#the fact that this is canon truly amuses me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nohaijiachi · 8 months

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I got randomly recommended this video by YT and wrote a ginormous comment in response because I have no self control, apparently, so I thought I might as well also share my thoughts here in regard to whatever is going with THIS FUCKING SMILE

(under a cut to not clog y'alls dashboards)

(the first part of the comment here is a direct response to some of the ideas put forth in the video, it is very short so give it a quick watch for more context if you want)

Imo it's not necessary to look into overcomplicated theories that rely too much on off screen shenanigans to explain the smile, for how amusing the idea of them having swapped during the kiss is (like, the kind of stuff I won't want to be actually canon, but I'll be very happy to see explored in fan fics lol)

I think to fully explain that smile we have to take in consideration multiple factors:

This show is very purposeful in what it does and doesn't, well... show. That last shot is very long and I think the fact that Aziraphale's and Crowley's expressions in the aftermath of their disastrous break up is shown in such a manner tells us a LOT about the state of mind they might be at the start of S3, and the obstacles they'll have to face. Aziraphale doesn't immediately smile, rather he seems to look almost shell-shocked for most of the shot; it's clear (to me at least lol) that the quiet ride up the elevator is finally giving him some desperately needed time to fully digest everything that happened, because too much has happened in an extremely short amount of time, and we all know Aziraphale doesn't do well with speed lol.

But, for how much he can sometimes be a complete moron, he is smart, and all he needs are just those seconds of quiet to properly ponder on everything, on the choices made and the ramifications of said choices, and that's how we get to smile-- I'll delve into what I think Aziraphale is going through in his mind in more details later, because I also think it's necessary to focus a bit on Crowley's own expression, since the both of them are so intrinsically linked that the narrative cannot make sense without taking the both of them into account.

Crowley's expression is much more static and doesn't change the way Aziraphale's does; he looks profoundly tired in ways we've never seen him before. I don't think he's giving up on Aziraphale, and I fully believe the fact that he stood there and waited for Aziraphale to disappear in the elevator, the both of them sharing that last look, was a quiet message: He'll never give up on Aziraphale, he'll be there, waiting. But wait is all he can do for Aziraphale, now, because he can't follow where Aziraphale is going.

For how messy and full of heightened emotions the confession + kiss are, I think actually denying Aziraphale's request was a HUGE step forward for Crowley's character. He's never been able to deny Aziraphale, he always went back to him after every fight, and we all know how stupidly whipped for Aziraphale he is and how he'd empty the ocean with a spoon if Aziraphale asked him nicely-- But to actually put his foot down and say "no, I cannot do this for you" when asked to all but renounce the person he is now? Especially with how Aziraphale is all but begging him openly? That's a huge step, and something I think Crowley desperately needs to mature as a person (or, well, person-shaped being). We all love how Aziraphale has him wrapped around his little finger I'm sure, but we also all know that if they truly want to build a strong, healthy relationship they also both need to be able to keep their individuality and to put forth adequate boundaries about what they are willing to do for each other within reason.

Asking Crowley to come back to being an angel when he's made blatantly clear for six thousand bloody years how much he despises Heaven is not a 'within reason' request, innit?

So, yeah, for how heartbreaking the break-up was, in a sense Crowley needs it. They both do. They both need time apart to figure their own shit out, dismantle all those unhealthy habits they had to adopt in order to be with one another as safely as they possibly could while still 'employed', and then come back together with a clearer mind and a whole deal stronger than before, both as individuals and as a couple.

And I think how tired and downtrodden Crowley looks in that last shot is a precursor to this process, just as much as Aziraphale's smile is... So, let me get back to our favorite angel and what I personally think is going on with him.

I think to properly contextualize that smile we need to look at not just the happening of those infamous last fifteen minutes, but of S2 as a whole, and what Aziraphale does in it.

So, what is Aziraphale doing during S2?

At the start he seems to be more or less comfortably settled in his current life; he's as happy as ever doing what he's always done, enjoying humanity's creativity with his books and his music and his food and drinks, seemingly content to be puttering about in his bookshop (which is a stark contrast with Crowley's homelessness and his kinda adrift and depressed attitude). Of course then Jim!Gabriel throws a wrench right into that, but imo I think there was a lot more going on behind the facade of Aziraphale's well ingrained habits.

Sure, he still has all of his familiar comforts and his routine, but from the moment we see him interact with Crowley I saw a deep restlessness emerge in him: The panicked look he launches Crowley when Nina asks him about his 'naked man friend', the way he speaks with Crowley with all those 'our' he uses, the blatant way he keeps reaching over and touching Crowley-- To me that suggests that Aziraphale is clearly not as happy as he seems to be on a superficial glance. He clearly wants more with Crowley, wants to bring their relationship to the next step, but because the both of them are so deeply entrenched in their unhealthy coping mechanisms and habits and their inability to openly communicate it doesn't even occur to Aziraphale to just... You know. Take the first step, actually say something about it. So he just keeps throwing bait after bait in the water, hoping Crowley will bite and be the one taking the initiative as he's always done, finally allowing Aziraphale to accept said initiative, this time around.

Of course, we all see that Crowley doesn't take any first step, which is probably something deeply frustrating for Aziraphale at a subconscious level. That's how we get the ball; sure, on the face of it it was Aziraphale's way to make Nina and Maggie fall in love, but... Was it, really? Let's be real, for how entirely believable it is that Aziraphale makes up the lie about Nina and Maggie's love to cover for their miracle is, since we've seen him being anxious around other angels, I don't think for a second that had Aziraphale just stopped and spent three minutes thinking about it he wouldn't have found a way to convince Muriel that Nina and Maggie were, in fact, in love, especially with how 'green' Muriel is about humans.

I fully believe that Aziraphale is not properly thinking during S2, period. He's frustrated by his inability to bring his and Crowley's relationship to what he wants it to be, and that frustration and single-minded objective is utterly obfuscating his thought process. There are plenty of moments he seemed almost manic, imo, which I read as another sign about his 'impaired' (allow me the term) state of mind as of S2.

So, yes, the ball: On the face of it something to actually turn his lie to the Archangels into truth, but deeper down, perhaps almost unconsciously, I think Aziraphale sees the ball as a way to finally make him and Crowley happen. That fact that he's taking pointers about romance from human literature is blatant, and obviously he truly does believe the ball will be THE way to make love bloom.

If you stop and think about it, the ball scene is terrifying. These people are being manipulated to play the perfect background parts to make, what is in Aziraphale's mind, the height of romance atmosphere happen. The fact we get a juxtaposition with Nina's "what the F is going on, am I losing my mind???" rightful attitude underlines this. And I truly believe Aziraphale isn't exerting said manipulation with intent, but rather doing so subconsciously, because he's just so fixated on the idea of having finally the perfect set-up to have Crowley as he desires that he is influencing everything around him. After all, we all know they both have the tendency of making things happen the way they want simply by thinking that's how things are supposed to happen.

And again, he's so manic and giddy when he asks Crowley to dance, his ass is not LISTENING. He literally needed a brick thrown through a window to snap out of it.

So, in the present we have an Aziraphale who , in his own way, is trying to take the initiative, come out with plans. There is a moment that I think might have slipped under the radar of a lot of people but that's frightfully important about who Aziraphale is at this point in the story, and who he will need to become: "I have a plan," Aziraphale said to Crowley during the stare down with the demons outside of the bookshop after the ruined ball; Crowley didn't even seem to have registered that sentence at all, because his mind is already projected forward and going a mile a minute about what to do to keep both the humans and Aziraphale safe in this situation.

Crowley, who loves to swoop in and save Aziraphale, doing what he's always done to keep his angel safe, even to the detriment of their relationship with one another... And Aziraphale, who adores playing the part of the damsel in distress in turn, is actually telling Crowley that *he has a plan*.

That's not something to take lightly, methinks. That's very much just another sign that Aziraphale's individuality is struggling, trying to emerge through Aziraphale's anxiety and doubts and fears and deeply ingrained habits. Aziraphale's cognitive dissonance in regards to heaven, and his shaken faith in God are huge motivators of his actions, and in the grand scheme of things the scant few years he had away from under the oppressive thumb of heaven is nothing. It was barely any time at all in the face of the eternity of an immortal life spent under that oppression, and yet we are already seeing little glimpses of Aziraphale's rebellious side struggling to get fully free.

I think these little glimpses inform us at great lengths about the evolution Aziraphale's character will go through in S3, and greatly explains that strange smile right at the end; in my opinion that smile isn't the smile of someone who's trying to convince himself that he's ok, or realizing that Crowley loves him (he knew already, they both knew and have known for a long time, their inability to properly express those feelings was their downfall, but I don't think either of them has doubted even for a second when it comes to how much they love one another). In my opinion that smile is the smile of someone who is steeling himself for what he envisions in his future; equal parts old-sedated anxiety and yet determination to actually enact plans he's surely concocting in his brilliant little mind. That's the smile of someone who has just realized that not only they can, but that they need to do something, and you can damn well be sure they won't be sitting and twiddling their thumbs waiting to be saved, but they'll be the one saving themselves and everybody else along with 'em, this time.

Just as Crowley needs to actually spend some time define himself as himself, and not just in relation to Aziraphale, Aziraphale needs to spend some time shedding all those fears and doubts that are weighing him down, and emerge the other side someone much more self-assured and ready to do what he thinks is right without all the hesitations that have indirectly been strengthened by Crowley; in a way, by allowing Aziraphale an out with his 'temptations', Crowley had been feeding into those hesitations, and had been holding Aziraphale back from fully maturing, even if not done on purpose, obviously. Imo is very important for Aziraphale's character that he comes to realize that he doesn't need those excuses Crowley gifted him to keep doing what he thinks is right, that he actualizes his own morality properly, and enacts on it.

I don't have the faintest clue about what is going to happen in S3, but I do fully believe the above paragraph is what Aziraphale and Crowley's respective character arcs will focus on. And once they'll come back together they'll be the most power couple that has ever power coupl-ed, and the Metatron will have no clue about what is about to hit him >:)

#good omens #good omens 2 #meta #I want Aziraphale to Fuck Shit Up in S3 #you think I was joking with that comic I drew some time ago?#I am NOT!#LET AZIRAPHALE FUCK SHIT UP HE DESERVES IT

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bamdelune · 7 months

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tears of the condemned .𖥔 ݁ ˖ neuvillette x reader

summary ➜ The Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale rarely ever made errors in its judgement, suitable persecution befalling those on the other side of the law. The Iudex of Fontaine was well-aware and familiar with that fact but the Oratrice's final verdict cause his judgement to go sideways, because it involved you.

warnings/tags/notes ➜ the summary is a warning in itself, angst [i never payed much attention to neuvillette but seeing a few fics about him got me to write this heheuehe + info and events might be canon-divergent because i haven't unlocked fontaine yet but hey, i tried my best 🤓☝️]

Neuvillette truly did not understand why so many people sought out Fontanian hearings, as if watching the accused and the persecution go back and forth was an amusing routine incorporated in their daily lives. To the citizens, it seemed like hearings were an elaborate play that they could watch for entertainment instead of a catalyst to serve righteousness. The Chief Justice certainly did not have a taste for it, especially when the audience was filled with hushed chatter about the case today: your case; surprise, you do not play the part of the persecution but you are the accused.

Murder, both you and Neuvillette found it impossible to believe you could committ such an act but as the Iudex, he must learn not to let this cloud his judgement; Neuvillette must not his doubts pass the verdict instead of rationality.

"The evidence presented by the plaintiff shows us that there is no concrete reason to convict the defendant," His eyes catch your form relax, even by just a bit from his statement. "However, as practice, the final verdict will be determined by the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale." Silence fills the Opera Epiclese as the mechanism moves between the scales.

Neuvillette's skin goes cold when the Oratrice has decided your fate.

Guilty.

Gasps erupt inside the opera and your expression is filled with dumbfoundedness. This was not the first time this happened but he's learned to trust the Oratrice's judgement over his own.

But can he truly put aside his bias if it meant getting you out of this predicament? Can he truly cross the law, the one aspect that founded everything that he has done so far.

Your voice rips out from the silence, riddled with desperation as you plead out to him.

"That's—that's not true at all! Monsieur Neuvillette, there must be some kind of mistake!"

Neuvillette clenches his fists, head straining from the thoughts that ran through his mind. He knew there was a mistake, he knew that the Oratrice can go against his own verdict but he's conflicted. Should he let you off scot-free or send you to the depths of Fortress of Merop—

"The judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale is the final verdict of the court. We have no choice but to follow through with it. Please take the suspect into custody," his mouth opens before he could even think about anything else. Neuvillette swallows thickly, seeing the defeated look on your face—as if the stale silence of the courthouse gave way to the sounds of your heart shattering into tiny pieces; the heart that he had promised to take care of so sincerely every day and the heart he swore to never toss away.

The Fortress is a place meant for solitude, for the convicted to reflect on their actions but all you could think of was how dark and scary it was in your cell. It was clean for the most part, that you were thankful for but other than that, all sense of time seemed to blur. It was lonely, but being falsely arrested like this by your beloved helped you feel lonelier. You felt empty, almost numb like a hollow glass that threatened to break with a push that was enough to break and Neuvillette crossing your trust like that was the trigger.

Footsteps resound through the corridor outside your place, your head lifts to see him.

"Why are you here?" Neuvillette seems to almost wince at how your voice sounded so... colorless, deprived of the life he's grown to love. You never intended it to come out that way but being in here rarely gave you the privilege of human interactions, "Are you going to set me free, monsieur?"

The Chief Justice opens and closes his mouth, clearly conflicted on what he was going to say next, because what could you say to your (assumingly former) lover whom you just convicted of a murder in front of the public?

"No," he replies, like he's still in court. You dryly chuckle at his response. "Have you come to reprimand me then? That must be it right? The lover of the Iudex of Fontaine, condemned to a life behind bars at the hands of her own beloved, thst must sound terrible to you, yes? Does a number to your honorable image to the people," Your tone gradually turned more bitter at each word knowing the fact that he could've saved you, or at the very least kept you anywhere but here until the evidence and verdict lined up in agreement.

"I care less about my own image, mon chéri—"

Another gasp of a laugh falls from your lips, "Don't. Don't you dare call me that if you will spit such lies in the same breath."

"Would you rather me threaten the sanctity of my title as Iudex?" Neuvillete responds right after, his tone stern and almost to a level of a scream. You would've flinched if you weren't so agitated.

"I wish you would," you mutter under your breath. You were so desperate for authentic justice to be served. Knowing the citizens of Fontaine, this incident would leave a stain on your image. No matter where you'll go, you aren't free from the scrutinizing eyes of the people. Your life will never be the same.

Neuvillette scoffs, "Do you hear yourself? Do you know what you are asking of me?" He was angry now. See, when he gets irritated, Neuvillette is never the type to aggressively express such a feeling but rather, he emits a silent aura that just unsettles you to an extent. But you have to stand your ground.

"Such a selfish request for your circumstances."

Now it's your turn to huff an exhale, hurt gnawing at your chest at every word he spoke.

"Selfish? I'm selfish for asking for justice for a horrendous act of violence both you and I know I never committed?"

Your voice almost gave out under the weight of the sting of your chest, nearly cracking as you raise your voice at him, "You know the Oratrice can make mistakes, Neuvillette—"

"The Oratrice's judgement is absolute, it does not make errors," the man interjects. A beat of silence stays.

"You never believed my words, even for a moment, didn't you?"

Neuvillette swallows, eyes somehow on your face but never on your eyes. He's hyper-aware of the fact that he's hurt you more than enough times he promised not to, never. He always promised that he wouldn't be the one to shatter your heart into tiny pieces and crush them under the soles of his feet. He was the one that vowed to stay by your side amidst the intimidating whispers that talk, talk, and talk about how you would murder an innocent citizen in cold blood. And now he knew.

He had gone back on his word.

It doesn't take him a reply before you started again. "You lied to me," you muttered.

"You're correct, I never believed you for one second," Neuvillette responds, voice low. His mouth opens before he could even think about it.

No. He always would. Over anyone and anything else.

He cringes slightly at this. The Iudex of Fontaine behind closed doors was a complex man. He is built of layers upon layers of emotional concealing, it was never a good thing for him to blatantly open up to someone—but of course, that changed because of you.

"You're foolish to think you could've slipped past the Oratrice's verdict,"

You didn't. He knew that, you did nothing wrong.

"The time has come for you to pay your dues." Neuvillette fronts.

Let me get you out of here. Neuvillette pleads

You fall silent by the tail of his words, barely getting enough courage to look him in the eye. Too much, it was all too much.

