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vall-the-pen · 14 days

Note

I loved your recent Alhaitham fic! I was wondering if you would consider writing a pt. 2 where Alhaitham regrets how he treated you and attempts to win you back (maybe 4ggravate finds out and attempts to help Alhaitham to win you back)? I understand if not. Thank you for sharing your writing!

Thank you so much for liking my first fic! Feel free to request anything genshin-related and I’ll try my best to provide!

You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath (pt. 2)

It was rare, I was there

Here’s part 1!

Synopsis: despite the neglect and everything that happened, you both still longed for each other…

Content: Alhaitham x fem!reader, wingmen!4ggravate, implied Dehyarzad, Collei, absent Cyno, Tighnari, second chances, writer!reader, angst to comfort, reader is with someone else

Warnings: slight cursing, long intro again (I can’t help it), mild spoilers for Sumeru archon quest chapter 3 act 2, Collei goes missing

Note: this part can be optional for you. If you prefer to end it at part one, then feel free to do so! But, if you’re a sucker for second chances (like me), then consider this a treat from me to you!

—

Nothing. You could hear nothing.

Not your heart pounding to the rhythm of your feet. Not the screaming in your head as you spotted familiar grey hair walking around the city. Your thoughts immediately tasted bitter—if he had the time to walk now, how come he hadn’t back then?

You surmise that you weren’t worth the step.

The weight of his absence hung over you like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over the warmth of the day. Despite your efforts to push the pain aside, it crept back, heavy and suffocating. Your mother's words echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain, a reminder that perhaps you had been foolish to invest so much in someone who couldn't reciprocate your love.

The shops were as busy and ever; merchant services, inquiries about products, scholars out in the open. You were out for groceries, almost ashamed for showing your face after the scene you caused 15 days ago. The world needed to know you were strong, though, so you put a big smile on your face and a new perfume worth Alhaitham’s salary. You even reached out to Cyno about the book you mentioned; so far, everything has been accurate, according to him.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called to you. Turning your head in that direction, you see Dehya in the distance waving at you. Once you’ve said hello, she looked at you with a smirk on her face, “Wow, did a flower barf on you? You look radiant!”

“Radiant?” You humble yourself, “I don’t remember putting on any jewelry.”

“No, silly!” She gestured to your everything, “There’s this aura you’re emitting and it’s making you glow!” Glow? All you did these past few days was cry, eat, and write. Perhaps it was the tears that helped. They irritated your eyes so much it gave you a softer, more approachable look. “Do you think you could lend me some of that eyeshadow?”

Try crying every hour, Dehya. “Ah, I just did a favor for a friend studying cosmetology. I’m not entirely sure what products they used,” you lie. Thinking about Alhaitham will certainly eat you alive; you change the subject despite the flattery you enjoyed. “What brings you to the city?”

Enthusiasm spouts from the mercenary, “My lady Dunyarzad invited me over for the Sabzeruz Festival; and you know me, I gotta be there for my lady!”

You found it adorable—almost enviable—how they still keep in touch even after Dehya’s resignation. Call a spade a spade, that is real commitment. It makes you wonder if you’d be here, ‘radiant’ and ‘glowing,’ if you were treated that way.

“The Sabzeruz Festival? I didn’t realize it was so close. Wow, time surely flies.” Suddenly, you feel excitement rush through your veins, a new experience after days of steady tides.

“Couldn’t agree more,” said Dehya. From a distance, you both heard Dunyarzad call her name. “Ah, it looks like she needs me back there. I better go check on her. If you want, you should totally come over the bazaar once the festival is ready. Dunyarzad and I would be lucky to have you celebrate with us!” After you gave an accepting nod and farewell, Dehya ran off to the woman in purple, practically skipping on her feet.

As you watched their lively interaction, a surge of envy and longing swept through you. Their easy camaraderie and genuine happiness a stark contrast to the emptiness and loneliness gnawing at your insides. You had longed to experience that kind of connection, to be enveloped in the warmth of love and companionship once more. But deep down, you knew it was a distant dream, a fantasy you could never reclaim.

You weren’t a religious person, but out of sheer desperation, you prayed.

Lesser Lord Kusanali, please free me from this torment. Let the flowers in my garden bloom of life, let the fruits grow ripe even without much sun, let the trees reach the highest of buildings.

—

Simple greetings and little nods, Alhaitham wouldn’t have minded if those scholars were you. In fact, instead of returning those nods and hellos, he would embrace you, lift your feet off the ground and spin you around like you always wanted.

After you stormed out the tavern, Cyno went ahead and asked what happened to the both of you. For the first time, he couldn’t give a straight answer. Every excuse seemed to damage your image, and that was the last thing he wanted. Kaveh ended up taking over to save him the embarrassment.

The 15 days he burned for you were like falling into the abyss, fighting every day to the brink of death, unable to eat the sustenance that came from your warmth.

The now Scribe Alhaitham needed something to keep you off his mind. He considered attending a meeting, but none seemed to pique his interest. Every thought ended up on your doorstep, making him think of dropping by. “Kaveh,” he called the architect scribbling on his notebook, “have you seen Y/N, as of late?”

“No, she hasn’t been feeling well these past few weeks. Shouldn’t you be in a meeting?”

“Shouldn’t you be paying rent?”

Kaveh cursed at Alhaitham, “I’m trying to make the money, goddamit!”

“Maybe you would have the money if you stopped settling for your clients’ low budgets.”

“Is it hard to find me considerate?”

“I’d rather call it pathetic.”

“Go catch whatever Y/N has,” he shooed Alhaitham away, “maybe that would give you some perspective.”

The scribe stood silent for a few seconds. He knew his roommate was right, he should’ve thought about how you felt before anything. Kaveh was about to believe he had won a squabble for once, but then he suddenly revealed, “Y/N… is angry at me.”

Kaveh pshawed at him, “With the way you talked to her? No shit.” Alhaitham didn’t move an inch. “Hey, what happened there, anyway? It wasn’t like Y/N to burst out to you like that. Are you hiding something?”

With a sigh, the grey-haired man decided to reveal everything to his roommate. He listened intently, gasping and scolding him for his lack of attention towards you, adding salt to his open wounds. Upon recalling the words the scribe had said, Kaveh took a slight breath, “You fucked up.”

“I know.”

“You need to go fix this.”

“I know.”

“And you were calling me pathetic!”

“I know! I just-“ he couldn’t believe he was saying this. “I need help.”

As he was popularly known, Alhaitham wasn’t one to ask for help. Not because he had too much pride, but because he knew how to solve things like the back of his hand. He had access to numerous files from the Akasha, and he had connections to powerful people, being the scribe and all.

But this was a different situation. Every solution did not guarantee a 100% success rate, 87% at best, and that was not enough for Alhaitham. He was ready to do anything for you, to get on his knees and raise you to the highest regard, to even beg.

“I could ask Tighnari,” Kaveh began, “The Sabzeruz Festival is coming soon, maybe you could ask her out?”

Right, now that he’s perceived as a hero of his nation, he is expected to attend these festivals. He never bothered to come before, and he wouldn’t now, but he was willing to if it meant getting to see you again. “I don’t think she’ll be accepting me as her date.”

“Then we’ll talk to her.”

“Will she be willing to listen? Wait, isn’t she sick?”

Kaveh sighed, downhearted, “Right.” Then he clicked his fingers at the scribe, “I have an idea!”

—

“Collei? What are you doing here,” you said after opening your door. She drew a small grin with worried eyes, holding a box of goods for you. It’s been a while since you saw her, she grew up well, taller since your last meeting.

“Hello, miss Y/N! I heard from Master Tighnari that you weren’t feeling well,” yes, you distinctly remember lying to them (Tighnari, and Kaveh) so they wouldn’t see you as often. “So I thought I could bring you simple remedies.” The little girl observed you. “But now I think there’s no need for that,” she chuckled.

“Ah, yeah, don’t worry, it was just a small cold. Speaking of Tighnari, how come he isn’t here with you?” You ushered her in and sat her down for some tea, placing her box of medicines on the counter.

“He had some business to attend to with a merchant and allowed me to visit you. It’s been a while since you’ve travelled to Gandharva Ville, miss Y/N, do you have any plans on visiting?”

“Yes, I’m thinking of basing the rainforest as the main setting for my new book, actually.”

You both chatted about everything you could as you waited for the water to boil. Afterwards, you served a hot teapot, dwelling in mint and lotus herbs. “Ah, Collei, how long are you and Tighnari staying in the city?”

“Just for three days, though I would like to stay until after the Sabzeruz Festival,” she chuckles, holding her now warm cup in her hands.

“You could come with me if Tighnari would allow it.”

The little girl’s eyes beamed with stars, “Really? Oh, I’ve been dreaming of going to one for ages! Miss Nilou will be performing, right?” You nod to her delight, “Yes! Archons, I really hope Master would let me.”

As if he heard his name, Tighnari knocked on your door. Opening it, he looked glad seeing your healthy state. “Y/N! Good to see you’re feeling well now.” He peaked behind you to see Collei sip from her cup.

Upon recognizing her master, Collei got up and greeted him. “Hi, Master! Miss Y/N and I were just talking about the Sabzeruz Festival, and that I could come with her to see Miss Nilou perform!” Her enthusiasm was as contagious as a cold, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“As long as it wouldn’t be a hassle for Y/N, and that you would always be careful when purchasing products,” Tighnari worries like a mother. “Always look at the expiration dates, check if there are anything you’re allergic to.”

He goes on and on for about 5 minutes until you cut him off, “Alright, alright, Tighnari, it’s not like she’ll be going all alone; she has me with her!”

With this, Collei wrapped her arms around your waist, ever so thankful for your support. You thought of her as a niece, and she thought of you as an auntie, willing to give her advice on anything, trivial or not. After a few more words exchanged, and details for the festival, the pair decide to head to their cottage.

For once, you enjoyed your time and not think of Alhaitham once!

Oops.

—

It was the day of the Sabzeruz Festival; you had already picked Collei up from their cottage and are on your way to the Grand Bazaar. You could see thousands of attendees, travelling merchants, and familiar faces on the way.

As the vibrant colors and lights of the festival unfolded before you, the once a source of excitement and anticipation now loomed before you like a daunting reminder of what you had done. Despite Dehya's invitation, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider, a solitary figure adrift in a sea of joyous revelry. Each smile, each laugh felt like a dagger to your already wounded heart, a painful reminder of the love you had lost and the embarrassment that now consumed you.

But this was no time for dwelling upon the memories that brought misery, remember, Collei is counting on you to give her a good time.

“Y/N, Collei!” You spot Kaveh in the distance waving and walking your way. Collei happily waved back. “I’m so glad I could run into you guys, you have no idea how terrified I am of meeting a client by accident.”

You laughed, “Do I have to accompany you, too, Kaveh?”

“Actually, I was thinking of letting you have some fun while I take care of little Collei here.” He ruffles her neatly-done hair, now messy but more natural-looking. This led Collei to bring out a small comb to fix it.

You felt irresponsible leaving Collei in someone else’s care, you’d said you would take care of her, and it felt like you would be breaking a promise if you agreed to his offer. You tuck your hair behind your ear, “I don’t know, Kaveh, something feels wrong about that, no offense. Plus, if something were to happen to Collei, we wouldn’t hear the end of it; you wouldn’t like Tighnari when he’s angry.”

“A fair point, but you’ve been locked up in your house for two weeks, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. You deserve to be out there, butterfly, spread the wings you grew from being in that cocoon!”

That somehow felt too specific. Does he know something? Collei starts to agree, despite seeming so excited to go with you. “Even you, Collei?” You sigh, “Fine, but if something happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You weren’t expecting to have so much fun here. The lights, the music, even the people were a blast! At first you were anxious for Collei, checking in from time to time, then as you continued to do so, your vists would be more spaced apart. You drank some punch with Dehya and Dunyarzad, who seemed to be doing really well for themselves, then you danced with the crowd in the name of Lesser Lord Kusanali.

After all of that, it was time for one last dance before Nilou’s grand performance. The band began to play a soft, romantic folk song. “Alright, Sumeru City,” called the lead singer, their voice sonorous with seduction, “before we settle down for the reknowned Nilou, let’s have a little treat for all the couples out there. So, grab your partner and dance along.”

Just as you were at the height of excitement, everything seemed to come crashing down again. You stood on the sidelines, feeling lost and out of place. Dehya and Dunyarzad swayed together, hand in hand. A lot of other couples came together and danced. The passion embedded in the song they sang only made you feel more alone, the walls of the Grand Bazaar growing taller and taller as you gazed upon them in longing.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, a man you don’t remember meeting. “Excuse me, miss, could I trouble you with a dance?” He looked about your age, a nice smile and an energetic demeanor. You were cautious of his intentions, though. It’s possible to have fun while maintaining a distance, right?

You accepted his invitation, all of the sudden you felt a sick knot in your stomach, like you were cheating on Alhaitham. But you weren’t together anymore, why would you stop yourself from meeting new people?

The man said his name was Hafan, a mercenary from the Corps of Thirty. He offered to buy you a drink once the dance was over, and again, you gladly accepted while the sweat in your palms said otherwise. You talked with every step you took, getting to know each other and telling stories. He made you laugh—a lot—and you impressed him with your witty comebacks. Perhaps this was the Dendro Archon’s response to your prayer? A hand to guide you through the maze, and to help you believe in love again?

But just amidst the merry atmosphere of the festival, a lingering anxiousness settled within your stomach.

Then, you saw him.

Alhaitham stood in the corner of the room, the desperate merchants and harmonizing of the band seemed to die down as time stood still. The vibrant colors faded into shades of grey as your heart clenched with a mixture of dread and longing.

It was as if a gate had opened within you, unleashing a torrent of emotions you had struggled to contain. Guilt gnawed at your conscience, regret tore your chest open, and love gave your heart to him.

As Hafan twirled you gracefully across the makeshift floor, you held your gaze with Alhaitham, your heart torn between the past and the present, between what was and what could’ve been.

Maybe you had been thinking too rashly, maybe he had changed over the course of your absence. The way he looked at you with such burning could not make you think otherwise.

In that moment, with all the crowds in the festival and the ache of your fractured heart, you knew for certain—no matter how hard you deny it, no matter how fast you tried to run, you could never escape the grasp he had on your soul.

The dance had ended, though it felt like it just started. Before Hafan could get that drink he promised, you said, “I’m sorry, Hafan.” He looked at you in confusion. “You must be looking for someone to—I don’t know—spend the rest of the festival with, and I don’t think I can fulfill that position. You’re a sweet guy, truly, I’m just not in a good place for anything right now.” Archons, you sounded ridiculous. But to your suprise, the man hardly took it personally.

“It’s okay, I get it. I had fun with you tonight, Y/N. You’re a great person to be around.” You almost regret having to end your time with him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?” He gave you a nod of farewell and left your side.

You looked in the direction of Alhaitham, again, hoping to catch that feeling of familiarity, but you had found he was no longer there. Perhaps it was your imagination.

You then searched for Collei and Kaveh, but they were nowhere to be found. They weren’t near the stalls, or in front of the stage.

They were nowhere in the bazaar.

The panic you felt shook your entire foundation, the pillars that kept you from going back home, back to the pain.

What if they had been kidnapped? You trusted Kaveh’s words, that he would take care of her, but for all you know they could be in the middle of the desert right now! What if Kaveh had run into a client and got distracted? What if Collei got injured or hospitalized?

Your heart began beating in your ears, your breath hastened with every thump. The air seemed so thin in the enclosed space, you needed to go outside. Yes, perhaps you could have a better chance at finding them out there, too.

As you walked out the doors of the Grand Bazaar, Collei’s name immediately echoed through the night. “Collei!” After numerous calls left with no answers, lumps of tears began crawling down your cheeks. “Oh my archon,” you sobbed. You could imagine the look on Tighnari’s face, the worry, the anger, the disappointment.

The feeling of losing them was clawing to your soul, like a mother bird losing her chick after their first flight. If they go missing, it was your fault. That fact will forever stain your soul, haunting your remaining days until the sweet release of death.

You sat on a curb, just near the entrance of the bazaar in hopes that the little girl and the architect would return unharmed. More tears had revealed themselves as your thoughts grew more and more intense, terrorizing, even.

The streets were so quiet, only the music from the festival and the first chirps of the crickets seemed to fill your ears, your sobs excluded. No guards or matras were present with you. Who the hell was in charge of security here!? The starry sky brought a comfortable cold instead of blazing heat.

You then heard footsteps from the bazaar and a person sitting beside you. “I walked them home,” a gruff voice sounded, “Collei was getting tired.”

Just your luck, the man who sat with you was no other than Alhaitham. Despite the conflicting emotions that came to you in a flash, you were relieved that Collei was safe. You let out a heavy breath. “Thank you,” you sniff, brushing away the tears that stained your face.

It was quiet again, for a while. You could hear Nilou’s music from outside; “Collei would’ve loved seeing Nilou dance,” you thought aloud. “I remember her basking about it when she had just became Tighnari’s pupil.” Suddenly, you felt calmer, safer now that the eerie silence accompanied you with the presence of the man you knew as well as breathing.

—

Alhaitham couldn’t say anything, busying himself gazing upon your eyes and your weakly pulled smile. There was still sadness lingering within them, covered by a coating of relief. He felt remorse for taking Collei away from you, for making you worry like this, for leaving you in the dark for a long, long time. Nonetheless, he was happy it led to you talking to him again. He was almost certain this day would never come.

Then he is reminded of you dancing with another man. His heart pounded erratically against his chest, each beat echoing the tumultuous storm of emotions raging within him. He had come to the festival in search of hope and redemption, a fleeting reprieve from the pain that chewed up his soul. But instead, he had found more heartache, contrary to the plan.

