#my SAD comes with spring and summer instead of fall and winter like most people
Text
In the name of Love
“Xu Minghao one shot”
Pairing: Xu Minghao x female reader
Genre: Angst
Warnings: mcd (major character death), mentions of suicide, drowning, ocean, choking, jumping off a rooftop
Word count: 2.9K
Author’s Note: I DO NOT SUPPORT or ENCOURAGE suicide or any self harm in any way. And if you are uncomfortable in any of these tags, please don’t read.
Happy reading :)
It was the few days before summer came in full blow. The nights were still cold but the afternoons were warm, leading people to come out of their houses and play with the warm sand.
It was nearing spring, but my heart felt stuck in eternal winter.
I looked at the pink and white card on my desk, taunting me with its content.
The reason for the numbness I was willing into my heart.
“I want us to have a green and beige-themed wedding, it’d look so pretty. Right, Minghao?”
Just when I had thought that my heart was unfeeling and my eyes had cried all its tears out, the ache in my chest as the memories flooded through my brain, I realized maybe I would never be able to let her go.
Maybe it was my destiny to live the unrequited love while the love of my life went and got married to the one man I had considered my best friend.
Mingyu and Abhi.
The two people I had trusted the most, didn’t only go behind my back but also are going to start their new lives together as a wedded couple while I am left behind to pick up the thorns of their roses.
“Come on Minghao, are you really jealous of your best friend? He’s the one who I have thought of as a brother since we met. You are the one I have always loved”
Lies.
It was all pretty lies that somehow he had believed because he was blinded by love and now, here he is.
Minghao is alone in this room while the entire town is at their wedding.
It grows hotter and hotter as Minghao’s brain is filled with the moments of their betrayal.
Going to Mingyu’s home and finding Abhi there, cooking for him.
Seeing them hanging out at the club through their Instagram stories.
Their parents always being super close with each other and have dinners on a regular basis.
Minghao knows he should have known. He should have realized the truth when it was right in front of him but he was too blinded by love and too trusting.
He had loved Abhi and trusted Mingyu and in return, he received lies and betrayal.
The sadness was gone, what remained now was the anger.
How dare they play him like that?
How dare they lie to him for 4 years?
This was it.
Minghao wanted answers.
Why did Abhi not tell him she had fallen for his best friend? Why the act?
Minghao rushed to his car.
He had decided not to go to their wedding but he needed some kind of answer or else he was afraid he was going to go crazy.
Minghao hurries to the basement of the building and drives out in a rush.
The wedding location is 2 hours away and the wedding is in 3 hours.
He is sure he can get some answers before the marriage takes place.
“We should get the gardenias for our wedding. It's really pretty.”
“Minghao we should name our child based on stars. Two cuties born from love and adoration.”
“Minghao, I love you”
“Yes! A hundred thousand times Yes. I will marry you”
“I have to get married to Mingyu”
Tears threatened to fall as he recalled all the moments he had spent with Abhi.
It was still painful. It was still confusing.
To him, Abhi was the one.
He still cannot imagine a life without her so why? Why did she leave him?
Why was she marrying someone else when she knew Minghao wouldn’t be able to live without her?
‘Why did you do that Abhi? Was my love not enough?’
The place where the wedding was supposed to take place was pretty just as he had thought it to be.
But it was all wrong.
Instead of beige and green, it was white and lavender.
Instead of gardenias, there were orchids.
Instead of Minghao and Abhi, it was Mingyu and Abhi.
The pain bloomed once again as he saw photos of his ex-best friend and girlfriend, smiling at each other, excited to start their new lives.
“Minghao?” He sees the person in front of him. It was Ira, Abhi’s elder sister. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited?”
Ira visibly pales “I know. I just thought you wouldn’t actually attend the wedding.”
Minghao bursts out laughing. “And why is that? It is after all the wedding ceremony of two people who are so perfectly made for each other. Both are so pro in betraying others.”
Minghao knows it’s not Ira’s fault but he’s too angry to speak nicely to anyone.
“It's now what you think it is. Abhi-”
“Leave it. I don’t want to hear any excuses.”
Minghao walks away from Ira. He knows he is being disrespectful, but he really doesn’t want to hear any excuses from others.
What he wants are answers, directly from Abhi.
Thankfully Minghao doesn't encounter anyone else on the way to the dressing room and barges straight into the “For Bride” hall.
He notices the perfume the first thing he opens the door. It’s hers.
Nostalgia hits him as he realizes how much he missed her scent.
But also, how it reminds him of her betrayal.
The smell that used to make him feel calm, now only ignites embers of betrayal and broken promises.
Then he sees her, sitting in front of the mirror.
She’s just as stunning as he had imagined her to be in all of his fantasies and Minghao momentarily forgets why he was there.
The white dress, the veil, the diamond glowing against her skin. She looked like the prettiest girl in the world.
“Minghao?” Her voice broke my stupor, bringing back all the bad memories of her betrayal and the reason why I was here.
“Are you really here?”For some reason, Minghao sees her face transform from pale sadness to hopefulness. He knows he shouldn't care but his instincts force him to go near her, comfort her and not say a word that might hurt her.
He ignores the pang in his chest.
“Why are you so surprised? Weren’t you the one who sent me the invite?” The hope in her eyes dulls.
“Did you even open it? The invite?”
Minghao feels the anger coming back. He steps closer to her. “And why would I do that? So that you can laugh about how you made a fool of me and my love for you? No Abhi, I did not open the invite because I was not interested in it at all.”
Minghao sees as tears fall out of her eyes but he’s too far gone to care at the moment.
“Did you really think I was here to bless your marriage and congratulate the people who betrayed me? Or did you think I was here to get fooled by you two once again?”
“Minghao, you have to listen to me.”
“NO! YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME MRS ABHIRA MINGYU KIM.” I knew it was bad, I knew I was out of control, but I had lost all my semblance of control since the day I woke up and heard news about these two. And it was not directly from them. Not only was I betrayed, but I wasn’t even important enough to know the truth. But I refused to be disrespected anymore.
“So tell me, Abhi, since when have you been going behind my back and hooking up with my so-called best friend? Since when the two of you have been laughing at my loyalty?”
“Minghao please calm down and listen to me. Please.”
“The only thing I want to listen to is the reason you had to do this. Why didn’t you just tell me you liked him? Did you think I wouldn’t have understood you falling for him while being with me? Or did cheating on me give you some sick kind of pleasure?”
“Minghao please you are hurting me” He saw the scrunch on Abhi’s face and then looked down to see the grip he had on her arm. He immediately let go, the distraction somewhat dissipating his anger.
“Not more than how you hurt me.”
Minghao turned as he realized it was not worth it anymore. If she really wanted to be married to Mingyu, he’d give her that.
It was his last gift to her, his first and only love.
“Get married to Mingyu, Abhi. But don’t ever show your face to me. This is my last consideration to both of you”
Minghao walked out of the hall, ignoring the cries of Abhi who wanted him to listen to her.
But really, nothing remained to be said or heard.
Minghao straight away went to get his car, ignoring everything that was happening around him, and before he knew it, he was on the road, hitting 70 miles per hour.
His phone kept blaring but he ignored it all until his eyes were burning from the impact of the air and tears.
45 missed calls from Mingyu.
33 missed calls from Ira.
1 missed call from Abhi.
Minghao got hit by dread.
For some reason, an ominous feeling hit him, and he knew it in his heart. Something bad has happened.
Very bad.
His phone blares again and this time it's not Mingyu or Ira or Abhi.
It's Charles, his secretary.
Minghao feels his heart stop beating.
Something very bad has happened.
Very very bad.
He answers the call.
“Charles..?”
Minghao is unable to talk.
“Mr Minghao where have you been? Mr Mingyu has been wanting to reach out to you for the past hour.”
“Tell him he doesn’t have anything he can say that will mend our relationship. He is a betrayer and I will never forgive him or Abhi-”
“Miss Abhira passed away.”
The world goes pin drop silence as Minghao feels his eardrums ring. No way did he hear it right.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”
“Miss Abhira Ranawat took her own life. She jumped from the rooftop of her wedding venue and was pronounced dead while being transferred to the hospital due to a rupture of all internal organs.”
Minghao couldn’t concentrate on what Charles was saying anymore.
He couldn’t concentrate on where he was going.
Abhi….
Dead.
No.
Dead..?
No way.
It can…
It ain’t…
It’s not true.
No. Abhi cannot be dead.
She cannot die.
She’s not dead.
He doesn’t believe it.
HE CAN'T BELIEVE IT.
HE REFUSES TO BELIEVE IT.
The air feels thick and impossible to intake as Minghao dials Ira’s number.
The phone rings for 3 dials before he hears Ira’s voice.
“YOU BASTARD. WHAT? WHAT DID YOU EVER SAY TO MY BABY SISTER THAT MADE HER DO THIS? I WILL NEVER FORIVE YOU. I SWEAR I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU.”
Before he can reply, Minghao hears another voice.
“Minghao…”
Minghao feels dread fill his heart which twists the organ.
“Tell me it’s not true.”
The voice that comes out is way too calm for how he is feeling.
But he hopes, he wishes, he prays to all Gods above for Mingyu to ascertain that it’s not true.
That Abhi is still….
That she is still living and her heart is still beating.
He will do anything, forgive her, give her anything and everything she wants, as long as what he heard was not true.
“Her last wish was for you to read the letter.”
And just like that, Minghao’s entire world collapses.
No.
“You are lying…”
“I so wish I was…You don’t even realize how much”
Minghao doesn’t even cut the call. It just falls out of his hand as they lose all strength.
She’s dead.
Abhi is dead.
Minghao remembers all the bad things he told her… All the blame…
He remembers her tears and curses himself.
Why?
WHY?
Why did he have to do that?
Why did he treat her like that?
If she wanted to marry Mingyu, he should have just let her.
Why did he have to go and ruin her like that?
At least she would have been alive.
At least his world wouldn’t have ended.
WHY
WHY DID SHE TAKE HIS WORDS SO SERIOUSLY?
“I thought you read the letter…That’s why you are here..”
Minghao opens the wedding cursed invitation and a white paper falls out of it.
His tears make it difficult to read the words inked but by the time he completes reading it, his tears stop.
Instead, his world blackens.
The sun? It’s not there.
The people laughing? They are taunts in his ears which can hear everything clearly.
His heart stops but he is still breathing.
He shouldn’t.
He cannot.
He must not breathe, not when he is the reason Abhi is not breathing anymore.
He deserves to be punished.
More importantly, he refuses to live in a world where Abhi doesn’t exist.
Minghao is in auto mode as his legs walk towards the vast ocean that is in front of him.
He should have just let her get married to Mingyu.
Minghao knew he never deserved Abhi…He should have just stayed in the hotel.
He should have read the letter.
He should have listened when she was trying to explain.
Why was he so prideful?
Why was he so stupid?
Why did he let a girl like Abhi was the form of sunshine take, such a drastic step?
Why did Abhi just not slap him instead when he was blaming her?
The cold water broke his stupor and his body’s defense mechanism was forcing him to get out but he pushed through it.
He was a killer.
A murderer who forced the death of his own love.
He needs to be punished.
The first taste of the ice-cold salty ocean water awakened his brain but his heart had long since shut down.
He needs to bear the pain.
His hands and legs start kicking as water enters his lungs, burning his windpipe and begging him to swim out.
He should not live.
A few seconds later he feels his body going numb from the lack of oxygen and his brain is dark. But at the end of darkness, he sees light. It’s small but definite.
The coldness is no longer there.
Instead, he feels warm.
The light dissipates the darkness and warmth covers him.
“Minghao please don’t do this.”
The voice tells him as he feels himself floating in the air instead of water.
“I have to. I need to.”
“Minghao please…”
“No Abhi. I cannot live in a world where you don’t exist. Don’t tell me to do the impossible.”
“But I did that so you can live peacefully…”
“I am sorry you felt like that. That is why I need to be punished.”
“NO”
“I will meet you soon Abhi. After I atone for my sins, I will meet you and I will give you all the happiness you deserve. Just be happy till then.”
“Minghao please, stop.”
“I have made up my mind.”
“Let’s meet in another life”
#Spotify#caratwritersclub#kflixnet#angst#kpop#seventeen#seventeen imagines#kpop angst#svt#minghao x y/n#minghao angst#seventeen minghao#minghao#xu minghao#seventeen mingyu#mingyu#minghao svt#minghao seventeen#minghao scenarios#sad ending#kim mingyu#mingyu x reader#nihyunluvskookie#kpop imagines#seo myungho#kpop au#angst angst angst#seventeen imagine#seventeen scenarios#seventeen angst
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
SAD (Thoughts about seasonal affective disorder)
I keep track of the diminishing borders of each island of gravel covered snow. I don't mind the rain because I know it will wash away the last of winter with it. I keep checking the branches of trees waiting for the day when the buds burst open in the inevitable manifestation of spring. Every day I grow more restless, wondering if it really is inevitable after all. If this time everything will stay in this state of eternal hibernation. Or if this time I won't make it there at all.
I notice the spring flowers the first day they bloom. The sight of yellow after so much grey makes me sigh in relief and I finally feel like myself again. Suddenly waking up feels worth it again and seeing people stops feeling like a chore. My voice stops shaking when I try to speak up and the right words come to me naturally. Instead of staring at my phone on the bus to dissociate from my thoughts, I stare out of the window at the slowly transforming landscape and let the thoughts come. I start every morning with breakfast and a book on my balcony even though it's not quite warm enough for it yet, just so I'll be sure to see the first swallows fly across the sky. When I see the snake tongue tails I know I've made it.
I think I'm at my best at the end of spring. When I notice every new sign of summer approaching, when the intoxicating scent of lilacs hides behind every corner and I wake up to singing birds every morning. When instead of a sea of black coats people pull out their most colorful clothes from the back of the closet. When it seems like the world has turned back to color from black and white. When it stops feeling like I'm wading waist deep in thick fog against the current.
But summer is the shortest season. As soon as things stop growing they start dying. Just weeks after the solstice you can already see proof that everything will die. This heat is not sustainable, this life is meant to be reborn over and over at the mercy of the sun. What it gives it will also take away. The joy of summer is always overlaid with the knowledge of it's fragility. I do my best to ignore it and I don't let myself wallow in how everything's temporary. Or at least not outside of those 2am moments where the midsummer sun makes it impossible to distinguish between sunset and sunrise.
Still, August is my favorite month. It's the sunset as I kiss my first lover for the last time. It's the pouring rain as I cry afterwards, knowing nothing will be the same again. The last days of summer, the world where things blossomed so beautifully, gone in a blink of an eye. My best friend, now a stranger. The magic, short-lived. The sweetness on my tongue turning bitter.
It's the geese gathering to tank up for a long journey, preparing to leave this dying land behind. It's the first yellow leaves twirling in the wind. It's the sunflowers starting to seed and the red rowan berries bending the branches with their weight. The last bursts of color almost mocking me in their beauty, like the last good day before death.
It's the evidence that everything will die or go away once again. It's the hollow feeling when the colors start to fade, always too soon. It's the clouds parting for the sunset, just to say it's not completely done yet. It's the ghost of warmth clinging on as the wind chills me to the bone.
It's asking where all the time went. It seems I once again forgot to savour the warm months like I think I should. A part of me feels guilty, I spend all this time waiting for the summer but then I let it pass me by in a blink of an eye. When spring arrived I said I feel like myself again, when the leaves fall I begin to question it. How could I only be "myself" for such a short part of the year? Isn't it more likely that the rest of the year I'm the real me and during the summer I'm someone else and I'm only clinging on to the summer me because it's who I want to be?
Eventually, like always, the snow begins to fall. This time it will be different, I tell myself. I go see the doctor even though I'm not fully convinced that this isn't just who I am. The doctor prescribes me pills and tells me to buy one of those "SAD" lamps. I do it even though it costs way more than I can afford to spend on something that might not do anything at all. At least the placebo effect will be worth it, I think. Maybe it really will be different this time. Maybe I really will be different this time. Everything else changes so maybe I can too.
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
🌻
Here is a list of Bath and Body Works 3-wick candles I **currently** posses in my apartment in alphabetical order and my ratings on them. I'm only burning fall scents right now, the rest are in storage.
Could I be leaving these reviews/opinions on the website instead of tumblr? Yeah. Will I? Nah.
Birchwood Trail- 6/10 it's pretty nice and woodsy but not a stand out. I burn it in summer and fall.
Boardwalk- 7/10 smells like caramel corn and that's a blessing. summer scent. I've had it a long time though and don't burn it a lot because it's realllly sweet.
Caramel Cream Soda- 6/10 actually pretty nice, I liked the cream soda scent more than i thought. burned most of it this summer.
Cider Lane (x2)- 10/10 Cider Lane is the gold standard of which I match all other candles. It was discontinued last year but was resurrected this year and I almost cried. I transcend when I burn Cider Lane. Cider Lane is king.
Crushed Candy Cane- 9/10 some people go for Twisted Peppermint but I know, I KNOW that his is the superior holiday peppermint scent. DON'T LET TWISTED PEPPERMINT FOOL YOU (like, it's fine). Crushed Candy Cane is where. it's. at.
Fireside- 7/10 Nice bonfire smell, the only problem is I burn it in fall/winter and there are so many fall/winter scents I choose to burn over it that I just don't use it much
French Baguette- 3/10 lovingly called "bread candle". I've had it for four years and it's only like half way burned. I just bought it because I was surprised it really smelled like bread, but burning it is just...meh. Better in theory. the lessons I've learned from bread candle prevented me from buying the bacon candle yesterday though. thanks bread candle!
Fresh Balsam (x2)- 8/10 Honestly, so good. SO good. Straight up maaaaay even be better than Crushed Candy Cane when it comes to holiday candles. I took away a point because the scent triggers memories of Christmas when I was a kid which makes me SAD.
