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ravenelyx · 1 year

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I love you in every timeline - Chapter 1: My Love Is As a Fever, Longing Still

← Prologue

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 14.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name usage for reader (only a few blank spaces), use of 2nd person for the reader, Sebastian is confused and doesn't know how to handle his feelings, and he's also struggling with his personality, veeeeery slow burn

Summary: "He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is long, and more is to come. It's gonna be a very slow burn apparently, but I hope you will like it. Finally Chapter 1 is here, it's been a while. Also, as much as I love fanon! Draco and Pansy, I decided to follow a more canonical approach here, sorry. Again, english is not myfirst language so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes. Never am I going to write about time travel again,my brain hurts.

I also made a playlist inspired by this because why not.

You can find the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please." - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147

You weren't her.

Then who the hell were you?

You briefly smiled at Sebastian and then turned back to the red-head, squinting. "Do you have the book or not?"

Ron gulped, avoiding your eyes. "It's probably in my dorm or something... I didn't have class, so I didn't take it with me."

"In your dorm, isn't that right?" Your eyes narrowed even more if that was even possible, and Sebastian was pretty sure you were about to hex him on the spot. Your leering didn't go unnoticed by either of the two Gryffindors and Hermione’s throat bobbed ever so slightly, eyes widening a little in alert.

"Well, as I said—"

"Here," interrupted Hermione suddenly, voice slightly squeaking. She looked into her bag and extracted her own copy of Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants. "Use this in the meantime. I take notes on the book too, unlike Ronald here, so it should compensate."

You accepted the book, seemingly calming down a bit. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said, enunciating her name sarcastically as you shot the other boy a nasty look, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel a touch of schadenfreude as Ron hung his head low, cheeks as red as his hair.

“I said I'll give it back,” said Ron, scowling. “It’s not like you need it anyway. Sprout doesn’t even make us open books!”

You politely smiled at Hermione, your eye slightly twitching at his remark, before said smile turned into a sneer as you looked at Ron again. “Then what the hell is taking you so long?"

Hermione sighed softly, dejectedly, and Ron shrinked on himself, sending Sebastian an unconfident look. But that only seemed to propel you to continue.

"And most people do open books for Herbology, my dear Ron, but I don’t expect you to know that. You’re too busy trying to find ways to whine and beg others to help your lazy ass later when they have other, more important things to do.”

Sebastian saw it happen, in a gradual, torturous slowing of time. There was something about you, in the way your lip quirked up, in the way your brows furrowed, giving life to that crease. Something that you couldn't stop, washing over you like a tsunami, drowning any possible thought of rationality and empathy. Control, in that moment, was appearance and nothing more.

He felt, for a moment, afraid; chilling his veins until goosebumps raised on his skin: a thrill, as if she was there. As if he was watching her unleash that godly power in all her beauty.

You were still, hands clammy at your sides, as he could see you open and close them repeatedly, and you weren't gloating. It was different; like that thick, foggy feeling that floods your brain when your opponent misses a step whilst casting Protego, or opens their arm a bit too much, making it easy for a well-aimed Stunning Spell to pass through, and it makes your cheeks turn red and your chest flutter, and Sebastian saw that twinkle in your eyes as you ignored Hermione’s pleading look.

The same thrill that makes his heart tug when he inevitably, nimbly raises his wand back. When the spell goes right where he intended it to go, and the deaf sound of a wand hitting the floor fills his ears.

It was that innate human side that took pleasure in pain. That part that could turn from a lambent glow into a Fiendfyre if you're not careful. Or if you really put your mind to it.

But you weren't duelling.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of the way with which you were slandering your — he supposed — friend. And in front of him, too. It made him slightly tremble, his lip slightly twitch. Part of him wondered if he was invisible, part of him felt a little too alert, part of him pitied the girl in front of him.

And while it seemed Ron and Hermione were just as shocked, they had a sort of weary gleam in their eyes. And any attempt at smoothing things over was futile. Hermione feebly tried to intervene. “Oh, we don’t need to go further—”

“You see Ronald, for a Prefect you should really put some thought into the impression you’re making on new students, not to mention the one you should give of our school—” you ignored her and sarcastically gestured towards Sebastian, who felt his breath hitch at the sudden spotlight put on him, “and yet, you’re always so comfortable acting like a dimwit . Pull yourself together and be responsible for once.”

Ron’s jaw fell open, completely at loss for words at your harsh words, and he shared a look with Hermione that Sebastian was able to understand completely.

What the hell just happened?

He couldn't agree more.

“I think you’re overreacting,” said Ron sternly.

“I think you’re disrespectful,” you replied just as eagerly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” said Hermione, putting herself between the two Gryffindors. “It so happens we have a guest here!”

Sebastian felt his heartbeat quicken ever-so-slightly as both you and Ron turned to him like you had just seen him for the first time. He shifted his weight uncomfortably; an attempt to get rid of that eerie shiver that ran down his spine as your incensed gaze fell on him.

That seemed to snap you out of it, and your cheeks flushed a bit in regret. “Fair enough...” you muttered, nodding at Sebastian. “Sorry.”

He nodded back, unsure about what to do as he shifted his eyes between you and Ron, letting them linger on your face each time he looked at you. Your nose had that same curve he always wished he could kiss, run his lips over with reverence… He shook the thought out of his head immediately.

“I should receive an apology as well,” muttered Ron, and Hermione nudged his arm as a warning not to add fuel to the fire.

"You have one day. Just one." You gave Ron an ultimatum, your tone sharp and, Sebastian thought, quite frightening. He hoped to never find himself in Ron's place. “And don’t expect me to help you ever again, I'm tired of it!”

You didn’t wait for an answer and began to walk away, only stopping briefly to look at the Slytherin boy. "I wish you the best of luck, especially if he— " you glanced at Ron again "—has to be the one guiding you through this maze they call a school."

Sebastian gasped and opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemed to be stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue. He let his eyes fleet over your face again, heart beating out of his chest as he tried to make out your features, like in a dream.

"I hope we'll meet again soon enough." You forced a smile on your face that looked almost guilty and embarrassed, and with that, you were gone.

His eyes followed you until you turned a corner and vanished from his sight, thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour — questions with no answers clouding his mind more and more each second. Who were you? Why did you look like her? And above all, why did you bear her family name?

Even after the theatricals that he had just witnessed, there was a certain hope in his heart: traitorous and wrong. A hope that she was really there, somewhere, waiting for him. A hope he immediately wanted to crush as soon as the image of your eyes and red robes flashed in the window of his vision again.

Sebastian Sallow was utterly, completely, absolutely losing his mind.

He was aware of the gravity of his situation — his body still spasmed uncomfortably every now and then as a result of having travelled through space and time — but, Sebastian realised, it felt more like a trance. A painfully aware and too tight reverie he couldn't find a way out of. After all, just the night before, Natty had asked him if he wanted to take part in Summoner's Court with her the next day, hadn't she?

And just a few hours after that, Sebastian had decided to try his last chance, opening the artefact that, he had believed, would bring him back to a time where her sister wasn't cursed — a time he could have avoided the disaster. And not just one at that.

He took a deep breath, willing the halls of Hogwarts to become brighter in his vision, more real. He was indeed in the future, he repeated himself, his ribcage evidently too small to contain the excruciating throbbing he felt in his chest. He had to accept that. He did. Probably.

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian heard Ron mutter as he also stared at the point from which you had just disappeared. “What was all that for?”

“Honestly, Ronald…” said Hermione curtly. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Still, Sebastian felt painfully calm at his situation: the sort of calm that he only experienced when he knew he was in trouble and couldn't do anything about it, or when he knew he was in trouble and had the solution for it lying in his hands, teeming down his throat like a treacly and old pint of Butterbeer, or a briquette of ice, whipsawed by the choice of safely travelling down his stomach and melt and leave him warm and satisfied or change direction and chill his lungs and cut his breath and bring him to a freeze.

What would Sebastian, a calm and collected person (and he believed he was, or tried, at least), do in a similar situation?

Two options came to his mind, clear and painfully bright.

To freak out completely until he was in shambles on the floor, addled and ready to break himself and cut the edges of his persona to fit into the new reality he now essentially belonged to, though he still didn't feel like it.

Or estrange himself from said reality, seeing it through lenses, analysing the world around him as if he weren't there until he found a way to go back, like a spectator, a reader. And he was indeed a reader.

In a way, the very core of one was tantamount to the other — both would completely destroy him. And Sebastian Sallow could not allow himself to be destroyed. Not like this.

But then there was another, the one Sebastian desperately willed himself to adopt, keeping his edges glued to himself and the lenses away from his perfectly working eyes.

The one he followed when everyone had lost hope for Anne.

And that was any option available, and every rational thought, even if the sound of them — or anything else, really — was still drowned by the loud pounding of his heart reverberating at the thought of the girl who just flipped his world upside down.

“What did you say her name was again?” Sebastian asked the two students, his eyes never leaving the corner you had just turned.

Ron and Hermione both looked at him with surprise; Ron opened his mouth with a scowl, as if about to make a snarky remark, but Hermione interrupted him, repeating your name calmly.

That was indeed the name.

And so he tried to be as rational as possible.

“Thank you,” said Sebastian quietly, lips parted, gaze musing. “I’d forgotten that just there.”

You were her descendant, a hundred years from his time.

Sebastian couldn't remember her having any siblings or cousins who bore her surname, but if you did, you had to have received it from a male member of her family, didn't you? She couldn't possibly have given you her name unless she married someone from her own bloodline, and Merlin, he hated that thought.

Or she had married someone else and decided to keep her own surname instead, and, once again, Sebastian knew — it wasn't his first thought, of course, but certainly one that plagued his mind — that he couldn't have been the one she had married, because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he'd have burned down the world just to get her to take his last name.

His thoughts circled back to her family, but try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint any related members from whom you might descend. He was starting to feel dizzy and sure to be on the brink of collapsing under the amount of information he was trying to process, but then Ron and Hermione pulled him out of his trance by starting to explain the rules of the castle, the classes to attend and some basic information about the Professors.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts changes every year; they say there's a curse on the chair or something," explained Ron, having calmed down a bit, and half-smiled, "so you won't have to see toad-face for long."

"Toad-what?" asked Sebastian absent-mindedly, his head still teeming with disjointed thoughts and meandering ideas which, Sebastian was sure of it, would never find a proper abode.

"Our new Professor. You'll see what I mean when you meet her for the first time."

Sebastian nodded occasionally as he listened to them talk about the other Professors, such as Snape, the Potions teacher, and also the Head of the Slytherin House. Ron kept going on about how annoying he was, trying not to show how much he was afraid of him. "You don't have to worry, though: Slytherins get special treatment from him," he said jokingly.

Ron, Sebastian decided then, was a nice fellow. He found himself wondering why you had reproached him so harshly. He had half-a-mind to ask, then, about your behaviour — and why both the two Gryffindors seemed to be far less surprised about it than he expected. He decided against it.

"Wait, what do you mean, she won't let you use spells?" Sebastian frowned as they talked about 'toad-face', alias Dolores Umbridge.

"She's from the Ministry," explained Hermione. "After what happened last year, we're sure they're doing everything they can to keep the school under control and make sure no lies—" she stroked the word sarcastically, "—are spread among the students.

"I'll explain everything later. We should focus on more important things, like your academic persona and your education," she added, noticing his confused expression.

She was definitely Prefect and worthy of her role too, at least if you went by the typical clichés.

The hours passed, and there wasn't a minute when Sebastian didn't think of her.

And of you.

Because the more time he spent walking, the more his rationality seemed weak and pointless.

He thought he'd go mad, her memories spoiled by your oh-so-similar but equally different features. He saw your eyes looking at him back in the Scriptorium, as she was ready to take the Cruciatus Curse rather than cast it on him. He saw a Gryffindor sitting by him in Herbology, stealing not-so-subtle glances while tending to the mandrakes. He felt like his mind was splitting in half, frustrated and embittered and close to tears as you tainted his remembrances of her.

He needed to see you again, talk to you, ask about your life, your family, your past. He needed to know every thought behind your eyes, every subtle expression towards him that could mean you recognised him, that you were her, that you remembered him, remembered your time together, that you'd follow him in all his antics, in all his mistakes, in all his choices, that your actions meant more than your words.

That you loved him as he loved you — as he loved her.

Her.

Not you.

Because he didn't need to talk to you. Because indeed your recent actions spoke louder than words ever could.

Because no matter how much Sebastian fooled himself into thinking that he wasn't alone, stuck in a world that had gone on without him for a hundred years, that she returned his feelings the way he thought she did, that somehow you'd look at him and know that she was meant for him, that you were meant for him, you weren't her . You didn't know him. You could never know him as she did, and not because he wouldn't let you in — he'd run to you even now and lay his heart open if it meant finding a faint resemblance to what it used to be — but because he couldn't allow it. He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her.

At that moment, Sebastian made the decision to stay as far away from you as possible.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he reached the Great Hall. He hadn't noticed that it was already lunchtime.

"Do you think Dumbledore will make a speech to introduce him or not?" asked Ron, not caring that the Slytherin boy could hear him loud and clear.

"I don't think he'd just let it go, but I hope it won't be as big as last year's," noted Hermione.

"Those were two bloody new schools, Hermione. This one must be different."

He felt like a new Honeydukes product hitting the shelves for the first time.

It turned out the Headmaster hadn't made a speech to introduce him, and Sebastian almost would have preferred it if he had, because he felt like a circus monkey sitting at the Slytherin table with a hundred eyes staring at him like he'd just broken into their home and stole a particularly rare card from their Chocolate Frogs collection. He looked around at the other tables and saw heads turning away so quickly that he was sure he would be the culprit in a mass murder with a thousand broken necks. He sighed as a girl with dark hair and green eyes sitting opposite of him handed him mashed potatoes.

"Do you want to eat or not? No one poisoned your food just because they don't know you."

Sebastian glanced at her and accepted her plate, munching his food slowly as if he didn't quite believe her.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson."

"Sebastian Sallow."

"Sallow? Never heard of that name. What's your blood status?"