As he watched you twirl and sway with the man’s hand in yours, he felt as though the world tilted off its axis, leaving him teetering on the precipice of anguish. How could you be dancing so freely with another when every fiber of his being yearned to hold you so close, to feel the warmth you gave him once more?

His hands clenched into fists against his knees, his jaw tightened with unexpressed emotion. He remembered how badly he wanted to look away, but the flow of your hair and how gracefully you moved wouldn’t let him, it was as if you had casted a spell upon him, forever tormenting him to stay on the sidelines, to repress the overwhelming desire to be the one twirling you around and making you smile.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over him—a searing pang of jealousy intertwined with a profound sense of regret and longing. Then just when he was ready to cross the bridge that separated you, he felt a small tug on his darkened cape. “Mr. Scribe Alhaitham,” Collei said meekly, sheepishly rubbing her eyes, “Did the plan work?”

He remembers Kaveh’s words, so filled with determination, She’ll do anything for Collei, so if she asks to go to the festival, Y/N will for sure accompany her! Once the slow dance starts, that’s when you’ll swoop in and declare your love.

And if it doesn’t work?, the scribe raised his eyebrows.

It will! I’ll make sure no one gets near her.

Boy, did that plan go to shit.

He gave the little girl a soft smile despite the mind-numbing pain in his chest. He knelt down to her level, “Isn’t Kaveh supposed to be with you?”

“Someone was talking to him just a while ago. It seemed pretty heated, so I slipped away when I got the chance,” she yawned.

“Of course,” Alhaitham muttered. Must be a client of his. “You look tired, Collei.”

“I think I’m ready to go home now, Mr. Alhaitham.” The drowsiness in her eyes could barely hold her awake. It was getting late, she must not be used to staying up at times like these.

Alhaitham looked back at you, wondering if you were still keeping your eyes on him. To no avail, it was like you had vanished like a ghost with the beautiful, painful sight he had witnessed along with you. A heavy feeling lingered in his chest, leaving him to wonder if you would lock your gaze with him again. Then he left, accompanying Collei back to her and Tighnari’s cottage.

On his way back to the bazaar for reasons unknown, he found you weeping in your hands, curled up like a shriveled bug beaten down, calling out Collei’s name. After he assured you of the little girl’s safety, you began talking about your experiences with her. Ever so glad, he listened to your voice, melodious and soothing like a lullaby to put him to sleep. The euphoria he experienced was one like no other, it was the first time he felt at peace for eons against the stars and the cool breeze. Then, he wondered, were you feeling the same?

“They found a new Grand Sage,” he announced.

“Is that why you have the time now?” Your words stung his morality, picking on the weak scabs of his mistakes.

He took a moment to respond. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Unable to meet his gaze, you managed a casual tone, “I know, Alhaitham.” His name sounded like a song whenever it came from your lips. “Besides, it’s not your fault.” Your voice was then hoarse of emotion, fingers picking at the dirt beneath you. “I shouldn’t have let myself to get lost in my own thoughts.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” Alhaitham insisted. “I should not have made you feel like you were alone.”

“But it happened anyway.”

For a moment, silence enveloped the space between you, only broken by the distant sounds of the festival. Then, slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, in a light that had no remorse, for the first time since you told him to leave.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you admitted, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “But I do know I’m willing to try.”

With this, Alhaitham took you in a warm embrace, letting out a shaky breath as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He then held you by the shoulders, teary as you released him from this torture. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right again.”

As you looked into his eyes, you found the sincerity in his voice, determination reflecting upon his irises. Despite everything that had happened, you couldn’t deny the hope that ignited in your stomach. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to find your way back together.

You held his hands first, then traced your way to his cheeks, warm with anticipation. Then you pulled him into a kiss that was long overdue, Alhaitham almost tumbling from the force you had exerted.

As your lips meet, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way they press together, as if each touch carries the weight of a thousand whispered promises. Time seems to stand still as you both lose yourselves in the sensation, senses heightened by the intoxicating blend of warmth and desire. It's a symphony of sensations—a gentle caress, a fleeting brush of lips, a silent exchange of emotions that speaks volumes without a single word. And in that fleeting moment, you find solace, connection, and a sense of belonging in each other's embrace.

Slow as the breeze blew your hair, everything froze and only he brought the fire to relieve you of your vains. Alhaitham’s lips were soft and cold, clearly waiting for this day to come. When he leaned back for air, foreheads connected together, you breathed, “I love you.”

As you heard the crowd’s applause from a distance, as if cheering for your reconciling, he replied, “I love you more,” before pulling you in for another well-deserved kiss.

—the end.—

#genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fanfic #alhaitham angst #angst to comfort #4ggravate #alhaitham #alhaitham comfort #dehyarzad #genshin dehya #dunyarzad

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downundergarfield · 1 year

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hello! may i request a s/o that loves to give hugs and kiss to mercenaries? i think it would be cute!!(thank you in advance!)

Hiii, lovely anon! Here's what I came up with!

I've tried to follow a certain pattern. First, hugs in front of everyone, the second kisses in front of everyone and the third - kisses and hugs in private, hope you enjoy

S/O who loves to give hugs and kisses to mercs

Scout ⚾

- He's surprised every time you hug him, he giggles and hugs you back. He is a very loving boy!

- Jeremy blushes deeply every time you kiss him. He screams and hides his face in his cap if you do it in front of everyone. "-AAH, Stop, Y/N, im not cute!!"

- when you kiss him alone, he turns into melted cheese and spreads in pleasure while you caress his cheeks and lips. He loves kissing you. He misses it so much. You fill his need for love with your love and hugs and kisses

Soldier 🦅

- He always says that real soldiers don't need these endearments. But when you hug him in spite of this, he hugs you tighter than anything! The soldier is proud of you and will tell everyone that only he has the right to hug you. He loves it when you hug him patting his broad back.

- When you kiss this noisy American, he becomes even more noisy "- SHE/HE/THEY KISSED ME!!!! EVERYONE!!!! KISSED ME, ONLY MEEE HAHAHAAAA". He is so proud that you love to caress him that way

- in private, he loves your kisses and will kiss back, not letting go for a long time, because he really likes your lips. He will hug you like a pillow, putting his legs up at yours and all that

Pyro 🔥

- They love all that! So they will hug you back, tight, tight, maybe even tighter than you yourself, because they are absolutely happy to hug you

-You kiss them in a gas mask when they gently touch your cheeks with a filter, imitating a kiss. They are not shy about it in public, at all!

- Pyro is a big hugger, when you hang out alone, draw or play, they will hug you very often, and moo happily when you hug them back. They are not hungry for touch, they just really like it.

Demoman 💣

- he breaks into a satisfied smile every time you hug him. He adores your tactility and love of hugs.

- When he is sober, he will only blush a little and be embarrassed, smiling and looking away "-ooh, Laddy, come on, not in front of everyone..."

But when he is in his usual condition, as soon as you kiss him on the cheek, he will firmly grab and kiss you on the lips in response.

- of course he will hug you back in private. When you are alone, he turns into the most loving person in the world, you often lie in an embrace glued together like two dumplings while he showers your forehead with kisses.

Heavy 🐻

- it's hard not to hug him, isn't it? The big, stern Siberian loves it when you hug him. He often hugs you back, hugging you tightly with his big hands.

- he blushes when you kiss him in front of everyone. But he smiles and pats you on the head "-milaya, not at work...you make me blush"

- when you are alone, he likes to put you on his lap and read you different books, sometimes he translates books from Russian for you, kisses the top of your head and hugs you tightly.

Engineer 🔧

- this Texan doesn't mind hugging you back. He loves it when you hug him and will gladly hug you back. He is not embarrassed when you hug him in front of everyone, he is happy to show the others that you are happy to be together

- If you kiss him in front of everyone, he will blush and laugh good-naturedly, kissing you back. Even if it's at work, just be careful and choose the right moment.

- In private, he likes it when you hug him. He thinks it's cute when you take off his hardhat to kiss him on the forehead. He likes to cuddle with you on his mechanical chair

Medic 💉

- When you hug him in front of everyone, he becomes the happiest person in the world. He will willingly hug you back.

- if you kiss him, he will blush and will vigorously ask for more. He likes the shape, texture and taste of your lips. Especially on his own lips

- in private, he will be so happy with your hugs. He likes to walk with his bare hands on your back counting every rib and praising you for your lovely body every time.

Sniper 🏹

- Try to catch the moment when this guy will be in front of everyone. But if you hug him at some general meeting, he will blush and hide it under his hat. The sniper will not move until the end of the meeting, so as not to scare you away, so that you continue to hug him.

- if you kiss him at the meeting. Dude, you'll make him blush deeply and hide behind a hat until the very end

"- Y/n. Its a wrong time, drongo."

- damn it, private, he will beat you in the love of hugs. He literally won't let go of you. This man is a real professional in hugging. Be sure, sometimes, private, he will just pile on you about and without, hugging for hours. He loves to kiss you, he will kiss you even more than you. He's so happy that you love it all too.

"-This is what I needed, Roo..."

Spy 🍷

- you like to hug him in front of everyone because he reacts to it, so snobbish "-Y/N, stop. You will rumple my suit.." he will look away and push you away a little, trying not to offend. It's a pity that his ski mask hides his blush

- if you kiss him in front of everyone (of course, if you manage to catch the moment when he is without a cigarette in his mouth), he will cover his face with his hands. "-Oh, please, not in front of everyone, je t'en prie..."

- in private, he discards it all. Alone, he won't let go of your lips and will kiss and hug you for all the things you teased him with all day.

He smells of cigarettes and wine. What happens in his smoking room is not worth comparing with what happens in front of everyone

#garfieldwriting #tf2 sniper x reader #sniper x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 x you #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 demo x reader #tf2 engineer x reader #tf2 heavy x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 medic #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 pyro x reader #tf2 spy x reader #tf2 soldier x reader

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forthegothicheroine · 3 months

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Henchwomen Through the Ages

The "ages" of comics are not hard and fast things, and even comic book historians argue where they begin and end. They're more like moods than time periods, and your standard game of Henchwoman RPG will probably be set in a vague time period that could be anywhere from the thirties to today with an overall Silver Age mood. Still, let's take a look at how the roll of the Henchwoman has evolved, shall we?

Goldie is a gun-toting, cigar-chomping bank robber in victory rolls and a bullet bra. She's not called a henchwoman- she's called "Look out, that broad has a grenade!" She's loyal to the boss despite his dumb penny gimmick, but if he ever finked on her in court, he wouldn't live to see the sunrise. There's no Henchwomen's Union for her to join yet, but she's provided muscle for plenty of mob-backed unions. Goldie can't afford to be soft on heroes since they'd be just as happy to throw her off a roof as to arrest her, but she might be wooed by an appeal to patriotism- she ain't no Nazi rat! Her hobbies include matinee shows, swing dancing, and blasting coppers.

Sylvia is a competitive surfer and was a cocktail waitress until they fired her for slapping too many customers. Thanks to the newly formed Henchwomen's Union, she's treated much better by her current job, which usually involves crashing parties to steal themed jewelry. She and the heroes she fights have an understanding- they'll never be rough with her, and she won't check up on them after putting them in a death trap to see if they've died. On her off hours, she can go dancing in the same outfit she worked in- a silver jumpsuit, gogo boots and a purely decorative motorcycle helmet.

Brawny is a member of the Sisterhood of Wicked Witches, and she fights for a cause- or rather, several causes. These range from the reasonable (Save the whales!) to the less reasonable (A free ray gun for every child!) The Henchwomen's Union is strong enough to get her good pay, so many of her problems are philosophical- is she a good guy or a bad guy, and what do good and bad even mean? Brawny has to be a bit more careful than she would have been ten years ago, since death may well stick- but that also means she might really kill a hero, at least for a while, and that's what matters!

Tenebra prefers to be called a Dark Muse, a member of a vampire circle dedicated to bringing art to life, painted in colors of blood. Her eyeliner is swirly and her gowns are velvet, and she wears them onstage in her sideline darkwave band. Tenebra arranges her crimes in accordance with pre-raphaelite imagery, with victims displayed in heartbreakingly beautiful and mythologically-influenced poses. Her boss may technically be the Queen of the Vampires, and she may have a card with the Henchwomen's Union, but her true loyalty is to art itself.

Ferra is a mercenary with a separate pouch for each type of bullet, and she has a lot of types of bullet. Her stilettos are tall but her hair is taller, and she can strike intimidating poses that would break a normal person's back. The Henchwomen's Union had its own back broken by the bosses, and is now more of informal underground thing, but it still hooks her up with real deal bad guys. She'll kill without a second thought for her boss, but she's only one bad day away from turning her gun on him. It might even happen accidentally, since he and the heroes dress exactly the same. Ferra somehow has a heavy metal soundtrack even when there's no music playing.

Ally got a degree in psychology but until she can afford grad school, she gigs as a henchwoman. Her bosses are sillicon valley dickheads, but the first one to offer her real benefits will have her loyalty for life. Thanks to the resurgence of the Henchwomen's Union, Ally gets to wear big stompy boots instead of high heels, but she still has to wear a big day-glo logo on her leather jacket that might as well be a target sign. Her hobbies include pop culture conventions, smoking weed and credit card fraud.

#henchwoman rpg

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years

Text

Just Friends? // J. Todd x f!reader

Requested? yes!

WARNINGS: none

Summary: Jason panicked and told Dick he was dating someone. Now he’s being forced to bring them to family dinner so he turns to his best friend, you, for help.

“You want me to…what?”

The couch dipped beside you and a heavy arm draped across the back. You nudged Jason with your elbow as he crowded up against you and he retaliated by swiping your book out of your hand. Since he didn’t particularly feel like dying again that day, he made sure to slide a bookmark between the pages before he shut it and tossed it onto his coffee table.

“I need you to be my date. To Sunday night dinner.” He said it so simply that you had half the mind to start concussion protocol in case he had landed helmet-first sometime during last night’s patrol. You raised an inquisitive eyebrow and he grinned.

“And this is in relation to…?”

“Dick was trying to set me up with this guy he met at a coffee shop and knowing Dick’s taste in people, I panicked and said I was already dating someone and he insisted that I bring them to meet the family. Because anyone who would date me, and I quote, is a godsend and/or in need of some serious help.”

You hummed and poked his cheek. “What if I’m both?”

“See? You’re perfect.”

You adjusted your seating on the couch so you could face him, one leg tucked under you and the other hanging off the edge of his worn couch. His large hand came down to rest on your thigh and he drew circles against your skin before squeezing gently. You slid one hand to the nape of his neck and played with his hair.

“How on earth are we going to convince your family, the greatest detectives in the world, that we’re a couple?”

You found yourself at Wayne Manor on Sunday with one very antsy vigilante. He kept asking if you remembered the story the two of you had generated and you were very close to throttling him. Two years of friendship and he still didn’t trust your ability to make shit up on the fly.

The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a short kid. He appraised you with a disinterested expression and then delicately sniffed.

“Todd, I see you have brought your lady friend for once.”

“Nice to see you too, Demon Spawn.” Jason ruffled his hair as he passed and the kid swatted his hand, a murderous glare flitting across his face.

“You must be Damian.” You held out your hand and he regarded it coolly before shaking it. “Jay told me you like animals. Remind me later and I’ll show you pictures of my cats.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded and stepped aside. “That is agreeable. Perhaps I can introduce you to Alfred as well.”

You mouthed something akin to isn’t that the butler? to Jason and he snickered as he sidled up to you and slid his hand along your waist. “Butler AND cat. Damian was inspired when he named him.”

“Hmmm, that’s cute. So, one sibling down. How many more to go?”

“Too many.” He leaned down to brush a kiss across your brow. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, bird boy.”

Dinner went off without a hitch. Dick declared his love for you the second he met you, Tim was hesitant at first and fully assumed you were actually a mercenary hired by Jason to try and kill him again, Steph gleefully regaled you with stories of Jason slipping and falling off of roofs during patrol, and Cass had laughed when Jason had tried to steal some of Alfred’s famous mashed potatoes off of your plate and you proceeded to launch a fork at him.

Bruce, as expected, just sat quietly.

“Oh, miss, don’t worry about the plates,” Alfred exclaimed when you started stacking up Jason’s dirty dishes onto yours. “I have it handled.”

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal.”

“Quite alright, miss. It is my job after all.”

You smiled at the kindly butler. “Jason speaks very highly of you. Thank you for always being there for him.”

“Of course, miss. Master Todd has always been a great joy in my life.” You could see the unspoken sorrow that lingered there too and you briefly thought of the jagged, y-shaped scar that spanned the length of his torso. Jason slid his hand in yours and tugged you into another room.

“Movie night,” he explained. “National Treasure, of course.”

“A classic.” He maneuvered you to fall back onto the couch, leaving a space for him between you and Dick. “Ah, shit, let me go get you a blanket.”

“So, how long have you two been dating?” Dick asked when Jason disappeared.

“I’ve known him for two years but we’ve been dating for three months.” It was the agreed upon date you two had come up with last night when you laid on the couch together, a mess of tangled limbs. “He’s my best friend.”

“He better not be trying to replace me.” Dick pouted but Damian tossed a pillow at his head and let out another scoff. The youngest Robin had Alfred the cat in his lap and stroked the cat’s fur like some kind of evil villain in his lair.

“Don’t worry, Dickiebird. No one can replace you,” Jason drawled as he returned with a blanket. He draped it over your lap and then took a seat next to you. “Good?”

“Yeah, thanks Jase.” You knew you wouldn’t last through the movie. In fact, you probably fell asleep twenty minutes in. Your head fell against Jason’s shoulder and he carefully adjusted the blanket to cover your shoulders before running a hand over your hair.

“If you haven’t already,” Bruce said from behind him. “You should tell her you love her.”