"Just—just leave, I don't want to see you," you mumble, defeated. Your eyes catch the way salty tears softly drip onto your clenched fists, wiping your face with the back of your hand. If you were alone in a lonely cell, so be it.

You hear his footsteps hesitate for a moment before they clack away, getting softer and farther with each step.

Heavy rain littered the streets of Fontaine that day.

Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, wipe the tears from your face. Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry.

#bamdelune #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin #bamdelune's bookstore #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n

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lolbital · 3 months

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My hazbin hotel ship opinions!

• staticradio: my favorite, my obsession, my life. It is very obvious in the show that Vox is obsessed with Alastor. The most common opinion in the community is that it’s one-sided, but I like to think Alastor pulled away because he was afraid of his reciprocated feelings towards Vox.

•radiorose: This is my second favorite Alastor ship. They are super cute and they’re quite perfect for eachother. I just enjoy their friendship too much to actively ship them.

•radioapple: I only understand this ship because it seems like they have existing tension, but otherwise I don’t enjoy it. Alastor and Lucifer’s relationship was never expanded on beyond their immediate rivalry. Maybe if season 2 gives them more interactions or a backstory I will be able to get behind this ship a little more, but I really can’t see this as anything more than a boring rivals to lovers trope.

•staticmoth: It’s okay, but I don’t see them as much more than a sexual relationship. I don’t think Valentino is capable of genuine love.

•polyvees: I see Velvette as more of a younger sister to the other vees. To me the idea of her having two boomer older brothers is just funny. I don’t think this ship is necessarily bad it’s just not my thing.

•bombsnake: I think they’re cute. Unfortunately I don’t think Cherri really has returned feelings for Pentious. Based on their interactions she just seems interested in experimenting sexually with him because of his anatomy. I could be wrong though, so I’m very open to this ship!

•Charlastor: I see Alastor as a father figure or older brother to Charlie. Especially after the Hell’s greatest dad song, I just can’t ever see them in a romantic situation. I am not against the ship, but I personally don’t like it.

•Chaggie: I have nothing bad to say about them! Their relationship is healthy and I think they’re perfect for eachother. I particularly enjoy the fact that Vaggie was an ex-exterminator because it truly promotes Charlie’s idea of redemption. I am going to be extremely upset if Vaggie gets redeemed and gets seperated from her gf.

•radiodust: most people who ship this probably still have the pilot in mind. They don’t interact a whole lot in the show, and I see this as more of a crackship than anything.

•huskerdust: It looks like they’re going to be getting a slow burn relationship and I’m so happy about that. I like to think that Husk is refusing Angel’s advances because he knows he’s only doing it because of hypersexuality at first. I’m 99% sure that is what is canon too. I want to see their relationship grow.

•radiohusk: I am sorry but I can’t get behind this whatsoever. Husk absolutely hates Al, and Al owns him. There is no equality in this relationship, and it would get toxic very quickly.

•radiomaid: I love their dynamic but only as friends. I know Nifty is an adult, but she acts so childish and Alastor still owns her. I don’t like the power imbalance and maturity gap.

•alastor/lilith: if the theory that Lilith owns Alastor is true, then I am interested to see if we get a backstory about them, or what they might’ve been doing for 7 years. As of now I am neutral.

•guitarspear: these two menaces belong together. It seems like Lute really cares about Adam too which is an added bonus.

•Adamsapple: definitely a crackship. I don’t know what to say other than I find it amusing.

•valdust: I despise this ship. There is a very abusive power imbalance and it is proven that Anthony is nothing more than an object in Val’s eyes. There is no love here, just manipulation.

•royalhalo: cute, but even better if It’s poly with Vaggie. If emily becomes a fallen angel, Charlie could have two gfs and I stand behind that.

•lucilith: I hope they get back together. Lilith better have a good reason for leaving.

•Vaggie/Angeldust: most probably ship this because they were likely a longtime viv follower. I’m not against this ship necessarily, but I could never get behind it. Maybe I just adore chaggie and huskerdust too much.

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five-miles-over · 2 months

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Hi Mun 👋🏼 just found your blog off some tags lol

I would love it if you could do an age gap hc for joker? How would Arthur deal with developing feelings for a partner who is 10 or even 15 years younger than him?

Thank you so much!

Thanks for your patience, anon! I truly appreciate it. Also, Arthur's head canon turned into a bit of a fic, so I apologize for that.

Headcanon: Arthur Fleck Having an S/O Younger Than Him

"ID Please."

While Arthur accompanied you to the grocery store after your shift at work, you bought a bottle of wine to enjoy with the dinner you planned to cook for Arthur. He was coming over to your apartment for the first time, and you wanted to spoil him with a recipe you saw on a cooking show. So you bought all the ingredients, and a bottle of red.

The cashier glanced at you. "You're twenty-two huh? You look like you should be in high school."

You shook your head, flustered. "Um...thanks?"

After paying, you quickly left the store with your bagged groceries. But just when you reached for Arthur's hand, he flinched.

You didn't think much of it at first, but when you tried to talk to Arthur about something, he simply shrugged it off and said it was nothing

The truth is that, Arthur was still processing the fact that you were in your early twenties.

He knew you were a young beautiful woman, smart and kind. A total catch. And that part of Arthur, the part of his mind that told him he was an outcast and fed him nothing but negative thoughts, constantly said, "She could do so much better than you. You don't deserve her at all. She's the whole package, and what are you? Just some guy who can't even take her out to dinner."

He tried to hold it back as he saw other, bigger guys in Gotham walking with their partners, giving them bouquets of flowers wrapped in shiny plastic and other gifts, telling himself that someday he would do exactly that with you. But knowing that you were at ten years younger than him? That was just more fuel to the fire burning inside him.

"She's got her whole life ahead of her. She's going to find someone better, wait and see." The negative thoughts materialized again. "She's just with you out of pity. Date the sad clown, maybe she just wants to fool around. Wait and see. She's going to meet someone with a lot of money, a lot of status...She'll marry him, and when they're all sitting around at cocktail parties, she'll laugh about the time she dated a sad clown. And say she dodged a bullet."

"Arthur?" You tried to get his attention, and repeated his name a couple of times. "Arthur?"

Arthur, seemingly lost in thought, didn't respond until you stood in front of him, stopping him from crossing the street. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he lied. You crossed your arms, not having any of it. And this made Arthur laugh a bit, not out of amusement but out of fear. "Nothing, really," he lied again between laughs.

"Just tell me."

After a few moments of silence, Arthur simply asked. "Are you really twenty-two?...You're twenty-two."

"Yes. I am."

"That's young."

You shifted your weight to one foot. "I know that."

Arthur mirrored your gesture and swallowed. "So...well, I don't care. It's just young."

"I'm not that young," you rebuffed.

"Young enough that the cashier thinks you're in high school."

You put your hands on your hips, still carrying the bags of groceries. "Is that what this is about? He wasn't hitting on me!"

"No, but someone will," Arthur raised his voice a little. "You're young, what the hell do you know?"

"I know that you're my boyfriend and I love you. I don't care what some cashier says about me, and neither should you."

He shook his head. God how he loved the way you'd get so stubborn about your opinions. It was one of his favorite things about you, but right now, in this moment, it made him even more annoyed. How could you say such a thing, lying through your teeth? And with those three special words? "Bullshit," Arthur muttered, walking away from you to cross the street.

You followed him, huffing with your groceries. "Arthur Fleck, what is wrong with you?! Can't you just...Why are you so mad? Nothing happened! I'm still the same person I was twenty minutes ago."

"No. You're twenty-two." He turned around and lashed out. "You're twelve years younger than I am. What the hell's wrong with you? Hanging around with some old clown, waiting until some rich guy makes you his wife and you can leave me behind!" Your eyes widened. "Is that what you think of me?" Your lips quivered and tears formed in your eyes. "Is that seriously what you think this is, just...hanging around? Oh my god." You looked down as you felt a tear roll down your cheek.

Arthur visibly softened, reaching his hand out but stopping himself just before he could touch you. "I'm such an idiot," you sniffed. "You're right, what do I know?" "I'm sorry," Arthur sighed. "I didn't mean to make you cry." Arthur looked down, into your eyes. "I...was just shocked that you were younger. I thought it would...I don't deserve you. You're great, you're a perfect girl and I don't deserve you." He added, "I love you so damn much."

"I love you too," you looked up. "And I don't want to leave you." He laughed for a few moments with pain in his eyes, and bit the inside of his cheek to quiet down. "I'm so sorry," Arthur repeated and put his hands on your shoulders. "Oh my god, please don't cry. I'm so sorry." He took your grocery bags in his hands. "Let's go."

You and Arthur went back to your apartment, and didn't talk about your age for the rest of the night. But you did spend the evening together, telling each other - and showing each other - how much you really loved each other.

Joker Having an S/O Younger Than Him Would Include...

In complete contrast to Arthur, Joker finding out you were ten or fifteen years younger than him would excite him

He'd turn it into a complete kink, calling you his "personal little baby doll"

Whenever you'd go out, you'd be on his lap, him stroking your thighs and your hair.

Unless you were absolutely against the aesthetic, Joker would love to dress you in coquettish clothing - plaid mini skirts, knee-high white socks, white and pastel blouses that he would ruin with grease facepaint while making out with you, and corsets he would rip off you before having his way with you

And if you ever called him "daddy"? Watch out and be prepared to be dragged into the most private area by the Joker. Hope you didn't have any plans for the next...hour

In general, the Joker would be extremely protective of you, keeping his arm around your waist while you walked.

He'd spoil you with anything you ever wanted, acting almost like your sugar daddy while you window shopped.

And when it got cold, he'd put his red suit jacket over your shoulders saying, "Daddy's not going to let his baby doll freeze."

#Arthur fleck #Arthur fleck x reader #Arthur fleck imagine #joker movie #joker x reader #Joaquin phoenix joker #joker 2019 #joker imagine #joker #the joker #dc joker

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kaorisun · 1 year

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𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 immortality is an abundant curse (3)

pairing : blade x reader

tags : hurt no comfort, angst, canon divergence

word count : 4.88k

chapters : one • two • three

crossposted to : AO3

Summary : “Everything changed the day Imbibitor Lunae committed a grave sin in the eyes of the Xianzhou. Upon Ren, he bestowed the most abundant curse known to man.

“Immortality.”

The full story.

Yanqing wears his heart on his sleeve.

Given this fact, you truly should’ve figured that Jing Yuan would know exactly who had taken his diary upon discovering it missing.

However, this thought doesn’t cross your mind, so when Jing Yuan arrives at the clinic that night to search for his young apprentice, you’re terribly startled.

Yanqing, who’d been carefully showing you the fruits of his training inside the clinic, drops his sword with a clatter, gasping upon seeing the General appear at the door.

“It wasn’t me!” he yelps indignantly. Jing Yuan gives the boy an amused look.

“Oh? I haven’t even mentioned what I’m here for. How did you know I’d accuse you?” the General questions. Yanqing deflates, having exposed himself and his guilt without the man having to do so much as lift a finger. You reach out towards Yanqing, wanting to defend the boy from any potential ire or anger.

All things considered, he’d done it for your sake. You wouldn’t let him take the blame for such a kindhearted action.

Bailu beats you to it first. Grabbing the journal from her desk, she tosses it to the General. The man catches it with one hand before looking at her curiously.

“Take it. I already read through all of it. I have a good memory. I’ll tell them the stories myself, whether you agree with it or not,” Bailu insists, turning away in annoyance. Unexpectedly, instead of disagreement or disdain, Jing Yuan chuckles and shakes his head.

“I think you’re mistaken. I didn’t come here to scold anyone or take this back. Actually, I commend Yanqing for taking a stand against me and remaining firm in his belief that you had the right to know,” Jing Yuan says with a small smile. Yanqing lets out a relieved sigh before picking up his sword, migrating to the edge of your bed to seat himself.

You tilt your head in confusion. “Why aren’t you upset?”

Jing Yuan suddenly looks sheepish, reaching back to rub his neck. “Actually, I went to the Divination Commission to inquire about this situation. Needless to say, the Master Diviner did not agree with how I handled everything.”

You hum softly, the thought bringing you some comfort. “Did she use the Matrix of Prescience to arrive at that answer?” you ask.

“Actually….” Jing Yuan trails off as he averts his gaze. Bailu pipes up with an amused huff.

“Fu Xuan scolded you, didn’t she?” she interrogates. The General sighs softly before confirming the healer’s suspicions with a small nod.

“Well, what she said, and I quote, ‘despite having the title Divine Foresight, you spend no time thinking about the consequences of your decisions. I don't even need a third eye to see why that’s wrong. Your apprentice has more of a head than you do,’ or something along those lines,” Jing Yuan recounts with a guilty expression.

“I’m glad someone got it through that thick skull of yours, General. The memories are a precious thing to the Vidyadhara race. I can hardly believe you hid so much myself,” Bailu chastises, crossing her arms.

“I know, I know. I realize my mistake,” he starts, walking over to you and sitting beside Yanqing on the edge of the bed. “I'm glad my nosy apprentice told you everything. I thought I was protecting you by keeping everything a secret, but I only caused you more stress in the end.”

You offer a gentle smile. “I went along with it without a fuss because I trusted you. It hurt, but I figured you wouldn’t hide things without reason.”

“And even knowing that I’ve been shielding you from something painful, you still want the truth?” the man asks, the worry clear in his expression. You meet his gaze and nod.

“Yes. Learning the truth is allowing me to feel more and more complete. Even if it’s upsetting, I need to know,” you insist. Jing Yuan chuckles.

“Even without your memories, you’re just as headstrong as you were back then,” he muses. “In that case, I’ll take responsibility, and I’ll be the one to deliver the truth to you.”

“At a later date,” Bailu interjects before Jing Yuan can flip open his diary to the relevant pages. “Save any new stories for tomorrow. I don’t want to strain them further.”

“Strain..?” the General mumbles. You quickly pipe in to clarify.

“Ren… I remembered my first meeting with him. I remembered loving him. But… everything else is still foggy,” you explain.

“But that was enough to make you faint! Lady Bailu is right. We should wait,” Yanqing adds. Jing Yuan looks at you and ruffles your hair affectionately.

“In that case, tomorrow. After our duties, I’ll sit down with you and tell you more. Every single day that Bailu allows it, I’ll tell you something new,” he promises. You feel your heart warm, a weight lifted off your chest.

“I’ll hold you to it. I’m sure Yanqing will, as well. Every day…” you murmur, a small grin making its way onto your face at the thought of finally securing a way to retrieve all of what you’d lost.

Soon, you’ll have all of the pieces of your past life. Once you do, you’ll finally know everything that transpired that led you to where you are now.

As excited as you are, you can’t help but feel a sense of dread.

There’s bound to be many joyous tales from your past, but the story of heartache and loss looms over you. It reminds you that, as happy as things may be, you have to prepare yourself to accept the pain and suffering of your previous life.

You can only hope that it’s something you’ll be able to handle when the time comes.

Dusk turns to dawn, and the sun rises on a new day.

True to his word, Jing Yuan begins visiting you in the evenings at the clinic to tell you new anecdotes from your past. Filling your head with stories that feel familiar— nostalgic, he tells tales each night until your head aches, a sign that you’ve taken in enough for the day.

The General helps you recall your first meeting with him— introduced as mutual friends of Imbibitor Lunae. You slowly remember the way you would watch the two spar, happy to clean up any wounds that came as a result.

Beyond that, Jing Yuan even shares how he’d been the one to push Lunae to introduce Ren to you, having always thought that you’d be a good influence on the man. Lunae agreed, and the General had considered it a personal victory.

However, he speaks of the way you fought alongside him in battle. This fact has you curious, having always assumed you were nothing but a healer.

Jing Yuan clarifies that you were a healer, and you once took up a sword to fight against the Denizens of Abundance precisely because of that reason. Each battle he recounts has your hands ghosting over areas where you swear you feel a slight pin prick of pain.

The General mentions that each place you touch is a place where your skin had once scarred over with wounds from each fight. It makes you smile— it seems the body truly never forgets.

Days continue to pass, and with time, your mind becomes less and less fractured. With each new tale, you grow more and more sure of who you are now and who you once were. Skills you once forgot become second nature once more. Memories return to you sometimes with the assistance of Jing Yuan and Bailu. Others enter your mind naturally, a byproduct of the newfound exposure to your past life.

Bailu notes your increased skill and confidence in healing, recognizing the way you improve as you remember the techniques of your profession. Your heart fills with warmth. You start to feel like yourself again— no longer a wanderer with nothing but shards of the past to their name.