Fresh Cut Lilacs- 7/10 Nice, fresh spring scent. I love candles that smell like a garden center at a walmart and this one delivers. I like Rainforest Gardenia better, but I burned that one so...
Fresh Spring Morning- 4/10 verrrry meh. Has that non-descript "fresh" scent that kind of gives me a headache. It's not unburnable, but not awesome.
Island Margarita- 7/10 Was a gift which makes it extra special! I've had it for years. I just don't love summer scents all that much. Scent is pretty good. Gave it an extra point because my husband loves it.
Mint Chip Shake- 6/10 Pretty good, I wish it was more minty than chocolatey, ya know? It's a summer candle but I once had a winter candle of the same scent (different packaging and name) so I feel conflicted about when to burn it!
Paris Café- 4/10 Far too strong. I like the smell of coffee but it makes my apartment smell for like 5 days after burning it. Overwhelming, I'll just go to a REAL coffee shop!
Poppy- 5/10 It's fine. I really only bought it because my OC is named Poppy and I love poppies. I burned it a lot over the summer but now I associate it with bad memories of my job. Idk what the future holds for it tbh.
Spiced Gingerbread 6/10- It's nice, but doesn't hold a candle (ha) to the other winter candles, ya know?
Strawberry Pound Cake 5/10- I want to love it sooooo bad. It was a gift and that makes it really special too. But it's a little overwhelming and strawberry isn't always my fave.
Sugared Cherry Crisp (x2) 9.5/10- CHERRY CRISP MY BELOVED. What I don't like in strawberry I LOVE in cherry. This is a rare candle that impresses me for smelling like what it says it smells like but is also a delight to burn. Just. so. good. The only reason it isn't a 10 is because it's not Cider Lane. I have multiples stocked up of this one too.
Sugared Orange and Vanilla- 4/10 I guess I just don't love fruity scents that much. It's fine but I'm just kind of like "idk what else is there to burn"?
Sugared Pecan Pie- 7/10 My chosen candle to burn on Thanksgiving and like November. Smells nice, not as strong as I'd like.
Suntan- 7/10 Favorite summer scent for sure! I've had it for years. Don't burn it much because I just don't burn my summer candles much, but it smells like sunscreen which is nice. Was an 8/10 a point because the scent reminds me of my mom and I have mom issues.
Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin (x2)- 8/10 A fall classic, always get multiples for the fall. But like, it's *the* fall classic, ya know? Love it but it's a predictable fave. I kind of take it for granted because I know it'll never be discontinued. Burning it right now as we speak.
Tea and Lemon 20/10- Listen up about Tea and Lemon. It was the first candle scent to inspire me to buy these fucking overpriced corporate candles that I love soooo much. THEY DISCONTINUED IT YEARS AGO AND HAVEN'T BROUGHT IT BACK. I had two and now I have one and it's half burned and I will never light a flame to it again because then it'll be gone. I just smell it sometimes when I miss it, because it's my favorite of all time. It's billed as "Tea and Lemon" or "London Tea and Lemon" and in low moments I've considered spending $40+ to get another one from eBay, but even that doesn't seem like an option anymore. NO other lemon candle compares and I refuse to buy those. They smell like pledge. Not this one though. I love it so much and it fills me with sorrow.
Tis The Season (x2)- 8/10 Classic winter candle. Smells like apples and I love apples. Deducted a point because BOTH of them I have burn weird because of the weird wicks.
Vanilla and Santal- 6/10 Smells kind of bonfire-y. Nice when I don't want something sweet. Kinda forgettable.
Warm Apple Pie- 7/10 Nice fall choice. I've bought it twice but don't feel the need to like, stock up on it. Sometimes a little too sweet, but still nice.
Wicked Apple- 10/10 Fun fact! Wicked Apple is just Cider Lane. I'm convinced. It's what Cider Lane was packaged as last year. 10/10 because I knoooow it's you, Cider Lane! You can't hide!
Wildberry Tea Spritzer- 5.5/10 I bought it because I wanted another "tea" candle...but it doesn't even smell like tea. It's just fruity. I'm just trying to fill the Tea and Lemon hole in my heart and this ain't it, hon. It's nice in it's own right though, just makes me bitter.
I like candles a normal amount.
send me a 🌻 and ill just tell you whatever the fuck i want
#ask#queen-paladin#bath and body works#candles#this doesn't even scratch the surface of all the candles ive had#ive got thoughts#long post
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
//Me already queueing up autumn and halloween memes? More likely than you think.
#ooc#outofwater#tbd#dont look at me like that#my SAD comes with spring and summer instead of fall and winter like most people
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
*flies in like magneto* can i get some exes to lovers™?
Do I have some exes to lovers fics for you? Yes I certainly do. It seems that the cherik fandom loves some exes to lovers cherik and I don't blame anyone because this ship really calls for all the angst. I hope you enjoy this list.
Exes to Lovers AU
Bound – FuryRed
Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.
Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…
Preheat to 350 (just for you remix) – ikeracity
Summary: Charles realizes he's in love with Erik. But there's one tiny little problem: he just broke up with Erik.
Thread Through a Needle – Black_Betty
Summary: Erik and Charles are broken up. Neither of them want to be.
Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) – kianspo
Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.
Linger like a tattoo kiss – ikeracity
Summary: Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.
(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)
Symphysis – ikeracity
Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.
Call/Response – phalangine
Summary: Charles and Erik have a real conversation for the first time since breaking up. Charles is looking to avoid confrontation. Erik is not.
Regression Therapy – Fantine_Black
Summary: O, God, he’d made a terrible mistake. Whatever he’d expected to find here, Erik was still Erik, a man he’d moved continents to avoid. In retrospect, that felt like a rather good idea…
Four years after Charles walked away from Professor Lehnsherr, the two meet again for a drink.
Because things are better the second time round, aren't they?
Forever is Only a Drunk Dial Away – bettysofia
Summary: Charles is sad and drunk and stalking Erik's Instagram.
Shop Space – Caradee
Summary: Charles and Erik break up but still meet at their favorite coffee shop and manage a completely friendly relationship. The kids who work the coffee shop don't understand it, Charles' overprotective twin brother doesn't understand it, and even Charles doesn't understand it. Then, Erik shows up with a new date, someone who seems to be everything that Charles is not.
How will the Professor handle the surprising heartbreak that comes seeing Erik with someone else?
Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn
Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.
Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.
It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.
He hates Charles.
Probably…
Believe (One More Time) – luninosity
Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend...
Old Flame Burning – TurtleTotem
Summary: It's ridiculous for Charles to dread meeting the best man at his sister's wedding, just because he shares a name with Charles's ex. It's not as though it could possibly be the same Erik.
Don’t speak to the bartender – Wild_Imagination
Summary: Logan is a bartender, it's a gloomy evening, and in his bar there's someone with a broken heart. But this is not a movie.
Right?
Somewhere I’m Going & Have Never Been Before – Yahtzee
Summary: In late December 1984, Charles falls victim to the terrible pandemic sweeping across the globe. He's sick, probably dying, and utterly alone in an isolated cabin...until he's not.
Walking in a Winter Wonderland – TurtleTotem
Summary: Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.
Lean On Me – SpiritsFlame
Summary: Ten years ago, Charles and Erik split up, dividing their six kids between them. None of them expect them to meet at summer camp. And no one could have predicted the results.
It was a yellow umbrella spring – ikeracity
Summary: Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York.
Second chances are wonderful things.
My heart above my head – annejumps
Summary: Emma thinks her coworker Erik and her friend and fellow telepath Charles should get together. No one expects things to get so intense so quickly.
The Edge of What Doesn’t End – populuxe
Summary: When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.
Exit Wounds – LemonadeGarden
Summary: It's been eight months since Charles and Erik had a fight that broke apart their marriage. When a mutant rights protest goes awry and Charles begins to get sick, past memories and present obstacles begin to blur the lines of their ideological differences.
Alternatively: Charles and Erik learn how to fall in love again in troubled times.
Note: Unfinished
11 Days, 8 Hours and 12 Minutes (or Bruises, Stupidity and Anger Management) – ximeria
Summary: For six months, Erik and Charles have been the disgustingly happy couple of the school. Considering their pigheadedness and general communication skills (or lack thereof), things are bound to go boom at some point.
Moon Song – ikeracity
Summary: Werewolf AU. When Charles is captured by hunters, Erik and his pack go after him. It turns out there might be some room for redemption left for both of them after all.
I will Never Stop Loving You – swoopswoop
Summary: Erik and Charles split up three years ago but Erik never really got over it and then one day when the man who walked out of his life three years ago is walking down the street towards him, Erik sees an opportunity to mend fences.
Please leave your message after the tone – ikeracity
Summary: Spending his evening getting shitfaced and pining over Erik seems like a totally productive use of Charles's time. Luckily, it turns out to be a better idea than it sounds.
When the Spell Breaks – kianspo
Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.
We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven (the things you love don’t last remix) – hllfire
Summary: Charles hands Erik the signed divorce papers, but Erik has changed his mind. Too late, it seems. All he can do is go forward with the divorce.
A year later, Charles comes back, and Erik can't help but wanting to see him. The only problem is things don't go like Erik had planned.
Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let it Snow Remix) – kianspo
Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.
Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash
Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.
All we do is break up (and make up) – Stuckyl0v3r
Summary: "So instead of making the most out of this next months, because you don't know where either of you is going to end up, you decided to stay away from each other to get used to the feeling?" Hank summed up, stopping in front of the class. Charles nodded his head confidently and beamed at him, but somehow his smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Yes, something like that."
Well, that was the most idiotic plan Hank's ever heard.
Three wheels of cheese and a Great White – ximeria
Summary: Charles and Erik were friends with benefits in college.
They went their separate ways and 18 years later, they run into each other in New York.
The sex was never a problem back in college - and sex was all it had been. But now Erik is a divorced father and Charles has admitted to himself he needs more than just sex in a relationship. So in their usual round-about way they try to navigate becoming friends after so many years. The whole quest is aided by Raven, Edie, Wanda and Pietro (and a large number of shark jokes).
358 notes
·
View notes
Note
Request are opeeeeeen yay
Oh, well, could you please do a comforting scenario with Belphie and a depressed MC that's usually very cheerful but not right now (y'know, because of✨ Seasonal depression✨) with a lot of fluff and love?
Thank you in advance, and thank you also for all the things you write! It is amazing!!!
Requests are not open, this is from last time. Also i love how you go to emo boy for seasonal depression haha
Warning: mentions of seasonal depression
As the Seasons Change (BELPHEGOR X GN!READER)
As if life wasn’t already complicated enough as it is, it also just had to throw yearly change at you. The warm, fun, light, bright, and outdoors-y stuff was suddenly replaced by cold, long nights and tons of darkness. Now, for some people, this was great. Who doesn’t prefer shorter days and more sleep? But to people like you, this just put you into a spiral of moodiness. Everything that you looked forward to in Spring and Summer suddenly got taken away and it wasn’t… it just made you feel bad, you know? Things are dying, animals go into hibernation, and people are dressing more darkly. It’s almost as if the world decided to be emo for 6 months out of the year and as much as that is okay, it really isn't. You liked the sunshine and warm days with the softest of breezes. The beautiful flowers and trees and animals that come out to play. Of course, people also just seemed happier. It’s beautiful, to you. Besides, the Devildom already gave you a shock with its constant darkness but you somewhat got used to it, up until Diavolo decided that he needed to “keep up with the human realm” and decided to bring winter down here. So now instead of dark and hot as hell, it was dark and cold as hell. Seriously, it may not be affecting the demons too much but how did he think his two human and two angel exchange students would react?
Still, you can’t blame it all on Diavolo. The guy was trying to do something nice by bringing a little bit of human into the Devildom, probably forgetting that not all humans react the same way to sudden change and or dark and cold dynamics in general. Bottom line is, you were less than pleased. Your moods spun out of control ranging from sadness to anger to not feeling worthy. It was a confusing time and right now, the most you could feel was ‘okay’. “Lucifer, why don’t demons get weirded out by the sudden change in temperature?” You hoped that the eldest could give you some type of explanation or maybe even a little bit of sympathy so you didn’t think you were the only one, but he only shrugged. “Demons adapt easily. We have to, otherwise we’d be tormented by our own minds.” It wasn’t exactly the answer you were looking for and Lucifer could tell, but it didn’t take away from the fact that that was the only answer you would be getting out of him.
You hated this, genuinely. You even tried talking to Diavolo about it but it seemed to fly right over the guy’s head. “Haha isn’t this fun? I forgot what the cold feels like!” No, Diavolo, it’s not fun. Did you know that some people prefer the cold and get depressed over summer too??? No??? Well, then don’t assume! Of course, you didn’t say that to the Demon Lord because although he himself never scared you, you were terrified of what Barbatos may do had you disrespected the future King like that. You felt alone because even Solomon preferred the dark and although the angels are being of light, they didn’t seem to be affected much by this either. Was it just a human thing? Maybe just a you thing? The more you thought about it, the lonelier you felt and the brothers began to notice your change in behavior. How couldn’t they? They felt bad for you. Beel tried to cheer you up with food, which usually made you laugh, but now you’re just turning away from him.
Belphegor is the only one who somewhat seemed indifferent, although his looks at you lasted a little longer than usual. Usually you’d annoy him with your constant happiness and ability to jump around everywhere, so now that it’s gone, it’s weird that he actually kind of misses it. “Come cuddle with me.” “Belphie I do---!” But he didn’t even care. He just grabbed you and then dragged you up into the attic with him. That’s probably the most exercise he’s done in a while: dragging someone up the stairs, but it was worth it. Kinda. Maybe. “I didn’t ask. I told you.” You rolled your eyes at him because when does he ever ask? He just does his thing and seems endlessly happy with that, although something told you that was the biggest lie.
“I don’t want to cuddle.” Now he’s rolling his eyes, falling down onto the bed in the attic and holding out his arms to you. “Maybe you don’t want it, but you definitely need it. Stop fighting with me.” you groaned but gave in, falling down beside him, trying to keep at least some space between the two of you, but Belphie didn’t care and immediately rolled closer, putting his head on your chest. “Stroke my hair and tell me what’s wrong.” What? See this is why you and Belphie rarely ever hang out. He’s so demanding, so needy, and you swore he rivaled Leviathan at times. Levi would beg you to stay until you would, though, and Belphie would just have a death grip on you. Right now you didn’t know which was worse. “Belphie I don’t… I don’t want to.” “Fine then just hold me, but talk to me.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around him because that seemed like a fair compromise and he was already half on top of you so what’s the point of arguing?
“I just… my emotions are all over the place. I’m sad and then I’m angry. I get annoyed and then I get lonely… it’s because Diavolo changed the damn weather…” You felt stupid for saying that out loud and you could almost guarantee that Belphie thought the same thing, but he didn’t say anything, instead waiting for you to go on. “I just got used to the dark and the hot of the Devildom and now it’s… it’s dark and cold and it feels lonely and empty and I can’t cope with that. He did it to be ‘hip’ or whatever with the human world but he fails to realize that just because it happens naturally up there, doesn’t mean people like that.” “So you got seasonal depression.” You nodded, slowly beginning to let your fingers run over his back while he wrapped himself around you. Well, he more so climbed fully on top of you and snuggled his face into your neck. It tickled a bit so you managed to let out a little giggle, but it disappeared just as quickly.
“Yeah… I was… you know I could’ve gotten used to just having dark and hot all year around but then he goes and does this and I can’t feel happy right now… everything is just so sad and gloomy. Spring just started in the human world and yet Diavolo decides to start late and extend winter…” Belphie snorted, finding amusement in your words. He has his own opinions about his Demon Lord, including the fact that that guy is a huge himbo, but he could never voice that out loud. Not when he knows Lucifer lives under the same roof as him. “He sucks. But you know… this does give you an excuse to just lay with me all day.” And yes, he truly believes that’s a good thing. Why wouldn’t it be? No expectations, just sleep and cuddles. He pulls his head out of your neck and leans up a bit, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Just stay with me. I can make you sleep until Lord Diavolo decides winter is done. He’s going to get tired of it sooner or later.”
You laughed softly at his proposal, shaking your head a bit. “I don’t know if you’re aware but humans need to eat and drink and you’d have me play sleeping beauty, meaning I’d die due to the lack of food and water in my body.” Belphie only shrugged, laying his head back down and snuggling closer. He was behaving like a baby right now, but a cute baby, who wouldn’t let you go. “I don’t see the issue, but suit yourself.” Of course the Avatar of Sloth wouldn’t see the issue. You rolled your eyes again and then poked his sides before holding him tightly. “You’re warm….” “I know.” Another eye roll but you also couldn’t help but smile. He’s such an idiot but at least you’re not alone right now. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer… for just a little bit.”
Belphie smiled into your neck, kissing it gently before closing his eyes, “I thought so.”
#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me headcanons#obey me scenarios#belphegor x reader#belphegor x mc#belphegor obey me#belphegor avatar of sloth#mc x belphegor#belphie x reader#obey me belphegor x reader#tw mentions of depression
278 notes
·
View notes
Text
how the dragon chases his tail
Miraak the Dragon Priest was not always a man haunting the halls of Apocrypha. Once, he was a little boy, and he had a terrible choice to make. On A03 here. For TESFest21, prompt: change.
CW: brief self harm, indoctrination, mention of castration, explicit references to violence and character death. Also, the Dragon Cult.
The boy that would be Miraak thrusts out his chest in pride when he sings. (He has another name, then, one that tastes of sweet snow and young summers. But that name is never written in any book and fades even from its bearer under the press of centuries, so the boy he shall be.)
He is only young, but he knows he is the best singer in the cult choir, probably in the whole temple. The priest that directs the children always gives the boy solos and arranges the whole choir to compliment his voice. Not every child born in the village below gains the chance to serve out their due to the temple so quickly, and the boy is very sensible of the good fortune his lovely singing wins him.
He is devastated, therefore, when his voice cracks halfway through a pure high note that should be easy.