Of course, Jason groused. Nothing got past Batman.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood #dc imagine #mine

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entertxinmyfaith · 6 months

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In all of the amazing character analyses and studies that I have seen done for Akutagawa's character in BSD, something I really wish people talked about more is how deeply, deeply, lonely he is. I think his antisocial tendencies are often played off for laughs but re-reading the Beast spin-off recently made me realize exactly how much personal loss Akutagawa has had and how tragically it has wounded his concept of friendship. There is no shortage of examples of him treating people poorly and pushing them away and yet, despite this, we are given canonical evidence that he actually values friendship very highly and is angry and frustrated about his own lack of friends.

Most people interpret his little rant in the elevator to Atsushi from the end of season 2 to be primarily about Dazai but the line specifically about how Atsushi was blessed with friends has always stuck out to me primarily because of how angry Akutagawa is when he says it. He's furious when he's listing what he perceives as the gifts that Atsushi was given but does not fully appreciate. This used to strike me as odd since Akutagawa is generally seen keeping others at arm's length and never letting anyone get too close to him but re-reading Beast gave me a better perspective on this particular behavior in a way that broke my heart.

And while Beast is an AU of the original series, the backstory given for Akutagawa is remarkably similar to the one given in the Heartless Curr short story. What this shows us is that Akutagawa cared very deeply about the kids he was protecting and hints that the infamous massacre which eventually led him to Dazai was not his first experience losing the people close to him. Loss is something he is all too familiar with and what happens with the mercenaries can be thought of as an inevitable ending from Akutagawa's point of view but can also be seen by him as a personal failing.

To Akutagawa, friends are people he lets down and then die. Again and again and again. His resistance to letting people in is his own way of coping with the pain of loss he has experienced time and time again whenever he has let himself get close enough to call someone else his friend. So, yeah, he's angry at Atsushi who he sees as taking his own friends for granted and still wallowing in misery because, deep down, he wants what Atsushi has in many more ways than just Dazai's acknowledgment. Akutagawa can see that Atsushi is still unhappy even though he has friends by his side and misinterprets this as carelessness. In getting this mad, he is saying that, if he had Atsushi's friends, it would be enough to make him happy in a way that it is not doing for Atsushi.

It's no tremendous analytical feat to state that Akutagawa's hatred of Atsushi is actually just misdirected hatred of himself. Still, this interaction is certainly just one more example of this for the books.

Akutagawa pushes people away to keep himself and others safe but, in the end, this hasn't protected anyone, it has just made him lonely which only serves to make him even angrier than he has the words to admit.

All of this long and probably incoherent babble to say, Akutagawa is desperate for someone who won't just up and die on him to finally stay by his side and take the pain away. If I wasn't already sure that he'd already met this person, I'd wish that he soon would.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #anime #manga #spoilers #sskk #shin soukoku #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bsd akutagawa #character study #rant #bsd beast

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turbulentscrawl · 5 months

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Naib and Eli resting their head on gender neutral s/o’s boobs sfw, how do they go about to getting into the position, what’s their reaction if their s/o calls them out lovingly ofc!! please :3!!

Heck yeah!! I wasn't entirely sure if you wanted HCs or a little scene so here's a bit of both.

Naib Subedar

-Mr. “I do what I want” right here just sees an opening and goes for it. As long as you’re in private, of course.

-If you seriously want him to get off he will, but he can tell when you’re just messing with him and plays along with it a bit.

-He can take some teasing, especially if it means he gets to stay like this longer.

---

You blinked and he was there, full weight settling carefully against yours. When you lifted your book to peer down at the shirtless mercenary who’d joined you in bed, skin still hot and steaming from his shower. He deigned not to return eye contact and instead nuzzled his jaw into your sternum. Both of his hands wormed their way between the bed and the small of your back and squeezed. His legs clenched and stretched like a cat, and then he fell still.

“Whatcha doing?” you asked.

“‘M tired,” Naib said in response, muffled slightly against your chest. His hair was down, dripping, dampening your shirt.

“I’m sure, it sounded like your match was a busy one for my favorite rescue specialist.” He groaned in confirmation. “But you know there’s a perfectly good pillow right next to me?” You felt more than saw his lips pull into a smirk.

“I like these better,” he said. “Warmer, softer, and they come with a heartbeat.” To punctuate his point, Naib laid his ear right over your heart and settled back in. “Rub my back for me.”

“You’re being awfully demanding,” you replied. “What if I don’t like you laying on me like this, hmm?”

Naib groaned louder and made a show of peeling himself away from you. He got as far as elbow-height from your body before you tossed your book away, forcibly hugged his face back into your chest, and locked your legs around his waist. With a short laugh, he collapsed back on top of you. One of his hands ran the length of your side appreciatively while he settled back in, cheeks now well and truly smushed by your bosom.

“You’re the best,” he muttered when your hands began rubbing circles into his shoulders, and after several minutes drifted away to sleep.

Eli Clark

-A little more shy about it. He asks first, but he’s just a tiny bit awkward about it.

-Also handles teasing well, as he knows when you’re being serious or not, even if you’re really subtle.

-So very sweet about it. He just wants to be held. ;;

---

Eli finally stepped into your room after checking on everyone post-match. It always took him forever to make his rounds, but it was hard to be upset when his absence was for such kind reasons. Brooke Rose took a perch onyour coat rack, and Eli made himself comfortable, sluggishly removing both his cloak and eyemask. You were already watching him when he turned to face you, bright blue eyes locking onto your form. A sweet, but tired smile slipped onto his lips.

After several long moments holding one another’s stares like that, and his cheeks steadily growing pink, you ventured to ask, “Is everything alright?”

“Ah,” Eli finally said. “I was just wondering…if I could join you?”

“Of course you can,” you chuckled. Always cautious, this one, even after losing count of all the times you’ve given permission. You patted the mattress next to you, and Eli seemed pleased with the offer, but stopped again with just one knee on the bed, vaguely hovering over your reclined form.

“Actually, I was wondering if I might…lay on you?” he asked.

“Feeling a little extra clingy tonight, are we?” you asked back. His head dipped away in embarrassment, but he didn’t retreat from you. He chuckled good-naturedly.

“Can I?” he asked again.

“Can you?” Your voice dropped low, teasing and suggestive.

“You’re cheeky,” he said back, “I think I can.” Carefully, he slid himself up against your side. His legs tangled with yours, torso half-topping, half-spooning you. He was trying to be mindful of his weight, but when he finally settled and seemed happy with the position, he was coiled around you like ivy. And his head cradled right against your boobs.

“I see what this is,” you taunted, unable to resist one more. “You just wanted easy access to the stress balls.” Eli barked a loud laugh in response. He turned his head up as if to say something but cut himself off when your fingers slipped into his hair and began combing through it. The treatment relaxed him, and you two fell gently into intimate silence.

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #naib subedar x reader #eli clark x reader #idv seer #idv mercenary #turbulentscrawl

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scoutsbabygirl · 8 months

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I would like to see headcanons from you about how your favorite mercenaries realize that they fall in love with the reader :333

🎷🐛

my first request! hi my little meow meow! i wrote for all the mercs bc why not?! fluff below the cut! also written in headcannon form! idk how to write for soldier (i just don't see the appeal)

scout:

-why did ms. pauling have to be lesbian???

-when you came along he was immediately drawn to you, maybe it was because you were new and young

-he's way too cocky around you and acts like he doesn't care about you

-after a stern talking to by spy, jeremy decides to ask you out

-other than sports, jeremy loves to paint and draw and is surprisingly good at it. he asks you to make some art with him and of course he draws you

-this melts your heart and you've fallen for him. he's just waiting for the right time to confess and ask you to be his

soldier:

-man has zhanna

pyro:

-hearing you say "you're all good! no worries!" after he lights the hem of you shirt, almost burning you alive. he feels a spark...literally

-pyro slinks around you where ever you may be. in the kitchen baking? pyros throwing flour all over the kitchen. working out? pyros cheering you on. got some spare time? pyros got some crayons, colored pencils and a bunch of coloring books

-spending time with a masked man that the team fears has him drawn to you. the mercs warned you about him, you never felt intimated by pyro yet understood yet you could understand why he was treated differently

-if you're ever sad he will give you the best comfort. he's never shown himself to the mercs but once he sees you cry the mask is coming off and expect kisses to be planted over you

-its a very intimate moment and he just admits it then. he's never had anyone love him back, he's always been depicted as a monster.

heavy:

- won't approach you first. he waits for you to make a move. he knows his size is intimidating in itself and doesn't want to scare you away.

-he's a gentle giant. he's very careful with his words and movements. he's so paranoid that you'll view him as something he's not on the inside.

- one night you cooked with him and he told you all about his life back home, showed you photos of his sisters and taught you basic russian (assuming you don't know any already)

-if you speak russian he'll be over the moon or if you use the simple russian he's taught you he loves you just a little bit more. he adores your accent when you stumble over certain pronunciation. he knows you're the one for him

-when he decides to confess he handwrites you a long poem with an russian to english translation on two separate pages. after he signs his name he writes that he won't bring this up unless you do

-please don't break his heart. he's so sensitive

demo:

- when he confesses he's drunk as fuck. he doesn't even remember when you bring it up the next day.

-is so embarrassed. he's hungover and groggy. he plays it off by acting defensive. "i was just drunk! i meant nothing by it!"

-in the inside he's freaking out. he wanted to plan it out. it's only been 7 or 8 months since you've been at teufort but he fell so quick for you.

-3am outside pointing at the constellations, telling you about old celtic, scottish myths and folklore, shit talking the other mercs, and an accidental kiss on the lips he caught feeling for you right then and there.

- he's willing to give up scrumpy just to have you reciprocate the same feelings for him. 🤞

engineer:

-lord, he used so many pet names with you; "check this out, sweet pea", "you look beautiful, darling", "i made pancakes, you want any hon?"

-he knows his voice with a combination of his pet names do something to you. he loves when you call him those names back!

-compliment his cooking! bbq is his specialty! he'll gladly eat up anything you make. hungry boi :3

-he loves when you spend time with him in his workshop, working on his little metal trinkets warms his soul. he tries to teach you about the intricate parts of engineering. it's okay if you don't understand, he's more than willing to break it down for you and teach you a bite-sized version quantum mechanics

-friday night. a few beers in. a lot of work finished. "(y/n), i know i'm a bit older and dusty at the whole romance thing but" he pauses "you ain't seeing anyone right now, are you?"

medic:

-he either falls in love with you the second he lays his eyes on you or it takes many, many months for him to catch feelings for you. regardless, of how long the process takes his love for you becomes an obsession.

-you begin lingering around his office, inquiring about his tools and weapons. he finds it very interesting that you're not startled by him and his... unethical ways of "doctor assisted suicide"

-internal battles with his conscience. does he want to rip your organs out and shove them in the wrong places? he wants to slice your arteries one by one. yes, he wants to cut your jugular and see how much you bleed before dying. alas, he won't. you're too beautiful to be cut up into pieces. he doesn't want you to die by his hands, he doesn't know what he would do with himself.

-"guten morgen, wie gehts?!" has him weak. just a simple phrase you've rehearsed a few times. you though he would appreciate you taking time out of your day to learn his native tongue. he thinks this is your way of flirting with it (and perhaps it is).

-occasionally he'll call you into his office, not for a checkup by any means but rather just to chat (on company time). he removes the gloves and runs his hands over the scars on your face and neck. "schätzelein, i have been feeling some way for a while."

sniper:

-he is such a cunt. he's so rude and bitchy to you. his attitude causes you to avoid contact with mick at all costs and he avoids you like the plague. he spends a lot of time in his van anyways so staying away from you isn't too hard.

-seeing you hurt breaks his heart. he decides to visit you in medbay after your broke your arm. the baboo uterus experiment procedure wasn't finished by the time you got hurt. you notice how out of character it is but appreciate it regardless. he brings you a little necklace made with animal teeth (him making jewerly with animal bones is the most canon-noncanon headcanon.)

-after you get a cast you ask him to sign it. next to his name he writes a little heart. then scribbles it out. and draws a skull underneath it.

-butterflies in his stomach when he lays eyes on you. he hates that he's gotten feelings for you. you're his teammate, not his partner. not yet atleast. no? why is he thinking like this.

-it's obvious that mick is touch starved of attention, he want to be validated and appreciated. he's also getting shit from his teammates so when you begin to stand up for him and complimenting him he looses his mind.

"scout, you're being mean. no wonder you have no dad, i would leave too. " "he's not ugly at all. you're old and its evident enough in those wrinkles of yours."

-oh god. who knew a petite little thing like you could spit venom. he wants to tell you how he feels so badly but he doesn't want to loose you as a friend.

spy:

-he'll flirt with you before even developing feelings for you. always trying to court you, inviting you over at late hours. he just wants to get laid tbh.

-you're playing hard to get. it excites him a bit but he's much older now so if anything he's annoyed that you won't sleep with him. he tries being more romantic and pushes idea the idea of getting with you sexually and takes a different approach.

-smoking on his red velvet couch until the sun begins to rise, sharing cigs together. he has a small stash of weed (he stole it from scout) but coughs when he smokes it, earning a plethora of giggles from you. now he's smiling and laughing with you despite his lungs being filled with smoke.

-stacks of guy de maupassant on his table near the red couch, he reads the love poems to you and translates it to you. please snuggle up into his chest and try to read the french words yourself. your pronunciation is horrible and your accent is awful. you sound so cute yet so pathetic at the same time.

-he tries to keep his feelings hidden for as long as he can. of course, it slips out. he's stopped wearing the balaclava when around you (and only you, even his own son doesn't know what he truly looks like) so the bright red blush is evident on his face. he tries taking back what he said but there's no use as your already face first into his chest.

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rukafais · 5 months

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I still think it's v interesting how Jarlaxle is extremely coded even in his first appearances as like, "I am Not Straight In The Slightest but it's the 90s and IP fiction so we can't say that" to the reader, but by the standards of his own culture, he's like, masculine-as-performance because drow men are expected to be ornamental. Like why yes, he is the Most Ornamental Man In Menzo, thank you for asking, do you not enjoy him? But he's so ornamental and decorative!

He was swaggering—there was no other word to describe him. The dark elves of Menzoberranzan, particularly the lowly males, normally donned quiet, practical clothes, dark-hued robes adorned with spiders or webs, or plain black jerkins beneath supple chain mail armor, and almost always, both male and female drow wore camouflaging piwafwis, dark cloaks that could hide them from the probing eyes of their many enemies.

Not so with Jarlaxle. His head was shaven and always capped by an outrageous wide-brimmed hat feathering the gigantic plume of a diatryma bird. In lieu of a cloak or robe, he wore a shimmering cape that flickered through every color of the spectrum, both in light and under the scrutiny of heat-sensing eyes looking in the infrared range. His sleeveless vest was cut high to show the tight muscles of his stomach, and he carried an assortment of rings and necklaces, bracelets, even anklets, that chimed gratingly—but only when the mercenary wanted them to. Like his boots, which had sounded so clearly on the hard chapel floor, the jewelry could be silenced completely.

I think you could write a lot about how including Jarlaxle in the second book of the OG prequels implies a lot about what 'ideal masculinity/ideal presentation in the eyes of Menzoberranzan society' vs 'masculinity as an individual performance ' looks like.

#legend of drizzt #the fact that jarlaxle is brightly coloured to contrast with both the sober tones of every other drow #and because men are expected to try and make themselves invisible #the fact that 'being confident' is not a trait people are fond of seeing in men when it comes to Menzo social standards

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planningisnotmystrength · 2 years

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having played and completed Disco Elysium multiple times now I’m getting the chance to notice things that I really didn’t zero in on when I played it the first time.

like how bad Kim’s eyesight really is. when you find Cuno’s shack Kim is genuinely surprised that it was there, he didn’t even notice the thing that clued your Perception in on their maybe being a door. to him you really just walked up to a wall and a piece fell down and there was now a door there. and that puts his utter failure to shoot the corpse down into a completely different light (and why Empathy tells you that you shouldn’t show him compassion).

or just how funny Kim is. how willing he is to take part in a joke or a prank as long as it’s in the pursuit of solving the case or “doing your job” as policemen. how he’s willing to play a character for the Racist Lorry Driver. or mess with the wannabe Skulls and take their jackets. or even how he starts introducing you as Detective Costeau if you continue to stick with the name (though he is clearly trying very hard to keep his voice steady and face still). he genuinely actually has a good sense of humor (but is also very serious, which makes it even funnier).

or the specter of fear and anger that hovers around Garte. he doesn’t know if the Union will squeeze him out like they did all the other business owners, or if they’re going to start a war (I mean, there’s a literal dead mercenary hanging in his back yard). he’s got to be wondering how he can stay open if only locals can come in or out (due to the blockade) and he’s clinging to the idea that he has other places that he manages. we get glimpses of his real thoughts in the moments before he catches his tongue and realizes “no, I really shouldn’t talk to cops/the union/others like that.”

or the practiced apathy that Klaasje uses to hide her fear, how she pretends so hard not to care so you don’t suspect her. how effectively she can lay another tempting red herring at your feet. how Evrart Claire really is clever enough to play not only the characters but the player (if you haven’t stacked your skills correctly or if you just say the wrong things in the wrong ways). that you can even manage to accidentally help him is a testament to the writing they’ve done.

not to mention the pervasive and ever-present fury of Revachol as a reaction to their subjugation by the Moralintern. the sadness in Cuno’s eyes when you see past the speed in his bloodstream. the ways in which people struggle to survive in what is effectively a battlefield. the feeling of life’s daily struggle slowly drowning you under the weight of “you’ll never do better. you’ll never be better.” and the breath of fresh air in simple kindnesses from others (lamby, Kim’s compassionate moments, the old washerwoman, the salami man visiting his friend, the dance club, and so many more).