He almost choked on his food at her blunt question. What kind of uncivilised conversation was this? And the way she looked at him, waiting for his answer, he knew that that question alone could decide his entire future — hopefully a short one — in that House.

"I'm a pureblood like you, I suppose," he lied, lifting an eyebrow as he blankly stared at the girl.

"I see," said Pansy, narrowing her eyes as if not fully believing him. And Sebastian knew it was probably time for him to make up a story, a lie he could tell everyone in the indefinite amount of time he was to spend among them.

He had put a great deal of thought into what wanted to tell in the past hour — he could, after all, be anyone. Anyone he wanted.

He could change his past, he could avoid his mistakes, he could pretend to be a normal boy with a normal life. He could just be.

In the end, it didn't matter, because while other people might look at him and see only a picture-perfect new student with a thirst for knowledge, he would look at himself and see the boy who tortured his friend, the boy who murdered his uncle.

They might not know, but he would.

He kept the edges tight against his body, and decided to opt for a half lie that made it easier for him to play on and not forget any details.

He told her that he wasn't from the Highlands. He told her how his parents were Professors at another magical school but died prematurely, and left him to live with his uncle, a former Auror. And he told her about his timely death as well, omitting, of course, his involvement in it.

"When he died, too, I decided to move here," he concluded simply, hiding the tremble of his lips behind a glass of pumpkin juice.

Part of him expected sympathy from her, or at least a hint of hesitation; that look he had become so accustomed to whenever people came to know about his tragic tale or something along those lines.

Surprisingly — though, for some reason, Sebastian wasn’t surprised in the slightest — Pansy Parkinson didn't seem to care at all.

"Were your parents true purebloods or filthy blood traitors like the Weasleys?" she asked instead, clearly showing where her priorities lay, and it was enough for him to know that his earlier hope that there would be no more discrimination was merely a child's prayer.

"They have magic. That's the only thing you need to know." Sebastian cut short before focusing on his food. He noticed the familiar badge on her robes and silently thanked Dumbledore for assigning him to the Gryffindor Prefects instead. At least they never judged him, not even for dwelling with time and space like a bloody idiot — though he believed he had seen a gleam of reproach in Hermione's eyes as she'd uttered the word 'misadventure .

"All right, I believe you." She shrugged.

Sebastian wasn't convinced.

Pansy nudged a boy beside her, who looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. He was pale, with sleek blond hair so light it almost looked white, and also wore a badge. He reminded Sebastian of Ominis. That must be Malfoy.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," — it hadn't been so hard to guess, though now Sebastian thought he'd rather not meet him at all — "I saw you walking around today with that skint blood traitor and that mudblood Granger. You should have been assigned to us. It's not worth it to taint your blood status by associating with such filth," he spoke venomously, a mocking tone punctuating his sentences.

Skint blood traitor. Mudblood. He was exactly like those boors Sebastian so enjoyed thrashing in Crossed Wands when they had the guts to join. Perhaps he could do the same with him — blast him with Bombarda until his hair turned black (or he went bald; any of them would do).

Sebastian didn't know why he suddenly felt like defending the honour of two people he had met that same day, but he wished he could poison his food instead.

"Maybe next time you'll be considered fit for your assigned role. I suppose all that purity didn’t take you that far this time," he replied just as rudely.

Draco Malfoy made a weird face — a mix between stunned and angry and that half smirk that had begun to creep up his face as he had expected Sebastian to agree with him, and that had died on his lips but not yet fully, and the whole thing was so comical Sebastian had to hold back a snort. Because that was not (not in a million years, no matter how many artefacts he accidentally opened) going to happen, and when Draco Malfoy realised it, he seemed to have a hard time closing his mouth back to a dignified expression.

"I'd be careful if I were you, new student. I'm a Prefect!" he threatened, squinting his grey eyes and finally gaining enough control to curl his lip into a small smirk.

Spoiled bragger, Sebastian thought.

"And what exactly are you planning to do — take points away from your own House?" replied Sebastian, smirking back, enjoying how his face turned back to that ferret-like countenance.

"We share the same dormitory. Choose your words carefully." Draco Malfoy pursed his lips, his face becoming even paler. Sebastian wondered if he had even an ounce of blood in that body of his.

"We do indeed, so I suggest you sleep with one eye open," retorted Sebastian. Part of him knew that, logically, he should have been more mature about the situation.

But Merlin, he was starting to despise the brat.

(And the other part of him was still fantasising about that Bombarda-induced vengeance).

"You think you can scare me?"

Draco Malfoy snickered, and the line of Slytherins sitting on his side began staring at the two boys with piqued interest, wondering what all the fuss was about. It was quite unusual for two Slytherins to argue so openly, and even students from other Houses had begun to turn their heads towards their direction. Two big students beside Draco Malfoy snickered, too, as if on cue. Sebastian felt a wave of repugnance at how pathetic they looked.

"Definitely not, especially when you have your guard dogs next to you." Sebastian nodded at the two students mockingly. "Tell me, does your father pay them to be by your side? They can't be that stupid to volunteer to be in your presence."

The blond appeared to want to eat him alive, while the other two took a bit longer to fully understand his words before reproducing the same angry expression. Perhaps Sebastian understood your outburst: it was indeed gratifying to pour his disdain out. Though, unlike you, Sebastian didn't feel an ounce of regret.

"All right, Draco, enough of this," interrupted Pansy with a sigh, before giving Sebastian a hateful look. "He's a blood traitor like Weasley, and he'd better take care of his priorities."

Sebastian ignored her, focusing back on his food and already dreading the idea of having to share his Common Room and dormitory with people like that. Maybe he could sleep in the Undercroft for the rest of the year. He wondered if that place still existed at all.

Strangely enough, the aftermath was quite unsatisfactory, and Sebastian felt his cheeks warm up as he realised he had indeed acted like an immature git, stepping down right at their level. He stared at his half-empty plate, abashed.

The time passing, then, felt particularly chilly under his skin.

After he felt content enough with his lunch, Sebastian stood up, ready to meet the two Gryffindors again. He faltered a little as he looked around their table, his chest squeezing as he caught a glimpse of you. And not just a glimpse.

He watched you as you engaged in a happy conversation with a red-haired girl next to you: she scarily resembled Ron, so he deduced that she must be his sister. The two Prefects sat opposite you, and on your other side was a boy with messy black hair and round glasses.

Sebastian noticed how you tried to avoid Ron's eyes, only glancing up at him through your lashes from time to time before looking back at the girl, and he wondered if you would even apologise or if you were waiting for the red-head to do so. How proud were you? How much did you care? To which length were you willing to go for the people you loved? Sebastian felt a compulsive need to know it all, a new wave of hunger right in the pit of his stomach, completely empty even after his heavy, albeit displeasing, lunch, and ready to be fed by what all he could find about you. He needed to know every last bit of information, if it was the last thing he did in that new world.

That eerie calm chilled his bones again, moderately assuaging his desire, like a glass of cold water before supper. Sebastian realised he was stuck, so he had no rush to do exactly that. He didn't need to be greedy, to devour — though the idea was tempting indeed — and to gobble up every bit of you yet. He could feast, he could savour, he could indulge in his sumptuous meal like he deserved. And then he would find his way back, satiated beyond belief.

Now that would take his edges off.

He shook his head, derailing that tingly feeling running down his lower stomach before it nestled, and averted his eyes, instead noticing that barely anyone had left the Great Hall, and he was the only Slytherin standing. He quickly walked out of the room and rested against a column, wondering if he should wait for Ron and Hermione to finish eating and meet him, or if he should just go alone.

Sebastian decided to walk to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, to the Undercroft, praying it would still be there, untouched by other students. When he arrived, he saw the familiar clock, and his heart swelled in fear and anticipation as he took out his wand and flourished it like he had done so many times he practically relied on muscle memory alone.

The clock hands started to turn, and he breathed a sigh of relief as a door opened to the familiar room that he considered an analogue to his house. He stepped in carefully and looked around. The furniture hadn’t moved an inch in a hundred years, still in the same position that Ominis knew by memory. He wondered about him: if he knew Sebastian would one day disappear forever only to remain stuck in the future, if he had waited for him in that same room hoping for him to come back, or if he was glad he was gone after all.

Sebastian wondered if he would ever return to his time: if Ominis and Anne had been waiting for him their entire lives, getting old without him, and if they had hoped that they would one day see him again, and then he had another terrifying thought: what if he went back yet it was too late?

What if all of his pals were much older than him once he did? What if, upon his return, he discovered Anne still suffering the effects of the curse, or worse yet, already deceased? What if Ominis had been made to return to his family, where he would have either changed into one of them or been tortured and murdered? What if she had found someone else to fall in love and share the rest of her life with, or what if the perilous journeys she was compelled to take killed her and he had not been there to save her?

"Scourgify!" he declared, pointing his wand at various objects around him to clean them, wishing he could reproduce the same effect on his mind.

Once he was done, he sat down, leaned against a column, and put his head in his hands, breathing deeply and feeling his eyes burn.

The calm had gone, replaced by pure, utter despair and panic. It had only been a few hours since he'd found himself there, confused and startled, and he knew it would be many more until he went back — if ever.

If ever.

The thought cut at his lungs like sharp glass, drawing quiet and wet sobs. He didn't know whether the artefact could ever be repaired at all. He didn't know whether he could control it enough to go back if it was repaired. For all he knew, he'd find himself in bloody Mesopotamia, if he was lucky enough to survive another travel. Or he'd get stuck between time and space, forever embedded in the threads between realities.

Based on those thoughts alone, Sebastian felt like he should be grateful to have found himself still in Hogwarts, as safe as he could be, but he wasn't.

He missed his routine, his life, his friends. He had disappointed Ominis, but he would give anything to hear his voice now, even if he yelled at him, to see Anne even if she did not want to see him, to read their old letters over and over again, to accompany her on whatever adventure she was setting out on. Heck , he wanted to hear Headmaster Black's voice scolding him for his horrible detention record, listen to Poppy ramble about her dear magical creatures, see Garreth blow up his potions, and even wanted to hear Imelda complain about Quidditch being cancelled. He missed it all.

He spent some time there alone — he did not know whether it was minutes or hours — weeping silently to himself. His wrists copiously moved to his eyes in a weak attempt to dry his tears, which kept falling nonetheless, undaunted, wetting his cardigan and shirt and skin.

Sebastian had always prided himself in his capacity to bottle up emotions, to avoid the crying and instead channelling those goopy feelings into something more useful, like studying or spellcasting. That had backfired, and Sebastian had to learn, awfully, that doing that didn't mean those emotions wouldn't force their way out in a way or another, and after what had happened in the Catacombs, where his feelings had exploded in the worst way imaginable, he had reluctantly decided that crying alone was the best way to let them flow naturally. With that and everything that had happened to him within a few weeks, not to mention the previous events, he felt overwhelmed.

He hated it.

After drying his tears as best he could, hoping that no one would notice his glistening eyes or swollen face, he decided to leave the Undercroft and find Ron and Hermione again; they were to give him his timetable, as he would join their class starting the next day. That was before he abandoned them.

He stepped out of the room and froze in his steps. You were sitting on the ground just outside, back against the wall, focused on your textbook. You looked up once you heard a noise, and saw a dishevelled and surprised Sebastian staring straight at you.

"Oh, well, hello again, new fifth-year!" You smiled politely.

He cursed under his breath, turning his face away slightly and rubbing the back of his hand under his nose again, in case any stray tears were still present.

"'Didn't know about another secret passage in the school," you continued, apparently ignoring his actions, before muttering to yourself, "It wasn't on the Map."

"Map?" he said in a rough, unfamiliar voice, surprising even himself.

You examined him, a quizzical expression on your face. "Have you been crying?" you asked bluntly, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Great job, Sebastian. Perfect disguise.

He felt his cheeks warm up, and he turned away again. "No... not at all." He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to switch up the conversation when his eyes fell on your book. "What are you reading?"

You frowned slightly, obviously not believing him, but understanding that he wasn't willing to talk about it, and looked back at your book. "My Herbology book. Ron gave it back to me at lunch. Finally, I’d say."

Sebastian paused for a moment, unsure whether it was appropriate to ask about what happened in the corridor, but then he felt that ache again, right above his navel, and the words slipped from his mouth without restraint. "Did you two—"

"Don't." You interrupted him and averted your eyes, staring down at the cover musingly. "Don't bring it up again. That was already embarrassing as it was."

Sebastian stayed quiet, his eyes never leaving your form. He would very much have liked to just plunge into your brain at that moment and make himself at home there.

Perhaps he needed to add 'Learn Legilimency' to his to-do list.

"How so?" he asked at length, quite stupidly, he realised.

"I lost my temper," you said simply, and forced your eyes back towards him. Your next words seemed to eject out of your mouth painfully, like they were unfamiliar to you, and it took a while for you to utter them. You sighed, "I— I suppose… I owe you an apology."

An apology never felt so forced and so sincere at the same time. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"I do. It wasn't the best impression I made of myself." Your lips parted as you leaned your head back on the wall. "I suppose I have to apologise to Ron as well — properly, I mean."

Sebastian stayed quiet, observing you curiously. Why were you telling him all that? "I... suppose," he uttered, not knowing what else to say. That appeared to be enough for you because you didn't even seem to acknowledge his words.

"He was looking for you, you know? Hermione, too. They said they needed to give you your schedule."

"Ah, yes, they mentioned that before," said Sebastian, glad to change the topic. "I’ll meet them promptly then, I was—"

"—Too busy hiding in a place no one else knew about," you continued for him.

That made him still in his steps, a chill running down his spine. Your eyes met: his open wide, yours unwavering and daring him to contradict your statement.

Perhaps the previous topic was way better.

"I just..." Come on, Sebastian, think!

"I just stumbled upon it!"

Usually he was one to conjure lies out of thin air, but being around you made his brain seem to melt. Sebastian thought that it was because he didn't really want to lie to you, or perhaps it was because, with the way your eyes pierced him, he felt as if you already knew all his secrets, all his lies, and you certainly wouldn't be fooled, not even if he made up a whole story full of intricacies and chapters worth publishing.

