM Laura

<it’s really him

>are you sure

<I’m sure

>what are you going to do?

<nothing

>Derek you’re in love with him

<I’m aware

<it doesn’t matter

<it wouldn’t ever work

>I’m sorry

<don’t be

<I’m going to be fine

>Im coming over with wine

That night Derek fills pages and pages of his notebook with drawings of Stiles.

When he gets a message from Stiles at 11PM- for the first time since they started messaging- Derek leaves it unopened.

He never ignores a message again after that, and life moves on. Stiles still messages him all the time, but he never asks to call anymore.

Derek misses his voice so much that he goes onto youtube and listens to his music.

He buys all three albums Stiles released and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

He fills an entire notebook with doodles of Stiles.

It’s still not enough.

1:11 PM Bad Poet

>I wrote you a song

>I know you don’t listen to music

>but it felt weird to not a least send you a link

>bad poetry at 2:00am

The link leads Derek to a youtube video of Stiles holding a ukulele and staring with a soft smile at the camera.

“Hey guys. It’s been a while, huh? But I guess I finally found inspiration. So here we go.”

The song is beautiful, but even more beautiful than that was Stiles.

When the song reached the end Derek doesn’t hesitate to hit replay.

He listens to the song ten times before he realises he’s crying - and he knows that he’s never going to ‘get over’ Stiles because he doesn’t want to.

3:00 PM Laura

>have you seen the video?

<he sent me a link

<he wrote a song for me Laura

<I love him so fucking much and he wrote a song for me

>fuck

<what do I do?

>what do you want to do?

<I don’t know

>I think you should look at his twitter

>I wasn’t going to say anything because you said you wanted to get over him

>but I think you need to see it

>@stilesstilinki

@stilesstilinski

I want to hug him

@stilesstilinski

Get you a guy that will stay up with you until 4AM talking about literally anything

@stilesstilinski

Why do I alway fall for people so far out of my league? rip me I guess.

@stilesstilinski

He makes me want to write poetry

Derek spends hours scrolling through Stiles’ twitter.

He scrolls far enough back that he gets to the part of his timeline where his twitter is littered with pictures of Lydia, which causes the ache in Derek’s chest to grow. But he can’t stop looking because Stiles looks so happy.

And Derek falls impossibly more in love.

He lets himself acknowledge for the first time that Stiles might love him back.

And everything else?

It’s worth it.

Because Stiles is worth everything to Derek.

2:00 AM Bad Poet

<so I looked at your twitter

>fuck.

>how much did you see?

<all of it

>tight

>please excuse me while I go die now

>bye

<don’t leave yet

<I had something I wanted to ask you

>did you want me to delete the tweets?

>I can do that

>I’ll just delete the whole account

>I am my own worst enemy so this won’t be a problem

>actually Jackson Whittemore is my worst enemy

>but I’m a close second

<stiles?

>yup?

<Will you go on a date with me?

>alkdjf

>yes?

>Ofc yes?

>are you being serious?

>because this would be a cruel prank if you’re not serious

<I’m serious

>yes.

>yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.

>holy shit

>theres no fucking universe where I say ‘no’ to that question from you

>im so fucking in love with you

>is it too soon to say that?

>I don’t even care

>I’m speaking my truth

>you obviously don’t have to say it back

>im going to woo you so hard Derek

>you’ll have to love me back eventually

>I’m going to write you poetry

>hell I’ll even read poetry for you

>ill give the whole fucking moon to you

<why would I want the moon?

<im not gru?

>despicable me

>that was a despicable me reference.

>you don’t listen to music, but you watch despicable me?

>you’re such an enigma to me Derek

>god I love you so much

<stiles?

>too much?

<no

<I don’t think I could ever have too much of you

<I love you too stiles

<so much

<I just don’t want you to get your hopes up

<I might not be able to live up to it in real life

>impossible

<seriously stiles

>I am being serious

>I’m already in love with you Der

>you don’t have to do anything more than you’ve already done

>you could wear a potato sack, and spend the whole night not saying anything at all

>and I would still be in love with you

>all you have to do now is show up

<…I can do that

>perfect

TWO YEARS LATER

@stilesstilinski

Hey @JacksonWhittemore, remember when you told me I would die alone? Well I just got engaged to the love of my life. So checkmate fucker.

#sterek #eternal sterek #what am i even doing?#i just spent the last two days writing this and banging my head against the wall and nothing else #should i write this into a full fic one day?#i probably wont #hope you guys enjoy #sterek drabble #5k words of them being idiots #i cut so much out how is this still 5k?#stiles stilinki #derek hale #laura is the only other character that makes an appearance #im supposed to be sleeping #but here we are ig #texting #wrong number #celebrity stiles

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diamondcamefromhell · 4 years

Text

Pit Stop

fem!reader x jaskier [friend thing, not romance]

A/N: HIIIIII so i drank a bit today and this creation came to be, tried to edit all the mistakes, but there may still be some. i just wrote it from my heart, not really focusing on it being great to read, allowing it flow through me so it may be an aboslute mess and i might delete it when i wake up, but enjoy it while its here [even if it may stay forver]

Warnings: none!

Summary: [written in third person again] Y/N is a orphan who grew up in Kaer Morhen, and her basically-big-brother Geralt comes to visit with Jaskier and the two of them have a heart to heart

Word count: 2.592

as always, any feedback is appreciated, but on this one, pls keep in mind that i didnt write it entirely sober and its late and im sad lmao, but criticism is good and needed for every writer, so feel free to leave it even on this [or anonymously on my ask page]

all the love <3

She lifted her sword just in time to block Geralt, parrying back with her other hand, hitting him with her other blade. The witcher grunted, pushing her with his swords, making her stumble back, a smile still on her face. She turned the weapons in her hands, both in a attack position now, as Geralt also smiled, gripping his sword tighter.

Y/N was able to duel-wield as well as you could possibly do it, it never occurred to her that she could fight with only one sword. In her mind, it truly seemed like a waste of opportunities, and she didn’t plan on contributing to it. While still young, she could stand her ground against Geralt, which was impressive on itself.

And Jaskier knew it. In his head, his friend witcher was the strongest-baddest-unbeatable Geralt, but now, in Kaer Morhen, his buddy was struggling holding back against this girls attacks.

“Well done.” Witcher spoke, lowering his sword. He hated to admit it, but he was running out of breath, and Y/N seemed to radiate endless energy. The girl laughed, straightening up.

“Thanks, Gee.” Geralt grunted at the nickname, smile still painting across his face.

The girl took a deep breath, looking up at the mountains that surrounded her home. She was an orphan, left in the woods. One of the witchers found her, and tried to get someone to take the baby in, but times were tough and Y/N was just an extra mouth to feed. She was taken here, to Kaer Morhen, at first it was planned to be short-term.

But she grew up with the boys, eventually picking her name herself. She never underwent the procedure to fully become a witcher, but she was a better fighter than some. She earned her nickname, the great Shewolf, who was as vicious and as strong as one. Someone who would die for her family.

Jaskier has heard about her from Geralt and some other witchers they’ve met on the road, but the bard knew the girl rarely left her home. Being abandoned by her parents, she took all the boys under her wing, providing some love and care to them during their strict training regimen.

Now, as wind played with her hair, Jaskier had to stop himself from breaking into a song. She was beautiful, in this mountain view, she truly looked like a she-wolf – majestic, wild and free. The girl felt the stare, glancing at the bard, offering him a smile.

“Jaskier and I,” Geralt spoke, getting her attention back on himself, “got you a gift.”

“Did you?” Her eyebrows rose as she glanced between the men.

“Something very special.” Witcher said. He never would admit it, but Y/N has grown to be like a little sister to him – he wanted to give her the world.

But all he could offer now, was two new swords. Light weight enough to make her duel-wielding possible and even faster than it was now. It was long, and sharp. The special thing about it was that one side of the blade was silver, the other steel. It was also enchanted with runes, so it would catch enemies on fire, at random.

They were beautiful, black handles and with a tree design on the blade itself. But for Y/N, that didn’t matter. It was the gesture itself; she knew how expensive weapons are. And not even that, finding a good blacksmith was nearly impossible these days. The trouble they must’ve gone through almost brought a tear to her eye.

She dropped her old swords, taking the new ones. They felt perfect in her hands.

“I am at a loss for words.” Geralt smirked.

“A thank you will do.” She fixed her gaze on the witcher, trying to swallow down the tears.

“Thank you. Truly.” She turned her eyes to the bard, who rose to his feet, coming closer to Y/N. “Jaskier, thank you too.”

“I didn’t do that much.” He muttered.

“You have never been to Kaer Morhen, have you?” Jaskier shook his head, and an idea came to the womans head. “Let me show you around. As a thank you. If not for a sword, then for keeping my big old Gee company.”

“Don’t you want to test your new swords?” Geralt asked before Jaskier could agree to the offer. Y/N shoulders dropped as she gazed into the horizon.

“We’ll have time for it tomorrow.” She finally decided, glancing at the witcher. “You seem tired. Are you getting old, Geralt?”

“Tired of you, little one.” He smirked, putting his sword in his scabbard. “But okay. I need to catch up with Master-“

“With Vesemir about Cirilla, yeah.” Y/N interrupted, remembering that they weren’t here to visit her – not exactly. Of course, it added to the trip, but their main goal was to talk to Vesemir about Cirilla and how she’s okay. Nothing in particular that Y/N found interesting, but she knew how important it was to Geralt. “Go and surprise that old bastard. He will be happy to hear the news.”

Bard watched his friend grin and turn around, going into the massive castle. The pair stood there in silence at first, and Jaskier began to worry that his lady friend would feel uncomfortable with just the two of them; but she was gazing at the sky. The mountains loomed over them, guarding this place, keeping it safe. It provided an impressive view, too.

“It’s beautiful.” Bard broke the silence, as the girl smiled.

“There is something so peaceful about this view.” A sad shadow loomed over her face. “But once all of the witcher disappear… this place will be abandoned. Hidden in these hills, deep in the woods.”

“But the Witchers won’t disappear.” Jaskier argued, although he knew that the population of withcers was dropping, as no new boys have been trained in years. He didn’t know why, and he was too afraid to ask. Bard was smarted than that, and knew not to open old wounds.

“Everything disappears, Jaskier.” Y/N glanced at her old swords on the ground, as they reflected the light. “But I am glad you find this place beautiful.”

“Precisely.” He muttered, as his head was working overtime trying to come up with something to comfort the girls troubled heart.

“Maybe you’ll write poems about it. That way, we will live on forever.” Girl spoke, turning around, waving the bard to follow her.

Which he did, with no hesitation. The sun was shining on them, but the weather wasn’t really that warm. Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself, watching Y/N in front, with her armour, that seemed to be too light to protect from the hold breeze that was picking up. But the girl didn’t mind, stepping to the training grounds.

They were now surrounded by dummies, most of which haven’t been touched in months. Her heart felt heavy, but she hoped one day soon new boys would come and train here. She would pray, but she didn’t believe in any gods.

“Training grounds, not used in… awhile.” She cleared her throat, sheathing her swords behind her back. She crossed her arms over, looking back at the bard, who was examining the dummies.

“These look new.” He pointed out and Y/N laughed.

“They got destroyed all the time. We would make new ones pretty much everyday, so they are new, yet to be destroyed.” She explained something in her heart lifting. It was as if there was new boy to train; even if the man in front of her was too old for this.

Though older, his eyes reminder her of that of a kid. So much joy shined in them, she almost allowed herself be fooled that he had lived an easy life. Traveling with a witcher was nothing easy at all, especially Geralt. While Y/N got to know his more affectionate side, sometimes he would hurt even her. he never meant to, but his comments would be daggers at heart.

And this man, was a bard, she also remembered, her eyes grazing the lute hanging by his side. Not a fighter, not trained. He could probably barely hold a weapon or protect himself, and with the contracts and helping citizens, she was sure this man has seen more than he lets on.

Maybe more than her.

But there were no shadows in his blue eyes, as he brushed his hair back, smiling at the girl, who was in deep thought, staring right at him. Her eyes pierced Jaskier, as he wondered what was going on in her head.

“A coin for your thoughts?” Jaskier decided to try and pry, figure out what world she was lost in.

“You have travelled with Gee for awhile now, but you don’t seem to be troubled by it.” Bard shrugs, his shoulders relaxing; he didn’t even realize that he has gotten nervous.

“He protects me.” Her gaze drifts ahead, as she sits down by the dummy. A shadow of sadness looms over her again, and Jaskier sits down too, their legs now touching.

“I wish someone would protect me.” Jaskier furrows his brows, staring at his hands.

“But you can protect yourself.” He speaks, as Y/N sighs. That was not what she meant, but the bard carried on. “You literally can hold you ground against Geralt. The Geralt.”

“That’s not the point, Jaskier.” She rests her head on the dummy behind her, staring at the mountains. Sometimes she feels like they are about to fall on her, swallowing her whole. “I still want to be protected. Someone to take care of me, too.”

“What about Vesemir?” She knows he is genuinely trying to help, but the mountains still double up in size as she feels small. She would feel like this when she was a child, isolated and alone. A sigh escapes her lips again, resting between them like a ravine.

“I meant more of a friend.” She finally clarified, after the silence began to grow uncomfortable. Jaskier stared at the ground between them, as if that ravine was actually there.

“I can be your friend.” She nodded. She already felt like they were friends.

“You and Geralt both are my friends. But…” Jaskier watched as her face changed, becoming more and more puzzled. He wanted to help her find the right words, express what she means exactly. Maybe that would lessen the pain in her eyes.

“I get it, I think.” He decided to try and put some clarity into her clear thought volcano. “We, and I bet some other friends, we come and go. But most of the time, you’re alone. And I bet you feel trapped, surrounded by these mountains and woods. No escape, as even the horizon isn’t clear.”

“Exactly!” She shouted, involuntary. “Everyone tells me I’m a shewolf, I can protect myself and thrive alone, and that’s correct. But I still want to have a pack.”

“Why don’t you join us then?” Jaskier offers and the girl closes her eyes. She wants to go, but what if someone comes here, some small boy, scared and alone. Ripped from their mothers crying hands. She has to be there for them, if it were to happen.

“I’m needed her.” Jaskier sighs, a sour taste growing in his mouth. He didn’t like the thoughts that filled his head, the words that were urging to escape.