I could write a book about how much this game means to me. how much these people mean to me. how much the potential for change, even in a doomed world, means that we can all at least create a little joy before we go. and I don’t think I’d even scratch the surface of all that it means to me. this game is...a metamorphosis? it changes the structure of what I expect from video games in the future. it changes what I expect from storytelling. I cannot express how important this game is as a vehicle for storytelling, it changes what’s possible.

#disco elysium spoilers #disco elysium #lots of spoilers #like a whole bunch #I really do love this game as a story #I can't stop thinking about it #it's infected my brain #storytelling

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underdark-dreams · 4 months

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I got too excited and finished the second chapter 👀 [ch1]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.2

Tav finally catches up with her wizard at Sorcerous Sundries; Rolan has some complicated feelings about seeing her again.

Tags: Reunions, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3,042 [Read on AO3]

The next day dawned just as gloomy and gray as Rolan’s mood.

He hadn't slept well in his chilly room at the Tower; the flesh beside his brow was bruised deeper than he’d realized. His fretful dreams of shadow curses and illithid monstrosities had been laced through with the dull ache in his skull.

As a result he’d been short with the customers this morning. It didn’t really matter—no one cared about the boy behind the counter. People tended to look through him, if they looked at him at all.

No doubt his bruised and beaten appearance made people uncomfortable. Rolan knew Lorroakan didn’t care a jot for his wellbeing, but he did wonder why the man wouldn’t avoid damaging the first face people saw when they walked in. It couldn’t be good for business.

These days Rolan found himself more of a shopkeeper than a student, after all.

With that thought in mind, he pulled the large book of figures up onto the counter. At least there was plenty of work there to occupy him—Lorroakan had been an atrocious bookkeeper.

By the time midday dragged along, Sorcerous Sundries had cleared out almost completely. The sky outside the wide front entry had darkened further from the approaching storm. Periodically a humid breeze would gust through the doorway. Each time, Rolan had to grab hold of the pages of his ledger before he lost his place.

Eventually he shoved the thing aside in impatience, thunking a heavy potion bottle down on top to weigh down the page.

From its hiding place among the scroll shelves, Rolan instead pulled out a stained and dogeared volume: Suspended Ceremorphosis. He'd swiped it from the tower while Lorroakan was engaged with yet another so-called Nightsong hunter.

Lorroakan certainly wouldn’t miss the text. He hadn't maintained the protective spells on the reference section of his library the way he had the sections on spellcraft and the Weave. Evidently he thought everyone must have the single-minded and incurious lust for power that he did himself.

Rolan had never thought of himself as having a weak stomach, yet he found he had to take the text in small doses. The only thing that kept him reading it was a promise he’d made to Tav many moons ago, on a night when hope was easier to come by.

Whoever had authored it must have been a surgeon—more likely a necromancer. Each gruesome detail was described thoroughly, almost lovingly in some passages.

Rolan forced his way through as many pages as he could manage. Combined with the painstaking diagrams of each stage of the infection and transformation, he found it painful reading. Especially when it directly concerned one of the people he cared about most in all the Realms.

Who knew if Tav still even needed his help after all this time? She’d proven herself far more resourceful than him on many occasions. Maybe she was already on the trail for a proper cure by now. Maybe he was just wasting his time.

Rolan abruptly pushed this book aside too, turning back to his ledger again for the reprieve of sordid coin.

All things considered, Sorcerous Sundries was thriving. The citizens of Baldur’s Gate were shaken, borderline terrified by the recent march of the Absolute's forces…and frightened people spent gold on anything they thought might keep their families safe. Rolan summed last week's numbers a second and a third time, convinced he must have added a figure somewhere.

A brash voice outside pierced his concentration. Rolan glanced up sharply to the open doors, quill poised on the page.

Suffering hells. Aradin again? Whether or not he’d actually been involved in this week’s clumsy burglary attempt, he should have the common sense not to show his face.

The mercenary had been no rosy presence back at the Grove, and he was a constant bane at the magic shop ever since Rolan had been placed on front desk duties. He was always appearing to insist on a private audience with Lorroakan, or some great sum owed to him, or some other equally improbable outcome depending on the day.

Just as Lorroakan had accused him of last night—ungratefully—Rolan had finally taken it upon himself to charm the metal construct at the door to turn him away on sight.

As he watched, Aradin jabbed a threatening finger into the construct's face, as if it might be intimidated into compliance.

Thick fucking idiot, Rolan thought viciously. He had no patience for this today. Right as he set down his pen, someone else caught Aradin's attention from behind.

If not for her change in attire, he would have recognized Tav’s figure at first glance. But then Aradin shifted slightly as he spoke, and Rolan caught sight of her face.

The city seemed to be treating her well; he was relieved to see it. Her features were bright and well-rested for once, despite the scowling line of her brows as she squared her shoulders toward Aradin.

For the first time in days, Rolan managed a faint smile. She never did like bullies.

She'd commissioned fine new armor—perhaps from Dammon's forge up the street. Tav shone like an aasimar despite the overcast day behind her. The thought occurred with not near enough force to distract him from gaping at her lovely face.

His face. Zurgan—

Rolan’s spine straightened with a jerk. Why hadn’t he prepared for how she might react? How he might explain his pathetic appearance? He’d forgotten to anticipate any of it properly, and found himself blinded by panic.

There was no time to unfreeze his boots from the floor—Tav and her companions were already sweeping past Aradin and into the shop.

Her gaze landed on Rolan before any of the rest even noticed him. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her expressions play out in quick succession: dismay, then concern, then indignation.

The way her eyes traveled over his face made Rolan wish he could melt into an invisible puddle. But such powers were beyond him—all he could do was stand mute as Tav drew up to the counter in front of him.

“Welcome to Sorcerous Sundries.” Rolan spoke the usual lines, and hated the falseness of his voice as he did so.

Tav only blinked at him for a moment. “Hi,” she replied softly.

The two of them looked at each other for what felt like an age. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, in truth. Her eyes were wide and wholly inescapable. Rolan found his mind full of many words, all of which refused to exit his mouth.

“Oh shit, Rolan? What happened to your face, mate?”

The towering Tiefling hellfighter spoke up before either of them could. She was peering at him from behind Tav’s shoulder with an expression of guileless concern.

“Karlach—” Tav wheeled on her with a soft admonition.

She was trying to spare his pride. For some reason, that made Rolan feel lower than ever. As Tav turned back to him with a tight smile, he hoped the patchwork of bruises on his face hid its flush of abject humiliation.

Tav opened her mouth, but Rolan rushed to speak first. “I expect you’re here to see Master Lorroakan.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. “We are,” was all she answered.

“Then you’ll find the portals to the Tower upstairs. Do be careful to choose correctly the first time, it’s a great deal of trouble getting back in here if you don’t—Lorroakan has little patience for anyone who might waste his time—”

Rolan was fussing with his ledger and rifling through the pages as if it contained much important work he had to get back to. Anything to avoid looking at her anymore.

“Right…thanks, Rolan.” Tav’s voice was uncertain. He clenched his jaw against a sudden pang of remorse. “See you later, then?”

Rolan nodded tersely down at his work. He made no other answer.

She lingered for just a moment as the rest of her friends departed for the staircase. Then Rolan heard the metallic clinking of her plate armor as she too moved away.

He kept his head bent doggedly over his book as she did. Rolan’s eyes pretended to move over the page, seeing none of it. His ears were trained behind him to track Tav’s footfalls on the stairs.

When he heard the rushing whirl of a portal activating above, he stayed frozen for a few seconds to be sure. Then he shut the ledger with a snap.

And like a shameful coward, he ran to hide.

At least Rolan had enough sense to summon his master’s projection before he turned on his heel. Not a familiar incantation, but he glimpsed the Weave successfully materializing from over his shoulder as he swept toward the concealed door under the great staircase.

His fingers fumbled for a key at his belt—the one Tolna had lent him his first day. Once the door latched behind him, he stumbled down the dark stairs into the ancillary storeroom.

The place was full of more dust than anything else. Rolan coughed and sneezed several times before he managed a simple cantrip to light one of the torches along the wall.

Then he sank down onto an empty crate, slumped against the bookshelf behind him, and leaned the tips of his horns back against its dusty volumes.

What in the hells was he doing?

Living the life he’d chosen, Rolan answered himself. Tend the shop, ascend for lessons—sleep and repeat.

For how many years? One, two? Five?

Five years as a wizard’s apprentice was rare, but not unheard of. And Lorroakan didn't strike him as a man who readily dismissed his apprentices from service.

What exactly did he expect Tav to do for the next five years? Surely not wait around for a pathetic wizard-in-training who didn't have the strength to fight back against his own worthless master.

Sitting in this damp basement, surrounded by cobwebs, Rolan couldn't think of a single good reason why someone like her might still want someone like him.

An old, familiar feeling slithered through his gut. Unwanted.

It was true that Lorroakan had proved more of a disappointment than he could possibly have imagined. But the man had one advantage over every other archwizard Rolan had written to over the years, pleading for a chance to prove himself.

Lorroakan was the only one who had accepted him in.

Whatever the archwizard’s many deficiencies, they did nothing to change the other advantages this apprenticeship could grant him. Notoriety, privilege, access. The wizarding circles of Faerûn didn’t open for just anyone, especially not a bastard Tiefling. Not unless you had connections.

So what if he had feelings for Tav. Strong ones. Ones he sometimes wished he could make disappear…despite the way she continually visited his dreams. This apprenticeship was something Rolan had dreamed of for far longer.

And what about her feelings?

She'd told him she loved him many times during their last brief nights together at Last Light Inn. On one particularly memorable occasion, she'd been naked on top of him.

Rolan had replayed the moment in his head too many times to count, yet it never failed to set his heart racing.

But those were moments when blood ran hot from freshly escaped peril—moments suspended in forgiving shadow. Under the harsh light of day, perhaps Tav could finally see him clearly.

Rolan’s hands rose to his face. He prodded and felt along its planes with his fingers, gritting his teeth as he rediscovered each fleshy bruise and scrape on its surface. He was a mess of a man.

Abruptly, Rolan shook his head to clear away all this self-pitying nonsense. His thoughts turned back to Tav’s current audience with Lorroakan.

He wondered what they spoke of. Perhaps the Nightsong; perhaps her parasite.

If Lorroakan knew anything about Illithids or ceremorphosis—an idea that seemed more laughable by the day—Rolan prayed to all the gods that he’d have the decency to share his knowledge with her.

Whatever the subject, their conversation was brief.

Rolan’s ear caught the muffled hum of the portal once again and knew Tav and her companions had descended from the Tower. He waited a few more minutes to be sure, then rose to trudge back up to the main floor. When stepped back into the light, she and her companions were gone.

Rolan had no right to feel as disappointed as he did. He was the one who’d hidden from her like a child, after all.

As his feet dragged him back behind the counter, Rolan realized that in his haste he’d left out the stolen book on ceremorphosis—turned open to a particularly gruesome illustration.

He thanked his stars that it had been Tav and her friends paying a visit. Another customer might have been put off by the sight, enough so that a complaint made its way back to Lorroakan. The archwizard was jealous as a dragon when it came to guarding his hoard, however little personal interest he took in its riches.

As he picked up the tome to hide it away again, a small slip of parchment fluttered from between its pages to land on the counter in front of him. Rolan turned it over, then felt his heart repeat the motion.

Had he truly never seen her handwriting before? The letters were small and even, yet clearly written in haste:

Let’s talk alone. I love you

ps thank you for the research

Whatever information Lorroakan had provided her, if she was thanking him for reading a dusty book, it must not have been worth much.

Despite every weight pulling on his heart, Rolan reread each word several more times. Then he slipped the note gently into the pocket of his robes.

—

“Hey! You coming?”

“One second,” Tav called over her shoulder.

She hastily fit a postscript onto the small scrap of parchment. Then she slipped it like a page marker into Rolan’s book and laid his quill back on the counter.

It was obvious that Rolan wanted to avoid running into her a second time. A sad pang ran through her at the thought, but she couldn’t really blame him. She’d never seen him looking so miserable—not even that night after his siblings had been taken to Moonrise.

Lia’s words from yesterday rang in her ears. I don’t think he’s treating Rolan well. Whatever dark things Tav had imagined, they hadn’t prepared her for the sight of Rolan’s face—plainly dappled with weeks of brutal mistreatment.

Her fingers clenched hard at her sides. Tav glanced up at the shimmering projection of Lorroakan behind the counter and quelled the furious urge to put a fist right through its vapid smile.

As she jogged back out through the atrium of Sorcerous Sundries, Karlach turned to fall into stride beside her. The other two had walked ahead, clearly unaware that they’d left anyone behind. Gale was gesticulating animatedly about something; Wyll listened politely at his shoulder.

“So that Lorroakan’s a real prick,” Karlach remarked with characteristic bluntness as they walked.

Tav gave a harsh laugh. “Read my mind.”

“How d’you think he knows about the Nightsong?”

She had been asking herself the same question. Her mind’s eye conjured up the circle of runes in his study, the one he’d indiscreetly shown off to them on this very first meeting.

It had Balthazar’s fingerprints all over it.

“Probably has a background in necromancy,” Tav guessed aloud. “No way to know for sure.”

Karlach’s palm rang against plate metal as she clapped it between Tav’s shoulder blades. “Until we kick his arse and charm it out of him, you mean.”

Tav only smiled weakly in response. Inside, she could scarcely wait for the day when Lorroakan would get what was coming to him.

Beside her, a mischievous chuckle was rising from Karlach’s chest. “Hells, imagine when we tell Aylin. She’s going to tear that man apart.”

“Let’s not tell her just yet,” Tav said in a rush.

She felt Karlach’s eyes search her face. “Why not?”

Tav looked down at the cobblestones as they continued. “Rolan and I need to talk, Karlach. Whether or not he wants to, I owe it to him. He should know everything before all the Nightsong’s righteous vengeance comes down on his archwizard’s head.”

There was a pause. “You don’t think he knows?”

“No way.” She looked up at Karlach then, her face steely-certain. “Rolan would never do something like that.”

“Yeah…you’re right. Forget I said anything,” Karlach added, her tone apologetic. Before she knew it, Tav felt a warm arm jostle around the pauldrons on her shoulders.

“Listen, Tav, it’s gonna be okay. You and Rolan will talk it through, or maybe you’ll just fuck his stubborn wizard brains out again—”

“Karlach!”

“Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t already know?” Karlach was cracking up loud enough that Wyll glanced back from in front to see the commotion. Tav couldn’t help an embarrassed laugh, but she hid half her face behind a hand.

Before long, the dark stormclouds gathering above put a pause on the rest of their errands in the Lower City. It seemed wise to just wait out the weather at their rented room in the Elfsong.

Karlach did make some excuse or other to swing by Dammon’s forge instead—despite the fact that they’d been just yesterday.

Tav said nothing, but she wasn’t fooled. To borrow Karlach’s words, if anyone needed to fuck anyone else’s brains out, those two were obvious candidates.

With thunder rumbling on the horizon, everyone else settled into their private corners of their quarters for the rest of the afternoon. Shadowheart and Lae’zel turned to meditation; Gale to the large stack of books that he always mysteriously managed to fit in his pack. Astarion was curled in front of the fire, his lips moving silently as he pored over a book on Infernal.

For a few hours, Tav found herself with no plans and no responsibilities.

Though her new armor from Dammon was exquisite, she exchanged it for some more inconspicuous clothes, then pinned her heavy hooded cloak around her shoulders for the inevitable rain.

And with everyone else occupied, she slipped unnoticed out of their rooms and back down to the streets.

#rolan x tav #mutual pining #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #tav x rolan #sage and soldier #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #rebgrrl writes #underdark dreams #i think i love them

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docgold13 · 7 months

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Introduction

There are many, many super villains in the realms of fiction, comic books, cartoons and movies. When encountering such villains, these costumed cads and dangerous dastards, it is of the utmost importance that one know the precise type of malefactor is at hand. While no two villains are exactly alike, as a whole these scoundrels can be roughly categorized into a systemic taxonomy; a classification based upon the qualities of threat, capability and ambition.

This taxonomy is sequential in respect to the level of danger, commitment and aspiration. It begins at a first rung with the lowly Goons, moving quickly to the dangerous Enforcers, then the mercurial Rogues, followed by the calculating Lieutenants and finally the Nemeses… the most dangerous villains of them all.

Goons

First let us look at the Goons. These are the minions, the henchmen and stooges who use their powers to do the bidding of a more sinister and scheming master.

Goons can be quite formidable, possessing a great deal of raw strength and power. Yet their lack of foresight, aspiration and direction leave them in the position of playing the role of pawns.

Whether it be the result of laziness, naïveté, psychological difficulty or some manner of deficiency, Goons are easily manipulated. They are frequently duped or cajoled into doing the bidding of others. Sometimes they will perceive themselves as being equals with those they serve. In truth, however, these misguided flunkies are almost always viewed as disposable... as mere vassals who will be sacrificed or simply discarded on a whim.

Criminal organizations will frequently have numerous henchmen who are nameless and interchangeable. What distinguishes a super villain Goon from the more garden variety lackey is their physical power and capacity for destruction. They possess all the raw ability to be a more substantial menace but none of the imagination, presentation or drive. They simply lack the je ne sais quoi needed to be a more fully actualized embodiment of super villainy.

And yet this does not make the Goon any less dangerous. Indeed the Goon’s fragile ego coupled with their destructive capability can lead to threats on par with a natural disaster.

Conversely, the Goon can sometimes be the most likely type of super villain to be turned, moved toward the path of heroism. Most Goons just want to be seen and valued, to garner a place where they feel they belong. More sophisticated villains will take advantage of this unmet need, offering the Goon a sense of purpose. If a hero can convince a Goon that they are being manipulated and offer a more authentic sense of validation, the goon may very well switch sides and become heroic.

