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justpoliteconversations · 2 months

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Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 3)

The house does not make a home, but a home can make a man.

The trash pile has grown again. It's spilling out of the bin.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The house is bigger than you remember it being from the game. For one, there's a sectioned off washroom hidden partially under the loft stairs and a full kitchen area in the left rear of the house. The ceiling is also ridiculously high for a one story (technically two) house, but you let that detail slide. It's to your- Link's, benefit, after all.

Another thing, upgrades are not offered automatically here. Though that should've been obvious in hindsight and you're a bit embarrassed to admit it'd slipped your mind. Most people would decorate and furnish their own homes with either their old furniture or newly bought.

That's what the many, many shops the game never had reason to show were for, after all.

Therein led to your current dilemma.

Practicality or comfort? The large thin rug with dark patterns, or a smaller plush one with elegant designs embroidered at the edges? Red covers? Blue, white, gray? All of them perhaps? Maybe just three?

Does Link prefer cast iron or the wok? Steel forks or maybe chop sticks? A full set of pots and pans, or just two or three good ones for repeated use? Which set of knives? The specialty set or a general use one?

Should the loft have a rug too? Should you get both? Should you get three? What about the washroom?

Towels? A vase...

Dumb idea. No vases.

Should there be two beds? When Link frees Zelda from the castle, surely the poor woman won't be made to live there in that festering monster's nest of a ruin. And having been trapped there for a century as the world outside moved forward (after having been royalty nonetheless), would she even know how to live on her own?

Would it be presumptuous of you to already set up for her arrival before Link even properly remembered who she was? You didn't want to make Link feel obligated to fufill your assumptions like that. He already had so much on his shoulders. He didn't need you to add more.

So, only one bed. Sheets?

"Jus' get them all, ya cluckin' mother cucco." Adino snapped waspishly, thin brows pulled down into a severe looking glare. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall closest to the 'Odds and Ends' shop's door, pointedly.

You barely spared him a glance, used to his attitude after having known him for nearly three years. And honestly, it was all for show anyway. Adino loved shopping with you, but the spiteful little shit would never admit it. Even under pain of death.

'Jus' making sure the walkin' rupee bag doesn't fall dead to an ill fated breeze.' He'd snark if ever questioned why he was following you around on his days off.

Lies, of course. The truth is he's lonely. So very lonely and too hurt yet to reach out to anyone else for companionship.

The man he'd called father for 14 years of his short life suddenly throws him out of the only home he'd known with barely the clothes on his back. All after finding out his recently departed wife had been having affairs. And the kicker, the bastard claims he supposedly doesn't even know if Adino's his or not (despite them having the exact same eyes and brows).

It'd been convenient though, you'd give him that. Just washed his hands of the situation entirely. Started fresh with a new wife and got rid of the unnaturally (Adino had parroted coldly, like a curse and a confession breathed in the same breath) effeminate son that may or may not be his.

No stings attached. Just living comfortably on his late wife's family property and shacking up with her younger sister.

And that abandoned son running, running, running across Hyrule. Until he dropped right outside of Hateno, quiet and hurting and nearly driven mad with hateful, writhing loathing.

You pull yourself from those thoughts. It's not your business. Adino may have shared that information with you during his mandatory background check, but that doesn't mean it's any of your business.

Even if the boy is living with you, and has been for the last three years.

(Even if you already ruined that man's fletching business. Even if you never told Adino why that man'd taken a very long walk off a very tall cliff.

Even if Adino knew and left flowers on your desk every year on that day ever since.)

"I'll take them all. As well as the rugs, towels and curtains, please. Oh. And that tapestry. Yes. The one with the apples."

Adino snorted, rolling his eyes, and you smiled. A merchant's got to advertise wherever possible, after all.

The older, greying woman behind the counter nodded, glancing over to two younger women (her granddaughters, twins and five years orphaned. turned 17 last Fall) waiting unobtrusively near the back of the shop. They didn't need any more instruction than that, swiftly gathering your choices and folding them into neatly wrapped bundles.

You swear this family had to have some sheikah blood in them somewhere. Even if they had pitch black hair and the darkest grey eyes you've ever seen. They were just too quiet and efficient to be normal Hyrulians. (And were little known for their discretion above all else.)

You tipped the women for thier help. They thanked you with a quiet tilt of their perfectly kept heads, before returning to their preferred corner in the far back.

You didn't bother to barter with this woman. You paid full price for everything, and then tipped her too.

Four gold rupees. And a note, which she took with a nod and a knowing glint in her eyes.

(Because they were known for their discretion, and you appreciated that more than anything.

You knew she understood the flowers you left on her desk every year on the same day.

And you knew she'd understand this too.)

You left, but not before catching one of the twins (the one with the blue head cloth and lip rouge) staring longingly after Adino's back as he marched from the store in a dramatic huff. Her sister hiding a probable grin behind her red painted hand.

'Interesting. But not my problem.'

---

Link looked up the curved path to Hateno's guarded gate as he sheathed his guardian sword, the black mist of two hopelessly mangled bodies blowing away in the strong mountainside winds. Further back still was the semi-conscious groan of a young woman surrounded by fallen mushrooms.

Link ignored her slowly rising form, having checked her vitals earlier before being ambushed by a pair of bokoblins. He knew she'd be fine, and honestly, if she was sneaking around monster infested forests for mushrooms (Link could still hear the snorting of the beasts further past the treeline) then she must be able to take a hit or two and come out okay.

She must have had the same thoughts because she merely dusted herself off, picked up her fallen produce and made for the trees once more. Barely sparing Link a backwards wave before disappearing into the thick underbrush.

Link blinked after her. And sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

So. That happened.

Link let it roll off his back easily enough. He had more important issues to deal with. Such as was it appropriate for him to just show up at your (and now his) doorstep fresh from the road and smelling every bit of it.

He discreetly sniffed under his arm and grimaced.

Surely you'd understand. You and him were connected after all, and you knew his name and knew he'd be coming to Hateno. A little roadside reek shouldn't be a big surprise.

Yet. He couldn't shake the self-consciousness. The irrational fear that you'd look at him and expect more than what you got.

Like that old man who was actually a dead person. Like that Impa woman, and everyone in that little village she lived in.

For how quickly he'd steamrolled through the untamed wilds of Hyrule just to meet you, he was oddly reluctant to continue now that he was at your metaphoric (and soon literal) doorstep.

He glanced down at himself, taking himself in with a critical eye.

The Sheikah armor he wore (it had been under 10,000 rupees, he checked) was covered in dust, grim and the unflattering stains of sweat, dried bloody drool (from that unfortunate incident with the bokoblin horse), grass and meat grease. His hair was so filthy it was nearly brown despite that equally unfortunate incident with the octorok having put him in the water several times (strong inconsistent winds make aiming bows hard, he'd discovered).

Hopefully you wouldn't be disgusted. He hoped you understood that he wasn't- well-

He wasn't who he used to be. Apparently.

"Link." A flat voice called out, and Link nearly jumped to attention at the unexpected interruption. He nearly reached for his sword too, before he stopped himself.

When Link looked up and met dark gray eyes, his heart started to tightened.

'Is that you, AM?' His eyes asked earnestly, wide and round with quiet searching. For recognition. For understanding. For anything at all.

Instead he got a slow, dispassionate blink and confusion as the woman spoke into the silence between them. "AM instructed me to lead you home, Master Link."

Link pointed to himself. "Master?" He rasped out quietly, voice rough and unpleasant even to his own ears. Nothing to say for the pain it caused at the base of his throat.

Without missing a beat the young woman nodded once, the blue bandana holding her dark hair back catching slightly in the wind. Blue painted lips barely moving as she said. "Yes. I will explain more once we arrive at your home."

Link nodded, still uncertain but trusting enough of this strange woman who knew the name (Alis? Nickname? Title, perhaps?) of his sheikah slate partner.

Tomorrow, he would be given a small journal detailing many of the dangers and wonders of this beautiful, wild world he now lived in. And he wouldn't be so trusting anymore.

And he'd have bananas, apparently. So many bananas.

But that's for tomorrow. Today?

Today was the first time he walked across the old, but sturdy footbridge. The first time he glanced over at the shrine glowing faintly to his left, peeking from behind a small cluster of buildings.

It was the first day he stood on the threshold of his (and your) new home. The first time since awakening he felt the beginning of heartbreak as he realized you were not there to greet him. That you would not be living with him. Ever.

('For now,' He thought in quiet defiance.)

And the first time since he opened his eyes in that dark, eerily glowing shrine he felt loved. When his eyes adjusted to the darker light of the house and found a home waiting for him.

Not just an empty building with four walls and a bed, but a rug with pretty dark patterns under a heavy wooden table. A bowl of apples at its center, with thick candles at either side. An intricately sewn tablecloth just slightly hanging over the sides in delicate little weaves.

He felt loved when he walked around the front room, boot-heavy steps thumping softly on polished hardwood floors, slowly taking in the space (the blue woman waiting patiently at the door). The small wooden sculptures upon carefully arranged tables, cute and quirky banners and tapestries brightening up the dimly lit room (one was slightly lower than the rest, another was slightly off-center, and Link felt warm at the imperfections). Sunflowers, a bird, a rock formation, an apple tree, a cat with a bell.

A sword and shield rack. Two armor stands. A few weapon's plaque hanging above them.

The food in the kitchen pantry. Completely unnecessary, but for the way it made Link feel. The way it made his throat tighten and itch. The thought that this was put here because it was meant to be his home.

And so much more. So many things he couldn't even remember the uses for. So many bits and pieces that slot together into the jumbled mess that is a home. It was more than he had the heart to acknowledge without weeping.

Noticing his brewing turmoil, the blue woman spoke. "Perhaps a bath and bed before we speak of business. AM said you may be tired when you arrived."

Link nodded, unwilling to speak and risk his voice breaking entirely. Instead he allowed himself to be led to the washroom, holding back tears when he found bottles of sweet smelling soaps and hair cleansers on a small table beside a stool above a drain. A tub beside it all, shaped like a bowl but with a drain at the bottom and a water spout at the rim.

He looked to the blue woman, overwhelmed and dazed by the strength of his emotions.

Something in her softened at his lost expression. "Let me bath you, Master Link." She said, keeping her voice even, though her dark eyes were gentle. "Just until you learn how to do it yourself."

Link nodded. Quiet and trusting in his vulnerability.

She helped him undress. She made him sit on the stool as she gathered what she needed.

Her hands were so, so gentle as they brought a warm, wet towel over his dirtied, battered skin.

He nearly fell into a doze twice as she washed his hair three times until the suds came off white. He was only minimally aware of the strong (deceptively strong) hands that helped him into the tub. He nearly slumped into the side of the bowl, body completely lax within the warm, welcoming water.