He knew, however, that the answer was neither, and it lay deeper than anything he was willing to admit to himself so loudly that he had to face it.

"Right."

You closed your book and stood up, facing him. He couldn't read your expression properly, but he felt his body start to uncharacteristically shrivel at the intensity with which you stared him down. He was in Ron's place.

"Strange, isn’t it? how the new student suddenly stumbles upon a secret room on his first day — a room not even Fred and George know about."

You had spoken that last part quietly, as if only to yourself. In fact, Sebastian didn’t know who Fred and George were at all. And, frankly, he didn't want to. "What can I say? I’m full of surprises," he replied smoothly.

"Or full of lies." You hadn’t missed a beat.

It was frightening how easily you had switched back to the girl he had met in the corridor. And he pitied it. And he liked it. And perhaps he was a fool for liking it, and an even bigger fool for pitying it. "I didn’t know it was illegal to be in this room," he said, scowling.

"Illegal? Oh, not at all. But certainly unusual for someone who has supposedly never set foot in this school before."

You took a step towards him, and he had to fight the urge to take one back himself. There was something wrong in the air — something goopy and misty and heavy, penetrating his skin like Mallowsweet fumes, inebriating and dizzying and frighteningly close to losing control. He had only felt it once, in Hogsmeade nonetheless. Electric and impatient, but, now, shrouded. That day, it had been galvanising. Now it was almost shy — almost… veiled.

"Hermione told me that she barely only took you through the first two floors. You're not even supposed to know about the classroom's whereabouts, and yet you seem all too comfortable with your surroundings," you continued, unaware.

He felt his heartbeat accelerate. Why did you have to be so inquisitive? Was he supposed to tell you the truth now?

Dumbledore’s voice came back to his mind: "...unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I don’t know what you're talking about. It was an accident, as I said," replied Sebastian in a poor attempt to reason again, knowing full well you wouldn't believe him.

"Certainly a convenient one." He twitched involuntarily, like he had just got a shock. The corners of your lips lifted in a sneer. "You are an interesting case... Sebastian, was it?"

He nodded hesitantly and narrowed his eyes, baffled at your countenance and your confounding words. An interesting case?

You shuffled on your feet in a nimble movement and pressed your back against the wall again, leaning onto it. "Don’t forget to show me that room sometime, too."

"And why would I do that?" Sebastian was growing impatient at your behaviour, while some part of him was thrilled at your nonchalance. The more you bantered with him, teasing him like that, the more he felt his stomach flutter. He hated himself for it.

He felt a sudden urge to leave. To run to his Common Room, or back into the Great Hall, where the noise cramming his ears would be enough to shut down each and any possible much-too-loud beat of his heart, as if the mere sound of those tiny pulses would beguile him into wandering proscribed feelings. A deceit of his own body he wasn't willing to face, not even through his love of the forbidden. The hunger and ache had to stay just that: mere curiosity, more about her and her family than you.

But he stayed in the silence of the corridor, with a loud pounding noise in his ears.

"Because it would be a shame if other people in, let’s see, higher power were to know about it, too, wouldn’t it?" You moved a hand through your hair to push it back, clearing your vision, and Sebastian watched as your locks fell around your face, a twinge in his chest. "Although I do believe Professor Flitwick would love to have another room for his choir practice. Is there a good acoustic in it?" You peered over his shoulder and towards the now closed door with a playful smile, clearly only teasing him, but the way the light fell on the tresses framing your visage was a bit too familiar to him. His mind stalled for a moment, and he didn't want those beats to stop anymore.

"Why do you care about this room so much?" Sebastian shifted his weight, now taking a step forward as well, and your eyes flickered down when you perceived the movement. Your lip twitched a bit.

"Why do you?" You simply replied, shrugging. "A secret room is a secret room. Don't you want to be a proper new student and get in good with the Professors?"

Sebastian felt his stomach boil at your singsong tone. "That seems to be more of a Gryffindor trait."

"Is it? And how much does a supposed stranger know about our Houses?"

His breath hitched and his resolve crumbled immediately at your quick retort. Sebastian warmed all over and stilled in his steps, feeling a bit too heavy on his legs. The image of the girl who lost her temper in the corridor was the one he had expected to evoke, pity even, yet she was nowhere to be found as your half-lidded gaze stared at him impishly.

"Besides," you continued, clearly feeding off his reaction with increasing confidence. "You should really get to know your Slytherin peers a bit more. Hopefully you won't become like them, but alas if you do, you'll end up snitching on this place yourself."

The thrill gradually disappeared, replaced by unadulterated annoyance. He found himself lowering his head, and he glared down at you, heart pounding in his ears. Your eyes stayed unwavering in his, though Sebastian noticed your crossed arms tightening marginally around your chest. "You can only wish to be like us," he hissed.

As you lifted an eyebrow daringly, he stepped forward again, finally free of that marbly perception that had spread through his body at your mockery, and towered over you. You tilted your head up, eyes never leaving his, the red and gold making them stand out in a way that only sent a new wave of anger through Sebastian's bones.

You could only wish to be like her.

"My dream in life."

Your voice rustled softly against your teeth, stretching with the smirk you wore, daring him to retort again. Sebastian felt it spread before he could even process your words entirely, burning through his guts all the way up to his trembling hands. That hunger. Craving. Ache. And something else — something that made the corners of his mouth tingle and his head tilt forward slightly more. He inhaled deeply from his nose, breathing out gratingly, air straining against his throat.

"Shall I serve as your future proxy and tell the faculty about it now?" you continued, voice glottal and purring, faring on the satisfaction of his heavy breathing on your face. "Might save you time ahead."

A low chuckle left his lips. "Even if you told the faculty about it, I could always pretend you were the one who showed it to me and kept it a secret all this time. After all, I am the new student, aren’t I?"

He grinned to himself as your smile fell slightly, squinting as you looked at him, but it only lasted a moment before you spoke again.

"And why, pray tell, would anyone believe that I would fraternise with a Slytherin enough to show said person a secret room?" You leaned your head on the side, and Sebastian’s heart jumped again. "And why would I turn myself in, given I would have, supposedly, kept my room hidden for five years?"

"It's my room," replied Sebastian lowly, instinctually, voice slightly trembling, blood rising to his head. Despite the height difference, he was starting to feel smaller and smaller every time you spoke, crushing his resolve word by word. It made him shrivel. "I knew it before. You're not welcome in it, nor is it any of your business."

"You knew it before," you repeated blankly, like you didn't care. "So you’re admitting to having learnt about this place already?"

What?

A heartbeat, a glint in your irises, and Sebastian's heart dropped pathetically as he realised he had given you exactly what you had been searching for — what you had wanted him to admit all this time. He shifted his weight back, leaning away from you. "No, I never said—"

"—I believe the Professors know about your true history — especially Dumbledore, you can't trick that one — so I know they won’t be fooled," you continued undaunted to shut each and every one of his possible retorts. "Plus, even if you told them that lie after I snitched on this place, they’d still let it go and take control of this room — Filch in particular. I won’t get into trouble just for keeping an insignificant room secret, but you would lose your special place."

His mouth fell open, for once at a loss for words. He could only stay silent as you threatened to reveal his hidden spot with that undeterred ragging tone of yours. Sebastian would usually brush off any threat against him, especially if it involved getting the help of teachers of all people — he was known for breaking rules on any occasion — but he couldn't ignore your words. He knew you had no idea how much that room meant to him; would you have cared if he told you? Would you have taken your words back? Why would he care if you had? He had promised himself to stay away from you, and that was exactly what he was planning to do. This conversation had gone on for too long.

"Who—Who says it's my special place?" Sebastian tried to salvage it, although his disingenuous and trembling voice betrayed him almost immediately.

"You reek of dust and humidity," you said with a satisfied smile, as if insouciantly waiting to shake his hand after your checkmate. "As if you've spent a lot of time in there just now. Also, no student in Hogwarts with more than a pea for a brain would ever refuse the comfort of a secret room no one has discovered yet."

You had deduced it... by his smell?

Sebastian had still been processing when you gathered your things and looked back at him, breaking into a genuine smile. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, and mind you, there are a lot of them in this school, so you'd better get used to it."

The corner of his lips quirked up against his will, heart gradually slowing down again. "Well, you did just threaten me in a way."

You chuckled — an unfeigned, carefree chuckle with no malicious hint — and shrugged. "I was never going to snitch on you, that would have been incongruous. I just wanted to see how this would go."

"I don't follow," he said at length, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow at that. "Were you just playing with me?"

Sebastian didn't know why he had asked. It had been quite clear since you started talking that you had only run rings around him like he was a bloody amateur. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks in chagrin. You averted your eyes with a smile still on your face, and Sebastian wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or annoyed.

"Call it an investigation." You raised your hands in surrender. "I’m no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but..."

"Sherlock who?"

"He... Never mind." You shook your head, and looked back at him for a moment, biting your lip as if facing a conundrum. You sighed. "The thing is, from your perspective my threat should've appeared empty, or unfounded, because, as you said, the Professors would have believed that I was the one who showed you the room, as a more experienced student."

Sebastian listened intently, growing more confused the more you spoke. "Wait, so—"

"So, if you had nothing to hide and had really just found out about the room, you would've been less... defensive ," you explained, and Sebastian found no contempt in your voice: it was neutral, a bit excited maybe, but not mocking — perhaps only a little condescending, he noted bitterly. "Or, more specifically, you would have been defensive about me being out of line rather than about the room itself — more annoyed , I believe, at the fact that I got all up in your personal business uninvited."

The way you spoke, with unalloyed certitude and indisputable pride — though with an almost riveting aspect in your self-assurance, if he dared to admit it — seemed almost preposterous to Sebastian.

"Also," you continued, "if you had really stumbled upon it so easily, you would've been more shocked about the fact that no one else in the school had, wouldn't you?"

That actually... Made sense.

“What if I were just a new student who had accidentally found a room,” began Sebastian hesitantly, although he couldn't stop himself from being rather dazzled — and envious. And definitely ill at ease at your aptitude at reading people — him specifically. “And had completely panicked when another more experienced student threatened to reveal me as if I had done something horribly wrong?”

You looked at him, eyes shifting between his right and left one in a sequence. “Yeah,” you finally countenanced with a blithe nod. “That would have been perfectly plausible, too.”

Sebastian’s face fell, exasperated beyond measure. He suddenly felt a wave of lassitude wash over him and let out a world-weary sigh that earned him a small smile from you.

"Just know that you don't know me as much as you think you do," he said at length.

“I don’t know you at all,” you confirmed with a bright smile. “But I definitely enjoyed this. "

You pointed between the two of you, and Sebastian faltered, following your hand with his eyes for a moment before his gaze fixed on you again. "What?"

"It's just… I didn't lose my temper this time, and... well — it was sort of... nice."

Nice. The word you had used was nice. Sebastian found it anything but that: it had been humiliating to say the least. But again, he was the loser.

"You didn't lose your temper alright," said Sebastian, looking away. "Though we may need to get even on that."

Your eyebrows lifted and you broke into a giggle. "Yeah, perhaps. Even if I'm sure I'm not as much of a smooth talker when you’re not in… well… emotional distress."

To his own surprise, Sebastian smiled back, genuinely and widely and almost tenderly, letting his chest tingle freely and a little more than needed. "So you took advantage of me."

"That I did." You nodded at him. "It’s a pleasure doing business with you." And with that, you started to walk away, leaving him stunned but smiling in the middle of the corridor.

"Ah, before I go," you suddenly added, turning around and walking backwards, and his eyes shot to you once more; "last time I saw Ron and Hermione, they were near the Grand Staircase, on the second floor. If I meet them, I’ll send them to you."

You waved at him and turned around, walking down the stairs and disappearing from his sight.

[Read more]

Taglist:

@lovely-maryj @yuzuhasbae @mosf13 @rbfacee @prichuchan-blog @h0neeyy @lina-prongs @moonlightsolo @ninicol @gayandfairycore @nanako-sakura @epicy0n @shiro-from-cafeberry

(I'm having trouble tagging some of you, sorry :( )

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jacaerysgf · 1 year

Text

Summary: Your friend was invited to a party and she begs you to tag along. While at the party they decide to play truth or dare and your friend knowing you have a crush on the cute guy from your english class, gives you a stupid dare.

pairing: Ethan Landry × gn!reader Drabble

warnings: alternate universe where there's no ghostface or whatever. I've never seen a scream movie before but i like ethan, oc best friend, cursing, making out.

a/n: not my usual fandom but i was just inspired to write this

PART TWO !!

While staring at your best friend in betrayal all you can think about how much you regret coming.

Only just hours ago you remember sitting on your bed on the phone with your best friend mars while she ranted to you about how much she wanted you to come. "pleeeeeeeeeeeee ease." you roll your eyes, "i don't feel like it mars."

"ugh," you can hear her shuffling through the phone, "just come with me please? for me?" "mars..." "'Il write that english paper youve been dreading for you." "Fine."

You two arrive at the party and you just follow her around the whole time. You notice than is here. The guy who sits next to you during english who you just so happen to have a major crush on. You've never spoken other than him asking if you have an extra pen during class after he forgot his one time. When he gave it back to you he has this charming grin on his face and you fell instantly.

He's standing next to another guy, you think his name is chad? You cant be bothered to care when he looks in your direction and notices you and your stare, his face flushes as he looks down at the cup in his hand. You turn away and look towards your friend whos giving you a suspicious grin. "what." "go talk to him." "no way."

she shakes her head at you and turns away that grin still on her face and you dont like it.

now you know why you didn't like it. Someone had suggested you guys play truth or dare like fucking children and when it happens to be your turn and guess who happens to be the one giving you the dare. "I dare you to..... sit in the pantry for seven minutes, ill send someone into join you." Fucking mars.

You knew who she would send it, "unless you're a pussy." you glared at her as everyone oo'ed. You huff as you get up and walk towards the pantry and slam it behind you dreading the inevitable.

the closet is small yet you keep your back turned towards the door. Its only maybe a minute before the door opens and you feel another presence enter as mars shouts, "Seven minutes starts... now!" You feel a warm body press against yours as the door slams shut.