Yet, as elated as you are to make such progress, it’s bittersweet.

You know they’re still deliberately avoiding how it all ended— how your Ren became Blade, the nature of your relationship, anything to do with him. Given that they’ve yet to broach the topic, all of those memories remain locked behind a wall. Unlike other moments, you’re unable to recollect it on your own— likely too heavy a topic to be triggered without help.

A frown appears on your face. You haven’t felt more sound of yourself in ages. Are you still unprepared? Is everyone coddling you once more?

How tragic a topic is the reality of your disappearance to cause them to hold off for this long?

Either way, it fills you with uncertainty and unease. You resolve to ask about it that evening, but it seems you don’t have to, for fate aligns itself at the perfect time.

As the sun begins to fall beneath the horizon, Jing Yuan, Yanqing, and Bailu all approach you, seating you on the bed as they surround you. Their expressions are all terse— hesitant.

You’re about to ask about what’s occurred— unsettled by the tension, but Jing Yuan is the first to speak up, interrupting any thoughts you have.

“You’ve made significant progress with your memory recovery. Bailu has deemed you mentally sound enough to learn of the truth. I’ll tell you everything. Who he was in regards to you, what happened to him… and how it all ended,” the General explains. Your heart flutters in nervousness and anticipation alike.

“Everything…?” you echo. Bailu nods.

“You’ve retained everything else well. I can’t promise that this won’t cause some sort of physical reaction. Much like the first time, it’s likely you’ll experience some pain, but… if we’re right, this should be the last time,” the healer promises with a determined gaze. You smile, feeling comfort in the resolve of those around you.

“Alright. I trust you,” you say. Bailu nods to Jing Yuan, who seats himself beside you as he begins to recount his experience from his memories.

He starts. “There’s one thing I’m certain about. The way you could never tell how Ren felt towards you seems to have stuck. You were the same back then, but I knew— everyone knew that Ren loved you more than anything in this world.”

“For a while, you didn’t realize just how hard Ren had fallen for you. It was incredibly obvious to the rest of us, though. Perhaps… it was because you were always looking away. When he regarded you with nothing but pure adoration, you were inevitably turned in the other direction.”

Ren lets out an affectionate sigh as he looks at you, head propped on his hand as he watches you stare down at your work table in pure concentration. The soft grind of pestle against mortar resounds through the building. Jing Yuan chuckles softly, looking at Ren with a smirk.

“Do you plan on saying anything to them? Or are you determined to long in secrecy for the rest of your life?” he questions, teases slipping off his tongue. Ren narrows his eyes at the man.

“Watch yourself, General,” he retorts. Jing Yuan lets the empty threat slide off him with ease, refusing to back down.

“All you do is sigh and stare in every moment you spend in their presence. Why are you so hesitant?” he asks. Ren glances away towards the herbs and medicines lining the walls— all fruits of your labor.

“They’re dedicated to their craft. They wouldn’t have the time for such frivolity,” he laments. Jing Yuan hums and gives a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Nonsense. They have plenty of time to spare. I often hear them complaining that they have too much time to Lunae,” Jing Yuan counters. Ren tenses, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I doubt they feel the same affection for me as I do for them,” he mumbles. The General has to hold back from barking out a laugh.

“Please! That’s absolutely absurd. All I hear from you are excuses,” he insists. Before Ren has a chance to retaliate, another voice speaks up.

“The General is right about this, as boastful as he’s acting currently,” Imbibitor Lunae adds in, seating himself at the table with the two. “Both of you have a limited amount of time, Ren. It’d be unwise to waste it wondering if they feel the same.”

“Exactly. Besides, if you hold back on making a move, maybe I will,” Jing Yuan jests with a smirk. Ren shoots up in his seat.

“You will not!” he seethes before rolling his eyes, practically stomping off to retreat to your side. Jing Yuan watches in amusement.

“Do you think he’ll say anything or just sulk as per usual?” he asks. The dragon beside him hums.

“Have more faith in him. You pushed him right where he needed to be pushed. Just observe for now,” Lunae says, and Jing Yuan does so.

“I guess Ren really was at his wits end at that point, and Lunae was able to pick up on it. We watched, and you leapt into his arms after he professed his love. All of us knew it was a matter of time before you ended up together, but seeing it… it was a weight lifted for all of us.

“You two were finally happy.

“For a while after that, things were calm and comforting. Ren came to terms with his short life since you’d be there to spend it with him. I’d never seen anything make him happier than the day you became his, and he, yours.

“Truthfully, I think, that day, he found something worth living for in his relationship with you. Of course, he had the rest of us, but we were all long-life species. In you, he came to understand why life was so precious— why he had to treasure his existence, no matter the length of it.

“Alas, he was still… reckless, but just in the normal, stubborn, and headfast way that he always was. You were always there to scold him for it, but we all could tell it was different. Ren was fighting for his beliefs— no longer careless about his life. He was, in lack of better terms, himself.

“As I’m sure you’re aware by now, such tranquility couldn’t last forever.

“Everything changed the day Imbibitor Lunae committed a grave sin in the eyes of the Xianzhou. Upon Ren, he bestowed the most abundant curse known to man.

“Immortality.

“It was supposed to be another battle, but the two of them had been taking far longer than usual. Both of us were worried— aware that something was amiss, but afraid to speak it aloud lest we manifest it into reality…”

Jing Yuan watches you pace nervously outside of the hall. From where he leans against the wall, he can see the frenzied fear in your eyes as you look out in the distance every few minutes, hoping to see Lunae and Ren in the horizon.

The General is equally as concerned, but he knows that he must remain grounded to keep you sane.

“Imbibitor Lunae and Ren are both capable warriors. I’m sure that they’re fine. They’re probably just falling behind,” Jing Yuan reasons. You shake your head in disagreement.

“It’s been weeks. That’s not normal. The last time it took this long, someone—” you cut yourself off, flinching. The man’s expression becomes grim. He knows you’re right— that your worry is not unwarranted.

Neither of you wanted to be “too late” again.

Walking up beside you, Jing Yuan nudges you gently.

“Let’s head out. We’ll find them ourselves,” the General assures. You offer a wry smile and nod, but before either of you can make a move, another voice interjects.

“No need. We’ve returned,” Lunae says as he approaches with Ren by his side. Jing Yuan can see your excitement, but then watches as you freeze, expression falling as you look at Ren. The General notices what you do, too.

It isn’t uncommon to return from prolonged battles covered in blood, tattered with memories of the ongoing war. However, Ren seems far too pristine to have just returned from a battlefield. He’s glowing in a way that seems… unnatural.

Your eyes shift to Imbibitor Lunae, and suddenly your eyes are cold— distant.

“I think you caught something in his mannerisms that I couldn’t. You saw something that I couldn’t see, quickly catching on that something was inherently wrong— that they were hiding something.”

“What happened?” you ask, a seriousness in your tone that felt incredibly off-putting, given that you were referring to your lover and close friend. Instead of a response, Ren reaches towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace as if his life depended on it.

You pause, carefully wrapping your arms around Ren, running fingers through his hair as you repeat your earlier question.

“What happened?” you inquire, almost pleading now. Ren stills in your arms, silently burying his face in your neck. You frown, looking to Lunae once more for answers. Jing Yuan doesn’t move from his spot, either, trying to make sense of what it is you’re picking up on.

Eventually, beneath your persistent gaze, Lunae cracks.

“Ren nearly died on the battlefield,” he admits. You tighten your grip on your lover, eyes wide with a shock that Jing Yuan mirrors.

“He looks perfectly fine… he’s walking on his own two feet, and there isn’t a trace of blood on him…” you note in disbelief. Imbibitor Lunae looks away, seeming guilty in the way his eyes fall.

“I know. That’s because I…” Imbibitor Lunae goes quiet, unable to bring himself to finish his thought. Jing Yuan narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest as he looks at the other.

“You what?” the General interrogates. However, the dragon doesn’t spare him a glance, instead looking to you with something that makes your eyes fill with fury. Before he can raise questions, you’re quick to clarify.

“You made him immortal? Why would you do such a grievous thing?!” you snap, forcefully separating yourself from your lover. Ren reaches for you desperately, but you take a step back. Jing Yuan easily recognizes the look of betrayal on your face.

“I can explain—” Ren starts, but you cut him off harshly.

“What is there to explain here?! I’ve treated the Mara-Struck— victims of the Sanctus Medicus, and you want to explain? I’m a healer and even I’m aware that immortality isn’t a remedy of any sort! It’s a venom! A curse!” you yell, eyes brimming with tears. Jing Yuan remains mute, unable to understand why anyone would resort to such a taboo method for any reason, especially given all that they’d witnessed together.

“Please, calm yourself and allow us to talk this o—” Before Lunae can finish his thought, you interrupt.

“Calm myself? Imbibitor Lunae, have you forgotten that I’m dying? In a few decades, I’ll be gone! Ren no longer has the mercy of dying by my side! He’ll have to witness everything!” you cry out, voice cracking as tears slip down your cheeks.

“He’ll endure so much suffering, and he’ll never be able to die…” you whisper, finally gathering enough strength to meet Ren’s gaze. “You promised.”

Ren is quick to scoop you into his arms, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“I also promised to return to you. We’re both here now. That must count for something. Without immortality, I wouldn’t have returned to greet you again— to hold you again. And immortality doesn’t change a thing. I still plan to remain by your side for eternity,” he promises softly. You look up at him, an unfathomable sadness in your eyes.

Briefly, Jing Yuan catches you glancing at Lunae. There’s a wordless exchange in the expression you share with the Vidyadhara. The General has no idea what it is that you both say, but it’s enough because soon you’re releasing a defeated sigh.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Ren,” you say softly. Ren smiles, leaning down to kiss you gently. You reciprocate for a moment before pulling away, allowing yourself to enjoy the warmth of his presence.

Despite everything, Jing Yuan can tell that it isn’t something you’d ever move on from.

“You never brought up Ren’s immortality of your own accord ever again after that day. If it came up in conversation, you always excused yourself to be alone for a while.

“There was a time that I confronted you about it, though. I knew it was forbidden, but I needed to know what was going through your head. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever forget what you said to me that day.”

“Why wouldn’t I be upset, Jing Yuan?” you start, head in hands as you shut your eyes tight.

“There will come a time where Ren suffers unimaginable pain, and I won’t be there to help him. There will come a day where myself, Imbibitor Lunae, and even you aren’t there to support him through his suffering,” you explain. The General pauses, not having thought that far into the future.

You continue in his silence. “My death is just the start. I don’t think Ren understands how much of a tragedy that is. Soon, we will all leave him, and he’ll come to understand that death is far more merciful than being the last person left alive of all those you’ve grown to love.”

You frown and walk off, your words weighing heavily in Jing Yuan’s heart.

“I grew to understand exactly how right you were in your assumption as the years passed. When you faded away and crumbled— I witnessed firsthand how cruel his affliction was.

“Ren knew he couldn’t live without seeing you once more, I don’t think he ever thought about the inevitable day where he’d have to learn to live without you entirely.

“The day you disappeared… I could tell everything weighed heavily on your mind. In the face of your inevitable demise, you still worried for Ren.”

Jing Yuan lets out a soft sigh, watching Lunae and Ren leave for their duties. Glancing back to you on the bed, he tilts his head.

“You looked like you had more to say back then. Something else on your mind?” he asks as he seats himself on the edge of your bed. You look at him, a serious look in your eyes.

“I promise that, one day, I will find my way back to you all. One day, I’ll return, so Ren won’t have to suffer on his own,” you swear. Jing Yuan offers a sympathetic smile.

“Unless you’re a Vidyadhara, reincarnation is just a legend,” he mentions. You don’t respond, instead humming in acknowledgement to the General’s statement.

“Of course, I didn’t know you were one back then, but what I did know is that you were incredibly firm in your desire. Either way, I’d brushed it off.

“I left the room to make your medicine, but you had disappeared when I returned. Only then did I realize… that promise was your last wish— your final resolve.”

Jing Yuan continues his explanation, telling you the results of your disappearance.

Ren was never the same. He spent countless hours looking for you— searching for a body, but you’d vanished completely, much like the Mara-Struck who faded into nothingness. From that day forth, Ren’s mind fractured and he grew resentful of his curse.

As you predicted, the rest of your group slowly began to die out, your lover forced to suffer through each and every one knowing he’d never be granted the same reprieve.

Then came time for Imbibitor Lunae to pass and reincarnate.

“After Lunae died, Ren disappeared entirely, his mind shattered beyond repair— a shell of who he once was. Losing his bosom friend was the final straw.

“I tried to search for him, but he’d vanished from the Xianzhou Alliance entirely. I figured he didn’t want to be found, so I was forced to move on lest I suffered the same fate:

“Lost in our past without direction or will to live.”

Jing Yuan sighs as he finishes the story, shaking his head. “I thought it all a distant memory, then I saw you again on the Luofu as Bailu’s assistant. You looked the same way you did back then.”

“At first, I thought you just looked similar, but then I saw the horns and tail and I knew— you’d found your way back as promised, and you were a Vidyadhara. I’m sure I acted strange when we first met, but I was trying to confirm that it was really you,” he admits.

The memory of that day rushes to the forefront of your mind. The Arbitor-General had followed you and Bailu back to the clinic. His eyes were trained on your tail, watching the way it swayed as you worked before his gaze settled on your horns.

Jing Yuan had carefully observed you as you made medicine at Bailu’s work table, humming a tune that you’d heard from earlier in the day. It startled you how attentive he was being, but now it made sense.

“I confirmed it through your mannerisms and habits. I saw the way you carefully healed others. Then, you expressed familiarity towards me and that sealed it. Unfortunately, I knew you were without your memories.

“I had been keeping tabs on Blade since he appeared on the IPC’s most wanted list, and I vowed to protect you from him. If he saw you and you didn’t remember him, I had a feeling it wouldn’t go well,” Jing Yuan says, frowning.

“I thought protecting you meant guarding you from the truth so you never had to learn of the tragedy that became of your past lover, but I know now that you have to make this choice yourself. By deliberately concealing this, I’ve already hurt you enough,” he finishes softly, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You remain silent and still, staring blankly ahead. From the corner of your eye, Bailu frowns.

“Are you alright?” she asks, preparing for any sort of pain that might occur as a result of everything.

Instead, tears begin to slip down your cheeks, dripping down onto your hands as you grip your robes tightly in your lap. Smiling sadly, you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear your vision of the glistening drops.

Jing Yuan is the first to react, cupping your face in his hands and wiping away your tears gently as you sniffle softly.

“What’s the matter?” the General questions, concern etched into his features. You shake your head, words caught in your throat.

Everything in your mind is clicking into place, pieces falling and fitting together.

Ah, of course. I promised this so long ago, your mind echoes. I said that I’d return— that I’d remember— so I could make it back to you and protect you from the curse you fell into.

Your shoulders shake as you begin to sob. The General pulls you into a tight embrace, Yanqing leaning against your side in an attempt to provide comfort as well.

You usually never remember any last reincarnations as a Vidyadhara. Memory is a spectrum for your kind, and you always ebbed on the side of starting with an entirely clean slate. It’s why you were so certain you’d die when you left to be born again.

You wouldn’t take any memories of your past with you, and you wouldn’t recall them.

Except, this time you did.

Dying and rebirthing with such a strong resolve meant that, since you awoke in this new life, you’ve always felt that something was missing.

Now, you know what it is.

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

You bury your face in Jing Yuan’s shoulder as you cry, mourning the past you lost, and the lover you abandoned in this world.

If Blade’s mind fractured so long ago, do you even hold a place in his memories anymore?

Is there anything you could do in your current state to help him?

Or was all of this remembrance for naught?

For this, you had no answer.

Hidden away somewhere in the Luofu, a woman observes a man from afar.

Kafka recognizes the distant expression Blade wears as he stares out at the scenery and passing Starskriffs. It’s vulnerable— longing— one that he only wears when he thinks no one is watching.

However, her attention is diverted elsewhere when her phone vibrates with an incoming text. Glancing down at the device, she smirks as she reads the message.

Kafka. Plans have changed. Blade’s initial wish will be granted.

The woman raises a brow in amusement, typing and replying to his message with a teasing response.

Even we aren’t capable of necromancy, Elio.

Instead of commenting on her witty remarks, he merely sends back a simple text which serves as enough of an explanation for Kafka.

The Vidyadhara has remembered themself, thus returning to who they once were.

Await new instructions.

The woman looks back up at Blade, smirking as she pockets her phone.

What new side of him will she be able to witness? What sort of expression will he have when Elio surprises him with this?

