#not the individual stories that touch us once and then we lose them forever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

staysafedontdie · 6 months

Text

Vampire Spawn Lore/Headcanons Help?

Hey friends and strangers, Long Post here.

I have noticed in my attempts at research that there is almost nothing but a stat block for Vampire Spawns. But we do know lots about Vampires themselves.

I'm going to break this down into things that are consistent in BG3 and a couple things I noted in other RPGs that could be relevant?

Please feel free to comment with things you believe are true or could be true, or things you know from actual Vampire/Vampire Spawn lore! It'll be fun to see what people in the community do, think, and use for story writing and such!!

(Also, please note that I wrote this between playing BG3, Deep cleaning my apartment, and ADHD kicking my ass, so apologies if it's a little scattered.)

What we do know, per Forgotten Realms Lore:

Spawn share their masters' weaknesses, to a lesser degree (can't enter private dwellings without permission, running water is acid damage, can't see themselves in mirrors, sunlight burns, garlic, etc)

They also can share their masters' strengths: Spawn are said to be able to turn into mist and climb on walls like a spider. They also seem to be able to charm & "Like most undead, their bite and touch caused blood drain and domination" (Aka. the spell Dominate Person)

Spawn do regenerate health, but the damage they take from running water & sunlight is higher than their regeneration, which is why they can die to these things.

Their features become more distorted/sharp/predatory when infected.

As Astarion mentioned, Spawn are less slaves and more puppets designed to do their master's bidding. Free will is non-existent, even if they're fully aware of what they're doing. Obviously it would depend on how controlling the individual Vampire is, but when given an order they cannot disobey.

Once a Spawn is freed, they can no longer be enslaved (by another Vampire. So, one master and if said master dies then the spawn is free to go on their merry way without fear.)

"When it came to a life of adventuring, vampire spawn would seek vengeance on their creators, or penance for their new damnation. If these monsters could overcome their ravenous emotions, they might seek out knowledge, glory, or power. Pride was the true driver of the vampire spawn, since they believed themselves better than others."

A point of contention: Yes a Spawn can feed from their master to become a True Vampire, but the Spawn needs permission to do so. It's a consent thing. So, yes, while it would be nice to bully Cazador into turning Astarion with a series of fun intimidation checks, that man would rather die than concede.

Besides, per the Lore True Vampires lose their humanity in the process of the change and all of their emotions twist into dark shadows of themselves. Love becomes possessiveness, etc.

Stakes do not kill Vampires, they paralyze them. Thus making it easier to kill them. Astarion's preferred death of decapitation is - from what I've seen - one of the most widely supported ways to permanently kill a Vampire in not just FR Lore, but IRL too.

Some other things that I thought were interesting: (Admittedly this could be partially due to the tadpole)

Despite the inherent nature of Vampire Spawn, Astarion doesn't seem to be evil - in fact, the more we learn about him, the kinder he seems and the more the evil act seems to be for protection. He's definitely firmly self-serving and Chaotic, and will forever be a mischievous chaos gremlin who talks shit and plays mean-spirited pranks on people for sure, but he is kind.

Astarion seems to be able to imbibe in at least drink if not food as well. He's shown drink wine at several points throughout the story.

He sweats and bleeds and salivates, indicating he does have bodily function to some degree. (I'll touch on this a bit later.)

If his features are distorted/more predatory HOW SOFT MUST HE HAVE LOOKED BEFORE WHAT THE FUCK?

ALL OF CAZADOR'S SPAWN HAVE SOULS. This is Weird for Vampires/Undead.

Notes from other (Non-FR) Lore sources:

Midgard (D&D 5e supplement from Kobold Press):

Vampire Spawn are able to have children and sometimes those children are Dhampir/Dhampyr (do with this what you will)

Honestly this system has a ton of cool lore, but that is the only different Spawn-specific thing I found by skimming. But if you want lots of Vampire/Dhampir/cool character backgrounds related to those things? Please take a look. Not associated, just found it while researching and Thought It Was Neat.

General/IRL Vampire Lore:

Originally Vampires couldn't see themselves in mirrors because they were backed with a thin layer of silver - a very pure metal said to repel vampires and werewolves. So theoretically a Vampire in the today times would be able to be seen in a mirror, as ours have aluminum backings. So you could, potentially, with a bit of work, find an exotic mirror that might work for Astarion and the horde of other Spawn you may or may not have released into the Underdark.

Running water has the same implications in that it's pure, which is why a Vampire can't touch/cross it.

Sunlight as a Vampire weakness only came about during the film Nosferatu where it then became public lexicon - prior to that, Vampires were more active at night, but not inactive during the day.

I read somewhere - probably on this hellsite - that a Vampire's fangs are technically their reproductive organs, and I hate it. Please make this joke more in fanfics.

Vampire, The Masquerade (which is now not the most up-to-date World of Darkness lore, but more widely known):

"Vampire bodies do not function like the bodies of living organisms. They are (more or less) preserved in a life-like state, but they do not age or die from illness." - pretty standard among all Vampire lore

"Vampires are also vulnerable to so-called "True Faith", that is, the strength of a person's true religious conviction (which is, fortunately for vampires, very rare). Such faith need not be religious per se — one of the rulebooks mentions a yuppie repelling a vampire with his credit card, thanks to his faith in the power of money." - lmao please this is so funny, please imagine some rich idiot in somewhere in Toril pulling a 'The power of Christ compels you!' with a sack of gold pieces. Let's be honest, it's probably some rich merchant from Amn.

"Vampires are immune to most diseases, drugs and poisons, but can be affected by some if present in the blood of their victims." - cheap and easy way to save money on wine

"Normally, a vampire looks the part of a corpse. They're pale and register no pulse. They exist at slightly below room temperature. Food and drink taste terrible, and immediately cause violent, bloody vomiting. They also cannot function sexually, or convincingly fake enjoying sex."

The Blush of Life skill! "By spending a point of Vitae, Kindred may invoke the blush of life for a scene. This makes them functionally human. They become warm to the touch, with a full, hearty pulse. They produce natural bodily fluids. They function sexually in the way a human can, becoming physically aroused, erect, and lubricated. They can keep food and drink down, ejecting it later in the night. They’ll pass medical inspection while the blush remains active."

I can't remember where this came from:

I remember reading somewhere that Vampires probably need to feed in order to continue to have regeneration properties. So they have blood/fluids but they need to feed to be able to maintain those fluid levels. So if a Vampire gets injured, they'll continue getting weaker until they feed rather than naturally recouperating like other beings. - This actually ties really well into both the lore Astarion's exhaustion and hunger when he asks to feed on the player. It's the first time he's had to fight in a long time, and he was mostly starved by Cazador, so his vitality is quite low. (Unfortunately this wouldn't be very fun mechanically if implemented that way, so it's headcanon territory.) EDIT TO ABOVE: Apparently he's only feeding to see if he can disobey Cazador per his Origin route, but leaving that up as it's a valid interpretation if the Origin is excluded, since there's no reason to think otherwise as the Player Character.

Vampires look more alive once they feed. They may be a little warmer, have a bit of color in their cheeks again, etc. Different to VtM's Blush of Life as this is specific to feeding, when the other is a skill that can be performed.

As weird as it is to think about, I love whatever the fuck this answer is on Quora: It goes into depth from the perspective of a Vampire on how the body processes nutrients and expels waste.

LORE'S OVER, HERE'S THE FUN PART!

I have questions. SO many questions. Even if it's stupid, I want to hear your answers!

ARE VAMPIRE SPAWN IMMORTAL? IF NOT, HOW LONG DO THEY LIVE FOR? A: Idfk, I assume immortal, but literally nothing confirms whether this is the case. Either way it's A Very Long Time.

CAN VAMPIRE SPAWN EAT & DRINK? IS IT A TADPOLE THING? Honestly this could go either way for me. I do like the VtM interpretation of not being able to keep it down for long if they do.

HOW DOES THE BODY WORK? DIGESTIVE SYSTEM? CIRCULATORY SYSTEM? Idk tbh. Please help. (Though I do like the non-regenerative fluids idea.)

BODY TEMPERATURE? I agree he runs cooler than normal body temperature and is probably That Asshole With The Cold Feet in bed but I also saw this cute af headcanon of him of him being cold-blooded like a lizard. So self-regulating body temperature by sun-bathing and such and I can't stop thinking about it.

OTHER QUESTIONS I FORGOT?

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS NONSENSE!!

#bg3 #dnd 5e #vampire spawn #vampire #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #please help me i'm begging you idk what to headcanon/lore anymore it's so har d #maybe as a hive mind we can make it make sense #maybe i'll make polls out of the most popular answers if this gets enough engagement

31 notes · View notes

luthienne · 1 year

Note

hey lovely hi! I wanted to ask you something about writing. First of all i love love love the way you write matt and Frank! So on point and detailed and so well observed. I wanted to know how do you understand them i mean what are your ways to study a character?

I hope I'm making sense and im sorry for being a bother 😭 love you.

hi first of all i love you sm for this oh my god?? you're not a bother at all, i could talk about matt forever. writing him true to character is the highest compliment i could ask for 🥹

several thoughts come to mind — first i think of the characters as they are individually, then as they are tied to one another; once tied together through the threads of the story, there is no separating them. just as there is no separating the choices they make now from all the choices in the past that led up to this moment. where do the boundaries of the character as laid out in the source material brush up against the boundaries of the character as i understand them & what archetypal role are they fulfilling (if relevant).

also the mutability of the boundary between archetypes: i.e. matt descends into 'hell' to bring frank out, orpheus role; matt hears & carries everything, god-like role; matt accepts this as a call to action, hero; matt takes it upon himself to punish these 'evildoers', devil; matt takes these sins upon himself, christ figure; matt is wounded in his noble pursuit, martyr figure. & how do his roles change in relation to the characters he shares a scene with — fisk (god-like in seemingly limitless influence) / matt (hero/martyr).

what life is there for a hero outside of their duty in a story like this? what room is there for him to be human? that's what i want to know. so i take what we know from what we've been given:

matt is the son of a boxer -> he grows up with the inherent understanding that two things can be true at once: hands capable of love can also be capable of violence

matt, as a child, saves an old man and loses his sight -> he accepts at a very young age the concept of heroic acts & their consequences (inevitability)

matt’s father chooses to die a 'hero' rather than live as a flawed but present father -> better to be a hero, to live and die by those familiar consequences than to be a flawed but present person (2nd ex. of heroes and their consequences, inevitability)

matt’s next father figure is violent but it is through that violence he learns to navigate an overwhelming world -> violence = love

stick leaves, like his father left, like his mother left -> to love is to lose (inevitability)

matt is only human, after all, it's what's most compelling about him as a character. and the show really did let us sit in those long moments of quiet witness to matt's undeniable humanity. he is flawed, he stumbles in fights, he can’t catch his breath, his faith buckles under the weight of his grief; he doesn't understand how to be human, how to maintain relationships, how to reconcile the darkest parts of the world and of himself with his faith in humanity and belief in redemption. the world is overwhelming to him on every sensory level. every touch is a modified blow? he lives that. he looks outside of himself for light (foggy, faith). when he reaches his breaking point, he breaks rather than turn to the people he loves because of the lessons he internalized as a child. stick left because matt loved, despite everything. despite everything, his love > his rage (bc his rage is his grief & his grief is another face of his love).

even after foggy finds out matt's secret life of physical violence, he still refers to him as "my soft-hearted partner" because it's true, matt cannot help but love & recognize humanity in others. it's because of this that he feels called to balance two unsustainably contradictory lives: using his voice to fight for redemption in court; taking it into his own hands when the law fails. taking their blood onto himself, by himself.

and that is the only touch he allows himself to experience—violence. blood on his knuckles, in his mouth, in his throat. and when his body is torn open and his secrets bared through his wounds, we get another glimpse into the reality of heroes and their consequences. foggy is not treated as an audience stand-in to giddily marvel at matt's abilities and how cool they are, he's heartbroken. he’s fucking devastated. his best friend is bleeding out on his apartment floor. he doesn't want matt to die. he doesn't want matt to be daredevil, he doesn’t want matt to be a hero — because foggy, more than anyone, understands matt's humanity and mortality. and foggy, more than anyone, selfishly wants matt to be his friend first. let hell’s kitchen take care of itself. why should matt die for a community that doesn’t love him like foggy loves him? that doesn’t know him like foggy knows him? he knew matt before he became a story. their time at columbia grounds their friendship & grounds matt to a life that is as close to normal as any comicbook story. they stay up late studying, they drink a little too much, they live together and achieve a kind of domesticity that comes easy to foggy but utterly incomprehensible to everything matt knew before foggy. we see a glimpse at a life with foggy that represents a gentle kind of safety and happiness — everything matt has been denied in his life until then. everything that the momentum of the story demands matt cannot keep (as hero).

and then there's frank. composed of rigid codes and immovable beliefs, just as much as matt, but on the other side of the line matt has drawn in the sand. that line represents matt’s faith in humanity and belief in redemption. despite living the worst of it, despite bearing the brunt of it. matt can't lose frank because matt never had frank; and yet matt and frank hold an inherent understanding of one another that no one else can. two sides of the same coin: unwavering & fatal sense of duty that walks them in a winding but inevitable line toward their respective fates; acceptance of the roles life has given them in what life has taken from them. it's not that they want to die, it's just that they’ve lived so long in the depths of their own private grief that they can’t see living outside of them.

so of course foggy doesn't want to matt to be a hero because there is no story where the hero comes home unscathed, there is no story where the hero is not brought to his knees. to love matt is to accept he could lose matt. either through death or through his inevitable transformation into something foggy may not recognize.

(now matt's unwritten rules by which he lives are bleeding into other characters' lives, consequences spiraling outward & outward)

a perilous thing began with wanting to explore this idea: a story that revolves around the moment when the hero is brought to their knees (figuratively & literally) that marks the separation of who they were before and who they must become after (transformation), if there is to be an after -> internal vs external consequences; forced passivity; how does the hero come back from that & who is he if/when he comes back from that. is he recognizable? i also wanted to look at the hero & the story through someone else's eyes, someone who could be more objective than me, more objective than foggy (whose love for matt clouds his observations, as it did in light perception). and who could objectively understand matt's actions & motivations better than frank? the anti-hero and matt's foil.

so i first look at the character through the lens of the story that’s been told and then the story i want to tell, i look at him through the lens of other characters and i assemble a picture from there. i look at matt through the events of his life, through his relationship with violence & his relationship with his very mortal body. unlike other superheroes he is not invincible, he is not bulletproof, he is not capable of flying, or softening a long fall; he is not capable of throwing his adversaries across a room, he is barely capable of saving himself from his own self-destructive choices. he has a damaged & unbearably human body. everything he can do he has fought tooth and nail for. he doesn't have superpowers like telekinesis or lasers that come out of his eyes; he has loss, he has grief, he has rage. we can all relate to that. he has a voice that is capable of giving a second chance to others (in court) but he lives and dies a thousand deaths inside of the silence at his core he can't find his way out of. his inability to communicate his grief or desires in a bearable way.

perhaps he finds redemption through saving others because he doesn't believe he, himself, is otherwise worthy of redemption. if he did, he would relinquish his duty as hero, he would live a quiet & happy life of domesticity with foggy. perhaps in another world he does. he lays down his mantle, or he lives in a world where he never had to take it up. he's just matt, foggy's soft-hearted partner.

#ask #anon #daredevil #mm #also lately i've been thinking about the parallels between foggy & matt w judas & jesus. as one does #i have so many more thoughts but this has already gotten so long. but matt finds meaning in being wounded torn apart etc #try try your whole life / to be righteous and be good / wind up on your own floor / choking on blood !!!! the mountain goats get it

62 notes · View notes

thestarlightsymphony · 3 years

Text

I’ve discovered a common theme throughout the Cowboy Bebop fandom:

We just want Spike Spiegel to get Absolutely Railed.

doesn’t matter if it’s Julia, Faye, Jet, Elektra, fucking Vicious even, we just want our depressed space cowboy to get Fucked. sure, we all have our preferences, but no matter what Spike’s gotta get rawed hard and Someone needs to do it.

has he earned it? no

do we care? no!

someone please fuck Spike Spiegel. that’s all we want.

#spike spiegel #cowboy bebop #cowboy bebop memes #listen i'm right and i should say it.#jet black cowboy bebop #faye valentine #julia cowboy bebop #vicious cowboy bebop #someone make love to spike spiegel please #why is this the theme #not moving forward #not the emptiness of space that gives us meaning and makes us lose our meaning #not the individual stories that touch us once and then we lose them forever #nah nah nah nah #you see that depressed man over there with the dumb hair?#that man needs to get PEGGED

150 notes · View notes

hanjifuck · 3 years

Text

.˚｡⋆ ༊ .˚｡⋆ stray kids ideal types - series .˚｡⋆ ༊ .˚｡⋆

bang chan version ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ

based on their birth charts! s2

✧*:.｡. t/n: i'll be using SIDEREAL astrology on this one. it's also important to say that when we talk about romance in astrology we have to fully analyse the couple's birth charts individualy at first and only then apply compatibility analysis so we're able to check out the synastry overlays.