You don't turn you dont even look before you begin to speak. "Im sorry." Theres a moment of silence, "For what?" Its him. "My friend mars, she's..... She's probably making you do this im sorry." He probably doesn't even know your name and now she has you standing your backside pressed against him.

"No she isn't making me do this." Now this confuses you as you turn your body, you back side brushing against his front and he whimpers slightly as you face him. "What."

His body gets warmer as if to reflect how embarrassed he feels, "She asked if there was anyone who wants to go in there with you." no way. "and you volunteered." you look at him the best you can in the dark as he avoids your face. "Yes."

"Why?" He pauses for a brief moment, "i've always thought you were gorgeous." Your breathe gets caught in your throat. "I've always wanted to talk to you you know since we sit next to each other but i've never known how to start a conversation so when i got this opportunity i just wanted to be near you-" He's rambling so You kiss him.

Once his initial shock wares off he takes your face into his hands eagerly as he kisses you back. you press him back against the door and he hums in delight. "One more minute love birds!" Its chad voice you think. You pull back out of breath, "Ethan-" he slams his lips back against yours, when you press your body against his he whimpers and hums. you hold him against you as theres a knock on the door,

"times up lovebirds make sure you're clothed because im going to open to the door." Ethan pulls away from the door and you two look at each other in daze.

as the door opens you move to whisper in his ear "We'll finish this later." as you spin him around and walk pantry with a satisfied look on your face. "You're welcome you bitch.

#ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry #scream six #scream vi #scream #ethan landry drabble

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fic-heaven · 17 days

Note

Enemies to lovers with König and witty reader? I don't know if you also write about him so imma leave this here

Answering two anons at the same time lmao

Say my name (König x witty! Reader)

Pt.2 now!

🐥 The first time König appeared on my drafts was when I was making my last Reyes x Reader fic and um... I kind of wanted to keep doing lmao so here it is. Sorry for my broken English-

Angst/ SOCIAL ANXIETY/ slight nsfw/ open ending (if you guys want a part two and this short gets some attention)

⚠️ I still picture König as Lee Pace ⚠️

They say you transfered from SpecGru to KorTac because you simply wanted a change of airs. But it couldn't be that simple. Why were you so simple?

As antisocial as he seemed to be, König was well aware that a bond between teammates was needed in order to sync and function properly during missions. He wasn't the best at striking up conversations and never intended to improve on this aspect either, often trying to figure people out from the distance, he only approached them if he had questions about their character. Horangi once said it was weird but König frankly didn't care about what was socially accepted or not, he just made the effort to know his team because it was expected of him, and as great as it would be to have friends, he struggled socializing and had given up trying ages ago. König was paid to kill, not to make friends. And as far as his interactions went with his teammates, the only one who gets his game and could be considered his friend is Horangi. But you?

He had tried to investigate you, even going as far as using his position as colonel to gather as much information from your background to understand you without having to make any awkward approach. But nothing he found explained why you changed factions or why you behaved the way you did. You had a normal childhood, went to a good school, graduated being top of your class... Jesus you had a rabbit called Mr. Whiskers, even the deepest info given was borely normal. No trace of trauma or any mental disorder.

König begun studying you like a biologist would to a newfound species and got more and more invested and frustrated the more information he gathered, because he simply couldn't excuse your... Well, your everything.

He approaches you one time during morning drills, looks you up and down as you stretched, ignores the flirty comment you shot his way, because what the fuck is your problem? You don't know him. Then König proceeded to mouth the first thing he ever said to you, one of the main questions he had on his head as to why you would behave so strangely. And it goes like this: "Do you have any mental illness, hm?"

"I might have, yeah."

And you said it so casually. Do you, though? Are you being sarcastic or... God he hates you. Why can't he figure you out!? Why do you smile at him so much? Why do you flirt so much with him? Do you flirt with the others the way you do with him?

That new question made him observe your body language around others and listen carefully to any interaction you had and found nothing but your enchanting witty self. Of course you teased other members, but never so bluntly like the way you flirt with him. The colonel felt weirdly relieved at this. Maybe he liked the attention given? Scratch that, or course not!

One time after a tiring mission in Barcelona, Spain, König approached you with a bottle of water, you thanked him with a wink and he watched you swallow the whole thing before he proceeded to ask you the second question that plagued his mind: "Do you perhaps hide some secret trauma that permanently changed your behaviour, using sarcasm, smirks and jokes to protect your scared inner child in order to not get hurt again?"

"Hmmm... The day I found out my mother was Santa Claus I went bananas, but I wouldn't say it scarred me for life. Do ya want an M&M, colonel?"

He fucking hates you. He hates you. König aggressively snatched a handful of M&M's and stormed away. That night he swore he could hear your laugh echoing inside his head. Why couldn't you leave his fucking mind? What was it with you? Were you doing it on purpose?

_____

You were definitely doing it on purpose.

You have to be patient with König. But he was so hilarious and scary, it thrilled you to watch the two meter tall behemoth of a man walk near you and sneak watchful, calculated glances your way when he thought you weren't looking. If someone dared to ask, you'd easily answer with the honesty everyone knew you posses: You'd fuck König without a thought.

He's so feral in battle, so demanding and intimidating on the comms. His ridiculous voice made him all the more adorable contrasting with his appearance. Oh fuck that. Even his appearance was ridiculous, he looked like the red guy from that creepy show called "Don't hug me, I'm scared" or one of those executioners from the Shrek movie. But he was HOT, with that slutty waist accentuated by his bulky back, those long slender arms that could lift anything on his way, you saw him lift a fucking car a few inches so an injured woman could scape, and as she cried of relief you could feel your pussy crying as well at the sight. And oh his hands... The way he used them, so elegantly but rough, they'd make a beautiful necklace. His voice, as unfitting as it sounded coming from this KorTac monster, made you itch to hear more, his accent was so attractive that it quickly made you addicted to sound of it and your brain pondered on how he'd sound while doing other things. Lucky you, when the stars aligned and you two coincided in the gym you made sure to be close enough to hear the quiet grunts and sighs from the colonel as he trained, to your surprise he never moved away as if he knew what you were doing and thought nothing much of it. Safe to say, you'd gladly eat whatever interaction König graced you with with a speck of salt.

Though, when you begun paying attention to the details (because it was hard to guess his thoughts without seeing his face) You noticed a few things about the colonel that indicated he had a severe case of social anxiety. The way he self isolated, how he forced himself to interact with people resulting in very awkward conversations that led to him coming up as rude to what he got frustrated and scaped the scene, how he loved his job because you were convinced that he thought he was only good at killing. That made you wonder if he had other hobbies... It's funny to imagine a tall, muscly guy like him baking or making origamis.

______

Today you saw the ultimate signal that your big crush wasn't a people's person.

You two were on a meeting with some other KorTac members. König was peeling an apple and had finished it rather quickly as all of you spoke, but he spent ten minutes with the remnants of the fruit slowly browning and drying on his hand, so you decided to test your theory by walking to the near trash can to throw a random paper you crumbled quickly, after a few seconds König abruptly stood up to throw the dried fruit remnant, the tall Austrian glanced your way before he sat again and kept to himself. Okay, so judging by this and how stiff he looks, König doesn't know exactly what to do with his body around people, he needed an excuse to stand up and throw the finished apple so he waited for anyone to use the trash can to go after, BUT he waited a few seconds to stand so he wouldn't look like he was waiting. Must be stressful to be on his shoes. Interesting, but maybe you were overthinking too much, so you decided to do a final test that would definitely tell you if what you thought was right. You didn't want to come to this unless it was really necessary... You'll probably have to apologize later.

You directed all the attention to König by asking a number of things, (obviously work related) that caught the attention of everyone in the room taking the poor colonel by surprise, his cristal blue eyes widened for a minute before he composed himself answering everything you asked with a professional tone until you spotted the tremble on his hands, poor König noticed your attention drift to his hands so he slid them under the table. That's how you knew it. He couldn't handle being the center of attention for prolonged amounts of time. Your poor baby...

You gave him a sympathetic look that again took him by surprise, but by that time König had called the meeting over, gathered his things and walked out before you could approach him.

Damn you and your stupid beautiful voice and worried eyes trying to comfort him discreetly.

Gloved hands fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist. König remembers the little girl who gifted him said thing. The day him and his team rescued her and some other orphans from a building about to explode, the worried colonel spent a few minutes comforting the little girl until she pulled the orange bracelet from her small SpongeBob backpack, he chuckled at the gesture and had never taken it off since. They even shared some letters from time to time, he held a piece of little Astrid in the form of a cute bracelet and she held a piece of him in the form of sweet spoken letters.

König saw her kind eyes in yours and it squeezed his heart so much he felt suffocated. Why would a teasing little vixen like you have such kind, gorgeous eyes? It was weirdly comforting that someone would look at him so softly like he wasn't a monster for once after so long.

His heart begun beating faster, his head was so full of questions about you it infuriated him. Long legs carried the colonel to the gym absentmindedly, like his body craved to ease some tension, but at the last minute he turned to the left corridor further from the gym, went to the right and finally approached the shooting range's door.

"Scheibe..." König cursed lowly, he could have very well bursted the door out of it's hinges, his gloved hand (still a bit shaky) took his favorite riffle from the top right corner of the shelf while he shot a backward kick to push the metallic door closed. He spent fourteen minutes shooting targets while mauling at your last interaction, rage swirled his insides and yet he couldn't fully hate you for asking questions, after all it was work-related, and the last soft gaze you gave him spoke volumes that you didn't want to advert all the attention to him out of malice. König was reloading his sniper rifle when he heard a gentle thud indicating someone had entered the room.

"You'd make an amazing sniper." You spoke softly trying not to startle him.

"You come to mock me? Laugh all you like. I'm well aware I'm too huge to be a sniper." He spoke in resentment over his shoulder before redirecting his focused gaze to the target ahead.

"I always say size doesn't matter! As long as you know how to handle your weapon, you'll make any girl blush."

Your dark humour takes König by surprise and he misses the dummy's head, he tries to hold back the chuckle that threatened to spill from his hidden lips. Luckily the shirt he wore as a mask shielded his face enough to make it look like he was holding in a cough or a sneeze but you weren't stupid. When he turns to face you placing the riffle to the near table he gets startled by how close you are, the smirk accompanying your lips as you weaseled close to his very sacred personal space made him curse lowly in his mother's tongue. The tall Austrian stepped back and you rose your hands in mocking defeat.

"Alright, I get it, personal space. Jus' wanted to hear ya laugh..."

"I didn't." He hisses.

"Didn't ya? I thought I heard it, must have been the wind."

Your sarcasm often infuriated König who never seemed to get a good grip on his English, so it was hard for him to detect when you were being serious or just pulling his leg. His hands flex on his sides, tiny waist move side to side as he balances his weight before he crosses his arms and leans his back to the wall. König raises a brow when your smirk morphed into a sincere apologetic smile as you admired his stance six feet apart from him.

"I'm sorry for what happened back there." You said honestly, he sucked in a breath. "Didn't want t' put ya on the spot."

The Colonel's cerulean eyes widen in surprise before directing his gaze to your tank top blinking rapidly. It was easier to listen if he wasn't looking directly at your eyes. "König..." Your voice was honey making shivers run up his spine and his skin erupt in goosebumps, his hands trembled even when he fisted them on his crossed stance. "Why don't we start again? Call me paranoid, but I feel like there's tension between us and not the type I'd like."

König wasn't shy, he wasn't, but that last line of yours made him feel like it, and it wasn't an ugly feeling? But it was a little uncomfortable, foreign, it squeezed his heart in a suffocating way, his hands were clammy, he felt weirdly light like if it wasn't for his tapping foot on the floor he'd float away. König understood what you were saying and it comforted him that you were on the same page, the weird unsteadiness between the two of you becoming rather unbearable and a constant topic on both your minds, it was relieving that you thought the same way. Suddenly the ugly anger he had for you quieted down.

The colonel lifted his hand your way offering you a handshake you took with mirth.

"I'm colonel König. Y-you are...?"

"Goddamn. Ain't your parents bit' egotistical? Namin' their baby boy 'king' in their native language." You say with a snicker shaking his hand. He takes it back abruptly but you don't flinch. "I'm Sargeant (c/n). My name is (y/n) (l/n). Is König the name written on your birth certificate or were you called somethin' else?" You press.

König is taken aback by this. When was the last time someone had asked the colonel his name?

"I am..." It tasted foreign on his tongue, like he had forgotten the sound of it, the taste of his own name on his tongue. "My name is Andreas Dobler. That's... That's my name." His name wasn't König, he remembers the man he left behind all those years back, the man under the dark cloak. Before things went to shit, before becoming colonel König.

"Andreas. What a curious name, never heard of it-"

"Say my name again." König interrupts. His voice weak but demanding and desperate. He loved it. He loved the sound of his name on your lips. It was strange, sweet... Arousing, even.

You blinked angling your head up to take a better look at his half-lid eyes. This time König didn't look away, your eyes met and suddenly the ugly tension from before was morphing into another type of tension, your heart beats faster in sync with his. You didn't know you were getting closer until König placed a hand on your waist and then the other, not pushing, not pulling, he simply laid them there and it came so naturally, your playful smile wavered slightly as your hands landed on his shoulders, he shivers. You tilted your head to the side and he was so lost in you, your aroma, your eyes, your lips, your touch, he didn't realize he was returning the head tilt.

Your lips parted, pink tongue darting to hydrate your dry lips until your pearls were visible from the gap, and his eyes catch every movement your mouth makes when you whisper "Andreas."

"Again."

"Andreas-"

"Again..."

"...Andreas..." Your hands slowly move to his chest, his breath hitches. His name has never sounded so sensual whispered by anyone's mouth. You were... You...

"You..." He isn't sure what to say. You are not sure either, suddenly your wit has abandoned you it seems. "You intrigue me." He decides to huff out, accent heavily pronounced.