“It is natural – quite normal, a maturation process, of sorts,” Frinaar says hurriedly. Frinaar is an absently devoted man, but he lives for his choir pleasing the ear of his dragon master. (In five years, this love will not save him when his master grows bored and rends him chest to groin with one swipe. His organs will fall soft and pink from his belly, and he will be dead before he hits the ground.)
But for now, the priest cranes his head around the corners before he takes them, ushering the boy along with sweeps of his voluminous, incense-stained robes, like he is quite afraid of anyone with less than perfect control over their voice to be found in the temple. “Quite normal – only so unfortunate – right before our master should return – so unfortunate. The display will not be the same without the lead and that understudy…”
Frinaar clucks his tongue, ringing praise for the boy’s young rival, Jyric. (Older, and jealous of the boy’s special treatment by the priests, Jyric is resentful and bitter. He will not mourn the fate he hears the boy earns for himself, when the boy is a man. But he will not long outlive it either, for he will be seized with a terrible wasting disease that will take the strength from his bones, and abandoned by his kin, will succumb to it in shivering fever alone.)
“Master may be displeased – so many of the choristers eaten, at recent, and…” He pauses, sweeps down to look at the boy beneath one bushy brow. “You do not think – you do not think that you could delay it? Your voice breaking?” he asks hopefully.
“Yes,” the boy cries at once, desperate for any chance, and his voice cracks.
Frinaar winces. “Get gone.” He brushes the boy vaguely towards the temple doors, muttering to himself. “I knew that we should fix them when we get them, then this would not happen! Or only permit girlchildren, but it’s ‘ah, Frinaar, how will our village grow, if you prevent our boys from becoming fathers and our girls becoming mothers?’ Well, I should like to see how our village will grow when the choristers are all off and the master is displeased!”
Disappearing in a whirl of mumbling and swishing robes, Frinaar leaves the boy to it. For a moment, the boy stands there, hoping against hope that there is some mistake, and that Frinaar will come back to fetch him.
The iron doors, carved with beautiful depictions of the dragons the temple serves, remain stubbornly closed. And the boy that would be Miraak is brave, and he is strong, but he is only a boy, and he is suffering the bitterest disappointment of his life.
He bursts into tears, and the shame of it is enough to send him to his knees.
Sat on the steps, knobbly knees drawn up to his forehead, he cries silently with the experience of any child who has lived every night of his life since his sixth winter in a crowded dormitory. He is lucky, he knows, because the boy has family in the village. A mother, and siblings; he sees them sometimes when the temple children are allowed to go down to the village to celebrate festivals. They are good people. His mother will be coming to get him.
Not everyone has a mother to fetch them when their temple years are served. Some go to beg for an apprenticeship, a trade, or remain at the temple to join the ranks of warriors destined to guard the temple and barrows beyond. But the boy does not feel like it is luck now.
Anything that takes him further from the temple and all that he has come to know feels like a curse.
Eventually, though, he runs out of tears and instead dips his fingers in the snow, rubbing the cold water under his eyes to reduce the swelling. This too, he has practiced, how to look as if he has not just been crying. He straightens his spine and assumes a bored posture, like he has never been more confident and calm in his life. He is aware, after all, of the slits cut into the walls of the temple, for the guards to see approaching intruders on the temple steps where he sits.
This is how his mother sees him, when she, huffing, reaches the top of the temple steps. She glances around, a little uncertainly, her smile tentative. (Her name is Sinawen, but the boy will not remember it all, when he is a man looking back through muddled memories. So, we will call her Sina, because her story is sad enough without the grief of eroded memory. She will burn in agony for the crimes of her son, having outlived all of her children save one, whose fate is murky to her on her deathbed, but whose suffering is assured.)
“My son?” Sina says, and calls him by that name, that name that the boy would forget.
“Mother,” he says back, determinedly keeping his voice at a low, even tone, and her whole face crinkles into a sunbeam of joy.
“My boy!” she says, and rushes towards him, and quite before the boy can do anything at all he is enfolded into a huge hairy hug. She smells like peppermint and the winter trees she tends in their beds of snow and ice for the village. (It is important work. It is why she has only had to give one child to the temple, her lastborn, who takes most after his long-distant father.)
The boy that would be Miraak hangs there in his mother’s arms and wishes that the ground would swallow him up on the spot. He hopes his rival Jyric has not found a slit to watch through, and laugh at the boy being coddled by his mother like a child. Humiliation makes rosy apples of his cheeks, and he pushes at her.
(He is a child, still. How quickly do they wish for what they do not understand. Does he know that this will be the last time he gets such an embrace, steeped in a mother’s love, uncomplicated and clear as ice? Of course he doesn’t.)
She releases him, used to the pride of the young, but she holds his hand when they go down the temple steps, and he lets her. Her black claws are like his, though the boy’s are clipped short so he will not tear the papers he works with, and when he looks up he sees her cloud of hair swaying in the breeze, salt-flecked cream, and this is the image he will hold of her in his heart, looking off towards the home the boy had been born in with a smile on her lips and tear-tracks on her cheeks.
(Would it change anything, if he did know?)
“I am so glad you are coming home, my son,” she says, “We have all missed you.”
The boy says nothing at all at this, because there is a flicker of shame in his heart. Of all the children in the dormitory, he has been the quickest to scorn the homesick, the swiftest to pledge every thought in his mind to devouring whatever scraps of knowledge the priests have seen fit to grant their charges. He has not thought of coming back, in that vague way of inexperience, thought then that this heady time of learning would last forever.
(He will learn, unfortunately, that there can be too much of such a good thing.)
The village is not far from the temple, and Sina’s home not far from the village, nestled between cold white stands of frosty trees. A small shrine waits off the path, devoted to the owl-god Jhunal and the whale-god Stuhn, warding against demons drawn by the misty woods. It is well tended, but the boy still spots, hidden on the bark of a tree, a watchful carved eye that does not seem like it belongs with the rest of the shrine.
The boy does not think anything of it.
(Do you?)
“Better things than that temple out there,” says the boy’s eldest brother, after they have eaten, and the misery on the boy’s face can no longer be attributed to hunger. He is wild and tangle-haired, spends his whole life to date out in the snows, and still feels constrained.
(His name is Terren, and he will not survive a chance stumble into a bear trap, not far from the hunter’s path he had strayed from. A summer from this day, he will be a frozen corpse, found only the following spring when a lost hound tracks the wrong kill. The boy will remember him unnamed, as only as his shredded blue face, gnawed by animals, exposed bone pointing to the sky, and forget their relation, any sense of why this face hurts more than any other he has seen.)
(It will be the kindest fate those with this boy’s blood meet.)
“Yes!” pipes his second sibling, Minwen, a sister whose quick fingers at the distaff has won her valued approval, whose bright eyes look at the temple on the hill that swallows her brother with as much trepidation as curiosity. (She will die choking, and her quick fingers will not be enough to stem the blood warm and wet that will gush from her cut throat. The boy’s memory of her kindness will be taken from him, and of her all he will recall is blood-soaked snow and deep dragon-laughter.) “You could learn magic, at home with us.”
“That’s stupid,” the boy snaps. His voice cracks and he sinks his head into his arms. “I’m supposed to be there now. I’m the best singer they have. I, ” he adds, venomously, thinking of Jyric, “ never lose the beat.”
It is true. The boy has a sense of timing that is as innate as it is perfect.
(Any skill can be a torment, when cultivated by the right gardener.)
“When you are a man,” his mother offers, quietly, mouth pinched around the edges, “couldn’t you go back?”
“They don’t need any more apprentices,” the boy says glumly. “They have too many. Frinaar always complains. And that’s years, and years away. I’d rather die.”
His siblings exchange glances. A depressing silence has settled over the table. The boy takes this as his due, too young to realise his selfishness.
(I would love to tell you that he learns.)
Sina sighs. “It may not be what you want, my son, but we are very happy to have you home.”
(But you know better, don't you?)
The boy’s brother Terren scoffs, a little, muttering something about ungratefulness. Minwen next to him elbows him sharply in the ribs, hissing “Think of mother!”
(Please do think of her. Sinawen’s suffering will be eaten by her god. Someone could at least remember she existed. Eventually, her son won’t.)
The boy says nothing, grinding his forehead into the wood of the table. He is consumed in his own misery, everything he has worked for in his young life ripped away from him. It isn’t fair, he thinks jealously. He doesn’t want to be a wood-grower like his mother, or a spinner, or a scout, or to join the everlasting battle against the beasts and bandits beyond the bounds of the village that has taken his father from the guards.
(It isn’t about what the boy wants.)
He wants… he wants the feeling he gets, when he is tasked to sweep the courtyard and lingers close to the wall where the master roosts, eyes running over dragon-words scratched with dragon-claws. The feeling that swells, hot and bright, when he sees dragons overhead, chasing each other’s tails and immense in their majesty. The power that he feels, somewhere just out of reach, when he sings out strong and brave and the whole of the choir rises up around him like a voice of thunder. He feels – he feels alone, in the warmth of his mother’s house, the people that are his family all around him.
He feels alone when he squeezes a carefully-rescued scale no one misses in his hand, so hard that it draws blood. And something in him looks at the blood that wells around his skin, warm and red, and is disappointed that it doesn’t burn like acid dragonblood. He feels alone then, too. But it is a different aloneness, something that feels like a secret whispered in a language he doesn’t know. Set apart, instead of left behind.
But, the boy thinks mulishly, he could learn another language. He can’t fill the gap that has grown after years away.
(See how proud and foolish he is! Can you imagine yet how much the boy will regret this?)
Dinner is eaten quickly, and Terren is out the door to roam the stands of ice-trees, trail hard claws over the bark. Minwen braids her mane around her fox-ears with ribbons. And his mother draws the boy outside, and takes him to stand beneath the tree with the watchful eye. Sina goes to her knees in the snow and holds her son’s face. Her eyes are deep and warm, crinkled with laugh lines at the edges.
“You have the look of your father,” she tells him, “And his spirit, apparently.” She clucks her tongue. “He was insistent that we go to a temple village, for the winged ones. I see Kyne in his hawk-eyes like yours.”
(Do you think that Kyne cares?)
The boy is watching the sky, not paying attention. Something in him is itching. “You’re not supposed to say that,” he says. “You’re supposed to call them masters.”
“When the priests can grow wood from ice alone, they can correct how I speak,” Sinawen says firmly. “You are not in the temple, any longer. I can teach you my art. How often did they even let you out? You were not made for stone tombs, my son.”
“I am a priest,” says the boy.
“There are other gods,” Sina says, but his mother’s reply is drowned by the sweep of mighty wings overhead. Sina grabs her son as he lurches towards the temple, eyes tracing the shimmering, bluer-than-blue shape, the joyful roar of frost. It shakes his bones. He knows, without knowing, that the dragon is greeting its roost, crowing its mastery over the mortals that serve it.
Something in the boy that will be Miraak aches to roar back.
His mother’s amulet brushes his cheek, freed from the neckline of her shirt. It is carved of a single emerald, one eye half-hidden between two branching leaves. The eye looks at him steadily. (How soon a seed is planted.)
The boy tugs impatiently against his mother’s arms.
“I need to go,” he says, “I need –”
He is aware of a distant, enormous sensation, somewhere in the place that knows without looking at the sun where the planets are, and how long it has been since he last looked. He is aware that something about this is important, terribly important, as if the world itself is waiting, waiting to see what he will do.
Sina’s shoulders slump. (She has her own choice to make here. How she will pray that she did not.)
“May the Woodland Man reveal the answers you seek,” his mother says, face buried in the loose tumble of the boy’s hair, “and when you are satisfied, She-Wolf guide you home.”
(The boy will not remember this, but the eye of the gods opens on him.)
Her arms loosen, just a little, and the boy tears himself free. He races up the path nimble as a mountain goat without a backward glance. The enormous feeling only grows stronger as the boy runs, until it begins to feel like he is being crushed under the soulful, silent weight of monumental purpose. He gasps for breath, but doesn’t stop, doesn’t stop even as he flies up the vast stone steps and into the thick iron doors. They creak open, only a little, and the boy throws the entire impatient weight of his child body against them again, and again, causing hollow booms to reverberate through the temple.
(This temple will not even survive as a ruin. Its rocks will be torn apart, its iron doors melted down, its servants slaughtered. Nothing lasts forever. Bormahu-that-is-Alduin is always hungry.)
“Who dares – You?” It is Frinaar who pulls the temple doors open, his face furrowing angrily into confusion, but the boy does not stop.
He bowls past Frinaar, following the inexorable drumbeat of his soul, hardly knowing where he is going but not needing to as his feet follow the halls he has lived half his young life traversing. Frinaar is shouting behind him, at first loudly, then with increasing urgency, his robes flapping like dragon wings.
Dragon wings. The boy sees them again, white as snowfall against the curve of the sky, and pivots on his foot, crashing out the door into the open courtyard where the dragon of the temple holds reign.
The singing breaks off as the boy bursts in, and sudden silence drops sharp as a death-knell. Snow swirls about his eyes, but the boy can still see the great icy-blue form of a dragon crouching on the Wall that commemorates its greatness, a vast treasure of gold and gems spread out beneath its shading wings. The tribute of the temple.
(How many fingers bled and bellies cramped for a master’s vanity this year? How little things change.)
The boy has interrupted the ceremony.
The dragon roars. “Why have you stopped?”
Its voice is huge and rumbling, shaking the boy’s bones. (I won’t tell its name. The fate of this dragon is whispered in soft horror even amongst its scaled, cold-hearted brethren. There are some things simply too brutal to record, some fights too desperate to be remembered in the mind. The boy’s body will remember, though, and he will carry the scars of this dragon to his grave.)
The choir looks at each other. (None of them will make it out alive.) The boy can see Jyric, moon-faced and trembling, staring at him like he is a daedra. (Maybe he is.) The dragon swings its great head and catches sight of the boy, a lone figure at the door. It leaps and lands with a crash that shakes the earth.
(Is Bormahu-that-is-Akatosh even looking?)
“Fool!” the dragon cries, “This is my temple! You will find no nest here!”
The boy says nothing, seized in the grip of enormity. A choice is happening, vast and terrible, and he can feel it resounding down into his earbones, blocking out the dragon’s threat.
(Is it his? Was any of it ever his choice at all?)
Its head rears back as it draws in breath, and the choir scatters, diving nimbly out the way. The boy watches numbly, mind screaming to follow their suit as they have all practiced, but his body is still and firm. It knows, with granite certainty, that the boy can withstand the dragon’s Shout.
“IIZ!” The dragon roars, and ice barrels towards him. It strikes with the weight of a warhammer, and the boy staggers. But he remains standing, instinctively protecting his face with his arms. His hair is crusted into crystals, and ice cracks down his arms when he lowers them. They burn, distantly, with horrible pain.
(Did it always have to end this way?)
The dragon looks bewildered that the boy is not dead. The choir rustles as they slowly raise their heads. A shocked murmur runs through the courtyard. Some have frozen solid, unmoving lumps that quickly become dusted with the light snowfall, those that were huddling too close to the boy where he stands, garlanded with frost like a princeling at the epicentre of the blast.
“I have to be here,” the boy says, “I-“ He struggles, wordless, for a way to convey the inexorable exhortations of his soul. “Take me with you. Burn me – claw me – but let me with you!”
(We can’t stop this. It’s already happened.)
He thinks of Sinawen, her hand tugging his, as if nothing is more natural in the world. The strange pull – it has to be like what he has seen in his brother and sister. In the other children, who weep for their families, when the boy pretends he does not. He thinks of the words of his mother, how easily she folds him into her, as if there has been a place for him all this time, as if she has been waiting for him.
The boy cries, helplessly, unable to name what he is feeling, the strange and intense kinship he feels to the dragon, the unbearable sense of loss when he thinks of that scar around that family table where a boy with a name like summer snows had once lived. Claw to claw, ice to ice, eye to sky. Is it love?
(Maybe it even is, then. Is a boy a son because of flesh, or spirit? What about a boy whose heart is kissed by the dreadful Wheel of the Creator-Destroyer of Time? This boy has always had the look of his Bormah. He has the hunger, too.)
The dragon pulls its head back again, but not to Shout, the boy knows, does not know how he knows. For a moment, there is no sound but the snow, soft as sighs on his shoulders. And then the dragon laughs, low and gravelly.
“Geh,” says the dragon. “Would that all took you as a guide for their service.”
(Oh, they will. The boy will learn how little choice matters, will learn how to take it from his masters. He will teach this lesson on a firm Voice, and when they listen, and when they see, they will remember, because the boy is the son of his father, and there is no choice in orderly, eternal grind of the doom-driven.)
The dragon lowers its head, amused, to regard the boy with one gleaming blue eye. Deep in its chest, it makes a strange clicking sound, ticking like a Dwemer time-piece. Then it snorts, and turns its great scaly body. Making for a tunnel cut into the cliff, its tail sweeps carelessly, nearly bowling over a dumbstruck Frinaar.
“Come along, Miraak mal-sonaaki,” says the dragon, not looking back.
(What is will, fate, if not another prison? This is a farce.)
The boy hesitates for a moment, and then realises all at once that the dragon means him. He blinks, feels a small smile stretch his lips, wreathed in the warm glow of burgeoning confidence.
(The mask this name gives him will become as part of him as his skin. It’s too late now. Fate has decreed that this boy’s hope must die to win his service.)
Miraak runs after his master and feels each step ring with the hollow promise of fate. And though nothing simple has changed, for he is back in the temple and everything is right in his young world, he knows, blood-and-soul deep, that nothing is ever going to be the same again.
(The gods are watching. Do you think they laugh?)
Gloss:
Bormahu - Our father. Dovahzul that when used by dragons means Akatosh, father of dragons. Also the Creator (Akatosh) and Destroyer (Alduin) of Time.
Woodland Man - Hermaeus Mora.
She-Wolf - Mara. God of love, handmaid to Kyne.
Hawk-eyed Kyne - God of storms and sky. Compared to Kynareth.