Kafka can’t wait to see how this story plays out.

tag rqs : @ceylestia - @thetwinkims - @astralsity - @kaminari-no-ritsusha - @jotaro-souped

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai blade #hsr blade #blade hsr #honkai blade x reader #hsr blade x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x reader #hsr fic #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail fic #hsr angst #honkai star rail angst #cross posted on ao3 #ao3 crosspost #kaori-writes

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prince-liest · 2 months

Note

love the way you explore Alastor's friendships but especially with his gal pals, which I feel like might get overlooked by a lot of people! thank you so much for the radiodiva fic. it hit me in all of my aroace feels and of course it's great to read more of Mimzy. you even threw in some Niffty (and a Rosie shoutout) that was sooo cute. truly the Al GalPal fic.

it's also super fun to compare Al's behavior with his female friends (and how much of that is informed by time period and those ideals) and how he behaves when boundaries are crossed with Vox in the 666 series. how much would you say is due to differences in power (overlord vs normal sinner) and gender perceptions? or was that something you were taking into consideration when writing?

Thank you so much! It's a really fun topic for me to explore because, as you said, those are definitely all things that I think about when I write about how Alastor relates to other people, especially people with the potential to become friends! I think it's power and gender.

This turned into a pretty long post, so: the rest is under the cut!

We definitely see in canon that Alastor has a different relationship with his female friends than he does with pretty much any male character, period. I think that his behavior in that sense is very much informed by the time period that he's from. Obviously he hasn't strictly retained '20s sensibilities (except maybe with regards to radio, haha), but I think he clearly puts some effort into presenting himself as a gentleman when women are involved in a way that he simply doesn't bother with when men are. He offers a certain amount of leeway and respect to characters like Niffty, Mimzy, Rosie, and even Charlie, who I personally think that he would claim as a friend but doesn't realize he may or may not be beginning to genuinely see as one. Honestly, the female character to get the least amount of leeway from him is Vaggie, and she's outright hostile to him on many occasions.

But... even with Vaggie, he's much nicer to her outright antagonism than he is to, say, Husk. He's still unkind when he prods her about Charlie's expectations in episode one, and I think he knows he has to maintain a veneer of decency with her that he doesn't with Husk, but I think from the way he expresses himself it's still telling that he seems more amused than irritated with her even when he's being a petty bitch about it.

He does have female friends across different power levels, and I think in each case there's a clear consideration to that aspect of the dynamic as well. He most likely owns Niffty's soul, and he gives Niffty an incredibly amount of leeway with his person and outright says that he admires her in a way. Mimzy is a sinner who runs to him for help, and he enables her behavior and attitude with fondness and, I think we can extrapolate, consistently comes through for her requests - he's also incredibly polite to her when he asks her not to, y'know, destroy the project he's currently investing so much time into. Rosie, on the other hand, is an overlord - and he still shows her a great deal of fondness, but I think it's also telling that their dialogue seems to imply that their relationship is very well-balanced by mutual favors.

And on that note, it's also not a coincidence that I tend to reach for Angel Dust, a very genderqueer character who does not personally perform traditional masculinity (and in fact puts quite a bit of effort into his feminine persona) as a member of the hotel crew that Alastor would be the most able to become friends of sorts with. Angel is, of course, also a sinner of a pretty low power level, and I think that underneath the external wildly different presentations, he and Alastor have a lot in common (namely on the topic of masking), but he's not the only character who masks around Alastor and compared to Vox or Lucifer, who are both powerful people and not particularly feminine, he's a lot higher on the "ease of friend potential" meter for Alastor.

The friendliest we see Alastor being with a male character in canon is with Zestial, whose general persona is very gentlemanly... but even then, I would call their attitude toward each other one of friendly posturing as coworkers who have an eye on each other, rather than genuinely friendly.

When I write Alastor dealing with Vox in 666: Live on Air! it's definitely with consideration to "How the hell would Alastor be more genuine, non-performative friends with an actual guy?" because, like... Vox isn't wrong when he says that he's the first dude that's earned the sheer amount of leeway that Alastor offers him, both physically and emotionally.

(Disclaimer I feel compelled to make: No, it's not because Vox is trans. Alastor straight up does not initially realize that, and even despite knowing it at the current point of the story, nothing about Vox's presentation actually reads as feminine to Alastor in any way. He's a softer touch with Angel Dust than Vox for a reason!)

What ends up happening is that Alastor... wants, even if it's largely subconscious, to behave with Vox as comfortably as he does with Rosie, Mimzy, and Niffty. But unfortunately, he runs into the issue of 1) his paranoid hindbrain is still regularly registering Vox as a power-hungry threat, at least in part due to Vox's actual previous behavior, and 2) he is honestly closer to Vox in some aspects than he is to his other friends because of the sheer amount of weird self-discovery they've gotten up to, which means that opening up the same way would be showing more vulnerability, and to a person that, frankly, Alastor doesn't feel like he has a veneer of gender role-dictated propriety to protect himself with. Especially since Vox is an overlord, and especially since a lot of the actual kinky shit that they get up to is predicated on Vox having abilities that the average sinner doesn't.

So when Mimzy crosses a boundary, Alastor accomodates her in whatever way is genuinely important to her, then gently corrects her and sets her on her way. This is just how Mimzy is, this is how their dynamic has been for a long time, and he does not register her as a threat. When Vox crosses a boundary... it's an attack, and if it's a serious enough one, then Alastor subscribes to the school of responses of nuclear proportions to dissuade any motherfucker from ever even thinking about trying again. See: the trail of dead overlord bodies left in his wake after his original descent into hell.

The turning point that leads him to make a deal to his slight but very actual disadvantage in Network 0666: No Signal is that Vox shows him some genuine upset and vulnerability. Vox has been vulnerable before this point, but he's generally been loud, obnoxious, pathetic, and over-the-top about it, and honestly often also just absolutely turned it into a sex thing. This is the first time that Vox managed, though entirely unintentionally, to find one of the heartstrings that is so much more accessible to characters like Mimzy, and accidentally tug on it. Alastor finds safety in the vulnerability of his friends, but he also likes being the powerful figure that provides those friends with help and protection, even in ways that might look like they're to his own detriment.

(Until, of course, they end up actually being to his detriment - see: Adam - at which point he loses his shit about it. But, uh, his ego makes it hard for him to see when that might actually happen!)

Anyway, this ended up a long post that could probably have been less rambling, but I hope it answered your question!

#ask #personal #Anonymous #my writing #666 live on air #t #meta

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 11 months

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Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 1: A Platter of Grapes (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 1: A Platter of Grapes

The Red Keep is graced by an old, familiar presence.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Extremely, and I mean extreme slow burn lol, Daemon and Y/N both being little shits who cannot stand each other, I have a blood feud with the HOTD costuming department for Rhaenyra and thus I go into extreme (probably historical inaccurate) detail about the clothes of the characters, Rhaenicent hints so faint that if you blink you’d miss it

Word Count: 3.3k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: A special thanks to all those who have reblogged my ‘Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia’ related posts 💗 your support is truly appreciated and has been the source of my smiles over the past few days

lovely dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics !

105 years after Aegon’s Conquest

Queen Aemma’s chambers was a busy hive of activity, as usual. The queen’s serving girls, ladies-in-waiting, and Grand Maester Mellos went in and out of the Queen’s apartments in a constant rotation, fussing over the heavily pregnant Aemma’s every need or discomfort. Aemma herself was exhausted at the constant fussing and prodding, but Viserys was deeply concerned about the babe in Aemma’s womb - which he insisted with vehement conviction was a son, and therefore must be treated with the utmost level of care, and after five failed attempts at producing an heir, Aemma had learnt over the years that to be overcautious was not necessarily a bad thing.

Aemma sat sprawled on her lounge, occasionally grimacing when a sharp ache rippled through her body should she choose to adjust herself. Clad in a simple white linen shift and an intricately embroidered rose pink robe of Myrish silk and lace, she felt beads of sweat beginning to form at her temples once more. Her pregnancy had cursed her to endure bout after bout of severe sweating, despite the fact that it was nigh autumn and the ladies of the court had taken to long sleeves and wrapping shawls around their shoulders. Closing her eyes and dabbing at her forehead wearily, she sincerely hoped that the babe in her belly would be the boy Viserys had so longed for, if it meant that she would stop being plagued with the labours of pregnancy.

Her tired expression fell in an instant, replaced by a radiant smile as a woman dressed in a light green linen gown with long bell sleeves walked into her view, nodding politely to the exiting Grand Maester. “You finally came back,” Aemma joked lightly, watching the woman take a seat on the cushioned stool next to Aemma’s recliner. “I was afraid you got sidetracked and forgot about my grapes.”

The woman’s (Y/E/C) eyes flickered with amusement. “I could never dare forget about you, my queen. You would have me beheaded and my head placed on a spike if I did.” Aemma let out a laugh as she reached over to pluck a grape from the bowl in Y/N’s hands. Y/N shook her head at the queen’s lack of dining decorum, but offered up the much awaited platter of grapes to Aemma’s eager hands regardless. “And pray tell, what shall I do if I had executed my favourite and most competent lady-in-waiting, hmm?” Aemma jested, shoving three grapes into her mouth. It was definitely not something a queen should be doing, but Y/N had been Aemma’s lady-in-waiting for nearly two years, and her friend for far longer. Decorum was not a concept that existed between the two of them.

“You flatter me, Your Grace. And slow down, the grapes will not fly away.” I chided gently, as Aemma continued shoving three grapes at a time into her mouth. “The grapes won’t, although I’m afraid Rhaenyra will. Didn’t she say she would come to see me at first light? It’s nearly midday.” Just then, like clockwork, a commotion could be heard near the entrance to the Queen’s apartments. Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower’s voice could be heard laughing together among the subservient voices of the servants greeting the two of them. “Speak ill of the Stranger,” I laughed, as Rhaenyra and Alicent appeared in view, smiling with their arms linked.

Rhaenyra was wearing a silk gown of soft gold, with butterfly sleeves. The bodice had a ribbed triangular corset that was cinched at the waist, and the skirt parted at the middle to reveal a layer of dark crimson brocade, with faint scrollwork detailing in tiny golden threads. A similarly coloured velvet shawl patterned with gold-threaded dragons was draped over her shoulders, to protect her from the chill. Meanwhile Alicent was clad in a gown of light blue worsted yarn, with bell sleeves going to just above her wrists. A thin layer of cream muslin peeked out of her sleeves and ruffles of the same material covered her collarbones modestly. Blue roses were sewn around her waistline, and olive leaves were embroidered around the neckline of her dress. I suppressed a smile when I noticed a garden violet tucked between Alicent’s reddish brown locks, and a similar one nestled in the princess’ white-blonde tresses.

Rhaenyra immediately went over to Aemma, Alicent staying a respectful distance away. “Your Grace,” Alicent smiled and curtsied politely to Aemma, and Aemma greeted her warmly, “Good morrow, Lady Alicent.” “Mother, Y/N”, Rhaenyra crouched down next to Aemma, holding out a hand to stop me when I stood up to offer her my seat.

Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose when she noticed her mother clad in such thin clothes, and started detangling her shawl from her shoulders, but Aemma only shook her head with an affectionate smile and stilled Rhaenyra’s motions by cupping her cheek with one hand. “It has been quite long since first light, has it not? You have forgotten about your poor royal mother, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, though her voice was tender. “Forgive me, Mother. But the weather was far too lovely for me not to take Syrax out for a flight. She has been growing lazy as of late.” Aemma snorted softly, adjusting a braid that had loosened from Rhaenyra’s hairdo. “Now that explains the dragon stench overwhelming my apartments then. You are lucky that Y/N was kind enough to accompany me during your absence.” “Is it not my duty, my Queen?” I teased, “Unless you find my company repulsive, of course.” Aemma pursed her lips thoughtfully, although her eyes were filled with mischief as she said, “Your company is delightful as always, although the waiting time for my food to be brought up is quite outrageous.” “Then I shall pray to the Seven that they might bestow on me the power of flight to serve you better, your Grace.”

“Seven hells!” Rhaenyra cursed, fumbling in her pockets. “Rhaenyra! Language,” Aemma scolded. “What is it?” I asked, concerned. Rhaenyra groaned in frustration, “I had a present for Mother, but I must have dropped it in the throne room when I was showing it to father yesterday.” “How careless,” Aemma chided, although her tone was soft as Rhaenyra bit her lip and hung her head slightly. She must’ve really wanted to give the present to Aemma.

“Why don’t I go retrieve it?” I offered, standing up and smoothing my dress. “The kitchens are but a stone’s throw away from the throne room, and I am certain Your Grace’s appetite for grapes has not yet been sated.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes shone with gratitude, “Yes please! Thank you, Y/N.” “Tis nothing, princess. What does it look like?” “It’s a necklace, with a ruby falcon pendant, ” Rhaenyra described, “I got it to remind Mother of home.” “Oh Rhaenyra,” Aemma murmured softly, a soft look of love flooding her face. Rhaenyra held her hand tightly, “There was a sapphire one, but I thought the ruby one would be fitting. For both your Arryn and Targaryen roots.” Aemma squeezed her daughter’s hand, “I will cherish it fiercely forever, as I do with all your gifts.” My face took on a wistful expression as I watched mother and daughter interact and I spoke softly, “Worry not, princess, I will find it and bring it here.”

I retreated out of the room, returning Alicent’s smile with one of my own as I passed her on my way out of the room, but not before Aemma called out to me, “Make sure you make haste! Your queen desires for more grapes!” “Of course, my Queen!” I called back, grinning.

The throne room was blissfully unguarded, which signified the absence of the King, and by extension, any nosy courtiers who might frown upon me fumbling around the throne room like a sneaking rat. ‘Perfect, no need for awkward pleasantries then.’ I opened the double doors leading to the throne room, shutting the doors with a heavy thunk. My eyes took a while to adjust to the gloom of the throne room, but I nearly let out a shriek when I saw a shadowy figure sitting on the throne room. Was that the king? And if so, why in the Seven Hells was he sitting in a darkened throne room?

“Byka zaldrīzes,” an all too familiar voice called out. My heart thumped furiously in my chest as my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

No. No way. He was somewhere floating around in Lys, if court gossip was to be believed. It couldn’t be him.

“Won’t you come closer? It’s only been 8 years since we last saw each other. Surely you haven’t forgotten me.”

Daemon Targaryen. Second son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, younger brother of king Viserys, and the most annoying royal pain in my ass.

His petulance and near unnatural ability to be able to get on every single nerve in my body had caused me to become a devoted practitioner of self-restraint, given how badly I longed to throttle him or slit his throat with a dagger whenever he was near me. But much to my consternation, societal propriety rendered me unable to challenge him in a duel or even brawl with him, like most boys would do to sort out their differences. But even so, it was not in my nature to silently endure the countless pranks and jests he tormented me with, and thus I often paid him back tenfold for every misdeed he committed against me. My mother was chagrined, while Prince Baelon and Viserys merely laughed and observed our antics with much amusement, along with the rest of the court.

My lips twisted in a frown, and my heart still beating fast from the initial shock, I walked closer to the Iron Throne. “As much as I’d like to, your memory still leaves an unwanted stain in my mind.” The figure sitting languidly on the throne leaned forward as I approached, making me finally catch a glimpse of the boy whom I used to detest with every fibre of my being. Although he certainly bore no resemblance to the annoying brat I detested.

Gone was the lankier frame of his youth. In his stead, it was a man, of tall stature and strong muscular frame, honed by years of intense sword training and puberty. His hair had lengthened considerably since the last time I saw it, and my lips twitched in amusement as I remembered how I had once cut it off when we were children as retribution for him dousing me with a bucket of Arbor Gold while he and I were sneaking around the Red keep late at night, him claiming that he had something interesting to show me. I treasured the memory of that deliciously girlish scream he let out when he realised I had dared cut his precious white-blonde locks. His face had lost its roundness over the years as well, becoming lean and chiselled, lending a harsher quality to his expression, but it only seemed to accentuate his daring and dangerous beauty, or at least, if you listened to the giggles of the twittering ladies of court. His eyes, still filled with that same mischievous glint, watched me as I stood in front of the throne, raking over me shamelessly. I rolled my eyes at that, at least some things never changed.

“Ah, but you remember me nonetheless.”

“The emphasis was on the word ‘unwanted’, your Grace.”

He laughed, leaning back against the throne leisurely as he stared at Y/N. ‘It was a sheer marvel his body was not littered with a thousand cuts by now,’ Y/N thought, a scowl on her face.