There's a thousand thoughts swirling on König's mind, he has shared his name but it suddenly didn't feel enough, he wanted to show you who he was, his past, his thoughts, his hopes and dreams, even his face. How can a simple woman like you make König feel so much? Because you were no simple woman. That's why when he felt your small hands slide up his chest to the hem of the shirt that composed his mask, König didn't tense up, in fact, his shoulders relaxed embracing the touch of your fingers gently feeling his neck under the cloth, his stubble, his chin, his high cheeks... Gloved hands grab your wrists.

You stop, still looking up at him noticing the heaving of his chest and how lost in awe his gaze seemed.

"Not yet?"

"I-i... Do not..." Mind. He didn't want to refuse your touch but at the same time it was so overwhelming.

You give a small nod, König lets go of your wrists and you take this opportunity to nuzzle his cheeks, he gasps landing his hands on your waist once more, squeezing the flesh over your tank top. The feeling of your fingers on his face was so foreign it felt like you were touching a piece of his soul.

"Don't you worry, darling..." König lets out a small whimper at this. "I'm rushing things ain' I? We were just getting on the first name basis and I had to screw it all..." You wanted to sound apologetic, you promise, but it was so hard when your colonel was practically purring at the feeling of your soft hands scratching his stubble.

König was putty on your hands, he has never felt this way. His cheeks burn in embarrassment, he tries to move back but remembers he's already against the wall, and you, a small thing like you have him cornered like a honey badger hunting a lion. His lip wobbles and he tilts his head to the side as he feels your hands massage and explore his neck and jaw in long, gentle motions.

"Shy lil' thing... Aren't you pretty hiding under there? Maybe you are too beautiful to allow anyone the pleasure of a simple look. Like a sweet Ferrero Roche firmly wrapped and ready to be eaten." You whisper, voice raspy before you chuckle when his Adam's apple bobs with a swallow. Your body is now pressed compleatly against his, your dear colonel's hands tremble on your sides as he fists your tank top. He's nervous, he's shy, but you know he is enjoying this judging by the way his teary, half-lid eyes blink slowly every time you feel a new inch of skin.

"...Sag bitte mehr, ich flehe dich an..." (Say more please, I beg you.) König moans out, his german accent so strong masking how weak he was feeling at the moment.

He loved your voice, your touch... Your everything. The colonel ran his fingers on your lower back encouraging to continue, meanwhile he very slowly tilted his head higher allowing you more space on his neck to massage and scratch. You chuckle darkly feeling his member poking at your belly, your body instantly pressing harder against his cornered torso.

"You like the sound of my voice, colonel?" You humm, he makes a small noise. "Andreas...?"

His shoulders shake with the force of his shiver, nails digging deliciously on your lower back, you chuckle delighted at the sight tilting his chin to the other side to feel his nape, his ear and some locks of hair. "ich begehre dich..." The Austrian groans, his member now fully erect twitched delighted by the delicious pressure of your torso against it and your soft ministrations to his neck.

Both your radios churr alive until a voice breaks the static, a random operator checking on the comms. König almost knocks you over with how fast he straightened his back and the way his strong grip held you back, his chest heaving fast, eyes wide and vulnerable. You take the opportunity to grab him by the hem of the shirt he uses as a mask.

"Wait-..."

König freezes when he feels cold air hit the heated skin from his neck. You had lifted a portion of the cloth revealing the part you were previously massaging, caressing and scratching. His head moves up to the side trying to hide from your touch, his hands shoot backwards planting on the wall as if a force had taken them from the previous grip he had on you.

"I hope you can forgive me colonel... Can't help it..."

There's a long gash on his neck, a very old scar that seemed to be product of a knife fight or even a bullet, it's crocked and it goes up probably to his right ear. You lean close on tiptoes because he couldn't crouch due to how shocked he still felt, and you planted your wet lips on the surface of the sensitive scar. König's throat rumbles with a groan, his powerful hands finally make the move to take you, to cage your body impossible closer to his. A hard roll of his hips make him gasp in relief and you loudly huff when he handles you to where he was previously caged, his hands soon making small effort to lift you up, both legs wrapped around his waist and he THRUSTS. You are still kissing, licking and nibbling his neck, your hands exploring the long bulky surface of his back, König moans delighted at one particular bite until-

"Shit."

König turned his head back so fast you are sure his neck is rotatory, two pairs of eyes look in shock at Horangi who is standing there holding the rifle König had previously left before all of this happened. Your colonel was frozen in embarrassment his shaking hands still held you up and his boner was no longer stabbing you, the thing died at the speed of light.

"Jesus Christ. You gonna keep staring or you wanna join us, tiger?"

König snaps his head back at you comically fast, icy eyes glare in surprise, horror and astonishment.

"As fun as that sounds I'll leave you two to your games... 'sides, I don't think you'll be able to handle König alone, imagine the two of us. We'd ruin you." The Korean's response made you laugh enchanted with his wit, he walked out the door in quick strides leaving you two alone once more.

König huffs glaring at the wall behind you. The sudden unwelcome presence of his friend seemed to had robbed the magic from the moment. Your Colonel's body shagged slowly lowering your body, and the moment your heels touched the ground his head leaned down falling to the crock of your neck, the feeling of the warm cloth of his mask made you humm. He kissed your clavicle over his mask and you ran your hands to his shoulders until König slowly retrieved.

He took two steps back, with a very noticeable defeated look.

"Hey. We can keep going whenever yer up to. Don't look at me like that, sweet thing." Your voice carried a playfulness that comforted him from the sudden feeling of defeat.

König couldn't meet your eyes, his voice was shaky "I'm just not like this-..."

"Andreas-"

"DON'T -...!" He barked, startling you both.

It was too much, too sudden, too weird, too suffocating. He liked it at first but... König couldn't put into words what he was feeling right now. He hated that the moment was cut short, he hated that he felt like it was his fault and he hated the way you are looking at him with so much concern like when you two were at the meeting.

"Verzeihen Sie mir." He muttered giving you a final short glance before he rushed out of the place leaving the door open and your startled self still leaning on the wall.

You recognized those words even if you didn't know much of German.

"Forgive me." You translated in a whisper.

Will you?

#call of duty modern warfare #cod #witty reader #konig x reader #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader angst

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potential-fool · 1 year

Note

Im having some serious simp hours so I am requesting a request

Valorant, Yoru, Chamber, Sova, reader who is absolutely in love with their voice. Could listen to them 10/10 all day every day! And dirty talk? Would do anything they ask ngl

Bonus points for mixing english and their native tongue

P.S. pls tag me or ill never find this amazing post T_T i beg thee

@squiddaloo

A/N: Omg this literally this. I like the way you think >:) I will be using google translate for some of the other languages so uh... apologies to any native speakers. ;-; also omg I was writing this and all I could think of was the song "Maria" from West Side Story ifykyk and final note, I ended up doing this in a fade tp black style since you didn't specify whether you wanted it to be smutty or not <3

Tags: Established relationship, GN reader, dirty talk, suggestive talking, denial, hurt comfort

The Sound of Your Voice: Valorant x Reader

Yoru [Ryu Kiritani]

He's a simp, an egotistical one though he refuses to admit he's a simp

your voice though? Oh boy, that's when all bets are off

He wants to be the only one allowed to hear your voice

The two of you were out in the living area of the Valorant Protocol, you were leaned up against your boyfriend, it was a quiet day, a little blessing in disguise as most days were long and hectic. Today though, today was quiet, peaceful.

You hummed a small song, the gentle notes in your throat growing into soft lyrics that escaped your lips. You were too distracted by the lyrics to notice that Ryu had opened a gate in the direction of your shared room.

"あなたはとても美しいですね..." [You sound so beautiful]

You paused for a moment, looking up in the direction of your loved one.

"Ryuuuu you know I don't know what you're sayin'"

You huffed, making a pouty expression that melted away as he grabbed hold of you, taking you through the rift and pushing you onto the bed.

"You sound so beautiful my love~"

Yoru cooed in your ear, his voice dropping and making you feel all sorts of things.

"I bet you'd sound even better moaning my name~ 私の愛 ~" [My love]

You two had a fun night.

Chamber [Vincent Fabron]

This man. THIS MAN.

He will absolutely mess with you anywhere and everywhere

One of his favorite things about you is that small flustered sound you make whenever he teases you

That hitch in your breath? He LIVES for that shit

You and Chamber were under cover at a party, a masquerade to be specific. Entering the room shining with light you were on his arm, the place seemed to sparkle, the shining crystal chandeliers refracting the warm light onto the dance floor. You could see people eloquently swaying to the beat with their partner; the orchestra playing a tune you recognized as one you'd made the effort to learn, it is--partially--in Chamber's native language after all.

You looked up at him and god he was breathtaking, the perfectly tailored waistcoat was white with those beautiful magenta and gold accents. He Really did fit in with this high society stuff.

"Care of a dance mon cheri~?"

You extended a hand to him, bowing and flexing your knowledge of his language.

"Anything for you mon amor~"

He cooed, quietly aweing at your silky voice as he took your hand and stepped onto the dance floor, folding yourself into the others who were dancing. The singer on the mic let her voice fly through the space, catching the eye of your partner as the two of you glided across the floor.

"Hold me close and hold me fast The magic spell you cast This is la vie en rose~"

Your voice was a silky hum in his ears and god Chamber just melted, pulling you close and holding your waist gingerly as he let the song you sang ripple through him.

"My My~ mon cœur~"

He gave your hips a teasing squeeze, causing your breath to hitch just enough for Chamber to hear.

"Vince- Chamber-"

You were breathless, almost forgetting to use his call sign, you were on a mission after all

"Use your words mon amor~ You know how I love hearing you~"

Chamber teased you, though before you could react the song you danced to drew to a close and Vincent smiled, leaving you high and dry as he said:

"We're on a mission mon cheri~ We can finish this if you do a good job for me~"

Sova [Alexander (Sasha) Novikov]

Sova being the soft spoken man he is will happily let you fill any silence with your voice

While he may have grown to enjoy silence you were the exception, silence with you was like an unfinished song

Hearing you go on and on, he could listen to it for hours

You'd had a rough day, coming back from a particularly difficult mission. Difficult, though you found victory. You were exhausted, the moment you stepped off the carrier you went to go find your love; Sova.

You found success in your objective as you knocked on his bedroom door, it opened and he smiled a soft smile upon seeing you. His hair was a little frizzy and he was wearing a t-shirt and grey sweats. Reading your tired expression he pulled you close, rubbing your back and keeping you close.

"Care to shower with me милый?" (Darling)

You gave a small nod, and he guided you into the bathroom off to the side of his bedroom, you were eager to get out of your sweat and dirt covered clothes.

The two of you found yourself holding each other naked in the shower. This wasn't a lust filled event, rather one driven by love and care for the other. Sasha grabbed the soft sponge and rubbed it gently along your back, the newly formed bruises on you aching a bit, causing you to give a soft groan of pain.

"Apologies моя любовь" (my love)

You looked up at him, shaking your head softly

"It's alright Sasha... just hurts a bit.."

Sasha could tell that it wasn't just physical hurt, after all, Sage may have healed physical wounds but she couldn't heal mental wounds.

"Want to tell me about it when we get into bed?"

He asked, inviting you to speak your strife. To this you nodded, accepting his invitation, endlessly grateful one was extended to begin with. You honestly didn't know how he put up with you.

After you showered you pulled on one of Sasha's t-shirts and some panties before crawling into bed with your loved one. The moment of silence was broken by you beginning to speak to what was bothering you.

"...I just.. when does it end?... I'm so tired all the time, tired of fighting, I just want us to be normal. Is that so hard to ask?"

Your voice began to break, tears pricking your eyes and a empathetic look was in your boyfriends eyes.

"Oh my love... It's gonna get worse before it gets better.. and when this is all said and done, I swear to you we will have the life of your dreams..."

His voice trailed off, allowing room for your quiet sobs to fill the room, you cried for a good ten minutes before Sasha broke the silence.

"Rest now my dove.. I love to hear your voice, but not like this, don't waste your energy on tears. Rest, so you may be strong again tomorrow."

You sniffled, your tears beginning to dry as you nestled your head under his chin. A small 'I love you..' could be made out from the murmurs that escaped you.

#valorant fluff #valorant fic #valorant #valorant x reader #valorant sova #valorant fanfiction #valorant chamber #valorant yoru #valorant x you #valorant x y/n #sova x you #sova x reader #valorant sova x reader #chamber x you #chamber x reader #valorant chamber x reader #yoru x reader #yoru x you #valorant yoru x reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 5: Bells Each Hour]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 5.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain @darkenchantress @doingfondue @atherverybest @namelesslosers @skythighs

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

You’re waiting for Aemond under the hundred-year-old cedar tree at the edge of the forest, Alonzo’s most recent letter in your hands. Midnight is grazing not far away, dewy April grass trampled flat beneath her hooves, silky black tail swishing. She won’t tolerate a lead chain, so she travels the woods unimpeded; but you know she won’t run. She never does. The slender pink ivory wood box is open on the ground, your sword propped against the tree trunk. Weeks ago, you carved four dates there in Roman numerals, infinitesimal inscriptions that you periodically trace back over so they never fade. They’re the days when you lost your children. You were permitted to keep no remnants of them, no stained cloths or recorded names. They belonged less to you than to the kingdom, and you were never allowed to forget this. All you have left are these shallow marks on a cedar tree as the world wakes up again: blossoms unraveling in the palace gardens, sprigs of jade-colored herbs piercing through cool rich earth.

Mother is possessed by conspiracies, Alonzo writes, forever a touch hyperbolic; you can picture his familiar wry smile as you drink up his words like roots swallow rain. He’s your oldest brother and thus the Crown Prince of Navarre. He’s been married for six years to Ippolita of Ferrara, three healthy children so far, one a boy named for your father. She swears there is something wrong with the water there, or the air, or the wheat, the culprit changes by the day. She frets, you know. As she always has. She wonders if we should dispatch one of our own bishops to bless you, or if you should undertake a pilgrimage to some holy site to beg the Virgin Mary for healing. More than anything, I think, she misses you. Her other daughters have found happiness in their marriages, and so it is easier for her to let them go and imagine it was for the best, but you…it is a different circumstance entirely, don’t you agree? Even Father has begun reassessing the illustrious English alliance he was once so proud of. He mutters that if you are to be childless either way, you might as well be home with your family, not trapped in some far-off, gloomy, turbulent land with a degenerate husband. We’ve heard things about Prince Aegon. Father says he never would have sent you across the Bay of Biscay if he knew what waited for you there.