He opened his eyes from one blink to the next and blankets (thick and soft, smelling of fresh soaps and linen) were being drawn over his shoulders. The pillow beneath him gave under the weight of his head, as did the mattress he laid upon.

Every part of him felt warm and soft and safe. He smelt like flowers and sweet nuts, his skin felt clean and supple under the tender caress of his nightclothes. The further dimming lights eased him further down into slumber.

"Rest well, Master Link. I will guard you as you sleep."

Link couldn't even bring himself to respond, lost as he was to the call to nothingness.

He was lost not long after.

"One day." The blue woman said softly, sitting beside the unconscious man with an amused smile. "I will teach you to identify sleeping oils before they reach you. But not tonight. For tonight you sleep. Tomorrow, you will learn to be wary."

She wiped her delicate finger tips across his relaxed forehead, a slight sheen left in their wake.

"Sweet dreams, Courageous One."

---

Link,

I apologize that I could not be there to greet you properly. However, after careful consideration I decided it would be safest for our paths to remain separate at this time.

Herein this text, you will find all relevant information I've amassed over the years regarding our world and the dangers within it. Including, but not limited to, the continued threat of the Yiga clan.

May you never have to make use of the less savory of this knowledge.

Yours truly,

---

To the shadows I return.

#botw link #isekai reader #link x reader #link x you #botw x reader

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livin-life675 · 1 year

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John Constantine was at the end of his rope, literally and figuratively at the moment. He had maybe two inches from the frayed end as he gripped it for dear life, a roiling pit of red under him. He didn’t even want to know what was down there, all he knew was that it was demon magic and he could already feel it reaching out for him, trying to drag him down.

He had been a bloody idiot, falling for the trap hook, line, and sinker. He knew when he arrived at the old house that it stunk of old magic, but had wrongly, or rightly, assumed that it was the work of the ancient text he was hunting down. Sure, part of the huge aura was the text, but it mainly came from the hell pit lurking under the rotten floorboards

And then the trap had been sprung, the book ripped away from him, the floorboards disintegrating under him, and he left with only seconds to cast a spell, a binding one he had truly cocked up judging by the rope he held instead of being temporarily bound to this plane of the world instead of being drug down to hell.

“Hang on! Sam, S-14, Tuck, shift him!”

A young, and distinctly American voice, calls out orders, echoing strangely in the house. John as a second to process this before thick vines, with strange glowing flowers, wrapped around his middle and yanked him from the pit, flinging him across the study.

As he goes airborne, he is able to catch a glimpse of a group of three kids, because they couldn’t be older than twenty. Two boys, and a girl, all with a haze of green surrounding them, the pale, black-haired boy the brightest. All three stunk of death magic, something that immediately put John on alert.

And then he was landing in a pile of the same, glowing green flowers, and his view was blocked by the sheer volume. He can’t even move to see what is going on, something holding and cocooning him, although it didn’t feel malicious, and judging by the fact that he could feel the deep ache in his bones retreating, something was healing him.

The sounds of a fight rang out for a few moments before everything fell silent, and the oppressive demonic energy disappeared, along with the sound of the vortex. Slowly, the flowers receded around him, allowing him to scramble up from the floor.

The group of three seemed to be doing a celebratory chitchat, hi-fives, and compliments all around. It was utterly annoying, but it did give John a moment to take in the trio. The first one he noticed was the pale, black-haired boy, just for the sheer amount of death magic still radiating off him, while the other two were more muted now. He was built like a swimmer, lean, but strong, and with that jawline and blue eyes, he was doing a great impression of a Wayne. Tracing up his arm, through his shirt sleeve, and arching around his neck was a lichen burn, death magic radiating from it.

The next obvious was the goth, the dark-haired girl who had saved him from the pit with the vines. Dressed in a pair of ripped, black jeans with a black t-shirt, she was the most unique looking one out of the lot, with black tattoos of vines and flowers going from her fingers, up her arms, under her shirt, and even up her neck, parroting the black-haired boy's scar, except that she had designs on both arms.

The last of the trio was the remaining boy, hair hidden under a beret. He was dressed similarly to the other two, in casual jeans and t-shirts. As John was learning, each had a specific thing unique to them, and it appeared that his was the elaborate designs around his eyes, dark but still able to almost blend into his natural skin color. Each of the tattoos, and the scar were radiating death magic, and it made John incredibly uncomfortable.

“Hey, are you okay? I know we cut it a bit close,” The blue-eyed boy asks, noticing how shaken John feels, his face morphing into concern.

“Cut it close!? What the bloody hell are three Americans doing here?!” John splutters, preparing a set of spells…just in case.

“Saving your ass apparently,” The girl snarks, crossing her arms with an unimpressed look on her face.

“And we’re technically not Americans anymore,” The blue-eyed boy explains easily, seeming far to relaxed for fighting off a demon and closing a portal to hell.

“Yes you are! What are you doing here?! Did that old bat hire you as well?” Constantine demands, magic building in his hands.

“One, stop it with the magic shit, it won’t do anything to us. Two, no, the “old bat” didn’t hire us. We were traveling close by when Danny felt the demon magic, and since it really doesn’t belong here, came to investigate,” the girl snaps, and the blue eyed boy places a placating hand on her shoulder.

“Sam, relax. He’s probably still running high on stress, you would too if you were nearly sucked into hell,” the Wayne bait boy looks to Constantine, face apologetic.

“Sorry about her, we haven’t had great interactions with magic users in the past. If we could just get that book and go, we won’t bother you anymore,”

“Not fucking likely! My find, my book,” Constantine exclaims, holding the book closer to his chest.

And suddenly, the easy going attitude of the blue eyed boys vanishes, eyes melting from an ice blue into a bright, Lazarus green. The carefree look is wiped off of his face and his mouth is set into a hard line, all trances of amusement gone.

“That book belongs to the dead and the gone. It does not belong on this mortal plane. I don’t care if you feel like playing around with a little magic, any mess you get into is yours, but that book belongs in the zone. Return it now, I am not asking,” the boys companions flank him, matching his suddenly intimidating aoura as death magic flares from all three.

Constantine had dealt with his fair share of magical beings and those capable of wielding the mystic arts. The spells and casting circles inside the book would give him an edge in his circles. But all of that experience told him that he did not want to tangle with the trio in front of him. Each one had been touched by death, cradled by it as a mother would hold a child, the blue eyed boy practically dripped in it.

He could maybe take one of them, with a lot of luck on his side. But all three? John Constantine was many things but an idiot was not one of them.

“Fine, what’ll you do with it?” John asks, throwing the book to the trio where the girl catches it.

“Returning it where it belongs,” the boy says, suddenly turning cheerful.

With a twitch of his hand, a glowing green rift forms in the air, death magic pouring out and nearly knocking Constantine on his ass. With one last wave from the blue eyed boy, and a matching set of glares from the other two, all three walk into the portal, the air stitching itself back up behind them.

Without even an incantation, the boy had opened a portal to the infinite realms, and had walked through, without hesitation. Constantine didn’t know a single person who could open a portal so effortlessly, let alone walk through, and certainly not with two companions.

“Bloody fucking hell, I need a drink,”

#danny phantom #john constantine #death magic #infinite realms #sam manson #tucker foley

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revasserium · 9 months

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Hi! It's me, I'm the problem Jazz again 🤣

Ikemen Prince ask for either Leon or Silvio with prompt number 88 please 🙏 ♥️

send me a number and a character :)

priceless (88. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.)

silvio; 1,374 words, fluff and... fluff LOL this is only tangentially inspired by the prompt u__u whoops

01.

when you break his heart the first time, he doesn’t really know it’s real. he presses the lips of a dozen priceless wine bottles to his mouth and imagines every one to be yours — he drinks until the world is spinning, the way it spun when he asked you to dance for the very first time.

he gets drunk on the sound of your remembered laughter.

he makes a mess of the sheets, of his silk-lined robes, of all the richest furs in the corners of his closet — he falls asleep wishing that this were all but a dream.

he wakes up and has to deal with the realization that it is not all just a dream and that for the first time in his life, this isn’t something he can buy his way out of because what is the price of heartbreak? the tag on the pieces of a shattered wish — he screams into every single pillow he owns and falls asleep at noon.

02.

the second time you break his heart, he catches your arm before you can leave.

“what d’you want?” he asks, desperate and imploring, with a shudder in his voice that he’s never truly heard there before but —

you shake your head.

“i — i don’t want anything from you.”

he feels his fingers slip from around your wrist as you purse your lips and stumble back half a step. but that’s all he needs. he’s needlessly reminded of a story he’s heard a long, long time ago — about a genie and a girl who accidentally summons him. about the genie who asked the girl what she wished for and she told him she didn’t. the genie stayed with that girl for years and years and years, and in the beginning, whenever she asked him to do anything, he’d ask if that was her wish but she’d shake her head no. she’d tell him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to.

and yet somehow, he always found that he wanted to.

silvio wonders what he really wants, and the answer comes — clear and quiet as a winter stream —

he wants… you.

03.

the third time, he thinks he can get used to this.

04.

the fourth time, he’s ready for it —

“no,” you say, shaking your head, frowning at something he’s demanded of you.

“alright then,” he says, shrugging.

you blink, watching him as he turns away. watching him as he takes three steps away from you before you reach for him, tugging him back by the sleeve.

“what — that’s it? you’re… not gonna force me?”

he chuckles, “what’s the point if you’re just gonna snark at me? and anyway — i’ve got proper maids for this kind of stuff.”

“fine then,” you say, petulant, your voice sharp in a way that makes his lips twitch.

he grins, cocking his head as he watches the color wash up into your cheeks.

“fine,” he parrots back, his own voice painfully sweet and just as smug. he revels in the way your eyes flash, the way your fingers curl into fists at your side as he turns away.

so it really does take two to tango.

05.

“y’know, a million girls would kill to be in your place right now.”

“then why aren’t they?”

“hm? why aren’t they what?”

“why aren’t they here, in my place?”

silvio licks his lips, tasting salt and heat and the midnight air.

“cause… i didn’t really take to any of ‘em.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“and you just so happened to take… to me. why?”

silvio shrugs, “you’re beautiful.”

“bullshit — there are plenty of girls out there prettier than me.”

“prettier, yeah. but more beautiful? no.”

your breath catches in your chest — hook, line, and sinker. you feel the tug in the base of your belly, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“w-what? that… that doesn’t make any sense.”

silvio only laughs, casting his eyes back out at the florid lushness of his palace gardens, teaming with the world’s rarest flowers — the night blooming cereus, the elusive ghost orchids, the fire lilies, and his prized juliet rose bushes. he leans over the thick railing to tug one from it’s bed of thorns, pressing it to his nose and taking a deep breath.