Whale god Stuhn - Warrior god of ransom, brother of Tsun. Compared to Stendar.
Owl-god Jhunal - God of wisdom, runes and mathematics. Compared to Julianos.
Frinaar - Eager Servant.
Miraak - Allegiance Guide.
Mal - little or small.
Sonaaki - my priest.
Iiz - Ice.
#inkwrites#tesfest21#prompt:change#miraak#skyrim#ok this is genuinely very terrible#but here you go anyway#enjoy i guess sksks#my fic how the dragon chases his tail
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Sisma
A/N: This is an original work that I am testing out, so please be brutally honest with me, give me all the opinions if you choose to read, I would really appreciate it! This began as an Anthropology assignment to create a new religion and out of it came this...
Summary: In the beginning there was darkness, chaos and evil. But all of that was ancient history, right?
TW: Witchcraft
In the beginning there was darkness, chaos and evil. The Craz roamed the darkness in their true form with greed and mischief and ate away at the very essence of potential life that might have emerged otherwise. This was the before times, before a new humanity, water, fire, air and earth.
Then, the stars fell. Four stars, to be exact, four stars that were four beautiful sisters; Alora, Rakisha, Nori and Beila. They fell right down to the darkness. It was pure chaos. The fallen stars still had their fading lights with them, and a desire to make something whole and pure out of a fallen world, one that had once been a home of goodness and peace and acceptance. So together, they used their light and their unique ways to push away the darkness and create a world of their own. The four sisters came to be known as the Bringers; the Sisma.
Alora, the first to fall and the first to awaken in the darkness, danced the grass into existence, creating a soft place to land for her following sisters, whom she knew were yet to come. She brought forth from the ground, trees and mountains, flowers and soil. Alora was henceforth known as the Bringer of Earth.
Beila, the most heartbroken of the four by the essence of darkness that now surrounded her, cried from her own sad eyes, the swelling seas, the rivers and the rain from the stars above. Beila was then and forever will be the Bringer of Water.
Rakisha found the world still dark and dreary as she fell into it, so she whispered light into the world, sending a ball of fire up to the skies to keep the world warm, bright, and wild, though her creation was found to be unpredictable and hungry, just as she was. Rakisha, wild and free, came to be known as the Bringer of Fire.
Nori, the youngest and shiest of all the sisters, sang the air from her lips so quietly so that every creation could then breathe in life and know of her presence though they may not see her. From the song came the breeze and the wind. From then on, Nori was named the Bringer of Air.
For the first time in centuries, there was new hope on a fallen world, the light of four Bringers creating something brand new from the dark ashes. This, however, was something the Craz were anything but grateful for. Craz thrived on darkness and chaos, surviving off of the mess of a world it had once won in a great war. The Craz fought back, sending a dangerous darkness back out over this new world, poisoning the green trees, the oceans, the wind and the sun, creating the night and the dark moon so it could use it to harness the light and send it far away from them.
Fearing they would lose their new creation, the Bringers brought forth an army to defend it; the animals. Nori made birds of the breeze and let them fly over the darkness and shed their light onto it. Fish, sharks and seals grew from the bubbles of the rain, rivers and sea purifying the waters so that they may live there. From the burning fires of the world grew lions, tigers and bears, fierce creatures to let out mighty roars to scare the darkness back into the light. Finally, from the flowers and trees grew creatures unlike any other; humans.
The humans were meant to be an army of light against the Craz, fighters and protectors of the sacred land that was created for them. This, however, did not last as, instead of protecting the Bringers gifts and lights, they began to harvest the gifts for themselves, trying to steal the lights away from the world and claim it as their own. The Bringers then decided to leave the humans to fight the Craz without their light, promising to come back when they were worthy enough to have a purified world, when the light could reach their eyes.
At least, that’s how the story went.
All of that was ancient history now. Still the story was as sacred as ever, told on the first of each season and followed by the Relation to the Bringer of the season. It was winter now, the season belonging to the Bringer of Water, Beila, the saddest of all the Bringers, so the Gingri had each cleansed themselves in the river that ran beside their village, just as they would do the whisper of fire on the first of summer, or the dance of earth to welcome in spring, or the song of the air for fall. But now, it was only winter. The season of Bringer Beila. Some believed that Beila held the weakest light of all the Bringers and that the Craz could easily infiltrate Gingri with the darkness that winter brought. Maybe those folks were right.
Penn stared straight ahead, watching the river run through the trees. This was a peaceful place, a place where she could sit and listen to the gifts of the Bringers when she felt lost or afraid. She always thought the gifts spoke to her, guided her. She could feel them, sense them. It always felt surreal.
“Penn!” someone called from behind her. The girl jumped, whirling around, her heavy hair falling behind her as her green eyes searched frantically for the voice calling out. “Penn! We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“Oh?” Penn asked, a smirk falling onto her face easily, as though there was nothing in the least that was special about this day.
Another girl came rushing up to her, giggling as they lightly collided. Penn caught her friend easily, holding her by the shoulders as the other smiled. “Everyone has been searching for you! You are popular, Penn, a real life celebrity who is missing her own birthday party!”
Jeen, a girl like no other in the eyes of Penn, had the best smile in the universe as far as she was concerned. Something about it made her feel all gooey inside. “Well, I was quite comfortable here until someone disrupted my meditations—“
“Oh, meditations are for the old! We’re coming in with the new.” This girl always had a way of trying to make ridiculous, nonsensical things sound profound. It never really worked, but it did make Penn laugh. “It’s your Jequan today!” Jeen insisted. “You should be excited.” Clearly, the other girl was disappointed in Penn for not being quite as bubbly as she was.
It was Penn’s Jequan. It was a ceremony that had been done for generations, a test for every child of seventeen years of age. It was a big deal in Gingri, a great tradition that welcomed a child from their young life to the life of an adult. It cleansed them of the darkness that may be planted inside every young Gingrinian at birth, the darkness of a fallen world.
With a small, dramatic sigh, Penn reached up for a tree branch that hung above her. With slight difficulty, the young girl pulled herself up and hooked her knees around the sturdy tree, letting herself hang upside down. Her thick hair hung beneath her as she tilted her head at her friend. “The world is more interesting from this angle,” she stated with a cheesy, sarcastic grin. “You have very pretty eyes.”
Jeen did not seem very amused to the average person, but Penn was no average person and could see that look in her deep brown eyes, the one that said she was doing her very best to keep from smiling. After all, Penn had known Jeen for what felt like a lifetime. Well, since they were six. See, when Penn was young, she was a quiet, reserved young girl. She hardly spoke to anyone back then, except for the Bringers. Penn always wished she could see the Bringers. They were always so beautiful in her head. Being taught Sismarna by the Seekers, the belief of the four Bringers, she was taught that the Bringers were unlike any being she’d seen.
Growing up, Penn had spent so much time wondering, she had forgotten to live a little. Jeen reminded her that there was still a world here. They vowed to explore it together, take in every blessing the Bringers had given them.
Still, they had heard this Sismarna story thousands of times. The Bringers created the world. The Bringers were the light. The Craz were the darkness.
Yet, Penn and Jeen knew very little about the Craz. All they knew were the stories they’d heard that only might be true. There were rumors of course, of a Craz that had been captured and studied a few decades ago, but there was no proof that even that had ever happened. It was curious.
Now, the story of Penn and Jeen sneaking off into the woods behind the hunters was a completely, totally and entirely classified secret. Only the hunters were allowed deep into the forest. If what the Seekers preached was true, Craz inhabited that forest. Sometimes, hunters would come back looking spooked, eyes wide open and some kind of voice in their head. It always wore off eventually. The Seekers said it must only be a warning.
When they were fourteen, Penn and Jeen had stuck out on a hunting trip. They had only been joking at first, asking each other what would happen if they went off into that dark forest and wondered alone. So they each covered the other in brown dust and drew on their chests the symbol of the Bringers for protection, just as the hunters did for every quest they went on. An ancient Listener had once heard from the Bringers that this was the best way to keep the Gingri people safe when in a Craz infested forest. So no one questioned it. After all, one had to be blessed with the gift of the Connection to be a Listener, just as the Seeker had to be blessed with the gift of Knowledge to preach and the Healer with the gift of Warmth to heal.
Out on that hunting trip, to this day, Jeen swears she saw a Craz. They got separated for one moment and Jeen came back with a scraped wrist claiming that a Craz had stolen her blood, a Taker, teachers of witchcraft and history of the Craz, and will wait till the opportune moment to use it to control her. Penn was still trying to convince her that myth was not real. Jeen would not have it.
“Okay! Come on, come on!” Jeen insisted, tugging lightly at Penn’s hair. “You’re gonna be late for your own ceremony! Your brother will have your head if you’re late!”
With a dramatic sigh, Penn looked to the ground and let herself fall, landing gracefully on her feet. “My brother needs to learn patience. He’s not a proper Seeker yet, there to fore,” she emphasized, flipping her hair back. “He ain’t in charge yet,” she shrugged easily, smirking at her own improperness. Sometimes it was just more fun to be improper. Then that snarky smile left her face as she became serious. “Now quick, help me fix my hair before he sees me.”
So maybe Penn knew her brother was very much in charge. Well, of her at least. See, her brother, Kye, was all she truly had growing up. He was only five years older than her, but he had taught her all she knew now, about the Bringers and the wild world they lived in. He had braided her hair for her and tucked her into bed at night. Penn’s mother had died when Penn was young and her father was a Seeker, busy with other families a lot of the time. And being a Seeker’s daughter brought much too many expectations onto Penn, like her being on time for her Jequan, her hair up, back and tamed, and her clothes ready to come off so she could show her full, true self to the Bringers.
Jeen only snorted and took four straight fingers to her forehead on one hand, before moving them in a U like motion towards the skies. “Sisma, help us,” she asked the Bringers with a small laugh, calling the Bringers by their official collective name; The Sisma.
With a small laugh, Penn began the short trek back. “Yeah… Kye’s gonna kill me,” she stated, rushing into the small tent, stripping out of her clothes as Jeen tip-toed behind her awkwardly, trying to tame her hair into a bun on top of her head. Penn was in her underclothes by the time she got to the center of the tent. Jeen quickly tied her off before rushing away, knowing she should not be there. Kye was waiting with his arms crossed, as if knowing that his little sister would choose that exact moment to enter the room.
“You’re late,” he stated. “Have you even chosen your ruins yet?”
Raising her eyebrows at her brother, Penn put her hands on her hips. “Oh ye of very little faith,” she scolded playfully. “Of course I’ve picked my ruins! I…” Then she stopped, because her brother was right. Penn was too excited to sit down and be a proper seventeen year old who actually sat still and chose her ruins for herself. It was her birthday after all. Today, she went from girl to woman. It was her Jequan. It was much too exciting to sit and look through some ancient book.
With a very heavy sigh, Kye, who believed himself to be an old of some kind when Penn was around, stood up and grabbed the paint made from berries and grass, dipping his fingers in it. “I thought so,” he sighed, with a small shake of his head. Still, Penn prided herself with the small smile she had gotten out of him. She stood patiently as her brother drew on her forehead. “The ruin of Hope, to bless your stubborn head,” he began, moving to her shoulder. “The ruin of Perseverance, to help you if you struggle.” He moved to her hip. “The ruin of Guidance, to help you connect with the Bringers,” he said, before standing. And then he began to draw right in the middle of her back, a large symbol, bigger and more important than every other. “Lastly, the ruin of the Light,” he sighed. “This will protect you when I cannot.”
Turning around with a smile. “Aw,” Penn smirked. “I knew you loved me.”
Kye sighed and brought four fingers to his head, lifting them up to the sky. “Sisma, help my clueless little sister—“
“Okay, I get it,” Penn stated. “I’m done joking. This is a very important day and my brother is helping me,” she smiled. “Just don’t worry about me too much. After all, I am a Seeker’s daughter,” she said confidently, mockingly strutting around the tent and moving her head like she was trying to flip her hair back, only her hair was tied in a tight bun and would not move.
“Oh, baby sister, what will I do with you?” Kye asked.
Penn let herself give him a big, cheesy grin, like she might have when she was a small child, her eyes squeezed shut as her teeth nearly took over her whole face. “Give me a kiss, wish me the luck of Sisma and watch me crush my Jequan in a very good way?” she asked.
Looking at her with those bored looking eyes, Kye kissed his little sister’s cheek. “May the Sismas bless you,” he said. “Now go out there and crush your Jequan in a very good way,” he instructed, pushing her a bit towards the exit of the Preparatory Tent towards where her ceremony would begin.
This was it. The last moment of her childhood, standing here, at the doors of a white tent, covered in berries and wearing very little clothing and she did not know how to feel. This was the day she would be cleansed of the darkness the Craz had cursed all mankind with.
It was odd, in a moment she felt conflicted, almost like she would lose a part of herself. Quickly shaking herself out of that mind set, Penn smiled and took a very deep breath, walking out, into the open, where many people stood in a large circular formation.
In the middle of it all was a man Penn always strived to please. “Come closer, my child,” he smiled. It was her father. She smiled and did as he said, kneeling before him slowly, a small excitement for making the man proud rising up in her. “Recite the way of the Sismarna,” he instructed gently with a fond smile on his face.
Raising her four fingers up to her forehead and pushing her hand up towards the stars, Penn began slowly, “Sisma saved this world. We are not but Refugees, borrowers of a land created for creatures more worthy than us. We must remain true and steadfast towards the light over darkness, Sisma over Craz and honor over witchcraft tricks,” she stated. “We must rely on the Bringers to save us and bring us light, we must make ourselves worthy to receive such light again, therefore, I, Penn Nightingale, surrender myself to them, asking Sisma to cleanse me of the darkness of this world.”
Her father smiled down on her. “Very good, Penn,” he whispered, motioning for her to stand. So the girl did, following her father obediently towards the box in the middle of the small crowd. Three Seekers helped lay her down in the open square. She was surrounded by four wooden boards, hand carved with intricate designs lining the sides, separating her from the rest of the world as one of the Seekers leaned over her with a smile.
An ancient prayer was sung over Penn’s head as her body was slowly and gently buried in pure soil, given to Gingri by Bringer Alora. The girl closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose as the soil was poured over her. “May the Bringer Alora grant you a piece of her light,” one Seeker said. After only a few moments, Penn was completely immersed in the soil. “Penn Nightingale, please stand and present the dance of the earth,” the same man called above her.
So Penn slowly lifted herself from the soil and began the dance of the earth in complete silence. The eyes on her made her want to stop. Her heart was running wild and a nervous smile made its way to her face as she forced herself to keep her shy gaze on the ground. She was used to doing this dance in a group at the start of spring. Her feet moved and stomped the ground in a pattern she’d known since she was a child and as her dance came to a close people applauded her. The first of the four challenges was complete.
Next came the cleansing. A barrel of water from the river was dragged close to her. Her father helped her lay back down. “We will now be cleansing you in the water of the river,” he explained as a wave of water was poured over her. She gasped and shivered a little bit at the cool feeling, holding her breath as she was submerged. She was shivering already, listening for the sobs of Bringer Beila who some believed they could hear during this part of the ceremony.
Only, Penn didn’t hear any sobs. She heard a whisper, inaudible at first, but growing louder and louder by the second. For a long moment, Penn forgot the fact that she couldn’t breathe, intent on knowing what this Bringer was trying to tell her, if Bringer Beila was trying to communicate something to her. It was growing louder and louder by the moment until finally a strained and tired voice was able to meet her ear. “Neligra!” it nearly screamed before hands pulled Penn out of the water. That’s when she heard the worried murmurs.
“Child, are you alright?” her father called.
Reaching up to wipe at her eyes as the cold water dripped down her face. “I’m alright!” she smiled, trying not to think too much about what had just happened. Neligra. She had never heard that word before. It must’ve been in her head, the lack of oxygen. She did not know how long she had been under the water, but she knew she had to catch her breath.. “I apologize, I got lost under there,” she tried to laugh off.
The Seekers only smiled at her, helping her stand from the box. “You gave us quite a fright there, young one,” one of them chuckled. “No one ever stays beneath the water for that long. You have quite the lungs on you,” he stated. “May Bringer Beila bless you with a portion of her light.”
It had only felt like a small moment to Penn.
And now suddenly she was standing in front of hot coals, a small pathway lined with fire. “While performing the whisper of fire, you will walk across these coals to the other side where a healer will be waiting if you need her,” her father instructor. “Don’t worry, my love, they aren’t too hot,” he assured, and Penn managed a smile, only becoming slightly intimidated by this part of the ceremony. Watching others do it always made her feel giddy, like she couldn’t wait to conquer this challenge, still that did not mean the idea of letting her own feet trail across those stones seem any less painful.
Still, taking a deep breath and hesitating for a long moment, Penn managed to hiss as her first toe touched the coal. “Bin ein jent cur,” she began whispering. “Mon grea lo pondru kin il lee…” It was nearly a chant. Maybe it was. Penn had never thought to ask. All she knew was the flames around her seemed to grow and her words echoed in her head. It only made her wonder more what the words actually meant. A Seeker must know, her father must know. She would have to ask soon.
The path was long in Penn’s head, and when she stepped into the cool grass again she sighed in relief. Everyone else was quiet. Penn looked around, the smile gone from her face as she saw that the eyes watching her had widened. She looked through the crowd, searching and searching for an answer for why everyone was looking at her like she had two heads until she found Jeen standing with Kye. Jeen offered her a stunned shrug as the Seekers surrounded her.
“May the Bringer Rakisha bless you with a piece of her light,” one of them said, almost suspiciously. “You have one last challenge, Penn Nightingale. Are you ready?” he asked genuinely. Penn looked to her father. He looked worried.
“I am,” Penn breathed, unsure of what was happening to her. She must just be imagining things.
The last challenge was to honor Bringer Nori. It was done while singing the song of the air. Penn was supposed to let the Seekers lift her body up towards the stars while she sang, before they let her sink back to the ground. It was supposed to be a simple one, the last challenge, the last point.