I suppose what I’m trying to ask is…if the Pope would grant an annulment…if Father could work out an arrangement with King Viserys and the Duke of Hightower for you to come home again…would you want to?

All my love (and plenty more from Lita and the children),

Alonzo

You shred his letter so no one else will find it, looking up at a turquoise sky cluttered with fleecy white clouds, the same sky that stretches eastward to Navarre and beyond. You can’t go home; it would be a surrender, it would mean giving up any hope of a grander future. And it would mean giving up Aemond too. He’s not yours, but you can’t lose him. You feel like you can’t breathe every time you think of it. And there’s another reason why you can’t consider trying to dissolve your marriage. Not yet, anyway.

You rest your palms on your belly, vulnerable flesh beneath emerald-green silk, still at least a month away from starting to show. It’s early, very early, but by now you know the signs as well as the sounds of horses, the feel of the hilt of a sword in your grasp. It is your fifth attempt in less than two years. You have no reason to believe that this time will be different, that it will end in joy and triumph instead of ruin. Still, you suppose that anything is possible. It would be traitorous not to hope, wouldn’t it?

At last Aemond and Vhagar appear, galloping across the field to meet you at the edge of the forest. He’s in the saddle with his hair flying like a white banner, the buckles on his tunic glinting in the sun. You smile until he is close enough for you to read his face: tension, vexation, thinly-veiled ire. He dismounts in one fluid motion and Vhagar moseys away to graze beside Midnight, her enormous hooves clomping, dandelions and clovers leveled like fields at harvest.

“When were you going to tell me?” Aemond demands. He comes so close he fills your vision, your air; your lungs draw in smoke and leather, work and skill, every thread of muscle fought for. “After everything, I had to overhear it from the gossip of servants?”

Oh. Oh. “I hadn’t decided how yet. I was trying not to hurt you.”

“I’m hurt that you kept it from me.”

“Aemond…” You hesitate. There’s no delicate way to say this. “I didn’t want you to have to think about that part.” His brother on top of you, inside of you, melding with you to create a new heartbeat.

“I already think about it,” Aemond replies, sharp and stabbing like thorns. “I think about it all the goddamn time.”

Now your voice is bitter too. “Well, soon it will be my turn to be so afflicted, right?”

He quiets and retreats a few steps, rubbing his face with his hands. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen him do that before. He looks genuinely rattled, pained, remorseful. Kunigunde, the lone surviving daughter of Frederick III, will arrive in London any day now. Sometimes you find yourself wishing that her ship would sink to the bottom of the ocean or that some last-minute diplomatic squabble would go unresolved and she would be returned untouched to the Continent…but to what avail? Aemond will have to marry somebody. You cannot seem to produce a son, Nico won’t even be able to start trying until her wedding in August. The Greens need more heirs, more allies. And no ally could be more beneficial to their cause than the Holy Roman Empire. You should recognize the momentous advantage in this match. Instead, all you can think about is Aemond lying with another woman and memorizing the secrets of her body until they begin showing up in his poems, hips and wrists and the bumps of her spine.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says gently. “I don’t want to argue with you. You’re not at fault for any of this. You’re not who I’m really mad at.”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. A bit tired, a bit nauseous. Nothing new.”

“Good. But that’s not what I meant.”

You look at him as you stand in the shade together under the vast cedar tree. “I don’t feel anything,” you confess, words you could not share with anyone else. They would think you were in need of an elixir or a prayer or an exorcism. “I don’t feel happy, I don’t feel anxious, I don’t feel excited or afraid or hopeful. I want to be hopeful, it is my obligation to be hopeful, but I’m not. I don’t feel anything anymore. This has happened too many times already. Or maybe I’m just broken in spirit as well as in body.”

“You aren’t broken at all.”

You smile bleakly. “That’s kind, but I don’t think it’s true.”

“Believe me, I’d know. Brokenness and I are well-acquainted.”

And you wonder before you can stop yourself: What does he look like under his eyepatch? How exactly did it happen? Does it still pain him, does it enrage him? Does it make his hands ache for vengeance?

He asks: “What can I do?”

You get your sword from where it’s propped against the tree and twirl it once. “Distract me.”

“Gladly.” Aemond glides his blade out of its scabbard and lunges. You parry and strike him lightly across the back. Then you swiftly retreat, waiting for his riposte, on guard.

“I always wanted children, you know,” you say. “Not just because it was required of me. I grew up in a castle that was loud and full of footsteps. My mother was eternally playing with us, reading to us, tending to us. I imagined the same for myself. I craved it.”

“You’ll have children,” Aemond insists, forever so sure of something that feels impossible.

“You should have been the heir. Maybe this is how it happens. I’ll remain childless and Aegon will drink himself to death, and then you and your sons with Kunigunde will inherit the throne.”

He swings and you block, his blade clashing with yours once, twice, again, driving you backwards until you are pinned against the cedar tree. “I don’t want it that way,” Aemond pants from the effort, your swords locked together above your heads. “Not if it requires your sacrifice.”

You gaze up at him as his eye rakes over you; you’re close enough to kiss if you dared to. But you want much more than that. You want his long hair knotted in your fists, you want his hands on your bare skin, you want his tongue and his heat and his moans. But you have to be careful, so very careful. To be discovered sparring would be bad, but to be branded as adulterers would be far, far worse. For Aemond it would likely mean banishment. For you it would mean death by beheading or burning; only the king could commute the sentence. Rhaenyra would not persuade him to have mercy. And hers is the only voice you are confident Viserys would hear.

“Ivy,” Aemond whispers, a name that only he will ever call you. For a second, and only one, his palm skates weightlessly down your belly. You hear the distant chimes of the Tower of London, bells each hour, and it’s strange how so much time can pass without changing the heart at all. “I wish everything was different. I wish it was mine and you were too.”

And then he retreats in several long strides and waits for you to collect yourself so you can thrust at him with your blade again.

An hour later, Aemond helps you to rebury your sword—you’ve taken to keeping the pink ivory box in a shallow grave under the cedar tree so no one spies you ferrying it to and from Westminster Palace—and then accompanies you back inside once the horses are returned to the royal stables. He is mindful not to appear too familiar within sight of the court, but there are small gestures that he cannot seem to purge himself of: a hand on the curve of your back as you ascend stairs, shoulders and elbows that push others away if they inadvertently jostle you, glances to decipher the mood of your face. He signals to a servant and they scuttle over to bring you a cup of apple cider, cool and crisp and sweet.

“Where in God’s name have you been?!” the Duke of Hightower scolds you from across the hall, departing from a conversation with the Montford patriarchs. They wear serene, confident smiles. They’ve named Joanna’s white-haired bastard Aegon—not very subtle—and are basking in their recent procurement of titles, land, and influence. Already you’ve overheard the idea proposed, more than once and by various nobles: your marriage could be annulled, Joanna wed to Prince Aegon in your place, her son retroactively legitimized. The plan is certainly not without its own obstacles, but the Duke seems to be intrigued by it. Your husband will not entertain putting you aside. When the notion surfaces in his presence—like a shimmering fish from the depths of a pond—Aegon walks right out of the room.

You reply, with practiced innocence: “Just outside strolling through the gardens, Your Grace. The weather is lovely—”

“You shouldn’t be strolling anywhere. Not inside, not outside, not even to the chapel to beg God for the long-overdue deliverance of a son. You should be in bed.”

“Grandsire,” Aemond says. “Surely she cannot be expected to live as a prisoner.”

“She will live in whatever manner gives us the greatest chance of an heir. She may not be a prisoner, but she is a princess and a wife, and sometimes the requirements of these stations are not as divergent as you might believe.”

Aemond’s face goes dark, goes defiant. “You cannot put it all on her shoulders.”

The Duke of Hightower grins arrogantly; he’s caught him in the perfect trap. “But it’s not all on her, Prince Aemond. Within a week you’ll be sharing that burden. Making it lighter, even.”

Aemond glares at the Duke and says nothing.

“You will be married as soon as Kunigunde arrives. Within two days, mark my words. You’ll begin trying for a son in April, Nico in August. Now we have no heirs. But by this time next year we could have three! Isn’t that a happy thought?” And he marches away to resume his scheming, still smiling about it.

Aemond walks you to your rooms and stays there with you. You embroider pillows as he reads to you��a book about Aegon I’s Conquest in 1066—in a voice that is soft and low and secretive. Nico and Daeron join you both for dinner, and then you and Aemond are alone again. It’s wonderous and yet excruciatingly painful, profoundly unwise and yet necessary. You never speak of the night when he touched you beneath your nightgown, but it’s always there between you, a ghost that flutters curtains and creaks open doors trying to get your attention. You’re playing Tric-Trac on the bearskin rug, the fire dying down, when your husband reels drunkenly into your bedchamber.

“Aegon?” you say, startled. Aemond immediately moves away from you, at first just withdrawing to the other end of the rug and then rising to his feet as his brother continues to approach. You aren’t sure what he could want; it is recommended that pregnant women not lie with their husbands, and you’ll gladly take any excuse available to you. He must have forgotten at some point during his fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth cup of wine. “While I’m with child, I can’t—”

“I know, I know. I remember.” Aegon falls down onto the bearskin rug and slings his arms around your waist, burrowing into you. He rests his head on your chest, white-blond hair unruly and tangled. After a moment—long enough to recover from the shock of it—you hold him, tolerantly and sympathetically, like a wife should. Aemond leaves the room, river-blue eye downcast. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice. He sighs contently as you run your fingers through his hair, as your palms trace his back over his plain white shirt. There are red splotches on it, some of them wine, some blood; there are tacky streaks of it around his nose. He’s never done this before. He’s never sought you out for contact that was pure like this, without directives, without prizes to be won.

“Aegon?” you ask after a while.

“Yes, wife?”

“What exactly happened to Aemond’s eye?”

“My fault,” he murmurs drowsily. “He and I were supposed to be practicing our sword fighting with Sir Criston. Aemond was in the courtyard, exactly where he was supposed to be, and I was hiding in a stairwell somewhere guzzling wine, trying to forget who I was. Sir Criston went looking for me and while he was gone, they found Aemond. Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena. Four against one. I don’t know much about math, but that doesn’t sound even to me. Aemond was a lot smaller then. He hadn’t gotten tough and mean yet. I’ve never been clear on who said what first, but eventually he was calling Rhaenyra’s sons bastards and they were calling him a worthless spare, unnecessary and unloved, at least in the king’s eyes. Neither of them were wrong, by the way. Aemond grabbed a rock. Luke had a knife. By the time Sir Criston returned with me in tow, it was over. I remember watching the physicians stitch up Aemond’s face, using tweezers and spoons to clean out the pieces of gelatinous flesh from his eye socket. Father did nothing about it. He cared more about Aemond calling Jace and Luke bastards than the fact that he was half-blinded for life. Aemond started wearing a sapphire in the socket once it finally healed. He still does, as far as I know, though I haven’t seen him without his eyepatch in years. It’s a reference to some folktale about a warrior with two sapphire eyes. Some metaphor I couldn’t appreciate. I think my tutors once tried to make me read that story and I never did.”

You are sickened by grief, revulsion, fury. He was just a boy. A boy who had been neglected and ignored and brutalized, and his own father couldn’t care less. A boy who learned to idolize fictional heroes in the absence of real ones. “Yes,” you reply weakly. “That sounds like something Aemond would do.”

“All my fault,” Aegon says again, clutching you tighter.

“I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean him any harm.”

“He’s disgusted by me. They all are. Because I’m not suited to be king and never will be.” His voice is clotted with wine, shame, self-loathing. “I never asked to be built of disappointments. I didn’t choose to be this way.”

“You’ll make a fine king, Aegon,” you tell him, because you’re supposed to.

“Do you think I’m the cause of our losses?” he asks suddenly, and you think: Our losses, not mine. He called them ours. “You conceive easily. I can have children with others. Neither of us seem to be defective in body. But perhaps I have inflicted great stress upon you with my indiscretions. My drinking, my sloth, my affairs. I did not think I was hurting you. I did not think of much beyond myself at all, to be perfectly honest. But it was horrible to see you that way. At Christmas. So bereft, so wounded. You’ve suffered so much here. You deserve the consolation that children would bring you.”

You comb your fingers through his hair, shorter than any other grown Targaryen’s; he doesn’t want their name, their legacy, their looming war. “I don’t think you had anything to do with the miscarriages. I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“I want to be better this time,” he says, peering hazily up at you and placing one hand protectively over your belly. “A better husband, a better man. For both of you.”

You wish you could feel relief, feel joy, even a whisper of it. Instead, all you can think about is Aemond: his face, his voice, his hands. If I have to watch him touch another woman, I’ll never be able to get it out of my mind. If I have to watch him fall in love with her, it will kill me.

“Maybe it would have been different if we had met somewhere else,” Aegon says dreamily.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere very far away.”

His eyes dip shut and you stare into the dying embers of the fireplace: red like lust, like blood, like the flag of Navarre.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the next morning, and you’ve escaped as far as Nico’s rooms. She has what seems like hundreds of swatches of fabric strewn across a table, silk and velvet and linen.

“What do you think of this one?” she asks nervously, holding a scrap of butter-yellow silk to the bare skin of her upper chest. “It’s not really my best color. But the Duke of Hightower suggested I wear a yellow wedding dress. The flag of Milan has a great deal of yellow, you know. I don’t think he wants anyone to forget where I’m from. Or all the wealth and soldiers I’m bringing to his side.”

“How romantic,” you tease, smiling. “Doesn’t your flag also have a giant, murderous blue snake on it? Perhaps you could dress as one of those. We’ll sew you a nice long tail.”

Nico bursts out laughing, far too boisterously, as usual. “That would certainly get Daeron’s blood running hot, wouldn’t it?” Now she frowns down at the table fretfully. “I so want him to be pleased with me. I want him to remember how I looked that day for the rest of his life.”