For the most part, however, Goons are rather satisfied with their lot. They are often simple souls with simple needs. Being a Goon affords a sense of direction and license to be destructive bullies.

The Enforcers

When the raw power of a super villain Goon is coupled with a heightened degree of shrewdness, confidence, avarice and capability, the end product is often The Enforcer.

These are the mercenaries, assassins and bounty hunters… the guns-for-hire who are brought in for a specific task (commonly the elimination of a hero). These villains are not interested in taking over the world, garnering power and influence, they just want to get paid.

Said payment is most often money... but prestige, thrills and a bolstering of one’s ego are also a commonly accepted currency. Sometimes Enforcers will be pitted against a specific hero and the simple opportunity to best that hero, to show themselves as the superior entity, is motivation enough to take on the job. They can be like big game hunters, in desperate search of a new and bigger trophy to add to their ever-growing collection.

Some enforcers may be motivated by mere boredom. They tend to be thrill-seekers and super villainy is an irresistible rollercoaster that acts to quell the tedium. It is not uncommon for there to be a degree of sadism to the enforcer... even psychopathy. Their passion is doling out pain and destruction; they revel in being feared. They are dangerous and unpredictable and will endeavor to succeed at any and all costs. They are not to be taken lightly.

It is not unheard of for Enforcers to have underlings of their own, aides or minions who will assist in their schemes. Or they may work in conjunction with Goons. Yet their values are strictly mercenary. Their morals and philosophy are entirely for hire. Some Enforcers may adhere to their own, personalized code of conduct... yet it is a strictly idiosyncratic (and often malleable) matter.

Phrased simply, they are not individuals to be trusted; an Enforcer will turn on their employer the moment that it better suits their interests. Beware, my friends, Enforcers are danger incarnate...

Rogues

Rogues are outsiders, individuals who just do not fit in with the common and traditional conventionalities of a given society. They are misfits, freaks, square pegs in a world of round holes. Yet they also have power; they are capable, smart, ruthless and shrewd. They do not fit in, but they do not need to; they can force their worlds to accommodate to them.

Rogues are outlaws. They take what they want when they want it. Rarely is there an overarching agenda. Rogues do not crave power, they do not want to rule the world. They just enjoy a good time, desire the finer things and will take all that they feel they are owed.

Many factors can go into the making of a Rogue. Circumstances of their upbringing, their appearance, deprivations of different kinds, accidents… all maters that have put the Rogue in a place of alienation from society writ large. In some regards they are victims, perhaps not always innocent victims, but victims nonetheless… and victims with agency. For they have power and the capability to extract whatever vengeance or retribution they feel they deserve.

Not all Rogues are victims of misfortune. Some merely possess a sense of entitlement and a desire for adventure. Morality, for better or worse, is just not a central feature in the make up of the Rouge. They see the world around them as a harsh and unforgiving realm and they will take what they want, do as they please, simply because they can. They are not motivated by hate, avarice nor a diminished sense of self esteem. They are supremely independent and the needs, feelings and wellbeing of others are not matters of any great concern.

The super villain Rogue has much in common with the archetype of the Trickster from myths and fable. Tricksters are breakers of boundaries who enjoy disrupting societal principles and norms. These are often supernatural beings whose playful antics act to mock authority and question assumption. Rogues are similar. They too seek to disrupt authority, upset balance and turn social decorum unto its head.

Whereas many Tricksters of lore aim to teach lessons regarding the hubris of mankind, Rogues tend to be much more self-serving in their conduct. Rogues are not agents of chaos, they just want to express their freedom and garner wealth and renown.

While Rogues often prefer to work on their own, they are by no means entirely above joining forces with other villains in working toward a mutually desired goal. Although it is rare, a Rogue may even allow themselves to be employed by a Nemesis, a more diabolical cad whose overarching desires very much do not align with their own. In these situations, the Rogue’s hand is either forced or they are simply biding their time for the ideal opportunity to engaged a well-planned and self-serving betrayal.

It is the Rogue’s refusal to adhere to societal principles and the law that often brings them into conflict with heroes. And the sympathetic qualities of the Rogue can sometimes cause a hero to question their own beliefs and moral alignment. The Rogue represents a defiance toward the status quo of a given society... that existing state of affairs that maintains social and financial stratification. The status quo is never an entirely fair system, it will always benefit some at the expense of others,...and it can be tempting to forcefully push back against the inequities that exist therein. Indeed there have been many a hero who has fallen under the sway of a charismatic Rogue when made to see said inequities.

And yet Rogues tend to be quite selfish. They have been wronged and use it as an excuse to do whatever they please and put their own needs above all others. In so doing they may end up hurting others in the same fashion they themselves had been hurt. These Rogue could be heroes, yet frequently lack the sense of selflessness that truly makes a hero heroic.

Under the right circumstances, however, the Rogue can find themselves in the role of the antihero... acting as a protagonist despite lacking the traditional qualities most often associated with heroism. This is most often the case when the Rogue’s goals put them into opposition with another villain, particularly a villain much more vile than themselves.

Although some Rogues may fit into the role of an antihero, it does not necessarily make them any less dangerous. The primary characteristic of a Rogue is a rejection of the normative confines of a society. And this can include the confines of morality. The Rogue will resort to murder and mayhem if they deem it a necessity. So beware, my friends, beware.

The Lieutenants

In some regards, Lieutenants are the villainous analog to the hero’s sidekick. They are the primary right-hand operatives of the arch villain… an amalgamation of a partner, field commander, conciliary and moll. They are neither a Nemesis nor a Goon, but something in between.

Quite often the Lieutenant will be a good deal more competent, pragmatic and even more intelligent compared to the villain they serve. They could easily be a leader in their own right, yet lack the megalomania that is at the heart of a true Nemesis. What these lieutenants do possess, however, is a deeply seated need to belong... to have a parental-like figure that offers direction and purpose. Some even love the villains they serve and remain at their side for this reason alone.

Lieutenants crave power and respect, they feel a poignant need for validation and this will often lead them to battle against the heroes with vigorous intensity. They can be the most dangerous kind of villain of them all in that they are highly motivated and intelligent as well as desperate to succeed; almost like a child who will do anything to win the approval of a parent.

The neurotic nature of the Lieutenant’s motivation frequently leaves them a good deal less sadistic and malevolent compared to the Nemeses they serve. They are not bloodthirsty or callous; many may even have care for the innocent lives that a dastardly plot might harm. And yet the need for approval acts to outweigh any moral qualms they may possess. That being said, it is not entirely unheard of that a Lieutenant will turn on their leader if the destructive stakes become far too high.

Somewhat akin to the Goon (or even the Rogue), the Lieutenant possesses the potential to turn to the side of good, to be redeemed and become something of a hero. The Lieutenant is highly capable and shrewd, but not above manipulation. Often times they will find themselves in the service of a master who does not have their best interests in mind.

Discovering that they are not as valued by their leader as they may have thought can help the Lieutenant rediscover their sense of honor... a clearer picture of right and wrong. Herein there becomes an increased likelihood that the Lieutenant will turn and aide the heroes... possibly even become a hero themselves.

Of course this is not to say that every Lieutenant possesses a staunch code of honor or secret heart of gold. Some are just as rotten and despicable as the cads they serve. They have pled fidelity to their masters and many see the orders they have been issued as on par with a godly and righteous decree.

At the same time that many Lieutenants are unquestioningly loyal, others can be duplicitous. Again, it is not uncommon that a Lieutenant will actually be more competent compared to those they serve. And some possess the ambition to usurp their masters, concocting fiendish schemes to depose their leader, take control and ostensively matriculate to the position of the Nemesis.

This particular dynamic is quite often at play with the ‘secret lieutenant.’ This is something of a subcategory reserved for those second-in-commands who are initially believed to be the primary villain… only for it to be later revealed that there is an entity even more diabolical above them.

Nemeses often cherish their anonymity, preferring to remain a more secretive threat from behind the proverbial curtain. To this extent they need a Lieutenant to stand in as their vassal. It is not uncommon for these proxies to be misidentified as the primary Nemesis. And more often than not, these secret Lieutenants become accustomed to the power they wield... harboring resentment toward the shadowy overlords that they secretly serve. Sometimes they will take action to achieve their ambitions… yet it rarely works in their favor and a Lieutenant’s efforts to usurp their masters will frequently have deadly consequences.

There are reasons after all, that Lieutenants and Lieutenants and Nemeses are Nemeses. The qualities that make for a true Nemesis are as insidious as they are dangerous. They are not so easily overtaken nor replaced.

Nemeses

This brings us to the are the baddest of the bad… the arch foes, the megalomaniacal would-be conquerers whose devilish schemes put us all in grave peril. The pinnacle of villainy; the foil to all things good, selfless, noble and heroic. The Nemesis!

The primary feature to the Nemesis is their motivation. They have a keen notion of how things should be and will stop at nothing toward imposing their will so to bring their goals to fruition. Such goals may be power, conquest, revenge or the acquisition of fabulous wealth (or all of the above). Regardless, the Nemesis believes that fulfilling this goal is a righteous purpose, that it is a destiny ordained unto them by some manner of a divine source.

Most Nemeses do not see themselves as evil. They are the heroes of their own stories and believe themselves to be in the right. Furthermore, any who oppose them represent an effrontery that need be eliminated with extreme prejudice. Theirs is a glorious purpose and nothing nor no one may be allowed to obstruct their destiny.

With such lofty ambitions, it is frequently necessary for these Nemeses to create elaborate organizations… secret and sinister syndicates composed of various operatives, agents, minions and flunkies. The Nemesis can be extremely charismatic ideologues and they usually have little difficulty in recruiting scores of cronies and henchmen willing to lay down their lives in the service of a master. Whist some Nemeses have to resort to paying their underlings or at least putting forth the promise that the toiling will result in power and riches, most are simply able to amass a loyal following through their magnetic charm alone.

The true qualities of the Nemesis often comes into greater focus in juxtaposition to their arch enemy. The primary foe of the Nemesis acts to define them, highlighting their traits in contrast to their opposite. The more good and pure the hero the more twisted and evil their nemesis. One acts to complete the other like two sides of a scale equally balanced.

Indeed it is not unusual for a Nemesis to become obsessed with their arch foe... so much so that many Nemeses may even hesitate at the opportunity to finally vanquish said foe. They can come to feel actualized by the conflict and may fear a loss of identity were their enemy to be truly eliminated.

Many heroes will have multiple arch enemies, but Nemeses themselves are more exclusive, monogamous in who they see as their principle foe. Furthermore, they can be quite jealous when it comes to the attention of their arch enemies. So much so that it is not unheard of for a Nemesis to lend a hand to their foe in doing away with a third party interloper.

Not every Nemesis is cut from the same cloth. Some can be mere mustache-twirlers… finks who commit evil deeds for the mere sake of it. The more memorable and fully actualized Nemesis, however, is complex and nuanced. There is an element of the inscrutable that can provoke fascination. They are like elaborately colored serpents who elicit equal measures of fear and curiosity.

Despite their despicable acts, the Nemesis can frequently be found to be a rather sympathetic figure. Similar to the Rogue, the Nemesis is rejecting of the societal status quo. They believe they know better, that imposing their will can bring about much needed change. Considering the various inequities and injustices entailed in any society, the promise of change can be very alluring. Tearing something down is always easier than creating something new; and the Nemesis excels at the former whilst offering mere promises of the latter.

Add to this the flamboyant charm and sleek aesthetics of so many super villains and it can all come across as quite alluring. And this attraction can be greatly magnified in those feeling even the least bit alienated by the confines and restrictions of a societal equilibrium.

Most all Nemeses are idealists. Their ideals are twisted and egocentric, but they are idealists nonetheless. In their heart of hearts, these cads honestly believe that the imposition of their self-serving values will bring about their notion of a better world. Even the ones who claim to be nihilists, who say they just want to see the world burn, harbor the desire to harness power and refashion it all in the cast of their megalomania.

The Nemesis is an enjoyable character only to the extent that they do not win, that their schemes remain unfulfilled. And if said plot is at least partially accomplished, the fun part is their histrionic efforts to put down resistance and maintain their tenuous grip on power.

Conversely, Nemeses who too closely parrot real life horrors become unenjoyable entities for the audience. There are plenty of villains who are racists, who commit sexual assault and/or who adhere to repugnant philosophies. These baddies do not fully qualify as super villains. They are just regular villains. Super villains, like superheroes, are figures of fantasy... they are meant to be fun. A true super villain, a real nemesis, may toe the line of real-life horror but should not overstep it.

Not all Nemeses pose the same level of peril. The Nemesis covets a world bent to their whim, yet not all possess the faculties needed to constitute a true threat. Many nemeses are capable, shrewd and cunning; whilst others can be plagued by hubris, myopathy and just plain incompetence. And others still can demonstrate great prowess in one instance and then great blundering in the next. The same passion and unwavering drive that fuels the Nemesis can also lead them to make costly, foolhardy decisions. Nevertheless, a buffoonish villain can be just as captivating and fun as one who is sophisticated and poised.

Of course any summation of the Nemesis, or super villains in general, would be incomplete without addressing the matter of how frequently villainous characters have been used in stories as thinly veiled stand-ins for the queer community.

This is done through a kind of coding… subtle and not-so-subtle hints that the villain is something other than heterosexual. Male villains are often presented as effeminate or flamboyant, female villains as masculine and butch. This is meant to have the effect of making the Nemesis appear more deviant and dangerous. As well as make their ultimate defeat by the hero somehow more satisfying, reinforcing the erroneous notion that being queer is in some way morally wrong.

This queer-coding of the villain is not always consciously intended to be homophobic/heterosexist, but it often has that effect; and perpetuates harmful stereotypes about the LGBTQ+ community that can lead to real-world discrimination and violence.

There can be a strange and entirely artificial conversion of machiavellian manipulation and the disrupting of traditional notions of gender. This is the idea that those who are transgender, women who act masculine or men who act feminine, are somehow engaging in a sinister chicanery. That they are temping and coercing the innocent and vulnerable into embracing deviancy.

This is not the only way in which the Nemesis has been used as a means to present social-political agendas. Near countless forms of bigotry and prejudice have been repackaged in the form of a sinister Nemesis. The ‘yellow peril’ style villain depict people of Asian descent as cold, calculating and soulless; whereas the savage ‘witchdoctor warlord’ presents Black and Brown people as primitive, superstitious and godless; and the hook-nosed ‘miserly masterminds’ puts forward Jewish people as conniving, greedy and unscrupulous.

Ironically, as time has gone by, this politicizing of the villain has only acted to make the Nemesis even more intriguing and appealing. In that the Nemesis embodies all that is debaucherous, forbidden and deviant, the hero becomes more and more forced into role of the foil. The hero must be pious, chased and entirely pure of heart. They become flawless and such perfection in the realm of fantasy and wish-fulfillment is rather boring. As the hero becomes more two-dimensional and un-relatable so too is their arch Nemesis made more alluring and empathetic.

Indeed this has led to heroes gradually become more like villains in an effort to keep them interesting. The sterling white hat of the traditional hero has been traded in for something a slightly grittier shade of gray. Heroes have become more grim and steely, brooding neurotics fueled by past trauma. This may seem like standard fare in the here and now, but it is a base dynamic heavily borrowed from the villainous Nemesis. ...imitation, as they say, is the most since form of flattery.

Thus concludes our brief summation of villainous taxonomy. Does every super villain fit perfectly into one of these five categories? Likely not… but as close a fit as necessary. And certainly there can be movement between the levels: Goons who matriculate to Enforcers, Rouges who go on to become Nemeses. By and large, however, these are fixed positions and most all super villains can be seen as occupying one of these taxonomical genres.

#Villains!

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velidewrites · 2 months

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This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Read the Prologue on AO3 or continue below!

The mercenary had run at the first rustle of wind between the trees, leaving Nesta alone and entirely at the forest’s mercy. She should have recognised the man for the coward that he was, but, as Nesta had recently found out, hope had a rather nasty habit of making its harborer blind to other people’s intentions. The last of the silver she’d brought along for the journey had gone into the hireling’s pockets, unlikely to ever be seen again. Elain was hardly the type to chase after others, not even to protect her own interests, and, well—it wasn’t like Nesta was ever coming back to do it herself, anyway.

It was cold and dark in the forest, remnants of frost still coating some of the treetops despite winter being well and truly over. The icy weather never quite melted into spring, and seemed determined to last into the approaching summer. Perhaps it wasn’t going to leave at all.

Elain was going to be fine. Nesta wouldn’t have left otherwise, though the knowledge hadn’t made her decision any easier. The Nolan boy would not have been Nesta’s first choice by any means—no man ever would be wherever Elain was concerned—but he was the best suitor their village had to offer all the same. He seemed to enjoy Elain’s company, besides, if the hours Nesta had spent chaperoning in their garden were any indication. Nesta herself was more than inclined to leave after an hour, but Greysen Nolan kept on listening as Elain rambled on about the tulip fields far on the Continent. He’d even sworn to bring them back for her from one of his travels.

It was enough for Nesta to venture out to the forest with some peace of mind. They had money now, the source of which Nesta preferred not to ponder over. Their newfound wealth certainly had nothing to do with Father’s efforts, or lack thereof, anyway. Their clothes, their food, their very survival…it had always been Feyre.

And now, Feyre was gone.

The guilt had been eating Nesta alive for months. At first, she’d pretended not to care, and for the first few weeks it worked sufficiently enough for her to drown herself in other tasks. Housework, mostly, hiring the cook and staff and even a governess to catch Elain up on the final years of education she’d missed out on. Some days, Nesta would quietly find her way into the office, a book carefully placed in her lap as she curled up by the fireplace under the pretense of the house being too cold. In truth, she enjoyed the lessons and wanted to learn alongside them, her own education left so far back in the past it almost felt as though it had happened to someone else.