“Ghosts don’t need to be cared for, Y/N.” His tone was soft, as if he was talking to a child. He even dared to reach out and place his hand on hers, which she didn’t shake off. “If anything, they need to be let go off. Laid to rest.”

“But if someone new comes-“ Jaskier squeezed her hand, making the girl stop mid-sentence. Their eyes met.

“If someone comes, Vesemir will find us. You can’t find a pack if you stay in this cage.” His words made sense, and she knew it.

But she didn’t want to listen. Her eyes gazed away from the boy, back to the mountains, who began casting shadows on the pair. Wolves howled in the woods and the breeze picked up again. She didn’t feel cold, but Jaskier shivered a little.

“I should show you inside.” She tried to avert the conversation, but the bard wasn’t having it. She rose to her feet, but he remained on the ground.

“The view from the top of the mountains must be amazing.” He said, gazing there. He did wonder if you could even reach it; these trained professionals probably could, but he, a simple bard, would probably slip and fall to his death. He shivered at the thought of that.

“You see endless fields and forests. But it is nice.” Y/N agreed, crossing her arms.

“So you see the opportunities the world has to offer.” He eventually decided, standing up. “Then this isn’t a trap – is a pit stop, before you go to see all that the sun touches.”

“Sure, poet.” She grinned, but his words settled in her heart. “Let’s get inside.”

So the tour continued, as they drifted from painful topics to more easy ones. Jasier showcased some songs, which she thoroughly enjoyed, and Y/N shared some fun stories from a better time.

But evening came, and something went wrong. Geralt ushered them to leave. The sun had set, and the only light was a few torches surrounding the group. Withcer didn’t seem worried, just in a hurry. Jaskier had his lute over his shoulder, saddened to be leaving so soon.

Y/N was painfully looking at her friends, wondering when she will see them again.

“We will visit soon. Ciri just needs me, I know it.” Geralt grunted, petting Roach. He was eager to get on the road.

“It’s okay. I’m glad I got to see you again, Gee.” Y/N forced a smile, but it didn’t fool the boys. They exchanged worried looks.

After hugs exchanged, she watched them leave – Geralt on Roach, Jaskier on a horse he borrowed from Vesemir. Y/N looked up once more, mountains blocking her view, but the bards words crept in, waking something inside her.

She whistled her horse, urging it to a gallop to catch up with her friend. Surprise painted their faces when they saw her, and both men stopped in their tracks.

“You said you’d visit soon.” She explained, slowing her horse to a canter, going ahead of them. “I can leave Kaer Morhen for a little bit. And these gifted swords need testing too.”

“You’re coming with us?” Jaskier couldn’t hide the joy in his voice, but he didn’t care. In the dark he and Geralt could barely tell that the girl rolled her eyes.

“Let’s go, boys!” She rushed to a gallop again.

They caught up to her in a heartbeat. They raced through the mountains, until they reached one of the peaks.

The fields in front of them offered endless possibilities. In this moonlight, shewolf took a deep breathe, and she knew, that for the first time in ages, she was breathing freedom. One last glance at her home, the castle glistening in the light grey light of the night was inviting.

But she knew she would always find a home here.

She could always come and rest, until she was ready to venture again. Now, she needed to go and find her pack.

y/N didn’t know, that Jaskier and Geralt both thought they just added a new member to their pack. They accepted her, racing in the night, to the rest of their pack, towards Ciri and Yen. Rushing into the unknown, leaving the pit stop behind.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier fluff #witcher imagine #jaskier imagine #drunk writing #not good but good #im also supeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer sad so hey #enjoy this #i needed someone to tell me what jask tells Y/N so ya kno #theres that #bye

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artsybanchou · 4 years

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I’m a big fan of 80s/90s anime and Ranma 1/2 played a big role in my childhood. The premise has sooooo much food for thought when it comes to looking at gender and specifically the performance of gender. I’m about to get INTO it, so, here’s your warning-- read more is a ramble. (LONG ramble)

Oh ho ho ho! WELCOME TO MY HELL!

Aight, so let me set the stage for you-->

Two people, who should not be parents, have a kid. The father, Genma, a fairly successful martial artist, takes their just-born son on a training journey without consulting the mother. By training journey, I mean that they travel all over the world with little to no money, either stealing from or scamming people in order to make sure they can eat, under the guise of training the son, Ranma, to become the greatest martial artist of the “Anything Goes” school of martial arts. One of the most frequent scams the father pulls is promising his son’s hand in marriage to various families in exchange for a dowry before running off with both his son and the dowry, never to be seen again. This-- inevitably-- comes back to bite them in the ass. But more on that later.

We don’t get to see a lot of Ranma’s childhood on the training journey, just the occasional incredibly horrific flashback to something that would become a national incident were it to happen in the real world. For example, at one point in time, his father finds a Chinese pamphlet of an ~ancient lost Chinese art~ that is INCREDIBLY POWERFUL!!!!! wow! It’s called Neko-ken. So he decides to teach his six-year-old this technique, although he can’t actually read Chinese so he does it based off the diagrams-- which detail a process of collecting a good number of cats, starving them for a few days straight, and then tossing his son, covered in fish sausages (possibly tied up, can’t remember), into the pit to fend for himself (and not be eaten alive) for hours on end. Surprise, surprise, Ranma comes out incredibly traumatized and with an intense fear of cats (something his father would’ve seen coming if he was able to read Chinese as the pamphlet says that someone would have to be crazy to try to teach someone this technique and that it causes severe psychological damage-- also could’ve been avoided if his father had any common sense or fatherly instincts, but hey that’s just asking too much of Genma). This is not the result his father wanted, so he tries to “fix” it by doing the exact same thing multiple times, just with different cat foods wrapped around his son because... I genuinely don’t know what his thought process was but yeah. So that’s just a tiny snapshot of what his childhood was like as well as how much of a massive idiot his father was. And since Ranma never interacted with his mother, guess who had the greatest influence in his development (yay........). (save him) (also this is based off my memory from watching the anime YEARS ago, so some small details might be wrong but the big, overarching “his dad is a terrible person” thing is still very much true even if some of these smaller details aren’t)

When Ranma is a teenager, his father brings him to a Chinese training ground full of cursed springs. The tour guide repeatedly tries to explain what exactly this place they’re visiting is, but the father and son pair are two hard-headed idiots and get right to sparring. Ranma knocks his father into a spring pretty quick only to be caught off guard when his father reemerges from said spring as a panda and grand slams our protagonist into another one of the cursed springs. Our manly man martial artist protagonist emerges from this spring as a dainty, busty teenage girl. /The horror./ The panic from both Ranma and his father’s deeply shaken fragile masculinities gives the tour guide enough time to reveal that they had fallen into the cursed springs of the drowned panda and the drowned girl (one guess who fell into which one) and that anyone who falls into a cursed spring will take on the form of the life form that drowned in it. They can return to their original bodies by being splashed with hot water but, from now on, every time they’re hit with cold (or even apparently lukewarm) water, they’ll change into these new cursed forms.

Now, I’m sure you all saw this coming from the type of man that Ranma’s father is based on everything I’ve said so far, but Genma is the worst(TM). So Genma is all, “no SON of MINE can be a GIRL! >:((((((” and Ranma, who has been raised for his entire conscious life by this man, and only this man, is also very much not Okay(TM) with this because he’s a man, a manly fighting man who was raised to be the manliest of fighting men who fight. He can’t be a GIRL.

Except he totally can. Because these two start taking advantage of Ranma’s feminine body pretty much immediately in order to continue running scams so that they can eat and whatnot while traveling. Of course, Genma constantly shames Ranma by saying things like, “I can’t believe my son is such a failure of a martial artist, being a girl! I’m so ashamed!” and whatnot at every opportunity but especially when they are in an argument and Ranma is winning or if he needs Ranma to do something for him. He frequently manipulates his son by using this kind of guilt-tripping language as though it’s Ranma’s fault that his body is like this. Nevermind that they both frequently profit off of Ranma’s female body for scams, Genma still puts Ranma down for having it and Ranma internalizes that because he’s 15 and his father is the only person he’s ever known.

And I’m sure we all hate Genma now, as we should, because fuck Genma. What kind of woman would ever marry Genma? (And we assume a woman is married to Genma because how could a man this bigoted do anything other than marry a woman all traditional and whatnot). If only Ranma wasn’t taken from his mother so young. Maybe he would’ve turned out a better person~ Well, uh, bad news, lads :/ So, by the time we meet Ranma’s mom in the series, we’ve known most of these characters for a chunk of time. It’s already quite well established how terrible of a human being Genma is. Ranma may or may not have started the episode out admitting he doesn’t know much about his mom after being asked about her. A standard set-up. I don’t quite remember all the details of the episode, only the important things-- here’s the important thing: Genma’s wife, Nodoka, made Genma swear something to her before he took their toddler on a training journey all around the world. He had to raise Ranma to become “a Man among Men” (and we’ll talk about how she defines manliness) and, if he failed, then both he and Ranma must commit seppuku.

Yeah, that's right.

If her son isn’t enough of a man by her standards then he has to commit ritual suicide.

Her son who now transforms into a girl every time he is touched with at least a ladle’s worth water that isn’t steaming.

(hey have i mentioned save Ranma yet? save him seriously)

Her definition of manliness? All the shit the misandrists of tumblr swear is the inherent evils to all men. She thinks her son needs to be unapologetically forceful in /all/ he does. Especially in his romantic forays :///// (yeah this is going where you think it is)

When she does decide he isn’t manly enough (because Ranma was being sexually harassed by an old man who forcibly put him in a sailor outfit, no im not kidding, happosai, said old man, is a whole other element of the show that like holy shit) and tries to get him to commit seppuku, the solution the cast comes up with is to have Ranma “peek” at (his friend? girlfriend? fiance? frenemy? roommate? it’s weird-- technically they’re the two romantic leads but their chemistry is like -5 because she constantly physically hits him for things that really aren’t his fault and just ://) Akane while she is bathing and that will prove his manliness to his mother so that he doesn’t have to literally die. Will having Ranma be a fucking voyeur prove his manliness to his mother, you ask? Yep. This is Manly(TM) and so Ranma gets to live another day. Yay. Once again, molestation saves the day. (aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa) All of this is played off as a joke, for the record. No character is really acknowledged as being “a bad person” for any of this behavior-- not molester Happosai, not trying-to-kill-her-own-child Nodoka, etc.

So these are the people who made Ranma. Who shaped this kid with the ability to spontaneously switch between male and female bodies (presuming he has water on hand). Also, obviously, Genma had more influence seeing as Ranma never saw his mother between the ages of two and (I think) 16(?), but. regardless, these are the people who shaped his understanding of gender. For all intents and purposes, our lad should be such a pressure cooker of toxic and fragile masculinity that he just about commits seppuku himself every time he ends up in his female body.

But he doesn’t. In fact, Ranma is largely comfortable in his female body as long as his father isn’t trying to hold said body against him (wait did that come out wrong?). Ranma has no hesitations taking on his female form for something as little as a discount on ice cream. He makes the statement, “when it comes to eating out, being a girl is the only way to go”-- because he’s able to get an extra scoop for being “cute”

There’s a scene very early on in the series about exactly that which has always stuck with me. It opens with Ranma in his female body at a cafe with Akane and they both order fancy ice cream parfaits. Ranma is extremely excited and exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to try one of these!”

Akane replies with, “don’t tell me you’ve never had ice cream before.”

And Ranma proceeds to explain that he’s never had ice cream like /this/ because it would be too embarrassing for a guy. When Akane asks if he isn’t embarrassed now, happily shoving huge spoonfuls of ice cream into his mouth, he responds with, “hey, I’m a girl now. It don’t count.” Akanes shoots back with a “REAL girls don’t eat like that” (because our lad is eating with such gusto-- he’s living, he’s thriving, he is demolishing that parfait and there is ice cream all over his face)

He goes, “I’ll eat it however I want.” And then finishes the whole thing off and proclaims that he wants to order the chocolate one next.

Moments like that were the ones where I loved the show the most. We can see Ranma’s insecurities about his masculinity (thank you /soo/ much for that genma) in that he isn’t willing to perform an ‘unmanly’ action in public in his male body. He can’t be *seen* eating girly ice cream. But when he is admonished for not living up to feminine standards in his female body (eat more daintily), he just goes, ‘i’ll do what i want’. Young me really resonated with that, being born with a female assigned at birth body and growing up in Texas.

It feels like there’s a trans narrative buried in the steaming hot mess that is this work by Takahashi Rumiko-- and it is abundantly clear that was never her intention so I wouldn’t exactly recommend trying to give her an award or anything. She said that she wanted to write a work with a male main character but was so worried about how many male readers she had, she made the decision to make (as she described) a half-male half-female main character (essentially so she could have her cake and eat it too if you will-- all the self aggrandizing fantasies of a male protagonist her male readers could imagine themselves as along with a copious amount of fan service-- the great majority of which was at Ranma’s unwilling expense in his female body which like ://////// (remember that old man I mentioned before??)-- with the female protagonist body). And, like, I’m not saying Takahashi Rumiko is a terrible person or anything-- I don’t know what her beliefs are, I only know her works which are quite old at this point. Takahashi Rumiko is a big deal in the mangaka world because she was one of the first big shonen mangakas who was openly a woman. Normally, men wrote shounen (which literally translates to boys) manga and women wrote shoujo (which literally translates to girls) manga-- the genres were literally divided along gender lines in terms of their intended audiences but also, to a certain extent, their creators. If a woman wanted to write/draw shounen, usually she had to use a pen name that sounded fairly masculine in order to not impact the perception of her work. Takahashi Rumiko was working in that environment so I would understand why she’d want to be careful but, at the same time, I still kind of hate a lot of the things that she normalizes in her works. Especially assault. Both physical and sexual assault she constantly used as a punchline. Not as much anymore. Her most recent work I’ve read was Rinne and the punchline with that one was that the male lead is super poor, literally penniless, and is constantly starving so hahahahha humor amirite? Pain being funny seems to be her through line now that assault is off the table. At least he isn’t constantly getting whole ass tables thrown at him by his love interest as though that’s supposed to be a cute relationship dynamic (Akaneeeeeeeee). I digress. Takahashi Rumiko’s works played a big fucking role in my childhood from Ranma to Inuyasha to Lum (which I encountered well into my teens and therefore didn’t jive with at all because I’d finally learned sexual assault =/= funny and this was one of her more dated works) and so on and just-- I don’t know if I can watch her older stuff the same way I used to. I’m scared to try, honestly. Because some of the ideas behind her works are so interesting-- like Ranma 1/2-- but then you have to sit through episode after episode of a teenage boy in a girl’s body being sexually assaulted by a remorseless old man only to try to fight back at which point he is physically assaulted but also he still has to grovel to and respect said old man because he’s his father’s master and therefore he has to learn martial arts from him but the old man is constantly wagering Ranma having to pose for him in incredibly skimpy outfits if Ranma wants to learn literally anything and alsso RANMA IS FUCKING FIFTEEN/SIXTEEN JESUS CHRIST IS THERE NO FUNCTIONING ADULT ANYWHERE IN THE VVICINITY SAVE HIM!