“it took my best gardener 12 years to cultivate one o’ these,” he says, twirling the peach-colored flower between his fingers.

“wow,” you say, eyeing the small, unassuming bloom, “that’s… a long time.”

“yeah, sure. but the gardener was rewarded pretty damn well for his work.”

at this, you heave another sigh, leaning up against the stone banisters.

“and i’m sure that’s the only reason he worked as hard as he did, right?”

silvio traces a finger along the edge of a velvet petal, admiring the fractal-like formation of the flower’s center.

“yeah… i’m sure it is.”

06.

the sixth time you reject him, he almost laughs out loud. it really is fun pushing all your buttons after all.

07.

the seventh time, he curls his lips around the shape of your name and dares to ask why.

you tell him, “because… it’d be nice of you to ask instead of demand for a change.”

he shivers at the gentleness of your tone, at the feather-soft of your confession, the pink that kisses your cheeks like the rosy-fingered dawn.

“but… if i ask, there’s a chance you’re gonna say no.”

you laugh and roll your eyes, “i say no anyways.”

“so why bother askin’ when i know what your answer’s gonna be?”

“because… sometimes, if you give someone the choice to stay or to go — they’ll surprise you.”

08.

“can… can y’just… stay? please?”

“...okay.”

09.

“when’d you learn how to say please?”

you twist to face him in the silver light of an encroaching dawn.

silvio groans as he buries his face in the silken pillows, his hair a hallo of lingering moonlight.

“dunno — shuttup… it’s too damn early.”

you allow yourself a smile and snuggle in before drifting back off to sleep.

10.

“kiss me.”

silvio smirks, cocking his head, “no.”

you narrow your eyes, frowning even as he chuckles, his fingers tight around your waist as the pair of you spin in ever and ever faster circles to music only the two of you can hear.

“why not?”

“cause…” he bites back, laving his tongue luxuriously across the expanse of his bottom lip before tugging it between his teeth, “y’didn’t ask nicely.”

you fight down the urge to push him away but his grip on you is tight and true, strong and steady and… so very nearly sweet.

“fuck off.”

he grins a foxhole grin and you feel yourself sinking into it’s depths, deeper and deeper as he spins you beneath his arm and dips you low, low, low.

“nope — pretty sure y’didn’t ask there either. and… that ain’t proper language for a lady, now is it?”

you roll your eyes as he pulls you back up and the dance begins again.

“fine,” you bite out, sparing him a half-hearted glare, “can i please have a kiss?” you ground out the words, even as the heat crests up your chest and bubbles over into your cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of your ears.

“hm… now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

he leans in and you let your eyes flutter shut.

when he breaks the kiss, he is smiling.

“kiss me again,” he says.

you smirk, “what happened to asking nicely?”

“hn. don’t feel like it — too much trou—”

but you cut him off with another kiss, and briefly, silvio considers the merits of tugging away if only to tease you about the impropriety of interrupting a prince’s speech before he’s finished. and then the next moment, he decides that, really, he prefers just kissing you instead.

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shiny-jr · 1 month

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Riddle 🤝 Vil

Being characters that are really hard to write but that Shiny Jr nails

OMG!! Congrats on releasing Pomefiore and Scarabia's chapters. I remember sending an ask about the chapter and some theories waaaay back and it's been so exciting to actually read them. Pomefiore,,, blew me away oh my word. Vil's characterization was fantastic. His obsessiveness,,, omg. When the raven's heart was racing, mine was too. Overall the willingness of the raven to go as far as they did was amazing and chilling at the same time. Epel was also such a delight. It felt like an evolution of Ace's role in the wonderland chapter. Also omg that Rook line (WE ALL KNOW THE ONE)

This is not to say that the scarabia chapter wasnt also fantastic!!! Some of Jamil's snark in the Scarabia chapter was truly a delight and little references like to the sultan stuffing crackers in the parrot's mouth made me giggle. Also omg that finale,,,, I will say I did feel bad for Alya. In a way she and the MC were rather similar.

Do you think you'll end up doing 2 final chapters for Ignihyde and Diasomnia or leave the quiz where it is? Either way it's already a triumph and an incredible read I keep returning to.

In my opinion, Idia and Jamil are the actual hardest to write. But I digress.

Reading opinions like these, always brings a smile to my face. I just love hearing y'alls takes and thoughts on the content I put out. So thank you very much for sharing! And, yes, as mentioned in one of the previous asks, I will eventually put out routes for Ignihyde and Diasomnia. As to when, I can't say for sure, although I'm thinking of doing it similarly to how I did it for Pomefiore and Scarabia. By that I mean, I'll probably be putting them out for another milestone in the future. But they still have to actually be written.

#shiny speaks #damnation twst au

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ourolite2 · 3 months

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⬭ 𓈒 ݁ mise en scène xiao + male ( unassigned race ) reader. one-shot coded! sfw/slightly suggestive. written in third person, little playful flirts, little moans, little kissing, y’know how it be. ༄

“Given that I’m the more romantic one as well, if not am the romantic one… don’t you find that flattering?”

𝒴ou think that an Adeptus being reduced to reposing on the highest railing of Wangshuu Inn was the perfect opportunity to harass it, don’t you? The titillating scent of qingxin flowers, which featured a nostalgic longing of vanilla abstract, was enough to send poor ol’ Xiao to another conflicting spiral, seeing as you, his boyfriend, tend to utilize his favored scents against him in order to, and he quotes, “neutralize him”. At first, as much he refuses to admit it, your silage was memorable and effective, though the ludicrous comparisons only delayed his reactions, for Xiao’s combative persona enjoys to shut him down completely.

“You think I would be interested in such idle matters?” A response that you anticipated grandly; he has told you countless times that his intuition is Herculean. His wry humor (or what he considers to be “humorous”) was another trait etched within your heart, no matter how dismissive he deems himself to be for the sake of admitting his faults while dismissing his pride. Even your feline counterpart, who forbade himself from rubbing his cheek against Xiao’s ankle, looked up at you as if he overheard the word “no” — an expression imbued with incredulity. Xiao knew that you were more than invested in romance from the day he “consulted” the former Geo Archon for tips… masked with complaints, of course.

“Aside from that, mocking a mortal’s standards should not be anywhere near a challenge for an Adeptus. Your predictability is laughable.”

Your soft lips, ones that were lathered with a Nilotpala-based oil, one of the finest flowers located in Sumeru, parted slightly with feigned puzzlement and offense after hearing Xiao’s ironically predictable response. He accepted that he was shorter than you, made more mistakes than you, but you being more familiar with romance than him is when he draws the line? Oh, how priceless, not even the Golden House was enough to bribe you into forgetting all about his reaction.

With a lighthearted laugh, you leaned closer to your lover’s inexpressible facial features, though you were quite fixated on his medallion-adorned eyes, which told the most tales out of every single fiber of the shorter male’s body. They were quick to flutter and widen like a Monarch butterfly’s first hibernation during the month that governed the most somnolent snow, November. They would prod and dart like a proboscis with its pistil, though it seems that this little butterfly in question was struggling to focus on the silk flower before it. Perhaps it was his first feast?

“Xiao, your mind is as sharp as the scepter you wield, though I do have some doubts…”

Your tone was embedded with a puckish uncertainty that would also offend the Vigilant Yaksha, seeing as you would seem rather genuine with your words, though your charisma definitely confined the condescending snark you muttered towards ones you’re humored by. It would be easier to retort with something equally as snark, but instead Xiao scoffed before rudely scooting away from his aggravating lover, which earned intrusive snickers from the tri-colored feline below the both of them.

“A parrot’s purpose… what is it?”

He wasn’t going to inure another one of your mind games, he wasn’t. Another whirl of aggravation aroused within his abdomen that he compares to what mortals receive when they eat something unordinary. Perhaps being bound to one causes an Adeptus to strip away its importance until it’s no more than a mere bug on the fence. How could he ever confront Zhongli about this? His adeptual prowess dissipated because of his mortal.. such absurdity is needed to be solved alone, and by solved, he means by fanning it off with a baleful lour and a commanding:

“Elaborate.”

An impatient man, very complimentary indeed. You couldn’t help but chuckle endearingly at his demand as you watched him cross his arms over his chest that corresponded with his infamous glower. Indigo, the well-trusted sidekick and sorry excuse of a wingman sensed the circulating tension, resulting in him yowling intrusively (likely equivalent to a human instigating, what a silly kitty). While angling your head so that you were playfully staring up at Xiao, your grasp tightened on the bar of the railing to keep your balance unharmed. As “predictable” mortals turn out to be, emotions will remain unbridled, and that’s something you would never hear from a roseate-tickled nose.

“Show me how well you could imitate human culture,” You demanded, though your demands were far from definite and controlling, but rather tranquilizing and suggestive. Your eyes were muddled with adulating words that Xiao could unlock with little permission, but because he was so new to this whole dating thing, he prefers to keep the romanticism to a minimum. Though, Xiao was being put on the spot here, considering that his boyfriend potentially threatened his pride to diminish in order to break his own pride, which was unbreakable. It was very contradictory, and the paradox was merely causing more nauseating swirls in his gut. Oh how much he despised this mortal body and all its perplexing components.

One who he didn’t despise, ironically, is the one who was harassing him at the moment — the charismatic beau who didn't comprehend the concept of personal space, the one whose feathery fingers trail circles amongst Xiao’s archaic forearm tattoos, or simply… Y/n, the one whose lips were tainted with desirability that had the potential to diffuse any mortal’s suspicion without getting too deep into verbal persuasion. Xiao could acknowledge your talent, and he was rather impressed, but the longer he had to listen to you speak, the more his mind was no more than an intrusion itself. Times like this he was convinced that you were anything but human; how could a mere mortal man make him ruminate with this much intensity?

Time was of the essence, for he didn’t have even a millisecond to predict your movements, let alone one for rumination. Your fingers broke him out of his concentrated yet miffed expression in order to keep his head from drifting away from you. Xiao didn’t even realize his attempt on looking away judging by the way his eyes widened with shock. He shook it away however, like he always does, since you were pampering his poor mind with an additional question — “Show me how you would charm me in a way that makes me sick.”

Xiao didn’t have a clue on what you meant, though as stated previously, his mind was sharp enough to use context clues. If charming resulted in stomach aches such as the ones he was receiving, then he definitely didn’t want to return the favor, let alone sudden heat flashes of supposed delirium. He was convinced that he was going insane at the moment. How could mere teasing cause such an inane reaction? The worst part about it is that your guys’ ideal of a “safe word” consisted of him teleporting for a moment only to return the next day, so it was mortifying knowing that Y/n was relishing in the poor Adeptus’s distress.