“I see the years have finally taught you some manners. I couldn’t remember the last time you addressed me formally. You always had some rather…colourful turn of phrases up your sleeves, however. Maybe the years of looking for a prospective marriage match have taught you some decorum.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, the vein in my neck beginning to tick in annoyance, as it always did around him. “You know they say, people age slower when they get married. You are living proof that the saying is false.” He let out a throaty laugh, crossing his legs as his voice took on a mocking tone. “I see your lack of marriage prospects have turned you from sour to bitter, byka zaldrizes.”

I bristled, “Stop calling me that. Why are you here?” “I heard there was a tournament being held in my honour. I should be in attendance since all this heraldry was made on my account, should I not?” “The tournament is for the King’s heir.” Daemon learned forward again, his tone edged with menace, and defiance. “Precisely as I said.”

I shook my head, duly unimpressed. “There is no need for you to be sitting on the Iron Throne though. Tis not your place.” Daemon scoffed, “And who are you to command me? I am a Targaryen prince, I sit where I please.” “The King would disagree with that if he were here.” I fired back.

Suddenly, I remembered I was here on an errand, not for idle chat, so in a huff of frustration, I turned away from the offending prince and began to search the halls for a glint of red anywhere. “Running away, byka zaldrīzes?” I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to punch him in his smug face. Calm down, Y/N, you already did that once, and by the Seven Hells, the consequences were absolutely not worth it. “Unfortunately, I am here on an errand, not for childish bickering, your Grace.” I heard a faint sound of footsteps behind me, but I ignored them as I continued to pace around the vast empty room. No sign of any necklace at all. I groaned internally. Perhaps I should’ve asked Rhaenyra for more instructions before taking on the task.

“Could the errand be this?” I whirled around, finding the Prince in far too close a proximity for my liking, a smirk on his lips and a necklace with a ruby falcon dangling from his raised right hand. My eyes widened, chest sagging in relief as I beheld the necklace. “Yes. Oh thank the Seven,” I reached out to grab the necklace, but Daemon only snatched it back. I let out a strangled noise of frustration, “Hey!”

Daemon leaned in closer, pressing me against a pillar uncomfortably. “Thank the Seven? I think that they shouldn’t be the one you’re directing your thanks to,” he murmured softly. Goosebumps broke out on my skin, as I glared into his eyes. His infuriatingly, inhumanely beautiful purple eyes. Damn him. “Back up.” I hissed. Daemon seemed to take it as an invitation to lean in closer, his face was mere centimetres from mine now. My breathing became more uneven, feeling a mix of frustration and another strange feeling I couldn't place. “Are you going to punch me again if I don’t?” he whispered softly, his eyes sparkling with deviousness and mischief. “Yes,” I hissed.

“However, if you take a step back, I might find it in me to thank you for your nosiness in picking up things that do not belong to you.” “Yet if it were not for me, you might have needed to scour the whole of King’s Landing to find this little trinket.” He withdrew from me with a smirk, and I huffed, glaring at him. “Well? I’m impatiently awaiting your gratitude, byka zaldrizes.” Gritting my teeth, I finally bit out, “Thank you, Your Grace. Will you please return me the necklace now? The princess is in need of it.”

A rough laugh escaped him. “Now that’s more like it. You’re very welcome, my lady.” He dropped the necklace into my waiting hand, eyes watching me as I clasped the falcon pendant in my hand and internally praised the Seven for being able to find it, although through an unconventional method. “You changed a lot, you know,” he said, his eyes still studying my face. “That’s to be expected. It’s been 8 years. You have changed too.” “You’re quieter,” he observed. “Well, I can hardly scream at you now that we’re both adults, can I? I have a reputation to maintain.”

The prince scoffed at that, “Reputation. Lady Primrose always stressed about that. I didn’t think you’d take her lessons to heart.” “She was my mother, Your Grace. And she is correct about the importance of reputation, especially as I am chief lady-in-waiting to the queen now.” I chided him. He chuckled darkly, “The topic of reputation is not one I much care for. You should know that better than anyone, my lady.” I raised my eyebrows, “Is that why you came back to court without Lady Royce then?” Daemon rolled his eyes, “That boring cunt is the least of my worries. Court is already dreadfully dull. Should I need to suffer in her presence for any longer, I might just mount my own head on a spike.” “I always thought you a warrior, but it seems you are a coward in the face of marriage.” I mocked. I could see Daemon’s face scrunch up with anger at my claim, and I smirked, relishing in how he still had the same sore spots he did when we were children. Classic Daemon.

Daemon felt fury bubble up in him, like a kettle dangerously close to boiling point. Seeing her smirk however, made him forgo his initial angry outburst and settle for a sharper, more hurtful one. “Bold words for someone who keeps rejecting marriage proposals. If there’s anyone who is a coward, I would say it’s you, my lady.” The vein in my neck was probably protruding to the high heavens by now. I longed to yell at him, like I always did back in my girlhood, but I couldn’t, because he was right. Yelling would only prove his point and allow him the pleasure of gloating. I was not about to rise up to his bait. Turning away from him, I walked out of the hall briskly. “It was a pleasure seeing you, your Grace, but I’m afraid I must be off. I hope we never have the misfortune to cross paths again.”

My hand was on the brass door handle when I heard him call my name once more. “Y/N?” Rolling my eyes, I kept my back turned away from him. “Yes, your Grace?”

“I was sorry to hear about Lady Primrose’s passing.” I stiffened at his unexpected condolences. I hadn’t thought about my mother in a very long time. “She was as much of a mother to me as she was to you” I tilted my head downward, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “It has been 7 years since she passed. There is no need to offer your condolences…but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Daemon heard the doors to the throne room slam shut. His eyes still cast on the door Y/N had just left from, he tilted his head slightly. A soft chuckle resonated through the throne room. ‘Same old Y/N’, he thought to himself, a smile curling at his lips, ‘but…different somehow.’ Oddly enough, he felt his heart twinge for some reason at her sudden departure. He had not realised how silent these past 8 years have been, not until today.

Queen Aemma was delighted with her daughter’s present, although a bit put out that her lady-in-waiting had arrived back at her chambers with no grapes in sight. But observing the mildly murderous glint in Y/N’s eyes, Aemma wisely kept her mouth shut. She wondered what had happened to make Y/N so annoyed, but then she let slip an amused chuckle as realisation dawned on her.

Daemon.

translation: byka zaldrīzes: little dragon

And that’s the first chapter! If you loved it so far, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) Thank you for reading! Chapter 2 should be out in the next week or so! Let me know if you wished to be added to a taglist in the comments or through this form

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hatredmadeofgold · 1 year

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Revenge with a vengeance — The tragedy of Sam and Raiden’s canon relationship dynamic

Alternate title: SamuRaiden is THAT deep, actually.

Although MGR does not have as complex or well researched character lore as the main series, Samuraiden as a relationship is a lot more complex than common fandom tropes and interpretations of their relationship suggest. I don’t mind it when people make funny/meme content about these two, since MGS/R does come with its own flair of humour, it’s very exhausting for me as well as a few others I know who enjoy this ship for it to be reduced to just that — a joke. MGR being perceived as ‘goofy’ is mainly due to how poorly some of the character lines translate from Japanese to English, as well as it being more or less evident that either budget, time or both ran out over the course of development, hence the second half of the game feels rushed and underdeveloped. In fact, the great majority of MGR fans do not understand how serious, dark, hopeless and dystopian its message really is and that is saddening.

The world isn’t black and white, neither is it in MGS/R. Sam isn’t the just the villain (never has been, by the way), Raiden isn’t the just the hero (never has been either, by the way), I’d say it’s rather “depends on who you ask”. They are on opposite sides due to the circumstances of how they meet and not because they wouldn’t get along. Quite the opposite is true, in fact, if they would have met before 2016, they might have become friends based on the fact of how much they can actually relate to each other in many different aspects of their personalities, interests and experiences.

Before we get to fight Armstrong as well as during the Sam DLC (also through very subtle hints during their first fight on the train) we learn that Sam is just like Raiden and that Desperado forced him to become a shadow of who he once was, going against his own morals and values and only Raiden reminding him of who he truly was before Armstrong defeated him 2 years prior, ultimately crushing his spirit — he had no other choice, either die there as a failure or continue to live and become Desperado’s/Armstrong’s puppet [until someone would eventually defeat Armstrong and free Sam from his never ending nightmare — Did I already mention that Sam is a really fucking tragic character?]. Sam joining Armstrong’s laughter at the end of DLC is a reaction of fear, not agreement with him or enjoyment. And if there’s one thing that both MGS and MGR are really good at, it’s the accurate and very realistic portrayal of the human psyche under stressful and traumatic situations.

On the other side we can tell from Raiden’s reaction when holding Murasama after killing Sam that he, for once in the entire damn series, questions if that was the right choice he made. We know that Raiden enjoys inflicting pain and suffering onto others, he enjoys murder — but he did not feel that way when he killed Sam. It’s quite the opposite. It’s very subtle and if you’re not very observant like me, easy to miss. But the way his voice turns a bit softer, how his eyes look listless, almost sad; he regrets it. When Blade Wolf asks Raiden if that outcome was really necessary, he does not answer him, because he knows that Wolf is right, it wasn’t. And Raiden pretty much hates himself for it. To his team he confidently says that Sam isn’t a problem anymore since he killed him, but that’s not the same Raiden that he’s that moment in the badlands (which is another implication to me that Raiden doesn’t fully trust his teammates, although they are friends; he has major trust issues and the only emotions he shares with them is either anger or amusement but nothing outside of that). The way he sheathes Murasama is a way to honour him, and as far as I remember this is a ritual to honour a samurai’s defeat or death.

I believe that there has been a silent understanding between the two swordsmen that they respect each other from the very beginning, but they do not say it out loud. This is a case of “show, don’t tell” but also something I suspect has something to do with the game being written by Japanese authors, and Japanese is a high context language, meaning, very little words are needed to get the meaning across, and I think this may also translate into the words these two exchange with each other compared to how they truly feel about the other. Besides, they probably couldn’t truly speak honestly with each other in the first place because of the unfortunate conditions of how they met and were (more or less) forced to fight each other until one of them would eventually succumb to the other’s blade. Codecs and conversations were most likely recorded by their respective employers, and I highly suspect that in Sam’s case, he was even monitored 24/7 by Desperado since he never was an official member of the Winds of Destruction in the first place, and they didn’t fully trust him either.

At the very end of the game during the fight with Armstrong, Sam’s message plays, and we can hear how Sam also speaks with a different voice to Blade Wolf compared to everyone else (and technically, indirectly to Raiden but I cannot confirm or deny that Sam was aware that Raiden would ever hear this playback), it’s a note softer; Raiden learns the truth, which confirms to him that he was right about Sam after all, that they are alike, that they respect each other, and that there was more to Sam’s story than him being a part of Desperado, he doesn’t know what exactly, but he knows now for sure that Sam was not the person he originally believed he was (and lets his team still believe he thinks that way).

Would Raiden truly say Sam’s catchphrase “Let’s dance” before fighting and ultimately killing Armstrong, if he wouldn’t have been going through a gradual process between originally hating Sam to respecting and liking him but unable to ever express that to him or anyone else?

Would he ever admit to anyone what kind of emotional impact Sam had on him, besides the anger and hatred he openly expressed towards him?

Doubt so. Highly fucking doubt so.

Because sharing his true feelings is a liability to him, and Raiden learnt as a very young child that vulnerable feelings such as sadness or guilt would be used against him, so his psyche is conditioned to discard them immediately. But Sam made him feel those things in their full extent and Raiden is fully aware of that, but he would never share with anybody that he ever felt that way about Sam.

He may or may not take those feelings to his grave.

From Sam’s side, we can only guess how he truly felt about Raiden, but we can only guess by the way he hesitated to finish him off on the train during the prologue, the way he smiled at Blade Wolf before his death (which might be likely another case of a silent understanding between Sam and Wolf that the latter would share with Raiden what he knows about Sam or the playback of their conversation itself, if not both) as well as everything he says with giving Murasama to Raiden. Of course, Sam couldn’t even say out loud to Blade Wolf or Raiden that he planned to give Raiden his sword to take down Armstrong, and he had to be as vague as possible with the information that he shared with the robot dog. Not by choice, no. Most likely because he was being watched 24/7, he knew that Desperado nor Armstrong didn’t fully trust him and if they knew about his plans, they’d make sure to finish him off before Raiden had the chance to do so. Sam knew he would die, and that it would be the only way he would ever be free from Armstrong’s grasp. So he chose suicide through Raiden’s blade, and gave him his sword to finish what he could not back then.

The game’s title is REVENGEANCE — Revenge with a vengeance.

They both translate to the same thing in my native language German, but there’s a subtle yet important difference between these two nouns.

“Revenge means when you get back at your enemy who is responsible for hurting you and vengeance is the punishment inflicted or retribution exacted for an injury or wrong.”

But it was never Armstrong who hurt or wronged Raiden in the first place, and we know he’s an essentially selfish person who does not really care all that much about politics, religion or anything like that and he only fights for himself (I wrote in my essay about Raiden’s ASPD that his motivation to save these children from becoming cyborg child soldiers is a trauma response first and his rather lose and grey morality second) and the few people he cares about, so Armstrong being the one one who ordered to get N’mani killed is not the reason Raiden went after him or was that passionate about getting revenge or retribution on him either.

It was Sam who hurt him — wounded both his body and soul during the prologue — but when Raiden got his revenge, he realised that revenge is empty, that he didn’t feel better, and that he regrets killing him, then we get to the vengeance part. From the moment Raiden held Sam’s Murasama in the badlands, he felt no more hatred towards him and the emotional impact his death had on him made Sam transition from a person he hated to one of the few people Raiden truly cares about.

Armstrong may be the villain of the story, but the person who wanted revenge on him never had been Raiden. It was Sam. Always had been Sam, because it was Sam who got hurt by Armstrong, it was Sam who wanted to get revenge on Armstrong for defeating him and crushing his spirit, it was Sam who wanted to punish Armstrong for making him into a shadow of who he once was, making Sam speak about ideals he didn’t truly believe in (like, who the FUCK even thinks that Sam truly believed a single fucking word of that, because I for sure as hell can tell he never did, he either gaslit himself into believing that for 2 years until he met Raiden or only parroted whatever the fuck Armstrong wanted him to say so he would not get killed on the spot).

Revenge and vengeance are very deep feelings and actions of hatred, feelings that are too deep and complex to be associated with morality, hence why I highly doubt that the title of the game is directed at Armstrong from Raiden’s side at all. That between Raiden and Armstrong is not nearly as personal as it has been between Sam and Armstrong. Raiden eradicating Desperado and Armstrong had been about justice [for the kids being killed and their organs sold], not revenge.

"I said my sword was a tool of justice. Not used in anger. Not used for vengeance. But now… Now I'm not so sure. And besides, this isn't my sword."

But when he says this, followed by “Let’s dance”, it became deeply personal for Raiden as well. Because he could confirm that his feelings about Sam had been right, and that Sam wanted to get revenge on Armstrong.

Raiden decides to avenge him, because Sam couldn’t get revenge himself.

Although Sam never told him directly, Raiden understood him from his actions alone, those subtle hints, reading between the lines what the other truly felt and wanted the whole time, eventually passing the “torch” — his sword — to Raiden, to finish what he could not. So while Raiden’s own reasons to finish off Armstrong were (mostly) justice for the innocent lives he destroyed and planned to continue to destroy, they also became feelings of hatred and anger — Sam’s feelings towards Armstrong.

In the end — revenge with a vengeance — is what Sam could get on Armstrong only through Raiden, after Raiden enacted his onto Sam.

Now the question is — if Raiden would’ve never killed Sam, by the chance of him recognising earlier than in canon that revenge is empty and that he won’t feel better after killing him, would Sam go by his example and abandon his revenge plans on Armstrong as well? Or would they fight Armstrong together and get justice?

We unfortunately can only speculate (or write stories about it).

What we can tell from canon though, is that Raiden’s (= Sam’s) passionate feelings of hatred towards Armstrong quickly vanish the moment he finished him off, and he looks into the camera with an empty expression, covered in blood and a crushed cybernetic heart in his hand.

And I think that is exactly what he feels — empty.

Because again, he got revenge and avenged Sam, led by what Sam felt, Sam’s feelings became Raiden’s feelings during that fight with Armstrong. But once that was gone, there’s nothing left. In the case of killing Armstrong, he doesn’t feel remorse or guilt. There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Because revenge is empty.

Raiden defeated his enemies — but at what cost?