I NEED TO DIGRESS

It feels like there’s an unintentional trans narrative buried in this anime. It’s not a fun one (but most trans narratives aren’t either so). This is a boy who knows he’s a boy-- even when his body disagrees. He frequently asserts that “he’s a boy” even when in his female body because he is. He’s a boy. He’ll reference being a girl “in appearance” like with the ice cream parfait scene earlier, but when it comes to identity statements, he’s always a boy. This narrative is about him navigating gender presentation and societal assumptions in order to live however he wants. He’s constantly contending with his own forms of gender dysphoria, whether that be his own gripes about doing anything unmanly (eating ice cream) or the very real threat of his mother fucking killing him if he does anything unmanly (aaaaaaaaaaaa), and he navigates tons of threats by choosing how he presents himself.

There are characters that are in love with the male “version” of Ranma and want to kill the female “version” of Ranma (who, for the record, goes by the name Ranko) and vice versa. The Kuno siblings are a great example. Kodachi is in love with Ranma (and is not above literally fucking using date rape drugs on him to get to him) and wants to fucking kill Ranko whereas Tatewaki Kuno, her brother, is in love with Ranko (the lovely pigtailed girl, he calls her) and has literally sent assassins after Ranma. Ranma essentially has to choose between being sexually assaulted or physically assaulted every time he runs into either of them in terms of what body he is presenting.

I feel like I should let you know, ye who have actually read this far, that Ranma is able to protect himself pretty well from the assault. Like, our boy ain’t dead. Later on he literally fucking kills a god because he’s really passionate about martial arts so he puts all of himself into it and god damnit does his effort show but, honestly, his ability to protect himself shouldn’t mean that it is okay to assault him. Assault is assault. And just because he can fight back doesn’t mean he always does. Akane, his main love interest, regularly sends him through roofs and across town with the force of her Up + B (aka magically appearing hammer), usually for things that aren’t his fault in any way. Akane actually came to the conclusion that Ranma was a pervert when she (fully dressed) walked in on him (naked because he was in the bath) even though the bathroom was obviously occupied. She constantly gets mad at him for things that are beyond his control and then takes her frustrations out on him by literally beating him up and he never fights back-- which is admirable of him but also made me never want to root for their relationship because that isn’t a red flag, my dude, that’s a red planet. the whole of mars is out here trying to warn everyone that this relationship is the most toxic thing since RoundUp.)

Usually, when watching a show, you get really invested in the character’s aspirations. You want them to ‘get the girl’, ‘get the promotion’, ‘become the pokemon master’ and whatnot. All I ever wanted for Ranma was for him to fake his own death and run far, far away from everyone who ever knew him as “Ranma”. He’d have to fake his own death, obviously, because otherwise his father and Happosai would track him down because, for his father, Ranma is a walking meal ticket and, for Happosai, Ranma is a teenage girl he can sexually assault at any time. Those two would chase Ranma to the ends of the earth if they thought he was trying to get away from them so--

Ranma. Help him.

There’s so much more to dissect with this show. It’s kind of accidentally a great way to look at gender presentation, especially all the terrible negatives that come with constrained gender roles. I use He/Him pronouns when talking about Ranma because it is abundantly clear that he sees himself as a man and I respect that. Sometimes nonbinary-me is like, but think what a gender-fluid icon our boy would be-- literally switching perceived genders via fluids-- and I think that version of Ranma would be a lot happier than the canon one but, I think the canon Ranma is an important reflection of what a lot of people go through, cisgender, transgender, and beyond, when trying to parse what it means to present a gender and the roles you’re supposed to play.

Maybe Ranma can go on a journey of self-discovery with his own gender after faking his death and escaping Nermina.

I was all over the place writing this but this isn’t an essay and I’m not being graded so ha fuck you (excpet no not really fuck you because you either a) read this whole thing or b)scrolled down to the bottom to see if i’d get to the fucking point already-- which for the record, I don’t really-- and either way it means you were a little curious what I had to say so thanks I guess). None of this is exceptionally well-thought-out. I wouldn’t exactly stamp this with any kind of official gender discourse seal. It’s all just food for thought.

#my art #ranma 1/2 #dont click read more seriously youll regret it #i just ramble for a really long time about nothing #technically about ranma and gender #save ranma jesus chrsit he doesnt deserve all the bullshit

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missorgana · 4 years

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interrupt me

pairing: finn/poe dameron

fandom: star wars (sequel trilogy)

rating: teen and up

word count: 2502

warning: swearing

summary: Finn wants Poe to be his boyfriend, so badly, it's sort of unbelievable he hasn't asked him already. But he doesn't know how. (high school AU)

(finnpoe week 2020 is here yall!!! so excited for my baby event tbh. annddd here’s my first fic for it, i chose high school au bcus well im cheesy ok. if u want to enter finnpoe week with me you can check out the event blog and my post here!! hope you enjoy this fluffy mess!)

read on ao3

“So?”

When Finn realises this is the only greeting he’s getting from his best friend, he gives her a semi-awkward chuckle, as he always does when he can’t quite figure out what she’s on about.

Very much not the first time.

“So… what?”

And she raises her eyebrows in an offended look.

Offended in the only way Rey can be, because she’s never seriously been mad at him, mind you.

“I can’t believe you.” she simply tells him, opening her locker in the process.

Okay, maybe Finn has an idea of what’s frustrating her. After all, she texted him about it last night. A text he was keen to avoid at that time.

“I got your text, I swear-”

“And you didn’t respond because of the reason I suspect?”

Man, Rey really should be a psychic or something. Kind of freaky how she’s always two steps ahead of him.

Her annoyance did fade slightly when Finn let his defeat show.

“I know, I promised you.” and he tells her while shoving the chemistry book down in his bag, the bell interrupting before he continues, “But, I, uh. It just wasn’t the right time, okay?”

Rey’s shoulders are still tense, she huffs, but ultimately shrugs.

“You also said that after your last three dates, you know.”

He does know. Yes, he knows too well.

Long story short, Finn’s been going out with Poe for nearly three months now. Exactly, pretty Poe, the prettiest person ever in the entire world, probably.

The boy who asked him out after many history lessons of looking at each other in secret, and talks of doing homework together that only resulted in giggling and gushing about Hozier.

Well, Rey thinks it’s about time they became official. Like, officially a couple.

She does this because she loves Finn, and she loves them, and yes, he wants Poe to be his boyfriend, so badly, it’s sort of unbelievable he hasn’t asked him already.

But see, he doesn’t know how.

Or of course, he knows the words, but it’s like, whenever he’s with Poe, his mind implodes and revels in whatever they’re doing, and at the end of the day, he’s none the wiser.

They’re on the way to class, and they’re gonna be late either way, so Finn asks his best friend, “I know. But, you know, what if… I mean, what if he doesn’t want to?”

Rey still looks at him in all her stubbornness, but rubs her shoulder, clearly sensing his worry.

His worry goes deep, because yes, they’ve been going out for three months, but, you know, Poe’s like the star of this school. Star of the student council, if anything.

Finn just can’t help doubting himself. Wondering, Poe’s too good for him, or maybe, Poe hasn’t asked him because what they have, what made him ask out Finn isn’t there for him anymore.

He hopes none of that is the case. But he’s always had a habit of overthinking.

“I love you.” she tells him, a certainty in her voice, tugging on his arm just a bit so they won’t be in real trouble with Ms. Holdo, “And he’s so lost in you. I know it’s scary, but he isn’t asking, and if you don’t ask, nothing’s gonna happen.”

She’s right. So right.

So he links their arms and runs down the hall, figuring it speaks louder than words.

…

Finn finds himself thinking a lot.

This isn’t exactly unusual, but, you know, sometimes he overthinks.

Seriously, he knows he needs to ask Poe already.

But his concerns aren’t crazy, okay?

He’s actually already met Poe’s mom, last month, albeit it wasn’t planned. It was maybe too fast. They’re going fast. Or what?

Rey’s assured him enough times now that three months is a perfectly healthy time to become an item, or whatever you call it.

It’s not like they’re popular. Poe’s got a bit of hype, but he’s not at the top of the food chain.

And you know, reputation isn’t all that matters.

Or he tries to tell himself that, because what if it is to Poe?

Before his best friend made him promise to make the move, as she calls it, she was visibly upset, perhaps more than himself, when the other boy hadn’t asked him first.

Maybe he’s just as nervous as Finn. Like, it’s valid, right?

But also, Poe’s been in a couple of relationships before, and yes, that might not sound like much, but Finn’s never been serious with anyone prior to this.

And he didn’t really think it would bother him until now, where Finn ponders his inexperience, and might be edging towards a mental breakdown in the middle of the history lesson, when said boy on his mind touches his hand under the table.

Yes, Rey was only bitter for a few days when the boys started sitting together, “leaving her behind”, as she called it. But she doesn’t really mind now that Rose transferred, he’s sure.

Finn always thinks Poe wants to borrow a pencil when he touches his hand, or has a question, or something mundane.

But he might be getting used to Poe reaching out just for the sake of the touch, sooner or later.

Only the other boy whispers when Ms. Holdo has her back turned, “You okay?”

Oh, so he can tell. That’s great.

No, really, it’s great, because this boy’s so empathetic, when he’s not fiercely protective, or sarcastically defensive.

Finn wonders if he’s thinking of the same thing.

He actually got started on a question last time, some form of it, anyway, but they were not so generously interrupted by some of Poe’s friends, Jess and Snap, he’s pretty sure. That scared him off. Embarrassing, he knows.

Besides, it was like, ten minutes, and Poe seemed just as embarrassed, and they more or less cheered them on. Lovebirds, they called them.

“Ignore them, please.” the other boy told him, like, a million times. He was so cute blushing like that.

If only Finn hadn’t abruptly chickened out when he tried to get the question, instead distracting Poe with whatever he saw first, which, very fitting, was ice cream.

Man, the other boy eats so much ice cream, he has to admit he’s slightly worried about his health.

He’s got a lot of things to worry about, huh.

“Of course I am.” he whispers back, and fuck, he’s just barely caught when Ms. Holdo turns around, and he’s got this feeling like Poe doesn’t believe him, but the conversation’s over like that.

The boy’s smile is a reassurance. A little bit, at least.

…

Is he avoiding Poe? Or is Poe avoiding him?

Finn doesn’t really know, to be honest.

They haven’t seen each other in, what, four days now, because he’s letting his head get the best of him, and he declined the boy’s offer to accompany him for the football game, instead having another nerve wracking conversation, filled with possible ways his crush could call them off.

Rey probably thinks he’s overdramatic, but she doesn’t say, and spends a good two hours calming him down, because she’s lovely.

It isn’t just a crush anymore, Finn realises.

God, he likes him, so much.

And on their last date, it started raining, like in every cheesy teen movie ever, and when he couldn’t hide that he was freezing, Poe, of course, gave him his jacket.

It’s just too much.

Not long after his phone call with Rey, his roommate returns from the game, and Rose tells him that Poe missed him.

Does that make him feel good or bad?

They text a lot.

Like, late into the night a lot, to a point where his sleep schedule might’ve gone for the worse. He’ll restore it sooner or later.

Anyway, Poe seemed like he had something on his mind yesterday. At least, he was taking a while to answer, and usually, his texts keep flying almost a second after Finn’s replied.

But whatever he felt coming never came. The other boy had to go, that is, and Finn thought, maybe this time, he’ll ask.

Or maybe he was looking for a sensitive way to break up. Shit. He wouldn’t break up with him via text, though, surely? Poe’s respectable. He’s got manners.

Or maybe the world just doesn’t want them to communicate anymore, ever, and will just continue to interrupt them, which is rude and totally unfair.

Even at the library this guy, honestly, he can’t remember the name for his life, but this guy had some issue with a suggestion of Poe’s in the council, which he apparently felt the need to bring up then.

The curly haired boy in front of him gave an, “I’m kind of busy, right now.” three times before the other student, finally, minded his own business.

Maybe Poe thinks Finn doesn’t want him around him anymore after avoiding him. Why does he do this?

He hates conflict. It can die in a pit.

Even though it isn’t a conflict, like his best friend so wisely told him, maybe he’s just a bit stupid, or maybe his worst nightmare is true and Poe doesn’t want anything serious.

His head feels like it might explode.

The girl discarding her shoes shoots him a weird look.

Of course, she can tell he’s nervous, just as much as Rey, or probably anyone else, at this point, but Rose has developed a sense of knowing when Finn needs to be left alone.

So, she brews them both tea and lays down with her headphones on, but not before handing him something cold and metal, which turns out to be a pin.

It’s a tiny yellow sun.

Finn doesn’t have to ask who it’s from, or who he’s hoping it’s from, anyway, because the boy is so utterly cheesy that he’s compared him to sunshine on more than one occasion.

Even more cheesy that Poe got him a gift relating to a stupid nickname. But also, he loves it. Loves it a little too much.

It’s ridiculous.

So he’ll opt to sleep now, tugging Poe’s jacket a bit tighter around him.

…

Poe’s suggested to skip school today, and Rey swears she’ll nag Finn to no end if he doesn’t go along, so here he is.

Of course this boy wants to get ice cream.

And of course he knows a perfect place, as he says, which, surprisingly, is a junkyard filled with old cars, which Finn sees little wrong with.

He’s pretty sure the rich people in this stupid town probably discard these for the newest model. Poe laughs and agrees when he voices his thought.

When they’re side by side on a blue Corvette hood, ice cream and marshmallows long gone, it’s silent, except the other boy’s humming.