How did you look on the day you married Aegon? Miserable, probably. Lonely. Empty. Nico will never have to feel that way. You’re happy for her; but it makes your own predicament louder somehow. “It’s your wedding day,” you tell her. “Wear what you like. What you feel most beautiful in. You can dress in yellow for Aemond’s wedding. The Emperor’s flag is yellow. I’m sure Kunigunde would appreciate that. You’ll make a marvelous first impression.”

“Brilliant!” Nico grins, assuaged. Then her eyes flick to the doorway. “Oh, hello there, Prince Aemond. Have you come to help with the wedding planning? We’re choosing flowers next.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much acumen in that realm. But do let me know when you begin discussing cakes.” He stares at you expectedly, arms crossed, lurking like a shadow. There is a long, uncomfortable silence.

“Go on,” Nico prompts you, tittering anxiously. “We can continue this later. I’m supposed to be meeting Daeron for lunch soon anyway.”

You bid some goodbye to Nico that you’re barely aware of. Then you meet Aemond in the doorway, feeling very much like someone caught in a mistake, a lie, a trap. He turns away without a word and you follow him through the winding halls, colored by aisles of midday light and the tolling of distant bells. “Aemond…?”

“I’m thrilled to hear how well you’re getting along with your husband. He stayed all night, from what I gather. The servants are buzzing with it. The Montfords are licking their wounds.”

“Are you delusional enough to believe that I have any say at all in where he spends his time—?”

“I saw you,” Aemond snaps viciously. “You weren’t just being civil. You comforted him, you had your hands all over him—”

You grab Aemond by the front of his tunic and yank him in close so you can hiss: “And where are your hands going to be once you marry the Holy Roman Emperor’s daughter? I have a few ideas. Would you like to confirm them? And things besides your hands as well, I imagine.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he flings, ripping away from you. You dash after him through empty hallways; he’s headed to your rooms, to a place where you will have relative privacy.

“What do you want from me?!” you whisper fiercely, burying it in him like a knife. “You expect me to sabotage my entire life, to reject my husband and neglect my responsibilities so that you never have to be inconvenienced, so that you never have to experience any pain—!”

“Pain?! That’s a kind word for it, it’s agony, it’s fucking impossible—”

Aemond throws open the door to your rooms. Inside, a servant is fixing you a cup of apple cider…and sprinkling the contents of a tiny silk pouch into it. When he sees you and Aemond, he shoves the pouch into his shirt and scurries away.

“Wait!” Aemond commands. The servant starts sprinting. “Don’t drink that,” Aemond tells you, pointing at the cup, then takes off after the servant. He catches him in your bedchamber, hurls him against a wall, and snatches the pouch from inside his shirt. “What the hell is this?”

“Nothing, Your Royal Highness. Just spices from the kitchen.” But his words spill out in a stammer and sweat pours from his reddening face.

Keeping the servant pinned to the wall with one hand, Aemond pitches the silk pouch to you. A servant shouldn’t have anything silk at all; it’s too expensive, too rare. “Do you recognize that?” he asks you.

Inside is a fine, powdery dust of a dried herb, dotted with shriveled purple blossoms. It smells vaguely of mint. “I don’t.”

Aemond drags the servant out of your rooms and into the hallways. The man is openly struggling now, mewing and slapping at his jailer’s face and hands. Aemond takes no notice of this. He is calling for guards, for physicians. A pack of inquiring spectators materialize around him: Nico, Daeron, Alicent, Sir Criston Cole, many other supporters of the Greens. Aemond does not stop until he reaches the Great Hall, where King Viserys is holding an audience with Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their children, bouncing little Visenya on his knee as she giggles. The violins screech to a halt when you and Aemond enter the room. He throws the servant violently to the floor.

“Good afternoon, Aemond,” the king says with moderate interest, still looking at Visenya.

The Duke of Hightower storms into the Great Hall. “What is going on in here?!” His steely eyes flit from Aemond to the servant sprawled on the floor to the king, back to Aemond. “What’s happened?”

“This man was putting something in the princess’s cider. An herb of some sort. I want it identified.”

“An herb?” King Viserys says blandly. “Have you asked the servant himself? Surely there is a logical explanation—”

“I want it identified,” Aemond repeats. “Now.”

There is chatter from the observers, which is exactly what Aemond needs. They serve as witnesses, as assurance that his accusations will be heard. You wonder where Aegon is; drunk and oblivious somewhere, probably.

“Very well,” the king relents, and waves to a guard. “Fetch a physician.” Then he barks at the crowd: “Out, vultures! All of you! Everyone except family!” The Green-affiliated courtiers reluctantly disperse; Nico goes to leave with them, but Daeron grasps her hand. Alicent clings to Sir Criston. Rhaenyra has Visenya, Viserys II, Aegon III, and Joffrey taken back to the nursery.

The Duke of Hightower glowers at the silk pouch. “Let me see.” You give it to him, and he opens it and sniffs. His forehead crinkles. “I can’t discern this.”

Daemon drifts close to you, clipping by like a comet. “Do you think wearing Green all the time now will miraculously make you one of them? Not until you’ve paid your debts, I think. And women have been known to die in childbirth. Just ask our dear Alicent over there. She owes all her…” His mouth twists cruelly around the word. “Fortune to the late Queen Aemma.”

“It is so wise of you to always dress for a funeral, Prince Daemon,” you say. “You’ll be prepared for your own when it imminently arrives.”

Daemon’s grin doesn’t disappear, but it turns harder, more jagged.

“This is terribly overblown, I’m sure,” the king says, then pauses to cough into his sleeve. He’s been nursing the same chill since January, one that ebbs and flows but never dies. “It’s all just a misunderstanding…”

Queen Alicent gestures to the pouch. “Might I see that, Father?” The Duke passes it to her. She opens the pouch and shakes some of its contents into her cupped palm.

“This is utter paranoia,” Rhaenyra complains, keeping Jace and Luke close to her; but she steals an uneasy glimpse of Daemon.

“They’re always so eager to cast themselves as victims, aren’t they, Mother?” Jace says.

Daeron shouts back: “And you’re always eager to cast yourselves as people who would happily stab someone’s eye out!”

“He slandered us!” Jace cries. “It was self-defense!”

“It was inches away from being murder!”

“And isn’t that the proper punishment for treason?” Baela says smugly. “To lose one’s life?”

“You’re about to lose your fucking life!” Daeron dives for her. Baela howls and scratches at him as Sir Criston leaps in to try to untangle them. Daemon grabs Daeron by the throat and lifts him off the ground; Daeron’s feet kick wildly, his face turning blue. Sir Criston draws his sword. Nico races into the melee, slamming both palms into Daemon’s chest with such force that she stuns him enough to drop Daeron, who falls gasping to the floor. Sir Criston drags him to safety. People are yelling, launching accusations and swears. The king is doubled over hacking.

“You bitch,” Daemon growls at Nico, and rips his sword from its scabbard as he towers over her.

Without thinking, you rush to defend Nico. Aemond’s arms close around you and pull you back. He murmurs through your hair as you battle him: “No, no, no, no.” And then you remember. The baby. I can’t do anything to hurt the baby. And you feel a sudden, overwhelming longing to protect this life, to meet this child, an attachment you didn’t think you were capable of experiencing again.

“I know what this is,” Alicent says softly, and everyone quiets and turns to her. Her face is dazed, appalled. Her hand holding the crumble of dried herbs is trembling. “It’s pennyroyal.”

No one moves, no one speaks. The silence is deafening. And it’s no wonder why none of the men could identify it in its medicinal state, why you couldn’t. You’ve never had need of a plant known to encourage a woman’s monthly blood. Since you’ve arrived in England, you’ve bled far too much. All those months of longing, hope, loss. All those taunts and whispers and rebukes and pieces of fruitless advice.

When the words finally tumble from your lips, they are faint and very small, almost childlike. “It wasn’t my fault?”

Aemond releases you and tears his sword free, holding it to the petrified servant’s throat. “I want him dead,” Aemond seethes, wrath like wildfire, like Plague. “I want him drawn and quartered, I want him awake when they disembowel him, I want him to feel everything. But first I want him racked until he reveals who paid him to commit this barbarism. I want to listen as his bones rip from their sockets.” He turns to Daemon, his blue eye blazing, manic. “And I suspect I know whose name he’ll scream at the end.”

“This is a baseless accusation!” Daemon snarls derisively.

“Dear God,” the Duke of Hightower says, gazing at you in guilt-laden horror. His hands come up to cover his gaping mouth.

“Do you have any proof that Daemon is responsible?” the king asks Aemond.

“Viserys,” the Duke says incredulously. “Prince Daemon has threatened her more times than I could ever count, he has incessantly abused and provoked her, he is her most notorious enemy—”

“There’s no proof,” Rhaenyra says, looking to the king. “You hear them, don’t you, Father? They have insults but no proof. They mean to use this treachery as an opportunity to destroy us.”

“He’s been paid by someone!” Aemond explodes, jabbing the tip of his blade against the whimpering man’s throat until he bleeds. “He’s been recruited! Why would a servant take it upon himself to poison a princess, to risk his livelihood, his life? Why would he have a pouch made of silk to carry his lethal herbs around in? He’s been roped into a conspiracy, and who else would have cause to murder her children in the womb, who else would dare?!”

“There’s no proof,” Daemon says again, and they all join him in a chorus, Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke, Baela, Rhaena: no proof, no proof, no proof.

The king shakes his head at Aemond. “Your lifelong hatred for Rhaenyra’s branch of the family has blinded you—”

“They could have killed her!” Aemond thunders, and there are tears of raw fury gleaming in his eyes. “Don’t you understand?! It wasn’t just the pregnancies, she could have hemorrhaged, she could have died, they risked her life to try to keep Aegon from the throne—”

“The throne will never be Aegon’s.”

“God Almighty, Viserys, that’s not the point,” the Duke says. “If this is true…it would be a most unforgiveable sin. It would be treason. It must be investigated.”

“I simply cannot see any proof being offered here.” The king dissolves into another coughing fit.

“You had no wrath when my eye was taken from me, Father,” Aemond says. “You felt no obligation to protect your son or your wife from the bloody consequences of Rhaenyra’s pride. All those years ago you let her believe she was invincible and now we are all forced to reap the aftermath. Surely you must feel outrage for the grandchildren this has cost you, for the inhuman crimes committed against the princess. She is your family, Father. Aegon is your family. I am your family. Don’t you recognize us at all?”

Daemon stalks towards him like a wolf, each step slow and calculated. “She’s your brother’s wife, Aemond. Not yours.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Oh, haven’t you?” A hellish grin lights up Daemon’s face like the red flush of fever. “Tell me, how did it feel lying awake all those nights, staring up at the ceiling in your cold, lonely bed, knowing that your worthless brother was sinking himself into her again, and again, and again, and all that time he didn’t…even…appreciate it?”

Something breaks in Aemond, something cracks his atmosphere in two like lightning. He lunges at Daemon with his sword, roaring, swinging, stabbing. Their blades clang over and over again, shrieks of metal that echo through the Great Hall. The Duke of Hightower is bellowing, and Rhaenyra is screaming, and Alicent and Nico and all the children are too, everyone understanding that this could just as easily kill one as the other; Sir Criston is trying to help Aemond beat back Daemon, but the blows are so ferocious and swift that he has trouble keeping up with them. The Duke shouts for the guards and they flood in, a dozen men in full armor at last separating the two warriors like continents splitting apart. The king is rasping as he struggles to catch his breath. You are the only one who doesn’t make a sound. In your skull circles the same refrain like the ring of a full moon, like the cyclic chiming of bells: They did this to me. They did this to me. They did this to me.

In the midst of the chaos, the king lurches off his throne and collapses to the floor. Blacks and Greens alike descend upon him. Daemon cradles him in his arms, Alicent is sobbing, the Duke of Hightower is feeling the temperature of the king’s face and neck, Daeron is franticly trying to rouse him.

And even as he plummets into unconsciousness from which he will never recover, the king reaches only for Rhaenyra.

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader

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fluffypotatey · 8 months

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hey u know how mk only calls wukong by his title and never his name? and how wukong rarely if ever calls mk "mk," instead usually opting for "kid" or "bud?" and how both of those things are kind of representative of their relationship and how both of them care about each other a lot but they aren't honest with each other or with themselves about the other and how neither of them really wants to confront the fact that the other is a person with flaws and struggles? haha yeah <- normal <- lying about being normal

be glad i have been released from class now :) [narrator: she would later find herself late to her 2nd class while writing this]

so happy you have given me this excuse to talk about— i mean, yes! it is super normal to be thinking about this all the time and be comsumed by it and let me explain why:

i will start by going off on a tangent about names and labels and their narratove importance in stories because i love them and have a problem. (idk the word count here. viewer discretion is advized. i just wrote. it is long. beware)

In the Case of Names: a Sunburst Duo Essay

by Yours Truly <3

In the Case of Names in LMK: a Summary (please for the love of pete be a summary)

Ok, so, let me give y'all a quick overview (i failed. this is you're only warning. i failed, and this became a monster of an essay. run while you still have the chan—) of names in the literary sense. When studying novels and books and shit in your literature classes, you will notice that your professor might discuss the importance or ill-importance of characters' names in the story. For example: in the classic novel Fahrenheit 451, the protagonist's name is fucking Guy Montage to illustrate how he's just some fucking guy, a John Doe, a man stuck and complicit in the dystopian world.

You get me? No? Sorry, you want more examples? Fine then :3 let me introduce you to a story called Hard Times by Charles Dickens. It is an allegorical novel that criticized the utilitarian movement going on in dear old Great Britain in the 19th century thanks to the Industrial Revolution. Some fun characters were Johannes Bounderby and Thomas Gradgrind. Tell me, what images did you imagine when I gave you those names? Did you think of a bouncing ball for Bounderby? Were you imagining something square or maybe a mechanical grinder for Mr. Gradgrind?