By killing Sam, he realised what he had actually lost — a potential friend (or more), someone who understood him in a way that no one else did. Perhaps he thought or felt that, if he avenges Sam, making Sam’s feelings towards Armstrong into his own, he might be able to deal with that loss better, but to no avail.

Because, and I can speak from experience as a person with the same mental health issues as Raiden, that emptiness is worse than regret.

MGR’s ending also implies that Raiden abandons his family and friends to fight his own war; essentially taking the same path that Sam once took in his past, ending up in a personal war and revenge act that knows no end, making one bad choice after the next. If Raiden hasn’t already become the villain of his own story by the end of MGR, then it’s just a matter of time until he becomes that.

And the cycle of violence continues, until the story repeats itself, over and over and over and over and over.

Did I mention already that there is a myth around Murasama being a cursed sword, that will drive its user either slowly insane or make them commit suicide if it doesn’t get a regular ‘blood sacrifice’?

—

“I really enjoy murder, but that one, that I will regret for the rest of my life.”

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rinbowaman · 18 days

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Reina this has been on my mind ever since I read the seven series what is your story or explanation of the Devil having heeeeungs appearance like as in appearing as a Korean man along with his brothers. I’ve always been curious about that and I am dying to hear what your thoughts are on it. I love seven so much and heelel and Levi have me on my knees. 🤒🥴

Actually, this is something I’ve thought about ever since I drafted the series. Your curiosity is warranted, back when I initially drafted the storyline, I knew I was going to have to provide an explanation, and I am happy to do it now, and take a break from all these lovely requests in my inbox lol.

Shape of You

Warnings: short Drabble, canon, historical references (some factual and some fiction), yandere love, some dark concepts, devil Heeseung is in love with you, some fluff, hints of smutty things.

“Can I ask you a question?”

You lean back, relaxing the blades of your shoulders against his broad chest. His partially gloved hand swoops from behind and plays with your hair over collar bone. His black blouse remains unbuttoned, allowing you to fall into the soft, white long sleeve and the loose tie around his neck. “Mmhmm.” He hums out tenderly as his hand taps against your belly; tips of his fingers walking up and down, trailing the northern and southern borders of your abdominal canvas. The both of you enjoying a moment of leisure, relaxing on his throne and gazing up at the stars. It was moments such as this, that made you realize the devil truly meant it when he says that you are everything, and that he loves you more than anything.

“Do you purposely portray yourself as an Asian male or is that truly how you were created?”

You were blunt, which he always preferred. He always reassured you that he would be truthful, and that you never had to feel discomfort when asking him anything your mind yearns to inherit. Tilting his face to the side, he admires the depth of your side profile and kisses the center of your ear, gently whispering.

“What makes you think I would portray myself as anything other than what is the truth?”

He partially jests as he chuckles against your ear canal. One of the gestures he was fond of doing, because he knew it tickled yet brought a pleasurable sense inside you. “It’s just—ah…” a subtle gasp escapes your lips as he slowly licks your neck, pushing the tip of his nose into your ear as he gently nibbles your jawline. “Mmhmm…you were saying, baby?” He antagonizes as he keeps his oral movements going, encouraging for you to finish your statement.

“Before you brought me here…you know, all those churches in the world talked about how the devil would shapeshift and deceive people…so I just…didn’t know if y-you…were really showing…y-your trrrrrue—ah!”

You help as he picks up the pace and sucks in your skin, harshly pinching it between teeth as he leaves discoloration and a subtle bite mark. Meanwhile his hand slips into the high slit of your silky gown, taking advantage of the fact that he never allowed you to eat panties, and began probing your slit. You desperately slap your hands on his forearms as you stabilize your posture. He chuckles in seeing you struggle as you lean away a tad, just so you could get him to answer the question without fondling you the entire time.

His chuckling transfers to a deep sigh of ceasefire, amused by your gasping for air as you propped yourself high and straight, yet your derrière looked even more appealing as it plumps against his throbbing bulge. But he figured he owed you an answer…for now.

“What else did the Bible tell you? Hmm? Did it tell you how bad the devil was? That I violated maidens and killed off Gods angels?” He releases a laconic scoff. “What a joke.”

“S-so…it’s all not true?” You inquired as you finally composed your breathing, and felt safe enough to lean back once more, which he relished and expressed contentment by embracing your waist, interlocking his fingers around your bellybutton. Unbeknownst to you, he really was doing his best to behave and display some self restraint as he continued to answer.

“Well beautiful, there’s a lot that goes into it. But let’s just say that a lot of the things that were drafted about me were over exaggerated, or drafted untruthfully, all for the mere sake of installing fear—fear to control.” He takes your hand in his palm and tenderly enclosed it. “But that’s a conversation for another time.” He whispered against your cheek.

“As for your question, this is how I was brought into life.”

“Any particular reason why you were made to specifically look and speak Korean?”

He smirks. “Well, truth be told, my former master loves diversity. Before he created mortals, he used his angels to form a baseline on what he wanted humans to replicate. There are many that come in all varieties. It just so happens my brothers and I all came out reflecting an oriental appearance. As for the language well, you already know we speak all dialects, even the lost ancient ones.”

Whispering in Arabic, he professes sweet words of love and tenderness in the language. “See? And now that you you’re my wife, you understand and speak all that of which exists.”

It’s true. The moment he brought you back to life as his Queen, you inherited a wide list of inhuman abilities, one of them was the suddenness of speaking and understanding all languages.

You spoke back in ancient Egyptian dialect, responding subtly. He smiles. “Good girl.”

“So, did he create all his other angels the same way?” He leans his head back, resting it against the grand head rest of the throne as he gazes and admires the outline of your profile. “Some. Some do them took after the fair skinned with hair and eyes to match, while others came out bolder and exotic in appearance. Michael, for instance, was created with a Mediterranean appearance, contrary to what mortals would imagine.”

“The arch angel Michael?” You asked in shock. He nods.

“My former master had an idea of how he wanted humans to become, but really couldn’t think of any other way to form their appearance. So he used his angels and guide.”

“But I thought the Bible described angels to appear differently…it described them as nonhuman entities, just a large eye with six wings that rotated.”

He smirks upon your oblivious nature. He has so much to teach you. “The original angels, such as myself, served as the original draft of what humans should take after. Those created after are nothing like us…you remember.” He raises a brow as he takes an expectant tone. You do remember those humanoid metallic figures, whom appeared more monstrous than anything else.

“Why don’t we take a walk and talk about all that’s in your mind. Whatever questions you have, we can spend the day feeding your curiosity…” he grips your waist and gently lifts you, only to slowly drag you back down and ride your slit against his lengthy bulge. “In a little while…hm baby?”

You fling your head back over his shoulder. “Uh…uh-huh.”

Moving you back and forth, he forced you to take on a riding momentum as he sets the pace; his hands never losing grip along your waistline. Your hands slam on the elegant rails of the arm chair. You didn’t care what they landed on, you just needed something to grip and dig your fingers into. “Fuuuuuuuck yeeeeeeah.” He whispers against your ear, dragging out his tone to be deep and creaky as he continued to move your hips in waving motion.

“Relax baby, I’ll tell you whatever you wanna hear…I’ll answer all of your questions…just let me fuck you first.

It’s too bad your mind went entirely blank. By the time he was finished with you, you were senselessly incoherent and just a moaning mess, fucked too dumb to think of anything other than the soreness of your opening struggling to close after the constant thrusting, and the juices flowing out, stringing your thighs. When all was said and done, nearly hours after the initial conversation, the only lesson you learned from all of this was that you should never show the devil how curious you can get….because he’ll get curious right back. And the devil doesn’t sleep, until his curiosity is no longer peaked.

- Fin

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insanelyadd · 1 year

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OKAY SO THE FRESH ANALYSIS

ME DEARLY BELOVED FOLLOWERS, you probably started wondering why I like Fresh so much. Why I have been lovingly rotating him in my mind like a rotisserie chicken.

SO ANYWAYS I AM GOING TO DO MY BEST TO WRITE DOWN EVERYTHING I’VE READ ABOUT HIM. This is not complete simply because I haven’t read EVERYTHING on the old RP blog CQ ran for him. This is also mostly from the perspective of his character so other facts like Fresh using he/they pronouns and having furby bombs and canonically liking kissing (okay actually that does play into his character slightly) won’t be the primary focus of this analysis. This also, All, my own interpretation.

This analysis will be in three sections: His original characterization, his Monologue, and finally what could be inferred about how how his character changed due to the Event that gave us the Monologue.

His Original Characterization

The first thing you need to know about Fresh is that his goofy 90s persona was chosen specifically because they thought it would be non-threatening. This plays into a major part of his personality, which is that, baseline, everything he does is for survival. Once everything needed for that is met and taken care of the next major component is that he does whatever he wants to do to entertain himself.

He possesses people to live, but torments people on occasion (not too often, making enemies would go against the survival thing, unless he’s assessed that they would be a harmless enemy perhaps). All his weapons are innocuous at first glance to once again pass himself off as non threatening (oh hey the furby bombs come into play here, huh, he also uses a wiffle bat).

He doesn’t feel most emotions, but he can feel a few, (and at one point CQ said that the longer Fresh is in the same host the more he can feel? Not sure if that still applies, take that with a grain of salt) but those emotions are fear, anger, and amusement primarily (though affection and others are not off the table, it would just take A Lot of work for him to get to that point). Primarily his emotions that he portrays are all ones he’s imitating based on what he thinks are non threatening reactions. He easily pretends to be chipper or indignant but he doesn’t truly feel most of these emotions. According to posts written by CQ he is not genuinely flirty though him imitating “safe” emotions might put him in situations where he does that (most likely just to entertain himself, which is the primary reason he likes kissing. He doesn’t understand why kissing is meant to be important and does it because he’s amused by people’s reactions to it. Absolutely no thoughts [about kissing] behind those glasses.)

He is also very full of himself. He thinks he’s better than other people (but obviously he recognizes that as being a negative/”unsafe” thing to voice so he keeps it to himself and privately believes it). He thinks he’s better and deserves good things (this is directly stated in The Monologue), which is another reason he amuses himself by scaring people. IT’S IS ALSO A RESULT OF ANOTHER MAJOR COMPONENT OF HIS PERSONALITY: He has an ideology that people are primarily driven by selfishness. This is likely a direct result of him being a literal parasite who needs to harm others to live. He is really unable/unprepared to comprehend that people can care about others so much that they would put their loved ones before themselves. When this is challenged it typically makes him irrationally angry and ready to hurt people (even ones he “pretends” are his friends, and even though this contradicts his need to survive at any cost) to prove to them that they should never trust anyone. This is also why on occasion in a few comics CQ has done Fresh will offer up being possessed to desperate people with the lure that they won’t feel pain anymore (which is implied to be a lie because people who can read souls and Fresh himself say they can hear the host screaming, possibly in agony).

THE MONOLOGUE

Okay so I’m going to explain the events leading up to The Monologue, and then I’m going to share the whole monologue here, then I will analyze it (plus here is the link to the post with the monologue and a more in-depth recap of events from Fresh’s old RP blog)

There was a huge multi-blog RP event (these used to be very common, I don’t go to the RP scene anymore though so I’m not sure if they stopped or I just stopped seeing them, basically a whole bunch of blogs get together to RP through one big common event, typically a party that they are all attending) called the LoveBall that Fresh went to with the plan to infect as many people as possible with parasites he produced and from there infect the whole multiverse (which he claims is to “help” them all). Fresh directly states that he’s not a Sans here, even though this was before his redesign when he was still possessing one (STARES DIRECTLY AT EVERYONE CLAIMING I AM A SANS SIMP FOR LOVING FRESH).

Anyways he gets confronted by another Not Sans, who takes him to The Last Corridor (judgement hall) and Fresh is sure he’s going to die, though he still tries to act unbothered. They talk a bit and it is revealed to Fresh that he is a fictional character (he could see the whole multiverse was code too which is a fun detail), he’s clearly taken aback but still tries to play it off as it’s explained to him that him and the other Not-Sans and everyone they’ve ever known are Nothing, and that it would be for the best if he doesn’t try to get OUR attention.

SO NOW WE COME TO THE MONOLOGUE ITSELF WHICH IS SO GOOD THAT I WANT TO EAT IT. Anyways:

…….I’ve thought about a lot of stuff lately. Ya know. All these inner thoughts I ignore or avoid listenin to. And I realized. Ya know. Maybe I wasn’t lookin to ‘help everyone’. It was some excuse, ya know? I like messin with people. I like the concept that in some way, I’m more clever, or amusing, or hilarious, or-…. simply put, I’m BETTER then the rest of em. I’m better and I deserve to get what I want, and I wanna mess with people and I want to hurt people, and since, ey, I gotta possess people to survive, I might as well ENJOY the process as well, ya know dawg? I wanted to take over the multiverse because yeah, it extended far beyond somethin so noble as ‘helpin’ people, I wanted to take over because I COULD, and because it was FUN, and because I couldn’t be STOPPED. I wanted the power to enslave E͏̷͏V̨̀͜E̸͠͠R̡̢͠Y̸͢͟T҉̢͠H͏͜͞Ì̴̕N̡̨̕G͡. The power to enslave everything. But. I can’t do that. Can I?

B̷͠E͢͝͡C̕͠͝Ą҉̀́̀U̡̢S̀͏E҉́͢͟ ̷͜͞Ó̡̢F̢̧͝ ̶Ỳ̨́O̢̢̢Ù̶͡.̨̛ ̵͜͜R͏̷͢Ì́Ǵ͝͞H̡̡͟T́͞?̛͜͠ You’re the voices Error hears. Aren’tcha. The voices Error always talks about. Always chats with. You’re ONE OF THEM. BEYOND THE CODE. YOU’RE WHAT I WAS WARNED ABOUT. YOU’RE WHAT HE WAS TALKING ABOUT. BEYOND ALL OF MY KNOWN EXISTENCE. BEYOND ‘THE GAME’. You’re toying with Error. Askin him questions. We’re all your toys. Every single thing I’ve seen, every Universe, every single creature I’ve come across or possessed, every bit of data…. is something you are capable of manipulating, right? And now.I got your attention. Just like he warned me against.

….y-ya know. I won’t stop. Right. I’m gonna keep possessin peeps, and runnin around and having a radical time.

That’s what you WANT, right?? That’s what you’re lookin for, to be amused, and have a laugh! Well you’re in luck! THATS WHAT THE FRESH IS HERE TO DO! No worries, my good ol chums!!I’ll keep it up. Everything.

Right?? THATS WHY YOU’RE TALKING TO ME NOW. Right?? You are amused by me!!! Ah hahaha wicked brah! I’m glad! I’ll just- keep–

I-I…. I’ll just. Keep up my dated lingo. I’ll heelie right into every situation and make a joke of myself, and then when peeps drop their guard I’ll do somethin creepy or hilarious– OR BOTH! Ah hahahahahahaha. That’s what you want. THATS WHAT YOU WANT?

….don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Or worse. Whatever you’re capable of….

I… I’ll do what you want!!

I PROMISE. just….just.

Don’t kill me. Please.

So one of my favorite details here in the monologue is the fact that it starts with him outright stating that he thinks he’s better than everyone else and it ends with him begging us not to kill him. His hubris hit an unmovable wall at 100 mph.

I really feel like the monologue speaks for itself, so onto the next part!

Post Event Characterization Implications

So one of the things that could probably be inferred by this is that all three of his major motivators, His Need to Survive, His Want To be Entertained/Amused, and His Ideology of Selfishness are basically shoved into a blender. I’m sure he still believes in inherent selfishness but his ego about it should be at least slightly bruised, knowing that he’s just as microscopic and inconsequential as anyone else in the multiverse. As for his need to survive and want to be entertained, they’ve both been subverted to different extents. His want to be entertained is completely subverted where instead of being the one being entertained by bothering people, he is now the one wanting to do the entertainment because they believe it is necessary for their survival.

I imagine he is being eaten alive every day by the worry that he’s not being interesting enough and will be abandoned and effectively killed for not entertaining us enough. Though he might be able to push that out of his mind most of the time to continue what he normally does, because he might be able to convince himself that we have to like him for who he is to some extent or he wouldn’t have gotten this far, which seems very plausible given how good he is at hiding his fear and anxiety during his confrontation with the other Not-Sans.

Anyways he’s a bastard and he’s great and I am unfortunately in love with him. He probably wouldn’t be down for it but I will still imagine holding his hand and then picking him up and slam dunking him into a trash can (lovingly).