And yet, as Penn began to sing this song, something began to happen right before her very eyes.
The world around her grew dark. The faces of her friends and family morphed into something new, faces with black paintings on them, ruins of darkness and danger drawn across their skin as they danced to the song around her, chanting their own language at her, one that she listened to and began to translate in her head. “Naligra!” the group screamed before she blinked and was suddenly back in reality.
The song falling gracefully from her lips stopped immediately. “Neligra…” she breathed to herself, her eyes suddenly void of any emotion or thought as her feet moved slowly and silently without her consent. She began to speak in a language she had never spoken before, walking aimlessly towards the forest she had been forbidden to go into since she was a child.
“Penn?” Jeen called, trying to follow after her, but Kye stopped her, unsure if going after his sister was safe.
The crowd didn’t dare stand in her way as an unfamiliar song began to spill from her lips in a way nothing ever had before. Penn was walking willingly towards the forbidden forest, a dazed look on her face as though she’d never seen those trees before.
“Penn,” her father called as well, following after her.
That was when Penn turned around, her eyes still very much entranced. “Neligra,” was all she said again, speaking clearly and definitively this time before her hand raised over her head. The motions the invisible people in her mind had been doing in that large circle came to her easily. Penn was not even thinking about them, Penn was hardly thinking about anything. Some instinct deep inside her knew exactly what to do. She let it take full control as she snapped her hands down towards the ground and a black smoke engulfed her.
And just like that, Penn Nightingale was gone.
#original post#original story#original work#new religion#witchcraft#fantasy#fantasy world#work in progress#my wip#first draft#the bringers#mythology#original mythology#four elements#new world#creation myth#rituals#ceremony#made up#anthropology#original character#writers of tumblr#writing#writer#writing life
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
SBI HadesTown AU That Lives In My head Rent Free
(in fact I probably pay it to live there)
Links at the end under the cut.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Starring:
• Dream, George, and Sapnap as The Fates
• Philza as Hermes
• Wilbur as Persephone
• Technoblade as Hades
• Tommy as Eurydice
and
• Tubbo as Orpheus
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Changes to the story -
Instead of spouses, Wilbur and Techno are estranged brothers.
Instead of lovers, Tommy and Tubbo are best friends.
The focus is still on restoring balance to the world but through familiar and platonic love instead of romantic. Also, the reason the world is so bad is a more social crisis (some people work too much while others can’t work at all) instead of a natural one (the seasons being wack.)
It takes place during a seething summer drought rather than a frozen cropless winter but its still the same tune of spring/fall disappearing because the the world being out of tune.
Character Changes -
+ Philza is an old god. He’s not weaker nor stronger than Wilbur/Techno, just fills up a very different role. He’s god of history, of legends, of simple stories and narration. He’s very human compared to most gods, some theorize perhaps he straight up IS human in some way shape or form. He lives a human life to meet people and collect their lives and stories and appreciate them. He can’t really interfere as more than a mortal man but still just tries to give as many happy endings as he can.
+ Tommy’s a scrappy lost child. His problem is similar to Eurydice but a little inverted. Rather than learning to trust people he needs to learn to value them. He’s no issue with interacting with people and enjoying their help/company but he’s a tendency to use them. He doesn’t believe they’ll stick around so he doesn’t bother caring about them.
+ Tubbo is also an abandoned child. Unlike Tommy he grew up in one spot, although still homeless. Philza found him camping in a crate box behind his station and gave him a job and a bed. He’s pretty much exactly like Orpheus, optimistic, sees the world for what it could be instead of what it is, but maybe spends a little too much time looking forward and not around.
+ Technoblade is basically the god of work and motivation. His problem is generally the same as Hades’ in that he misses his family and is too busy working and building security for what he wants to get what he wants. He misses his brother so much he’s hardend himself to the reasons they’re apart so much in the first place.
+ Wilbur is basically the god of play and rest. In this AU, instead of Hades, Persephone’s role is the biggest reason the world is out of wack. His problem is that he doesn’t face his problems. As the god of such frivolous things as music, games, rest, etc. he is (feels) weak and useless. He’s jealous of Techno and how needed he is so Wilbur retreats away to somewhere he feels needed and wanted, entertaining miserable people. He’s stayed away for longer and longer amounts of time, not realizing his distracting them from their troubles (inadvertently preventing them from fixing them) is a reason they’re so miserable in the first place. All he can do is have a good time so he’s begun forcing it every second of every day and ignoring his brother in the meantime. He needs to learn that he CAN do good, people NEED breaks and fun, but recklessly enforcing it only enforces what he fears, that he’s a liability.
So, the main problem is a cycle the brothers have spiraled into:
Techno does obviously important things (stirring progress and improvement) and Wilbur feels bad, unimportant, and like a burden.
Wilbur leaves Techno to go distract himself/play with the humans.
Wilbur becomes useless and detrimental without Technoblade there to balance him out.
Techno works even harder, becoming empty and cold without Wilbur there to balance him out, trying to get enough work done so Wilbur won’t have to worry and will come back.
Wilbur sees Techno working so hard and shies away even more so as not to disturb his brother’s important work.
Technoblade has to basically force Wilbur to stay with him now, making it more work.
Wilbur sees Technoblade as both too important for him and now generally unappealing as unnecessary effort. Besides, he’d probably just get in the way.
Technoblade now sees Wilbur as just another part of his endless job. Keep people working, keep things improving, keep the numbers going up, try to keep Wilbur here. Its become work for the sake of work instead of work to the sake of rest.
So even when they’re together neither is relaxed enough to balance the other, both are distant.
Wilbur’s become too carefree, he ignores Technoblade and drops anything that seems challenging, including reconciliation and self-examination. He’s still just playing, even when with Technoblade.
Technoblade’s become too obsessed, focusing more on how to get and keep his brother with him than on being with his brother. The work has become meaningless without the end goal that Wilbur provides. A self sustaining cycle of labor for more labor’s sake.
Now the humans are suffering because they find themselves trapped in an unbalanced cycle of being either incapable of work or incapable of play.
Thematic notes:
- The dancers in the station during the first half are Skeppy, Antfrost, Bad, Eret, and Puffy.
- The workers (the dancers in the second half) consist of Niki, Fundy, Quackity, Ranboo, and Awsam.
- Tommy is implied to vaguely know/be brotherly to Techno and Wilbur, this is partially how Techno convinces him to leave and go work for him.
- Likewise, Philza has a few lines about feeling sorry about how Techno and WIlbur have ended up (implying he took some part in raising them) and already knows Tommy when he enters (implying he’s been a dad to helped Tommy out before.
- Technoblade is less malicious than Hades, more just cold and apathetic. In a way, he thinks he’s helping by pulling Tommy away from Tubbo. He, like Wilbur, believes that work is good so more work must be better, even if you’ve nothing to really work towards. At the end he listens to the fates because needs to figure out how to let Tommy go without undoing either all of Wilbur’s power or all of his.
- Tubbo’s song has a bigger impact on fauna than floral, specifically insects. His first song brings out bees, butterflies, and moths that Tommy goes all star eyed for because pretty bugs but more importantly, living things that don’t want to hurt him!
- Instead of a flower Tommy gets a big beautiful orange moth (named Clementine) that hides in the back of his coat neck whenever Technoblade is near. He remembers in ‘Flowers’ when he goes to wipe some sweat from his neck but its Clementine and she flies around him while he sings. (I thought that’d be much prettier than him just holding her like Eurydice holds the flower.)
- During ‘Living it Up On Top’ Wilbur dances specifically with Philza (who greets him very much like a father might greet a son who’s been away for a long time) and Tommy (who he teases and ruffles his hair a lot).
- Wilbur does drugs instead of alcohol. He... he makes a lot of drugs so I thought this would be an appropriate swap. Also it’s really funny to me that he sings Our Lady Of The Underground (or, Brother To The Underground) just completely stoned; handing out weed and shit to the workers.
- Instead of a mine Hadestown (Technotown? Technoville?) is a farm in a giant glass case built way up high. Instead of going through the dark that challenge is Tubbo has to climb up its side to avoid the train. Its an unnatural and unwelcoming greenhouse. Everything grows in lines but they’re mismatched and overrun with thorny weeds. Everything is grey and tough and flavorless. There’s so much dust and dirt being kicked up it’s hard to breathe and see. The workers are using various gardening tools during the beats instead of swinging a pickaxe. Half will sharpen while the other half swings (tilling the ground/cutting weeds), it makes a real nice schwing/thunk mix sound.
- During ‘Word To The Wise’ George sings (“if you tell them no you’re a heartless man”) Sapnap sings (“if you let ‘em go you’re a spineless king”) and Dream sings (”here’s a little tip”) and (“men are fools, men are frail”)
- Tubbo still looks back during ‘Doubt Comes In’ because he's scared of Techno and feels bad about himself (“Who am I? Who am I to think that he would follow me into the blazing heat again”). Techno, Wilbur, and Philza try their best to take care of them but it’s still a tragic ending.
- Tommy and Tubbo may or may not become (very sad and minor) gods. Unofficially and not in the story, but still... maybe. If they WERE, hypothetically, they’d be a very tragic pair. Tubbo would help mend relationships and guid people towards good advice while Tommy would help catch/ignore/cut out bad ones. Always working together, never together.
Lyrical Changes
> Pronouns are changed, obviously.
> Techno and Wilbur sing “brother” instead of “lover.”
> During ‘The Wedding Song’ (The Friendship Song, I do not care if it’s childish, Wedding is replaced with Friendship) They sing each other’s names instead of “lover.” (Tubbo, tell me if you can...////Tommy, when I sing my song...)
> Anytime they’re complaining about the cold winter replace it with a hot summer
> Tommy’s lines are much sharper. He never loses his edge with Tubbo. Instead of him remembering him and going “my best friend, Tubbo” he remembers and says something more along the lines of “that fucking idiot, Tubbo” but he’s say it with a quivering smile and bittersweet tears in his eyes. Harsh in words not in tone.
> Wilbur still pours a glass for a toast during ‘Living It Up On Top’ but the rest of the time he’s smoking something instead of drinking. (Who gives breaks when the work is hard?//That's right, Wilbur Soot!//Who makes the music? Who’s your bard?//(Wilbur Soot!)//Thank you//Who makes a rough life fun again, in spite of a pig//(You do!)//Who’s the most awaited gig? Eh? Wilbur Soot, that’s who!)
> When Wilbur shows up during ‘Chant’ he complains about how cold and dark it is. (Colder than a tundra) Techno explains it away as having set up shades/coolers to counter the glare from the sun through greenhouse glass and how he did it to protect/comfort Wilbur. (Brother when you feel that chill, it’s my protection from the kill, its my protection that i’ve built for you.)
> In the Chant Reprise the workers are singing about why they’re working if they can never enjoy the security and safety they keep making. Technoblade, instead of telling him to buy Tommy’s love, tells him to make himself needed. He, instead of warning Tubbo about Tommy leaving, scolds Tubbo for being too light and fluffy and spinelessly letting Tommy go. He scolds him for trying to take Tommy away, back into uselessness and empty fluff, when he’s found a good purpose because clearly Tubbo wasn’t point enough.
> Philza’s still the narrator, but diegetically his lyrics show more clearly that he knows everyone in the story already. I really like the idea of him giving Tubbo advice on making friends that gets shown in ‘Come Home With Me’
> When Tubbo sings about Techno, instead of singing about minework, he’ll sing things like ((from the second stanza of Epic II) “Technoblade, king//of power and pain//of a hard days work//that never ends//and for half of the year when Wilbur’s away//the strain and the stress just won’t give way//he thinks of his brother, light and carefree//and is taken in a rage of obligation and need//to ensure wants are met and safe//so there will be time for play//so his bother//his brother comes home)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This post all started because I was thinking of Tubbo singing the “La lala laaa” that was originally Wilbur’s song.
Also, I realize this entire AU is just one big punch in the gut to Philza, like, “HEY, ALL YOUR SONS ARE SCREWED UP, NOW SING ABOUT IT.”
#drugs tw#ask to tag#sleepy bois inc#sbi AU#sleepy bois inc AU#Philza#technoblade#Wilbur soot#tommy innit#tubbo_#sbi + tubbo#sbi hadestown au
75 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Today’s author is suspendrs / @suspendrs ! Don’t forget to give the fics kudos and leave a comment!
to the cloud and the cold (2k)
Or, Louis is a Summer Fairy, Harry is an Autumn Fairy, and the autumn equinox is the best day of the year.
fearless (97k)
“You’re my best friend, Louis,” Harry says, barely above a whisper. Even if he was yelling, Louis wouldn’t be able to believe his ears. “And I know it’s been a while, but you’re still the person I consider my best friend,” Harry says.
Louis blinks, and then blinks again. “I honestly cannot say the same, Harry,” he says.
Or, Harry left home without a word after high school, and a lot can change in ten years.
just a little dance (1k)
“Keep your head up, love,” he says, pulling away and grabbing Harry’s hands. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t want to dance,” Harry pouts, but he lets Louis pull him into the center of the dark kitchen, anyway.
“Just a little dance,” Louis says, tugging Harry’s hands until he’s flush against his front.
Or, a tiny drabble based on the cutest lyric from perfect now
ferricadooza! (65k)
Harry can’t even fathom the idea of surrendering; he’d fight ‘til he died, if he had to, anything to keep from surrendering.
Or, the year is 1963, homosexuality is illegal in the UK, Louis owns a gay bar, and Harry’s an underground boxing champion with an unfortunate enemy.
at last, at last (41k)
“Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.”
Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway?
Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.
the act of making noise (32k)
“Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.”
It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?”
“Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.”
Or, Louis's famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont.
walls (20k)
The thing about having been on the move so much for the past five years is that now, once they’re finally able to sit down and rest for a bit, they don’t really know what to do with themselves. Louis loved the pace of the band, for all he and the others complained about it; he isn’t very fond of sitting still, and he absolutely loathes boredom, and there was very little space in their lives for either of those things while they were so busy putting out an album every year and touring more often than not. Being in the same room as Harry while neither of them are under the pressure of keeping up appearances feels like being in a room with a total stranger, and the amount of trouble they’re having trying to get to know each other again is really rather alarming.
Or, a love one whole decade in the making, inspired by Louis's debut album.
fine line (22k)
There’s still a lot of things they don’t talk about, a lot of things they don’t bring home with them at the end of the day, and a lot of things that don’t even need to be said. The world is the world and it sucks sometimes, but it’s far away when Harry’s at home and Louis’s here with him and none of it needs to matter when it could just as easily be ignored. Harry tries to open up sometimes, tries to bring Louis into his world, but Louis’s got a world of his own to tend to, and it feels like more often than not they are on two separate planets and the universe just keeps expanding.
Or, a love three more years in the making, inspired by Harry’s sophomore album.
out for a duck (2k)
“Well, once I got control of Clifford, I took him right back to the house and changed my clothes and gave him one hell of a dressing down, let me tell you,” he scoffs. “And then I felt so bad I went back out to see if the duck had gone back to her eggs, and that Clifford hadn’t damaged them or hurt the duck at all. She wasn’t there when I got back, and I sat there for hours waiting for her, but she never showed her face! She just up and abandoned her babies, just left them there cold and alone, all because a dog barked at her,” he sighs, shaking his head.
“Still not sure why the eggs are now in my kitchen,” Louis frowns.
“I couldn’t just leave them there!” Harry says. “It was my fault they were abandoned! Well, Clifford’s fault, but whatever. I couldn’t live with myself if I just left them there to die. So I came back to the house and got a bowl and some gloves and scooped them up so I could bring them home and keep them warm until they hatch.”
Or, Harry accidentally adopts two duck eggs.
what’s inside your imagination (is as real as anything else) (3k)
“Hey!” Niall shouts suddenly, scaring Harry nearly out of his hat. “We like your costume!”
The ghost turns to glance at Niall, producing a hand from under the sheet and giving him a thumbs up. Harry can’t help but laugh a little more, the casual gesture adding to the entire vibe of the sunglasses-wearing ghost.
The ghost looks at them for a moment longer before turning and disappearing into the crowd again, and Harry sighs. “I love Halloween,” he says thoughtfully.
Or, Harry's a witch who likes to pretend he's a human pretending he's a witch, and Louis's the human in a not-so-clever costume that keeps catching his eye.
satellite (100k)
“It’s been three years since I’ve had a proper hot meal,” Louis says finally. “I have no idea where my family is, or if any of them are even still alive. The only reason I’ve been able to keep myself alive for as long as I have is because I keep to myself, stay guarded, stay hidden. It’s the only way I know how to live,” he says.
Harry wants to cry, but he tries to put on a brave face when Louis finally meets his eyes. “You’re safe here. You don’t have to be so guarded around me,” Harry says quietly, earnestly.
“That’s very sweet of you,” Louis says, putting his fork down. “But yes I do. Especially around you.”
Or, Harry finds out that someone's been living in his house without him knowing, but instead of kicking him out, he falls in love with him.
sugar in a plum (4k)
“I’m your dad,” Harry says softly, extending his hand to Plum for her to have a sniff. Plum considers for a moment, looks up at Louis, and then bites Harry’s finger.
“Ow!” Harry shrieks, pulling his hand away quickly. He’s not bleeding, but Plum’s teeth are incredibly sharp, he feels like he’s been stabbed with ten tiny needles. “Jesus, Lou, I thought we were getting a cat, not a demon.”
Or, Harry's new kitten is out to ruin his life.
there are no atheists in foxholes (64k)
“Do you think we’ll ever see it again?” Harry asks after a minute. “London?”
Louis blinks, looking down. They very well could spend the rest of their lives on this island, and they’re both very aware of that. Everyone probably already thinks they’re dead, anyway. Their flats are going to be sold, and their families are going to have funerals, and life is going to go on without them. Even if they do get rescued, it’s already been days. The news of the shipwreck has definitely reached London by now. They don’t know if there’s been any effort to look for survivors, but they also don’t know how far away from the wreck they are, or how far people are going to go to look for them, or if anyone even knows that this island is here and, like, it’s very possible that they’ve already looked and stopped looking for survivors, and no one knows they’re out here-
“I don’t know,” Louis says, before he can start spiraling. “I hope so, but I don’t know.”