There was a kernel of truth to that—Nesta had thought of her family’s lost wealth every day in that blighted cottage, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel out of place the day it returned. She never remembered it so hollow, so empty and lifeless. Perhaps it had been Feyre, stubborn and wild, who’d made the house come alive. Even before that cottage—it had always been Feyre.

It was then that Nesta decided to go. Hiring a mercenary had been Elain’s idea, and Nesta had known better than to argue. Refusing would’ve only brought her closer to Elain volunteering herself for the journey, and that simply would not do. Here, in the human lands, Elain was safe. As safe as their kind could get, at least.

For all Nesta knew, Feyre was already dead. The thought did little to stop her—her mind was made up, and the mercenary hired and equipped with the finest iron the village smith could have procured. Whether it would be enough to pierce the beast’s thick fur and reach its heart, Nesta did not know. She could only hope.

Even if she knew hope was a weapon of the fools.

She sighed deeply, turning over her shoulder to see if the man’s footprints had dried off enough for her to keep going. At the very least, they would provide a decent path back to the village, where the mercenary was undoubtedly already headed. Should the Wall prove impenetrable after all, Nesta would know how to find her way back.

The man’s heavy panting stopped echoing through the woods when the Wall finally came into sight. Nesta knew better than to call after him; she had simply sent him away with nothing but a withering look and a curse so unbecoming of a lady of her status she only dared to utter it within the comfort of her own mind. Wretched as it was, she hoped some wolf or other predator lurking near the border would find him just in time to teach him a lesson, and, if luck was truly on her side tonight, let him take it straight to his grave. Leaving a woman alone in the woods at night was dishonourable to say the least.

It was what Feyre had done nearly every night, though, Nesta realised, that familiar guilt crashing into her like a wave once more. Ever since Father failed them, her sister would go into the forest to hunt—alone in the darkness.

Perhaps Nesta had failed her just as much.

She approached the Wall with that thought, her steps heavier somehow despite her best efforts to stay unseen. The beast that kidnapped Feyre may as well have been waiting on the other side, its claws already sharpened in anticipation. Nesta couldn’t see the other side—from where she stood, the forest simply seemed to continue well into the endless night. But Nesta knew—could practically taste the metallic tinge of magic on her tongue. It reminded her of blood.

She wondered how Feyre had withstood it—that strange feeling tingling on her skin as she stood inches from the Faerie border. As if she was being watched.

It could’ve all been in her head, Nesta thought, suddenly incredibly aware of just how loudly her heart was thudding in her chest, thrashing against her ribcage in desperation. Maybe once she crossed the Wall, it would abandon the same way the mercenary had.

What now? She’d made it all the way here—in one piece, as little consolation as it was. Nesta had no idea just how the golden beast had managed to drag Feyre to the faerie lands, but she strongly suspected her chances of succeeding were significantly smaller as a human. She had no magic—not even claws to shred that thin, metallic veil separating their worlds to pieces.

Nesta needed to find an opening.

There were cracks in the Wall. It was perhaps the only useful information she’d gotten out of the mercenary before he’d fled. If she could find a crack large enough for her to squeeze through…

She began heading eastward, at least according to Father’s old compass she’d found in one of the office drawers. Once again it wasn’t lost on her just how little the men in Nesta’s life contributed to her fate. Still, she murmured a “thank you” into the sky, hoping it would find Father in whatever corner of the world he’d sailed off to and pass along the message. It wasn’t though she’d ever get a chance to speak to him again.

Nesta was bracing for her own death.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d opted to walk East, but there was something about the direction that compelled her forward. The blood tasted different there, less of rust and metal and more of smoke floating above a fire. There was light somewhere out there, guiding her out of that darkness.

Or perhaps she was simply going insane.

The wind whooshed again then, tangling the loose strands of hair that had managed to find their way out of Nesta’s braid, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t the wind that made her halt, though, but a sound rising above the cold breeze. A loud snap—like the crack of a flame.

Slowly, Nesta turned towards the Wall.

But the Wall wasn’t there.

At first, all Nesta could see was the night—the dark sky sprawling over the hills, quiet and starless. The Wall must have been where the forest ended, where the labyrinths of moss and pine finally stretched into one, singular path.

And then, a spark.

A flash of silver that could easily be mistaken for a glittering star had it not disappeared as soon as it arrived. Had it not flickered again, and again, and again, followed by a wide, curved line of others.

Nesta stopped breathing entirely as she watched those sharp, silver teeth stretch into a smile. As wings, large and ancient like withered marble stretched over a pair of horns, over a body so large she could hardly meet its owner’s blood-red gaze.

Nesta knew what the creature was—she had seen it in her book’s illustrations, the same book the governess forbade the sisters from ever touching. The pages are cursed, she had told them. Plagued with the memory of the world we used to live in. A world unprotected by the Wall, a world of magic and monsters and death.

Right now, Death was staring right back at her. Smiling.

“Are you lost, little one?” the Attor asked, its voice like gravelly sand dragging over stone.

Nesta swallowed the fear in her throat—let it burn her voice cords to near ash as she rasped, “I am looking for someone.”

The monster’s smile widened, wings rustling as they moved to embrace her whole. “And she is looking for you.”

#the demand for this fic is low but i am nothing if not self indulgent #sjmromanceweek2024 #neris #neris fic #in which eris has fire in his blood and he fucks like it too #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x erisi vanserra #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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dreaming-medium · 4 months

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Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Eight - Use

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Masterlist

The closer you get to the Keep, the more your leg bounces anxiously in the cabin of the carriage.

Seungmin has fallen woefully silent with his chin cupped in his hand, dulled eyes staring out the window. If he has any choice words to share with you, he keeps them to himself.

What do you need once you get back to the Keep? Your weapons and armor are in your room. You’ll go there, change first, then head down to the kitchen to get some food for traveling.

What are the odds the Jarl will lend you a horse? On your way out of the city, you can stop by that potion seller to pick up a few things.

You would get them from Felix, but it would be better if you didn’t see him before you left. This way you could save yourself from that lecture.

A few rolls of gauze wouldn’t hurt. But would it weigh down your p—

“Y/N.” Seungmin’s voice brings you out of your mental checklist. You look up and meet his eyes.

He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, lips are pulled in a thin line.

“I have a feeling as soon as this carriage is in front of the Keep, you will become the unstoppable force,” he teases. That tilt of sarcasm always needs to make itself known. “So, I will say my goodbye to you now.”

Seungmin reaches forward and grabs your hand between both of his. You lean forward to mirror his position on the comfortable sofa seat.

“Please, be safe, Y/N. I know your heart aches to get yourself on the battlefield to fight for your people, but your leg is still healing. I am sure Felix will try to give you this speech again, but it’s important that you remember you are not at full power.”

Shifting in your seat, you reach your other hand forward to grasp at Seungmin’s. In between the two of you is just a tangle of warm hands grasping onto their last moments alone together.

“I will do everything in my power to stay safe, Seungmin.”

“Promise me that you will look out for yourself first.”

Those big, brown eyes beg with their own second voice. They’re piercing. You’re so used to them being sharp and somewhat cold, but lately they look more like smoldering coals in a fire.

You swallow.

To look out for yourself first would be against everything you’ve learned on the battlefield.

Jeongin’s face flashes through your mind. His alarmed eyes frantically flashing the one time he quickly became overwhelmed by enemy soldiers.

Did Seungmin expect you to not dive into action were that to happen again?

“I cannot do that.” Your answer is weak, but sure.

His eyebrows twitch, the corners of his mouth pull a bit while his jaw clenches and unclenches a few times.

Seungmin looks away from you for a second. His tongue darts out and wets his lips while he swallows thickly.

He nods shallowly, his hands squeezing yours so tightly.

Seungmin, whose face you can write a book on how to read him, attempts to stay stoic and keep his feelings stamped down. But, they leak through through a small, imperceptible movement.

His nose twitches.

“We all care for you so much, mercenary. If I am the first one to explain this to you, I apologize it took so long for you to hear it. The entire court— we all care so deeply about you.”

Outside, the trees of the road begin to thin and are replaced by stone buildings.

Any second now, you’ll be going through Miroh’s capital gate. Then, within a few minutes, you’ll be home.

Your heart aches in your chest.

“If you, or anyone on the frontlines: Hyunjin, Changbin, Jeongin,” his voice is hoarse when he mentions Jeongin, “do not return. I… I do not want to even imagine what would happen to the court.”

The carriage rattles on the stone street.

You reach up with your one hand and cup the side of Seungmin’s face gently.

He looks over at you with wide eyes. This show of soft affection is not something that either of you expected. Truthfully, your body acted on its own.

The skin underneath your hand flushes softly.

“I do not know when, but I will return to you all. That I can promise.”

Your thumb rubs under his eye. Seungmin leans into your touch, his one hand coming up to hold your hand to his face.

“Please make sure you are alive when you return.”

“I will.”

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

The keep is a blur of stone as you make your way through the hallways towards your room. With the way you’re running up the stairs, you would think something was chasing you.

Get ready first, then leave.

You’ll check in with Chan on your way out. There’s no time to stop and do anything else.

Seungmin will update Chan and Minho on everything you learned. He’ll tell them all about how the Mercy division plans on slaughtering the camps in just a few days' time.

They’ll understand why you need to leave.

Chan will understand.

And he’ll let you leave, right? Right?

Not that you’ll even give him a choice. You’re leaving within the next fifteen minutes with or without his blessing.

Nothing was keeping you here.

He was going to have to throw you in the dungeons before you willingly stayed here while your fellow soldiers were slaughtered by living creatures from the Void.

You’ve never strapped your armor to your body faster before in your life. Every buckle was secured to your body in record time.

Stuffing everything in your travel pack, you fish out Felix’s medical kit and place it in the bag before making your way out of your room without a second thought.

Your sword is a comfortable weight on your hip.

The walk to the throne room is when your nerves kick in. The last time you felt this nervous marching towards Chan was when you first met him.

Your armor clinks ring down the empty halls with every step.

Muffled voices from the throne room get louder and louder the closer you get.

“… battalions to the northern border. Leave no keep unprotected. I want healers recruited from the neighboring villages to be stationed just outside camps to heal wounds.”

Chan’s voice is commanding and even.

He’s in Jarl mode.

You round the corner after descending the steps.

There he sits on his throne, thinking of orders and sending them to guards who will listen.

You don’t stop, you continue to walk up to his throne down the center aisle of the grand room.

Chan’s head snaps over to you and his eyes rake up and down your body, taking in your armor and traveling gear.

Minho stands off to the side looking over maps and talking to other head guards before sending them off.

Jisung and Felix are shoulder to shoulder off to the side waiting for instruction. Seungmin is directly in front of the throne.

When the rogue notices the Jarl’s gaze, he peers at you over his shoulder at you, looks back at Chan, and then shakes his head while moving off to the side with his hands clasped behind his back.

You waste no time.

“My lord, I require a horse from your stables,” you say, speed walking up to him.

Chan balls his fists on the arms of his throne.

His face is completely unreadable, his expression solid as stone. Slowly, his chin dips down while his eyes stay locked on you.

“You will receive no such thing.” The low tone that comes from his tight lips sends a bolt of fear down your spine. It’s slow and calculated; at the end it cracks.

You knew this was a possibility.

You do not stop moving until you’re at your usual place in front of his throne.

“My lord, I require a horse from your stables,” you repeat your request while maintaining eye contact with him.

Jisung and Felix both shift around uncomfortably out of the corner of your eye. Minho cuts off his conversation with the guards around him and sends them off.

Everyone is silent. Only members of the court remain in the throne room.

Chan slowly rises from his throne.

“You are still injured. You will stay here, Y/N.”

Every instinct within you screams to back down, but you don’t. You keep your chest puffed and shoulders back.

“I will not.” You say it so casually. “A horse will get me to Fore Mire faster than foot, my lord.”

Chan descends each of the three steps one at a time, taking everything slowly. Each move is calculated and achingly slow.

Never, in the time you’ve known Chan, has he ever looked at you like this. Not even the day you were brought before him as a criminal.

Your knuckles itch to be cracked.

“If I cannot take a horse, then I best be on my way. It is a three day journey on foot.”

Chan’s eyebrow twitches. He continues to stalk towards you like a jungle cat.

“You will stay here, Y/N.”

“With all due respect, my lord, I will not.”

His head turns to the side– his nervous tick– and he sucks his teeth.

“I am your Jarl, Y/N.”

You lift your chin defiantly. “I care not.” Jisung’s stance falters out of the corner of your eye from your strong voice. “Why do you deny another soldier to fight for you?”

With two more steps, Chan is directly in front of you, looking down at you with dangerous eyes.

The few inches he has on your height seem like miles in this moment; he appears meters taller than you. His regality makes him feel taller.

Your unwavering confidence falters internally, but you do not let it show.

Every single set of eyes in the room rest on your two powerful forms. A clash of titans occurring on center stage.

Several unspoken conversations happen in the span of the thirty seconds you are silent. Over and over again he tells you with his eyes that he wants you to stay here, in Miroh, where it’s safe.

And on the other hand, you repeatedly tell him that you will not.

His word has been your gospel for two months, but not today. Not with this.

“You are not just another soldier. You are a member of Miroh’s court.”

“And I would like to fight for our people.”

“No.”

“I am going to the front lines, my lord.”

Chan’s hands reach up and grab your shoulders before you’re able to react. His strong knee jerks up and slams directly onto your injured thigh.

The pain that shoots through your body is instant. It blossoms through your entire leg and shoots down into your foot and up through your chest.

Somehow, you feel it in your fingertips.

A loud screech of anguish tears from your throat as you crumble to the ground in a heap of agony.

“And what use would you be?” your jarl bellows down. His voice bounces off the walls of the room and ricochets through your skull.

“Y/N!” Felix yells and runs towards you.

Without looking away from you, Chan holds out his arm to stop Felix from getting any closer.

“Chan, what has gotten into you?” Felix yells at him, but he stops in place.

Disbelief pairs with the pain.

Why? Why did he need to do that? To prove a point?

Tears well up in your eyes as you curl in on yourself, clutching at your leg as if it would stop the pain.

Throb after throb of agony bursts through your body with your injury at the source. Pitiful grunts through your teeth come out involuntarily as you breathe through the suffering.

“And if we were on the battlefield, you would be dead, Y/N.” Chan reaches out and grabs your head firmly. “Your head would already be rolling on the ground; just another death to add to the toll.”

You grit your teeth to stop the tears.

“Why do you do this, Y/N? Why do you insist on trying to kill yourself? Why can you not just listen to me on this?”

Finally, you look up at Chan– mustering every ounce of venom within your body.

He doesn’t understand? Fine. You’ll make him understand.

“Do you even know what it’s like to hear your family slaughtered with only the floorboards to stop the sound?”

Reaching up, you grab Chan’s hand with yours tightly on your head.

“To be nine years of age and hear the sounds of your mother being defiled by a gang of men? To hear your father scream for mercy as his skin is separated from his body? To feel their blood seep through the wood above your head and drip onto your skin. Those noises do not fade from your memory– they wake you up in the middle of the night when you least expect it.”

Chan swallows thickly and his skin pales considerably, but he maintains his stony expression.

“I walked on eggshells my entire life because of these people; the only sound of my mother’s voice that I remember are her sobs. If anyone knows what sort of attack is coming to our soldiers, it’s me. I care not if my head comes off my shoulders or if my innards are gutted from my body while I have to sit and watch with my own eyes. You know nothing of the pain that the Elves of Erbus have had to endure at the Mercy Division’s hands.”

Hot anger yanks at your heart, it boils your blood and turns your stomach. Every muscle in your body is taut like a rubber band waiting to snap.

“You are my Jarl, yes, and I respect you, my lord. But you will have to chain me to a wall to keep me away from the war. If my purpose is to be a human shield, then that is what The Six have decided for me. I finally have a chance to fight back, a chance to help the ghosts that haunt me every day, and you are stopping me. ”

Chan’s face twists up in emotional agony. The hand on your head shakes. His eyebrows furrow and his lips pull into a deep frown.

You can’t tell if it’s anger, frustration, denial, or a combination of all three.

“I cannot keep doing this dance with you, my lord. I am leaving for the front lines, and if this is my last memory of you, do not sully it with your stubbornness.”

His jaw drops open.

A gasp mixed with a sob sounds from somewhere to your left.

Chan releases your head slowly, the ghost of his touch remains on your skull even after it’s gone.

“Go.” His voice is weak, it cracks dryly.

He stares down at you for a long moment. Maybe only five seconds pass, but somehow it feels like an eternity.

“My lord–”

“Take my horse and get to Fort Mire. Tell Changbin what is coming. Reinforcements are being sent to our northern borders.”

Slowly, you push yourself to your feet, ignoring every single on-fire nerve ending in your leg. You don’t even allow yourself to flinch.

“Y/N–” Felix starts again, Jisung grabs his wrist. No one else in the room makes a move.

The yelling had come to a screaming halt and nothing but emotional silence filled the void.

Chan takes one last look at your face.

He scans over each detail, every curve, every scar and imperfection. He memorizes the way your eyes sit a tad unevenly on your face, the natural tint to your skin, the tilt of your nose, the thickness of your lips.

He makes sure he can remember exactly what color your eyes are. The way the light hits your bone structure and glows in an ethereal way. The way your chin has a small, faded scar on the very bottom.

The way that your hair is finally tucked behind your pierced, gently pointed ears.

And then he turns away.

“Ch–”

“ Go. ”

You didn’t get to say it.

The veins in his neck are popping, his throat bobbing as he swallows his emotions repeatedly through a constricted pipe.

He looks down at the floor, then up at the ceiling, then turns to the back wall. The back of his head is all you’re left to remember him by.

You bow your head even though he doesn’t see it.

Taking one last look around the room, you make sure to keep extended eye contact with each member of the court.