Maybe this is the right time. Or the worst time. Wait, he can’t think like that, he should listen to Rey.

Finn might as well get it over with, if the worst case scenario is really gonna happen, right?

And so he decides to open his mouth with his thought along with him, only Poe does the same, and there’s a small cluster of “Hey-”s and “Oh-”s and “Sorry”s.

So maybe the boy has decided to end it on a good note, like a goodbye date.

Could be worse, right?

“I was thinking, uh…” Poe begins, but it doesn’t seem to end, and Finn nods him along, and sits up straighter, maybe it’ll be easier to bite the emotion in him like that.

“Yeah?”

The boy chuckles at himself.

It’s like he doesn’t want to look at him, cause he’s keeping his eyes on his lap, but then, gaze turning towards Finn again and biting his lip.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

And Finn’s ready to deflect, to shrug off the hurt, get up and leave, when, holy shit, what did he just say?

Exactly the thing he wants him to say? Exactly the thing he wants to say? Unbelievable.

He’s got to have a few seconds to process that. Which is probably what makes Poe freak out, because he’s suddenly, almost, taking the words back, “If you think it’s too fast I understand, I-”

“No!” he exclaims. A bit louder than he wanted, alright, good thing this yard’s practically abandoned.

“No, Poe, I really want that. Like, oh my god.”

“Really?”

The nods are eager, and Poe’s smiling so much brighter now. Finn can barely hold himself from copying it.

“But seriously, I thought you’d break up, or I mean, stop our dates or something.”

Now that offended look is familiar, has Poe been spending time with Rey? Could fool him, at least.

He almost gasps, which reminds Finn how truly ridiculous he is, when he’s not keeping up his status in debate.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks, and yes, is the answer, and Finn can’t help feeling bad, so he tries to make it better by touching his hand, the same way the other boy’s got the habit to in class.

“Yeah, I mean, I thought maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Now Poe looks distraught, like Finn told him a puppy died or something, and Finn wants to shrug it off, but the boy meets his lips before he gets the chance.

Okay, he would call this a rude interruption, if he didn’t like this so much. He’ll let it slide, just this once.

“Who put that idea into your head?” Poe says, like he’s already out of breath, it’s adorable, “You’re, like, God. Too good to be true.”

And instead of answering Finn continues this cycle of kissing his boyfriend’s lips and cheek and neck, really, they’re a lot better at this than talking.

It’s so much nicer than talking too, but Poe has to finish his sentence, he assumes, “I would’ve asked sooner, you know. But I feel like everyone keeps interrupting us lately.”

It’s like their minds are one, Finn’s sure Rey’s gonna roll her eyes at them after this.

He almost can’t speak when they’re both laughing, and Poe’s touching his face, now, that’s what’ll take up his mind, “Me too.”

Honestly, Finn would let the boy say more, if he wasn’t his boyfriend now, right, so when Poe is starting on a rant of those exact problems, there’s really no other choice than direct him away from the negativity and back to kissing him again, because he loves his voice, but that’s just about enough talking now, he thinks.

“Boyfriend?” and of course, Poe laughs again at that, tipping his head back, but quick to turn his gaze back, because every quirk just makes him even more pretty.

“Yes?”

And he replies, “Can I interrupt you, though?”, not even waiting for an answer before he’s pulling him in for the millionth kiss, it seems, cupping his neck and tugging on his hair.

It’s impossible that Poe can smile even wider, surely, but he does.

“I guess I’ll allow it.”

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mousehole5000 · 4 years

Text

tgcf lb the fourth chapter 23 - 33

“hmmm looks like theres people in the fertilizer. i shan’t say a word” ok king of minding your business i guess

oh looks like it has a long tongue. oh i dont care for that at all

The build of their bodies were similar, and atop their shoulders, all of them carried cudgels that were densely covered in sharp wolf teeth. It created an illusion that a pack of wolves had transformed into people. attack of the furries? okay.

It was easy to comprehend after thinking about it. This person had been buried in the desert sand for fifty to sixty years. The flesh of his body had long been transformed into nutrients for those Kindred Moon Herbs. He had been entirely consumed until the only thing remaining was a mere skeleton. when this book isnt being very funny its being very grim!!! yikes!! also this was an episode of hannibal

Ke Mo definitely had never heard someone ask to go first in this place. His eyes widened and looked like bells as he asked in astonishment, “You want to go first? For what reason??” Xie Lian naturally couldn’t reply and say it was because he wasn’t scared. Thus, he chose an answer that conformed with the norms of society. “General, these are merely innocent merchants just passing through. They even have a child amongst them.” - love watching the immortals trying to act like humans. would have been funny if xie lian had just hit em with “well i cant die so its chill”

That young man had crossed his arms. With an indifferent gaze, he thoughtfully sized up the deep Sinners’ Pit.　　 A bad premonition sprung up unbidden in Xie Lian’s heart. “San Lang?”　　 When he heard Xie Lian call him, San Lang turned his head. He smiled faintly and said, “Everything’s fine.” - edgy bastard lets go

What Ke Mo had been cursing was, “It’s this slut again!” - me when a corpse gets up and knocks all my soldiers into the sinner’s pit what a relatable reaction

oh now im switching translations here we go

does hua cheng just straight up transform in the darkness? edgy bastard. also hualian having their little discussion while ke mo keeps trying to attack im still amused by these kinds of shenanigans

banyue guoshi ma’am your backstory.... rough. im on your side im sure you had your reasons

why do the soldiers keep her up near the top of the pit of death if she keeps getting up and knocking them all in? am i missing something? or are they just that dumb/dead fjdf;adjsf

fu yao: y’all alive? lmk. if not ill guess ill go back to the the merchants who totally promised to stay put in the circle. in case its not clear i do not care what happens to said merchants.

hua xie... of course thats the fucking name he picked. also looks like that wasnt so much a parallel being drawn between xie lian and the general as it was the same exact line

fasdlkfjsldfdsf god xie lian really has a hard time. you help some orphans, you try to keep people from dying, you try to save an orphan and you trip and get trampled but you cant die so you wake up in a river full of corpses and just float away. actually tbh i really appreciate him as an immortal character this is the shit i like to see. love xie lian ready to defend himself from the slander of being completely flattened. he was only mostly flattened

cunty vibes so strong all the wildlife in a 10 foot radius just chuck up the deuces and split

ITS RAINING SCORPION SNAKES. THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO PUSH A REVEAL. love that the umbrella is just always on hand

okay i guess fucking. everyone is here now why not. we’re all in a hole covered in scorpions and everyone knows each other but not everyone is admitting it but we know. we know. still not 100% sure what is going wrt pei su/pei ming/general pei/pei junior im a bit confused idk

okay i cant explain it but im attached to him now.

i like banyue. i feel like theres going to be a few background female characters i really like but im not so sure theyll get a lot of development. wind master come back you and your lady friend i would like to know more of you. anyway fuck this pei guy(s?). also they just put banyue in a jar? fair enough

is xie lian another mc who cant cook? so much so that everyone who knows him just leaves if he offers? love that for him

okay we’ve got ONE identity admitted. i liked how casual it was. i wonder if hc was waiting for this bc yeah he was not subtle i feel like he definitely wanted xie lian to know. if he didnt then bruh. get lessons in how to act human please

screaming. no words. cant wait to meet him. and hua cheng please keep up the good work. i love that now we’re just. sitting. chatting. chilling. okay.

yeah it makes sense that hes an immortal i think you would have to take this attitude after 800 years

this authors note about not writing ugly characters.... fjkdalfdjfa obviously i dont think holding beauty as such high standard is good it warps our views and values etc etc but also i would expect nothing less from a story like this. yes we know everyone is going to be beautiful theyre immortal and beautiful and young forever

lmao at exile being a temporary banishment for crimes.... yeah that sounds about right tbh. rich elite fuckers

oh good we haven’t forgotten about human face disease boy. im wondering when we’re going to find out how important he will be bc he clearly matters otherwise he’d have been resolved already also yeah how tf does he have that disease that sure sounds like an issue

i dont like him. pei ming i also wish you to die of syphilis. also of fucking COURSE xie lian’s cultivation method doesnt let him read dirty books

im just saving this because its funny

okay lang qianqiu i see you falling asleep at the meeting. i like you already but you are not above suspicion. actually you know what i suspect you already. crown prince of the kingdom that conquered xianle? idk if youre good or bad but you know something i learned this lesson from beloved morally grey huaisang

okay last comment for this post. mxtx’s little authors note about everyone being straight except for hualian but you can make up headcanons as long as you dont split hualian up fjdlfakdj. i just find it silly to write a story thats so clearly for an audience that understands shipping and ships often and say not to split a specific couple up but i mean to be fair i kind of get it that sentiment as an author and not wanting people to do certain things with your work, although again i think its silly

i guess the point of this note is just to be clear that no one else is going to get together so no one argues about it and i dont actually know much about how this was published but it seems like it was serialized so i can see why that would be an issue. personally i dont really care for knowing stuff like that ahead of time but i know a lot of people do and it seems to be thing in other cnovels ive seen to know whos going to get together as far as major characters are concerned i guess thats part of the draw and i guess i kind of get it

not sure how much other romance will be in this but also i think its kind of ridiculous to be like “these are the only two gay characters” in a cast that just keeps growing but whatever shes really leaving that work up to the readers to make it happen which they’ll do anyways so whatever. also there had to be at least one of the 33 officials who fought hua cheng who thought he was hot. theres no way that didnt happen

#if theres a note that explains why some of the immortals have a whisk can someone point me to towards it?#im assuming its not actually a kitchen whisk although that would be something #is it like the feather dusters songxiao carry?#tgcf liveblog #mouse mumbles #i guess this is what im doing with my time now

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meduise · 4 years

Note

Whats some of ur fav dino, dino/hibari hcs?

finally i could reply to this ask!! which, anon, i still thank you for bc its the best thing i could ever be asked to talk about ww

reading will likely take some time, but i hope you and whoever else reads this post will share some hcs or at least find them nice ad interesting enough! and of course, i’ll be happy to answer more asks about it!! like the hibari-only post, i may come back to this one and update it over time

general warning for death mentions and spoilers from the novel “haneuma stampede”!!

hopefully this post wont be hidden from the tag search

dino headcanons

until i read about haneuma stampede, i pretty much always headcanoned dino’s hometown being naples, and this because i have neapolitan origins myself www in the light novel we get to know that dino’s hometown is a port city facing the adriatic sea (east) hence the opposite coast to naples, since this town faces the tyrrhenian sea (west). because of this piece of information, tho, i started thinking dino could be from bari, apulia’s capital city

being that a self projection, im still attached to that hc, so to keep at least a part of it i gave dino neapolitan grandparents LOL i mean, it’s not unlikely anyway

this is a recent hc but dino has a huge crush on is a big fan of immanuel casto, a gay italian singer whose most songs are explicit or suggestive and provocative

i think we all can agree that romario is like a second father to dino, right? their bond gets even stronger after cavallone nono’s death ;; romario will occasionally drop his habit to call dino “boss” and call him with his first name instead. dino will remind romario quite often how important he is to him beyond his role as his right-hand man

What Do You Mean Dino’s Tattoos Magically Appeared On His Body When He Was Deemed The Worthy Successor,,, i (falls on my knees) hc’ed that getting them done took A LOT and hurt A LOT and he yelled A LOT to the tattoo artist to stop inking and to his family that he didnt want to belong to that world,,,, im sorry dino

his tattoo and his duty as a boss in general dont give him much freedom (or should i say they dont give him freedom at all) so among the other hcs of situations where he has to cover his left arm, i have this one where dino cant but go to the beach when its empty and/or at night so that no one can see him but his men

the years may pass but he will still blame himself for his father’s death. and i mean. its pretty much true that it was his fault orz thanks light novel for giving me depress

onto the personality-wise hcs,, i talked about hibari’s enneagram type so i cant not do that for dino too. dino is 2w1, which gets called the servant. starting with the basic type: depending on the level of health, the two (”the helper”) ranges from being the most genuinely caring and helpful type to other people to being the type who gives expecting to be given something back to being the type who manipulates people into caring about them. i dont believe dino has fallen or will ever fall into the very unhealthy pit but he does get on the level where he thinks his generosity is the only thing that tie people to him and his people-pleasing attitude starts getting suffocating. he can be quite possessive, too. in a few words, type one is a very principled type, who fears being defective, bad and corrupt. therefore i assigned dino the one wing to kinda enhance the following paradox: being what he hates the most, aka part of a rotten system such as the mafia one. and with a role as a boss, to it. dino as a teenager never wanted to succeed to his father, and even now he wishes he didnt belong to that world but he loves his family, and even tho according to the moral he deserves to go to jail together with his men, he is self-admittedly too much of a coward to do that (theres so much more to add to this but if i do it will get REALLY long. there’s going to be another little enneagram talk in the d18 hcs anyway, lol)

_____________________________________________________________

dinohiba headcanons

these bitches gay good for them, good for them

advanced apologizes for being an angst fucker but for years my #1 headcanon has been a quite twisted one about dino and hibari not allowing themselves die by the hand of someone who isn’t each other’s. its a sort of oath. they feel like if one of them dies it will be unforgivable, and this will lead them to ultimately kill each other. in their mind, “it’s either both or none of them”, both know that they won’t be able to bear with the other being gone forever (yes, hibari too) and the only solution they find is leaving the world together, the same way they fought on it and against it together. the scenario i thought for this is a duel inside the reverse globe of needles. their last fight in hibari’s ultimate technique so that it’s literally just a world made of the two of them lol lol lol

tbh dino didnt like hibari at first, and with hibari being hibari it takes them long to warm up to each other. for long i mean some years w (years of anger, fights, hardship, trauma reveal, and so on)

their first bonding moment happens when hibari finds out about fon (yeah, all the stuff i talked about in my hibari hc post to which i have to add: i made my own timeline where the arcobaleno arc happens about 2 years later than shown in canon). dino is there to comfort him. dino hugs hibari and he lets him do. hibari cries. HIBARI CRIES for the third (3rd) time in his life there

i have this kinda specific hc of dino overhearing hibari sing hitoribocchi no sadame and getting sad about its lyrics

for obvious reasons even when they start dating they’re forced to spend most of the time away from each other but they make sure to be together at least on every anniversary

i love the established relationship trope so much therefore 80% of the times i think and write about them hibari is in his 30s and these two have been married for like 7 years

i’ll get to the marriage proposal and ceremony another time hopefully in a fic too but of course romario and fon are chosen for their best men

idk if people consider ship playlists and such as hcs, but i associate savages by kerli and someone to stay by vancouver sleep clinic to them ;;

about someone to stay: the line will you fix me up? will you show me hope? is hibari -> dino, and the line can you keep me close? can you love me most? is dino -> hibari

and finally, to go back to the topic of enneagram: their compatibility according to their types. on the institute’s official site theres already a good description, which makes me cry everytime i go back to it because it literally starts with “These two types are more alike than they might appear to be at first”. part of this is given by the fact that unhealthy twos get the unhealthy traits of eights and healthy eights get the healthy traits of twos. i made a scheme for it:

i admit that i have no proof that the comparison is legit for the wings too, but finding out the stress/growth correlation even for them was very validating and satisfying, lol

some headcanons are missing from this post bc i decided to post the most important and my fave ones (the fave ones are those asked for in the first place but i cant shut up ashdjsdhfdjsdhfg)

but either way OVERALL i really, really love imagining both dino and hibari overcoming their hardships, individually and together, becoming the better versions of themselves the more the years pass, bringing their best qualities to each other and learning to accept and appreciate their different points of view.