Xiao took a deep breath, finally retaliating after a moment of fluster. “Tch… such an exasperating—”

“Please?” Politely and genuinely, which wasn’t uncharacteristic in the slightest, you pleaded while finally removing your hand from Xiao’s chin. Your eloquence is one of the reasons why Xiao was invested in you in the first place, so it makes sense as to why you used your genuinity against him. Not to mention the slight spark that inflamed into a raging wildfire in his chest once you dropped your act, reducing to your teasing persona; it never failed to just drive him closer and closer to insanity. “Or perhaps you are ignorant to the idea of romance. Our little game of opposite attract has come to an—”

He was compelled to shut you up, right then and there. And so he did. Impulsively. One moment he was impetuously grasping onto your shirt collar, rightfully earning a warning hiss from the eavesdropping calico and a widened eye partner whose body threatened to fall off the balcony, and then the next moment Sumeru’s moony petals blossomed amorously across the Yaksha’s tongue once his lips waltzed alongside of yours. The choreography was futile, seeing as not enough research in the world could prepare Xiao for this moment, therefore he’s relying on utter instinct, unlike the mortal who could definitely get used to Xiao’s sudden inexperienced kisses. Romance was no less than a distraction for ones with unconcentrated minds that were easily inflicted with delusions, Xiao would mentally declare.

Repetitively, he mentally scolded himself, claiming that he was merely showing you that he could be delusional as well. He could mock your cultural values, and his lips could give you that ethereal effect like no other. Xiao was so blinded by your taunts and challenges, he was finally realizing what he’s done, which caused him to immediately break from the deplorable kiss with a pale, stretched face. He was going to verbalize his excuses quickly, though Y/n was feeling uncharacteristically rude with the way he pressed his lips against Xiao’s once again.

You were meticulous and patient, chuckling against his quivering lips as Xiao used the little knowledge he had on kissing in order to impress you. The additional tongue from the Adeptus was something to cackle at once you’re through, and the way you could feel him groan in discomfort was even more humorous. It was utterly obvious that it was his first time, so prying wouldn’t do much good.

“Xiao… Xiao… beloved…” You cooed his name and endearing sobriquet breathlessly in between the kisses like some sort of mantra, successfully earning another groan from him, but instead he pulled away from the kiss the second time, making it clear that he didn’t want to attempt again by scooting over and facing his head the opposite direction. He hasn’t teleported yet, so it gave you the time to adore the way his ears gleamed an intense crimson and even—

Oh, there he goes.

Instinctively, you slid off the railing when your boyfriend vanished within thin air right before he even began to say anything. Externally, your expression neutralized into a look of relief when this said action occurred, but your mind now began to race with unresolved questions that needed to be answered accordingly and promptly. You were now extremely worried that he caused discomfort to him; the idea made you sigh to yourself, shaking your head with disappointment.

⑅ neso productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.

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mrssoapmactavish · 3 months

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fight or flight

"you know what they say about stress responses, right? fight or flight reaction, and all that?" "knowing you, it's fight, flight, or fuck." "you're not too far off."

this will be a multi-part fic, all based in the stranger things universe! my writing style may make some of the characters be a bit... off, but i promise you, i'm trying my best for this!

as always, the only thing i claim to own in this planned series of works is the writing itself. i do not own any of the characers!

consider this basically a prologue, an intro for the whole shebang.

hawkins sounded like a bad idea from the get-go. obviously, she never wanted to leave her home in the first place, but she'd reckoned that leaving with her family would make things feel a bit more palatable. if her family didn't consist of her dad, her step-mom, her brother, and maxine, maybe that would've been true.

her and billy only had a year apart between the two of them, meaning that she's always been close to william hargrove, but they couldn't be any different. billy's been masking his anger with their dad with parties, popularity, and endless drinking and smokes. herself? she drowned out the sounds of shouting and anger with heavy drums, intense guitar solos, and gravelly-voiced singers who screech out prose.

in california, they were called 'bonnie and clyde' as siblings. now, though? she wanted nothing to do with him. the only things they have in common, in her opinion, are their last name, and their drive to drown their daddy issues in tail. on the drive to hawkins high this morning, all she wants to do is open the car door and jump out.

max and billy are bickering– at least max got the family temper, it keeps her on the same level as her and billy– and she's just trying to touch-up her mascara in the side mirror, making sure she looks somewhat presentable.

"keepin' your eyes glued to yourself that long, might as well figure out how you can marry yourself," billy snarks over, looking at his sister who merely glares at him. the boy gives a cheeky grin, knowing his sister like the back of his hand, as if he hadn't just parroted what she'd said to him much earlier before leaving the house, when he had been styling his hair properly.

"oh, please, billy boy," she sighs, scrunching her curled hair to maintain the boisterous volume that she had given it. "you would marry yourself, if you could. you'd need a good divorce lawyer, though, with how much you sleep around." she can feel her brother's glare burning holes in the side of her head, but she knows he won't do anything. it's one of the benefits of looking so much like their mom; pour on the honey-sweet tone, dial up the niceities and he'll be unable to do anything but grumble to himself.

billy, in fact, opens his mouth, ready to retort and snap back at his sister, but they pull up to hawkins high before he can even say a single word. it's already a lot, really; she can close her eyes and picture being back in california, walking into school, hearing the airheaded blondes and the sophomore year-peaking boys who think they're nothing less than gods.

as strange as it is, she misses home. misses the bright warmth and the sun, misses the malls and busy streets. anything to get away from the smell of cow shit, empty plains, and the fall chill that she's definitely needing to adjust to.

before she gets out of her brothers car– max has already slammed the car door, huffing and barking back at billy for telling her to come straight to the car afterschool– she puts on a new layer of her bright red lipgloss, the kind that used to have boys melt and bend at the knee, and would occasionally end up smeared on their cheeks and necks, if they were the lucky ones.

slinging her bag over her shoulder, she finally gets out of the car. she can feel all the envious eyes of girls standing against their boyfriends vehicles already looking at her brother like a piece of meat. it irritates her, even if she knows the men are doing the same, and billy no doubt has the same anger bubbling up inside him.

"keep that skirt on and no hands sneaking under it," her brother grumbles, right before giving the ladies his signature grin, the one that she had always referred to as his 'lure' grin. the one he'll give a girl to drag her home, rock her world, then never talk to her again. the one that leaves a trail of broken hearts and dropped panties in its wake.

"keep your pants on and your fly up, then," she snaps back, already making her way forwards and into the school. she can hear all the wolf-whistles and all the endless chatter from the boys about how short that skirt of hers is, how she'll freeze to death if she doesn't 'huddle up' with them, not to mention how many are already talking about how easy it'd be to creep their way closer to her.

sure, sex is great and all, but something about being trivialized as some trophy is... sickening. so, obviously the girl is keeping her wits about her, ignoring all the comments for now, even if each pair of eyes should be ripped form their heads for looking at her so lowly. she knows her own value; she's been called a goddess in bed before, and that was by some half-drunk loser in california, but it rung true. she is that worthy of praise, worship, devotion.

one set of eyes, however, doesn't go down to her skirt and stay on her legs. it doesn't even stray past the leather jacket on her shoulders– her brothers, she admits, but she'd never been one to even acknowledge her brother being able to have things for himself– and she finds it.. oddly satisfying. rewarding, almost, like there's at least one person in hawkins high not ogling her.

it's an entirely new kind of attention, to be quite honest, and she has no idea how to really react to it. whether she's meant to lash out, cry against the world for being oh, so cruel to her angry, warped soul to have someone eye her with something other than envy or pure want– or if she's meant to fawn, to gravitate towards the only person treating her like a human being, and to get herself involved in some hallmark whirlwind highschool romance.

either way, she sees who the gaze is connected to, and she'd be lying if she said she expected the person to be. he's one of the pretty boy types, she deduces; popular, on some kind of school sports team most definitely the captain, the air-headed kind to ignore between classes and pray she'd never be paired with for an assignment.

though, the soft, big, doe-eyes that seem fixated on her are quite the sight, and the strong jaw, defined nose, the smattering of birth and beauty marks across his face seem to give him this uncharacteristically human trait, compared to the very stereotype she's predicted.

she narrows her brows, giving a cold, hardened gaze; she aims to show she's not socialized, so to speak, that the black and red composition of her outfit reeks of femme fatale, a black widow type, engage at your own risk. but there's no such luck, as the fluffy haired tom cruise type makes his way towards her, confident and quick in his gait, even if there's a lack of spcial awareness reeking of a clumsy demure.

"hey there, little lady," the boy hums, gaze staying on her face, almost as if calculating how she's reacting to him, but he quite obviously doesn't know that she's well-versed from the years of torment and anguish at home to keep her emotions to herself, off of her face. "you're new here, so welcome to hawkins high. you need a tour guide, you just look around for steve harrington, i'll show you all around."

so he can't take a hint.

"mm," is all she responds with, very openly and shamelessly eyeing the man up and down, as if sizing him up to intimidate him. the man shifts from one foot to the other, hip cocked and head quirked; he's not picking up on the fact that she's trying to dismiss him.

"saw you with that guy in the camaro and the red-head, you guys look like quite the family," he continues to talk, prying, to see if she'll do more than just vocalize around her. alas, she just rolls her eyes at him, and he still doesn't seem offended, taken aback, or even remotely disinterested. so, she relents.

"i'll find you if i need you, harrington. name fits that crown of yours," she tells him. the way his brows raise is subtle. he's surprised, but not off-put. another comment about the hair, water off a duck's back, it seems. "i'll be fine figuring it out myself for now."

trained to follow subtle hints in body language from years of cowering, blocking out the sounds of her older brother being treated like no better than a dog, she notes the slight drop in his shoulders. not entirely, a momentary defeat for him, but he still holds out hope.

"yeah, alright," he responds, hands removing themselves from his hips, posture straightening, eyes going over her shoulder to look around, looking for his friends no doubt. "i'll be around–" the pause, an expectant gaze.

ah, right. names, such a fickle things, things she would prefer to not share, like pleasantries, pillowtalk, and whatever cheap shit booze she can sneak from her dad.

"you can stick with hargrove for now." she tells him, and god forbid the smile that graces his face. so that's what he is– a classic soft, popular guy. layers of issues, no doubt, but far too many to point out in particular, at least for now.

with a quirk at his lips into a somewhat playful smirk and a flick of the single coif of hair dropping into his face, he decides to push once more for now. "cherry it is, then. cherry hargrove."

a twinge of anger, at least that's what she can place it as. this man has no idea what he's getting into.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #steve harrington x reader slowburn #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things s2 #steve harrington x reader prologue #andromeda st #andromeda st fic #andromeda series #archers 18+ emporium

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sapphicwhimsy · 2 months

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one blink and we'll be gone

this is!!! my gift for @weatheredcopper for @mcyt-valentines!! you said you wanted shadowrot. i hope i did a good job for ya!!

here it is on ao3 if youd rather read it there!!