With Seungmin, who looks more content than anyone else in the room.

With Minho, who has a taut jaw, both hands are held behind his back.

With Jisung, who has his own tears forming and pouring over his round cheeks.

With Felix, who is pale and unable to find his voice to say goodbye.

And then you turn around, march down the center aisle of the throne room, and you shut the grand door behind you.

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thenatashamaximoff · 1 year

Text

Heart Of Stone; Winter’s Embrace

Summary: Wanda finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the important meeting when she can see you through the window as clear as day.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Warnings: pure fluff

Words: 5,905

✎ | დ

you do not have permission to repost/translate my work or claim them as your own.

⚠️⚠️ As I am actually currently working very hard on an epilogue for this series, have a cute little moment I imagined in the Heart Of Stone universe set at some point between the first chapter and the second. Enjoy. ⚠️⚠️

The First Day Of Winter, 2013 With your focus wholly absorbed in the book before you, your pencil moving across the page with fluid and deliberate strokes, you were unaware of Wanda’s swift and decisive action to claim the empty seat next to you. As she settled into the chair, she couldn’t help but nibble on her inner lip, her gaze lingering on the side of your face as you continued to draw. Despite her desire to clear her throat or speak your name, to do anything to capture your attention and lose herself in your gaze, she remained silent, choosing instead to revel in the simple pleasure of your peaceful presence.

Her gaze reluctantly left you and shifted to your hand, which moved with the familiarity and grace that hinted at years of honing your craft. Wanda felt a strong pull towards you, captivated by the sight of you being entirely absorbed in your art as if nothing else existed.

She shifted slightly in her seat, craning her neck in an attempt to get a peek at your sketch over your hands, and her breath hitched in her throat when she caught a glimpse. It was beautiful, the intricate lines and shading giving Steve Rogers a lifelike quality on the page. Wanda was in awe, her eyes tracing the details of the drawing, from the small creases around the patriot’s eyes to the precise angles of his jawline. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be the subject of one of your sketches, to have your keen eyes capture her essence on paper.

Wanda noticed a fleeting moment of tension in your muscles, causing your movements to freeze, but it quickly dissipated. Her peripheral vision caught the movement of Vision entering the room mere seconds later, and she briefly glanced away from you to watch him take a seat on the other side of her. It was only then that Steve cleared his throat, capturing the attention of almost everyone in the room… Almost.

The patriot briefly observed you, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips, but he didn’t comment on your lack of focus as you continued to draw him. He was appreciative you made an appearance at one of these meetings, despite showing zero interest in joining them on their heroic adventures.

However, Wanda made an effort to stay focused, pivoting her body to face Steve on the other side of the table. Natasha sat beside him, observing you with a watchful eye, much like a mother watching over her child. It was evident to Wanda that the redhead, like herself, understood that your presence in the meeting was likely to be brief.

“There’s a new crisis that needs our attention,” Steve began. “A group of mercenaries…” but whatever the super soldier had to say seemed to fade into the background as she turned her head towards you in time to see you finally pick your chin up.

At first, Wanda presumed that your gaze was fixed on Natasha - a behavior she had noticed in you before, where you would seek the redhead to reassure yourself of her presence, as if it gave you a sense of comfort Wanda couldn’t help but feel envious of. However, she soon realized that your focus lay beyond the Russian, on the absurdly large window behind her. Wanda immediately noticed your shoulders droop as you discovered the curtains were drawn shut, concealing the outside world from your curious eyes. The witch watched your reaction as she twisted her wrist, moving the barrier aside to reveal the vast expanse of snow that had been accumulating since the afternoon; the way your eyes widened at the white, fluffy ground beyond the glass was nearly childlike.

A spark of excitement ignited in her gut when you turned your head to look at her, granting her the view of your enthusiasm, and she couldn’t help but smile in response, a soft chuckle slipping through her nose. She was delighted to see you light up at the sight of the snowy landscape outside, but that only lasted so long before you were out of your seat, making your way out of the room so hastily, you had left your sketchbook behind.

Steve continued his mission talk without any pause or concern, while Natasha simply shook her head and smirked at your sudden departure. Although Wanda felt a fleeting urge to follow you, the fire in her stomach quickly dissipated as she watched you leave. With a heavy sigh, she redirected her attention back to Steve, her mind refocusing on the task at hand.

“...don’t know much about them yet,” the patriot’s words reached her ears once more as she rejoined the meeting, resting her elbow on the table and letting her chin fall onto her palm, “but, from what we’ve gathered…”

Once again, Steve’s voice faded into the background like white noise for Wanda. She couldn’t help it. While she understood that the Avengers had a responsibility to protect innocent lives from any danger, no matter how small, her persistent desire to follow you consumed her thoughts. The nagging feeling to chase after you was overwhelming.

But she soon found herself falling into confusion as she watched you appear in the window behind Steve and Natasha. Your figure trudged through the snow, wearing nothing but the outfit you had been seen in earlier. Despite the freezing temperatures, you appeared to be thoroughly enjoying yourself, and Wanda couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth spread through her chest at the sight of your wide, toothy grin. She straightened her posture, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to form on her face, as you picked your chin up to let the falling snowflakes land delicately on your face.

She couldn’t help but admire your childish joy.

Your head lowered as you held out a hand, attempting to catch a snowflake, but your eyebrows pinched in confusion when they only ended up evaporating the moment they landed on your skin. Instead, you bent down to cup a handful of white powder in your palms to get a better look at what was falling from the sky. She could only imagine the sound of your laughter as you stood up, bringing the small pile of flakes closer to your face.

It felt like someone had pressed the fast-forward button for the next few seconds as a cloud of snow exploded against the side of your head, your body vanishing into the deep snowdrift at the impact. Wanda had to quickly cover her mouth with her hand to prevent a laugh from escaping and disrupting the seriousness of the meeting she was supposed to be paying attention to, but would much rather watch you experience the first day of winter through the window.

Your upper body popped up from the snow, covered in a layer of white powder, looking dazed and confused as you blinked slowly, and she bit her cheek so hard, she could swear she could taste blood. Your head turned towards the source of the snowball, and a smile crossed your features as you climbed to your feet.

Tony stepped into view, shaking with laughter as he held out additional layers of warmth for you. You looked at the offering with confusion coloring your features, but when you suddenly shivered, you immediately accepted the thick clothing and shrugged it on.

Wanda shook her head, as if snapping out of a trance, and refocused her attention. It was Natasha who was speaking, her voice cutting through the witch’s momentary distraction. “...heavily armed and have been moving a lot. It’s possible that they’re planning something much bigger.”

“We need to stop them before they take more lives,” Steve claimed. “We managed to track them down to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city a couple of weeks ago, but…” Wanda’s eyes drifted back to the window, but her eyebrows pinched in confusion when she no longer saw any sign of you or Tony. She was ultimately forced to return to the meeting.

“They’re fast,” Natasha added, “so we need to move faster if we want to prevent whatever they’re planning.” If everybody in the room was aware of Wanda’s struggle to pay attention, nobody showed it. Though she was sure she could see Vision giving her subtle side glances every now and again next to her. “We’re running out of time.”

“Do we know their new location?” Vision questioned.

“Not yet,” Steve answered, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest, “but we’re working on it. We have a few leads, just nothing concrete.”

As Wanda’s eyes quickly shifted towards the window, she couldn’t help but feel relieved when she saw you and Tony reappear. However, her excitement waned when she noticed your back was turned towards her. She bit her lip, trying to hide the disappointment that threatened to surface. She longed for your smile, the one that could light up the darkest of rooms, the one that made the sun envious of its shine, but it seemed that her wants went unheard as you remained oblivious to her silent pleas.

Despite Wanda’s continuous distractions, the meeting continued.

Vision leaned forward, and the movement caused him to graze shoulders with Wanda. She shifted slightly, feeling the contact with him but not registering the meaning behind it. Her mind was still preoccupied with the thought of you and Tony outside, wondering what you were up to, and wishing you’d turn around just so she could see you. “We need to be proactive in finding them,” he suggested. “Perhaps we should expand our search. If they are planning something big, they might have moved their operations to a different city.” She was oblivious to the longing look the android sent her.

Steve nodded, pursing his lips together for a brief moment before saying, “We’re already coordinating with local law enforcement. We’re getting more resources in the search.”

“We should also consider increasing our surveillance in areas where they have been known to operate.” Wanda’s eyes flashed to Natasha, meeting eye contact with the former assassin as she continued, “It’s possible they will make a mistake or slip up, and we need to be ready to capitalize on any opportunity to apprehend them.”

“We should also prepare for the possibility that they might have allies at their disposal as well,” Vision pointed out, turning toward Steve. “We need to be cautious and anticipate any potential obstacles.”

Movement in the window behind the blonde and redhead caught her attention, and she watched as Tony stepped to the side to reveal a pristine snowman; the balls of snow formed perfect spheres, topped with a jaunty hat and carrot nose. Buttons pressed into its torso firmly, a dark red scarf wrapped comfortably around its neck, and sticks stabbed into the sides to form arms. A small smirk lifted the corner of her mouth at the sight of the sculpture, but when you stepped to the side to reveal your own snowman, her lips curled to form a bigger, brighter smile.

While Tony’s creation was the epitome of picture-perfect - the type of snowmen you’d see on postcards and in movies - yours sat lopsided, with an oversized head and arms that looked like they could fall off at any moment. Your hat was a mere strainer you must’ve grabbed from the kitchen during your disappearance, and the nose was a carrot that had seen better days, with a slight bend in the middle that had been hastily jabbed into the snowman’s face. The eyes, unlike Tony’s, were not perfectly round nor matched in size. One was slightly larger than the other, giving the snowman a slightly cross-eyed look. Despite its imperfections, the snowman had a certain charm to it, as if it had been made with a sense of innocent wonder and silly enthusiasm. The crooked grin on its face - formed by pebbles you must’ve gathered from the decorations in the lobby - seemed to convey a mischievous personality, inviting anyone who passed by to come closer and take a picture with it. It was a snowman that embodied not only the joy and spirit of winter but the childlike imagination and creativity that often get lost in adulthood.

Wanda watched as Tony moved to stand next to you while Happy walked into the window’s view, shoving his hands into his pockets as he breathed out a heavy breath that released a thick cloud of smoke in the cold air. It was clearly obvious how much the head of security didn’t want to be outside in the middle of a freezing, winter night, but that his boss gave him no choice in the matter.

The two men conversed, your eyes glued intently onto Happy’s face as he threw a sloppy index finger up in the direction of your snowman, and the witch, once again, had to cover her mouth when your arms shot up in victory. Tony didn’t seem pleased, gesturing toward his perfectly built statue, and then your mediocre one. She could only assume that they dragged the man outside to choose a winner of a contest, and you seemed to have lost interest in the mild argument as you stepped behind the snowmen and scooped up a handful of snow.

The ball sailed through the air, small flakes trailing after it as it wasn’t the most perfect snowball with some clumps of snow sticking out awkwardly, but it did its job well when it hit its mark: Happy’s head. Whatever Tony was saying was immediately halted as his body shook once more with laughter, watching his friend’s reaction. You shot an innocent smile when Happy looked toward you, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, and Wanda felt her body tense. Was she going to have to go outside and save you from one of his tantrums? Your fragile state of mind left you in a sensitive and vulnerable state, and any form of negativity directed toward you would deeply affect you. Wanda quite often found herself attempting to protect you from such things just as much as Natasha does.

As much as a harmless act it was, Happy wasn’t - despite his name - a very happy man.

But, to her surprise, the man was quick to bend down, scooping some snow into his own hands to form a ball. Your eyes widened, and Wanda felt her muscles relax as the three of you fell into a snowball fight. She wished she could hear your laughter, your squeals, as you enjoyed a small game amongst the people you are slowly getting close to.

Though the game didn’t last long, as Happy waved the white flag of defeat and immediately disappeared from the window. Tony said something to you that made that wide smile on your face grow even wider before walking off. And, once again, you were left alone as you looked around.

Wanda leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as you turned your head toward the night sky once more. She could feel her entire body melt in peace as you stared at the stars through the falling snow, a look of admiration hidden beneath the smile lingering on your face. The snowflakes caught in your hair and eyelashes made you seem almost mystical, like a creature of the night sky yourself. It made her give in to her desires, gripping the edges of the table and pushing herself away from it. However, the rest of her movements froze when Clint appeared in the window frame, causing her to use her grip on the table to reel herself in, resigning herself to watch you look away from the stars to see who had joined you.

She observed the way you smiled widely at whatever the archer had said, the way he reached out to pat you on the shoulder for a brief moment before he thought better of it and brought his arm back to his side. Instead, he followed you to a space away from the snowmen before falling to your knees in the snow. You watched him with furrowed eyebrows, confused as to what the seasoned agent could possibly be doing as he started patting the snow into a thick, small wall. But the more his mouth continued moving, noiseless words coming from his lips, the less confused you appeared to be. You mirrored his movements, like a child learning from their teacher.

You were fully engrossed in your new project, your attention unwavering even when Steve came to join in. Wanda couldn’t help but notice his arrival, but she merely spared him a quick glance before returning her gaze to you. Steve knelt down beside Clint, and together they worked to connect your wall to the archer’s, creating a smooth curve.

As the night sky grew darker, none of you seemed to slow down, and Wanda continued to watch. Occasionally, Steve would pause to explain something to you, to which you would nod your head in understanding, but Wanda was almost certain the patriot’s words would go pass through one ear and out the other as you continued working. And she’d find herself chuckling softly whenever Clint playfully tossed some loose snow your way, eliciting an even wider grin from you. Or when he would seemingly break out into song - a tune that Wanda was glad she couldn’t hear from her vantage point, but that prevented her from hearing your infectious laughter.

The realization that you were building an igloo only dawned on Wanda as the circular wall the three of you had formed grew higher and higher. She had never seen anything like it before, and yet the way you all were working on it made it seem like the most natural thing in the world. Wanda couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. She wanted to be a part of this, to work alongside you, to build something together, but she knew she was stuck in this meeting until she was dismissed. So, she resigned herself to watching from the sidelines.

The night wore on, and the snow continued to fall. Yet still, you, Clint, and Steve worked on, determined to finish your creation. Time meant nothing to Wanda, watching the expressions your face would make, from the way your brows furrowed in concentration to the way your eyes would light up in excitement as the igloo continued to grow. She could see the steam of your breath as you laughed at whatever asinine conversation the two men were having.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the three of you stepped back to admire your work, and she forced herself to look away from your happy, smiling face to catch the final product, amazed at the beauty and detail of the structure. It was a work of art, with curved walls and intricate patterns etched into the snow that clearly had to be your doing.

Wanda watched with amusement as Steve gestured for you to enter the frozen structure, and your face lit up with excitement as you eagerly raced around to the entrance, crawling through it like a child entering a secret hideout. Steve and Clint peered over the top of the walls, laughing heartily, and she wondered what it must have been like to be surrounded by walls made of snow, and to feel the warmth of your body next to her, protected from the elements outside. The thought of being able to share that moment with you made her heart ache, wishing she could be out there, reveling in your joy. But as she continued to watch from the window, she knew that for now, that dream would have to remain just that - a dream.

From where she sat, Wanda could see the tips of your shoes sticking out of the igloo’s entrance, motionless as Steve and Clint headed inside for the night. However, your solitude was shot-lived as Natasha - red hair conceal under a cozy hat - made her way over to your makeshift abode. Wanda couldn’t help but grin at the way Natasha knelt down at the mouth of the igloo, tapping her knuckles lightly against the sturdy wall as if she were knocking on a door. It wasn’t long until your shoes were replaced by your head, emerging from the frozen structure. Whatever Natasha said to you - Wanda didn’t need to hear it to know that the redhead was using her softest tone, a tone that was reserved only for you - was enough to make you crawl out of the shelter.

You looked perplexed when the Russian lay down in the snow a few feet away from your snowmen and igloo, gesturing for you to join her on the frigid ground. Your face scrunched with confusion, and you paused for a moment, staring at her, before your mouth moved, verbally expressing your thoughts this time. Natasha responded playfully with a roll of her eyes and, after another hesitated moment, you decided to lay down beside her.

Without a wasted minute, Natasha started moving her legs and arms up and down, causing Wanda to chuckle softly at the bewildered expression that landed on your features. The redhead looked over at you, and as you slowly moved to mimic her movements, trying to keep up with her pace, the witch wasn’t oblivious to the way your face changed from confusion to joy within seconds. Wanda felt a tug against her heart, feeling envious at the way your chest heaved with a burst of laughter.

Natasha continued with playful abandon, and you followed her lead, your movements becoming more confident and fluid as you went along. Wanda was glad that you were able to find joy in something as simple as creating a snow angel, her gaze lingering on the way you brushed the snow off your clothes after you stood up. And she wondered if Natasha had placed it in a way so she had a full view of your reaction when you saw the final result, a perfect, sparkling angel etched into the snow. But Wanda wasn’t too focused on the snow, but the way your face lit up as you looked, her stomach flipping as the way your eyes widened with wonder and amazement. It was a beautiful sight, and Wanda felt her heart swell with affection. She found herself admiring the way your hair was dusted with snowflakes and the way your cheeks were rosy from the cold.

Whenever someone made any movement to touch you, Wanda always caught herself holding her breath. Natasha was no exception. So, when the redhead’s hands moved towards you, the witch’s breath hitched in her throat as they came to a rest on your shoulders. You were nodding in agreement to whatever was being said, and the Russian rolled her eyes with a smirk before guiding you back to your igloo before she, too, called it a night. Wanda watched as you disappeared into your little habitat, a smile tugging at her lips. She felt a sense of warmth in her chest at the sight of your shoes peeking out of the entrance, and she found herself grateful that it was Natasha that had taken you under her wing through all of this.