because of the way they are at first they... dont really start good, but with health and trust they make a powercouple tbh

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #hibari kyoya #dino cavallone #dinohiba #d18 #headcanons #khr headcanons #asks #anonymous #I LOOOOVED LOVED LOVED WRITING THIS POST DOWN #its so long that the keep reading appears right after the question #when i only put it right before the dino headcanons title #lmFAOOO #i just cant stop talking

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neoneversleeps · 5 years

Text

arrow | k.dy

pairing: kim doyoung x reader

genre: angst, fluff (outlaw!au, robinhood!au, medieval!au)

warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood/gore/violence, major character death

description:

Doyoung makes you promise him something you’re not so sure you can keep.

words: 8.1k

notes: phew ok so i finally got this baby up after it had been slowly collecting dust in google docs. if im being completely honest im not that confident in this piece (when am i ever lol) but regardles i hope you enjoy! also feedback is always greatly appreciated! :)

- lilac

The sound of thundering hooves pierces through the night. You move with their rhythm. Faster. Faster. Faster. You need to get away. Need to escape.

You can barely make out the path in front of you, the only source of light you have is the periodic flashes of lightning from the storm that rages above you. The wind howls past you as you get faster, the sound of it mingling with the rushing of blood in your ears. Always faster. The rain that soaks through your cloak is unforgiving, and combined with the ice cold wind it chills to the bone. You press yourself closer to your horse, seeking both to accelerate and to receive at least some form of warmth.

Hooves continue to pound against the ground beneath you, but you know the sound isn't coming from solely your own horse. You can't make out the figures behind you but their shouts cut through the noise of the storm.

“Over there!”

“Quicker, we need to catch up!”

“Don't let her get away!”

Adrenaline pulses through your veins. All you can think about is going faster. The world around you blurs together and you try to somehow make out your surroundings through the thick sheet of rain in front of your eyes. You need to get away from the plains, a space where you’re out in the open. Luckily, years of moving in the dark have trained your eyes to be extra sharp. In the pitch black of the night, you make out the forest. Your escape.

There wasn’t a place on earth you knew better than the forest. It was your home and you knew every twist and turn, every detail, every crevice. The royal guard could try as they might, but in the forest they would never be able to keep up. All you needed to do was reach it.

You press your heels down against your horse's side, encouraging him to pick up the pace even more. You were well aware of the danger that came from galloping at such a speed on an uneven surface. Well aware of the fact that the wet ground beneath you could cause your horse to slip and send you tumbling down with him. But this was your life. Countless times you had been on the edge of death, the images of the fiery pits of hell that surely awaited you after your demise blurring into your vision.

Your bow and arrow were strapped securely to your back. If your hands weren’t frozen in place at your reins, gripping so hard you swear you're drawing blood, you might’ve fired some off. Even through the rain and at such speed, you would have made some hits. You were the best shot there was, unrivaled except for Doyoung. Doyoung. His face flashes up in your mind. You wince internally at the fury in his eyes you would surely have to face once you make it back to the camp. Correction, if you make it back to the camp.

The forest was approaching quickly now. The first rows of trees only a few hundred meters out of reach. You lean down slightly, hand moving to stroke at your horse’s neck. “Riot, you know what to do.” Your horse, Riot’s, ears turnnto face you, a sign that let you know he understood the command. Some called you crazy for thinking your horse could actually understand you, but you were firm in your belief that Riot was much more than just a horse. He was your partner in crime, a loyal companion who was as much part of your family as any person back at the camp.

You whiz past the first row of trees, finally inside of the forest. You can still make out the flicker of the guard’s torches and hear fragments of their shouts behind you, but in the forest, you have the upper hand. Riot carries you through the trees, taking sharp turns to make sure the guards would be unable to follow. He knows the ways of the forest as well as you do, if not better still. Your bodies move as one, your shoulders relaxing to follow his flow. Despite your eyes being trained to adapt to the dark, Riot could still see better than you. Horses had the ability to see at extreme precision even in complete darkness, a skill you very much envied.

You had barely enough to time to prepare for the jump as Riot soared over a tree trunk laying on the road in front of you. You thank your quick reflexes for the fact that you held onto his mane, that being the only reason you weren't now sitting on the forest dirt.

The rain wasn’t as strong in the forest, the tall trees sheltering you from most of the water and serving as a filter for outward sounds such as the storm. Your ears finally stop ringing with all the noise and you could sharpen them to listen to the sounds around you.

You catch onto the sound of running water, thankful that you can finally reorient yourself. Knowing that a familiar creek lay in front of you, you slowRiot down to a canter, allowing your heartbeat to slow down its pace. It was very faint now, but you could still hear distant shouts of the guards. You weren't going to be safe unless you crossed the bed of water that lay ahead.

You slow Riot to a halt once you reach the side of the water. The once small water level of the creek had risen so much it resembled a river. The constant influx of water from the rain causing the waves to aggressively crash against the rocks that lined its path. You close your eyes for a second, breathing deeply to try and clear your head. There was no going back, going down stream would lead you back towards the direction of the guards and going upstream would lead you towards the mountains, a dead end. There was only one option: across.

You take a steadying breath and you hear the voices of your persecutors filtering back into your ears, feeling their presence nearing you once again. You briefly consider if it would be a worse thing to be executed than to face the wrath of Doyoung if you made it back home. Then again, if you were to die, you would eventually come to face Doyoung’s anger in the afterlife. You were sure Doyoung’s fury would last beyond even death itself.

Shaking your head rid of the thought, your grip on Riot’s mane tightens, its grounding, you think, it ankers you to reality. You stare forward in preparation. Riot’s soul is interwoven with your and you know, as long as you feel no fear, neither will he. So you push down the feeling of terror that bubbles deep within you stomach and urge him forward.

You hiss as soon as the icy substance touches you, the water level rising to your thighs and seeping through to your skin. The force around you is strong and unforgiving, it nearly pushes you out of your saddle. Riot’s winnies carry above the roaring of the water as he pushes forward, and you cling to him for your life.

There’s a sharp pain to your left thigh and you scream out in agony for the rock that slices you skin cuts deep into the flesh and the icy water mingles with your crimson blood. The pain dulls down shortly though, and you know it's the adrenaline that courses through your veins that linder the ache.

You feel as though it takes hours, even though the time probably only borders on a minute, until you finally feel Riot leap up onto firm ground. Your shoulders slump forward in defeat and there’s an ache that spreads your body. You know it stems from more than just your newly obtained wound. Maybe, you think, just maybe, you should’ve listened to Doyoung’s word as he warned you not to go on this mission You had been stubborn, and in addition to disobeying his orders, you had also snuck out, all on your own, after he had refused to send other members of your group with you. You hated to admit he was right, but he had been true in his prediction that the mission would be futile.

Gripping onto the fabric of your cloak, you tear off a strip near the end and use it to tie around your injury. Your pants are soaked from the water and you can’t distinguish any blood stains, but you assume from the depth of the wound that you had lost a fair amount. You needed to get back to the base. There was no point in finding a place to rest. Besides, the sun would be up in just a few hours. So, you nudge Riot with your heels and continue to race on through the night.

Its morning by the time you near the camp, you welcome the golden rays that shine through the trees on your skin and their warmth combine with the early breeze help dry your soaked clothes. The sound of Riot’s hooves walking on the gravel beneath you gives you a sense of comfort. One, two, three, four. Repeat. You’ve been listening to their calming rhythm for hours now, the soft sounds a stark contrast to the desperate pounding of the night prior. You feel drained, body and mind weak, and you sway slightly in the saddle. You’d stopped your wound from bleeding any further, but the loss of blood had taken a toll on you. Skin pale where you grip the reigns and eyes shifting in and out of focus every once in a while. Just a little longer, you tell yourself. You’re almost there.

Lifting your right hand up to shield your eyes from the sun, you squint into the distance. Between a row of trees just a short distance away, you can see the outlines of tents. You breathe a sigh of relief. Home.

Johnny is the first person you see once you arrive at your forest hideout. He jumps up from the log he’s been sitting at, working on weapons no doubt, and comes to take a hold of Rot’s reigns, allowing you to swing down off the saddle.

“Hey Johnny.” You greet with a smile, mind a little hazy from the return of the numbing pain in your upper leg. Johnny doesn’t notice your wound as he’s too busy staring at your face, a stern expression painting his own.

“You’re lucky you're still alive, you know? Otherwise Doyoung would have killed you.” You snort lightly at his words. “I don’t think he could’ve killed me if I was already dead, Johnny.”

Johnny’s expression falters for a second and he firmly shakes his head, brown bangs swishing from side to side. “Whatever. Just never pull that shit again, got it? Doyoung was already preparing to head to the castle himself to go save your ass. Not that I think he should’ve.” He grumbles the last part as he helps you remove your bow from over your shoulder. You chuckle lightheartedly. Johnny may say those things, but you know he’d lay his life down for you in a heartbeat.

“Y/n! You’re alive!” Jaemin’s voice rings out from beside you and you turn to see he’s running over to you. “I can’t believe you're alive.” He says as he reaches you, relieved smile across his face. Jaemin really looks the most beautiful like that, when a smile graces his face. Too many times you’ve seen the young orphan in pain since he joined you. Too many times you’ve had to tend to his wounds. The memories twist at your heart. Jaemin was one of the younger members of your group, together with Renjun and Jeno.

You’d rescued them from an abusive orphanage a few years back, and accepted them into your group for you hadn't known what else to do. All of you had taught them your ways and they had become part of your little family quickly. Sometimes you wish you could’ve spared them this life completely. There were times where you'd thought it would have been better to send them off to some noble family.

Then again, a large part of your life was spent robbing those families, so you suppose it wouldn't have worked out anyway.

Despite Jaemin and the others now being the same age you were when you started your life as an outlaw, you would always view them as those big eyed, chubby cheeked kids they were before. They would always be like your little brothers.

You smile fondly at Jaemin and reach out a weak hand to ruffle through his hair affectionately.

“It's not that easy to kill me.” The both of you chuckle for a second. “Hey, Jaemin, can you go tack off Riot?” Johnny hands your horses reins over to the boy and he nods in return. Your brows furrow in confusion. “Wha-”Johnny cuts you off before you can even manage a sentence. “You,” he emphasizes the word with a pointed look, “need to go talk to Doyoung.”

You roll your eyes slightly, and your head pounds as you do so, but you still wave the both of them off as you head towards the biggest tent, situated in the middle of your campgrounds. You stalk over, your boots crunching the autumn leaves that lay scattered over the ground. You stagger slightly as you walk, your legs feeling wobbly beneath you. Maybe you should've told Johnny about your injury, you think as you squeeze your eyes shut. The world starts spinning around you once you reopen them and before you know it, your vision turns black.

One last shout of your name rings out through your mind before a wave of unconsciousness drags you under.

You awake to the faint sounds of metal clashing against stone. Your eyes blink away the darkness slowly, and you’re greeted by the familiar brown interior of your leader’s tent. There’s an intense pounding in your head as you lean up slightly, causing you to fall back down onto the mattress.

“Best not to get up yet.” You look to the side, where Doyoung is now walking toward you. His freshly polished arrows lay on a spare bed behind him. The bed sinks down with a creak as he sits down, his body facing yours. His brown hair is slightly matted against his forehead and his usually sharp eyes are softened at the edge, concern and worry and something you’d like to label as love swimming in them. He parts his lips as if to say something, but before he does, he extends a hand towards you. His delicate fingers thread through your hair fondly, combing out a few knots as he does so. Your eyes close as you keen into his touch. Ever since you’ve known him, you’ve always wondered how his hands could be so soft. They’re littered with scars and callouses from the many years of holding a bow and arrow firm in their grasp, and yet somehow they still feel like satin against your skin.

His hand leaves your hair suddenly and you involuntarily whine as you snap your eyes open. “There’s some leftover soup from dinner. You should eat.” Doyoung stands up and disappears through the entrance of the tent. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you slowly push your body to sit up, wincing every now and then at the pain in both your head and your leg.

A few minutes later, Doyoung reappears with a bowl of soup in hand. The bed creaks once again as he sits himself down beside you and hands you the bowl of steaming liquid. You eat in silence, Doyoung never leaving his spot on the bed. Something in your gut tells you that Doyoung is close to snapping. There was no way in hell you weren’t in for a scolding. You know him far too well for that.

After what feels like a small eternity, you place your empty bowl on the bedside table and pull your knees up to your chest. The chilly evening air from outside had made its way into the tent and was causing your skin to erupt in tiny bumps. Doyoung still sits next to you, his eyes firmly trailed on his hands. The deafening silence that surrounds the both of you is broken only by his drawn out sigh as his slender fingers run through his amber locks.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You swallow thickly at the low register of his voice. Doyoung wasn’t just pissed, he was furious. “Hm? What were you thinking? What could possibly justify you taking off alone, in the middle of the night and against my direct orders?” His gaze is directed at you know, anger evident in the curves of his face. You hang your head, suddenly desperate to get away from his accusing eyes. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences and our respective fuck-ups. But this? This is the biggest fuck-up yet.” The springs under the mattress protest sharply as Doyoung jumps up. He starts pacing the room. “Why would you- I mean- why?” His voice has steadily risen in volume as he now stands in the middle of the tent, arms raised in near-desperation. “What were you thinking, huh? Tell me!”