#utmv #underfresh #fresh sans #even though he's not a sans #character analysis

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dragonologist-writings · 1 month

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Title: Love & War Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: M Status: Ongoing (12/?) Main Characters: Knight-Commander Cleo Ironbark, Queen Galfrey Supporting Characters: Yozz, Arueshalae, Woljif, Wenduag Ships: Knight-Commander/Queen Galfrey Additional Notes: Complicated Relationships, Angst, Rivals to Enemies to Lovers, Demon to Legend Mythic Path, Canon-Typical Themes Word Count: Word Count: 46.3k Summary:

Galfrey was a queen, a paladin, an icon for all that was righteous and just in the Crusades. Cleo was a barbarian, a tiefling, a personification of demonic chaos. By all rights and logic, the two should have been at each other's throats- and often, they were. But somehow, through war and struggle and sacrifice, they ended up finding more in each other than either ever expected.

read here on ao3

Chaper 1 Below:

The first impression Queen Galfrey of Mendev formed of Cleo, warrior of the Ironbark tribe, was not a kind one.

To be completely fair, the Queen’s opinion was not wholly condemning, either. It was quite impossible for Galfrey to condemn the woman who had pulled Kenabres from the burning jaws of the demons. Every report given to the Queen repeated the same story: Cleo of Ironbark had bravely led the charge against the evil cultists and demons who threatened the city. Cleo of Ironbark had stormed the Grey Garrison and saved them all from the poison of the corrupted Wardstone. Cleo of Ironbark was a hero.

But Cleo of Ironbark was also…raucous.

“Another round!” the warrior cried, holding her tankard aloft, and the celebrating soldiers cheered along with her. The tankard was refilled without a moment’s hesitation, and after taking a long drink, Kenabres’s champion resumed her dramatic recounting of the day’s battle. Her voice carried across the tavern, rising above the din of the crowd and filling the large room with echoes of her bravado. Irabeth and Anevia sat at her side, listening to the tale with fond weariness and open amusement, respectively.

Galfrey kept to the corner of the tavern, holding her tongue and a humble mug of ale as she watched the theatrics unfold. Her retinue was waiting outside; she’d ordered them to give her fifteen minutes of peace before following her in. The guards were always so touchy about letting her out of their sight, as if she couldn’t handle herself perfectly well.

The Queen sighed at herself. That was unfair; they were merely doing their job. Under normal circumstances, she would have been content to let them do so. But a procession of guards was something that tended to be noticed, and in this instance, she’d wished to make her observations from a place of relative anonymity. She’d feared she might be noticed anyhow, but no; the people’s attention was centered solely on the sword-bearing storyteller who had already nearly drained her third serving of ale. This could only be the famous Cleo- who else would be drawing such adulation from the victorious crusaders?

Yet, she was not quite what Galfrey had expected.

For starters, Cleo was clearly not of Kenabres. Not a fact all that odd on its own, perhaps, but she was no ordinary traveler, either. She wore the furs and leather armor of the northern barbarians, and when she called out to the crowds, a Kellid accent made itself clear in her words. As if a lone tribeswoman in the middle of a Mendevian city wasn’t odd enough, the people’s new hero was also a tiefling. With skin of deep green and small horns that poked through her dark, close-shorn hair, her abyssal heritage was impossible to miss.

Even so, the notoriously suspicious Mendevians around her watched with high-spirited adulation as she spoke, her tail lashing enthusiastically behind her all the while.

“-and then,” she was saying, “just when we all thought we were well and truly fucked, I charged for the Wardstone. Minagho tried to stop me, but it was too late for her- I had my blade in my hands, and I took the biggest swing of my life, and with just one strike I shattered that corrupted chunk of stone!”

She mimed the motion of her attack, and the crowds shouted their appreciation. Their cheers brought a cocky grin to Cleo’s lips, revealing sharp-tipped teeth.

“And of course once that was taken care of, Minagho didn’t stand a chance. Shame she’s so good at running away, but there’s plenty other demons out there to slay!”

This declaration brought another round of victorious shouts, but Galfrey remained reticent. The scene so far had only served to cement her final impression of Cleo of Ironbark: that she was in possession of a concerning degree of reckless arrogance. Cleo spoke loudly and cursed often; she lauded her own daring exploits; she relished in stretching out her arms to display the scars lining her well-toned muscles to her crowd of admirers.

Galfrey was hardly unaccustomed to such personality. The thrill of victory could go to any soldier’s head, especially when aided by ale and applause. But she had been hoping for something more substantial from the savior of the city, and to find behavior which bordered upon unseemly was…disappointing.

Across the room, Cleo let out a loud laugh and leapt to her feet, very nearly tripping over her chair in the process. She teetered over Anevia, leaned down, and- inexplicably- blew a kiss onto the small charm in Anevia’s hands. They both laughed again at the action, even as Irabeth swatted at her wife’s shoulder in half-hearted chastisement.

In spite of herself, Galfrey felt her lips pull reluctantly into a smile. Her judgments were harsh; revelry could certainly be permitted in times like this. This was a celebration, after all, and here she was sulking in the corner and thinking dour thoughts. It must be the endless war meetings taking their toll, fixing her into this permanently somber state. After so many decades, it was growing increasingly difficult to escape such a mindset, especially when she’d spent the majority of the march to Kenabres half-expecting to find nothing but a funeral pyre.

Instead, she’d found a city in the throes of exhilarating victory. Such a state was infinitely preferable, and the leader who’d made it possible had more than earned herself a carefree night.

With that thought in mind, Galfrey threw back a swig of ale and strode forward to join her subjects at their table. Her fifteen minutes of peace were almost up, and it was time to make her presence known. Better to make a jovial introduction, she decided, rather than be a weight upon the soldiers’ high spirits.

The reactions her reveal garnered were much what Galfrey expected: Irabeth snapped to immediate attention, the nearby soldiers backed away to a respectful distance, and even Anevia straightened her posture and pushed her drink away.

But not Cleo. Cleo just watched, dark eyes giving away nothing as she granted the Queen a lazy smile. “Have I had too much to drink, or are you really who I think you are?”

“That depends a good deal on who you think I am, doesn’t it?” Galfrey countered evenly. She kept her voice lighthearted, welcoming, and held out her hand in a simple greeting. “Galfrey, of Mendev.”

Cleo regarded the offered gesture for a moment, her gaze sliding from Galfrey’s hand to meet her eyes. The edges of her smile grew more pronounced. “I see the rumors were not exaggerated. Pleasure to make your royal acquaintance.” Without breaking her stare, Cleo wrapped her calloused fingers around Galfrey’s, and she brought Galfrey’s hand to her lips.

The kiss she laid on Galfrey’s skin was short, but her eyes stayed fixed on the Queen- testing her, Galfrey realized. Pressing to see how quickly Galfrey would pull away.

Indignation surged through Galfrey’s veins, but she had decades of practice in disguising her annoyances. She did not pull away, nor did she flinch under that taunting gaze; she waited until Cleo’s touch retreated, and only then did she withdraw her hand.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said stiffly, and Cleo chuckled.

“Didn’t say what the rumors were, did I? But you are quite welcome, your royal highness. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

The words were simply dripping with mockery, and Galfrey almost changed her mind right then and there. The mission she’d meant to bequeath upon the hero of Kenabres required some modicum of respect and discipline, and she could just as easily enlist any of her current generals who actually displayed those qualities.

Except…none of those generals, in all their years of service, had accomplished anything like the feat this woman already performed. If even half of what Cleo claimed was true, she should be dead ten times over. That meant that this woman was either a braggart lying through her teeth…or she truly possessed the type of power the Crusades so desperately needed.

It was a risk, to gamble on the latter option in such a way. But the war had been locked in a stalemate for far too long. Perhaps a certain amount of risk was warranted.

And besides, Galfrey reminded herself, Cleo was currently deep in her cups. In all likelihood, she would wake in the morning somewhat sheepish and ready to approach their arrangement with a bit more propriety.

“The Queen graces me with her presence, I see.”

Galfrey stifled a sigh as she entered the Cleo’s tent. Outside, troops bustled in preparation for the march to Drezen, their shouts and orders mingling with the familiar clang of plated armor. The soldiers had been all too eager to accept the hero of Kenabres as their new Knight-Commander- much more eager than Cleo was to actually act the part. The obstinate woman lounged at her table of maps, not even rising to her feet as she greeted Galfrey with her usual taunt.

This was a worthy gamble, the Queen reminded herself. This inexplicable hostility was a small price to pay, if her newly-appointed Knight-Commander truly had a chance at cracking Drezen.

“Indeed. This mission is a matter of great importance, Commander,” Galfrey said, happy to hear that her voice came out smooth, betraying none of her frustrations. She allowed the weight of her authority to creep in on that last word, hoping to emphasize the importance of the title. “Reclaiming Drezen would be an unimaginable boon to the Crusades…as I have told you. The people believe in you. You have ignited their courage, and their hope. It is these virtues which will bring us to victory.”

“You can ease off the speeches in here, you know. Save us both the time,” Cleo drawled, not bothering to lift her attention away from the maps spread out before her.

Galfrey scowled and moved closer, setting her hands firmly over the maps and papers covering the table. “We are all putting our trust in you. This is not something I say lightly, and I cannot leave without knowing that we have an understanding.”

For the first time, Galfrey’s words actually seemed to have an effect on Cleo; her lazy smile disappeared, and her dark eyes narrowed as she studied the Queen standing before her. She even rose from her seat so as to meet Galfrey eye-to-eye across the narrow table. She shucked off her fur cloak as she stood, revealing broad shoulders laced with scars and decorated with geometric tattoos which wound around the back of her neck.

“And where will you be,” Cleo asked, steady and sharp, “while we charge off fearlessly to victory?”

Galfrey arched an eyebrow, surprised, but it seemed an honest question. “I shall be preparing the defenses at Nerosyan and its sister cities, and planning the future of the Fifth Crusade. Does this satisfy your curiosity, Commander?”

Cleo gave an undignified snort, a look of self-satisfaction flashing across her face. “Should’ve known.”

“Do you have something to say?” Galfrey demanded harshly. Such a rebuke would have shaken any of her courtiers or generals. Even now, knowing Cleo as she did, she half-expected the other woman to step back at the sound of her cutting displeasure.

But of course the Commander did not such thing. She actually leaned closer, eyes flashing, as she hissed, “Just that what you mean to say is that you’ll be watching the battle from the rear, safe and hidden away in some cushy palace while your soldiers bloody the battlefield. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure a throne room is much more amenable to your sensibilities than a war camp.”

Her sensibilities? Galfrey’s jaw clenched. This feckless stranger hadn’t the faintest idea what she was speaking of- what did she know of the battles Galfrey had seen, the blood she herself had spilled in the name of Iomedae? She knew nothing, and Galfrey owed her no explanation for any of it.

“I have already overlooked many instances of insubordination, Commander,” Galfrey said, her voice low. “Do not test me further.”

The warning was a serious one, and perhaps Cleo sensed it. She paused, her face still close, searching the Queen’s expression for- well, Galfrey still wasn’t quite sure. But at last, she let out a quiet breath and turned away.

“It’s only insubordination if you’re the one in charge,” she said, almost conversationally. “From where I sit, you’re not the one doing the leading on this particular mission. If you’ve really got the mettle, march on Drezen with us. You’ve been making all your speeches about how pivotal this mission is for your Crusade. So prove it.”

A few seconds passed in which Galfrey could not form a response. Cleo made no secret of her disdain for the Queen’s presence- why would she make this offer now? Cleo tilted her chin, boldly staring down Galfrey as she waited for an answer.

“It has been a very long time,” Galfrey said slowly, archly, with as much authority as she could muster, “since anyone has dared to speak to me in such a manner. I must ask, what is it you are hoping to accomplish?”

Cleo shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually trying to offend. I don’t know you well enough to know whether I want to offend you or not. And that’s the point. Where I’m from, we don’t give respect based on fancy titles. We respect the people who’ve earned it.” She paused, her eyes roving over Galfrey’s polished armor. “Whatever you believe about me, I do want to win this war. But I also like to know the people I’m fighting with.”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” Galfrey frowned as she found herself seriously considering the offer- no, the challenge. That was what this brash, impetuous tiefling had thrown at her feet. A challenge.

“Very well,” Galfrey said. “We march together.”

A grin crossed Cleo’s face, catching Galfrey by surprise yet again. “Looking forward to it.” She laughed, and the grin widened to show off her pointed teeth. “We’re gonna make those demons wish they never crawled out of their mothers’ hellholes.”

When Galfrey left the tent, she told herself this was a sound decision, made for sound reasons. The advance would benefit from her presence, and this way she could keep an eye on her new unpredictable Commander. All her reasons were all true, which made them all that much easier to believe.

But a small part of her whispered that the truth of it was…it had been so long since someone had truly challenged her. Maybe she just wanted to see what would come of it, and of this unprecedented Knight-Commander.

Gods above, Galfrey thought, shaking her head at herself as the thoughts rattled through her mind. What have I just unleashed upon the world?

#fanfic #love & war #pwotr #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wrath of the righteous #galfrey #queen galfrey #oc: cleo

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chirpsythismorning · 2 years

Text

Noah promoting Byler was very likely something he was TOLD to do... so let's talk about it.

I see a lot of people hating on Noah, Finn and the Netflix accounts in general for hyping up Byler.

Noah especially has gone out of his way to say he ships it, but I don't see anyone talking about what has always been so obvious to me.

The reality is, Noah would not say a word about Byler, at all, if it was something he knew was not going anywhere. In fact, if that was truly the case, I think he would be prohibited from it.

With how bad queer-baiting is, I think the Duffer's definitely would have protected him from getting backlash for it, by telling him to avoid humoring Byler at all costs.

Instead, we see Noah not only acknowledging Byler and saying he ships it (numerous times), but also liking/commenting on Byler related posts, even going as far as to steer questions towards Byler in a positive light, as if he's trying to convince us that this is something more of us should open our minds to.

And this just REAKS of the Duffer's trying to warm people up to Byler, and with the only person that can do it at the moment.

Since Will is now canonically in love with Mike, this means that the actor playing him, saying he ships it outright, doesn't exactly qualify as a spoiler.

Now, Finn or Netflix being outright about it, would be a major no no, because it would be a spoiler for the character who plays Mike to say he ships Byler (his stuttering response to Byler happening is still iconic), as well as for the official accounts to throw out M*leven entirely and throw in Byler fully. The show is still technically in limbo with this love triangle. Which is why we see Finn and the Netflix accounts putting an effort to promote both M*leven and occasionally Byler, because although they still want to keep things a surprise for the most part, they definitely have an obligation to start giving at least some hints.

(I think it's also funny that David Harbour has a record for just sort of saying whatever he wants when it comes to spoilers. Like the whole "he likes someone else in the group" moment was definitely not planned and everyones reaction was visibly just shock because they all know they're not allowed to talk about this, but because it's David whose taking the lead they all just follow along with him amused.)

Otherwise, besides the main key-players, it's still something they probably want to keep under-wraps until season 5 is right around the corner. They are indeed stuck in limbo right now.

Just thinking realistically in terms of them preparing for endgame in season 5, it makes sense that they started to kick things off in season 4, in a way that's still really impartial, because as time goes on, the shift to Byler will be a lot easier than if they just went from nothing to everything all at once.

This is why it also makes sense for them to still promote M*leven, seeing as there may only be a little time left for them to do so.

But when we start getting official updates and bts and leaks and then eventually promo for season 5, I think it's very likely Will and Mike are going to be heavily associated with each other just as much in promo, if not more, than they were in season 4. And let's be honest, they were promoted A LOT together (there isn't a m*leven poster/billboard for s4 that I know of...).

With all the backlash they've got for queer-baiting, them going all in with Byler again would be a good indication to me that they are indeed going that route and we can start clowning indefinitely.

#byler #stranger things #byler season 4 #byler proof #byler evidence #byler st4 #mike wheeler #will byers #mike x will #will x mike

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katsu28 · 2 years

Text

realizations

part 1 - secrets

pairing: non canon!Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: rafe’s confession has you thinking back to three times you didn’t realize he was in love with you, and the one time that you did

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of fighting and blood

a/n: hi hello here’s the second part to secrets that i said i would write a long time ago and then never did! thank u for being patient with me <3

also can we tell that i adore the best friends to lovers trope bc i really truly do

masterlist + taglist

(gif credits to @obxsummer + can i just say, this gif does things to me)

Rafe didn’t seem like he remembered his love confession from a few weeks ago, so you should’ve been able to put it out of your mind, right?

You tried to forget it, you really did, but for reasons completely unbeknownst to you, you couldn’t. His words had ingrained themselves into your memory, echoing in your head over and over again.

You can’t tell her that I’m in love with her.