The distant crunching of leaves underfoot gave the visitor away, long before the knock on her door did.

She had known the steps as soon as she heard them, had memorized the footfall of so many other players, and she didn’t need more to know someone who had once meant ally was approaching. But the same person who had been an ally was now something in between, flickering fire that danced at their fingertips with every new game with questions of if it would ever heal again It should have set her on edge, should have sent her grasping for a blade to defend herself, to know she was ready for whatever may come her way.

But she didn’t. She didn’t move, not until the distinct knocking of knuckles she knew too well against her wooden door finally forced her to.

Oh, she wanted to hesitate. To pretend she wasn’t here, to ignore it all. To pretend this wasn’t happening, and both of their lives could truly move on without this, without whatever was needed from her.

But, of course, she didn’t.

The door felt heavy as she pulled it open. She wasn’t surprised to see Cleo standing there, head tilted to take in the builds Lizzie had been working on. Sunflowers that grew taller than homes, a giant tree to match, weeks worth of effort, and they took it in so very casually that Lizzie wanted to swear. To kick them out, like she had done before. To make them understand that this wasn’t the place for them.

Part of her ached for it to be a place for Cleo. For Cleo to belong here like she did, for this to be the place they could finally make things work out. But the thoughts wouldn’t leave, of her own fort burning by Cleo’s hand, or the fire she had started herself in return games later, kept those thoughts firmly in the realm of impossibility. Cleo didn’t belong here, and they both knew it.

Even the very thought of Cleo being here made her heart ache, made her chest long and want to reach out, to pull her in. To let the flames at their fingertips burn them again, until they were nothing but ashes together. Dead flowers and crumbled leaves and broken fairy wings that caught like the kindling they were. She didn’t want her to leave. She wasn’t sure she could handle it.

They weren’t friends. Cleo had forgiven her, when she hadn’t forgiven BigB, and Lizzie knew that. But it was still all hesitant, waiting for their burning embers to ignite the other.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe. She was tired, had spent weeks alone here building, just so she wouldn’t think. Hoping from one project to the next, because if her hands and mind were occupied, then it wouldn’t matter about anything else. She could run away from it all.

“Hello to you, too,” Cleo said, with the air that told her she was being rude. She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Hello,” she parroted back, both hating and loving the smirk Cleo wore, because she oh so desperately wanted to wipe it off her face, and she wasn’t sure if it was with a fist or a kiss. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check on you,” Cleo said, and the honesty in her tone made Lizzie hesitate.

“Why?”

That made Cleo’s nose wrinkle. It was something cute but not quite what she had expected. Snark was more prevalent, the more obvious choice. Instead, Cleo shrugged this weak shrug, and it made her heart ache in a new way because she wasn’t used to seeing her so very vulnerable.

“No one’s seen you since Secret Life. We were worried.” Ah. She straightened up, grabbing the door handle, and tried to ignore the cold feeling of the void creeping into her fingertips and toes as the memory of her last death ate at her mind.

She didn’t need this. None of them needed to see her, and she didn’t need to see any of them. She had spent weeks alone since then. She had died alone. Died like she had lived then and it dug into her brain, knowing she had died alone and no one had cared. She was alone now, too. Alone in life.

They shouldn’t care now.

“You’re just an ambassador then? You can tell them I’m fine. You’ve seen me, I’m alive. You can go.”

“Lizzie-” The door tried to slam, but Cleo’s hand caught it, and it was the sign of her defeat. Cleo was stronger than her, always would be. She had hoped to be able to close and lock it, but with her hand around the door to keep it firmly where it was, Lizzie knew she had already lost. Still, she leaned her full weight against the door, knowing Cleo could hold her up. “Can we please talk? Just this once?” “What is there to talk about?” she asked, like this was normal. Like she had just been going about her day when Cleo had not so casually dropped by, instead of avoiding everyone for weeks on end. Like this would all go away if she pretended it would. Like they hadn’t burned each other’s homes down. Because the trust was still there, even though Lizzie hated to ever admit it. “It’s fine.”

“Now you’re just stealing my line,” Cleo sighed, and Lizzie looked away, knowing it was true. “Can I at least come in for tea? I won’t stay long if you won’t have me, but I need to know you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Surely you can come up with something better than that. Why are you here?”

“I told you! I wanted to check on you!”

“You’ve done that. You’ve seen me, you can go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Lizzie.” Cleo’s voice was almost a growl now, anger quickly escalating. Lizzie pushed harder against the door, though it didn’t budge. Cleo was much stronger than her, and both of them knew that.

“And why not?!” But still, she’d push just a bit more. She didn’t like the feeling of the flames lapping at her chest, ready to swallow them whole, but oh, it felt so warm in the fire they always brought together.

“Because I care about you! That may be hard for you to believe, but I didn’t come out here for the fun of it!” Cleo snapped, pushing the door, and Lizzie stumbled as it swung open. She turned to swear at her, to scream at her to leave. But Cleo’s arms simply wrapped her up in a tight hug, squeezing her to their chest, and all of her anger melted away in the heat of their own personal flame. “Stop pushing me away for once. Let me help you.”

It was a whisper. A plea, begging, needing it just as much as her. Vulnerable and exposing the side she never showed anyone, and Lizzie knew that. She knew Cleo’s loyalty ran deep, that it would be impossible to break without hurting. And she had hurt her again and again, but the arms around her held her so tight it was hard to think of anything else.

There was fire at her fingers, fire that matched Cleo’s hair, and she didn’t think about it. She melted, because fire tended to do that to things that got too close to it. She leaned into her, feeling the sob bubbling in her chest. Weeks of being alone, of fighting off that lingering loneliness, of fighting the chill of the void that still ran so deep in her chest that even the hottest water wasn’t enough. She grabbed fistfuls of Cleo’s shirt, and felt the heat of the flames creeping deeper, warming her like nothing else would.

“You’re not alone,” Cleo whispered, and Lizzie broke. She broke into a million little pieces, tears at the corner of her eyes and sobs bubbling in her throat as she buried her face into Cleo’s shoulder, begging this to not be a dream. “Not anymore. I’m here, I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she whispered, and when Cleo pulled her away from her shoulder, she expected her to decide she was right. She expected the flames to dim and diminish, to fade into ashes.

But they were always such a raging inferno, always catching each other into flames, and Cleo made sure she knew that. Her fingers danced under her chin, tilting her head up and forcing her to meet her eyes. For a moment, she stared into the hues of green, and then Cleo was kissing her.

It was quick, a peck, something that left her hungry and confused but desperate for more, tightening her grip on Cleo. She didn’t want them to leave.

“You’re stuck with me now until I know you’re okay,” Cleo said simply, thumb stroking her cheek gently just to wipe away the tears that had started to spill, and oh, Lizzie hated her. She hated how she let her go, hated how they had pushed past her defenses and into her home. Hated that she never wanted her to leave. The fire burned brighter, angry and lapping, but Lizzie couldn’t be bothered to care right then. She could always rebuild. She always would, too. They’d both burn and rebuild and keep this vicious cycle going until there was nothing left to burn or build ever again.

“You won’t leave?” she asked, desperation in her voice as Cleo took one of her hands in hers. It wasn’t a plea, because she wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t.

“I won’t,” Cleo promised. Lizzie thought of a home built on top of another, of Cleo forgiving her enough to do that. Of hatred and burned homes and how Cleo had burned hers, once, so she’d done the same. How Cleo still hated BigB, but had chosen her at the start. Of how she was here when no one else was.

Cleo let go of her, but Lizzie wanted to pull her back in. She didn’t though, because there was still that part of herself that wanted to tear off her own skin rather than admit how lonely she had been. But she did watch as Cleo spared a glance around her temporary home, a place to stay while she worked on her sunflower grove, and the appreciation she saw there melted some part of her heart.

She could always rebuild, if it were to catch fire.

“Where’s your kitchen? I’ll put on the kettle.”

She wanted to hesitate. It was the last chance to kick Cleo out, and she knew it. But she couldn’t. The front door was easier to shut, to accept this. She followed after Cleo, her heart pounding in her chest. They were dangerous together, but they could play like this for a bit. It might be nice, to not be so alone.

“Here. I’ll show you.”

#mcyt valentines #shadowrot #zombie cleo #ldshadowlady #trafficshipping #whimsys writing #secret life #special thanks to skyesie for betareading this for me!!

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so-called-yokai · 2 months

Text

Another snapshot you can blame on @thescribblings and our excessive conversations about what happens when a semi-feral peepaw and a semi-feral dinosaur parrot meet and make a connection.

Be careful when offering chin scritches to a giant, sleep-deprived turtle mutant twice your size and several times your weight.

It's been three hours, according to his phone. His legs are asleep, his hand is tired, and he's pretty sure he's now seen 37% of all of the content ever posted on Reddit. Mikey brought him a drink about an hour ago, along with a wink and a quip about staying hydrated, which earned the little turtle a playful rolling of eyes.

And still Leon is draped half across Eshra's lap, rumbling away, his whole shell vibrating from the strength of it. A couple of times, Eshra has tried to stop scritching the slider's chin and jaw to give his fingers a break, only for Leon to crack open one eye and voice an annoyed chuff, making the yokai chuckle and indulgently resume.

Finally, half an hour later when Eshra is deeply immersed in yet another entirely believable story about somebody's family drama -- twins, why is it always twins? -- he realizes the rumbling has stopped. He looks down in some surprise, then smiles gently when he sees the slow, even rise and fall of Leon's carapace. At last. The big mutant has been having some rough nights, so it's a relief to see him properly asleep. Eshra strokes his head a few times, earning himself a sleepy noise he hopes is of contentment, before finally letting his hand drop onto Leon's upper carapace, his feathers spread out over his friend's shell like a protective blanket. He shifts just enough to start feeling some tingling in his legs, wiggles his toes, and goes back to the tale of the lady who had twins with her brother-in-law and wants to know if she's really the asshole here, or if her own twin sister is just overreacting.

A familiar footstep makes his crest twitch, much like how a cat might flick an ear when its attention is caught, and he glances up just enough to catch sight of Leo from the corner of his eye. The young slider is watching his older self… brother… whatever -- Eshra is still getting used to… this whole situation -- with an expression of gentle concern.