His sudden shout causes you to tear your eyes away from where they've been staring at the floor and towards him. “I was thinking that we needed to save those villagers… and seeing as you weren’t-”

“Oh and you were going to save those villagers how? By breaking into the castle grounds at night by yourself? What, did you think no guards would be there?” “I-” Doyoung cuts you off again. “Or worse, did you think you could win in a fight against all those guards? I mean…” He stops to laugh bitterly. “...what the hell did you think you were going to do? What was your plan, hm?” His voice had lowered from his previous screams, but his lower volume did nothing to calm your pounding heart.

He was right, you hadn’t thought anything through. You had been angry at Doyoung for turning down your idea of breaking out the prisoners that same night and you had stupidly, impulsively saddled up Riot in the dead of night to break them out yourself. You hadn't had any notion of a plan as you rode out towards the castle. You just thought you would figure something out as you got there. Which, very evidently, had not worked out.

In truth, you were angry at yourself for not thinking anything through, for doing things on a whim, as you always did. You hated being scolded by Doyoung, suddenly feeling like a child cowering under his gaze. It reminded you of the night he had rescued you, so many years ago. You were still a child then, and while Doyoung had only been a few years older than you, he had always seemed so much more mature. Stronger, wiser. A true leader.

As you would come to know later, Doyoung, orphaned at an age much younger than yours, was forced to fend for himself since the very beginning. A fact that, with certainty, had turned him into an adult much earlier than is usually intended.

Tears prickle at your eyes and you look away from Doyoungs piercing stare. You feel ashamed and naive, just like the little girl you were back in that prison cell. “I just- I only wanted to help them…” Your voice is so quiet that its barely to be heard over the howling of the wind outside. One lonely tear rolls over your cheek as you look back up at Doyoung. “I’m sorry…” All the anger seems to leave Doyoung in the sigh he releases. He comes to sit on your bed one again and lifts his hands to cradle your face in them.

“What you did was reckless and extremely dangerous… but I know you only had good intentions.” His thumbs rub softly against the apples of your cheeks. “Which doesn’t justify your actions, but I forgive you. And we will help those people, Ok? I promise. But we need a plan, and that takes time. This isn’t just some plain robbery or any old prison raid. These cells are located under the best guarded Castle in the country. You understand that, right?”

You nod weekly, letting your head fall forward slightly so that your foreheads are touching. Your warm breaths mingle in the cold air of the night, faces illuminated only by the gas lamp that sits on the bedside table beside you. Doyoung leans forward first, capturing your pale lips with his. He kisses you sweetly, hands drawing you closer by your nape. When you part, he stays close to you, noses touching and lips brushing against each other as he speaks. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come back to me…” Doyoung’s whisper is swallowed by your lips as you kiss him anew, praying that you somehow swallow all his pain as well. “I’m here. I won’t leave again.”

Doyoung smiles at you and presses another kiss to your temple. “Good.” he breathes against your skin. “Now, you should probably get some more sleep.” You nod and he helps you lie down somewhat comfortably. A quick brushing of Doyoung’s fingertips against your scalp before he stands up, probably meaning to head out to keep watch of the camp.

Your hand wraps around his wrist before he does. “Stay… just for a moment longer.” The man smiles down at you, returning to his position on your bed. His fingers begin to comb through your hair once again. “Okay.”

Doyoung watches as your eyes fall closed, your breaths slowly evening out as your chest rises and falls in a calm rhythm. His fingers trail over your features, a fond look on his face at the way your lips part lightly in your sleep. “I’ll stay…” He breathes the words out into the night. A silent promise, one he is’t entirely sure he can keep

Weeks pass in your preparation to break out the wrongfully incarcerated townspeople from the dungeons that lie beneath the castle. You spend your time devising strategies and drawing maps, with the occasional break to overthrow nobleman's carriages that pass through the woods every so often.

You and Doyoung work in almost perfect harmony, leaving the rest of your group somewhat in awe since usually, the two of you butted heads on pretty much everything. Both stubborn to a fault. This plan however, had to be executed perfectly. It was the biggest attempt at a prison break (more accurately named rescue mission) your group had ever faced.

Normally, you would stay away from the castle. The guards there outnumbered you greatly and the whole thing was built like a fortress. For years, you had been forced to overlook the cruelties inflicted by the royal family for the sake of keeping yourselves safe.

This time however, they had crossed the line. Dozens of villagers from the nearby town had been imprisoned due to them not being able to afford the steeply rising tax payments. They were mostly women and children, taken as a threat to the men of the families. If the men did not deliver the payment required, their families would be executed in front of them.

The execution dates were steadily approaching and your whole camp knew that you had to act fast. You and Doyoung had spent countless nights drawing up what seemed like hundreds of different plans of action until you finally found the one you deemed most plausible. This plan would rely on stealth, which was the one advantage you held over the royal guards. Nonetheless, the plan was risky, and in the days leading up to job, there was a thick underlying sense of fear that clung to the air around the camp like a fog.

You pace around Doyoungs tent, nerves making the hairs on your arms and legs stand up straight. This is the last night you would get any sort of sleep before the mission. You would leave the next evening, just before sunset, on your way to the castle. The lives of dozens of people rest on the events of tomorrow night, and as much as you try to keep face towards the members of your group, fear gnaws away at your insides as well.

Doyoung pushes the entrance to the tent aside, startling slightly as he spots you standing in front of him. He raises his eyebrows at you in question and takes a step closer. Concern seeps into the features of his face when you still don't say anything, and he reaches out a hand to tuck one of the strands of your hair behind your ear. The small action is all it takes for your facade to crumble, and you fall forward and into his arms. He pulls you closer into him and your smaller frame shrinks even further as you press yourself to him.

You stay like that for awhile, one of doyoungs hands stroking gently through your tresses. Stepping back slightly after a few moments pass, you look up into the older man's eyes. “I’m scared, Doyoung.” There’s a hushed air that falls around you two as Doyoung’s dark orbs scan over the lines that make up your face. He commits ever little detail he sees to memory, everything down to the smallest of scars that dent your skin. He sighs. “I’m scared too.”

The thought of Doyoung being scared should be concerning to you, but for some reason, you find it brings you comfort. Perhaps it was the feeling of being able to share your fear that made it seem like less of a burden.

A cold chill runs down your spine however, as Doyoung’s demeanor drastically shifts. His hands grip onto your upper arms firmly, nails ever so slightly piercing through to your flesh. “I need you to promise me something.” You can only stare back at him, uncertain of the next words he would speak.

“If something...goes wrong. If anything-” A sharp intake of breath. “If I am to be captured-” You want to protest against him, arms moving to get out of his grasp as you suddenly wish not to hear whatever comes next, but he silences you with a look. “If I am to be captured...promise me you’ll kill me.”

Something inside you urges you to pull away from his grasp, to flee from the words and what they implicate. How could he ask this of you? Surely, if you love someone, you would never ask them end your life? You thrash in Doyoung’s arms, frustrated tears at your eyes, vigorously shaking your head in denial. Doyoung’s grip is firm however, and once you stop moving he places his hands on either side of your face, forcing you to look only at him. The way he holds you, it almost feels as if he's holding you in place, as if his hands are the one thing that stops you from falling apart and splitting into a million shards on the floor.

His dark orbs convey his innermost feelings as they stare at you, love, fear and a hint of desperation that linger uncomfortably in the darkness. Doyoung has never liked being desperate. All of it makes you acutely aware of how important this request seems to be for the man. “If they capture me, they’ll torture me. For weeks, months, maybe even years. They won’t stop until I’ve given them information… or until my body and soul have grown so weak that I am no more use to them. So I ask you, please, if it comes down to it being you or them, please…” He doesn’t say the words again and you’re grateful for it. They have already made themselves a home in your mind, echoing around the walls inside your head.

With a deep intake of breath, you nod. A small sigh leaves Doyoung as the air i his lungs no longer feels constricting. “Do you promise?” The question comes out just as delicately as the way his hands once again move to brush the hair out of your face. He knows how much the mere idea of it all hurts you, and Doyoung wishes he could do anything to take away your pain. But he has to ask, for his own sake.

“I promise.”

Doyoung presses his lips to yours after that. The kiss is soft and sweet, and it feels as if it's both a silent thank you as it is a silent apology. Your hands move to link behind his nape and you tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss. Doyoung’s hands brush along your sides until they settle on your hip, grip tightening to the point of it almost hurting. A desperation has seeped into the kiss, and at this point you don’t know if its his, or yours, or both. All you know, as you pour every ounce of affection you can muster into the kiss, slowly walking backwards as Doyoung steers you towards the bed, is that there’s a shrill screaming resounding from the void of your mind. A voice that screams at you that this, this might be the last time you ever get to feel Doyoung’s skin against yours.

The next day, the air around the camp is laced with the buzz of anticipation that comes every time before an important mission. There’s less talking than there usually is, no little echoes of laughter or joyful shouts. No telling of stories, and no sounds of crunching leaves as the younger members race through the grounds. Everything feels as if ts drowned in silence. There’s no clock anywhere at the camp, and yet it still feels like there’s a constant ticking sound carried around by the wind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

The sun hides behind the treeline way too quickly and you find yourself feeling as if the day had lasted only a mere hour or two at most. You saddle up Riot, tightening the girth firmly and adjusting the leather pouch that would carry your arrows.Your fingers brush along Riot’s shimmery black coat absentmindedly as you notice Johnny leading his horse over to you. He greets you with a tight lipped smile, one that you return before diverting your gaze back to your horse. Johnny saddles up silently and the only sounds that surround you two are the slight rustle of the wind and the quiet squeaking of leather against leather.

You wonder if you should tell Johnny about Doyoungs request. The man was like a brother to you. All these years, you had entrusted Johnny with basically everything, told him things you would never tell another living soul. Hell, at times it seemed he knew you better than you did yourself. You want to tell him, truly, you do, but there’s something in your heart that won’t allow it. the promise was made between you and the man you loved, and that's how it would stay.

Hooves pounding out against the ground bring you out of your thoughts. “You guys ready?” Both you and Johnny look up to see Taeyong, the only other member of your group who would be joining you, looking down at you from his seat upon the saddle. His gloved hands hold the reigns of the majestic white stallion he rides taught, keeping the somewhat hot-headed horse at bay. His dark hair falls into his face, and the stoic expression he shows make his sharp edges look even more intimidating than usual. You nod.

One last ray of sun catches on the flower shaped scar underneath Taeyong’s right eye, before the light slips away completely and you are plunged into the beginning hours of the night. “Then let’s go.”

The ride through the forest is solemn. No words are exchanged between you and the other members of your group except for occasional questions about the plan. A mismatched rhythm of hooves sound out against the dirt of the path you're on. You focus on the sound, that being the only thing able to keep you calm and distract you from the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. You hadn’t uttered a single word since the start of the journey, too afraid that your voice would quiver as soon as you opened your mouth to speak.

The world around had long since fallen victim to the blanket of darkness that covered it, and the only source of light that aided you was the shine of the moon and the stars above. None of you carried torches or lamps, you couldn't risk being seen. Besides, you were all used to the dark by now.

Slowly, the tips of the grey castle’s towers come into view, reminding you that the end of your journey was near. A sudden shout from nearby causes you all to startle. Your eyes move to Doyoung, who has his hand raised, a signal that you should all hold your breaths. A few more indistinguishable words are uttered up ahead, you can make out two or maybe three voices.

“Guards.” Doyoung mutters barely above a whisper, but the wind carries the word to your ears regardless. You were definitely close now. Doyoung turns to look at all of you, the hood of his cloak obscuring half his face from your view. “We’ll head west, take the long way around. It’ll set the plan back by half an hour give or take, but we can’t risk getting seen.” Doyoung’s words are rushed, spoken in a whisper, but never losing their authoritative tone. He doesn't wait for any of you to respond, tugging the reigns of his horse to the side, down a nearby path that leads to the west entrance of the citadel.

You glance at Johnny and Taeyong, waiting for any sort of reaction. Johnny spares you a glance in return, nodding firmly, a silent way of telling you that everything was going to be fine. Taeyong simply nudges his horse with his heels, following Doyoung’s lead. You go after him, Johnny trailing behind you.

You near the entrance to the underground dungeon about thirty minutes later, as predicted. The forest bordered with the side of the castle, allowing you to stay hidden behind the first line of trees as you surveyed the entrance. Two guards stand watch in front of the imposing metal gates, taking turns as they walk about the surrounding area. Doyoung nods his head at you, and you, quickly understanding his order, swing the bow on your back over your shoulder and grab one of the arrows sticking out of your saddlebag. Drawing the bowstring taught, you look back over at Doyoung, who is in the same position as you. “You take care of the one on the right. On my count.” You lock onto your target, perfectly aligning your arrow with the exposed side of his neck. One, two, three. As soon as Doyoung finishes counting down, two arrows whistle through the air, and the bodies of the guards slump over, lifeless.

All four of you get off your horses and leave them tied up near a small clearing, one where the others would later arrive with wagons to transport the rescued townspeople far away from the castle. You move towards the gated entrance to the dungeons. One forceful swing of Johnny’s sword and the heavy lock clatter to ground, unlocking the door that leads to a dimly lit staircase. Doyoung grabs one of the torches mounted to the wall and heads downwards, the rest of you close behind him. You spot the shadow of a guard up ahead and silently signal towards the rest of the group. Taeyong and Johnny nod at each other before sneaking around the corner. It takes less than a minute for you to hear two thumps up ahead.

You and Doyoung move forward, bypassing the dead bodies strewn on the floor before catching up to your group members.

You advance along the winding tunnels, easily taking out the guards in silence as you near the holding cells. You wrinkle your nose up in disgust after you breathe in the smell of urine that comes from the walls around you. You know you’re getting closer by the second, but still fear breaths down your neck. The darkness of the tunnels dont allow you to make ot what time it is, but something tells you the break of dawn is much closer than you want it to be.