✧*:.｡. t/n: kinda proofread. <3

the basics:

someone who has sun in virgo or in the 5th house;

aquarius and gemini moons are the ideal but aries moon is also great, libra is good, leo and sagittarius moons are a maybe. capricorn and cancer moons are absolutely a no;

venus in virgo, scorpio, cancer or capricorn;

mercury in virgo (or capricorn/taurus).

obviously there's way more aspects to look into to see if a relationship would work but i'd rather not go too deep into it right now.

a person who's patient and honest. he takes his time into getting to know you before he commits. so, when he does commit, there’s no room for him to change his mind. he's worthy of a romance novel. he will make sure that the bond is strong and stable for both.

someone who's good at communicating, reading people's intentions and has a good sense of humour. he tends to use his voice to express himself and he's such a sweet talker when it comes to romance. communication and intellectual rapport are his thing, so it's important for him to have someone who he can talk to. so good at covering it up his intentions or even lying (but you guys didn't hear this from me), except that he tends to tell the truth in almost any and every situation. he loves to tell stories and to see the smile and hear the laugh of the loved one.

a partner who's not afraid of commitment and long term relationships. listen to me, this man is looking for a soulmate connection, someone to pay him due attention. he's a romantic at heart and has a strong need for love in his life, it being his ultimate driving force, a passionate lover and he knows how to maintain the flame of true love. without love he would be nothing.

someone who knows how to talk to people and be pleasant during social situations.

someone who's highly vulnerable and revealing with him, ONLY.

a person who's adventurous. he does not know how to stay still, he wants to expand and has a hedonistic type of approach to how fun should work in a relationship. he can't be more happy then when his able to impress you with his creative side. if you like an intellectual approach to life you will love it as well.

a positive person, someone who's optimistic and make things seem easy.

an intense, bold, strong-willed and powerful person. would love a partner who knows how to stand up for themselves. he wants besides him a person who can make the world kneel in front of them.

someone who will do anything to seduce him.

someone who challenges him (in a good way, ofc). he loves to be dared as he sees it as stimulating, a reason to try even harder, to put even more effort in. he's prop to play mind games (maybe manipulating, even if it's not his intention, since he makes everything sound so wonderful). often fueled by curiosity and a desire to control/possess others for himself *only with those who he actually loves since he sees romance/sex as super meaningful, on a soul level thing, and focus 100% on the person he loves.

emancipated, educated and high intelligent individuals. a pretty face will never be enough, sorry. virgo sun in the 5th house? pfffff this man is a genius.

someone who's younger or appear youthfu/has a youthful personality. he needs a eager-to-learn-and-to-enjoy-life-with-him person. channie's prone to take up the dominant/leading role in a relationship as well. it's like he has this strong pedagogical (?) side to him (and once again my theory that he would be a teacher if he wans't in the entertainment business is proven right ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

a person who's not avoidant or keeps to many secrets. if you keep stuff away from him he may misinterpret things quite easily.

a partner who's as clingy as he is. channie does not stand being alone for too long. he needs your warm touch and gentleness.

a freedom-lover type of person, someone who seeks inspiration and fun. he's extremely motivated and light-hearted, very flexible and adaptative.

a person who knows how to encourage him. basically someone who knows his intentions almost better than he does. he has a need for validation and appreciation cus sometimes he fixates on certain ideias but doesn't have what it takes to go further with it.

someone who would enjoy having kids, taking care of them, educating them together, and is family-oriented. he would love to have a partner who's as excited as he is to mentally stimulate his kids. very inclined to having lots of children. he wants someone who has the potential to go all the way to the finish line. man's want commitment.

a person who's charming, "feminine", sensuous and romantic. he's not interested in a person who is crude. he has strong yang energy on his birth chart so it's a good thing if your chart is yin energized. the whole thing about lighting up candles, putting on some romantic music is important to him. may be enticed by a person who has an overly sexual appearance (SPECIALLY if you have scorpio sun or rising), femme fatales (the energy, not necessarily a woman) are just right for him. maybe someone quite mysterious as well.

someone who's painfully monogamy. you can trust him on remaining faithful, as long as his partner do the same. trust is important for him and when it comes to love, it's absolutely essential. if you don't want to lose him forever you shouldn't break his confidence. he rarely has any interest in casual encounters, not being the type to take different people home every night. loyalty is such a turn-on for him, cute. he wants to be only yours, so he expects the same from you, not wanting you to even look at other people. the more committed to him, the deepest his love is.

someone who's not shy. he’s a non-conformist, private person and rather do his own things, away from the public eyes. remember when he said he usually likes "dark things"? man wasn't lying. he knows exactly who he is and what he likes even tho society might shun him for it. however, he does not care. <3

a person who's devoted and dependable, who's also ready to work by his side. someone who knows how to handle his possessiveness and maybe even suspections. just be honest with him and patient enough to put him at ease, assuring him that he's the only one who deserves your attention and love. his jealousy may be really tricky.

okay, this dude has mars and venus conjunct pluto in scorpio. do you guys know what this means? i would DIE to make this man love me!!!!!!!!! help. he will be SOOO OBSESSED WITH THE PERSON HE MARRIES, IT'S INSANE KDISADJADNAUS HELP ME.

748 notes · View notes

luvyanfei · 3 years

Text

anon said. how about fluffy hcs with xiao, zhongli and xingqui taking their s/o out on a first date?

XIAO.

he already finds it difficult just to ask you to hold him without losing his cool, so how can he possibly bring up the idea of inviting you on a date? actually, he probably never knew the word ‘date’ even existed until he heard a passing couple staying over at wangshu inn dreamily talking about how they wish they could go to see the lantern rite festival in liyue harbor together for their first date. a first date, huh? now that he thinks about it, xiao never did properly try to court you, did he? it was always you who approached him first, who held your hand out to him, who confessed that you love him. you’re already giving so much dedication in this relationship. it’s the least he can do to return your affections, not just because he’s feeling a bit indebted, but because he’s your lover. unfortunately, being the awkward yaksha that he is, xiao overthinks the situation and complicates it more than he should.

every chance he gets is blown up by his anxiousness. whenever you come and visit him at the inn, you almost think that he’s angry with you from the way he throws you vicious glares. unbeknownst to you, xiao is actually making that tense face because he’s trying very hard, too hard in fact, to think of the best way to ask you out on a date and seeing you just makes him all the more nervous. he regrets it every time you step into the elevator while giving him a goodbye wave and saying you’ll come visit again. sure, he gets another chance to try and ask you out again, but he also has another chance to fail as well.

when you visit him for lunch, xiao quickly rehearses the words he wants to say to you in the back of his head before coming to greet you. ‘i overheard from a guest in the inn talking about a lantern rite festival. if you mortal, no, [name], desires to go, i can possibly set aside time to accompany you.’ keep it cool, yet short. taking a deep breath to compose himself, xiao walks over to greet you, er, well actually, you’re the one doing the greeting instead, and you settle down to eat. the sweet taste of the almond tofu that you generously bought for him blossoms in his mouth and he loses track of time till your departure. before you leave once more to allow the poor yaksha to wallow in his self-regret again, you stop yourself and turn around to face xiao. tucking your hair behind your ear and giving your best, most radiant smile you can offer to him, you shyly ask if he’d like to tag along with you to the lantern rite festival. “we’ve never been on a date before and i’d love to go to the festival with you and release xiao lanterns together.”

... what? how? his mouth almost opens up in disbelief, as he struggles to keep a stoic expression. ex-excuse him?! that’s supposed to be his line! he’s in shock at how easily you were able to say something that he’s been having trouble sputtering out. you mortals never fail to surprise him. he shakes his head and bitterly scowls, that you almost step back in fright. almost, until he starts speaking, that is. “why is it you? i should have been the one to ask you on a date first, not you!” he’s almost on the brink of tears from the frustration he currently holds on himself.

a relationship is always about give and take, no? it’s like when zhongli has so kindly decided to save him from the clutches of the cruel abuse he endured endlessly, of course he was forever in debt to rex lapis. surely, it’s the same with you, isn’t it? when xiao tells you this, you immediately start laughing. you calmly explain to him that your relationship isn’t like a form of contract where he’s expected to always repay you back for every gift you give to him. as long as he’s there for you, that’s more than enough of a reward, you say, before plopping a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“finally, you’re here. what took you so long?” xiao speaks to you with indifference concealing the relief that you actually came. he trails his sharp eyes to inspect your dressed up form and blushes slightly. “you look nice.”

immediately, your eyes widen at his underhanded compliment. did- did you hear that right? biting his lower lip gently, xiao clasps your hand in his, ignoring your astounded reaction, as he squeezes it reassuringly while watching the colourful fireworks light up the murky night.

without thinking, he turns to you when you’re focused on the display of bursting lights reflecting in your eyes, and murmurs to himself softly, “i hope you’ll spend the rest of your time with me, for however long it’ll last.”

XINGQIU.

of course, a date with xingqiu has to be extravagant and sophisticated to the last touch, right? guess again. he may come from a wealthy family, but that doesn’t mean he shares the same interest a selfish, pampered noble may have. he prefers something more simple, yet sentimental. confined in his household with nothing to do but bury his head in a book, he’s picked up some ideas for your date from the romance stories he’s read. surprisingly, they’re all rather cliché.

the first thing he makes you guys do is go out in the blazing summer day to get yourselves a cool beverage. he explicitly asks the cashier to give him one straw [do they even exist in the game?] and smiles slyly as he thanks them and brings the drinks to you. when you ask about it, thinking that maybe he forgot, all he does is smirk before saying, “there’s no need, my liege. we can share, unless you’d rather melt in the sweltering sun, that is.” he winks teasingly. you... don’t really have much of a choice in the matter. as you stroll around the harbor together, you take turns drinking from the only straw and a wave of consciousness washes over you gradually. wait, isn’t this like an indirect kiss? you place a hand to your gaping mouth after sucking on the straw that xingqiu pressed his lips on merely seconds ago. you should know by now, how bold he is underneath his polite façade.

after you finish sipping your drink - tediously at that, you both agree on going to the library to read books together since the heat is pretty unbearable to do anything enjoyable. xingqiu recommends you to try reading some of his personal favorites and you do the same as well. he’s thrilled to have a reading buddy now since it’s boring being here by himself.

while you’re immersed in the novel that you randomly picked from the bookshelf, every now and then, xingqiu will look up from the pages of his book and faintly smile to himself, glad that you’re enjoying yourself.

the sun was setting and the stars started to appear in the pastel pink and orange of the evening sky. you place back the last book and stretch your arms, before turning to xingqiu. sighing, you give him a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek and softly say your farewell.

as you’re about to make your leave for the day, xingqiu halts you with his words, “wait. there’s something i need to do before we can end this date.” nonchalantly, he plucks a book from its shelf, opens its pages, and uses it to block the sunlight drifting through the transparent window glass, effectively shielding his vision from the public eye as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss.

his free hand finds its way combing through the back of your head to deepen the kiss. when he’s satisfied enough, the boy detaches his lips from yours and lightly rubs the flesh of your cheek with a finger, while placing the book down on a nearby table. you keep your eyes fixated on him as he licks the edges of his lips.

“that felt nice,” xingqiu murmurs, “you’re so sweet, i’d hate for anyone else to savor in this pleasant moment with you other than i. shall we continue this again on our next date too?”

ZHONGLI.

the first thing he does is make sure to bring mora, this time. it would be highly inconsiderate of mr. zhongli to have you pay for the expenses of this fine date. he’s one to take things nice and slow. sure, time is unfortunately measured and limited, but he wants to make the most of it with you, a mortal who, just like any other being, has a beginning and end to your life. zhongli wants to shower you in all the beauty and joy this world has to offer while you’re still here with him.

he may be a gentle-spoken and polite individual, but please don’t mistaken him as being shy in any way. he shows up to your residence one afternoon and presents you a bouquet of your preferred flowers while he asks if you would consider accompanying him on a date. you take the bundled up flowers, carefully stroking a petal as if it’s made of fragile glass and accepts his proposal with open arms.

he takes you out to an expensive restaurant in the night of liyue and helps you select the best dishes. after you’re finished with your lavish and sophisticated meals, zhongli ushers you outside where you’re greeted with fresh air, a contrast to the suffocation you felt back at the restaurant. sure, the place is grand and your hunger is well-satiated, yet despite wearing your best clothing, you felt out of place there, like a commoner surrounded by nobles.

when you express your earlier discomfort to zhongli, his eyes are filled with shame and he’s already apologizing like the gentleman he is. guiltily, you tell him it’s fine and you ask if you can show him something before you have to head on home. he ponders in thought before agreeing, walking hand in hand with you to your unknown destination.

the chilling night breeze bites at your bare skin as you instantly shiver. this doesn’t go unnoticed in zhongli’s sharp eyes and he’s already unbuttoning his jacket. he drapes the coat over your shoulder blades and rubs his gloved hands on your cold fingertips to preserve warmth. “are you feeling cold perhaps? maybe we should head back?” you stop him before he can guide you back to the harbor.

“i’m okay now. thank you for your concern.” you say to ease his poor mind. he nods and you both continue on. the walk uphill takes a while, but it’s worth it when you finally reach the top. your eyes widen in amazement as you witness the glimmering stars splayed across the pitch darkness of the sky. “zhongli, look. do you like it?” he simply nods, but all of his attention is focused on you.

zhongli grins down at your childishly excited face, pausing for a hesitant minute before he carefully places his hands on top of your shoulders. you look up at him in confusion and is about to question him, but any sound that comes out is cut off by his lips ensnaring yours in a kiss. you’re astounded by his intimate move, but you revel in his touch in a matter of seconds.

he hopes, as he tightens his hold, that you’ll stay with him always, till your last breath.

tagging. @scarymoosh

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #xingqiu x reader #xiao x reader

649 notes · View notes

selfproducingfanfictionauthor · 3 years

Text

BTS scenario: Yoongi finds you after 1,871 days (1)

Summary: It takes 1,871 days for Yoongi to find you. Five years, one month, and four days. He’s turned over every house in your village, every pack in your province, and chased your family to every distant home you have before arriving to a quaint apartment in the middle of Seoul. Warnings/Notes: The continuation to Yoongi’s part in this scenario drabble. Please read because it might not sense if you don’t lol. No warnings as of now.

Word Count: 1,500+ words READ PART TWO HERE

It takes 1,871 days for Yoongi to find you.

Five years, one month, and four days. He’s turned over every house in your village, every pack in your province, and chased your family to every distant home you have before arriving to a quaint apartment in the middle of Seoul.

Inside the car and behind the tinted windows, Yoongi stares up to your apartment. It’s small, but it comes with a balcony where clothes hang to dry. He recognizes a familiar red blouse, and a blue jumper.

What he doesn’t recognize are these: a small pair of shorts, a school uniform, and a plain shirt - all in a size of perfect for a child.

1,871 days is a long time but you split it like this: the time before Yongho and the time after Yongho.

It didn’t take long for you to leave the pack after that night with Yoongi. You knew then that if you drag your feet, you’ll never be able to leave. So, with your family’s promise and blessing, you packed your bags, your savings, and your heart and boarded the next plane out of the country.

You didn’t think Yoongi would look for you (but you hoped, desperately, sometimes even too much) but still, you took serious precautions. Running away with an alpha’s child is not a slight offense regardless of the reason.

With no family and no friends, you hunkered down in the outskirts of Taipei. You watched summer turn to fall, and then by winter, your arms are warmed by the small bundle of joy that is your son.

Yongho is a precious boy, with your nose and lips, and Yoongi’s feline eyes. He’s curious, energetic, and affectionate, and not a day goes by that you’re not thankful for his presence.

When he turned three, and with no new news of Yoongi coming from your family, you opted to return to your homeland to finish your post-graduate studies. You never planned on hiding Yongho from his father forever, but for years after you left, your family urged you not to reveal yourself.

The pack has splintered, stay hidden until everything settles. They are invoking the old law.

And so you did, however, now, circumstances have changed.

“Yongho, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Yoongi watches a few steps behind you as you kneel down to your child’s height. Even with your crouching form, he still couldn’t see his son’s features. He’s small for his age, he muses, just like he was in his youth.

Yoongi hears a sound of high-pitched approval from his child, before your lips curve into a familiar smile.

“Good,” you say, “Why don’t you change clothes and then you can join us in the kitchen?”

The little boy scampers away with a giggle and you silently turn to Yoongi, leading him to the kitchen.

Your apartment isn’t small, but it’s not large either. The kitchen is quaint with herbs growing on the small window by the sink. Yoongi smells the leftover scents of bacon, milk, and eggs from the air mixed with the tea you placed in front of him.

For a while, it’s silent and Yoongi takes care to observe you.

It’s been five years but somehow, the difference startles him. Though your features remained the same, there’s a certain hardness to it now, like a polished sword - a calm protective air.

“Mama! I’m ready!”

Your scent immediately spikes with warmth as you hear your son’s steps down the stairs. You turn in your chair, catching him so readily in your arms.

“I combed my hair too, see?” Yongho peers up to you with a smile, one of his front teeth missing. Smiling fondly, you touch his hair lightly. “I see that, my love, good job.”

Yongho grins before turning and glancing at the man with his eyes, sitting at the other end of your dining table. His smile wobbles at the seriousness in the man’s face but he perseveres. He’s a guest, mama said.

Seeing that Yoongi has caught your son’s attention, you clear your throat. You’ve never lied about your son’s father ever since he first asked about it when he was three, and so this conversation shouldn’t be hard.

“Yongho, this is Yoongi, your father.”

The secondary gender’s characteristics manifests early into puberty. However, with the advancement of science and technology, people have found a way to determine an individual’s secondary gender as early as they’re 6 months old.

You tried avoiding these tests for Yongho to give him a shot at a regular, unburdened childhood but it became unavoidable when you tried to enroll him to his first pre-school class.

It had taken all of your family’s dwindling connections to scrub the records clean but even that isn’t enough to keep the news from reaching the elders ears.