Eshra takes this exceedingly rare opportunity to study Leo's face; usually they're too busy snarking and sniping at each other behind Leonardo's back. The kid's older than his years. All of the brothers are, but Leo wears it differently. More heavily. It breaks Eshra's heart, while at the same time making that old, familiar rage against the krang spark and threaten to catch fire. He swallows it down, forces it back, and instead adopts a gentle smile. He doesn't speak, simply lifts the arm he has draped over Leon's back in invitation. Little Leo doesn't say anything either, doesn't even look at the yokai… but he does accept, almost without hesitation, crawling up to sprawl over his adopted older brother's carapace.

Eshra waits for him to settle, then delicately brings his hand to rest on that blue-bandana'd head. He can feel Leo tense under his fingers, but that all melts away when Eshra starts to scritch and pet, and although neither of them will ever mention it, the feathered yokai is pretty damn sure he hears the quietest churring starting up. He swallows a triumphant grin.

Progress.

#eshra's stories #my writing #leoshra #semi feral polaroids #sffl(wg)#lost & found au #rise leo #future leo #rise of the tmnt oc #rise of the tmnt

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zahri-melitor · 5 months

Text

Newish Comics:

Taking a break from ploughing through Santa appearances for the week’s comics.

Batman & Robin #3: ahahahaha “dedicated instructors who showed me the deep knowledge of the world”.

Damian. Sweetheart. You were TEN. I have no doubt you learnt a lot of complex things but also firstly you didn’t synthesise everything and secondly you simply didn’t have the TIME to learn ‘everything’.

That done, Bruce please explain socialisation and ‘working on a civilian cover’ to Damian, so he will go to school. Remember civilian covers? And secret identities?

Ooh Man-Bats! (I’m sorry, I’m here in this book for the Bruce and Damian moments, but I don’t actually mind the concept of Shush and White Rabbit? I like that White Rabbit is leaning into the Japanese aesthetics that Damian uses for his art)

Outsiders #1: I hate to say it, but my back is already up. Luke Fox, describing Kate Kane's background as "we both trained under one of the most brilliant tactical minds to ever exist" - are we talking about Jacob Kane? Because I wouldn't call him that. And I wouldn't say that Kate trained under Bruce Wayne.

Also the wig? That was originally Jacob's choice and to help with concealing her identity. If Kate actually had issues with it she would have ditched it years ago.

Not knowing fundamental basics like this about Kate is worrying me (unless there's been some retcon I haven't read yet?)

On the other hand... JENNY SPARKS SIGHTING!!! (Well, her skeleton. Apparently) JENNY MY SWEETHEART.

...I'm going to give this a go, since it's Kate and since it's MY FAVOURITE JENNY. I'm being cautious though.

Speed Force #1: oh this however is just fun vibes. I think it's our new light-hearted Flash book, with Si Spurrier doing more complex things over in Flash proper.

The Vigil #6: Ram V landed this. I still feel like all of the characters are specific commentary on other DC characters, but watching the team pull together and Castle explain what had been missed was very satisfying in that ‘heist film’ sort of scene where they flip the board and suddenly reveal what was going on.

Wesley Dodds: The Sandman #2: as this is the first Rossmo title I've seriously read, I am appreciating his art and I think getting used to it on a title where I don't have strong feelings about the characters involved will stand me in good stead.

World's Finest: Teen Titans #5: I’ve got to say, I love that the cover is a scene only tangentially related to the plot. Classic silver age vibes. This scene does not occur.

Wally! Love your snark, kid.

Garth! Surfing on/in Wally’s speed wake!

Also Dick finally decided reveal his ID.

Warlord #26: this week in Travis Morgan's adventures... DEIMOS IS BACK! Hello, Deimos! Planning to slink around evilly, are you?

Excitingly, Travis gets to fight a two-headed snake necked dragon this issue. Unfortunately this does not result in any bondage. Missed opportunity there, Grell!

This issue we are in a hidden maze temple, where they have to break apart an amulet and fit the pieces into rock niches to illuminate the way via the light bouncing. It is a VERY gaming dungeon sort of plot. However as each piece is fitted, a vision occurs. Travis is directed in how this works by a talking parrot. (A normal one, not an anthropomorphic one)

Travis sees visions of Tara but she's blaming him for betraying her, and given she was staring into a river and sighing over how much she loved and missed him last issue I think we can safely say this is a false vision. (All the visions say nasty things that mostly are guilt nightmares)

Once the maze is complete, Travis is offered the chance to gain his 'heart's desire' by stepping into the light (which has been causing all the terrible visions)

And Travis' wants to start over...so he gets transported back in time (to what looks like Neanderthal times but this IS Skartaris, it could just be last Tuesday)

#z canon read throughs #newish comics

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dyvimwhitehart · 10 months

Text

there is no other version of this story

They were never going to let him go with her. They were never going to let anyone go with her. The prophecy says it’s her, and her alone.

or,

The Wizard and Dyvim Whitehart are forced to part ways at the end of the Kondha Desert, right before entering The Hive.

READ ON A03 FOR ADDITIONAL COMMENTS.

She should have seen this coming.

Still, the whirring and clanking of the Solar Arc— now at full power— initially makes her think she’s misheard. Emperor Yoshihito (or rather, his golden apparition) keeps a level face despite the slight snark in his tone.

“The Hive is not the place for your friend, Dyvim Whitehart. His courage is without measure, but this is a task for Wizards, yes?”

There’s a pause that implies he wants some kind of verbal confirmation from her. Amber’s brows furrow, grip on her wand tightening. Her jaw sets as she forces herself to hold her tongue. The Emperor continues giving what are undoubtedly important instructions, but this has evoked a rare moment of distraction in her.

When he says Dyvim’s name in that tone of voice, what is he insinuating?

On paper, Yoshihito’s words are kind. Nothing he’s said is necessarily untrue. But the Council has always showed up at the most inopportune times, their visits jarring enough that Amber almost wishes they’d just let her take matters fully into her own hands. There’s very little they’ve aided in from so far away that she wouldn’t have been able to figure out on the ground. And from that lofty vantage point, safe and comfortable in Ambrose’s well-lit Wizard City tower, they doubt Dyvim’s ability?

Where were they when Fort Rachias had to be stormed? Where were they when the meat-eaters of the Kondha Desert bared their teeth? Where were they when she crash-landed through the broken spiral door of an unknown world dubbed the heart of darkness, forced to fend for herself?

A Council of some of the greatest forces, both magical and political, in the Spiral claimed they could do near-nothing for her in Khrysalis, only for their slack to be picked up by a single, war-torn knight?

She remembers rushing into the Last Wood to escape Queen Sabina’s guards and being met with Diego. He’d seen it all, what they thought was Dyvim’s death included… and all he’d had to say was I know the path is hard.

She could’ve told him that.

Covered in pollen and mud, laying on the singed forest floor, speedrunning yet another loss, another failure— she could’ve told him that!

It brings the anger she’s been trying to keep in check bubbling to the surface. But that anger feels selfish and misplaced at a time like this. Morganthe is a mere portal away and she’s seething over her mentors.

Amber’s mind wanders to Dyvim standing somewhere outside the door, waiting to see her again.

She should have seen this coming. They were never going to let him go with her. They were never going to let anyone go with her. The prophecy says it’s her, and her alone.

It seems letting her guard down has made her foolish enough to forget that.

“Wizard? Do you hear me?”

Amber’s attention snaps back to the Emperor. He can tell she hasn’t been listening and repeats himself. A grand portal has appeared beside him. As usual, it’s all happening too fast and she’s required to roll with it.

“Use this portal to take you to the Atramental Gate. Diego is waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m just going to step outside and say goodbye to Dyvim. He’ll want to know I’m closing in on Morganthe. And that he won’t be able to travel there with me,”

Yoshihito exhales heavily. “I’m afraid I must send you on your way now. We cannot afford to waste time,”

“Waste time?” she parrots. “It wouldn’t be a waste. He’s come all this way with me when no one else would. If I can’t take him to The Hive with me, the least I can do is tell him that to his face. He won’t leave the desert without confirmation that I’ve succeeded here,”

Titans forbid she die in The Hive, in the Shadow Queen’s webby grip. His well-wishes would not carry her far enough over the threshold of death to put her at rest. She’d be cursed to wander the pits of the Arachna sanctum; a lost spirit begging to remedy some unfinished business.

She hadn’t taken their exchange outside seriously enough. She’d fallen into the trap of comfort his presence provided her with and assured herself she’d see him again beyond the trials of the Solar Arc.

“This is a time-sensitive quest. The Council can only appear here for so long, especially when so close to the Shadow. If you do not go now, Diego will be unable to aid you,”

I could do it without him, she wants to say. But if she snaps, the Spiral snaps with her.

“I understand, Your Majesty.”

With what feels like blocks of lead weighing down her boots, Amber takes a step past the Emperor and toward the Atramental Gate portal. It thrums with a power familiar to her. It’s just another point of no return.

Learned discipline keeps her from turning her head back toward the desert. She is dutiful and precise, yes, but also a natural isolato. The combined power of Necromancy and Shadowmancy now under her belt further banishes her to a life of lonely roads and occasional allies. Her head and heart wage a separate war within her, the latter’s army begging her not to regret letting Dyvim in. Or leaving him behind.

“Wizard,” the Emperor says. “I will ensure Dyvim Whitehart returns to Bastion, to continue his good work there.”

She nods.

She knows better, now, than to momentarily believe the Council would grant her a moment of grace. The thought doesn’t even cross her mind.

Perhaps it’s for the better. Now, she can focus on her mission without any distractions. Dyvim brings out the big-heart in her, the thing she’s been forced to bury deep in order to shoulder so much of the Spiral’s suffering. When she does good deeds, it’s almost mechanical. When she receives praise, it’s like playing music for a headstone. But when he makes her laugh, she forgets she’s part of some grand plan beyond being by his side.

“Be safe,”

Do they care if she lives or dies beyond what doom it would spell for the Spiral? Who would miss the Azure Shining One of Song, and who would miss Amber?

She steps through the portal before she has the chance to become more person than prophecy.

She makes a mental note to survive not just for the sake of the Spiral, but for the sake of seeing him again.

----

He’s under the impression that it’ll take hours to finish what needs to be done within the Solar Arc. The sheer power of the place is enough to nearly knock him off his feet, but Dyvim stands strong at his post by the rock outcropping beyond the Barbarian camp.

There isn’t a doubt in his mind that she’ll be able to find her way back to him whenever she’s completed her… training, or whatever it is she’s doing. He’ll wait for an hour or so longer and then trek back across the deep desert to the Hopper camp before dusk falls. Hopefully, the good deeds they’ve done for Queen Jade-Eye are enough to starve off her subjects. If not, he won’t hesitate to raise his sword against them.