Or, the sea takes everything from Louis, but it gives him back more than he ever could’ve asked for.
it ain’t right, but isn’t it amazing (7k)
It’s all Niall’s fault, as most things are. Niall’s the one that made the bloody Tinder account in the first place, and the one that added every decent looking photo of Louis he could find on his phone, and the one that swiped right on the first fifteen guys that popped up. Yeah, Louis might have done the rest of the work that landed him here, in the men’s toilets of a Japanese restaurant in west London with vomit dripping down his chin and down the very, very attractive chest of the very, very attractive man in front of him, but Niall started it.
Or, Harry takes Louis for sushi on the first date. It doesn't go well.
keep this love in a photograph (48k)
“I could never forget a damn thing about you, Harry Styles, not even if I wanted to,” Louis says. His hair falls into his face when he glances over at Harry, the moonlight reflecting off of it and making it glow golden, like maybe Louis himself is the sun.
Harry thinks of how dark and cold his life got once Louis went away, how Harry got a taste of the sweetest sunshine imaginable and then was plunged into the longest winter of his life. He feels like he’s been buried under mounds of snow for months, years, and he’s finally made it to spring, finally getting another taste of how wonderful life can be.
Or, it’s 1919, and Harry’s been falling in love with his best friend for his entire life.
thrills don’t come for free (4k)
The night before comes back to him slowly, puking in the toilet at the club and then falling asleep in his car in the parking lot. He closes his eyes again for a moment until he realizes that the car is on and moving, and someone is driving it that isn’t him.
He picks his head up and peers between the seats, catching sight of a perfect stranger sitting behind the wheel, singing quietly and driving Louis’s car.
Or, Louis has a bit too much to drink and falls asleep in the backseat of Harry's car.
not even the gods above (25k)
The thing is, though, this isn’t good enough for Harry. Sure, he has the rest of his life to be a notable king, but he wants to be notable now. He wants to bring the two kingdoms together and he wants to do it early on, wants to be the one to facilitate the merge until it seems like the two kingdoms were one all along. He doesn’t want to wait, but everyone he’s turned to thinks waiting is the right choice, so he supposes he has to trust them.
That is, of course, until a declaration of war from the Kingdom of Tomlinson shows up at his palace.
somewhere far away from here (12k)
“Harry,” Louis says, squeezing his arm. “Do you know her?”
“My sister,” Harry mutters, eyes glued to the screen.
“What’s she saying?” Louis asks, voice quiet. “What does she want?”
“Me,” Harry murmurs, hardly a breath. “She knows I’m here.”
Or, Harry's sister comes to Earth to bring him home, but Harry's got a few things keeping him here.
i’ll take your pain (2k)
It’s kind of romantic when Harry thinks about it, feeling all the pain of the person he’s supposed to love for the rest of his life. Sure, it’s rather inconvenient when he’s in class and his soulmate gets kicked in the balls, or when he’s sleeping and his soulmate knocks his head or his knee off something. It’d be nice if the function helped them to find each other, but Harry supposes he can live with knowing that they’re destined to run into each other someday.
Or, soulmates have the ability to feel each other's pain, and Harry finds his after getting his arse waxed. (Or, the soulmate au crack fic I can't believe I actually wrote.)
the pink album (31k)
They don’t really discuss how hard it is to be in this situation, or to be doing the things they have to do to continue being together. It’s just something they don’t talk about, and that’s alright. Or maybe it isn’t, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.
Or, a love seven years in the making, inspired by Harry's debut album.
i’ll make this feel like home (41k)
It’s nerdy, much nerdier than anything Harry would have engaged in back home. Perrie and Ed are singing some song from West Side Story and Stan is just giggling along, and it’s almost weird how weird Harry doesn’t find it. Liam and Niall would be running as fast as they could from this interaction, but somehow, Harry finds himself giggling along as well.
Maybe it’s because no one in this group seems like they should belong in this group, but Harry feels like he fits right in. He feels more himself than he has in weeks when Louis plops down beside him for a couple moments and throws out another title to add to their movie marathon. Even though he can’t contribute to the conversation about musicals and he has no idea whether The King and I or Oklahoma is more important, he never feels like an outsider.
Or, Harry is new to Plymouth and has had a rough start, but Louis won't rest until he makes it start to feel like home.
dirty laudry looks good on you (19k)
“So um, Niall mentioned you haven’t lived here long. What brings you to London?”
“What is this, an interview?” Louis smirks, stealing Harry’s drink and taking a sip. “Wanted a change of scenery. Dunno.”
Harry hums and takes his drink back, narrowing his eyes playfully at Louis as he takes a long sip. “Can I buy you a drink, or would you rather keep sharing mine?”
“You most certainly can buy me a drink,” Louis grins, grabbing the bottle back out of Harry’s hand, “but I’m still going to be stealing yours.”
Or, Harry is jaded and sad and resigned to be forever alone, until Niall sets him up with a friend of his whose broken pieces may just fit pretty well with Harry's.
we’ve got to get away from here (23k)
“It is my understanding that you are the most comprehensive member of this agency in the field of extraterrestrial life, is that right?” the agent asks. He’s trying to sound calm, but Louis can tell he’s shaken as well.
“Um, I guess so,” Louis says, glancing over at the man in the blanket again.
Suddenly, Louis’s blood runs cold. There’s something off about the man, something in his gaze, something Louis can’t put his finger on. It’s terribly unsettling, but excitement bubbles in his gut.
Or, Louis is an FBI agent who likes to think himself a paranormal expert, and Harry is the alien that somehow ended up in his office.
in midnights, in cups of coffee (15k)
“Sorry about the sugar,” Louis says, backing toward his own flat. “Bundle up before you go out.”
Harry smiles so sweetly then that Louis can’t imagine he’ll even need the sugar, if the muffins aren’t sweet enough just because they were made by him. “Thanks,” he says, eyes lingering a little longer on Louis before he lets himself back into Gemma’s apartment, and then Louis is just standing in the hallway by himself.
Or, Louis is overworked and cold, Harry is stressed out, and they might be in love.
come away with me (80k)
Or, Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter's life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help.
in the night (19k)
Or, the self-indulgent reversed pov and slight continuation of come away with me.
my song has not been sung (2k)
Or, Harry is watching a protest from the sidelines until a boy with a rainbow flag and a pretty smile drags him right into the middle of it.
i’ll be home for christmas (12k)
Or, Louis and Harry can’t decide where to go on Christmas.
autumn leaves (27k)
Or, Harry is an American soldier in France during World War II, and Louis is a French waiter that doesn't mean to fall in love with him.
we’ve got unfinished business (7k)
Or, there’s a ghost in Harry and Louis’s apartment that seemingly just wants them to date.
falling in love with you again (4k)
Or, three times in which Louis fell in love with Harry all over again.
heading for a small disaster (20k)
Or, Harry drives an Uber and Louis’s life is falling apart.
don’t stop to worry (4k)
It was just supposed to be a trim today, to skim off the dead ends of his hair. He had no idea it’d end the way it did.
Or, Harry cuts his hair. It's kind of a big deal.
diamonds, they fade (1k)
The cold does nothing tonight but remind Louis of the boy he left inside, the boy that’s curled up under the blankets by himself right now, the boy that’s probably going to come looking for him soon when he wakes up and Louis isn’t there.
Or, Louis has insomnia.
maps can be poems when you’re on your own (19k)
Or, Harry falls in love with the guy his best friend is fooling around with.
we could be enough (4k)
Or, Harry runs an anonymous crush confession column in the school newspaper and Louis has quite the crush to write in about.
no place to call home (22k)
Or, Louis isn't Peter Pan and Harry isn't Wendy and Neverland is nothing like Harry thought it would be, but it's perfect anyway.
show a little mercy (3k)
Louis hates him so, so much. But then again, he’s never loved someone quite so fiercely.
Or, Louis and Harry try to break up. (Or, a drabble based on Love You Goodbye)
kiss me on the mouth and set me free (17k)
Or, Louis is a gamer and Harry is a beauty guru, and VidCon is a good place to fall in love.
sing me like a choir (17k)
Or, Harry is nervous to do actual makeup on his channel, until his boyfriend Louis helps him out.
please don’t bite (21k)
Or, Harry releases his own line of beauty products, and Louis feels abandoned when Harry’s newfound fame gets the best of him.
underneath the christmas tree (17k)
Louis sends Harry on a scavenger hunt on Christmas Eve.
to be loved and to be in love (50k)
Harry and Louis' first year as a couple, as captured by snippets of home movies.
hope your heart is strong enough (4k)
Prompt: Set in the US, Harry spends Thanksgiving with Louis' family, or vice versa. Chaos ensues.
to watch you fall (16k)
Or, Harry is lonely and Louis is engaged to be married.
give me your hand and i’ll hold it (18k)
Prompt: Harry (9) moves in next to Louis (11). They have little roofs under their bedroom windows and like to sit there and talk. Seven years later, Louis has to leave for college.
you make me strong (14k)
Louis comes home from war with a few more problems than he left with, but Harry can't find it in himself to let him go.
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sanctuary Pack Stories: The Loner
A story from year seven. After being scattered in the escape from human hunters, the pack is finally ready to go back home. Chicory is reunited with a figure from her past.
"And she still had the gun- I guess I was pretty worried about that- but Uno had the idea to--"
Chicory raises her muzzle, cutting Verand short. "You're limping again."
And Verand's head hunches into an expression so obviously and immediately guilty that Chicory has to bite back a laugh, fighting to keep her face stern. "I've been doing the stretches you told me, you can ask Kit--"
"Like he'd tell me the truth." Chicory snorts. "Slow down-- you don't need to go leaping ten strides ahead. The pack'll hardly leave without us."
"But--" Verand blows out a sigh. "They're just ahead, Chicory. And I swear it isn't sore at all!" She lifts the bad leg to demonstrate, stretching it out ahead in an exaggerated step.
"Hm," Chicory says.
This time, she has to hide a frown.
Verand's range of motion is pretty bad; no sign of stiffness or pain in her body language, but she can't get the leg very high off the ground. Probably she'll be limping on it the rest of her life.
"Fine. Go on then."
And Verand straightens at once, surprise and delight all over her face her face, open and obvious as tansy in bloom.
"It's this way!" She calls, already disappearing through the trees. Her tail wags behind her like a flag, waving them on.
She's a good kid. And she'll be struggling with that leg the rest of her life. Because Chicory hadn't kept her back when she should have. Because she hadn’t been nearly the doctor she should have been.
Probably get worse when she's older, too, she thinks, bitter, and pads on after Verand.
The Sanctuary Pack has been almost a year without a home, scattered wide across unfamiliar territory, fleeing for their lives through baking summer, muddy fall, bitter winter.
And now the spring unfurls before them, thin and cold, with snow still clinging stubborn in the shade.
So their territory is safe again. So they'll all be reunited. So she'll see Radun, again.
Chicory snorts. Looks up. The sky, a chilly dove's-wing gray, is threatening rain.
And wouldn't that be just her luck.
"Verand!"
A voice through the trees- high and clear, Chicory can't quite place it- and Verand, ahead of her, gives a joyful bark and bounds forward, oblivious to Chicory's censure.
She hurtles into a dark, slim wolf- Uno, it must be- and the two go rolling head-over-hocks through the muddy undergrowth, tails wagging fit to stir up a storm.
The wind, shifting, carries the mingled scents of many wolves towards them; the pack, at last.
Chicory lifts her nose, testing the air; no hint of sickness she can detect. No stink of infection, no rotting sweetness.
"Chicory." A low voice-- she turns, and Kit- a big, square young wolf- pads up to stand beside her.
"Yes?"
"Is everyone... alright? In your group?" Something hangs a little sad and serious hanging around his eyes, the way mist will cling to water.
"They'll take some feeding up." Chicory shrugs. "But well enough, I guess. Considering."
"That's good." His eyes keep sliding away from Chicory's, watching his friends play sidelong, so obviously hangdog it's nearly literal, his head drooping low.
Chicory softens- just a little, mind you- and gestures towards Verand and Uno. "Pull those two wolverines apart, would you? I'm sure I can find my own way."
He doesn't need much more convincing. As Chicory walks on, his voice joins theirs; a low and rumbling counterpoint, and warm as the thaw.
Chicory fluffs her fur against the wind, scowling. If the thaw ever comes.
She picks her way onwards, cold mud squelching unpleasantly between her toes.
Is thinking, they better have picked a drier spot to camp, when she comes through a break in the trees, and there is all of Sanctuary, gathered up and waiting.
Finch is fussing over the pups, Maize laid out in a sunbeam watching him, panting a little in that wheezy, painful way- can't Eight look after her patients when Chicory isn't around?- and a couple of scouts are straggling in: Dace and Rover, muddy but apparently satisfied.
Rover splits off immediately, to look for Seven, the two old wolves gray around their muzzles, speaking too low for Chicory to hear above the general babble of voices, and Chicory watches them-- watches all of them-- and feels some foolish, unwanted warmth bubbling up like water in a hot spring, something nearly scalding, too strong, too hot to hold in her, too much--
And there is Radun, too, looking up, the first wolf out of all of them to notice Chicory standing there.
And she is just-- standing there. Rooted to the spot by that wave of feeling, blindsided, just by seeing all of them, together and safe again. She’s going soft, probably. Can’t bring herself to care too much.
So she only stands and watches as Radun gets up, and walks across the clearing to greet her.
"Chicory. You look very well." Her voice musical and strangely deep, that odd formality. When she dips her head, low, in greeting, even their poor thin sun cannot help but catch the highlights of her rich, golden fur.
Chicory clears her throat, and clears it again. "You too," she says, stiff. "It's-- good to see you again. Been a while."
Radun straightens. "It has." A pause. "Is Verand--"
Of course-- that's why she'd come up to say hello. Chicory shakes herself, feeling foolish.
"Right behind me. Got caught up with Kit and Uno."
"I see." A pause. Radun shifts from paw to paw, evidently restless. "And is she--"
"She's alright. Favouring the leg a little, is all." I wish I had better news to give you.
"Good. That's good to hear." She clears her throat. Looks over Chicory's shoulder, something stiff in her face, her posture. "I-- thank you very much for indulging my worry. It means a great deal."
"Not a problem." Chicory fights back the horrible honeycomb-feeling bubbling up in her chest, airy and stinging and sweet at her words.
She's only being polite, she's always polite.
They hesitate for another moment, Radun still not quite meeting Chicory's eyes. Watching for her sister, probably, but too polite to go.
"I should go check in with Dace," Chicory should say. Give her an excuse.
Says, instead, "how've you been keeping, then?"
And Radun looks up, almost startled, right at Chicory, at last, something deep and warm in her tawny eyes, something almost…
"I've been well," she says, "very well, under the circumstances. Thank you. I--"
And Chicory looks away, unable to bear it, looks past Radun's shoulder just to-- settle her nerves, her damn idiot nerves, getting excited over nothing--
And all the heat goes out of the world, just like that. Like the sun's been swallowed up, like the seasons are turning backwards.
Eight is chatting with a patient, in the shadow of an oak; she hadn't seen them, when she'd first arrived, tucked away in the shade. And her patient-- a newcomer. Not of The Pack-- a gray wolf, huge out of all proportion, built broad and strong, and his eyes glitter with a sort of watchful, foxlike intelligence.
Chicory knows him, immediately.
Something must show on her face-- Radun ducks her head again. "My apologies. I've taken up too much of your time."
"No," Chicory starts to say, don't worry about it, no, you haven't, but she's turning already, and leaving Chicory with--
With him.
Jumps For Clouds watches Radun as she passes. Looks back along her path to spot Chicory, and the thoughts flicker, visibly, across his narrow face; surprise, at first, with understanding coming snapping at its heels.
He turns, and says something in Eight's ear. She looks up, surprised.
Together, they get up, and start towards her.
Chicory skirts the edge of the camp to meet them. Wants this conversation happening as far from the rest of the pack as possible. If her secrets must come out-- well. She supposes they'll all learn of it, eventually. Probably foolish, trying to draw it out.
She ducks her head away, as Eight and Jumper get near, some great weight pulling her down towards the earth.
"Chicory!" Eight says, "I'm glad to see you back. This is--"
"Jumps For Clouds," Jumper says, smoothly. "But you can call me Jumper. A pleasure."
Chicory looks up, slowly. "--Chicory," she says. "It's-- nice to meet you."
He nods, amiably, face open and friendly. "Now-- I understand you're this pack's other healer?"
"I am." No sense denying it. But telling him anything makes Chicory's fur itch. He remembers her-- he must remember her. He's just got some... angle, is what it is.
He'd always had some sort of angle.
"I thought so. You know, you just seem like a healer to me. Even kinda look like one I used to know."
"I guess there's sort of a-- common look," Eight offers, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice.
"Sure," Chicory says, stiff. "It's the hunchback."
Jumper laughs, over-loud. "Well, see, I knew someone in this pack had to have a sense of humour! Listen--" he turns to Eight, apologetic. "Listen, do you mind if I have her take a look? I really do feel--"
Eight stiffens, a little, but nods. "It can never hurt to get a second opinion."
"I thank you." Jumper dips his head. "Listen- Chicory, was it? Chicory, I swear I'm feeling under the weather, but the lovely miss Eight here says she can't find anything wrong. Would you mind..."
"Of course not." The words are stiff in her mouth, bitter. "Eight, I can take it from here."
Eight hesitates, frowning. "Are you sure? I have his history, I can--"
"I can ask him." Chicory looks over her shoulder-- back towards Dace, settling down to a meal. "I'm sure you've got other things to do."