Your son, little Y/L/N Yongho, is the rarest of them all - a male omega.

And so you called Yoongi. It’s less of him finding you, and more of you allowing yourself to be found. With nothing left to possibly do, you reached out to the only one you think can help.

Things have settled quite quickly, your son is young, forgiving and eager. At the sight of his father, he quickly warmed up and you watched Yoongi struggle faintly at the overwhelming energy of your pup.

They spent the whole day in his room, watching movie after movie, and playing with every toy Yongho owns. He even showed his father his drawings, most of which were of the town you lived in Taiwan.

“So that’s where you went.” Yoongi observes, finger touching the crayon drawing of you and Yongho making pineapple cakes.

The sun has already set and Yongho’s knocked out in his room. The two of you are once again across each other, on the other sides of your mahogany kitchen table.

“Yes,” you respond calmly, “We stayed there for three years.”

Yoongi breathes, closes his eyes and tries not to think of you, heavily pregnant and alone. There’s time to discuss the past, but that’s not today. Still, he couldn’t help the bitterness seep into his voice, not after he’s known what he missed for five years.

A son, a beautiful son.

“Had I known you’re craving pineapple cakes, we would’ve sent for it.”

I looked for you, he wants to say, I nearly went mad, looking for you.

You let out a pained chuckle, “Funny. I actually couldn’t stand it when I was pregnant. Yongho loves them though.”

“Why am I here?” Yoongi cuts, his alpha rearing its head. That’s our blood she hid, it snarls, our seed, our son - she took him away!

Wordlessly, you took out a red envelope from under your seat. The familiar seal of the pack elders broken into two. You slide it towards Yoongi and watch as he reads it contents.

You watch as his eyes grow sharper and his jaw clench reading the request of the elders. He too, has changed, you observe. The wild energy you’ve associated with him is gone, perhaps veiled under the surface.

After all, an omega’s chosen alpha should be a man of discipline.

“They can’t do this,” Yoongi grits out. “It’s against the law to take a child from their family.”

You shake your head, nights poured over the texts of your youth heavy on your mind, “The pack only recognizes families of mated individuals.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker at your unmarked neck and his alpha curls into himself. Unmarked. Our son’s mother is unmarked, it whimpers. Before he could speak, you continue on.

“I’ve read the books, and sought advice from the Wong pack of Taipei, there are two ways to avoid this—“

Marriage, Yoongi thinks, and the box in his pocket suddenly weighs a ton. He’s carried it around for five years, hoping to find you.

“—but since mating is out of question—“ a flash of the old you passes in your eyes, and Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but you don’t stop.

“— I’ve invoked the ancient law.” You pause, taking a deep breathe. “A month from now, I’ll be battling the primary alpha of the pack for the custody of our child.”

Yoongi gasps. The primary alpha… is Jeon Jungkook, one of their strongest and most devoted to the omega. He’ll tear you apart if she so asks.

Yoongi startles when you push your chair back, standing suddenly in front of him. Your eyes are brimming with unshed tears, but your back is straight, as you kneel down- your forehead to the ground, a few inches from his feet.

“Min Yoongi, alpha of the Min family, father of my son, my former betrothed — for all that we were and we cannot be, I beseech you.”

Yoongi’s alpha is snarling inside his head, confused, scared, angry at your thoughtless decision and his own thoughtlessness that lead you here. It’s a visceral reaction - an alpha doesn’t bow to another alpha, but here you are. Everything for your son.

“If I lose, take our son. He needs your name.”

END NOTES: Well, this got out of hand. There’s a lot unsaid between these two and a lot of time passed by between the them in the drabble and this one. Let me know what you think! I’m thinking of where to bring the other hyungline members’ plotlines still. Hearts are great but comments and reblogs will reach a lot more readers. Let’s spread the love! Should I continue Yoongi’s story? What do you think will happen? TAG LIST: @justmewondering-recs @cloudbuffalo @blushingatyou @aroseharder @neverthefirstchoice @xanny91 @sugaaddiction @flirtygerty @darkskin-buttercup

#thetruthuntoldnet #bangtanarmynet #yoongi x reader #alpha yoongi #alpha reader #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook cameo #daddy yoongi #hidden child trope #ABO dynamics #BTS Alpha #bts angst #yoongi angst #bts fanfiction #bts scenario

342 notes · View notes

dailytomlinson · 3 years

Link

While many artists would jump at the chance to tell you how lockdown has been a fruitful opportunity for self-improvement, full of pseudo self-help books and pompous podcasts, former One Directioner Louis Tomlinson is adamant that he has done, well, nothing.

“I’ve just watched loads of s___ TV,” he says after a long pause. “The Undoing is decent, isn’t it?”

Twenty-eight--year-old Tomlinson from Doncaster was always the down-to-earth Directioner, frequently describing himself as fringe member who spent more time analysing the band’s contracts than singing solos, known for chain-smoking his way through several packs of cigarettes a day and swearing like a trooper. A rarity, these days, among millennials who’d rather suck on a stem of kale and tweet about their #blessings.

He's getting ready to rehearse an exciting one-off gig that will be live-streamed from a secret London location on December 12, announced today exclusively via the Telegraph. The proceeds of the night will be split across four charities: The Stagehand Covid-19 Crew Relief Fund and Crew Nation, Bluebell Wood Children’s Hospice and Marcus Rashford’s charity FareShare, to help end child poverty.

The gig means a great deal to Tomlinson, whose first ever tour as a solo artist, to promote his debut solo album WALLS, was cut short back in March after just two concerts in Spain and Mexico. It was an album he’d spent five years working on: a guitar-led project that ruptured with the preppy pop anthems of One Direction, inspired instead by Tomlinson’s love for Britpop.

No doubt he was anxious to get it right following a decade “grown in test tubes”, as Harry Styles once described the band’s formation on the X Factor, where they came third before going on to make a reported $280,000 a day as the most successful band in the world. The pressure, too, was intense: all four bandmates had already released their own solo debuts.

Was he left reeling, I ask, unable to perform at such a crucial moment?

“The thing that I always enjoyed the most about One Direction was playing the shows, so my master plan, when I realised I was going to do a solo career, was always my first tour. It’s something I’ve been looking forward to for the best part of five years now. I got so close, I got a taste for it, and it’s affected me like everyone else, but I’m forever an optimist,” he says down the phone, with what I can only imagine to be a rather phlegmatic shrug.

Sure, I say, but the last year can’t have been easy. Didn’t he feel like his purpose had popped?

“You know what,” he says, reflecting, “maybe because I’ve had real dark moments in my life, they’ve given me scope for optimism. In the grand scheme of things, of what I’ve experienced, these everyday problems...they don’t seem so bad.”

Tomlinson is referring to losing his 43-year-old mother, a midwife, to leukemia in 2016, and his 18-year-old sister Felicite, a model, to an accidental drug overdose in 2018. The double tragedy is something he has been open about on his own terms, dedicating his single, Two of Us, from WALLS, to his mother Johannah, while often checking in with fans who have lost members of their own family.

It’s not unusual for Tomlinson to ask his 34.9 million followers if they’re doing alright, receiving hundreds of thousands of personal replies. It’s not something he will discuss in interviews, however, after he slammed BBC Breakfast for shamelessly probing his trauma in February this year. “Never going back there again,” he tweeted after coming off the show.

“Social media is a ruthless, toxic place, so I don’t like to spend much time there,” says Tomlinson, “but because of experiencing such light and shade all while I was famous, I have a very deep connection with my fans. They’ve always been there for me.”

In return, Tomlinson is good to them. Last month he even promised some new music, saying that he’d written four songs in four days. Does this mean that a second album is on the way?

“Yeah, definitely,” he says. “I’m very, very excited. I had basically penciled down a plan before corona took over our lives. And now it's kind of given me a little bit of time to really get into what I want to say and what I want things to sound like. Because, you know, I was really proud of my first record, but there were moments that I felt were truer to me than others. I think that there were some songs where I took slightly more risk and owned what I love, saying, ‘This is who I want to be’. So I want to take a leaf out of their book.”

Fans might think he’s referring to writing more heartfelt autobiographical content such as Two of Us, but in fact, he’s referring specifically to rock-inspired Kill My Mind, he says, the first song on WALLS. “There’s a certain energy in that song, in its delivery, in its attitude, that I want to recreate. People are struggling at the moment, so I want to create a raucous, exciting atmosphere in my live show, not a somber, thoughtful one.”

He sighs, trying to articulate something that’s clearly been playing on his mind for a while. “You know, because of my story, my album was a little heavy at times and a little somber. And as I'm sure you're aware, from talking to me, now, that isn't who I am.”

It must be draining, I say, the weight of expectation in both the media and across his fanbase, to be a spokesperson for grief and hardship. To have tragedy prelude everything he does and says.

“Honestly, it’s part of being from Doncaster as well, I don’t like people feeling sorry for me. That’s the last thing I want.”

Too many incredible memories to mention but not a day goes by that I don't think about how amazing it was. @NiallOfficial @Harry_Styles @LiamPayne @zaynmalik . So proud of you all individually.

The problem is, says Tomlinson, he doesn’t have the best imagination. “I have interesting things to say musically, but what’s challenging from a writing perspective is that I write from the heart, and I can’t really get into someone else’s story. And right now, being stuck at home, you have so little experience to draw from. It’s actually quite hard to write these positive, uplifting songs, because actually, the experiences that you're going through on a day to day basis, you know, you they don't have that same flavour.”

There is something that’s helping, though: a secret spot near Los Angeles, where he divides his time. “It’s remote and kind of weird, and I’m going to go there for three days and write. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to it. I found it via a YouTube video. It’s got some very interesting locals who live there, it’s sort of backwards when it comes to technology. It feels like you’re going back in time when you’re there. But I don’t want to give it away.”

Another source of inspiration for his second album is the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ back catalogue. “I grew up on their album Bytheway. And during lockdown I've been knee deep in their stuff. I’ve watched every documentary, every video. And I find their lead guitarist John Frusciante just fascinating.”

Has he spoken to Frusicante?

“I f______ wish,” snorts Tomlinson.

Surely someone as well-known as Tomlinson could easily get in touch?

“No, honestly, I think he’s too cool for that. He’s not into that kind of thing.”

Tomlinson’s passion for all things rock is also spurring on a side hustle he picked up as a judge on the X Factor in 2018: managing an all-female rock band via his own imprint on Simon Cowell’s Syco label. While the group disbanded before releasing their first single, and Tomlinson split from Syco earlier this year, the singer is keen to nurture some more talent.

“I'm not gonna lie, my process with my imprint through Syco, it became challenging and it became frustrating at times,” Tomlinson says a little wearily. “The kind of artists that I was interested in developing – because I genuinely feel through my experience in One Direction, you know, one of the biggest f______ bands, I feel like I've learned a lot about the industry – they weren’t ready-made. So I had lots of artists that I took through the door that were rough and ready, but major labels want to see something that works straight away. I found that a little bit demotivating. I love her and she's an incredible artist, but not everyone is a Taylor Swift.”

Tomlinson spends much of his free time scouting new talent either on YouTube, Reddit or BBC Introducing – he’s currently a huge fan of indie Brighton band, Fickle Friends. His dream is to manage an all-female band playing instruments. “Because there's no one in that space. And I know eventually if I don't do it, someone else will!”

Before he drives off to rehearsals, we chatter about how much he's been practising his guitar playing, and how he can't wait to take the whole team working at his favourite grassroots venue, The Dome in Doncaster, out ice-skating after he performs there on his rescheduled tour. “Because I've got skills,” he says, and I can hear his chest puff.

And then I ask the question every retired member of One Direction has been batting off ever since they broke up in 2015, after Zayn Malik quit. Rumours that his bandmates saw him as a Judas went wild after some eagle eyes fans noticed they’d unfollowed him on Instagram. Payne, Tomlinson, Horan and Styles have barely mentioned him since. Recently, however, they re-followed him, and Payne has teased that a One Direction reunion is on the cards.

So: might 2021 be the year of resurrection?

“I thought you were going to ask something juicier!” say Tomlinson witheringly. “Look, I f______ love One Direction. I'm sure we're going to come back together one day, and I'll be doing a couple of One Direction songs in my gig. I always do that, so that's not alluding to any reunion or anything. But, I mean, look, I'm sure one day we'll get back together, because, you know, we were f______ great.”

#telegraph uk #press #louis tomlinson #241120 #its FULL of stunts as telegraph usually goes #stunt mention #Eleanor Halls

273 notes · View notes

mimisempai · 3 years

Text

The beat of your heart soothes me to sleep

Summary

5 times where Loki falls asleep in Mobius' presence and once where Loki helps Mobius to fall asleep.

Answer to an anon prompt request on tumblr

"Loki falling asleep with Mobius around"

As always when it goes on this trope, I got carried away.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32649739

2597 words - Rating G

As Mobius emerged from the shelves of the archives, deserted at this hour of the evening, his gaze fell on the tables, and one table in particular.

The table that reminded him of the first days of his meeting with Loki, and the very first time he had realized how much Loki trusted him.

They were both still in the taming phase at this point in their relationship, each gauging the other's reactions.

They were doing intensive research. Mobius, immersed in the files, had not noticed that Loki had become silent while a few minutes earlier he was commenting on every sentence of what he was looking for. He yawned and at that moment noticed something unimaginable, Loki had fallen asleep.

Moreover, it was not a light nap. From the sound of his steady breathing, it was a deep sleep.

For someone as suspicious as Loki, the fact that he slept in this way in the presence of someone was a miracle in Mobius' eyes.

To sleep in front of someone you barely know. How much trust does that take?

At that moment Mobius knew that something had changed, at least for him.

He didn't know at the time what the future would hold, but before waking him up, Mobius told himself that he would do everything in his power to preserve the trust that Loki seemed to have in him.

Whatever it takes.

He recalled the memory fondly as he stroked the table with one hand in passing, right where Loki had fallen asleep that day.

As he looked up to continue on his way, he was surprised to see Loki waiting for him on the doorstep. He wondered, blushing slightly, if Loki had seen his gesture and if he too remembered.

Mobius didn't have to wonder for long, Loki leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and simply said in his ear, "I remember, too." Then Loki straightened up, took Mobius' hand and added, "Come on love, let's go home."

"Okay, tell me what are the top 3 laws to avoid breaking?"

Loki sitting at his desk, let out a deep sigh before protesting, "Mobiuus, I can't take it anymore, you've been making me repeat the laws and workings of the TVA for two hours."

Mobius replied firmly, "Even if you think you don't need them, it's important that you know them, you're going to be responsible for training recruits in the field and while I have no doubt about your teaching skills, you'll be a role model and as such you-"

"Do not disrupt the flow of time," Loki began to enumerate in a sullen voice.

Mobius smiled fondly and nodded approvingly as Loki continued, "Avoid time travel and do not contact people in the past to save them from their future."

Loki yawned ostensibly to show his annoyance.

"Perfect!" replied Mobius who walked away from the desk as he spoke, "Now we will review some of the punishable crimes by the TVA, such as time theft, time misconduct, or time jumps that can destabilize the continuity of space-time. What can you tell me about that last one, Loki?"

Silence answered him.

"Loki, stop being a child and answer," said Mobius in a slightly irritated tone.

Still no reaction. Mobius turned around and couldn't help but smile at the sight in front of his eyes.

Loki had fallen asleep, his head on his arms crossed on the desk.

Mobius approached and looked with tenderness at the black locks that had slid down his lover's face, the little puffs of air that came out of his mouth and made the sheets of paper in front of him tremble, but above all the look of complete surrender.

Mobius shook his head and looked around before finding what he was looking for. He went to grab a blanket folded on the arm of a chair in the corner of the room. He unfolded it and laid it gently on Loki's shoulders. He leaned over, placed a kiss on Loki's head and whispered in his ear, "I'll come back later..."

Loki answered with a groan under Mobius' amused look.

"According to Hesiod, Eris is the daughter of Nyx and gives birth alone, like her mother, to many children, all evil. She is the relentless Discord, both companion and sister of the murderer Ares, who at first rises timidly, but soon touches the sky with her forehead and treads the earth with her feet. The most famous story of Eris tells that she started the Trojan War by provoking the Judgment of Paris. The goddesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite had been invited, along with the rest of Olympus, to the forced nuptials of Peleus and Thetis, who would become the parents of Achilles, but Eris had been dismissed because of her tendencies to cause trouble.So she gives birth to the worst calamities and seems to announce the apocalypse."

Mobius paused in his reading as he felt Loki fidgeting, shaking his head in Mobius' lap. They were enjoying what was probably one of Mobius' favorite activities since they had been living together.Loki lying on the couch, his head in Mobius' lap while Mobius read aloud, one hand in Loki's hair or in Loki's hand on his chest.

Loki, surprised to learn that Greek and Roman mythologies had many similarities with Norse mythology, had asked Mobius to read him the story of the goddess Eris, Loki's Greek equivalent.

"Of course, there's nothing good about my Greek equivalent!" snapped Loki. "Whatever our origin, we can only do evil."

Mobius grabbed Loki's chin to turn his face upward and said in a scolding tone, "Loki, I thought you knew by now that this was not the case. That you didn't have to live up to this destiny. After all this time, you still don't believe it? You still don't believe me?"

Loki sighed and took hold of the hand that held his chin and intertwined his fingers with it, "Of course I believe you, it's just hearing that, brings back memories that taste bitter."