Maybe it was just the mindless ramblings of a drunken idiot (Rafe always spewed nonsensical bullshit when he got wasted), or maybe it was something else entirely, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the one time that Rafe Cameron wasn’t fucking around.

Were you really prepared for what would happen if Rafe really was in love with you? And if he was, how had you not realized it?

You’d think that if your best friend since pretty much birth had fallen in love with you sometime in the past twenty-two years, you would’ve noticed.

Now here you were, sitting in your bedroom on a Saturday afternoon, racking your brain for anything, any memory, that could’ve hinted at Rafe being in love with you, instead of being out and about like a normal person on a beautiful day in the Outer Banks.

And the more you thought back, the more convinced you became at how utterly blind you’d been all this time.

-------

Your house, junior year

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?” Rafe’s voice echoing through your house had your eyebrows furrowing in confusion from where you were curled up in bed watching your comfort movie after the shitshow of a night you’d just had.

“Upstairs!” You called back, hastily trying to gather and hide all the tearstained tissues before he made his way to your room. Seconds later, Rafe materialized in the doorway, leaning against the frame with concern in his eyes. You took in his loose tie, messed up hair and untucked shirt, guilt instantly pooling in your gut. “What are you doing here? I thought you had that important dinner with your dad?”

“Kelce texted, looped me in on your little date fiasco tonight.”

“I told him not to tell you,” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “What a snitch.”

“What can I say? I’m very persuasive.” He shrugged. “Are you okay?”

“As okay as I can be after being stood up and dumped over text.”

Rafe’s expression hardened. “That douchebag dumped you?”

“S’not a big deal, I only went on a few dates with him.” You replied, albeit not very convincingly, because he looked less than amused.

“Oh yeah?” He snorted, crossing the room and tugging your blankets away to reveal your bunched up tissues, then raising an eyebrow at the movie paused on your laptop. “Eat Pray Love and snot rags really say ‘I’m all good’.”

“Fuck off,” You chucked a pillow at him, which he caught easily and tossed back at you with a snicker. “Was your dad mad that you took off? You really didn’t have to come here, I’m—”

“Hey, stop it, okay?” He chided, kicking off his shoes and taking a seat next to you. “My best girl needed me, so I ditched a stupid dinner. I don’t really care what he has to say about it because I’d rather be here with you anyways. So give it to me straight. Do I need to round up the guys and teach that loser who dumped you a lesson?”

You don’t know if it was something in his words, or the fact that Rafe had ditched such an important thing just for you, but your lower lip started to tremble, tears welling in your eyes. Rafe’s arms were around you instantly, tucking your head under his chin as you cried against his chest.

“I got you, Y/N, you’re okay,” He whispered, lips pressed against your temple as his hand rubbed up and down your back soothingly. “I’m here…I’m right here.”

Rafe held you tight until you managed to stop crying, but even then you were still a hiccuping mess.

“Why can’t I find someone who likes me?” You sniffled sadly, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“You’re gonna find that person one day, Y/N, I promise you that.” He murmured, giving you a tight squeeze. “You’d be surprised at how love finds its way into places you wouldn’t expect.”

“Love?” You croaked.

“Nevermind.” Rafe shook his head, passing you a clean tissue to wipe the tear tracks from your face. “Let’s have a movie night, just you and me, yeah? I can Doordash us some food too. Sound good?”

You nodded against his chest, cheering the slightest bit up at the prospect of spending more time with your best friend.

You’d be surprised at how love finds its way into places you wouldn’t expect.

God, it was so obvious how Rafe was in love with you now, but you’d been too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice at the time.

-------

Kildare Academy, senior year

“Do you know how annoying it is to—what?” You cut your story off when you noticed Topper’s eyes darting over your shoulder. “What the hell are you looking at, Top?”

“Walton incoming.” He mumbled, averting his gaze quickly. You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration, fighting the urge to bang your head against your locker.

Preston Walton had been trying to ask you out all year, and every time he’d asked you always turned him down, but despite making it very clear that you weren’t interested, he was really goddamn persistent.

Topper shot you a sympathetic grin, backpedaling his way down the hall. “Good luck.”

You inhaled a sharp breath before plastering a fake ass smile on your face and turning around, where Preston was standing a little too close to you for your liking.

“Hey, Y/N,” He greeted you casually, running a hand over his (in your opinion) overly gelled hair.

“Preston, hi.” You said politely, taking a subtle step back. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh, golf at the club, shopping on the mainland. The usual.” He shrugged, smirking. “You know, my dad just got a new boat a few days ago. The newest Grady White.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“Yeah, it is. You should come check it out soon, we could take it out to the mainland pier and have dinner. I know this really good steak place we could hit up, and there’s this new nightclub that opened up—we could probably just skip the bouncer a few G’s and they’d let us in.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. “Look, Preston, I think you’re a nice guy, but I’m really not interested in going on a date with you.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, we both know you’re gonna give in to me eventually, so why don’t we just skip the dramatics and you just say yes?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Just save us both the trouble and give in already.”

You’d been giving Preston the benefit of the doubt up until this point, but you’d had enough. But before you could give him a piece of your mind, something else happened.

“She said she’s not interested, dickhead.” Rafe’s voice came out of nowhere, and suddenly all you could see were his broad shoulders sliding into your line of sight. Topper must’ve gone to find him when he’d left you hung out to dry. Part of you was relieved he was here, but another part of you was worried about the scene that he was definitely about to cause.

“Wasn’t talking to you, Cameron, was I?” Preston’s words dripped with smugness, making you wrinkle your nose in distaste. “I think Y/N can speak for herself.”

“She did. You’re not talking to her anymore, you’re talking to me now.” Rafe sounded calm, but not the good kind. The kind that came right before a giant thunderstorm.

You opened your mouth to try and quell things before that storm came, but someone’s hands tugged you backwards, and you glanced over to see Topper shaking his head at you.

“I wouldn’t say anything.” He whispered, drawing you towards the bank of lockers lining the wall. By now, Preston and Rafe’s standoff had garnered a small crowd, each person with their phone out to try and get the best angle of their inevitable fight.

“She’s really got you under her thumb, doesn’t she?” Preston sneered, casting a spiteful glance over at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at her.” Rafe shoved him by the shoulders roughly. “Look at me.”

“Didn’t know you were her bitch, Cameron.”

You knew it was coming, but you couldn’t stop the gasp that fell from your lips as Rafe launched a right hook straight across Preston’s face, sending the other boy’s head snapping to the side. Preston recovered quickly though, landing a hit to Rafe’s mouth before Rafe tackled him to the tiled floor with a grunt.

He threw punch after punch at Preston, balling up the other boy’s shirt in one fist to hold him down as he pummeled him mercilessly. You wanted to intervene, but you couldn’t bring your feet to move, instead just staring wide eyed at the brawling boys.

It wasn’t until you heard a clamor of voices down the hall getting closer—teachers coming to break up the fight probably—that you swore, snapping out of your daze to grab the back of Rafe’s polo and yank him off Preston with all the strength you could muster.

“Let me go, Y/N—” He growled, lunging at the boy on the floor again, but you flattened your palms against his chest. The look in his eyes was that of a wild animal, but softened just the slightest bit at focusing on you.

“Do you wanna get suspended again, Cameron?” You hissed, shoving him backwards a few steps. “Fucking move!”

Rafe gritted his teeth for a few moments, scowling at Preston one more time before letting you pull him away. You dragged him outside to the bathrooms near the gym that nobody ever used, parking his ass against a sink to clean him up.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked quietly, feeling the slightest bit guilty at the way you avoided looking him in the eyes.

You huffed out a sigh through your nose, finally meeting his gaze. “I’m not mad at you, Rafe. I’m mad at myself.”

“What? Why?”

“For letting things get to that point with Preston. I should’ve made it clearer.”

“Will you stop that?” Rafe sounded frustrated, but you knew it was only because he cared. “You said no. Multiple times. You should’ve only had to say no once, so that douchebag Walton got what he deserved. Wish I’d gotten a few more punches though.”

You let out a breathy laugh, spirits lifted. “Yeah, well, I didn’t need you adding murder to your rapsheet.”

“Y/N, you are too goddamn nice.”

“I hate being mean!” You huffed, lips twisting into a pout as you dabbed at Rafe’s split knuckles with a paper towel.

“I know,” He chuckled softly. “Good thing you have someone who’s willing to get down and dirty for you so you don’t have to be mean.”

“My hero.”

“You bet your ass I am.”

“And he’s humble too. Real charmer you are, Cameron.”

“Really just describing me to a T here, L/N.”

You just rolled your eyes, wetting another towel to wipe away the dried blood from his chin. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence while you tended to the rest of his wounds, until you broke it to voice the question that had been bouncing around in your head this whole time.

“Hey Rafe?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “What did Preston mean when he said I had you under my thumb?”

“Dunno. Probably him just shooting off nonsense again.”

“You don’t think I’m controlling, do you?”

Rafe snorted. “Y/N, controlling is the last word I’d use to describe you, trust me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He nodded, lips turning into a frown when you didn’t look convinced. His hand came up, fingers thumping gently under your chin to get you to meet his eyes and offering you a grin when you did. “You’re not controlling, Y/N. Far from it, actually. I’ll do whatever you want me to,” Because I’m fucking in love with you. “because I care about you.”

“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You smiled, patting his chest good-naturedly before wandering to the trash can to throw away the bloodied towels. Had you been looking at Rafe, you would’ve seen him wince.

Friend. That’s all he was to you, when you were so much more to him.

“Yeah, thanks.” He mumbled, scratching his nose awkwardly.

“I’d beat up someone for you too, y’know.”

“Would you really?”

“Yeah. If they weren’t that much bigger than me. And if they know less about fighting than I do.”

“Oh, thank you.” He drawled sarcastically, crossing the bathroom to sling an arm around your shoulders and steer you towards the exit. “My savior.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s get outta here before admin comes for me.”

-------

Midsummers, 3 years ago

“Underage drinking, how delinquent of you,” You hummed, sneaking up next to Rafe at the table tucked off to the side of the dance floor that he was leaning up against. He grinned around the mouth of his flask, offering it over to you without a second glance, which you accepted gladly, taking a satisfying swig. “Oh, you got the good stuff this time.”

“Only the best for—whoa.” Rafe froze when his eyes landed on you, his gaze not-so-subtly dragging down the length of your dress and lingering at the slit creeping dangerously high on your thigh.

His throat suddenly felt extremely dry.

“—what he wanted to wear tonight? It was literally the worst, I almost backed out right there and then.”

Rafe tore his eyes away from your dress, meeting yours distractedly. “Sorry, what?”

“You good?” You snorted, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah, good. All good.” He nodded quickly, clearing his throat. “You were saying?”

You grinned, launching into some story about your Midsummer’s date and how he wanted to wear a Pokemon themed tie, but Rafe honestly wasn’t listening.

Had you been paying attention to him as you talked, you would’ve noticed the way he was looking at you—like you’d hung the moon, and he was damn lucky to bask in your glow.

For the rest of the night, you and Rafe stayed glued to each other’s sides, despite both of you having your own respective dates. At one point Rafe’s date tried to pull him away with some painfully obvious insinuations of hooking up in the locker room, and you honestly thought he would take her up on it. But to your surprise, he turned her down, and when you asked him why, he clammed up and refused to say a word.

And at the end of the night, when your date (and also your ride home) had bailed on you, Rafe dropped everything to drive you home, dropping you off and not leaving until you made your way inside and waved at him from your bedroom window.

-------

Holy shit.

You hadn’t noticed anything back then, thinking he was just being a good friend all those times and probably more that you couldn’t think of at the moment, but knowing what you knew now put everything in a new light.

Rafe Cameron really was in love with you.

And when you mulled over it some more, you realized something else. There was a reason why you couldn’t put any of this out of your mind. It was the same reason why you always felt inexplicably satisfied whenever Rafe turned down every girl that draped themselves flirtily over his arm whenever you all went out, the same reason you found yourself sticking to him in any social situation. He made you feel safe, and loved, but you’d always thought it was a platonic kind of love. Until now.

You were in love with Rafe Cameron too.

Grabbing your phone from where you’d tossed it on your bed, you pulled up Rafe’s contact and just stared at his picture for the longest time, debating whether or not to call him with your newfound discoveries.

“Fuck it,” You muttered, hitting the call button before you could chicken out. The phone rang for a few agonizingly long seconds before he picked up.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s up?” Rafe greeted you cheerfully, and suddenly you’d forgotten how to speak, leaving you clutching the phone with shallow breaths. There was some shuffling on the other end of the line, then his voice again, but more concerned this time. “Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything—everything’s fine,” You cleared your throat to rid your voice of that annoying squeakiness. “What’re you up to today?”

“Nothing anymore. I’m coming to your house right now.” He replied, and you could hear the jingling of his keys in the background of the call.

“Rafe, no, I’m fine.” You insisted, but even that was weak. Feeling like you had to clarify some things so he wouldn’t come racing over the speed limit on the way here, you sighed. “Nothing’s wrong, I just…I need to talk to you. Not about anything bad, though.”

“I’ll be there in ten.” He said softly, saying a tentative goodbye before hanging up.

That—the prospect of Rafe coming over to your place and asking you what was going on in that stupidly endearing way that always had you eventually spilling your guts every freaking time—sent you into a tailspin, pacing a hole in the floor of your room as you wondered how on Earth you were supposed to tell him that you were in love with him too, when you weren’t even sure that he remembered confessing his love for you.

Before you knew it, there was a knock at your front door that jerked you out of your whirling thoughts, sending you hurrying to answer it. Rafe already looked worried when you pulled it open, and at your troubled expression, furrowed his eyebrows even more as you ushered him inside.

He even went so far as to take a scan of his surroundings to see if anything looked out of place, twisting his cap backwards with a frown when he saw that everything was normal. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Bullshit. You have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that you always have when something’s wrong.” Rafe shot back, propping his hands on his hips expectantly. “I know you, Y/N. Spill.”

You opened your mouth to respond, then snapped it shut, instead opting to take his hand and lead him to the couch, where you sat him down and still didn’t say anything. All he could do was sit there in growing confusion as he watched you pace back and forth in front of him.

“You’re starting to scare me, y’know. Did you kill someone? Do we need to go hide a body?” You had to hand it to Rafe for trying to make you laugh when you were obviously kind of freaking out, but you could only crack a small smile. “Hey, come on, it’s just me. You can tell me anything.”

You blew out a deep breath through pursed lips before speaking. “Okay. Remember that party a few weeks ago, when you got so drunk, I had to drag you home before you started stripping on the table?”

Of course he knew that one. He’d been beating himself up over it all this time. How could he forget? “Uh, kinda. Why?”

“I can’t stop thinking about what you said.”

“Ah. Right.” Rafe cringed, raking a hand through his hair and bobbing his head embarrassedly. “Okay look, I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything, I was drunk off my ass, and I didn’t mean to say the things that I did. You know me, I always—”

“I think I’m in love with you too,” You blurted, letting out a sharp, nervous breath. “I didn’t realize it till now, but—”

He froze, eyes going impossibly wide at your words. “You’re—you’re serious?”

You could only manage a small nod. Rafe shot up from the couch, crossing the room and pulling you against him in an instant.

“Rafe, what are you—” You couldn’t even finish your question before he was kissing you like his life depended on it, hands gripping either side of your face gently but still firmly. His lips were soft, moving against yours tentatively at first, then with more confidence when you’d gotten over your shock and started to kiss him back.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” He mumbled breathlessly as soon as you pulled away, stroking his thumb across your cheek tenderly.

“So you were lying when you said you were just being a stupid drunk!” You exclaimed, slapping Rafe’s chest gleefully. “I knew it!”

“Way to ruin the moment, dumbass.”

“I’m sorry! I just—how long?” You smiled warmly at him, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Years, Y/N. Fucking years.”

“I didn’t know you could be so patient, Cameron.”

“Yeah, well, when the girl of your dreams can’t see what’s right in front of her, you learn to be a little patient.” Rafe huffed, rolling his eyes playfully. You smacked his chest again. “I’m kidding. But seriously, I don’t think I ever thought this day would come.”

“And now that it has, what are you gonna do about it?” You teased, trailing a finger down the buttons of his shirt.

“Texting the guys and telling them they owe me twenty bucks, is what I’m gonna do.”

“Rafe.”

“After we have a conversation about where this leaves us. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I love you?”

“I love you too, you giant idiot.”

taglist!

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#rafe cameron x reader #non canon rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #outer banks #outer banks fic #obx netflix #obx imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron one shot #non canon rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron fluff #drew starkey

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