Eight follows her eyes, visibly brightens. "Well," she says, with badly-feigned reluctance."If you're really sure--"
And at Chicory's nod, she sets off towards Dace at a barely-restrained trot, affection coming off her so palpable you could nearly see it.
Chicory watches her go, a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Well, who'd've thought you'd learn to manage people," Jumper says, voice light. "Wasn't the most subtle job I've ever seen, but--"
Chicory looks at him. "Jumper."
He tips his head in greeting. "Chews on Chicory," he says. "Fancy finding you here." Something thoughtful in his tone.
"What do you want?"
"Want?" He looks hurt. "Shelter, Chicory, a little help! You know, my own pack's fallen to war. Horrible tragedy."
"It has?" Chicory blinks. So the Pack At High Mountain was gone. "I had no idea--"
"Oh,” Jumper says, smooth as ice. “ I think you had some.”
Chicory looks at him. Feels a sort of frost creeping over her, inexorable, cold vertebrae-by-vertebrae along her spine.
"Of course," he goes on, "I might be mistaken. A common look, right? I might never have met you at all, before today."
Chicory doesn't respond. Doesn't know how to.
The pack had fallen-- how many wolves lost to the fighting, then? How many that she might have saved, if she were there?
"Listen, all I'm asking is a little-- a little healing. Your hunter, Rime, she wants me out with her team, but I'm sure I'm feeling under the weather. I should be getting my beauty rest, not getting myself all-- worn out and cut up hunting. Wouldn't you agree?"
Chicory meets his eyes, for a long moment. A more evidently strong, healthy young wolf she's never seen.
As if from an enormous distance, the warm, familiar sounds of the pack filter towards them-- the excited chatter of the puppies, the easy ribbing of a group of hunters setting out. How long has she been with this pack-- two years, three?
Good years-- good wolves.
"I just need the good opinion of a healer," Jumper says. "That's all."
Chicory ducks her head, guilt in her heavy as a stone.
"Of course," she says, at last. "Come with me."
#wolvden#the sanctuary pack#well. this one is a bit all over the place lmao#just kinda wanted to give an overview of what the pack was like around this point so it's a bit scattershot lol.#chicory#jumper#verand#radun#year seven#pack stories#jumper sucks so much and i love him#written for a loreclan prompt contest!
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
fly me far away
request: 'Like Real People do' with Kirishima please!
a/n: i really just want to have this, that’s all. i’m projecting.
warnings: mostly fluff, a bit of angst, and an open ending
masterlist
requesting rules
song promptlist
click here for the song!
The evening was young, you could still see the glimpses left from the sunset which was painting the sky in pink and orange colors. The grass tickled your ankles as you walked further away from the castle walls. You had managed to sneak out once again, mostly thanks to your maid who promised to cover for you. You wouldn’t lie and say something like “being a princess was hard”, because it wasn’t. It was quite easy actually. Just very very suffocating, especially for you. Your father used to joke about how you were definitely a village girl in your past life, until your mother told him to stop. Though he still sometimes gave you a look that told the joke without him having to speak it.
During the summer you used to sneak out almost every night, only doing it a few times during winter and here and there during spring and fall. It was your only sense of freedom, outside the walls was where you could breathe. On a night like this, who could not go out to adventure.
There wasn’t much to adventure, as you had already looked through most of the forest and the village surrounding the castle without going too far. But you still had your favorite place to visit, the nurturing stream in the middle of the forest where the animals always gathered. If you were quiet enough you sometimes got to see deer sneak by. The birds, however, had gotten used to you and always expected to get some bread whenever you visited.
Once you had gotten through the long grass you ran to the edge of the forest, afraid to get caught if you didn’t. You felt safe as soon as you had wandered a bit further into the forest. Luckily you didn’t wear one of your longer dresses, otherwise it’s be full of grassstains by now. Whenever you went out you always dressed down the best you could, especially if you were going to the village. Tonight you were wearing a simple light blue dress, it was one you really liked because it fit you so well. Sadly it was also one you never got to wear much since it wasn’t princess-like enough, at least to your mother’s standards.
With the way the grass tickled you right now you wished you would’ve worn some form of boot, but you were stuck with the simple slip-on brown shoes. Before you had left your maid had wrapped her cardigan around you.
“Just unless you don’t make it back until it’s still warm outside.”, she had said before you snuck out.
You thought about asking your mother to teach you how to knit, since this cardigan was awfully itchy and someone like your maid didn’t deserve this type of material. You were sure that your mother had some soft wool that would match the dark brown color of this one.
As you were too deep in thought you hadn’t even realized that you had reached the stream until you started hearing the running water. Instinctively you started sprinting towards the stream, holding up your dress ever so slightly so that you wouldn’t trip over it.
You stopped dead in your tracks as soon as you reached the water. There was someone laying on the ground beside the stream. He wore raggedy clothes; a simple whool vest that was barely covering his upper body, a red cloth around his waist over his trousers and a pair of black boots. Perhaps that wasn’t the craziest part as he had red hair, wings, a tail and horns!
You had only just heard of these creatures, magical creatures and human hybrids, but you never thought you’d see one. You hadn’t even seen a magical creature, let alone a dragon!
As much as your mother told you not to read to much into these matter you found it important, since you were the heiress to the throne and wanted to be a fair ruler. Knowing as much as you did about the magical creatures also meant that you knew the fact that dragon’s were basically on the top of the food chain... and that you should probably run by now. Yet, you didn’t... the dragon-human hyrbid seemed to be unconscious so it couldn’t be dangorous, right?
Slowly, you started to approach the creature... he looked hurt, or at least roughed up.
“Sir... are you alright..?”, you asked carefully, hoping that he wouldn’t respond.
The man let out a grunt for a response, it sounded like he was in pain. You decided to approach him and sit down next to him. When you got a better look at his face, it was scrunched up in annoyance... not in pain.
“... sir?”, you asked once again.
One of the man’s eyes opened to look at you. His irises were a color of deep scarlet red. You saw his pupils adjust to the light.
“... too... bright...”, he grunted.
Without thinking shielded his eyes from the last rays of sun with the palm of your hand. When he opened his eyes again he gave you a strange look.
“You’re a peculiar one...”, he whispered, “... you’re not running away...”
“Is there a reason for me to do so?”, you asked calmly, trying to not give away the fact that you were terrified.
The man didn’t answer your question, instead he sat up and groaned in pain as his hand moved to his stomach.
“Are you hurt?”, you whispered.
“I just got a blow to the stomach...”, he brushed it off, “Why are you here?”
You didn’t want to answer his question, you would rather not let him know that you were the princess. Maybe it was a stereotype but you were just being safe.
“I will not ask you where you came from and neither should you. Now let me help you with that.”, you reached to help him with the wound on his stomach.
“No!”, he backed up, “I don’t know who you are!”
“Listen to me, you’re hurt! I want to help you!”, you explained, “Do I really look like someone who could hurt you?”
“I don’t know... are you a sorcerer?”, he quirked an eyebrow.
“Nope... I... I come from the nearby village.”, you were technically not lying, “I only come around here because it’s... it feels freeing.”
The dragon-human hybrid looked at you skeptically before scooting closer to you. You looked at the wound across his abdomen, there was a lot of bruising and marks across his body that looked like they could only come from ropes. You could feel his eyes burning into your skin as you stood up and walked over to the stream. Luckily you had brought some fabric in your basket, to put on top of the bread. You took the fabric and soaked it in the cold water. When you back to him you started cleaning the wounds.
“I can’t do much, but the cold water should help to linder the pain a little bit.”, you explained, “Here.”
You handed him the basket and told him to take a little piece of the bread. He did so hesitantly, but as soon as he had tried it he finished it within seconds. He certainly didn’t look famished, but he sure acted like it.
Once you had cleaned the wounds you told him to lay back down and then you went to gather some of the herbs that were nearby. The gardener had explained which herbs could heal and which were dangerous to you as a child. So when you find some you picked them carefully, making sure not to break them.
“These should take away the pain completely fo a period of time...”, you explained, “... you’ll probably be able to heal in that amount of time, right?”
He nodded and watched as you broke the plants leaves down the middle. A green substance came out of the plant and you smeared it over the wounds.
“Sorry, it’ll sting a bit.”, you said as he hissed, “Tell me about yourself... maybe it can help you forget.”
“I... my name’s Eijiro Kirishima...”, he spoke between his teeth.
After letting him mumble on about something that you couldn’t really hear, but you think it was about a cave, you were finished quite quickly.
“There you go.”, you took the fabric from before and drained it of water, “This should start working in a few minutes now.”
When you put the fabric over the gel you looked around you. It was dark, how much time had passed?
“Thank you...” Eijiro said quietly, “I never got to know your name.”
“I have to go-”, you stood up, “Sorry, it’s getting dark... take this.”
You gave him the rest of the bread before running towards the castle, holding your dress up ever so slightly so that you wouldn’t trip.
A few days later you go on your usual adventure once again, a part of you still hoping that Eijiro would be there. So you took some other things with you this time. Some more food and a scarf, one that you had knitted yourself.
When you reached the stream no one was there and your shoulders dropped a bit. But you could still sit there with the birds like you usually would. Which is what you did, until you felt like someone was watching you.
“Is anyone there?”, you looked around.
No answer... it was probably just a deer or any other animal that would dare go this close to the castle. So you kept sitting there, minding your own business and talking to the ducks that floated by.
“Why is it that you talk to the birds like that?”, a voice said from behind you.
You let out a squeal and jumped up, scaring away the quacking ducks. When you turned around Eijiro was standing there. Your scared look turned into a soft smile.
“Hello again.”, you said.
“You do know that they don’t understand what you’re saying, right?”, he sat down next to the spot where you were sitting before.
You sat back down, shoulder to shoulder with him with only a few centimeters in between.
“They’re very good listeners.”, you shrugged.
“You don’t have any human friends who listen to you?”, he asked.
You thought about the fact that all of the workers at the castle were payed to be there and technically had to be nice to you, which caused you to shake your head no.
“Well that’s a bit sad.”, he leaned back, “A whole village and not a single friend...”
“... is your wound healed?”, you decided to change the subject.
“Sure is!”, he said happily, “Thank you, by the way.”
“It’s no big deal.”, you brushed it off.
The two of you sat there, dipping your feet into the chilly stream and simply talking about anything and everything. It felt nice to talk to someone so freely. You told him your name when he hasked this time. He questioned if he had met you before since it sounded so familiar but you shook your head quickly, not wanting him to know who you really were. It felt so wonderful to finally be normal with someone.
You gave him the knitted scarf and he thanked you at least five times. He kept saying how manly it looked on him, which made you giggle. Eijiro was really one of a kind.
“It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”, he stood up suddenly, “I need to head on my way, I have someone waiting for me.”
“Oh... well, it was nice seeing you again.”, you smiled, “Do you... do you think you’ll ever come back here.”
“Hm... I’ll tell you what.”, he crouched down to meet your eyes, “I’ll come by here tomorrow if you show me how to knit.”
And so you did. Then after that you had another excuse. As well as the time after that. You kept finding excuses to see him, no matter how weird they got. Eventually you just stopped coming up with excuses and told him you wanted to see him again... you were starting to fall for him after all, and what better excuse was there than that? Your love seemed to make you blind to the fact that people could still see you sneak out, and you became more reckless.
“Do you ever want to get out of here?”, he asked you suddenly one evening, “You said you didn’t have any friends in the village... would you ever consider it?”
You thought about it for a while... your duties, your responisbilities... but your freedom was at risk. As soon as you were queen there was no more sneaking out.
“I’d have to think about it probably.”, you said honestly, “Why do you ask?”
“Oh... no reason in particular.”
You thought a lot about the words he spoke that day... and a tiny part of you wanted him to ask you to fly far far away with him.
“This time I’ll give him a kiss on the cheek!”, you giggled to your maid, “I’m sure he’ll get completely red in the face!”
“Don’t tease him like that, princess.”, she smiled warmly as she folded your clothes, “He seems like a nice man.”
“Oh, he is. He gave me flowers last time! Could you believe he picked them himself?”, you spun around with a bright grin on your face.
Your maid of course didn’t know that Eijiro was a dragon, even someone as caring as her would get the wrong idea. She simply thought that he was a kind stranger in the woods.
That evening you ran out quickly to the forest. He was there and you embraced him as soon as you saw him.
“Hello, love.”, he grinned.
“Oh! You won’t believe what I saw today!”, you said happily.
You didn’t get that much time to say anything though, shouting and the sound of people running towards you filled your ears.
“Did someone follow you?”, Eijiro asked worridly.
“Princess!”, one of the guards shouted.
“... princess?”, he looked at you in disbelief.
“Get away from him princess! You’ll get hurt!”, another guard came running up.
“Look, Eijiro, I can explain everything.”, you whispered to him.
He looked at you the way that no one else could, even when you had broken his trust like this.
“I can take you away from here.”, he whispered back as the guards aimed there arrows at him.
“Please.”
-
permanent taglist: @theoceanphoenixhasrisen | @raven-r0ses | @darkbeautyswife | @sondering-thoughts | @gowoneandonlyone | @bnhabadass | @queenblackcat | @jayetheanimefreek101 | @witchy-anna | @cutest-celestial-princess | @missymysa | @karebear5118 | @weebartistinc |
#Kirishima Eijirou#kirishima x reader#kirishima eijiro#kirishima fanfic#bnha kirishima#eijirou kirishima imagine#eijirou x reader#kirishima eijiro x reader#bnha#bnha fanfiction#bnha fic#mha#mha imagines#imagine#bnha imagine#bnha imagines#kirishima imagine#boku no hero imagines#fanfiction#fanfic#bnha fanfic#boku no hero fanfic#boku no hero x reader#my hero academia#my hero academy fanfiction
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
About RWBY Vol 8 Ch 8
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Four Seasons
The Four Seasons is one of my mom’s favorite movies, and I’ve definitely seen bits and pieces of it before, but have never sat down to watch the whole thing. It’s a 1981 film starring Alan Alda and Carol Burnett that concerns three wealthy married couples who take vacations in spring, summer, fall, and winter, and the trials and tribulations that their lives (and as a result their friendships) go through. Now that I’m a wise, learned married woman myself, does this film impart lessons about marriage that I can resonate with 40 years later? Well...
I will say yes but with a big ol’ asterisk next to it. Some lessons about marriage are universal. And some are based on pressures and expectations that just really, really make me glad I’m not straight. Let’s dive in.
Some thoughts:
Alan Alda wrote, directed, and starred in this! What a triple threat.
I do love that the men are all cooking and the women are in the living room talking about their work. Coming from a family that observes the strictest of gender roles at family gatherings, this is the most welcome and refreshing thing I’ve ever seen.
I have always wanted to make those cellophane noodles, and I think it’s because I saw them in this movie when I was a kid! It’s always nice to discover your roots with things like that.
Why would you jump in the lake WITH the bread? Save the bread, man!
The primary conflict starts early - one of the friends, Nick (Len Cariou), wants to leave his wife, Anne (Sandy Dennis), and I can appreciate this so much more now that I’m married. I understand what it would mean to be married to someone for 21 years and to then say “I can’t do this anymore.” I understand Jack’s (Alda’s) frustration with Nick, but I also sympathize with him - no one should feel trapped in a marriage that doesn’t make them happy. I understand most of all Kate’s (Carol Burnett’s) reaction to the news: turning to her husband and simply saying, “Hold me.”
I love Ginny (Bess Armstrong) and her being impressed by Nick for being an estate planner. She is so in awe over him because she “never met anyone who knows so much about actuarial tables!”
Why would you ever want to vacation with 6 people on a sailboat? There isn’t even enough room for 2 people, let alone 6! And only one person knows how to sail? This is a dramedy but it could just as easily have been a straight up horror movie.
And what kind of sociopath would or could have sex - repeatedly - in said sailboat where the other two couples can hear them all night? Seriously, this feels like a weird fetish vacation or something, like something out of Hostel.
I cannot believe they crammed 4 people in the back of that Mercedes and made poor Ginny sit on Nick’s lap the whole way. Do none of these people believe in adequate accommodations???
This movie passes the Bechdel test handily, because this group of female friends really cares for and looks out for each other. They talk about their relationships, sure, but they also talk about their emotional upheavals and the state of their friendship. I’m especially pleased to see this kind of female friendship and support from a movie that was written and directed by a man. It’s sad but true that this sort of thing is real damn rare.
Nick denying his daughter’s feelings and trying to coax her into smiling is so cringey I want to die.
God I feel so bad for Lisa,Nick and Anne’s daughter (played by Alan Alda’s actual daughter, Beatrice Alda!). She’s clearly so depressed and no one will offer her the dignity of just listening to her or just being with her.
I’m also getting some pretty strong ladygay vibes from Jack and Kate’s daughter Beth (played by Alan Alda’s other daughter, Elizabeth Alda). Nothing comes of it, but there are vibes, man.
I absolutely adore Carol Burnett, and when she reaches her breaking point and finally goes off on Alan Alda, it’s incredible. She’s such a gifted physical comedian but at the core of it, she is so fantastic at digging into the emotions behind the physicality - the anger, the frustration, every ugly, twisted thing every woman is shamed for letting show, she uses it. “When I’m perfect, I cease to exist!” If that doesn’t cut to the heart of every Type A woman I’ve ever met when they feel overshadowed and overlooked by men, I don’t know what does.
The women in this film are so terrified of becoming obsolete to their husbands, in large part because Nick left Anne, and while obviously that’s a real thing that a lot of couples go through, it just feels so completely foreign to me to even consider as a woman married to another woman. Like, what if your whole deal from the time you got married is that you would grow and change together and not feel like it’s inevitable that you would trade each other in for younger models? How about that, guys? Do you want to try that instead?
Why does anyone go skiing? It looks like literally the least fun activity in the world. You’re cold, you’re wet, you keep falling down, and if you’re not careful you’ll break like every bone in your body.
Oh man this turtleneck and glasses guy is really murdering “Strangers in the Night” on the saxophone. I have never wanted to go to a roadhouse more than one where that guy is the house musician.