Mobius leaned over, pressed a kiss to Loki's mouth and resumed reading. "I think you'll like the next part... Eris is also the one Zeus sends to awaken the fighting spirit of the warlords so that they will throw themselves into battle.She is therefore also the goddess of emulation. Eris is a portal that opens to individual energies. It generates the pioneers, to move the collective energies. She unconsciously forces us to take a direction, to take a path."

"Hm you're right," Loki interrupted him, "I really like that. "Go on."

Mobius chuckled and continued, "Eris forces action, reaction. Eris causes chaos to prepare the necessary future mutation. Eris is a trigger, a revealer. She participates in the tragedy of life."

"Hmmm..."

"Loki?"

Mobius felt Loki's head get heavier on his lap and Loki's hand clutching his own slowly loosened its grip. He leaned forward a little to see that Loki had fallen asleep. This was no longer a rare occurrence, but it never ceased to amaze Mobius as to its deeper meaning. He pulled the plaid that was at the end of the couch over Loki's legs, taking care not to wake him up, then resumed his reading.

"Eris turns our lives upside down, plunging us into chaos. If she spreads mischief through all, she also throws the trouble in oneself. It is to open a new way. A new life where we will never be the same again."

These last sentences made Mobius smile, because this is exactly what Loki had done in his life. He had opened a new life for Mobius that had changed him forever, for the better.

He closed the book carefully and put it on the armrest. Carding his fingers gently in Loki's hair, who purred in response, he let himself be lulled by the sweetness of the moment and fell asleep in turn.

"I am exhausted, ex-haus-ted!" exclaimed Loki as he entered their apartment.

Mobius, busy preparing the meal, watched him enter the kitchen, smiling at his lover's antics as Loki continued to talk while undressing.

8 hours training new recruits in combat techniques combined with magic! 8 hours! Mobius you are the boss, you could do something!"

He had arrived in front of Mobius, planted a kiss on his lips before continuing to unbutton his shirt without giving him a chance to respond. "I'm going to shower and come eat, love."

Mobius followed him with his eyes and shook his head before returning to the dinner preparation.

Later, sitting at the table, they ate dinner and talked about their day. Loki was much calmer and more relaxed after showering.

Although the training had indeed exhausted him, Loki was nonetheless enthusiastic about his students' progress. But towards the end of the meal, as Mobius told an anecdote about one of his day's events, he saw that he was losing Loki's attention. His head was nodding as he visibly struggled against sleep.

"Loki, sweetheart, let me put the dishes away and you go to bed, I can see you're really exhausted," Mobius said in a gentle tone.

Loki didn't protest, got up and gave Mobius a gentle hug before saying, "Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve someone as caring as you."

To which Mobius replied, "Nothing, you're just you and I'm just me."

Loki smiled and gave him one last kiss before walking off to their room like a robot.

Mobius went to put the dishes away, turned off the lights and headed for their room. When he entered he was surprised to see Loki sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Loki?"

Receiving no answer, he walked over to find that Loki had fallen asleep like that. He must have really been exhausted.

"Loki, sweetheart, you should go to bed."

Loki groaned in response. Mobius laughed silently. He opened the sheets, gently helped Loki to lie down, carefully removed his sweatpants and T-shirt, Loki malleable as a disarticulated doll in his arms. The degree of trust and acceptance that Loki had in his arms was something new for Mobius every time. Something absolutely extraordinary.

Mobius laid down beside him, covered them both before taking Loki in his arms and after a tender kiss on his forehead, let himself be carried away by sleep.

Loki knocked gently on Mobius' office door before poking his head through the doorway.

"Ready to go home?"

Mobius looked up from his work sheepishly and replied, "Loki, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be able to leave right away, I have some urgent reports due tomorrow, so I'll be staying late. It's not even worth waiting for me."

Loki didn't hold it against him, he walked over to him, took his face in his hands, kissed him gently before pretending to wipe the creases on Mobius' forehead with his fingers. "Don't worry like that, love, take as much time as you need. I'll leave you a piece of dinner in the fridge for when you get home."

"Thank you for being so understanding."

"You're welcome." replied Loki as he walked away.

Mobius followed him with a grateful smile on his lips before getting back to work.

Three hours later he walked through the door of their apartment, the living room was in darkness except for a small lamp lit near the armchair where Loki was sitting.

He gasped as he approached, Loki was sleeping, that was something he was used to, but what surprised him was that Loki was wearing one of his shirts. Mobius swallowed when he saw that he wasn't wearing any pants, just the shirt and his underwear, bare feet curled under him on the chair. He looked so vulnerable like that, that Mobius' throat tightened. Mobius crouched down in front of the chair and lightly placed his hand on Loki's bare knee so as not to startle him as he called softly, "Loki... Sweetheart... our bed is much more comfortable to sleep in."

Loki's eyes flickered before slowly opening, a smile lighting up his face when he saw Mobius.

"Mobius, you're finally home."

Mobius nodded, stood up and held out his hand to Loki, "Come on, the bed is more comfortable."

He accompanied him to their room, watched him go to bed before going to get ready for the night, also feeling exhausted.

A few moments later, he joined Loki in their bed. He lay on his back and Loki came closer, resting his head on his chest and wrapping his arm around his stomach.

"Loki..." Mobius had a question burning in his mind.

"Hm..."

"Why are you wearing my shirt?"

Loki cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, "I tried to fall asleep in our bed, but without you I couldn't, so I thought if I wore something of yours, maybe I could, but no, the bed is too big without you, so instead I waited for you in the living room, and finally fell asleep in the chair."

Mobius tightened his arm around Loki's shoulders and said in a voice hoarse with emotion, "you can go to sleep now, I'm here, sweetheart."

Loki snuggled up to him in approval and it wasn't long before Mobius felt the weighted head and steady breath against him, which in turn lulled Mobius into a deep sleep.

+1.

Mobius sat at the kitchen counter, clutching a cup of tea. He couldn't stop shivering.

It was the middle of the night, it was half past two in the morning. He had been awakened by a nightmare and could not get back to sleep. He didn't want to wake Loki, so he came to the kitchen to try to calm down with a cup of tea.

The nightmares of Mobius were often the same, reminiscences of the lives that he had erased in the name of the previous TVA. It was often the conversation with Sylvie that came back to haunt him.

"All that time, I really believed we were the good guys."

"Annihilating entire realities, orphaning little girls, classic hero stuff."

Of course Mobius had never thought of himself as a hero, but he thought he was doing good and now realized how blind he had been.

And it was hard because there was no way to make amends, no way to redeem himself, because most of the people he had taken had ended up in the void and had not survived Alioth. At night Mobius could not think beyond the throbbing pain of guilt.

Suddenly, hands rested gently on his shoulders.

"Mobius? Are you okay?"

Then without waiting for an answer the hands slid forward and Mobius found himself with Loki's chest pressed against his back and Loki's chin resting on his head.

"I had another nightmare," he whispered, hoarse and vulnerable. Loki hummed, moved back and gently rubbed the back of Mobius' neck..

"Come back to bed with me," Loki's voice was warm and sleepy. Loving. Soothing. He took the cup from Mobius, discarding the now cold tea and rinsing the cup, before taking Mobius' hands and dragging him towards their room. Loki made him lie down before tightening his arms and legs around Mobius who in turn tightened his arms around Loki.

"Thank you," he whispered into Loki's soft hair.

Loki simply tightened his arms around him, and said softly, "Sleep my love, I am here, this time I am the one protecting you."

Mobius fell asleep, a dreamless sleep, only aware of Loki's presence shielding him from the world and from himself.

Beloved.

________

Whole series of one shot here : X

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

#lokius fic #lokius #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #moki #wowki #established relationship #5 + 1 things #anon request

44 notes · View notes

missallsundayyy · 3 years

Text

SHAMBLES!

Trafalgar Law x Nico Robin

“Fancy seeing you here…Miss All Sunday!” Crocodile laughter booms throughout the cave. Law’s brows were raised at the exchange of the Strawhat archeologist and the former warlord.

flashback end

“Why did Crocodile refer you to Miss All Sunday, Nico-ya?” Law walked out of the men's dorm and straight for the raven haired beauty who was looking out to sea, it was a beautiful night it wasn’t pitched black for once; the stars were shining and the moon was lucent.

Robin turned behind to see the Pirate Captain walking towards but without his sword and part of her was glad that he could let his guard down at LEAST a little bit around her. “Law-kun” she smiled acknowledging him. “If I tell you, it might take up your whole night away.” she replied.

“I have all the time now and it wouldn’t be a waste if it’s a night with you again Nico-ya” he said genuinely.

“Did you know that before I joined my crew I tried to kill them and they…like all the other times defeated me.” Robin reminisce and Law was taken aback because he was used to the maniacal antics of the crew that he forgot that if he put that all aside, all of them are dangerous individuals. “I was the vice president of an evil organisation called Baroque Works. Similar to Doflamingo, I worked for Crocodile to take over the country Alabasta. Of Course for me helping him take over the country wasn’t what I wanted, I just needed to hide from the world government. Miss All Sunday was an alias name as each member has their own to protect our real identity.” Robin finished with a smile and Law was still processing her story. “You were their enemy and Strawhat-ya let you into the crew? Just like that?” He sounds baffled because who in the right mind would let their enemy that they JUST DEFEATED in like that but then again it is Luffy.

She laughed “Yes he did, I insisted on staying on their ship because I didn’t have anywhere to go and we would sail from adventure to adventures.” Robin said adoringly.

“So..the enies lobby incident…” Law trailed off.

“Yes the World Government…just when I found people that I finally care about, they were going to take that away from me again. I surrendered myself to protect my nakamas from the Buster Call. Despite my unrelenting attitude, they never gave up on me and they declared war on the world government and it was at that moment when I felt a huge burden being lifted off me.” Robin hugged her body with her arms when a gust of wind blew past both of them, she smiled at the memory…oh how they have come so far.

Law took off his coat and came closer to the historian “Here” he said, wrapping his outerwear around the woman. Upon closer observation, Nico Robin was a very beautiful woman. Her face was defined, she looked fierce yet had the softest look in her eyes, her cheeks were rosy under the moonlight, her skin was porcelain and it looked so soft and tender, his eyes then shifted to her lips, bottom lips were plump and had a really thin layer of shine maybe from lipgloss. His eyes lingered longer than it should before he locked eyes with her blue orbs. He held back his breath. He was about to say something when he felt her hands circled around his waist and then an abrupt thud of her head against his chest. He was caught by surprise even making a low sound in response, his hands were up in the air unsure if he could even or even be allowed to touch her like that. Maybe he was taking his alliance with the strawhats too deep now.

“Nico-ya…you…” Law stuttered, he didn’t even have any words.

“I like our late night chats Law-kun” He felt her hot breath hit his chest, only now then he felt EVERYTHING the woman had to offer. It wasn’t that he was a pervert but Nico Robin was voluptuous as hell and when she pressed up to him like this of course he was going to feel everything even if he didn't ask for it.

After a little bit of hesitation out of embarrassment, Law returned her embrace. His slender yet muscular arms circled around her waist with his other tousled in her locks.

“I don’t think we should be doing this Nico-ya”

“Do what?”

“Be intimate like this.”

“You know what's intimate Law-kun?” Robin said monotonously, he cleared his throat when he felt the historian moved away from him, far but close enough to feel each other's breath. Their face was inches away, Robin’s eyes were filled with need and vice versa. She knew the moment when both crew aligned she was going to be even more determined to get to know the surgeon of death. Prior to all this she was already aware of his growing status and how infamous he was becoming. She made up her own assumptions about him and oh how she would question herself about the pirate captain, how she was so intrigued by Trafalgar Law and here she was, in his arms.

Her needy orbs screamed and yearned for him and he took that as permission and leaned down to kiss Robin. It was soft..so very soft, hesitations still chaining both parties. Her lips were the softest thing he had ever felt in his life, her scent intoxicated him, her body against him was doing sinful things to him and his mind was running wild on all the things he wanted to do to her but he was respectful still and he wouldn’t act on his desire until Robin tells him that she wants this as much as he does. This was a new feeling for them, so foreign yet how fast they could be in sync and keep up with each other’s pace. He was so turned on just by kissing her, and it wasn't just the kiss that got him entirely turned on but her being and existence itself.

His rough hands gripped the back of her neck and the other had a handful of her raven locks, their mouths locked with fiery passion and the make out session was getting hotter and hotter. He was about to break her and she swore he got her losing her mind just from this. She opened her mouth to allow Law in and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to explore and their tongues danced, their small innocent kiss was getting nasty, even dirtier. Her hands were now on his chest, clinging onto him like her life depended on it, she leaned everything she got on him and her body language told him everything she wanted to. Her body was his and there was nobody else she would give herself to.

Their heated make out session felt like forever and neither Law nor Robin wanted to part and stop their engagement but oxygen was running low and both needed air. Law pulled away from her lips much to her dismay, she let out the most sensual whine and he opened his eyes to a view of a goddess. Her eyes half lidded and filled with lust and want and the best part it was all for him. She wanted him. Her generous cleavage was a sight to behold and she wasn’t shy of her body, her hourglass body was his to hold now.

“La...law-kun...don’t stop..” Robin pouted which was very uncharacteristic of her but he found himself swooning over her sexiness.

“Are you sure Nico-ya..? I don’t want to take advantage of you, you’re too good of a woman..”

“I want you..please..” she replied to him and right now she wants nothing more for him to rearrange her guts and she was tired of being rational and she just wanted to let loose for once and there was no one she would rather be with than him.

He smirked and grabbed her waist and brought her close to him, squishing her body against him. He looked her dead in the eyes, his orbs thick and clouded with lust and all the dirty thoughts he has been having about her was all about to be unleashed.

“Shambles!”

#one piece #mugiwara #law x robin #law and robin #trafalgar law #nico robin #lawbin #law x robin smut #smut #OP #strawhat pirates #strawhat

66 notes · View notes

foolgobi65 · 3 years

Text

varshadhara

one.

Sita has been married a year when there is news of a drought, cloudless skies that refuse to darken and dust that does not become soil. 20 villages chose a single representative to beg for aid from the Emperor himself, and Sita’s husband is drawn when he finally enters their bedroom that night.

“They are dying,” he says quietly, a confession that even later Sita is never sure he meant for her to hear. His eyes close as he begins to remove the ornaments that mark him the eldest, the favorite son, heir to all his father has conquered. Sita, seated on the bed, watches as her husband looks down at the ruby necklace whose clasp he has just undone and calculates how many meals he could buy with what lies so easily in his palms.

“Years,” she confirms, hands playing with the edge of her cotton upper cloth for want of something to do. Her voice startles them both, somehow too loud and too soft for the strange hush that has fallen on the palace so many hours after sunset. “But only because the jewelry you wear is more precious in this city for having been yours.”

He looks up, curiosity a glint in his eye and hands at the heavy earrings the Emperor insists on for court. He seems glad to see her. “Would it help?”

“Yes,” she says, ignoring the way her heart clenches to hear the hope in his voice, “for now. But what about in a year, should the drought continue?”

Her husband glances at the chest which keeps his gold, the fruit of a generation’s worth of tribute from kingdoms that span the earth.

“What a tragedy,” he drawls, fingers slowly teasing out the crown from the wonderful tangles of his hair, “to lose all these heavy jewels in pursuit of my duty as king.”

Sita startles into laughter and reaches out to take her husband’s burden, ignoring the surprise that flickers briefly across his features. He is always so surprised and then so grateful for what to Sita are the smallest morsels of tolerance. She does not think about why this might upset her. “And as my Lord’s faithful wife,” she says cheerfully in response, “I suppose it would be my duty to donate my ornaments as well.”

Both of them linger on Sita’s wrists, the ones she keeps nearly bare save the one golden bangle around each that at least proves her a wife. They smile: tragic indeed.

“My father has proclaimed that the drought stricken will not pay tribute,” Sita hears hours later, low in the moments before she finally closes her eyes, “but there must be something more we can do to help.”

She could live like this, she thinks, at the moment she slips over the edge between the worlds of life and dreams. Sita is content. This could be enough.

----

two.

By now all of Ayodhya must know that Janaki, foundling daughter of the Videhan king, was not expected to marry -- the year that she has spent in the blessed state so far has been tumultuous, to say the least. She grew up a goddess, but more than that she grew up sheltered from palace politics and finds herself embroiled in more than one controversy due to her own ineptitude.

Her sisters, each of them younger than Sita, were married to her husband’s three brothers before they became women true and so are kept as maidens in the palaces of their individual mother in laws: far from their eldest sister who lives, as is traditional, in the rooms of her husband.

What would they say, Sita wonders, if they knew their sister to be equally virginal only weeks before the first anniversary of her wedding?

Sita sets the ceremonial platter on top of a stool and kneels, gently picking up the woolen blanket covering her husband as he sleeps on the floor. The difference in temperature, they have both realized, is usually enough for him to wake and so it is today when his eyes open. Together they fold not only the blanket that covered him but the two others that make what serves as his mattress on the ground, one of her husband’s many concessions to his ungrateful, accidental wife.

“I was never supposed to be married,” she had whispered the night of their consummation, tears streaming down her face and tone as possibly close to a shriek while knowing that servants listened at the door. “I know nothing of how to manage a royal household, much less satisfy a husband!”

The black rimming her eyes must have mixed with her tears, leaving Sita a fright. The combined talents of Ayodhya’s finest ladies-in-waiting ruined by the anxieties of a girl utterly unsuited to serve as their canvas. Sita’s husband, a man who wielded enough power at 16 to force each of Sita’s baying, blood-lusting suitors -- some of them thrice her husband’s age -- to their knees in supplication, had barely walked into the room when confronted with the sight.