It’s strange being here. The Kondha Desert is the stuff of legend to someone who hails from across the Starfall Sea. It’s a harsh, tormented place— the beige opposite of his beloved Last Wood. Still, he reminds himself there was once a time where trees sprouted in this place and Hoppers didn’t have to ration their water. In comparison to this place, the Last Wood is lucky. It’s the Last Wood for a reason.

He remembers hearing murmurs among other Burrowers after waking up from his poison-induced nap about saplings being planted in the Burn, hoping to regrow the Last Wood. The noble Spellbinder is much too humble to brag about such a thing. It warms his heart regardless and leaves him wondering if they could bring green back to the desert too, in the aftermath of all this.

Dyvim lifts a foot, marveling at the sandy print left beneath it. Who would’ve guessed he’d make it this far?

Him, a simple Burrower Knight, on the fast-track to taking down the Shadow Queen. To avenging his ancestors, his people. The ones who never lived during a period of hope such as this.

A low hum begins to reverberate through the area. Dyvim immediately turns to the Solar Arc, suspecting some sort of shift. What he’s met with instead is a spirit of sorts, yellow-gold in color and looking nothing like any native of Khrysalis he’s ever seen, he immediately reaches for his weapon.

“Stay back!” he orders. To his dismay, confusion saturates his voice. He levels himself out before continuing. “State your business here,”

Perhaps it’s a mirage. Perhaps this valley really is cursed, and the entities are here to drive him back. Or maybe he’s gotten too close to the Arc and this is one of its guardians. Or, he’s severely dehydrated.

Then, the mirage speaks to him.

“Dyvim Whitehart,”

His voice is low and collected. Dyvim’s ears twitch, gaze focused on the apparition no matter how deeply he wants to look back toward the Arc’s entrance.

“How do you know my name, spirit?”

“I am no spirit. I am a projection from elsewhere in the Spiral, a member of the Council of Light sent to aid the Wizard.”

Dyvim sheathes his weapon, but keeps his hand on the hilt just in case.

The Spellbinder has mentioned the Council to him a few times, albeit always briefly. He’s always gotten the impression that she felt slightly abandoned by them. Looking over this figure now, he realizes there is a bitter taste in his mouth as well on her behalf.

“Forgive my forcefulness, then. What brings you here now? How may I be of help?” There’s a brief spark of worry in him, and his eyes widen. “Your champion is currently within the Solar Arc. Is everything alright?”

The councilmember stays just as serene. It’s difficult to make him out against the dust of the desert, but at the very least, his expression stays the same.

“The Wizard has completed the trials of the Solar Arc and opened a portal to the Atramental Gate outside of The Hive’s entrance. I was inside assisting her and am here to tell you she is well.”

“Really? What wonderful news! I didn’t doubt her for a second,” He removes his hand from his sword. “The Atramental Gate is back toward the entrance of the desert. Could you let her know that I’ll meet her there by morning? With the help of the Hoppers, I’ll be able to cross faster,”

“This is not all I have to tell you. While I speak for the entire Council of Light when I say we are grateful for your bravery and loyalty to the Wizard, we cannot allow you to follow her further.”

A gust of wind blows, but Dyvim stands his ground. “I don’t understand. The last place she should be on her lonesome is the heart of darkness!”

The Solar Arc he understood. He is no student of magic, nor would he benefit from the teachings within. But The Hive? The Shadow Palace? Both places of dark magic, yes, but legendary battles as well? If he could storm Fort Rachias, he could do this as well.

“This is for your safety as well as hers, Dyvim Whiteheart—”

“Nonsense! You have no tie to me. This is about your prophecy, isn’t it? The one that said she had to come to this world alone? The one that says she alone will dispel the Shadow Queen?”

“Well, if you would allow me to finish. Yes. We cannot risk jeopardizing what was sung by the Lords of Night. You have been an invaluable ally to the Wizard, but from this point on, you would only distract her from her mission.”

His ears flatten somewhat, an exasperated sound escaping him. “What? That’s—”

“This is not a matter of debate. She has already left us, you see. Another Council member was waiting for her at the doors of The Hive. The best course of action going forward is to return to Bastion and continue the fight there. We are on the heels of the Shadow, after all.”

“It doesn’t have to be me! Please, just… just send someone with her. A Council member, even. Anyone,”

It’s not that he doesn’t believe she can take Morganthe down on her own. She could move entire worlds with the flick of her wrist, rewrite galaxies with the bat of an eye. It’s that she shouldn’t have to do so by herself. Not when there are so many others who could help her shoulder the weight. He knows his words are falling on deaf ears, but he can’t help it. Never one to beg for anything, Dyvim pleads.

He cannot go home knowing that he may never see her again.

But he must go home and serve his people.

“I am running out of time,” the councilmember says. “Allow me to grant you an easy return to Bastion for your heroics.” A beat. “It’s what she wanted you to do.”

Dyvim swallows down a dry breath before straightening up. “Have you a portal for me as well?”

The apparition begins to flicker and distort. Still, the councilmember within it nods, gesturing to a small whirlpool of magic beside him. Dyvim spares the Solar Arc— and the larger Kondha Desert— one last look before stepping inside.

In the blink of an eye, he ends up in what he knows is Sardonyx. The unmistakable sound of mantis chitter sounds off around him as the Fifth Column members keep up their valiant efforts. Just as he suspected, when he turns, he’s beside the portal that has been set up between the city and Silent Market. The Council of Light must’ve used up the majority of their power arguing with him, not that he gave them much of a choice.

He wastes no time heading back across the sea. The second portal spits him out in a body of water within Silent Market. Immediately, he catches the attention of Burrower merchants and Fifth Column members alike. It’s then that the exhaustion sinks in.

Dyvim waves away the curious eyes and ears, giving them short responses as he treks through to Bastion. He doesn’t know exactly who he’s looking for as he does so.

Or rather, he does— but she’s in The Hive. And he’s here. And she’s there. And he takes no reconciliation in his safety.

Eventually, Zaltanna finds him. He’s wandering around the base of the Broken Tower, trying to decide how to enter the throne room and break the news to King Mourningsword.

“Mouse!” her familiar voice rings out. He lifts his head and sees her jogging up the stone steps. “What are you doing back here!? Where’s the Spellbinder?”

“She’s still across the sea. They’ve sent her to The Hive,” his voice is still hoarse and stopped-up from the sand.

Or that’s what he’s choosing to believe.

Zaltanna chitters to herself, keeping her composure as she holds her scythe close. He’s come to recognize that as a sign that she’s deep in thought.

“Who’s they?”

“The almighty Council of Light. Now that she’s encroaching on the Shadow Queen, she must quest alone. Devoid of distractions,”

“That’s what they told you?” she cocks her head to the side.

“Yes, that’s what they told me.” There’s a moment of silence between them. They listen to the running water, both their minds occupied with what the inside of The Hive must look like. Dyvim breaks the silence with a sigh. “This could be the end, Zaltanna.”

Of the war.

Of the Spellbinder.

“She’ll succeed. She has to,” Zaltanna throws her scythe over her shoulder. “I’ve never met someone so gratingly stubborn,” She looks him up and down. “Well, aside from you. It’s no wonder you make a good team,”

He can recognize a bone thrown in his direction when he sees it. Dyvim offers her a small, strained smile.

“Perhaps,”

“I’ve never seen you directionless, Mouse. It’s disorienting to me. I’d like you to stop. Where is it that you need to go?”

He nods in the direction of the throne room. “I must inform the King. That way he can pass the news on to Queen Sabina and the Last Wood. I want all hands on deck,”

Zaltanna takes the first step forward. “I’ll accompany you there.”

“That’s kind of you, Zaltanna,”

She only hums in response. He’ll defrost her fully another day.

Dyvim straightens up as they ascend the steps to the throne room. It hadn’t taken a lot of effort to convince King Pyat to let him across the sea, but there’s still a degree of shame in returning like this. Each guard is surprised to see him, a domino of wide eyes that lead to the shocked face of his ruler.

“Dyvim?” he says, sitting up further on his throne. “Tell me, what news comes from the Kondha Desert? Where is the Spellbinder?”

He doesn’t have to glance at Zaltanna to know she’s watching him out of the corner of her eye. He takes a deep breath, mustering the strongest voice he can as he looks upon his king.

“I am here to report, your majesty, that the Wiz— Amber. That Amber is currently within The Hive and closing in on the Shadow Queen. Our war is about to be won.”

He has to believe that.

He has to make it sound believable.

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #dyvim whitehart #wizzy fandom #wizard101 fanfiction #you ever get spurned so hard by some old cow you write a whole fic. well

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electrohazard · 8 months

Text

snarks are a combination of a parrot and an armadillo to me

#half life #half life snark #snark #kreetz.exe

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winterberryholly · 1 year

Note

Hello, I’ve weaseled my way back into the ask box for one more question for nejiten: 14. How did they first meet?

Obviously, they were on a team together, but how do you think Neji and Tenten first interacted with each other at the academy? Did 6 year old Tenten throw hands with 6 year old Neji over something he said? Was it on sight snark fests until they got to team Gai and actually had a conversation? Were they aware of each other’s existence but never interacted until team assignments gave them reason to?

You make really fun/detailed answers for this ship and I like hearing about them.

Alright you sly dog you literally caught me monologuing so enjoy 😂 ask game here!

I hadn’t thought a ton about this so I kind of had to put together who they were back then first! For Tenten, I think she’s confident and playful, outgoing, a pleasure to have in class, etc. Nana raised her tough but kind, and made sure she knew not to take shit. So for her, I think everything about Neji is “so what?” He’s sooooo cute? So what? He’s a Hyuuga which makes him mysterious and cool? So what? He’s top in their class? So what? None of this matters to her because, in the words of MIKA, his perspective on life sucks. She has better things to do with her time than spend it on someone so grumpy.

For Neji, if he’s that young, he’s just on the heels of his father passing and he hasn’t had the seal very long either, AND he doesn’t have the ability to regulate himself at this age. He can’t engage with other children—he lashes out unexpectedly, he isolates himself during play, he copes with being ostracized by developing that “I’m better than you anyway” attitude—but on the flip side, he’s “great” with adults just like all the other Hyuuga kids have ever been (very quiet, very obedient), so some of his more worrisome behavior flies under the radar. I think Iruka catches it, but his questions get dismissed because you don’t ask questions about the Hyuuga kids.

Honestly with his difficulty relating to his peers, I can see Neji being labeled “weird”by the other kids just as easily as Lee—I don’t think Tenten is an exception, at first. So when she’s put on a team with him, and Lee (weird) and Gai (WEIRD) she’s like “am I weird too??” (she is, but not the point lol). But she tries to get on with everyone, and finds she can get on well with Neji; she’d just never tried before. That awe of him that Tenten has by the chuunin exams doesn’t come until she learns about the seal—it’s awe that he’s accomplished everything he has in spite of.