A low wail echoes off the stones around you. Doyoung signals a halt. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as you gaze up at him. “The cells must be just behind this bend. I’d estimate about four to six guards will be standing watch. Y/n and I will go in first, then you and Taeyong follow.” Doyoung’s directs himself at Johnny as he says so. “We should be able to take them out with our arrows, but just in case we don't, stay close behind.” Both men nod in unison.

Doyoung turns to look at you now. Almost imperceivably, his eyes soften for just a second. he reaches out from under his cloak to take your gloved hand i his, squeezing it reassuringly. Although you're not quite sure if the squeeze was meant to reassure him or you. “Ready?” You breathe in deep. “Ready.” Doyoungs gaze returns to its usual sharpness as he charges forward, bow and arrow drawn.

Everything happens in a blur of motion, there are shouts of both despair and relief surrounding you as you fire at the guards. There are more guards than expected, but your team moves swiftly to take them out. One of them rushes towards you before you can draw another arrow but Taeyong grabs onto his head from behind, slitting his throat in one quick motion. You look around the room. the guard’s bodies litter the floor as Doyoung, Johnny and Taeyong struggle to open the locks of the cells. The commotion from moments prior must have been head by someone, there was no way all the shouting could have gone unperceived. Snapping out of your thoughts, you run towards one of the cell doors, picking up a nearby stone to smash open the heavy lock. One of the women inside holds onto the bars that separate her from you. “Thank, oh, thank you, thank you.” She wails out, her hollowed cheeks and red rimmed eyes bringing up distant memories you'd rather not recall at the moment.

After several attempts, the lock finally breaks and clatters against the stone floor. You hear the sounds of the other locks breaking from behind you as an influx of people rush out of the metal doors. A collective surge of adrenaline pushes the townsfolk to start running into the tunnels. Doyoung’s shouts of Go! Go! Go! ring clear above all the nose as he usher th people along. Taeyong, Johnny and you run after them, Doyoung following behind you.

Dozens of footsteps echo around the small space you're in, and if the guards above hadnt heard anything until then, they sure would now. dread slings onto your soul as you fear that the sun would have already climbed over the edge of the trees once you got pout of here.

Your worst fears are confirmed as the door to the dungeon is flung open by one of the prisoners, letting light flood into the dimness of the tunnels. Once you arrive outside, you take notice of the fact that you can hear the castle grounds slowly coming to life from afar. You turn to Doyoung, eyes wide in desperation. His expression bares the same as yours as his eyes flit all over the place. You hear running and the sound of metal clashing against metal coming from somewhere to your right. Doyoung runs towards the strip of forest, the rest of you chasing after him. The frightened group of women and children follow your lead.

As soon as you arrive at the small clearing, you see the two wagons already waiting for you. You allow yourself a breath of relief as you spot Jeno and Jaemin next to the transport vehicles, seemingly just as happy to see you as you were to see them. Doyoung makes quick of untying his horse before coming to stand in front of you, the roar of the incoming guards getting louder by the minute. Doyoung grabs onto your arm as he peers into your eyes, imploring you to listen to his words carefully. “Get them out of here now. Taeyong, Johnny and I will fend off the knights so that you can escape.”

“But what about-” “We’ll join you later, but you have to leave. Now.” Taeyong and Johnny are already mounting their horses, awaiting their leaders command. Doyoung grips your face in his hands, eyes searching over your face with a sense of urgency. You almost think he's going to kiss you on the lips before he hesitates. This wasn't the time nor the place. Instead, he presses a chaste kiss on your forehead before turning around and swinging himself onto the saddle. “Let’s go! Hya!”

Doyoungs shout causes his horse to rear up before galloping forward, the other two men quickly joining his side as they race off into danger. You spring into action, helping the two younger boys. As soon as everyone is successfully loaded up, you mount Riot, and turn to Jaemin and Jeno, who are both situated atop their respective seats on the wagons.

“We take them around north, the mountain passage is safe since the guards will assume that we’ll be taking them through the forest”. Both boys nod in confirmation. You sink your heels into Riot’s sides, causing him to break out in a gallop, and consequently prompting the two horses pulling the carriages to follow suit.

You've just reached the beginning of the passageway when the thundering of hooves from behind you catches your attention. Swiftly pulling Riot to a halt and turning him around to face the noise, you see Johnny and Taeyong race up the side up the slanted road towards you. A weight is lifted off your shoulders as they near you, only to plummet back down with force when you realize Doyoung is missing.

Your eyes move between them frantically once they come to a stop, but the two men avoid your gaze. Taeyong's knuckles are white from holding the reins tight, his face is turned downwards and you can make out a deep red slash across his right cheek. Johnny looks even worse for wear, cuts littering the sides of his arms and legs and splashes of blood strewn across his face as if it were some horrific painting.

A lump lodges itself in your throat, closing off your airways and making it difficult to utter the question you want to ask. Johnny is the first to speak up as he lifts his eyes to meet yours. “We’re sorry, Y/n. We tried everything we cou-” “Just tell me.” You cut off Johnny’s words sharply, your tone much harsher than you had intended. “Is he dead?” You cast your eyes to the ground as you speak, unable to face Johnny all of a sudden as the sick taste of bile rises to your mouth.

“We don’t know…” Taeyong is the one to answer, his voice weak and hoarse. Your head snaps towards him. “What do you mean you don’t know?” Taeyong winces ever so slightly at the volume with which you speak. Somewhere inside you there's a tinge of regret for the way you barked at him. Taeyong had endured an inconceivable amount of abuse from an early age, verbal as well as physical. He doesn't answer. Johnny speaks up instead. “It was pure chaos, the guards were too many. We… we only made it out because Doyoung sacrificed himself for us. The last we saw of him was when they pulled him off his horse….”

You clench your jaw to hold back tears that pool at your eyes. The mental image of Doyoungs mutilated face invades your mind like the violent crash of a wave against rocks. You make a decision then. You had to go back.

“Johnny, Taeyong.” Both of them look to you as you call their names. “Get these people to safety.” You urge Riot forward, passing between the two older men, heading towards the direction they came from, until Johnny grips onto your arm. “Where are you going?” His voice is laced with confusion, crease between his brows as he stares you down.

“I’m going back.”

With that, you forcefully rip your arm from Johnny’s grasp and take off.

“You can’t save him!”

“It’s too late!”

“Y/n!”

Their desperate cries are lost in the howling of the wind that greets your ears as you push on. Hands gripping onto Riot’s mane as he practically flies past the bushes and the trees, you don't dare glance back even for a second. Your mind is focused on one thing and one thing alone.

Kim Doyoung.

You slow down Riot as you reach a hill that overlooks the inner courtyard of the castle, knights march around and servants run around fulfilling errands, most of them trying to avoid the stares of the royal guards. The place is on high alert.

Trying to find Doyoungs familiar face, your eyes scan through the crowd below you, tracing over the different arrays of people that walk through the grounds. Your heart beats furiously in your chest as you try not to entertain the possibility that Doyoung had already been dragged down into the dungeons.

Finally, you spot him. His face is beaten and there's blood dripping from a wound above his eyes, it trails down across his face, adorning the other bruises that stain his skin. Two guards hold him in place, their hands tight around Doyoungs arms. He may have been caught, caged between two men much stronger than him, but Doyoung’s expression remains cocky and his head is held high even in front of the general he now faces. You know what's at stake here, recalling Doyoung’s words from the night before last. If they take him into the cold pit of hell that are the castles underground dungeon, they’ll torture him. Submit his body and his mind to horrific procedures you dare not to imagine.

The bow and arrow are already in your grasp and your eyes desperately flit around the grounds. Maybe if you can fend off all the guards, you can avoid what you dread the most. But the guards are too many. Even if you do manage to eliminate the men that hold Doyoung in place and the general that stands before him, with Doyoung’s weakened state he wouldn’t get far.

Your eyes fall back to his and he meets your gaze. His face may remain blank but you see the fear in his eyes. He’s pleading with nothing but a look. Your breathing is erratic and there’s a cold sweat that runs down your spine. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second before you glance back at Doyoung. No one else has noticed your figure on the hill, but it’s only a matter of time.

You lock eyes with Doyoung once again and shake your head, you couldn’t do this, you just couldn’t. Doyoung’s eyes soften as he mouths his next words to you.

You promised.

He was right. You promised.

With blurred vision and shaky hands you steady your weapon, pulling back on the string with a strength you didn't know you possessed at that moment. You blink away the tears as you aim. It takes everything in you to not look away. Time slows down around you and everything is silent. One breath in, One breath out.

Release.

Everything crashes back in around you once the arrow soars through the air and hits its target. There’s shouts and screams and frantic running below you.

Your eyes meet Doyoung’s once again and you notice the smile on his face, before your eyes trail lower…

....to your arrow, buried deep in his chest.

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ead13 · 5 years

Text

Happy Trails, Old Friend

I don’t know why I got the urge to write about Branwen dying (of old age and very happy, I can assure you!), but here it is. Also, Arthur has a soft spot for Kieran and you can’t convince me otherwise.

“Papa! Papa! Something’s wrong with Branny!”

Kieran could feel a knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach. This news shouldn’t surprise him; he’d noticed how Branwen was faltering, and when he really thought about it (which he rarely had time to do now that he was juggling five kids and counting), his longtime companion was old. Actually, very old. Considering Branwen had been middle-aged, probably in his teens when he was assigned to him in the army, that meant he had lived a damn good, long life for a horse.

Knowing that didn’t make the thought of saying goodbye any easier. No doubt Becky was the bearer of bad news.

“Let me have a look at ‘im,” he answered quickly, dropping the curry comb he had been using to brush one of his charges. Still, he did his best to remain calm for his daughter’s sake as he closed the door to the stall. No need to start the little girl crying. Before he could take her hand, she was running on ahead to the pasture where Branwen spent his golden years grazing in peace. Even from a distance, he could see the flaxen roan horse was lying on the ground. He could hear the sound of weak braying carrying across the field. No, this wasn’t good at all.

By now, Leah had heard the commotion and come running from across the yard where she had been feeding the chickens. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

Kieran stopped and waited for his second-eldest to join them, but it wasn’t long before Becky was tugging on his arm. Linked together, they finally arrived at Branwen’s side. The old boy’s breathing was labored, more of a shudder than anything. It didn’t take more than a second to understand the situation. “Girls, you oughtta say yer goodbyes to ol’ Branwen.”

“You mean he’s gonna die?” Becky looked at him with wide-eyed horror.

He reached up and rubbed his beard, trying to pass off his anxious energy so they wouldn’t catch it. “Horses don’t live as long as people do, sweetie. As far as horses go, Branwen is a real old man. Most of ‘em don’t even live to be this old. He’s had a good life, a very happy one here with us.”

“We can’t help him?” Leah wondered sadly, reaching out to pet the quivering animal gently. Becky followed suit.

Kieran just shook his head, gritting his teeth to keep his emotions in check. “That’s just how it is. But he’s lucky that in the end he’s safe and loved and taken care of. Not every horse gets that.” He was trying to encourage himself just as much as his daughters at this point. The only thing making this easier was the heart-warming way they hugged the ailing creature, burying their faces into his well-groomed coat. They had grown up with Branwen, riding the gentle horse when they were still small enough for him to carry their weight. Yes, so much love. All the love he deserved.

“You two take yer time sayin’ goodbye. I’m gonna go find yer ma and let her know.” More than that, though, he was going to see if he could convince Mary-Beth to take the kids to Uncle Arthur’s farm for a visit so he could put his dear friend out of his misery without having to worry about traumatizing his kids. Also, so he could cry about it in private.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

He thought he’d have to work harder to convince her, but Mary-Beth was a saint. Even juggling five children under the age of 10 and half-way towards their sixth, she quickly agreed to give him the space he needed. Emma went to say her goodbyes too before being packed up in the wagon, but Rachel and Kieran were too young to comprehend the situation. Mary-Beth would have visited the old horse too, but she had her hands more than full. Instead, she pulled him into a long embrace. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know Branwen means the world to you. When I get back and the kids get settled, we can talk.”

“Thanks, darlin’, for everything,” he murmured, squeezing her tight. “I think I’m gonna need it. That and a bottle o’ whiskey…”

When she released him, she found Becky and Leah at her skirts. “Papa, are you okay?”

He kneeled down to pull both of his girls into a big hug. “This is gonna be very hard for me. I love Branwen very much. But he’s sufferin’, and it wouldn’t be fair to make ‘im keep sufferin’. Sometimes when ya love somethin’ you gotta let it go.” Damn, his eyes were getting misty!

“Should I stay with you?” Becky wondered, looking up at him and no doubt seeing every hint of distress in his face.

He gave a small smile. “No, sweetie. Sometimes ya hafta have some space away from other people. But when you both get back, I’m gonna need another hug, okay?”

“Okay.”

Finally, everyone was packed up and the wagon was heading down the road. That just left Kieran wrapped in an abnormal silence. He went to go pull out his shotgun. This had to be a clean kill, but as he reached for the firearm, he realized his hands were shaking badly. They continued to do so as he checked the ammunition and gunpowder. How the hell was he supposed to be able to do this?

In the end he decided that he’d just sit with Branwen until sunset, maybe braid his mane one last time, see if he’d eat an apple. He’d wait until his friend was asleep before ending it.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

There were many tears in those precious hours, and he felt bad for it, as if it would upset Branwen even more. His breathing wasn’t much better, but at least his braying stopped as his favorite human settled down next to him. Kieran had suspected long ago that Branwen couldn’t really see anymore, having watched him bump into things. He always reacted to his voice, though, and that brought him some level of peace. He couldn’t eat the apple, just didn’t have the energy even though it was his favorite. This really was the end…

Kieran was so in the moment that he nearly missed the sound of hoof beats. Who in the world would be coming now? It was too late in the day for any customer to return for their horse, and the kids surely couldn’t be back this early. He didn’t really have the energy to get up and look. Once he got up, he’d have to pull the trigger.

“Kieran, I figured you’d be draggin’ yer heels.”

The familiar voice caused him to startle. “A-Arthur?”

He looked up to find the imposing figure of Arthur Morgan towering over him as robust as ever despite the onset of some graying hairs. “Heard ‘bout ol’ Branwen when yer brood showed up at my place. Puttin’ a horse to rest ain’t no one-man job, so I thought I’d come over and assist. I’m assumin’…” he gestured to the wide expanse of land their ranch covered, “there’ll need to be a proper burial.”