“I did not need the protection of a husband,” Sita had said then, back turned. “I would have died before any of those lechers disguised as failed suitors tried to touch me.” She choked back a sob. “It would have been better for us all if I had.” Years later her husband confesses that sometimes he still hears her like this in the moments before he falls asleep, even when they have spent more years than not tangled as one in bed. Sita never tells him how close it all was in the end, how tightly she was gripping the knife when someone heard that a young anchorite had not only lifted, but broken the Great God’s bow. But on her wedding night, when Sita opened her eyes it was to the sight of her husband, his own blade drawn. She flinched, but he only raised his own palm and ran the edge against skin to draw blood.

“A woman,” he said in answer to her unvoiced question, “is supposed to bleed on her first night. The washerwoman will be paid handsomely for her knowledge in the morning.”

Sita flushed, shoulders straightening of their own accord at the implication.

“And as a virgin bride myself, I will bleed as any other” she said, hands fisted at her side in brief, overwhelming rage. “My reputation does not need you to shed blood on my behalf.”

Her husband had only nodded, moving towards the side of the bed opposite to where Sita sat in order to smear his palm once, twice, thrice until he seemed satisfied with his handiwork.

A million questions ran through Sita’s mind. “I hope your sleep is restful,” was all her husband said in response, grabbing a blanket from the foot of what was to be their marital bed and arranging himself on the floor.

Nearly a year since, Sita’s knowledge as to the running of households has not increased, nor, she suspects, has her knowledge regarding the satisfaction of her husband. He keeps long hours, spending as much time away from his wife as possible. The people of Ayodhya, used to the years that might have passed between visits from their woman-drunk sovereign, are enthralled by the near constant access to their Crown Prince, and this during the years when it is acceptable, nay even appropriate to be devoted to naught but one’s own pleasure.

The women of the palace, caught between their desire to honor their collective son and their need to denigrate his strange, uncouth wife, stay silent.

----

three.

“In Mithila,” Sita’s husband begins, breaking their easy silence that has fallen over this morning meal, “what would you do in times of drought?”

Sita startles, the palm frond she was using to keep away insects as her husband ate, slipping to the ground. Though they can now speak of many things, they have never spoken of Mithila -- it is encouraged for new brides to sink themselves fully into the environs of their new, forever home. In this, at least, she is like every wife before her: the ways of her past can have no place in her present. Every day she must attempt to forget who she once was.

“I am only a girl,” Sita answers carefully, eyes lowered as she was told women do. “Such a question may be better answered by my Father, or one of the preceptors versed in these matters.”

There is a silence, but Sita, unable to lift her eyes to her husband’s face, cannot tell if he has accepted her falsehood. The Raghuvanshis, she has been told time and time again, are a line of honor. They do not lie.

“Did you think--” she hears, and then a sigh. “I know who you are, my lady. Are we not friends, at the very least?”

Sita clenches her jaw, picking up the palm fronds once more. She is no longer afraid of her husband, at least not as she was at first. But he cannot want the answers he seeks, not truly. “I am a princess of Ayodhya,” she says, as she has to herself every morning since she woke up next to her husband’s blood on the bed and his body on their floor. “I am your wife, sanctified by the Lord’s Bow and the sacrament of the Holy Fire.”

“Yes,” her husband agrees. Sita cannot help but note that his tone is gentle. “And in Videha, you are considered a Goddess too.”

He says it so easily, as if Sita does not live balanced on the sword-edge between damned and divine. For a moment, she lets herself imagine what it would be like to be known.

There is a story known in Videha, of a drought so ferocious that a King long without child was forced to seed his own lands with the merit of his good deeds. Of the four days of labor that resulted in a baby girl, delivered from the womb of the Eternal Mother Earth. A child covered in an afterbirth of soil where there had only ever been useless dirt.

And yet this too is known: children are the only dead who are buried, their bodies believed too beloved to be consecrated to the fire and burned beyond reckoning. Instead they are covered in wool and laid to rest in the lap of Mother Earth alongside a plea for Death to be gentle.

Sometimes these children are wanted. Many times, the bodies buried are the ones who are not.

This is all that is known: when the King knelt to deliver the child, what had previously been blue sky broke into the first of that year’s monsoon, nearly a decade since the last.

Foundlings left to die do not wear the garb of royalty. Goddesses do not wed.

What would you call me, Crown Prince?

“I am a princess of Ayodhya,” she says, the words suddenly heavy, like stones in her mouth. Her silence protects her sisters from the taint of Sita’s own uncertainty, and Ayodhya has no need for Gods not its own. She waves away an insect that attempts to rest atop her husband’s left ear and resigns herself to her fate: “I am your wedded wife.”

“They are dying,” he says softly, but he speaks to himself. Sita thinks of the easy way they can speak now sometimes; at nights before they retire, or over a morning meal. Her husband is right -- they are friends, if nothing else, and she owes him more than this. Viciously Sita tamps down on the guilt she feels roiling her stomach, rebelling against a stance that suddenly feels like betrayal.

----

Four.

“It is strange,” Mother Kaushalya remarks, as always, “that you were never taught the ways of Royal Women. Is this how girls are raised in Videha?”

Mother Kaushalya, who has only known the Kosala for which she is named, has latched onto the strangeness of Sita’s far-off homeland as a possible explanation for the ways in which Sita grates mountain-rough against the silk of the Imperial Palace. It is useless of course, since a slight against Videha must inherently touch Sita’s sisters, who in the last year have already developed a reputation for grace, gentility, and an overflowing well of kindness towards all blessed with their presence.

Mother Kaushalya, according to the servant-slaves Sita eavesdrops on, has been heard quarreling with Mother Sumitra, begging for “at least one of your darling girls, my Lady, for you know that it can only be selfishness to keep them both when your elder sister has none!”

Sita, tugging awkwardly at the overwrought necklaces she must wear when in Mother Kaushalya’s presence, can only agree. She, more than anyone, knows what she lacks. There have been rumors recently that all three of Dasharatha’s Chief Queens have made a petition to the Emperor to find a new princess worthy of the Crown Prince’s hand.

Sita can only hope that when the time comes, her husband will allow her access to the Imperial Library, or at least will deem it proper to have one wife devoted to the worship of the Gods: philosophy and piety are so easily confused, after all. The best life she can now demand is one where she recedes into the background of the Imperial Palace, unneeded and unknown by all. Never will Sita oversee the workings of a kingdom in the manner she was raised, nor will she sit atop an altar and listen to those petitioners who make pilgrimage to weep at her feet.

Some days, Sita does not even know if she is a woman at all, if these mothers and wives are capable of knowing and carrying the grief of a nation inside their fragile bodies. Every night she dreams of the drought ravaging the villages near the outskirts of Kosala, of how once a year Sita was carried by 50 men to the fields of Videha so that she might press her feet into the soil that made her womb and call forth the rains that heralded her birth.

But then she too dreams of this: a mother weeping, swollen with child like other mothers who have knelt in front of Sita. A mother who delivers a daughter in the ordinary way and buries her alive.

“Goddesses,” the Sage Parashurama had said the year after Sita was installed in the palace of Mithila, “are not meant for marriage. Videha is fortunate that after the reign of Janaka it will be guided by the light of the Divine.”

He paused then, as they all do. “And if the Lady were not a goddess, well --”

They never finish the sentence. The threat is implied.

Sita cannot be meant for love, not in the way of women who are meant for marriage. How can she, when she was meant to sit atop a dais as the physical embodiment of a force of nature, just as easily as inside the hearts of believers? How can she, when she lives her life in the fear that she will be caught out and banished, back into the grave she was meant to die in?

Women are meant for friendship. Women are meant for love.

“My apologies Mother Kaushalya,” Sita says, shaking her head and trying to convince herself that she does not rage against the fate that stretches fallow before her, “I was not raised to be much of a girl at all.”

The real trouble, Sita thinks later, is that despite everything she has somehow found herself liking her husband anyway.

---

five.

“My Lady,” a servant twitters three weeks after the Emperor promises debt relief to the drought-stricken. “My Lady, your Lord husband has need of you!”

Sita looks up from the flowers she is carelessly attempting to string together in a garland, perhaps to festoon a doorway, perhaps to drape around one of the many idols of Surya, the progenitor of her husband’s race. They have not spoken in the week since he asked her about Videha and she refused to answer. “He does?”

“He does,” the servant responds with some relish, ready Sita is sure to reap the rewards of being the bearer of such premium gossip the moment Sita’s back is turned. Sita’s husband has never before indicated such a preference for her company. “He asked that I bring you to him, and not in the garb of royalty.”

“And you are sure that this is my husband?” It is not altogether seemly for Sita to be expressing such doubt that her husband might be asking for her, especially when such a request -- even to appear in plainclothes -- is not unusual for those young and in love, seeking respite from the rhythms of the palace by traveling outside its gates. But really, her husband?

The servant, a girl perhaps only a few years older than Sita’s 16, only raises an eyebrow and widens her grin. “Should I call for one of your maids to help you dress?”

“No,” Sita responds absently, lost in the contemplation of what game her husband could possibly be playing. “Did he say if he had any preference as to what I wear?”

“He did not, my Lady, but if I may I think you had better choose something blue if you have it. The color sets nicely against your skin. Silver jewelry instead of gold, if you have that too. ”

Sita does, buried at the bottom of a trunk of clothes she had carried with her from home. But before that --

“Here,” Sita undoes the clasp of the pearl necklace sent to her by some princeling attempting to curry favor with the crown. There is no true harm in people knowing she has left the palace in her husband’s company, but she is off-center enough to want this a secret as long as she can buy it so. “For your silence, until we return.”

In the time it takes Sita to strip out of silk and re-knot her old lower cloth of coarse blue cotton she has thought of a hundred different potential scenarios. Had she been alone, she might have had to slouch out of her own rooms with her head down so that she might prevent recognition -- in the company of a servant, Sita is passed over as one as well and strolls quite comfortably into the sunshine, following a path she has never taken until they find her husband leaning against the wall of one of the palace’s more minor stables.

“My lady,” he says, seeming to shake himself out of some sort of stupor and leveraging himself fully upright. “Antara,” he says then, turning to face the servant he had charged with fetching Sita, “you have my gratitude.” He leans down to pick up something wrapped in cloth before walking to Antara with a winning smile while pressing the package into her arms.

Sita knows something of her husband, but not like this. She is charmed.

“I came across the mangoes your sister likes when I was making my way back from one of the border kingdoms,” her husband says to Antara. “Tell her that I look forward to hearing more about her adventures when she is feeling well enough to take visitors.”

Antara’s eyes gleam and grow misty. “Oh,” she says, lips trembling as she folds her hands around the parcel and takes her leave, “and we have only just gotten her head to shrink back to its usual size after the last time!”

Alone at last, Sita’s husband’s earlier flash of ease vanish into the ether. Sita tries not to take offense at being more a stranger to him than the woman he sent to fetch his wife. “My lady,” he says again, but cannot seem to say anything more. Sita, feeling the awkwardness of the last week’s silence and her own slight guilt besides, takes pity.

“The girl?”

Sita is rewarded with a smile of her own, small but sincere. “Bedridden, but wonderfully vivacious still. There are bouts of illness where she is worse off than usual, but she believes me nothing more than a particular playmate and I try to see her when I can. The parcel has medicine a far-off physician swore had done a similar patient some good, but Antara would never accept unless I passed it to her like this.”

Sita blinks. “But you are her sovereign!”

Her husband shrugs. “I am her sister’s friend, and I find that everyone is entitled to some amount of pride. It is difficult to accept that you cannot help the one you love best alone.”

She nods, satisfied as she has been in the past with the knowledge that at least she is not married to a stupid man, And, she supposes, not a cruel one either. “How old is the girl?”

His smile widens slightly in apparent reminiscence. “She will be seven in two months' time.”

“Does she have a doll?”

“One,” Sita’s husband says slowly, brow slightly furrowed, “but bedraggled.”

Sita may not know how to comport herself as wife nor princess, but once she was a Goddess who heard the entreaties of those who cared for their beloved ill. Still, she remains a sister. This, Sita knows how to do. “If you approve, I will make her a new one that you can take with you. I used to make dolls for my sisters out of dried grass and cloth when we were children.”

For a moment, her husband looks stunned before he manages to school his features into something like equanimity once more. Still, he slips and there is something helpless about the way he is suddenly looking at her. “You are kind,” he says, but low in a tone that makes it clear that he is not truly speaking to Sita so much as about her to himself. “I am always glad for that.”

Sita blushes, unsure about how to respond to a compliment not exactly meant for her ears. It is not something she ever expected to hear from anyone in Ayodhya, much less the husband she condemns to spend his days wandering the countryside and his nights at rest alone on his own stone floor. “Why did you call me?” she decides to ask instead.

Again, her husband shakes his head as if rising from a reverie. His usual self-confidence suddenly melts into trepidation. What could he possibly want that discomfits him so?

“At the Kosalan border,” he says slowly, eyes focused on some point behind Sita’s shoulders, “there are a few villages that, at some point in the last few years, welcomed some families from afar.”

There is something about the way he speaks that begins to knot Sita’s stomach. She has the beginnings of an inkling, but nothing so concrete that she can speak it aloud. She nods for him to continue.

“Neighbors share stories in times of plenty as well as times of scarcity. These last few months there have been stories about former droughts, experienced by foreign kingdoms.”

Ah. Of course.

“This is not Videha,” Sita says, but she speaks almost as if she is in a dream. She cannot deny her divinity, not without inviting further scrutiny of her orphanhood. But neither has she ever truly believed that it is her feet that coaxed the rains to Mithila. Her father sowed the fields with the merit of his good deeds. Her father found a babe in the trough. Coincidence does not imply correlation.

What would happen if the stories were wrong? If Sita walked the lands but the sky remained a bright, barren blue? In some faint corner of her heart, she feels resentment towards her husband for having made her think of this at all.

“Yes,” her husband agrees, “I told them so. But they insist I bring you to meet them if only to speak as their princess.” He winces slightly, eyes shifting desolate to the dirt. “Hope sometimes means the difference between death or life in these instances, and at this moment I have nothing else to offer.”

Helpless, Sita thinks again. Her husband, Crown Prince of Dasaratha’s empire that extends further and exacts more in tribute than any before, stands helpless before his wife. They are friends, he had said, and even before that, he is the one who has always been kind. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but no words find themselves on the tip of her tongue.

Her husband, eyes still averted, nods as if he has understood. “It was foolish to ask, I know, and perhaps you even think me cruel. You do not speak of who you were in Videha, and I should not ask this of you as my wife.” His jaw sets. “I will take you back to the palace.”

What would happen if the stories were true? If, as in her dreams, Sita walked the lands here in Kosala and the skies still split?

“How will we go?” she asks quietly, unable to force her voice firm. The words leave her mouth unbidden, but she knows they are right nonetheless. “How long will it take?”

She can almost hear her husband’s neck snap as his eyes rise from their study of the ground to gaze at her with all the intensity of the vicious sun. If before he was stunned, now he can only be described as pole-axed. His face is suddenly host to so many overwrought emotions at once that it is rendered as illegible as the times when he forces it blank. She has never seen him so, but that is not unusual. She had not seen him even wearing the smile he gave Antara.

This, she wonders, if anyone anywhere has witnessed ever before. She wonders, even as in her heart she knows the truth: they haven’t. None but Sita.

“Will you really come?” His voice is almost plaintive, like a child asking something he already knows he cannot have. But what does the most powerful man in the world know of want?

“I will,” Sita says, head spinning with a thousand questions, a thousand fears, a thousand hopes. She bites her lip, suddenly overwhelmed by her own uncertainty. “I cannot promise --” again, she loses her voice before she can finish the sentence that would throw her status into such uncertainty.

“I know,” her husband says, answering her unasked question. “I always knew. It would not matter to me either way.” He too seems to break off, struggling to find the proper words. He takes a step forward, and then another, and then one more until he stands in front of Sita, close enough that if he reached out he could clutch at her wrists. “Janaki,” he says, voice dripping with an honest earnesty that suddenly reminds Sita that if she feels herself a girl in Ayodhya then her husband too is a young boy, aged artificially by the weight he is always carrying on his shoulders.

“Janaki,” her husband says again, and Sita takes a breath. He is very handsome up close this friend of hers, the man who is her husband. “You will always be safe with me.” He smiles slightly, and Sita feels the corners of her own lips curling in sympathetic response. “As you say, you are now my wedded wife. There is nothing anyone could say about you that will change that. You can be more, but from now on you will never be less.”

For years Sita was old as well. More than anything else, she was lonely. She is lonely still.

What would you call me, Crown Prince?

My wife.

“I will try,” she vows, refusing to think about what it will do to the villagers for whom the drought continues after she walks the distance of their land. For once, she knows what will happen: she will remain her husband’s wife. In many ways, this is more the moment of her marriage than the one in which he tied the sacred thread around her neck than the one in which he broke the bow of the Great God.

“I will,” she says again, and Sita is unsure if she is promising to be wife, princess, or Goddess. All three, perhaps. “For them,” she swallows and throws all caution to the wind. “For you, I promise I will at least try.”

---

Sita walks for hours, hair falling out of the twist she had pulled it into after dismounting from the saddle she had shared with her husband traveling by horseback to the place that still believed there lived a goddess that could quench dry land.

She walks and walks, walks and walks and walks until her feet begin to crack and then bleed after such long exposure to the harshness of dead earth. Then, she walks some more. Thirst left her an hour ago, but now she struggles against exhaustion. Every step threatens to pull her down into the dust, and she knows, knew, that this would happen. She knew that she would prove their faith false, and leave them worse for having met her. She knew, and yet --

She had hoped, still.