I also think it’s a beautiful thing that in this movie, Jack is the one who wants everyone to open up about their emotions, who expresses feelings, who wants his friends to talk about everything. That is such a rare gift, to see a man, arguably the leader of his friend group, take that role in his relationships.
Ginny is given a lot of humanity and is allowed to be more than just “the other woman,” and ultimately her emotional outburst as well as Jack’s is the emotional catharsis that is needed in any relationship when tensions build until they break.
Did I Cry? No, but I did feel moved by the emotional honesty at work here. It’s really a movie that’s a love letter to friendships and to romantic relationships in equal measure, and that’s not something you see every day.
I’m so impressed by Alan Alda and his vision for this movie. I wanted to be friends with these people. Their doubts and fears and foibles and anxieties are relatable, even if some of them are steeped in some very rigid gender roles. I highly recommend this movie for its humor and warmth - it’s hard to pass up Alan Alda and Carol Burnett under any circumstances, but these are particularly good ones.
If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.
#120in2020#the four seasons#the four seasons review#alan alda#carol burnett#movie reviews#film reviews#patreon review
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
SNK Rair Pair Week - Jeanconnie - Bad Weather
(Rated M, CW for self-harm)
I woke this morning to find the apartment empty. I’d slept in, something I had already begun to do more often. Jean left a sticky-note on the remote letting me know he left to run a couple of errands. I sat on the couch, not quite ready to start my day.
Rain pattered against the windows. It was the first rain of the season, that season being autumn. It had naturally rained many other times so far this year, but the first rain of autumn always stood out to me. I knew it was virtually indistinguishable from a rain that had happened two or three weeks ago, and I knew other people didn’t pay attention to the first rain of a season. People paid attention to the first snow of winter, but definitely not the first rain of autumn.
It was different for me, because it marked the first day of the year I was susceptible to my seasonal depression, which happened, and had been happening, every year for as long as I could remember. When the skies turned a dreary gray, and leaves started to die, and grass turned yellow, and chilled rain doused the earth, I sunk into a darkness I was never able to claw my way out of entirely until spring, when the showers meant something else – the return of life. Flowers budding, animals coming out of hibernation, warmth permeating the air.
Jean and I got together in the spring, and our infatuation had the most blissful afterglow through all of summer. By that fall, it wasn’t infatuation anymore. It wasn’t just liking the other a lot. A crush, a thing a fling. Whatever. He loved me by then, had to have, because he didn’t leave like everyone else I’d ever dated had, when they realized how far I wandered away from myself in fall. How difficult it was, to lure me back.
Instead, we fought. We had gone months without the slightest hiccup, but after that first rain, we had our first fight – of many.
The problem was, he wanted to help. Just like my parents, just like my siblings, just like my friends, just like my doctor, and just like my therapist, he wanted to help. And the problem with that was that he didn’t know what helping looked like. For him, helping meant fixing. If something was broken, you fixed it, right?
But he couldn’t fix me. Not with doing more around the house. Not with working more often to pay more than his share. Not with surprising me with a vacation out of state. Not with helping me with my homework load. Not with giving me gifts, complimenting me, or doing all the work in bed. Nothing worked, and Jean didn’t know how to help if nothing could help, and when nothing could help, he got impatient. Frustrated. Angry.
I wasn’t appreciated of him enough. I wasn’t happy with him. I must not love him anymore. I wasn’t putting enough effort into getting better.
This eventually turned into I had no reason to be sad. I had a great life. A roof over my head, food in the fridge, running water, a warm bed. I was going to school for my dreams, not for money. My parents accepted me, accepted us, and were still in my life. I had a boyfriend who loved me, who would do anything for me, who was doing everything for me. What the fuck did I have to be sad about?
By then, I almost wished he would leave like the others had. It would have been easier for both of us, and I wanted that, truly, I wanted that even for him, even after what he said. I understood. Over the years, I had seen what my depression did to others in my life. It was like a person drowning – sometimes they were so frantic to be saved, so desperate to get above the surface, that they pulled the lifeguard down with them. That was what I would do to others if I didn’t let myself drown in silence.
Finally, I told him I was breaking up with him.
“With me? You’re the one breaking up with me?” he spit. But I could see the fear in his eyes. The way his hands trembled.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said.
“’I guess’?” he repeated. “Wow. I – I must not mean very much to you. And after everything you’ve put me –”
“That’s not it,” I said. My voice was monotone. It always was this time of year. If this was happening in the summer, I’d be sobbing.
“Then what is?”
“Because I don’t want to keep putting you through this,” I said. He wasn’t the first person in my life to have accused me of putting them through something. Like I would do this on purpose. Like I wanted this. Like I thought this was fun.
Jean’s cheeks flared. “I’m sorry, Connie. It’s just hard.”
“You’re telling me,” I said. “I have to live with it. I can’t just break up with it and set myself free. If it was that easy, believe me, I would.”
Jean was quiet for a moment, breathing heavily, and then very purposefully, not as heavy. His fierce eyes went soft. “I would take it from you, if I could. I’m sorry I can’t.”
This was the first he’d acknowledged that it wasn’t something he could fix. That I wasn’t something he could fix.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” I said.
“It’s not yours either.”
I shrugged.
He sighed. “Please. I don’t want to breakup.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You sure? It would make things a lot easier for you.”
“No. It wouldn’t,” he said. “Living without you would not be easier, Connie.”
My eyes teared up, but I blinked it back. I cried a lot during the fall, but silently, and in private. I didn’t want to cry in front of him right then especially. Not when I still wasn’t convinced this was the end. I needed him to believe I’d be okay without him, or he wouldn’t leave, and then all I’d be doing is holding him hostage.
I cleared my throat. “This isn’t going away. It’s part of me. If you live with me, you live with it.”
Jean nodded. His eyes met mine. They were rimmed red.
“Tell me what to do,” he said. “I just – just need something I can do. Anything. I can’t just see you in pain and not – I can’t. It’s not in me.”
I glanced out the window. It was dark and had been since I got home from work, which was well before dinner time. I hated the dark. The rain sounded like static.
“I just need you to be there with me,” I said, quietly. “Wait it out. Like a storm.”
Jean’s eyes widened in understanding. This made sense to him. He’d grown up in the Midwest just as I had. We both knew that when a storm hit, or a tornado, there was no running, no preventing, no minimizing the damage. All you could do was hunker down somewhere safe and wait for it to pass. Keep each other company while you did. Distract each other. Comfort each other.
“Okay,” he said. “I can do that. I will do that.”
And he had. The following fall was easier for him. Not for me, but for him. Most nights he held me for a long time, not saying anything. Letting me cry, letting me vent, letting me do nothing if that was what I wanted to do. He didn’t attempt do more than his share of work around the house, or increase his hours at his job, or pay more than half on our bills. But he didn’t get mad when he had to remind me to do something, or when I put off doing something that needed doing, or when I didn’t do something as well as I should have. He drove me to and from the therapist, and reminded me to journal, to take my meds, and to set timers to eat and go to bed. On one occasion, I cut myself, and he’d been distraught, but fought the instinct to yell while cleaning the wound for me. We didn’t fight.
Halfway through winter, something changed. It became easier for me too. I didn’t continue to wander further from myself. I felt like I could finally keep my head – at least my nose – above water. I didn’t hurt myself again and never felt the need to. My doctor halved my dose shortly after the peak days of darkness in the winter. Instead of seeing my therapist three days a week, I saw her twice. It was the best I’d ever done. Jean wondered what was different, and I struggled to tell him that it both was and wasn’t because of him.
It wasn’t because of him in the ways people thought, and the way he once thought it could be because of him. It wasn’t because we were just so in love, and he just made me so happy, and he was just so understanding and patient and caring that I just couldn’t be sad, which was what people thought should ease depression.
It was because I wasn’t going through it alone.
And ever since, it had been easier. Not gone, not fixed, not cured. But easier.
I inhaled deeply, exhaled thoroughly, and smiled. I knew sadness was one its way, but it wasn’t here yet and wouldn’t stay forever, so I could be happy now. I walked across the living room and shut the curtains. Then I turned on the tv and turned the volume up so that I wouldn’t have to hear the rain.
Shortly after, Jean walked through the front door, hoodie soaked and hair flinging like a dog.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. He sat next to me on the couch and wrapped an arm around me. “You okay? You look okay. Why are you okay?”
The first rain of the season meant something to him now too. I shrugged.
“What’d you get?” I asked.
He dropped the bag he was carrying and it slammed harder than I was expecting against the floor. “A sunlamp. A weighted blanket. Coffee. Sleep aids. And like – a whole carton of chocolate bars.”
I grinned at him. “Stocking up for a storm?”
He shrugged, bashfully, and looked away from me. “It’s that time of year.”
I pulled his hand into mine and laced our fingers together. “I love you,” I said to him, but what I really meant was I love the way you love me.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Memories of Gold - MINHO
It’s Minho’s birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Enjoy this very condensed version of his point of view on what happens in Shards, his (currently unfinished) installation of the Whispers of Nature series :) And yes, the witch mentioned here is the same witch as in Constellation! Happy birthday to our lovely dancer <3
Unbeleafable prompt: witches
Pairing: Minho x fem!reader
Genre: fluff, whispers of nature!universe, nature spirit!au, royalty!au
Triggers: mentions of war and blood, allusions to sex (nothing explicit)
Word Count: 1.8k
Through fall, winter, spring, summer, and fall again, you find your way home.
Unbeleafable Masterlist | Stray Kids Drabbles Masterlist | Whispers of Nature
He meets you in the fall, under leaves of orange and burnished red and a sun of golden rays. His father, the king, seeks a cure for his queen, even though the royal physicians have all said that nothing can save her from the disease that wastes her body away every day. The king is desperate enough to hire even a witch.
The whispers at court speak of demons and cults, of an unsettling connection to the depths and secrets of Mother Earth and the sky. Minho might be inclined to believe them if you hadn’t smiled so warmly the day he stepped into the royal chambers to speak with his mother, the dying queen.
That smile, against a window dazzled with fading golden light, puts a spell on him. From that day on, though you do nothing in particular to invite his affections, he notices no man or woman but you.
There is no cure, you tell the king with a steady voice and kind eyes. You can prolong the queen’s life for a bit longer. A few months at the least, two years, maybe, at the most. But Lord Time never stops moving and Mother Nature always has her plans, and there will come a day when the wasting disease takes the queen away and you can do nothing more.
Minho is in the room when his father nods his drooping head, despairing yet understanding, and pleads with you to do as much as you can. And you do. No matter the whispers at court, the murmurings that the king has gone mad with grief, enough to trust a witch with his secrets, you keep smiling, even as golden red leaves fall to the ground and are covered with blank, white snow.
Every night, Minho prays his mother will live another day. He prays because he loves her, because she loves him. But he also prays for the selfish desire to keep you near for as long as he can.
. . . . .
Summer is for greenery, for fleeting romances and glancing loves. Deadened trees blossom with bright colors, and Minho likes it. He likes the warmth of the sun overhead, the butterflies flitting across the fields. He likes the longer days, the blooming flowers, the orchards beginning to burst with fruit.
He likes it enough to spirit you away in secret one afternoon, lost in a meadow of soft grass, and tell you what exactly you mean to him.
“But I’m a witch,” you protest. “A prince can’t love someone so hated by his people.”
“My heart wants no other but yours,” he replies, taking your hands. Your skin, scarred and slightly cracked from the juices of the herbs you work with, feels warm beneath his fingers. They tingle pleasantly with magic. “I promise myself to you today, no matter your reply.”
So summer is for confessions, for shy gazes and slight touches. But autumn is for lingering eyes and warm smiles, something as loving and gentle and comforting as the colors beginning to change in the trees.
The sky is pink and orange with the setting sun, leaves crackling and turning brown, when he works up the courage to give you a kiss under the sprawling oak in the royal gardens. It isn’t long, but the blossom of pure joy lingers on his lips like the touch of warmth left over from the summer, still wavering in the air before the crisp cold of winter snatches it away.
“You must have put a spell on me,” Minho murmurs on one of the last nights of fall, arms wrapped around your body under silken sheets.
“No spells.” You smile gently, faint moonlight washing across your features, and press a tiny kiss against his bruised lips. “Only love.”
He smiles. Yes, that’s it.
It’s just love.
. . . . .
And then, weeks later in the dead of winter, his mother dies.
It’s sudden. Just the day before she was sitting up, insisting she could take a walk around the gardens. The next morning, she was gone.
The palace is dead silent for several days, save for the whispering of servants and the quiet steps of shoes on stone.
Face covered with dark veil, you stand, hidden, behind the royal family as Minho’s mother is laid into the ground to rest. There are no hushed words that day, no stolen glances or hasty kisses. Only mourning.
He returns to the palace with a heart heavy with grief and locks himself away for several days, only allowing Seungmin and his father to enter his quarters. You don’t knock, don’t attempt to approach his room. Minho assumes it’s because your duties to the royal family are over, and you’re packing to leave the palace. The thought makes his heart ache even more.
It feels like the sun has shone one warm ray when Minho finally leaves his room and sees you walking down the halls like nothing has changed. “His Majesty has asked me to continue working as a royal physician.” Your smile, though tinged with grief, is genuine. “I told him I’d be honored to stay as long as I could.”
He drags you, then, into a small room filled with dust, and kisses you until he can no longer see through the tears falling down his cheeks. Minho doesn’t know if those tears are of joy or sadness or both, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that he cares about is your roughened fingers brushing away the droplets that leak from his eyes, the gentle touch of your skin against his.
In the cold grief of winter, he finds solace in your warm reminder of the sun.
. . . . .
You came in the fall. You kissed in the fall. You lay with each other for the first time in the fall.
It seems fitting, then, that you leave in the fall.
Minho knew the whispers were getting worse, that the king’s favor of an evil witch must be a sign of madness, that the prince’s kindness – or was it love? – towards a blighted woman was surely a sign of instability in the royal palace. But he turned a blind eye to it all – what could a few meddling nobles do to you, one of the strongest people he knew in the world?
One day you’re there, the next you’re gone. You leave nothing behind. Not a single plant leaf or stem marks your presence, not a stray hair or pulled thread. Not even a note.
It’s like you never existed.
He knows you did. How could he not, when the leaves of autumn are turning golden orange before his very eyes? Everything he sees reminds him of you and your loud laugh, your gentle touch, the feeling of your body pressed against his.
It hurts. It hurts. Half of him wants to forge on and forget. The other half wants desperately to remember. But how is it impossible not to remember, when the reddening trees constantly send him into memories of the moments he spent with you?
So the first half wins. He tries, to no avail, to erase all memories of your existence.
For the first time in his life, Minho looks forward to the settling of the snow and the blackening of the leaves.
. . . . .
War comes in the warm season of summer, and with it comes bloodshed. Scarlet bleeds on verdant grass and green leaves, bathing Mother Earth in flowing crimson and dried black. Minho wants to vomit every time he enters the fray and feels a sword cut a little too close to his skin, but he’s the prince. He must fight in place of his now ailing father and too young brother.
As the weeks wear on, he begins to hear whispers of someone they call the Blue Witch. Clothed in blue all over, leaving only her eyes to be seen, she sweeps across the camps, operating on soldiers regardless of rank. There is no hierarchy for her – men and women are treated in the order of their injuries. Some of the generals grumble at the newcomer and her use of magic, but they need the help. The soldiers love her. The healers worship her.
Such stories remind Minho of someone he used to know.
But battle comes first before all else, and anyway, there’s no possibility that the surgeon could be you. You wouldn’t have come back. The way you snipped off every thread of your existence, completing detaching yourself from his life, tells the truth.
You left. You won’t return.
Then months later, as blood begins to stain orange and gold leaves instead of green, he wakes up on a musty sheet in a crowded tent, pain flaring in his side, and gazes blearily into the warm eyes of a figure clothed in blue.
Those eyes are the same as someone he once knew.
. . . . .
A year later, Minho stands in the gardens with you, one arm wrapped around your waist, watching your son crunch fallen leaves under his feet as he tears through the trees. Seungmin follows closely behind, laughing at your child’s babbling words, while his father sits on a chair nearby, eyes closed in content as he listens to the peaceful chaos.
You smile at the sight, the same smile you gave him that day in his mother’s quarters, the first time he ever laid eyes on you. Unwittingly, his own lips curl up as well.
You came in the fall. You kissed in the fall. You lay together for the first time in the fall. You left in the fall.
Then you came back in the fall. And you stayed through winter, spring, and summer, until the war was over and the leaves began transitioning once again from vivid green to regal gold and brown.
Minho has no doubt that you will stay for many more fall seasons to come.
There’s love in his eyes as he looks from your smile to the child – his child, he reminds himself, his heart beating with joy at the thought. There’s love in his eyes and warmth in the air even as the threat of winter brings a note of crisp cold into the breeze.
Nothing could feel more perfect than it does now.
His son runs up to him without warning, leaping into his arms so suddenly that Minho nearly knocks you over in the attempt to catch him. He grins, though, delight clear in his face. Your laugh sparkles in his ears as you lean over to kiss your child on the cheek.
Pure happiness and golden joy ring throughout the garden, so much that even the servants come out to watch the sight and feel the crisp air on their skin. As the sun lowers in the sky, as the clouds turn from white to rosy pink and orange, Minho revels in the warmth of his family by his side.
Holding your son’s hand, he leads you back into the palace. And with the setting sun still casting gentle rays of gold and pink behind, he turns and seals your lips in a gentle kiss.
#starryktown#inkidz#unbeleafable bingo#stray kids#skz#stray kids scenarios#stray kids minho#minho#skz scenarios#fluff#war#drabbles#blood#nature spirit!au#stray kids minho scenarios#whispers of nature#memories of gold#scriptura-delirus
40 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
poppy-cats
My Art Blog
a-stairwayt0heaven
☼ Desperdigados por fantasías ☼
mariogonco
Sin título
eccentric9ja
Untitled