“Huh, yer right. Guess I didn’t think of that,” Kieran admitted, looking downcast. He turned his gaze to the sinking sun. “I ain’t got any more time left, do I? Not if I hafta get this done before they get back.”

“I reckon not. I also reckon…” he paused, scratching his head awkwardly. “I mean, if ya want, I could be the one to pull the trigger.”

It wasn’t the idea of the finality of a trigger pull; it was all the idea that Arthur was kind enough to offer. He lost it. “I’m sorry, I thought I was done with this!” he tried to explain, wiping the tears now streaming from his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want his emotions to disturb Branwen, who had fallen asleep. “It ain’t like I’m losin’ my wife or my kids, I got no reason to be actin’ like this…”

Arthur put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Kieran, look at me.” The man struggled to obey, but Arthur refused to continue until he did. “I still remember how hard it was to lose Boadicea. I’d had that horse for a long time. But you and Branwen, even I know that was something more. You’d been down some pretty dark roads, all on yer own ‘cept for that horse. I know there were times he was all you had.”

Now Kieran was crying uncontrollably in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to yet, all desires to handle this like a man crumbling away. “I used to say that all I knew ‘bout life was that people kept dyin’ and I loved horses. I thought Branwen and I would die too, alone. I don’t think I would have even bothered to keep livin’ if I didn’t have him to take care of. We finally got lucky though, him an’ me. You fellers took us in, got me on my feet, and now I’ve got Mary-Beth and five beautiful children and a home, and…and…” Finally, he let himself fall weakly against Arthur’s shoulder. “He got me through it all, but now his time is done, and I have other things to be livin’ for. Just gonna be an awfully big hole. It’s gonna feel so wrong after all these years.”

It still was uncomfortable for Arthur, gruff as he was, to wrap his thick arms around the man, even for a few seconds of comfort. Still, he sucked it up for Kieran, because there was something touching about the idea that he trusted him like this with his vulnerabilities. Their relationship had always been one of mentor and mentee, perhaps the only one in Kieran’s entire life, and even after ten years and plenty of aging from both of them, that hadn’t changed. “That’s why I came, so you wouldn’t hafta do this alone. I’ll be the one to end it, so you don’t hafta.”

“B-but, Branwen is my horse, my responsibility,” Kieran protested weakly, pulling away.

“You have taken damn good care of that horse. There is no shame in lettin’ me do this,” Arthur insisted sternly. “Ain’t nobody gonna think less of ya for it, especially not when I’m offerin’.”

It wasn’t worth a fight, not when he really didn’t want to do it. “Fine. Gun’s over there,” he gestured before wiping his eyes roughly.

“Anything else you’ve gotta say to ‘im?”

“Naw. It’s been said. And he’s sleepin’. I don’t wanna wake ‘im.”

“All right. You go find some shovels and don’t come back ‘til you hear the shot.”

He did as requested, flinching at the harsh sound of the gun and squeezing his eyes shut from his position in the shed. It was over. When all was said and done, they had a hole dug and Branwen buried, mane braided and apple given for his road to whatever afterlife there was for horses. Kieran desperately wanted to believe they’d go to heaven same as people so they might be reunited again one day. The dirt was barely filled in when the wagon bearing his family came rolling on in.

Becky and Leah both jumped off as soon as it was stopped and came barreling towards their father, ignoring their Uncle Arthur completely. “Papa, we’re back!” They latched onto him immediately.

“Girls, I’m so happy to see ya.” Kieran wrapped his arms around them, then cast a glance at the rest of his family. His other children were squirming impatiently to be lifted down, but Mary-Beth took the time to meet his gaze. The concern in her eyes touched his heart. She may be busy being a mother, but he knew without a doubt that she was the best wife a man could ask for. Then, he looked to Arthur, who seemed amused by his nieces’ open affection. When he saw him looking, he nodded and grabbed the shovels, heading to the shed to put them away.

Good Lord, Branwen was gone, but look at everything he had now, things he could only dream of when they’d first met. It would be hard, but he could survive this loss now.

#kieran duffy #branwen #rdr2 #arthur morgan #happy ending au

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sharky-boshaw-appreciation · 5 years

Text

Welcome Back

Charlemagne Victor Bowshaw felt lost. It had been so long since he had seen her, felt her soft hair against his cheek when they embraced. He hadn’t felt the warmth of her hand on his shoulder or the plush of her lips against his own in so long.

A pit had formed in his stomach, one he sank into more often than he’d like to admit.

It was lonely.

It was heartbreaking to know that she was still out there fighting her ass off and he wasn’t there by her side.

There were other people out there, he figured. There were other people out there that could get the job done much better than he could.

He figured he was loud, caused a lot of unnecessary chaos, often getting them into more trouble than they were already in.

Did she get tired of him? Bored?

It was insane to think she was bored of him. How she laughed at all of his jokes, blushed brightly over the beers they shared, or squealed with delight as he sped over the old, hilly, country roads.

He felt something wet on his hand and woke out of his little trance.

He had been spacing out a lot lately. Maybe due to his own bit of boredom since being out of action didn’t leave much for him on his plate.

“The fuck.”

He wiped his face with his sleeve, getting a nice big whiff of gasoline.

That wetness had been tears. He was actually tearing up over this.

He hated feeling like this. First with his parents, then with his Aunt, and now with her. Everyone left him. He just never felt like he could be good enough for anyone and he despised that.

he leaned back away from his green car, before resting his back against it and sliding down it to sit in the dirt.

Why was he here in the first place? He was told to pick something up from someone? Didn’t matter.

He thought about just going back to his trailer park, his little piece of Disco.

That would be a mistake. It was lonely enough here. Going there would be willingly going into solitary confinement.

“I… I don’t want that….”

He heard the crunching of tires driving into the small clearing he was told to park in.

He better get this over with, so he could get back. All these feels were making him need a beer and maybe a couple nudie mags.

“Alright, what do we got? we don’t have all day.”

They stepped out of the cheap vehicle and sharks be damned it was her. It was her in that adorable baseball cap and her hair up in a ponytail.

She looked a little banged up. She had clearly been getting into some trouble.

“Hey Sharky! Didya miss me!”

He just kind of stood there for a minute. He had to reason with himself whether or not she was really there.

“Um, dude, can you check my car and see if I left any of that paint I like to huff?”

She gave him a weird look like any sane person would.

“Are you ok, love?”

Ok now a stranger would never call him love…. So maybe it was real.

“Where have you been?”

He said it very quietly. He tried to be louder, sound happier, but just couldn’t fake it now.

“A little busy. I was needing to lie low for a bit. They had me marked and I couldn’t come back and get you all into trouble too, could i?”

He finally got closer. Close enough to grab her sleeve.

“It was ride or die, right? You know I always got your back right, dep?”

She stopped for a second, concern and pain washed over her face.

“I wasn’t able to contact you, baby and im sorry. It will always be ride or die, Sharky. Always!”

She wrapped her arms round him, pulling him in to a kiss.

He was glad to have her back.

#sharky #sharky boshaw #far cry 5 #writing #hi!#im back!!!!

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hollandroos · 5 years

Note

im so happy you're writing for koh!tom💞 okay okay, so i wanted to request something where the reader has been in a hell for a while now and she's grown close to tom but then he starts to interact more with a female demon and it makes her insecure because the demon is gorgeous. and her last straw would be at a ball he's hosting and she tried to dress up for him and he completely ignores her which upsets her loads and makes her more insecure. can it end in some fluff? ilysm and thank you!! 😍❤

This is 1.6k words long Im-

You felt really pretty that night.

And maybe somewhere deep down you’d dressed up for yourself– to make yourself feel good and pretty and nice and all those things. But as stupid as it sounded, you knew that you dressed for him, to make him focus all his attention on you.

You strutt into the palace ballroom with your plush, white wings full on display. They were the ones Tom claimed to love so much, the same ones he swore he could spend hours running course fingers through. They were the only white ones, purely because you were the only angel– a fallen one. You weren’t good enough to stay in heaven but not bad enough to wear the dark shade.

‘They’re the prettiest fucking wings in all of hell,’ He’d mutter. ‘Nothing can compare.’

It didn’t work.

You felt like a goddamn queen, a white rose in a field of red and the dress you wore showed off more then what would’ve been allowed in heaven. You knew you looked good, it didn’t take a genius but that nerve wracking feeling in the pit of your stomach was already full go.

But maybe it started when you had to step into the ballroom by yourself instead of with one of his arms around your waist, his black wings brushing softly against your exposed back. Or maybe it was when you took those first few steps into the ball room only to be met with the jet black eyes filled with nothing but anger and a hidden desire.

None of which were your boyfriends.

You still felt anxious towards demons that weren’t Tom. But not tonight. Tonight your eyes were dead set on Tom, growing with even more anticipation by the second.

Look at me, you wanted to shout, notice me, I dressed up for you.

He didn’t look up from his glass of red wine and you didn’t let your anticipation or need die. There was a fire burning in the pit of your stomach, growing with every smile that etched itself onto his lips and following every drop of crimson red that stained his lips.

You just wanted his attention back for one second, to feel an arm around you or lips against yours– and not in a rough, rushed way. You wanted to feel him love you. You wanted your fears to leave for a moment, for them to simply disperse.

Everyone seemed to be staring at you but Tom and the two girls he was standing with. Their gazes remain on him, boring holes into his crisp white shirt, the top two buttons already undone but you remembered that he left your bedroom like that. You did that, you popped them undone between heavy kisses and riskay hand placements.

One of the girls you recognised from the day before. She was utterly gorgeous and someone you found Tom had been seen around once or twice lately.

You snatch a glass of wine off of one of the trays, muttering a thank you beneath your breath as you go straight in for a heavy mouthful. The next thing you go for is your boyfriend standing staunchly in the very corner of the room, his black wings expanding over your head and brown curls slicked back.

“Tom?” Your voice sounded sickly sweet over the music, words dripping like honey and he responded roughly– words striking like venom but when did they not?

“Darling? Oh, you made it.” He smiles, stepping away for a brief second.

The girls send you a scowl. You don’t give them the attention they so desperately want.

One of his hands snake around your waist, his warm lips going to your temple and you smile, rosy red lips curling up. “I did, I actually got here a few minutes ago.”

“Really? I didn’t see you come down?” He remarks. You resist the urge to make a sarcastic comment just yet because he probably didn’t realise what he’d been doing– that for the last three days he’d made you feel unimportant, made you worry that you were losing his loving gaze and actually threatened by a demon.

“What do you think of my dress?” You force a smile and do a little twirl, the end curling around your heels.

“Looks good.” Then he turns back to the girls. “So, what was I saying…”

You drown out his voice.

‘Looks good’

You were used to him telling you that you looked stunning, show stopping, ravishing, perfect beyond words. Good was still a complaint but it was one that you weren’t sure meant a lot from him.

Suddenly you began worrying that the middle was tugging at your waist too much and the lace sleeves were ripped in one place or another and the end was too long– maybe too short and too much of your heels were exposed.

You had gone from feeling sexy to suffocated, graceful to anxious that this was all too much.

So you tear his arm away from you, forgetting about the fact that only moments ago you were craving his physical touch and spin around on your heels. If you hadn’t of had so much practice in them since leaving heaven then you would’ve fallen– most likely taking a waitress or two down with you and that really would’ve been the icing on the top of the cake.

Tom knew he messed up the second he said those two words but was too egoistic to admit he. He would have drowned you in love and meaningful words. You were spectacular, sweet, utterly sinful.

And if you were alone he would’ve kissed down your neck, lips leaving a trail down your shoulder. The king would have climbed onto his knees for you, choked on his own words to show you in other ways what he thought of you in that dress but he didn’t know what was wrong with him.

“Sweetheart–”

He watches you clamber away, clenched hands folded in front of you as you gently shove past a crowd of demons. None of them dares to stop you and Tom follows behind, somehow

“Y/N, C’mon.” He practically begs, yeah, begs.

“What do you want?” You snap, just wanting to climb into your shared bed in a t-shirt and sweats– only Tom wouldn’t be in it and you’d take comfort in petting the man’s hellhound. You wanted to get rid of the makeup and the fancy hair clips and jewelry–

“Why don’t you tell me what it is that you want?” He watches your face remain the same, your teeth remain clenched and eyes hardened. “You look gorgeous in that dress, you do yeah?” His hands run down your waist but you don’t make any mores to stop him– nor spur him on. “You look amazing in anything.”

You push your lips into an angry pout, crossing your arms across your chest. By now you were in one of the many halls surrounded by paintings instead of demons. “I just wanted to get your attention.”

Music pounded through the walls.

“You’ve definitely got it–”

“No, I didn’t until I stormed out of there looking like smoke was about to come out of my ears.” You meet his normal, coffee brown eyes and let your face soften slightly. But you weren’t about to let him off the hook. “You’ve barely given me any attention for days and I’m at the point where I feel like I need to fight for it because you’re always busy or paying attention to what’s her face in there… I feel like I have to dress up like this to get your attention and even then it clearly doesn’t work. You haven’t taken the time to kiss me like you actually love me or make love to me in a week or so–”

The back of your throat burned but you didn’t notice that, because all you could focus on was the fact that he was mere inches away from you and your back was pressed up against the wall and it was intimate and you were alone.

“My love, look at me.” Tom takes your chin in his hand gently, bringing his lips to yours the second you met his eyes. His lips were warm, lightly chapped but still gentle against your own. The wine he’d been drinking stained his lips. It was careful, loving, and you feel yourself go limp against him, body instantly moulding against his own. “You’re everything, you hear me? Everything and more. You’re on my mind every second of the day, your voice plays in my head when I’m alone

“C’mon, Tom, I know you’re the king of hell and you’re all high and mighty but I… I need you.” You feel your voice break as his fingers softly caress your cheek, then over your bottom lip.

“And I need you too.” His voice is hoarse and raspy. “I need you in times like this to snap me out of it when I’m being an absolute dick. It sounds sappy but I need you too.”

You bite your bottom lip, tasting the bitter remains of the alcohol. “You hate being sappy.”

He notices the laugh you’re trying to suppress and smiles. “But it’s you, you make me sappy and I– I love it. I’m still learning how to do this entire relationship and sometimes I mess up and that’s no excuse to hurt you so call me out on my bullshit all you want, knock me down and tell me to wake up. I’m bettering myself for you.”

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