There are no living goddesses who walk the land like Sita to call forth the rain. It is a ritual that has its roots in her father Janaka’s sacrifice, seeding the earth with the merit of his good deeds. Once, she had asked him what he felt when he had been plowing alone in the moments before he manifested a miracle.

“I suppose I should tell you that I prayed,” he had said thoughtfully, hand coming up to stroke absently at his beard, “but I did not. My people were suffering, and there is nothing even an intelligent man can do to mitigate the effects of a decade of drought. I was supposed to be thinking of all the good I had done, so as to imbue the ground with that goodness. But more than anything, every moment I was there I wanted it to rain -- more than anything I had ever wanted before. I felt like I would have done anything then, given anything, if only it would rain. By the end, I knew it would. It had to.”

In Videha, Sita had walked as ritual. She had lived in times of plenty.

In Kosala, there is a drought. She has seen with her own eyes the shrunken bodies of villagers who have no food. Whose voices are raspy with thirst. Together they had collected all the water they had left and had Sita sit, cross-legged before them as they washed away the dust of the road. Sita’s husband has promised that she will be his wife even if she proves a woman after all, but suddenly she knows why the rain fell. Her father too had known; in his own way, he had even tried to tell her.

In Kosala, Sita wants. She is a woman, and in this moment she wants as she never has before. She wants it to rain, more than anyone ever has wanted anything anywhere. More even than her father must have wanted because she wants not only for herself and her people but for her husband as well. Perhaps for him most of all, whom she has seen wrack his mind for weeks. Who has defied what convention or good sense would tell him and instead placed his faith in his wild wife, bringing her to the outskirts of his kingdom in hope of a miracle. Far from the palace, Sita knows herself. She knows what she wants. She knows now, with blinding certainty, what will be.

She wants to be loved, and she wants to love in turn. She wants it to rain, and so it will.

She walks until her body fails, certain in her knowledge that the rain will come. It has to. She trips, and suddenly she hears the gasps of the crowd that has kept vigil at the sides as they did in the time of her father before her. She trips, she falls, and just as she loses consciousness she hears the impossible roll of thunder on a cloudless day.

Sita hits the ground, and it begins to rain in Kosala.

---

coda. (2, 3, 4)

It is late when Sita wakes, eyes opening to the ceiling of a small hut as the raindrops patter against the roof. Outside she can hear shouts of glee, the beat of drums, the exultant songs of villagers who know that they can soothe their hoarse throats with water.

“Was it always like that?” Sita looks down to the foot of her bed where her husband kneels, hands gently rubbing ointment into her wounds before wrapping them with strips of his upper cloth. She hums in question, uncertain of what he means. “When you would walk in Videha,” her husband clarifies, eyes never leaving his self-appointed task, “was it like it was today?”

She could say yes, and imply that this is what goddesses do. Raghuvanshis do not lie. “No,” she says, and marvels at what a struggle it is to even speak. “Never.”

He nods, as if this was the only answer he expected. “Then it really was you,” he says softly, and suddenly Sita notices his hands are shaking as he winds the last of the cloth around her left foot. “You walked, and the gods answered your call.”

“Yes,” Sita says in a whisper. It is a thought too large to bear. He must have questions, she knows, and she owes her husband an explanation. She wants to tell him everything she remembers, everything she now understands, but in this moment there is nothing she can bring herself to say.

Finally, he looks away from her feet, shifting so that it is easier for Sita to look and see his red eyes.

“You cried,” Sita says inanely, stupid again but now in shock.

Her husband laughs, the sound just on the verge of being a sob. “It rained.”

He looks away.

“Before I found your pulse, I thought you had died.”

---

They leave in the morning once more on horseback, Sita clutching her husband’s waist and content to expose her aching, bandaged feet to the elements having long lost her shoes. The villagers offer breakfast, but Sita and her husband communicate wordlessly like she has seen other married couples do, and say together that they must respectfully decline. It will take another cycle for the crops to truly flourish, and there is more food than anyone can eat at home.

For a moment, Sita is jarred at the realization that Ayodhya is what she means when she thinks now of “home.” Mithila, of course, is home always -- but it is different now. Sita’s father called down the rain in Videha, but it was Sita alone who split the sky for her home last night.

After about an hour her husband brings the horse to a halt and jumps down, walking until they reach a lush orchard. Sita swings her right leg around and falls into his arms. For a moment she feels him lower her before he remembers that she cannot walk and shifts his grip, left arm grasping under her knees as Sita wraps her arms around his neck.

“You like jamun fruits, no? You keep them in our bedroom sometimes.”

Yes, Sita does. “Do you?”

Her husband shrugs. “I like these jamun fruits.”

“And where are we?”

“The crown plants orchards at places along the main roads so that travelers might find some respite.” He smiles, looking up at one of the trees. “This is the one with the best jamun fruits in Kosala. And this,” he lowers Sita to the ground underneath the tree and she lets go obligingly, “is the best tree of the orchard.”

It is a romantic claim to make, that there is a single tree that produces the best fruit in the land, but Sita’s husband does not say it as one might when repeating a fancy. Intrigued despite herself, she asks: “How do you know?”

He palms the bark, fingers searching for something that he finds in a particular divot. “A few years ago a squadron of warriors tested the fruit of every tree. This was the one they liked best.”

Sita is skeptical. “And you believe them?”

“Well,” her husband amends, that same mischief he had shown Antara in his eyes, “this is certainly the one I liked best, and the rest agreed as well. It might not be to your taste, given that you are a woman of refined taste in this sphere and I merely a man who prefers mangos.”

“We shall see,” Sita laughs, bedraggled and thirsty and tired. Still, she feels like she has never laughed like this before. In her past she has certainly felt joy and found laughter, but in her happiness now she floats. She had always felt so heavy before. “Let me have my breakfast, and I will be the judge of that.”

Her husband is graceful in victory -- it is not perfectly the season, but Sita swears she has never tasted so sweet a fruit.

---

“Her feet are bandaged,” Kaikeyi observes when the cacophony that accompanies their return to the palace dies down to a dull roar. It is an easy thing to notice when Sita is being carried in her husband’s arms. Kaikeyi was always the quickest of Dasaratha’s queens and proves herself to be the one best informed when her beautiful face twists in withering disgust. “You cannot possibly think that your wife ended the drought by walking.”

Sita cannot tell if the emphasis is on the words “your wife” or “walking.” Both, she thinks, offend the very marrow of an Ayodhyan sensibility that has spent half a year shoving gold at pandits to fund a sacrifice that will finally please Indra.

This is what Sita, married into a family that does not lie, plans to say: “We are glad to see the rain.”

This is what her husband, whose words at 18 already carry more weight in this family than those of his father, says instead: “She did. I saw it with my own eyes.”

#maya writes #ramayana #lmao found this in my google drive and decided light blasphemy was a really fun thing to do at this point in time #i havent written anything non academic in a year so please please let me know what you think!!

53 notes · View notes

sunnywritesstuff34 · 3 years

Text

Illusions

(Yayyyy. Another one. It’s been a while, sorry. just wanna preface this by saying that like... I usually don’t really give a shit about Obito, but I figured this was a natural progression of the story and I kinda wanted to try and dive into Obito’s psyche a little so. here we go. tell me what you think. @ghostjellyfishheart here’s the next chapter lol. pls mind the tw’s)

TW and CW for: MAJOR UNREALITY, seriously stay safe, Obito is kinda spiraling a lot, grieving, struggling with morality, drinking, alcohol, less then stellar coping mechanisms of all kinds, don’t do this kids, child death, ghost child, dead kid, you don’t like... see her die but Rin is very much not alive, references to suicide, implied suicide, the uchiha massacre is its own warning, murder, its bad. its just. its just bad. did I mention unreality? a lot of that, death of a family member, obito is having a hard time with feelings, probably dis@ssociation, pretentious symbolism, scratch that, definitely dis@ssociation

Obito Uchiha is upset.

And that is, frankly, ridiculous. Obito does not get upset. What does upset even mean? Is he sad? Mourning, perhaps? Or is he just worried? Either way, its borderline impossible. He shouldn’t be feeling anything. Obito doesn’t feel anything. Sure, he plays at it, when he’s Tobi. He feigns and pretends, he’s good at that. That is what he is, that is all he is. To Itachi, he is Madara. To Konan and Nagito, he is Obito. To everyone else, he is Tobi. Obito has taken on mask after mask after mask on in his life, both figuratively and literally. Sometimes he doesn't know where Obito ends and another begins. Obito does not feel anything, not for anyone that isn't Rin. Never for anyone that isn't Rin, and he left her behind a long time ago. And yet this boy, this child, has him reeling somehow. Has him… well, like before, the only word he can use is upset. He is rattled. And it has been so long, so long since he’s felt anything at all, that he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to fix it. He kept seeing Sasuke in his head, kept remembering memories from years ago when he thought about the kid being gone forever. He remembered the first few years Itachi brought Sasuke to the compound, he remembered spontaneously discovering his obsession with tomatoes by accident with Kisame (who would not stop laughing. He had just never seen anybody. Put an entire tomato in their mouth. And Sasuke did it like it was the most natural thing in the world! Kisame wouldn't shut up about it for at least a week). He remembered helping the boy train with his newly forged chokuto, he remembered the grim determination towards his family and how much it reminded Obito of himself, he remembered all of it. And none of that should have mattered, because it wasn't real. None of it was real, the next world would be. The next world with Rin and Kakashi and Minato-sensei still alive, a world without… without Sasuke. Or any of the other Akatsuki. And that was what he wanted. He was sure that was what he wanted. Only in his room could he show the weakness tightly coiled in his stomach. But there was a knock on his door and it made him straighten up, instantly putting the mask that he just took off back on his face. He walked to the door and opened it, only to find the older Uchiha brother staring back at him. Obito blinked.

“Itachi-san. What are you… what are you doing here? I- uh… come in.” Obito and Itachi sat down at the small table in Obito’s room and stared at each other awkwardly. “So… how can I help you?” Obito tried to ask, unsure of whether to say it like Tobi or just let his guard down and talk like himself (whoever that was). Itachi cleared his throat.

“You are the only person in this godforsaken place that has sake that's worth a damn,” Itachi explained calmly. He looked away. “It has… been a long week.” Obito could tell the truth in that statement just from his cousin’s voice. Itachi sounded exhausted, and the perpetual mask of indifference had begun to slip when his little brother went missing. The two of them looked at each other and came to an understanding. For the next few minutes, there was no talking. Obito grabbed some glasses and poured his strongest sake out for the both of them, and they drank in silence. They only actually picked up a conversation once they were both drunk enough for the awkwardness to melt away.

“He’s likely not dead,” Obito commented bluntly. Itachi only sighed.

“If he is, I have no idea what I'd do,” Itachi grumbled casually, like it was an ordinary thing to say. “Certainly wouldn't stick around here. Probably follow in Shisui’s footsteps.” Obito only nodded, knowing better than to pry on that particular bit of insight into Itachi’s life. They were silent for a few more minutes before Obito spoke again.

“The massacre,” Obito started. “I was long gone by the time it happened. What… are you and Sasuke really the only survivors as the rumors say?” Itachi nodded, throwing back another glass. Obito thought about that bitterly, about his grandmother who wouldn't have been spared. Itachi sighed.

“Right. I've never really talked about this with anyone, and Sasuke and I don't speak about it much. You know how sharingan awakening works, yes?” Obito nodded, mind involuntarily flashing to his own experience.

“Well I made some genuine friends on my genin team. It was the first time I ever had any friends.” Obito closed his eyes and took another sip. Friends, sharingan awakening. Being crushed under a boulder with your crying teammates looming over you. Thinking, no, don't cry, it doesn't hurt. It really doesn't hurt. I can't feel anything, please don't cry. Watching a particular white haired individual (a traitor, that traitor) desperately try to save you. Losing a part of yourself, a part of yourself you didn't even know you had, and giving it to someone else. Forever living with that, knowing that your other eye is somewhere, because you can still feel it, but not knowing much else. The aching absence that grows from that. He opened his eyes again. “I watched them die, right in front of my eyes. That awakened my Sharingan, and when I went home, my father congratulated me. He congratulated me. It was a nightmare and he was proud. I don't know, that always stuck with me. But anyway,” Itachi paused to drink more sake as the room spun. “Sasuke’s eyes woke during the massacre. I didn't get there in time. He watched our parents die, managed to hide in the closet and keep quiet the whole time so they didn't find him. I got there in time to stop them from killing him, and realized his sharingan had awakened because of everything. I wasn't able to save anyone, but I was able to save him, and that's all that matters.”

“I understand,” Obito replied evenly. “I know what it's like to be too late.”

Itachi’s eyes slid over to him. “Yeah well… whatever. The Uchiha had been planning a coup for a while. Danzo, he gave me a choice. Either kill everyone myself and have Sasuke be spared to live happily in the village. Or, to let them kill everyone, Sasuke included. I didn't… I refused either option and tried to get there but I was too late. They killed everyone in one night, a bunch of Anbu who were deployed for the massacre. Like I said, Sasuke managed to hide. I knew that Danzo would be after us, so I grabbed Sasuke and we got the hell out of dodge. He didn't speak for months afterwards. Not a single word, other than screaming during his nightmares. It was probably a little selfish, but I… I missed him. There was no more ‘Itachi, look at the score I got at the academy!’ or ‘Itachi look, look I learned a new move!’ There was just… nothing. He was so vacant. If he's dead- if he’s dead after everything we’ve been through, I don't- I have no idea what I'll do. We have to find him, and we have to kill the people who took him away from us. We have to.” I know, he wanted to shout. I know, I feel the same way, but I don't know why! Itachi left not long after that, stumbled back to his room, and Obito fell asleep in his armchair. That night he had a dream, a dream of Rin. it had been years since he dreamed of her, usually they were memories and bits and pieces, but this was different. He opened his eyes in his dream to a dark plane filled with ink, darkness stretching in every direction. It was a frequent setting he found himself in, usually the dream would be about him sinking into the oily substance until he couldn't breath. But this time it was low enough to wade in, his feet touching the ground, whatever that was. In the middle of the expanse, there was a bone white skeleton of some creature he didn't recognize, and Rin. He staggered towards her, and she hugged him without a word. In dreams like this he was always covered in blood, the Obito from years past. But now he was just him, and he was maskless.

“Just what have you gotten yourself into now, Obito?” she asked, and it sounded just like her. It wasn't her, he was fairly sure of that, he was dreaming for god’s sake, but it sounded like her. It seemed like her, and that was enough. “It's okay to be worried about the kid,” she said, running fingers through his hair while he tried to calm his breathing.

“It's not real,” he managed hoarsely. “None of it. Nothing in this world is real, I shouldn't feel anything. So why… Why do I…”

“Does it matter if it's real?” she asked. “It feels real. Maybe it is, Obito.”

“Obito is dead,” he whispered. “At least the one you knew- Obito doesn't exist anymore.” Rin only shook her head, looking past him at nothing at all and smiling sadly.

“I don't believe you,” she said evenly. “You're still Obito. No matter how many names you take or how many masks you wear, I know who you are. And I think you do too.”

“It's not real,” he tried again, weakly.

“If it's not real, then why do you help Konan with the dishes? If it's not real, then why do you want to save Itachi’s brother so badly? Why do you make plans for Nagato’s dream in the supposed next world when you don't have to? Why do you stick around Deidara to make sure he doesn't get killed? Why do you help Sasori with his puppets? Why, Obito?”

“I can't be Obito,” he muttered quietly. “He’s dead. He died with you.”

“He is right here. He is sitting here with me. You're still you. You'll always be you.”

“B-But…. But Madara-”

“Madara is dead,” she said with finality, shaking her head. “Madara is a dead man now. You are the only thing that can bring him back, and you have a choice.”

“I've never had a choice.”

“You do now. Madara isn't here.”

“This is all just an illusion.” She smiled sadly.

“I'm an illusion, Obito. Your world is not.”

His dream didn't fade out from there. One second he was sitting in a dark dreamscape with his dead friend, and the next he was in the Akatsuki lair, laying in an armchair, sitting up and gasping for breath. His back hurt and his neck was aching from the weird position he dozed off in, and Obito could already feel the nausea of an inevitable hangover coming on. Still, he sat up properly, stretching his neck and running a hand through his short hair. Itachi was probably passed out in his room or throwing up already, and Obito had a hunch that he’d be feeling the same way pretty soon. He looked down at the floor and forced his eyes to focus. He didn't have time for a drunken hallucination within a drunken hallucination. But when he turned his head, he felt himself recoil and raise his hands to his face. The orange plastic from the ground winked back at him. Obito had taken his mask off. And now it was cracked.

#yeahhhh #lol anyway #was this short?#maybe #Obito knew most of those details about the massacre #obito #obito uchiha #uchiha massacre #akatsuki #kisame #Sasuke Uchiha #itachi uchiha #uchiha itachi #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #naruto au #unreality tw #madara uchiha

21 notes · View notes

simon-newman · 3 years

Text

Newman’s Anime Reviews - Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion

Hello and welcome again to the 2nd of my 2021 anime challenge review.

For February I’ve watched something that my friends were trying to make me watch for years.

It might actually be more than a decade that I’ve been putting this title off and they were quick to add this to my challenge list once the opportunity arised.

Were they right to recommend this title to me? Should I have watched this anime earlier? Those 10 years ago?