“Hey.” Wanda was startled by the sudden sound of Natasha’s voice, quickly turning in her chair to face the redhead, who was still dressed in her winter outfit from outside as she casually leaned against the doorway. “The meeting ended a while ago… You know that right?” she teased, her lips curving up in a playful smirk. Wanda blushed and glanced around the empty conference room.

“I was… distracted.” She bit the side of her tongue to smother the sheepish grin that was threatening to add to the embarrassment she was already feeling.

The Russian chuckled and pushed herself away from the doorframe, stepping further into the room. “We noticed,” she replied, her voice still holding that teasing tone. Wanda couldn’t do anything to stop the heat in her cheeks from growing hotter. “Y/N’s experiencing snow for the first time today. It’d be a shame if you weren’t a part of that.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” Wanda confessed, tugging the sleeves of her shirt past her palms. “It seemed like everybody else had already done everything you could possibly do in the snow.”

Natasha shrugged loosely, pursing her lips together briefly before ominously saying, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Wanda didn’t get much time to ask her anything else before she walked away, leaving her chewing on the inside of her cheek as she wracked her brain.

The igloo was even more magnificent when viewed up close, its snow walls shimmering under the moonlight. The only sounds were the soft crunch of snow under her boots, carefully balancing two steaming mugs in her hands as she kneeled at the entrance of the frozen building. She cleared her throat, but before she could pretend to knock, she was looking at your beaming face. Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed into your sparkling eyes, despite the structure obscuring your face from the only source of light out here.

“Hi.” You raised a brow as you looked at the cups in her hands, and her tongue flicked out to lick her lips before she added, “I figured you could use a warm drink.”

“Wha… What is it?” you questioned, and she had stopped trying to fight that feeling she gets whenever she hears your voice.

“Hot chocolate,” she answered, smiling softly, “with whipped cream and marshmallows.”

Your head tilted to the side, eyebrows knitting together with confusion. “Marshmallows?”

She nodded, chuckling at your expression. “Yeah, it’s a thing. Trust me, it’s delicious.” You beamed in response before taking one of the mugs from her, cradling it in your hands as you disappeared into your icy hut. She felt the smile fade away from her face, looking down at the ground as her stomach twisted uncomfortably. But, before she could move to leave, your voice calling her name from within the walls of the igloo made her pause.

“Are… Are you… coming in?”

Her gut twisted with joy as she lowered her head to enter the small entrance, her heart racing as she pushed through the narrow opening. Inside, the space was surprisingly cozy, yet lift little to no room to maneuver without touching you. You watched her with a smile, sitting across from you and feeling the warmth of your touch melt through her thick clothes and into her skin.

“I-It’s not very… big.” You looked around the enclosed walls, your heart beating rapidly against your chest, but with Wanda’s legs pressed against yours, the panic that had raised in your throat was suffocated. “Maybe we… We can make it bigger?” Your eyes were sparkling once more when you met her gaze, and her soft smile allowed you to relax even further.

“I think it’s perfect,” she assured, her voice soft and soothing. She felt a warmth in her chest at the sight of your sparkling eyes, as if you had found a way to put glitter in them. When you brought the smoking mug up, she was quick to put her hand in the small distance between your mouth and the drink, her knuckles brushing across your lips very lightly, yet it was enough to make that warmth in her chest spread to her gut. “You should wait until it’s a bit colder.” You met her gaze, the way your face softened as your rose-colored cheeks became more prominent made her heart skip a beat. She had a fleeting thought to delve into your mind, to know what you were thinking at this moment, but she was getting better.

“It… It smells good,” you said quietly, the movement of your jaw only causing your lips to get closer to her hand.

She couldn’t seem to get her voice above a whisper, “I don’t want you burning your tongue.” It took you a moment, but you finally pulled the mug away from your face, and she brought her arm back to herself. “Did you have fun tonight?”

She wasn’t sure it was possible, but your face grew brighter at her question, and you seemed to have forgotten about what just happened. “I did,” you eagerly expressed. “Mr. Stark… He hit me with a… a ball of snow! And-And then we built the snow people. Did you… You saw them?”

“I did,” she confirmed with a nod.

“Mr. Happy said mine was… better!” Your gentle laughter made her stomach warm, a much more pleasing feeling than the hot chocolate ever could bring.

“Well, Mr. Happy has good taste.”

“I… I’m not going to tell you who’s is whose, but wh-which one is better?”

“I’m going to have to say the one with the strainer for a hat,” she answered and was immediately rewarded by the way your face lit up at her answer. “Did you make that one?”

“Yes!” You leaned forward slightly, yet due to the small confines of the igloo, your face was a lot closer to hers now. Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes averting down to your lips slowly, though you showed no signs of noticing the drawn-out gaze. And your breath fanning over her face caused her chest to tighten as you whispered, “I won’t tell Mr… Stark.”

The excitement you were feeling made it impossible for you to conceal your thoughts, and she was ecstatic to hear your voice. You had said more words to her just now than she has ever heard you say since meeting you, and she only wanted to hear it more. “What else happened?” She brought her drink up to her lips, blowing across the top of the liquid, and she noticed the way you paused for a moment, straightening your posture as you leaned back.

“I-I threw a ball of snow at Mr. Happy.” She chuckled at the memory. “And then… we all threw them at each other. Clint taught me how… how to make this…” You trailed off, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked around. “He called it an… an igloo.” You smirked, and Wanda forced herself to take a sip of the semi-scalding liquid to hide the flush in her cheeks at the sigh of it. “Captain… He helped us. They even made it so I can- We can look at the stars.” Your head tilted up, and she followed your gaze to see the vast night sky above her. “And then Nat came. She… She showed me how to… make an angel. And now… you. An-An… actual…” You breathed out, averting your gaze to look at the fluffy marshmallows melting in the hot chocolate after Wanda brought her chin down to see that you were looking at her.

She smiled softly, noticing the way your cheeks were a lot more rosy now than they were five seconds ago. “Try it.”

“W- It’s chocolate?”

Wanda’s soft laugh made you pick your head up to look at her, eyebrows pinched with mild confusion, but a smile tugging the corners of your lips. “Yes,” she exclaimed, nodding. “Hot chocolate. It’s made with chocolate and milk.”

You nodded slowly, still a bit uncertain but intrigued enough to bring the mug to your lips to take a tentative sip. The warmth spread through your body, settling at the bottom of your stomach, and you couldn’t help but let out a contented sigh. “Wow.” She smiled as you took another drink, this one more confident than the last. “What’s the… the chewy stuff?”

“Marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows.” You mirrored her smile, your eyes flickering up to meet hers, and she felt a flutter in her chest at the sight of your grin. “It’s… I like it.” You took another sip, tilting the cup higher and, when you pulled it away from you, she couldn’t help but laugh softly at the whipped cream that now adorned your nose.

“You’ve got a little…” She trailed off, bringing her bottom lip in between her teeth before biting the bullet and reaching forward herself. You seemed to lean into the touch when she wiped her sleeve against your nose in a gentle swipe. “I got it.”

“Thank you.” You cleared your throat, bringing the mug back up to your face to hide the burn in your cheeks that ignited at her touch, taking another yet careful sip of the hot chocolate, savoring the sweetness and warmth it provided. “Did you… make this?”

“I did,” she answered proudly. “The secret is to use real chocolate instead of cocoa powder. It gives it a richer flavor and creamier texture.”

“I… like it,” you repeated, finishing it off.

“I make it all the time,” she stated, though she doesn’t remember the last time she made it if she was being honest. Yet, the look on your face every time you took a sip - like a child who just discovered something magical - made her want to make it more often. “Hot chocolate is the kind of drink that’s perfect on a night like this.”

You gently placed the mug off to the side before letting your hands fall into your lap, and she watched as you dug your thumb into the scar on your palm. Something she would find you doing whenever your anxiety built up. She wished she had the courage to stop the motion, to reach over to you, to place her hands gently over yours, but she remained to herself. Instead, she took a deep breath and decided to break the silence that wrapped around the two of you like a silk scarf.

“Do you want to look at the stars?” Your eyes snapped onto hers, and she felt her heart skip a beat at the quick nod you sent her.

After placing her mug next to yours, the two of you lay down in the small igloo. Although she forced herself to maintain some distance, she couldn’t prevent your legs from resting on top of hers at the entrance of the frozen abode. And she wasn’t complaining. The feeling of your weight on top of her - even if it was just the lower, lower half - caused a warmth to spread throughout her body. She wondered if you could hear her heartbeat quicken under her thick layers of clothing because she sure could.

The stars above seemed to twinkle with a brighter light as you gazed up at them, lost in your own thoughts. Wanda couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder and admiration for you. She often found herself wondering what went on in your mind, what secrets and dreams were hidden behind your eyes. There was a wisdom about you that surpassed anyone else that she had ever met, and everything you had been through only seemed to add to that depth. As she watched you, a feeling of calm washed over her, allowing her entire body to relax in peace.

She always felt overwhelmed with comfort in your presence, but your touch filled her with an unexplainable warmth that made her heart beat a little faster and her thoughts linger on you longer than they should. Because while you were falling in love with winter’s embrace, she was falling in love with you.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #captain america #iron man #tony stark #vision #reader insert #heart of stone #hos

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theseawakes · 1 year

Text

Glimpse of Past (Marc Spector x teen!reader

summary: Marc emphatize with you when you showed up at his door and shared your past.

warnings: child abuse, death (mentioned) (lmk if I missed anything)

request: "Could I request a moonknight x teen reader (platonic) where reader usually helps them with finding people or finding information, kind of like “guy in chair”. And they often spend late nights helping Steven, Jake and Marc not spending a lot of time at home. Maybe Steven questions it but reader kinda shrugs it off. Then one day reader shows up covered in bruises and all of them tries to find out what happened but reader doesn’t want to tell them but then reveals that it was one of reader’s parents. And Marc becomes really protective because of what happened to him when he was a kid. You can decide the ending if you want but I would love to see some Hurt/Comfort."

a/n: I'm sorry I only did it with Marc, I sorta wrote it to take set right after incidents in season 1 with reader not knowing Steven and Jake yet

Marc Spector wasn't the one who worked well with people, but he eventually got a hang of it, thanks to you.

The mercenary never intended to have someone working off-screen for him. You were a threat. You came too close to Marc's secret job for his liking, prying on his night activities and even providing proof. Khonshu was telling Marc to get rid of you, but you butted him first by signing yourself to work with him. Marc couldn't risk someone knowing his night profession, and he didn't wanna kill a child. And judging your ability to be able to uncover the whole Moon Knight thing just reveals that you could be more than useful. So work with him, you did.

Yet earning the certain Spector's trust was hard. There were more than a handful of times when you gotta prove to him that you were, indeed, more than useful for him to fully trust you. Which you consider weird because he was the one who saved you from "getting rid of."

The crescent moon turned into full then turned anew. You found yourself rather at home with Marc than at your actual house. Oftentimes, you spend days with him even if he doesn't go on missions. As much as Marc hated to admit, he does enjoy it too. He enjoys hearing your antics in the comms, he enjoys hearing you read a book of pun jokes and coming home to you spreading out on the couch after a long mission.

You left him with a note that says, "I'll be back soon" once and have never been back ever since. His worry starts to grow as high as those skyscraper buildings. It's been weeks and Marc couldn't find any sign of your existence. Nevertheless, he prayed to anyone listening to him to keep you safe.

You are, in fact, not safe

Your hand trails on the newly made black eye on your face. A wince was shown on your reflection in the mirror.

You never intended to go home. You never wanted to go home. You were going to buy something in a store when you accidentally crashed into one of your father's friends. They immediately took you back to him and he was beyond furious. He locked you in your room for days and only opened the door to feed or beat you.

He had thrown out all your electronic devices; he made sure to cut any way of communication with the outside world so you weren't able to reach Marc. You were glad you left your camera in Marc's place, it was a gift from your late brother, the one you used to spy on Marc.

Your father let you out recently because he needs help to do chores. You still get beatings if you don't do exactly what he says. The newest black eye was obtained from dropping a bottle of beer because your hand hurts from his beatings.

Sighing heavily, you looked outside the bathroom when you heard a knock on the door.

The man sitting on the armchair paid no attention to it, locking his eyes on the TV. He, however, bitterly spat, "Get the door, they're my friends."

"Why don't you get it yourself?" You whispered under your breath, thinking he couldn't hear you. He did.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Your body flinched when you heard his boots making their way to where you are. "You should be glad I let you out that room." A slap. "You ungrateful bastard of a child." Another slap. "You should be glad I even spared your life!" This one almost sends you to the floor, but his hands pull you by your collar and smash your body to the nearest wall. "You took everything from me. My wife, my son, my good and perfect life with them!"

Your body made contact with the cold hard sink before falling to the floor. Groaning in pain, you felt another thing stomping your abdomen several times. After what felt like forever, your father finally stopped. With your final energy, you look at the front door. Seeing as your father and his friends were occupied by the TV, you dashed out of the bathroom and eventually out of the house. They noticed, of course, but you didn't care, all you cared about was running away as far as you can. You run to the only place you had in mind. The last thing you remember was knocking your hand on the familiar dark wooden door.

Marc scanned your sleeping form on the couch, noting the many differences between your usual self before your disappearance and now. Your clothes looked more like it's hanging on your body. Dark spots are circling your eyes with a slight dark blue color on one of them. Your skin is littered with bruises; purple, blue, even yellow. You look so… fragile. Totally different from the last time he saw you.

The time Marc realized you were not coming back or went "missing", he tried to find you by asking people he knows who know you. He tried looking and digging for information on where you live since you never told him. But he found nothing.

When he opened the door and saw you, he was beyond relieved to know that you were still alive. However, his heart dropped the moment he looked into your eyes. The sight was too familiar to him. He swore he caught a glimpse of himself inside those E/C eyes. And that was all he needed to know about your state before carrying your collapsed body to the couch.

The Khonshu Avatar watched as your eyes fluttered open, squinting a few times to adjust the light. Your head turned to see him despite it throbbing terribly. Tears clouded your blurry vision but you could still see Marc moving towards you. Your eyes widened in realization of someone coming towards you. With a jerk, you stand up and immediately back away from the person.

"Y/N?" Marc questioned.

You looked down as your feet kept dragging you away from the man. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again. I promise! I– it was my fault, I'm sorry, I am. I didn't mean to disobey you, I didn't mean to kill them, I'm sorry, please don't hit me, I didn't mean—"

"Y/N, it's me, it's Marc." Marc tried to cut you but failed as you replayed your muttering again and again and he'd be lying if that didn't shatter his heart. "Bud, it's all fine. You're alright. They can't get you here. You're safe," he made his voice as soft as he could.

His arms gently reach out for your shaking figure. The mercenary is fighting back the tears that started to form in his eyes. Alarms blazed in his head when you tried to hit your head. As if out of instinct, he leaped to engulf you in his arms, preventing you from hurting yourself. He could still hear you mutter through your tears, "stupid me, I shouldn't have– I shouldn't –"

"Shh, stop it, Y/N, please don't hurt yourself. You're alright, I've got you. It's alright. Follow my breathing, okay? In, 1 2 3, hold it, out 1 2 3. Come on, you can do it. Again." You followed Marc's instructions, breathing in and out with him. Marc's hand never stopped circling your back to calm you down and it worked. Once your crying has reduced into small hiccups, you clung onto the back of his shirt as he rocks you back and forth. "There you go, better?"

You moved your head up and down while wiping a single tear. "Yeah," you answered. Looking up at the man, you noticed his eyes were a bit puffy too. Has he been crying? "I'm sorry, Marc."

The dark-haired man patted your head softly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"They died because of me, my mom and my brother." You paused. "She died giving me a chance to live in this cruel world, and he died saving me to continue living in it. I don't need him to remind me every chance he gets that I killed them because I already live with the guilt every day."

The confession you made sent a jab to his heart. He knows how it feels to be in your shoes. He knows it all too well. When he looked inside your eyes he saw a glimpse of his past, and that was all he needed to know what happened. It was exactly what happened to him, and it pained him to acknowledge it. Marc pulled you into another embrace when your tears started spilling out again. Then somehow when he glanced at the top of your head, he saw the hair that belonged to his younger self, which only caused him to pull you closer.

"It wasn't your fault, kid," he replayed what Steven said to him on their trip down memory lane. "It wasn't your fault that they died. It wasn't anyone's."

Marc's words only trigger more tears to come out of your eyes. You tighten your grip around him, allowing yourself to break down in his arms. It wasn't after a few minutes that you had calmed down. "I don't wanna go back there."

"You don't have to. We'll sort things out later. For now, let's tend those bruises, eh?" Marc helped you get to the couch before he went to grab the med kit. When he was about to get back, you jumped off the couch.

"The scarab!" you shouted, now remembering that Marc had gone for the scarab before you were taken back to your house. The pain going through your body made you wince. "What happened to the scarab? Did you find it?"

The Moon God's avatar ignored your question as he hurried to your place to sit you back down and gave you an ice pack for your black eye. He hesitated to answer you for a moment, afraid of what your reactions might occur. "I did. I saved the world. Kinda."

"What!?" There it is, the reaction. You stood up again, ignoring the pain this time. "You saved the world!? How? What did you do? What happened?"

Marc sighed. "Will you sit back down? You're in pain."

"Please, this is nothing more than knowing you saved the world without me." You scoffed, earning a chuckle from Marc.

"Alright, fine, I'll tell you everything. Now sit back down, kid." You lowered yourself to the couch again, watching Marc start to tend your bruises. "It happened in Cairo."

taglist: @andromacher @pauldanos-world @atzlena @blustalker

#marc spector x teen reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector #moon knight x reader platonic #moon knight x reader #moon knight x teen!reader #x teen!reader #× reader #steven grant #jake lockley #khonshu

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