ALL THIS TO SAY: their first meeting is on the first day of school. Tenten introduces herself to him just as she would anyone else, Neji introduces himself back, all seems well. But then Tenten starts talking about how excited she is for school, and what’s Neji most excited about, and I think Neji got a loooooong talk the night before about why he’s there (to learn, and that’s it, and watch how you talk) and so this poor thing just parrots back “I’m not here to socialize”. Tenten is offended, sure, but she’s also confused? “What’s that supposed to mean?” Like how is he gonna get through school and not talk to ANYONE? Neji’s shocked at her blatant disagreement (he’s not the little sassmaster we know him to be yet) but he says “we’re here to learn” and Tenten puts on the biggest little pout and is like, “fine, don’t talk to me then! See if I care!!” And stalks off. I don’t think they snark at each other all through school or anything, but just don’t really gel.

I realized halfway through writing it that this first interaction is almost exactly the same as the “we’re not friends” scene in @chaosnojutsu ‘s times gone by but I left it like this because you know what? Char is right.

Thanks for weaseling on back!!! Always welcome!! 💕

#givemeanaccountalready #nejiten #otp asks #ask game #i give detailed answers because i cannot help writing down every thought i have LMFAO #thank you!!!

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distant-velleity · 27 days

Text

by any means possible

Summary: Honestly, Yu isn't so above it all. Word count: ~500 A/N: Sooo you guys remember that one Chrytiago fic that involved Santiago in the aftermath of Vil's Overblot? Yeah well. He had to get the infirmary somehow. I had this idea last night and rushed to make a quick quintuple drabble out of it... enjoy <33

If anyone was around to notice Ace and Deuce hanging around the closed door to the infirmary, they didn’t comment on it. Nor did they comment on how lazily dutiful they seemed to be, blocking the entrance like sleeping guard dogs.

…Well, to be completely fair, anyone nearby should probably be more concerned about the conversation going on inside.

“Wei? And… Parro?!”

“He just passed out on us after the SDC performance, Doc. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do…!”

“Oh, don’t fret, don’t fret. I’ll have this handled—just sit tight, okay?”

“Okay…”

Some time passes.

“Wei, I have a question for you.”

“W—What is it, Doc?”

“Parro here… he’s showing signs of being poisoned. Specifically, it seems as if he inhaled large amounts of a gaseous poison, and a magical one at that. Although the effects were partially neutralized by a potion… I want to know what happened to him.”

“I… I thought there was some kind of rule on patient confidentiality.”

“I can’t just ignore when a student has suffered grave injuries due to magic.”

Silence.

“Yes, you can.”

“W…What?”

“I said, yes, you can just ignore it. You don’t need to know what happened.”

“Wei—”

The rustling of clothing, and clinking of glass.

“Listen, Doc. You’ve done me a lot of favors. I appreciate it! But I’m gonna need you to do another one for me.”

“...Where did you get that potion? It’s ancient—”

“Forget about this conversation and you can have it. Just take it, treat Santiago, and he’ll be as right as rain. Let’s say all that went on is he ate something not suited for parrot beastmen at the festival.”

“...And nothing else. No magic involved.”

“Nope. And you’re not going to pry about it, either.”

“...”

“So… do we have a deal?”

“...”

“...haaah. You kids sure are something. Fine, let’s shake on it.”

A moment, and then the clinking of glass again as it is transferred from one person to another.

“Always a pleasure to work with you, Doc.”

The infirmary door opens not long after, and Yu steps out. His hair is out of its usual ponytail to really play up his distressed feelings.

He lets out a relieved sigh. “I’m so glad everything’ll be okay…”

“Just transfer to Octavinelle at this point,” Ace snarks, slinging an arm over Yu’s shoulder. “Where the hell did you get that potion from?”

“Are you doing something illegal outside of school?” asks Deuce with personal concern, like the honor student he is.

Yu drops the act to laugh at them. “Does it matter? Just be happy that I guaranteed Santiago’s treatment and kept the whole thing under wraps. In Ace’s words—we need the doctor, but we don’t need him blabbing about what he sees.”

Ace childishly sticks out his tongue at him. Yu flips him off. Deuce rolls his eyes.

“Anyway,” Yu continues, “you guys know this. Sometimes you just have to get by, by any means possible.”

It’s setting a bad precedent for his behavior, but when in the villains’ world… do as the villains do.

#kai's writing #twst oc #yuusona #ace and deuce too but who cares abt them #i dont have a set hc for the nurse so maybe i will come back in a few months and cringe at this LMAO #but yes yu does tend to have moments of overconfidence and this is one of them #boy using his protagonist privileges #re: the potion -- i'll explain in another post about yu's system

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bestworstcase · 1 year

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anyway mulling over the hawker as a distraction from other brainrot and what i keep returning to with him is the wordplay on ‘hawker’ as a person who hawks wares and a person who hawks (<- as in falconry) and a british fighter plane in use during the 1930s-40s (<- the hawker hurricane, new info to me as it came up when i went to double-check hawker as a real synonym for falconer, but there’s an… interesting congruence with our hawker in that one of their notable uses was evidently being sailed around in merchant convoys(!) and catapulted(!) at hostile bombers whereafter pilots would typically bail and the aircraft would be lost(!), making them in effect a single-use emergency line of defense(!) in a stopgap system cobbled together before adequate escort aircraft carriers were available. see also catapult aircraft merchant ship i’ve been staring at wikipedia like Excuse Me? for a solid twenty minutes)

which is all very—i mean it’s wonderland, wordplay is mandatory. but then he’s also this adorable parrot-like bird (<- borogove) who wanders about selling mud cookies (<- mimsy bc nobody buys them and this makes me very sad) in a marketplace whose other denizens include these… smooth excitable creatures of indeterminate nature one of whom sells cheese (<- definitely slithy and probably toves) and which is itself a spiraling structure (<- so you gyre in it) in the center of a large lake (<- so the market is a wabe, because the lake goes a long way behind it and a long way beyond it in any direction). i do not have the wherewithal to comb the background of every shot for raths but the girls are certainly mome and the forest around the lake is tulgey, so raths or no jabberwocky is loudly everywhere well before the jabberwalker makes an entrance. so it all tracks as a subtle repetition of jabberwocky’s first stanza with the hawker being the element most clearly in focus but then we get this reversal of meaning from hawker into hawker and this formerly harmless and adorable parrot, who is really quite large and as it turns out rather more hawklike when he’s screaming battle-cries and hurtling talons-first toward the camera, not only goes toe-to-toe with the jabberwalker but also does fairly well at first (<- he fully stops the jabberwalker mid-charge and bowls it over in his first strike, and then we hear him keeping it pinned down while the cat talks to ruby; he only gets into trouble when the jabberwalker snags him out of the air, which is also something it does to ruby mid-burst—so this is not a clear-cut case of a civilian getting curb-stomped necessarily because we’ve just seen that this creature’s reflexes are faster than ruby’s semblance.)

and like borogoves are not the only kind of bird mentioned in jabberwocky; there’s also the jubjub bird (<- note singular), of which the poem’s subject is advised to “beware.” in the hunting of the snark, the jubjub bird makes a somewhat more detailed appearance: it lives in a cold, narrow valley and is an evidently nocturnal bird whose arrival is heralded by a “scream, shrill and high.” the jubjub bird is temperamentally “desperate” because it “lives in perpetual passion” and in appearance it is “entirely absurd” because “its taste in costume […] is ages ahead of the fashion”—so the literal suggestion here is that the jubjub bird wears clothes. further it is, while fearsome, not a bad creature; “it knows any friend it has met once before:/it never will look at a bribe:/and in charity meetings it stands at the door,/and collects—though it does not subscribe.”

so, while jabberwocky does not elaborate whatsoever on the jubjub bird’s nature, with snark taken into consideration, the hawker suggests the description of the dangerous but also amicable jubjub bird to a much greater degree than he does the hapless borogoves. the ambiguous dual meaning of his name (<- i.e. purpose) is thus reiterated in his allusion, at passing glance to the borogoves but with a little more attention (and familiarity with carroll) revealing himself as the jubjub bird. and then there’s the convoy catapult emergency bomber-intercept hawker hurricane whose purpose is to sacrifice itself to protect seafaring merchants as a stopgap until the arrival of more suitable escorts, which is either an absolutely hysterical coincidence or else someone on the writing team couldn’t resist the allure of “hurricat.” (<- REAL TERM. do note the pilots of these planes bailed and were then collected by their convoys unless things went really badly awry, which is somewhat reassuring as to the likelihood that neo’s fake jabberwalkers can’t permadeath the denizens like the real one can.)

AND THEN like, the cat says they gave the hawker something new to do and people have generally put that together with the inexplicable electric-blue eye light trails to conclude that the cat outright brainwashed the guy, but i don’t think that’s the obvious smoking gun people think it is—the light trails match the bright blue color on his beak, and his eyes and the teal stripes on his cookie tray are the same color desaturated. (and this is the second time rwby has given eyes of flame to the opponent of the eyeless jabberwalker, with the first metaphorical instance also being reified through yang popping her semblance to land the killing blow, so like. it’s a thing. to read the poem you have to hold it up to a mirror thus by extension you cannot encounter the jabberwock except by coming face-to-face with yourself, is the idea being played with here. maybe the jabberwock is you.)

and taken together with the hawker of goods/hawker of hawks wordplay and the jubjub-bird-masquerading-as-borogove allusion and the catapult bomber intercept hawker sacrifice merchant convoy thing… like for as little presence as the hawker has in the episode there’s really a lot of thematic density and all of it is singularly focused on constructing this holographic identity. this hawker is for selling and that hawker is for hunting, superimpose the two and you get a fierce-silly-sociable-scary interference pattern of the jubjub bird peddling cookies and knocking the jabberwock on its ass and going down fighting to defend the local market; did the cat force a new purpose on him or just tap him for the reverse angle of the purpose he already had?—and this question arises in the context of an arc narrative set in wonderland-through-the-looking-glass and working with mirror-image and reversal and optical illusion and hidden meaning as its fundamental symbolic building blocks and exploration/interrogation of identity through changed perception of the self as its central thematic conceit! like! there’s a lot going on in here!

#rwby v9 spoilers #i just think the general haste to read everything as CAT EVIL MIND CONTROL DYSTOPIAN HELLSCAPE is very boring actually.#like go read carroll fr #the ever after is an entire love letter to carroll #and i really do think you need to have a sense of how carroll’s wonderland #like. works #fundamentally #in order to get the most out of the ever after #bc the ever after is profoundly different and exactly the same

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