Perhaps. Still - I’m coming here with mixed feelings on this show. But… I’ll talk more about it in the review proper.

Today’s title is the 2006’s anime by Sunrise.

Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion

Now where do I even begin with this show? What even is this? What the hell is happening?

Well…

The Empire of Britannia is one of the 3 major political powers in the world of Code Geass - ruled by the Emperor Charles zi Britannia they invaded the country of Japan 10 years before the start of the plot.

Their absolute military dominance thanks to the use of cool mecha has led to unconditional surrender of Japan which is now known as Area 11.

It is there that our protagonist - Lelouch - the young Britannian student plans to take his revenge on the Emperor himself for what he’s done to him and his wheelchair-bound sister.

I feel that it is important to put emphasis on this last part here because this is the ultimate motivation for our MC. Something that’ll drive him forward no matter what.

He wants to create a safe world for his sister. That’s it.

Need to protecc.

The question that remains is: How?

How do a teenage boy banished to one of the colonies is supposed to change the world and cause a major power shift?

We get first glimpse at his supposed skill almost immediately - with Lelouch easily defeating an adult player in the game of chess. Nothing much so far but it’s an indication of his real power “shown” later on.

Lelouch is a genius… Or at least this is what the anime tries to convey to us. He is clearly smart and a gifted strategist with lots of charisma and a penchant for theatrics.

However - this is still not enough. That’s why something happens to push our protagonist forward at this stage. In a weird turn of events, a run in with anti-britannian terrorists and a top secret research subject Lelouch obtains the titular Geass.

What is a Geass? It is a power gifted to an individual which in case of Lelouch allows him to give anyone he establishes an eye contact with a single command that this person must follow.

This is actually one of the tame ones.

From there on Lelouch joins and reforms the “terrorists” into “Black Knights” - a Rebellion led by his alter-ego the masked man called Zero - and starts executing his plan to take revenge… I mean to make the world a safe place for Nunnally.

From there we follow Lelouch as his Rebellion grows while he himself learns the limits and drawbacks of his power and tries his best to hide his identity as Zero.

Initially the show is quite entertaining - especially when it comes to battle scenes where we get to see Lelouch improbable planning and tactical skills at work. As for the other parts…

Yeah… I should have watched this show those 10 years ago because right now the parts with MC’s school life just don’t do this for me… They really slow down the plot and while they do serve the purpose of establishing various plot-important details it’s just...

Well the pacing sucks.

Without any breaks and just the action sequences the anime would be very much rushed but the break parts at school just go on forever, developing into trivial stories used to deliver some little bit of exposition or character development. The balance is off and the show doesn’t get better until the mid point…

Speaking of which…

Nice mountain you’ve got there...

There’s a major shift that happens somewhere in the mid-point of the anime that is bothering me to this day.

Who is the bad guy?

It might seem like a trivial question to many.

Obviously it’s Britannia! With their world conquest, asshole Emperor, warmongering royals, discrimination of conquered nations they call Numbers (in case of Japanese it’s “Elevens”) and engaging in wanton destruction and genocide for no good reason. They’re basically the Nazis.

With the above in mind there’s nothing wrong with Lelouch being willing to use all means at his disposal to achieve his goals… Right?

Monsters need to be stopped.

That was kinda the thing until the Battle of Narita where the Black Knights’ tactics caused the destruction of a town.

Now - this by itself could have been used to drive the point home with the Rebellion losing a lot of PR. After all the town was in the JLF controlled territory, inhabited by the Elevens and stuff…

Well. You see - the creators of the show didn’t think that was enough and/or missed the opportunity.

First of all - there’s no PR backlash for the Black Knights whatsoever. Nobody cares. The Britannian are now leading the rescue and recovery operations in the area and… It’s just weird. Why would they suddenly bother?

Secondly - it suddenly turns out that the people in the enemy-controlled territory were… Britannians? SOMEHOW. This is made to inflict personal level suffering to MC and some other characters as one of the character’s relatives dies in the event.

Third of all - after this very point there’s a major change. We no longer get to see Britannians committing atrocities but do get Lelouch crossing line after a line in the pursuit of his goals.

I think the creators realized that to make it appear more grey vs grey they can’t show Britannians as complete monsters but… It really doesn’t feel to occur naturally here. Were the person in charge of Britannians change again? Yes - I could accept that they are a better person than the previous leader. It isn’t so. And even if it was it wouldn’t undo their previous actions and made the characters that stayed seem really inconsistent.

It’s a major turn off for me when consistency in storytelling takes a back seat for a point to be made.

Because Zero’s not edgy enough without it I guess...

There’s also another kind of inconsistency here when it comes to battles.

The cool mecha used by the Britannians are… Well. In the early parts they seem indestructible until the plot demands they’re not.

At first it seems that only other mecha have the weapons that can affect them. Then we see that some weapons do work BUT it is only when MC is commanding the battle.

It’s a magic wand that removes the plot armor from Britannians whenever Lelouch is there and often gives them to the allies.

Often - being the key word here.

One good thing is that it doesn’t stick. Plot-important characters don’t die but they are not immune to damage either. The mechas often get wrecked and require fixing. Lelouch himself is subject to this quite often as he’s not an outstanding pilot like others on his side.

It is thanks to that aspect of the action parts that the anime is not becoming one-sided and remains entertaining. You’re drawn to it to see what’s happening because it’s not just another battle.

Yes... Really entertaining battles...

I think it is becoming apparent what’s the issue here.

There are a lot of things done wrong with this anime. Things that don’t necessarily break it but I can’t just overlook them. Things that are putting me off. Inconsistency, bad pacing, weird editing where some scenes are cut extremely abruptly - as if to reduce time.

There’s also the usual issue of geniuses written by people who are not geniuses. Lelouch brilliancy is only guaranteed by the fact that people on the other side will do something stupid. Some of his actions are not the brightest and some are just downright stupid and easily could lead to his downfall were his enemies to have half a brain. Or worse - one action is such a poor choice it simply falls apart on it’s own - and you could expect it to the moment “it” happens (is there a point in keeping spoilers on this show? I’m talking about Geasing Shirley).

There’s also the braindead Suzaku - a subject so controversial on the Internet that I’ve hesitated to touch it here and decided to only reduce it to a small paragraph.

Yes. Suzaku is an idealistic foil to Lelouch. He serves his purpose. BUT. His idealism is stupid - not by the virtues he’s holding but by remaining blind to what is happening around him. He wants to end the discrimination without using violence but the Britannians are killing Elevens for no reason whatsoever. Time and time again the side he’s on goes against his principles and he still sticks to them. It is becoming less and less possible to emphasise with him with each incidence.

Still - there was a certain charm to this anime. It was fun to watch and only getting better the farther in I’ve gotten.

Not including the school drama.

All in all the score I was about to give was still going to be pretty low at this point. The anime was decent but far too flawed for my tastes… That was when the last story arc started.

The pizza...

I must say. The rug was pulled from under my feet.

Those events were really unexpected. Emotionally draining and yet entertaining as nothing before in this show.

So many lines have been crossed in an instant - there was no return. Not anymore. Shit was happening and it was a spectacle to watch. Some men just want to see the world burn. Duh. I watched events unfold and I enjoyed it very much until the very end.

The end of a 1st season that assured I WILL watch the 2nd one when I find the time (I didn’t so that it wouldn’t affect this review).

All in all - the show’s grand finale is the high point that offsets all the problems I’ve talked about earlier. It is simply done perfectly.

And speaking of endings. It is time to finally end this review as well...

Final Score: 7/10

Status: Completed Season 1

Sentence: Lelouch vi Britannia commands you: Watch Season 2!

Previous: Kimetsu no Yaiba

#Anime #Review #Code Geass #Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion #Lelouch Lamperouge #Lelouch vi Britannia #C.C.#Kallen Stadtfeld #Geass

26 notes · View notes

openheartthot · 4 years

Text

Sick Day

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 1,635

Warnings: This might be hard to read if you’ve been having trouble with a certain pandemic ~ahem~ so be warned there is a virus involved here. Also like one curse word.

Summary: Ethan can’t stay away when Camille comes down with the flu.

Y’all were so sweet with my first story that I’m back with another one today. Thanks to everyone that read and enjoyed, it really means a lot! :)

***

His knock echoes in the empty hallway, and Ethan shifts uncomfortably. He can’t just stand outside her apartment all day. At some point, he’s going to have to accept that she’s not answering the door. Still, he can’t help himself from raising his fist to the door and rapping his knuckles against the wood once more.

The knock is a bit harder than he means for it to be, a sign of his desperation. He needs to see her, needs to know that she’s okay. Until he can see her with his own eyes, every minute that he’s left standing out in the hallway is torture.

Finally, as Ethan is reaching for his phone to call Sienna Trinh and demand her assistance, the door slowly swings open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Camille standing in the doorway.

“Ethan?” Camille’s voice is raspy, and she wraps her arms around herself, shivering despite the oversized UPenn crew neck she’s wearing. Besides the sweatshirt, all she has on are a ridiculous pair of over-the-knee pink wool socks. As outrageous as the socks may be, Ethan’s mouth goes just a little bit dry at the sight of her bare thighs. “What are you doing here?” Camille asks, her confused tone wrenching Ethan’s attention away from her legs.

“Erm…I just thought I’d deliver these to you.” Ethan says, brusquely thrusting a thick stack of patient charts into her arms. The excuse sounds flimsy even as it leaves his mouth. “I heard you called in sick, so--”

“So you left Edenbrook to come give me my patient charts?” Camille interrupts, bemused. “You know we have digital copies of these, right?”

“Of course.” The silence between them stretches out for just long enough to become awkward. Ethan knows she’s waiting on a real explanation, and furthermore, he knows he owes her one. “I was…concerned. When Baz told me you wouldn’t be in, all I could think about was if you’d been hurt…or…” He swallows hard. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Ethan,” Camille reaches out and takes his hand. Ethan notes the heat emanating from her skin. “It’s just a virus. And we still haven’t had a chance to talk over everything yet. The last thing I wanted to do was drag you away from work to take care of me.”

It’s true. They still haven’t spoken about the kiss outside of Ethan’s apartment, or the kiss at Mass Kenmore, for that matter. Ethan’s so buried in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice Camille swaying slightly, letting go of his hand to grip the door frame for balance.

He immediately steps closer, steadying her with a hand on her waist. The back of his other hand, he uses to press delicately against her forehead. He had been expecting fever, but he’s mildly alarmed by the heat radiating from her skin.

“Sorry,” Camille mumbles, leaning into him gratefully. “I’ve just been having some vertigo. Could be a symptom of--”

“The common cold. Or influenza. Type A has been going around this year.” Ethan interjects. “And don’t apologize for being sick.”

“I know what the flu is.” Camille says indignantly. “I should’ve known you’d try to one-up me when I’m on my deathbed.” she pouts, the congestion in her voice bolstering her self-pitying tone. Ethan’s lips twitch into a smile.

“You’re delirious. Can I take you to bed?” He instantly regrets his choice of words as Camille lets out a loud peal of laughter, which quickly tapers off into a coughing fit. “I meant, you need to lie down.” He glares at her, and she grins back.

“Fine, you’re right.” Camille turns, starting to pull away from him and take an unsteady step in the direction of her bedroom. She doesn’t get very far before Ethan tugs her back to him, cradling her face in his large hands.

“Let me take care of you.” he says, gently stroking her cheekbone. “Please.” Ethan knows her roommates are all working double shifts, and he can’t bear to leave her here alone. He’s certain his feelings are written all over his face because Camille’s eyes soften immediately.

Before she can say anything, Ethan leans down and scoops her up with ease. He carries her bridal-style into her bedroom and lays her down in her bed, trying very very hard not to think about what happened the first time he saw the inside of this room. Or the second time, for that matter. The sight of her bare ass is not something he’s likely to forget.

Once she’s safely tucked into her bed, Ethan moves for the door, bracing himself to take stock of her kitchen. Camille and her roommates don’t seem very domestic, but hopefully they’ll have enough ingredients for soup. Camille’s hand reaches out and closes around his wrist before he can reach the door.

“Stay.” Her eyes are slitted, her hand hot on his arm, but he can’t say no to her.

He kicks off his shoes and unknots his tie, sitting on the bed beside her. He hesitates for only a moment before drawing her towards him and wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. He runs one hand over her tousled blonde locks, and Camille lets out a little sigh, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes.

The afternoon has bled into evening by the time Camille wakes up, and by then Ethan has relocated to the couch. He’s slowly combing through the stack of patient files he brought with him. He pulls off his glasses and looks up as Camille shuffles out of the bathroom. She’s obviously just gotten out of the shower, because her wet hair is tossed up in a messy bun, but she’s wearing the same outfit from before.

“I made soup.” Ethan offers, gesturing towards the kitchen. Camille rubs her eyes, and despite her bleary eyes and rumpled appearance, his heart melts at her shy smile.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” She reappears from the kitchen a few moments later, holding a bowl of soup in her hands. She takes a few steps closer to him, eyeing the chart in his hands. “Read it out loud.” she insists, settling onto the couch next to him and tucking her legs underneath her.

“This is the case we’re working on right now.” Ethan says. “It’s Gwyneth Monroe’s assistant, actually. She had her first seizure last week, and a physical exam revealed multiple muscular cysts. Gwyneth requested our team immediately.” Ethan fights hard not to roll his eyes. As much as he dislikes the obnoxious Pictagram influencer, her assistant does need medical attention.

Camille swallows a spoonful of soup, then taps the spoon against her lips. “Well, it’s gotta be Cysticercosis, right? Cysts caused by tapeworm eggs. If the larvae have traveled to her brain, that’d explain the seizures. Not to mention that it’s pretty obvious where the eggs came from.”

Ethan nods, marking down a few notes on the chart. “Exactly what I was thinking, Rookie. Good work. We can start her on anti-parasitics and anti-inflammatories first thing in the morning.”

Camille grimaces, setting her half-empty bowl of soup to the side. “All this talk of larvae and eggs kinda makes me lose my appetite.”

Ethan chuckles, and sets the stack of files down on the coffee table as well. “That’s probably enough work for tonight. You need to focus on getting better as soon as possible. Come here.” He opens his arms for her, and Camille gratefully shifts closer to him, letting him fold her into his comforting embrace. Holding her is so nice that he doesn’t even mind her wet hair dripping all over his shirt.

Ethan swings his legs onto the couch, stretching out so Camille can maneuver herself to lie on top of him. Ethan has to admit, those ridiculous socks certainly feel nice as Camille tangles her legs with his, settling on top of him so every part of her body is flush against his. He strokes the strip of skin just above the hem of her right sock, and smiles as he feels her smooth skin break out in goosebumps.

“Thank you for taking care of me today.” Camille whispers against his chest. “I know we still need to talk, but--”

“Shh.” Ethan commands softly, tilting her chin up so he can meet her eyes. “I’ll always take care of you.” A slight shiver runs through Camille’s body, and Ethan suddenly realizes how close he is to her. Without thinking, he closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers.

“Ethan!” Camille protests weakly, pulling back after a kiss that is entirely too short for Ethan’s liking. “You’ll get sick.” she scolds him.

Ethan grunts. “I don’t care.” He grips her chin in his fingers, returning her lips to his. Her warm fingers reach up to touch his face, skating over his beard as she kisses him back. Even with the dry heat of her fevered skin and the taste of cherry cough drops on her tongue, she’s still the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He thinks he could probably keep kissing her forever, but eventually she breaks away to cough, which for some reason he finds endearing rather than disgusting. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, and she nestles her head into the crook of his neck, clearly intending to fall asleep again right there on top of him.

“I’ll take care of you,” Camille promises sleepily, “when you inevitably get sick from this.” And that’s when Ethan realizes that he really must be in over his head. Because if falling ill means he’ll get to spend another day curled up in bed with Camille, then he can’t think of a single thing he’d like to do more.

***

My taglist consisting of one lovely individual: @edgiestwinter

#open heart #oph #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #playchoices

170 notes · View notes

bonjour-rainycity · 4 years

Text

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 6

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623283543296049154/the-long-way-around-chapter-5

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 1954

Warnings: None

Jasper’s POV

I sigh, trying to concentrate on the papers before me. Once Y/n came into our lives, I had decided to halt my studies at school. She arrived during the summer so it wasn’t like anyone would notice my sudden, and perhaps suspicious, disappearance from class, but my family agreed that we could really only afford for one or two of us to deviate from our cover story. So once classes resumed in the fall, all but I continued attendance at the local university. Once she found out, Y/n had lamented at my loss of education and insisted I continue studying at least something of interest. She didn’t seem to understand how little a year or two out of school would affect me, given how many times I’ve gone through both high school and varying post-graduate degrees. But still, the gesture was kind so I agreed and have sent spent a few hours every day since that conversation brushing up on my world history. Right now I’m camped in the basement where we keep our extensive library (excluding the volumes found in Carlisle’s office and our individual rooms) digging through first-hand accounts of Otto von Bismarck’s rise to influence. It’s interesting enough, but still, my attention is elsewhere. At least half of my focus is upstairs, carefully monitoring Y/n’s moods. She’s become much more even as time passes, but still, not keeping tabs on her makes me nervous. Newborns are so unpredictable and so reliant on their emotions that at any moment, she could react badly and cause herself or someone else harm. It’s not that I don’t trust her, it’s just that I know how this goes. And I would hate myself if anything happened to my family or Y/n, especially if I could have done something to prevent it.

She’s been struggling recently with missing her family and friends, and that’s always difficult. For most of us, we had been immediately taken away from our loved ones plus had been changed during a time when news recordings and social media didn’t exist. Y/n does not have that luxury. At least once a week, she’ll find some news source with reports from her parents or come across a social media page of one of her friends. It breaks her heart. Secretly, I had gone to Carlisle and discussed the benefits of moving. It only adds to Y/n’s pain being only a handful of miles from the people she loves, and perhaps moving away would aid in her healing. But Carlisle shot the idea down, citing our advantageous location and the dangers of moving cross-country with a volatile newborn. So, instead, I sought to distract her. One of the reasons she felt bad about stopping my schooling is because her own had been paused suddenly due to her untimely death. So, I loaned her a few of my old textbooks, which she has been studying relentlessly. Carlisle also offered his services, and it’s not uncommon to find Y/n perched in one of the chairs in his office grilling him about everything under the medical sun. All in all, she’s adjusting well. Still, I worry. At the drop of a dime, her control could slip or her emotions could get the best of her. That’s why, when I feel her switch from a relaxed, curious state to one of annoyance, I take notice, and listen.

“You really need to let your human life go, Y/n. At this point, you’re only dragging out your own pain. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway. That life is as lost to you as your soul.”

Now I feel annoyance at my brother’s predictable morose attitude. Even to this day, Edward grapples with losing humanity and, according to him, his soul, and often pushes those feelings onto others. As far as I can tell, Y/n doesn’t believe vampirism has damned her, and I would like to keep Edward from putting those thoughts in her head. They simply aren’t true.

Y/n responds with a biting tone. “They’re my loved ones, Edward, not yours. Please don’t tell me how to deal with losing them. If you don’t like my thoughts, stay out of my head.”

Rosalie chimes in, always interested in fighting with Edward. “Really, Edward, back off. You’re the one who helped Bella keep her precious humans in our life and risked our exposure, so you’ve no room to talk here.” It was the wrong thing to say. Y/n’s anger flares.

“Hypocrite! That is such a double standard!”

I feel Edward’s anger increase too, and I know they’re filling a keg with powder and readying their matches. I hurry upstairs.

“It’s different. Bella was going through a lot and-”

“And I’m not?” Y/n’s incredulity is plain.

Rosalie scoffs.“What precious Bella wants, she gets. The rest of us are expected to live by a different set of rules.”

“Okay guys, let’s take this down a notch.” Emmett intervenes as I get to the top of the stairs.

“I agree.”

Y/n’s eyes flicker to mine, and I register her guilt. Why?

Whatever’s in her mind causes Edward to scoff. “You’re not bothering him with your emotions, he lives for this stuff. It makes him feel like he has some kind of purpose.”

“You are so pessimistic,” Y/n groans, putting her head in her hands. “Whatever. I am not doing this anymore. I’m going for a walk. Jasper?”

Immediately, I’m at her side, not even needing to think about joining her. It’s just natural, at this point, to be with her.

She smiles tightly as we walk out the back door, and I can tell she’s trying to calm herself down. “Sorry I interrupted your studying.”

I shrug, honestly not bothered at all. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nice to get outside….The leaves are just starting to change.”

Now, her smile becomes much more natural. “Aren’t they gorgeous? It’s even better now that I can see them with these new eyes. And I can hear the crunch when I step on them and the smell of fall is just,” she sighs, a dreamy look in her eye. But then I feel the sadness creep back in.

I’m hesitant to ask, not wanting to upset her further. “Are you alright?”

She bites the inside of her cheek and looks away. When she finally speaks again, her voice is unsteady. “I just really, really miss my family. It’s hard to leave them and come to terms with…what I am. And of course I’m so grateful that I have all of you,—well,” she chuckles darkly, “today I could do without Edward but that’s beside the point.” She trails off, lost in her thoughts.

I look into the horizon, enjoying the light of the setting sun but regretting the added sadness she’s suffered on behalf of my brother. “I’m sorry he upset you. I can talk to him tomorrow-”

“Oh, that’s alright,” she waves a hand, smiling softly. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with your siblings? Argue?”

I chuckle, nodding. We certainly do argue.

She turns to face me then, stopping her walking. “Thank you though.”

The sunlight filters through the trees, hitting our skin and illuminating us. She gasps softly, and I sense her wonderment. She’s seen what the sun does to our skin many times, but it never ceases to amaze her. It’s really sweet. Slowly, she reaches up and lightly trails her fingers over the side of my face where the sun hits. I freeze, not wanting to make any movement that would cause her to stop. I enjoy her touch much more than I would like to admit. It feels so nice to be handled so softly, compared to the harshness I’d become accustomed to in my past. I close my eyes.

“Beautiful,” she breathes, letting her hand fall.

I smile, enjoying this moment. “It is one of the more mesmerizing attributes of this life.”

Now, I feel her playfulness. “You know what else is great? The speed.”

My mood soon matches hers. “Wanna race?”

She frowns, turning in the direction of the house. “Oh, no I think we should-”

And then she’s off, laughing wildly. I shake my head, realizing I’ve just been tricked and, with a laugh of my own, take off at a sprint after her.

{***}

“Jasper,” she starts, sitting down on the rock next to me. “Where are all the other vampires?”

“All over, really, though most tend to avoid especially sunny cities.” I shake water from the river off my hands. A few seconds prior, I’d reached in to grab some pebbles to skip. “We’re the largest coven in the area. Anyone else around here is likely a loner or part of a nomad coven.”

She pauses, thinking. “Doesn’t anyone ever come to visit?”

“Very rarely, and Alice can sometimes give us some warning, though not always. But the nomads that visit usually leave very quickly. We don’t allow them to hunt in this area, as it could raise suspicion and cause problems for us. That tends to make extended stays unappealing.”

“Well, what about friends?”

I smirk. “Vampires don’t really have friends.”

This confuses her. “Then what are you and your family? You’re certainly not just acquaintances.”

I smile, thinking of the best way to explain the complicated relationships between vampires. “Let me rephrase: most vampires don’t have friends. Carlisle theorizes that, because we don’t drink human blood, we’re less animalistic, a little less reliant on our instincts. Instincts that, under normal circumstances, would keep us from forming bonds because other vampires generally pose a threat to getting a meal.” She nods, understanding. “Because we are slightly more, human, for a lack of a better word, we do enjoy friendships and closer relationships, like I have with my adopted siblings. Realistically, though, that’s not how it works at all. For normal vampires, the only type of close relationship they experience is between mates. Those relationships last forever though, so I guess it’s enough to satisfy the need for connection.”

Y/n raises her eyebrows, disbelieving. “You’re telling me immortal vampires are monogamous for life?”

I chuckle. “Apparently, once you find the right one it’s just natural. I’ve seen it happen, felt the feelings they feel. It’s intense.”

She considers this, but says nothing further. Until, “have you ever felt that way?”

Subconsciously, I study the scars on my hands. “I thought I did.”

“With Maria,” she guesses. Y/n knows most of my history, so it’s no surprise that she’s able to put the pieces together of my involvement with Maria. Strangely, I find myself wishing that I could say no, that I’ve never been with with anyone like that. Or, at least, that I’d never been involved with Maria like that.

“Have you,” I counter to distract from my sudden regret.

She shakes her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “My human memories are fading by the day, but I’m pretty sure the answer is no. My twenty years of life were nothing to write home about.”

Now it’s my turn to smile, somewhat ruefully. “You’ve got millennia ahead of you. I’m sure at least something notable will occur.”

She chuckles, shrugging. “Perhaps. For now, I should just focus on making it through the rest of this year.”

“We’ll get you through it,” I answer, confident.

She hugs her knees into her chest, feeling peaceful. “I believe you.” Then, her playfulness returns. “But step one should be feeding me, because I’m starving.”

I chuckle, stand, and offer her a hand. She grabs it, allowing me to pull her up. “Lead the way.”

A/n Let me know what you thought of this chapter/the characters and if you would like to be added to the tag list! I hope you all have a good day/night <3

xx,

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623476978292555776/the-long-way-around-chapter-7

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo

157 notes · View notes

nightwingmyboi · 4 years

Note

I'll always remember Devin Grayson as the woman who wrote Nightwing getting raped by a supervillain and then tried to pass it off as "wasn't rape, just nonconsensual"...which is LITERALLY THE DEFINITION OF RAPE, YOU HACK!

MSL: Male rape is a topic rarely touched on in comics. Why is it suited to bring it into Nightwing?

DEVIN GRAYSON: For the record, I’ve never used the word “rape,” I just said it was nonconsensual (I know, aren’t writers frustrating? *smiles*) [x]

Yeah there is no other word for what happened in Nightwing #93 other than rape...I can’t imagine why she would say otherwise. She did technically apologize, but that was ten or so years later. So she eventually, finally did come out and just admit what everyone already knew, but she was still way too late to actually fix any of the damage she caused with how she completely mishandled things. I also don’t think her little apology begins to cover all the issues I have with her.

Devin’s characterization of Dick is just so, so freaking twisted to me. Really, I don’t think there is a Nightwing writer I despise more than Devin Grayson. The interviews I’ve read from her give me the creeps:

DG: The way I think about him [Dick], he likes everyone, he’s sort of a contact junkie - just this incredibly physical (and attractive) person who lives wholly in the corporeal plane and responds with - processes things in - his body before his head or heart. I imagine that he can be hypnotized by a touch the way other people can be stopped dead in their tracks by the sight of money or the promise of true love. I think he likes kicking and kissing in almost equal measure - except kissing edges out ahead because you can do it for longer and it leads to nicer things. [x]

Yeah that’s fucking unsettling. This is Devin being gross and projecting her sexual fantasy’s onto Dick. And she very much invented this extreme view of Dick as obsessively physical. Pre-52 Dick was always written as a master strategist, an unparalleled leader, one of the best detectives in the world, outside of Devin’s writing. Her fantasy version of Dick doesn’t mesh with that...Dick wouldn’t be capable leader if he’s “thinking with his body” (whatever that means) all the time. He’s survived this long because he’s intelligent and logical. Frankly, Devin’s take on things doesn’t even make any freaking sense. But it gets worse:

DDG: I’m writing a novel for WB right now that he’s in and I have one scene where Batman has to stop a fight before it gets out of control, and most of the people he can just yell or glare at, but with Dick, he just stands really close behind him and Dick freezes. That’s not supposed to be a sexual thing (though it is kinda hot! ::laughs::), it’s an understanding on Bruce’s part that his physical proximity will speak just as quickly and loudly to Dick as his voice, maybe even be processed faster.

What the actual fuck. You’ve probably guessed it based on how that little scenario played out. Devin ships Dick with Bruce.

DG: And now think about being a very physical and naturally gregarious and loving person and growing up with someone like Bruce. Then add in the confusion about his status - a “ward” is something you stop being the minute you turn eighteen. Having already lost his parents and then hurling into adolescence at the speed he did...in my personal version of the story, he develops sexual desire and social anxiety about the future at the same time, and this leads to tremendous confusion, on his part, about his role in Bruce’s life. He can’t be a ward forever, in the back of his head he knows he won’t be Robin forever...what is he to this man who is at once his best friend and personal savior, personal god? “Son” is what they eventually settle on, but I think when Dick was in his late teens, the idea of “lover” must have run through his mind (which means, really, as we’ve already discussed, it ran through his body).

Wild that Dick is usually written as incredibly intelligent and emotionally cognizant (was able to puzzle out Damian’s complex motivations and needs when no one else in Damian’s life could for example) and yet Devin thinks he’s not able to sort out that he’s not supposed to make sexual advances towards his father. And by wild I mean stupid as fuck. And, just fyi, Devin goes with the version of events where Bruce took Dick in when he was eight years old! So he’s pretty fucking young when this is all happening! Just when you thought it couldn’t get more disgusting.

Eventually, much later, Dick gets distracted by other relationships and is able to ease up enough on Bruce for Bruce to relax into his own comfort-level of kindness and affection again (once the threat of sexuality has been removed) and they carry on more or less unharmed. But the relationship remains incredibly powerful and intense for Dick, who ends up feeling apologetic, rejected, and confused on top of all the other issues we already know exist between the two of them. Dick responds to Bruce - or really I should say Batman, since that’s who his relationship is with - on every single level.

So, according to Devin, Dick views Bruce as his “personal god” and is incredibly submissive to and possessive of him. That’s why Devin’s writing is littered with scenes like this:

Gotham Knights #17

Where Dick acts incredibly awkward and “apologetic” about dating Barbara, because of how he previously made sexual advances towards Bruce in Devin’s fantasy world. Also with Devin, Dick spends a lot of his time stuttering every time Bruce is in the room, even though he’s usually a smooth talker, very chatty, and that’s because of the supposed “intensity” of Bruce and Dick’s relationship. And then there are scenes like this:

Gotham Knights #18

Where Dick uncharacteristically and disproportionately loses his cool at the slightest insinuation against Bruce and is reduced to an angry hot head. Dick has been noted to be incredibly level headed; he’s also famous for being a mediator among the hero community...this behavior is a complete departure from the way he would normally act under other writers. Dick’s also been one to level plenty of criticisms towards Bruce himself. This sudden personality change where Dick thinks Bruce can do no wrong, where no one can criticize Bruce in Dick’s presence without him absolutely blowing up, where he suddenly can’t control his emotions over the littlest things...it really exists primarily in Devin’s writing. It’s incredibly OOC behavior and it’s rooted in Devin’s sexual fantasies frankly.

Devin’s writing is also where Dick, despite being incredibly dedicated and monogamous in all of his previous relationships, suddenly became a womanizer. Literally, everyone was written as wanting to get into Dick’s pants: Rose Wilson was reduced to a giddy teenager because of Dick, random women in the streets would comment on how cute Nightwing was, a mob boss’s daughter who was only 15 years old was obsessed with Dick and made advances, Dick had a one night stand with Huntress because she reminded him of Bruce, Bruce called Dick “Hunk Wonder,” Dick undressed in front of fucking Deathstroke (and there was a newspaper with “Richard Wilson” on it as a sly little wink towards the audience), psycho vigilante Tarantula is obsessed with Dick to the point of raping him, the list goes on. If you want more samplings of how freaking disgusting and sex-obsessed Devin was when it came to Dick, look no further than her gross Inheritance book, where she ships Dick with everyone from Green Arrow to Aquaman (here are some quotes if you’re a masochist). And since Dick “thinks with his body” or whatever, Devin’d write him as receptive (or very oblivious) when it comes to this attention.

Gotham Knights #10

Nightwing (1996) #107

Another thing that made me extremely uncomfortable is how Devin would always have strangers and villains, especially older men--people who Dick very much did not know and wouldn’t appreciate being in his personal space--be all grabby with him. Please leave him alone.

Nightwing and Huntress #2

There Dick is, “hypnotized” in place by Huntress’s touch. Kill me. It is also especially messed up that Devin suddenly turned Dick into some sexual, warm-blooded hot head at the same time as she decided to introduce him as Romani.

Q: How could him being Romani be used to inform his characterization?

It reinforces his “otherness” where Bruce is concerned in what I think is a useful, interesting way...It also presents the opportunity for there to be a slight chip on his shoulder, which maybe speaks to his scrappiness. It also maybe gives him a slightly deeper way to relate to someone like Helena--someone who is white but other--and gives the people who love (or lust after) him a potential cultural excuse for feeling as bewitched as they sometimes do. I also just love the idea of Bruce occasionally calling him “hot blooded” just to mess with him, because Dick would of course deny being so in an extremely hot-blooded manner. [x]

Her feeding into the fetishizing of biracial individuals is just disgusting and wrong. If there’s a racist stereotype available Devin really goes out of her way to make sure she includes it in her writing huh.

Gotham Knights #20

And Bruce being a racist jerk is not charming Devin, it’s terrible. Barbara used slurs also, and was very dismissive of Dick’s reaction to Bruce’s actions...that was also horrible. It’s awful that Dick’s own family would apparently treat him this way. Obviously, Dick isn’t the only one that Devin would write out of character.

It’s all just so messed up to me, I can’t stand it. When I first read her comics, even when it wasn’t blatant like above, I would feel something subtly off...and once I read her interviews I can’t help but notice these horrible underlying insinuations in all of her work, in so many seemingly “innocent” scenes. There are a lot of big things she’s known for (her horrible treatment of Dick’s Romani heritage and his rape for example) but all these subtle, insidious little details that people don’t even really register...they are equally frustrating to me. Seeing sects of the fandom pick up these details (like, the idea that Dick doesn’t understand personal boundaries, the idea that he’s a hot head, the idea that he’s a womanizer, etc.) when I know a lot of it stems nearly solely from Devin’s crappy characterization and writing of Dick...it’s hard.

Q: Further to that, if Dick is gay, what kind of guy is his type?

DG: ...Type isn’t as important as passion and opportunity. Because of his psycho-sexual makeup, the other key factor would be a sense that he means something to that other man, that his “surrender” is making that man happy, allowing him to bring pleasure to someone (as he was never allowed to do for Bruce). There’s also a sense, if I may be so bold, of needing to be “caught” and “held down” - this going back to the trauma of losing his parents...being strong and passionate and heroic and virile and loving with a woman is fantastic, he lives for that. But he lost both parents. There is also a part of him that longs to be pinned down and loved a little bit savagely and hurt just enough to reassure him that he’s alive. Man, I’m totally gonna get fired when this comes out....

Literally makes me want to barf. That is supposed to be a professional, official writer at DC. Could go on forever.

#devin grayson #imma go vomit now #ask #nightwing #dick grayson #batman #rape #rape cw #comics #DC comics #character analysis #characterization #negative

146 notes · View notes