Remarkable isn't it. The way choosing a name has on a reader/audience's perception of the character. Names are not just placeholders for a character. Names are the identity of that character. Names can establish their starting arc or their ending. Names can be visual in the sense that they invoke a strong idea of what a character might resemble or what themes they will present the audience with. Removing a character's name also removes their identity.

Remember that.

Anyway, I have talked enough about names in the general literary sense. Let us move on to LMK.

Given that this show is based off of Journey to the West (JTTW), many of the names of the antagonist are already provided, and their English translation is pretty literal (Demon Bull King, Lady Bone Demon, Red Son) with some exceptions (Jing & Yin, the Gold and Silver Demons), but their names all provide a description of what they are and how they should be viewed. Spider Queen is a spider demon and views herself as queen. Pretty solid characterization there. Lady Bone Demon, she's a bone demon and has enough rank to be considered a lady (or that could just be to ID that she is a woman but eh). Princess Iron Fan: she's a celestial princess and wields an iron fan. Got it? Good. These examples are simply here to show that a majority of the JTTW antagonists are still fulfilling their roles as antagonistic characters. What I mean is this: since "A Hero is Born," MK has been fighting against the Monkey King's old enemies from the JTTW book. It's like the moment MK inserted himself into the role of successor, the antagonist themselves were inserted to redo their old role of fighting the "Monkey King." It's almost as if nothing has changed beside the fact that their new op enemy is a "human" wielding the legendary staff.

[hmmmm, wait i actually never put this into words until now and it's fitting very well with the whole "MK's fight against Fate/the Narrative" but we'll just put a pin in that.]

However, when it comes to MK's friends (Pigsy, Tang, Sandy, Mei), they all share different names from their reincarnated/ancestral counterparts (Zhu Bajie, Tang Sangzang (they just give Tripitaka a last name lol), Sha Wujing, and Ao Lie). Their identity is separate, distinctive from who they are meant to reflect to the audience. (But look at how Tang still shares the same 1st name to the blessed monk, see how he's the one whose powers are the most similar, see how he being pulled into the direction of emulating the monk, see how much Tang fights it, see—)

Fascinating huh? But let us move on before I forget myself.

In the Case of MK's Names: a Paragraph (DO NOT, i repeat, DO NOT GO OFF THE RAILS)

So, in the English version, there is a running gag about how MK's "real" name is long and complicated, and we don't actually know it. All we know is that MK switched it long before the pilot. And even before MK has that talk with Master Subodhi in s4ep7 (or 6? 8?), I would chuckle at how on the nose his name was. MK the Monkie Kid... how silly of the show writers....ahaha, what a funny little decision to make :)

Do we know why MK changed his name? Other than his original one being long, no. Do we know why MK specifically? We don't know. Maybe, in his fanboy brain for all things Monkey King, MK thought it would be cool to have a name that identified close to his idol. A name that identified with someone he wished to emulate and be as powerful as and felt so connected to. But what do I know? I am a mere local gal who feeds off of metas and theories and all things relating to my beloved sunburst duo.

Then, we have MK's many titles: Monkie Kid (IDs him as the new generations Monkey), Successor (IDs him as the one who will succeed Sun Wukong in both the title of Monkey King and power), Noodle Boy (pronounced "New-dle Boi and IDs as the boy who works in his surrogate/adopted dad's noodle shop), Delivery Boy (his actual job for the noodle shop), and last but not least, Harbinger of Chaos.

What makes a harbinger? What is chaos? What are their intentions? Are they good? Bad? Neutral?

So, I've already defined harbinger before and many others have as well, but to sum up: a harbinger is a being/person/thing that announced the coming of something be it good or bad but most of the time the focus is bad. A "Harbinger of Chaos" then, would be the one to announce the coming of Chaos™️ and the disruption of world order. Is this a bad thing? Well, the show presents it at the moment as so, but that doesn't mean it will be. Honestly, the show has shown order and fixed structures more in a bad light and promotes free will and choosing a destiny that fits you as the good thing 👀 (another thing to pin in the MK might to go war with Fate)

But now I have established MK's names and must shut up and move on before I no longer can.

In the Case of Sun Wukong's Names: some Paragraphs (STAY ON TARGET PLEASE)

I will admit that my knowledge of names in China is very low, and by low, I mean I know nothing (most of what I do know comes from asking friends and informational sites). So, let me begin this segment with an excerpt of Sun Wukong gaining his name from the book itself :) and break it down with my interpretation and how that is applied to LMK.

When the Patriarch heard this, he was secretly pleased, and said, “Well, evidently you have been created by Heaven and Earth. Get up and show me how you walk.” Snapping erect, the Monkey King scurried around a couple of times. The Patriarch laughed and said, “Though your features are not the most attractive, you do resemble a pignolia-eating monkey (husun). This gives me the idea of taking a surname for you from your appearance. I intended to call you by the name Hu. If I drop the animal radical from this word, what’s left is a compound made up of the two characters, gu and yue. Gu means aged and yue means female, but an aged female cannot reproduce. Therefore, it is better to give you the surname of Sun. If I drop the animal radical from this word, what we have left is the compound of zi and xi. Zi means a boy and xi means a baby, and that name exactly accords with the fundamental Doctrine of the Baby Boy. So your surname will be ‘Sun.’” When the Monkey King heard this, he was filled with delight. “Splendid! Splendid!” he cried, kowtowing, “At last I know my surname. May the master be even more gracious! Since I have received the surname, let me be given also a personal name..." ..."You will hence be given the religious name ‘Wake-to-the-Void’ (wukong). All right?” “Splendid! Splendid!” said the Monkey King, laughing. “Henceforth I shall be called Sun Wukong.”

What a fucking cutie <3

So, what can we gather from this excerpt? Sun Wukong just gained his official name. No longer is he a monkey with descriptive titles, no longer is he a monkey without a surname to be referred to as and respected for. He now has both a surname and a personal name. And while I don't fully understand everything Master Subodi listed when naming Sun Wukong, it is important to note the importance of it and how happy Wukong is to receiving it.

Before this, the book would simply refer to Wukong as Shihou (stone monkey) or the Handsome Monkey King. Both of these are descriptive titles that just inform you what Wukong is rather than who, just like with the other demons met in JTTW. But now, we get to know him as Sun Wukong, someone more than his titles and such. There's even an explanation in the preface how Wukong's own personal name has significant meaning or relation to Buddhism, but I won't get too much into that since my knowledge is of that is 0 and I want to try and stick to LMK.

Now then, let us examine Wukong's name in the LMK sense. Literally everyone in the show call him either Monkey King or "simian" (and if he really pissed them off, Sun Wukong). The only people to refer to Wukong by his personal name is Nezha, Macaque, and Peng. It is literally just these three. And while we could argue all say it like "Wukong (derogatory)," I believe Peng's the only one who means it. Meaning, I think Macaque says Wukong because he was the closest friend of SWK, thus that's the only name Macaque would ever call him (sure, he said Monkey King and shit in s1 but that was when he was duping MK soooooooo). Nezha calls him Wukong because after the whole Havoc in Heaven and journey stuff, he is the new oldest member to befriend Wukong and not be enemies with him (yes, he will get annoyed and aggravated by him, and he will not always believe Wukong's intentions are great, but he still cares and is his 2nd closests living friend).

Peng, on the other hand, does not give a shit. I fully believe that guy never cared for Wukong. They only joined the brotherhood because of Azure (they even offered for Azure to be the brotherhood's leader). I do not think Peng cares for formalities when it comes to people they dislike. We could argue that maybe Peng cared for Wukong in the beginning, but I do, honestly, not believe it. The only reason Peng even felt betrayed was because it messed up Azure's plan. Not because the two were sworn brothers.

But yeah, very few characters actually call Sun Wukong by his name, and when they do, it establishes not just how close they are/were, but also how long they've known each other. It's the same thing with how Wukong refers to others. He barely calls Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy by their names. He will give people nicknames and shit just to place a safe distance from them because of his own very unhealthy attachment issues.

In the Case of MK and SWK's Names for Each Other: the Actual Sunburst Duo Essay (you are free now.....)

Speaking of attachment issues, let's talk about the Sunburst Duo and how much these two need to sit down and talk.

So, we have discussed how names are integral to identifying a character's purpose, thematic journey, description. We have discussed how a person's title can clue in on certain characterization, present or future, and how they demonstrate the way others view them. Now let us apply this to our beloved sunburst duo.

As mentioned in your ask, @gumy-shark, both MK and Sun Wukong barely call each other by name (MK never has as far as I am aware, and SWK has done so only a few). It's "Monkey King" from MK and "kid," "bud," "buddy" from SWK. Rarely do the two ever think to say each other's name.

In the beginning, I originally thought MK only calls Wukong "Monkey King" as a way to be respectful, and with Wukong, I assumed he called MK "kid" simply because MK was very young to him. However, as we get into s3, and especially s4, MK and Wukong have grown a lot closer. Neither of them see each other as just a mentor or student but as friends. And yet, they cannot seem to stop calling each other by their title or nickname.

Thus, the distance is still there. S3 ends with Wukong promising to do better as a mentor and be more honest with MK, and we do seem him attempt this. He gives out more praises, he's more open about his feelings and then gets sucked into the memory scroll. But here's the kicker: the two are doing a reverse in their dynamic.

When it starts out, it is Monkey King who establishes the line between the two. He will simply be MK's mentor and teach him all the kid has to know in order to succeed him. MK is ecstatic to even be near SWK. This is his idol, the guy he's had a special interest in for years probably. He now gets to train under the Monkey King. He wants to do good. He wants to kickass. He wants to be just like him.

But as the story goes on, we see SWK open up to MK more and care for him deeply and want to protect him, and we see MK uncover the skeletons in SWK's closet and feel so alone and learn that the power he used to wish for is not what he expected. And in the aftermath of s3, it is now SWK who is opening up and trying to help kindle and safely guide their friendship in a healthier path(ish). It is SWK who is placing his own protege on a pedestal because "loook at him! isn't he so great and powerful! he will help this world a lot more than i did". It is SWK who is disregarding th original rules he placed. But now ,it is MK who is keeping the distance more than SWK. It is MK is trying to force some kind of distance. He feels like he shouldn't burden SWK with his doubts and worries. He is terrified of his own powers and their capabilities and worries his actions will make the same mistake as his mentor.

With s3 and s4, SWK has called MK by name quite a few times. Especially in s4. It's not a lot, but it's definitely more than before. And yet, MK cannot call Wukong by name. Personally, I think he might still feel like he's under Wukong's shadow. As his successor, there is a legacy that he will carry when Wukong actually retires and gives his title to MK (which is what I assume Wukong will do??? It is still unclear what exactly MK's succeeding SWK of). And that legacy is quite the burden. I would not be surprised that MK is unable to place himself as being worthy of taking Wukong's place just yet (if ever).

This guy was his idol for a long time. And with that, you tend to place a high pedestal for those people. MK has given Wukong such a high pedestal, and Wukong is very aware of it. It's why the guy even keeps his distance in the first place, and why he's scared to disappoint him. But, MK has learned so much, has been told of the tales and pain his mentor inflicted on others in the past (a past SWK greatly regrets), and yet cannot find it in himself to lower that pedestal or even allow himself to think about it. Because if he does, then he will have to acknowledge his own pain and his own disappointment in someone he not only admires but has come to love like family. And it is very hard to reckon with the hurt and pain caused by someone you consider family.

So yeah, they are silly monkeys who cannot communicate to save their life and need to just sit down and talk or else this will continue to boil and explode and we'll have a SWK and MK showdown (fuck yeah! i will be crying so hard).

[end of essay]

#was late to my next class because of this #got lost in the sauce that my friend had to text me for me to remember i have CLASS #sigh #hope you enjoyed my scholarly account on names and how they pertain to the sunburst duo #also barely anyone even refers to Tripitaka by name #it's always 'the monk this' or 'the monk that' he only gets called by name if someone is being very formal about it #LITERALLY TRIPITAKA ISN'T EVEN CALLED TRIPITAKA AND IDK WHY #WHY ARE YOU HOLDING OUT LMK EXPLAIN #EXPLAIN YOURSELF #WHY IS TANG'S ANCESTOR BARELY REFERRED TO BY NAME #anyway #there you go #hope you're happy #i used all my brain energy for this #this took me 2 hours to write in total #and that was simply because i chose not to include screencaps from the show itself out of self restraint #lmk #lmk analysis #lmk sunburst duo #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk #lmk qi xiaotian #qi xiaotian #sunburst duo #asks #read more #long post

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maxismp1 · 4 months

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Captain Price x fem! reader

The reader is preferred as a callsign Blitz. No names besides that are used!

English ain't ma first language ✨

Idk if i should do part 2, comment If yuh

Rain poured down onto the mudy shooting range. No dust flying around, only the scent of rain filled nostrils of who ever decedided to go out. Or maybe a soldier who was punished, who knows. (I do)

Mostly everyone's stayed inside the base, alongside the comanding officers. Even the famouse groups of the base, the TF141 wasn't on any missions. Whitch was suprisng for them, everyone needs a rest eventually.

Voices and sounds of boots clicking on the floors rafieted off of the walls, filing in as white notice for people. No conflict and no fighting. No one was under stress.. Expect the officer who were preparing for the upcoming missions of there squads, plattons. No diferent to that was Blitz. The colonel of the base, one that junior officers often come to ask for advice.

Blitz was a woman of few words, yet somhow even in a sentance that grasps 5 words, it helps them. Yet, people referred to her as scary, her image was used by lieutenants to scare new recruits, even in a joking manner.

Who wouldn't take a double look when passing by her. Woman that reached the height of 6'2 feet tall (shush.). Uniform always neatly put on, never a fold or a smudge udge on it. Scars cover most of her body, after 27 years of service it was expected. Her tired face graced a faint smile she offered soldiers that saluted her or asked for advice. Even after reaching the age of 45 years old, she refused to retire. Passion for work always payed off.

This particular day, she was signing some documents, reading true the never ending files. Silent music played from the small speaker some lieutenant got her for her birthday. (not Ghost, ik you alrady thought of him). Only thing that broke her out of her own small world was the knock on her door. Without looking up she simply yelled "Name and business? "

few silent seconds past and then a man replyed "is captain Price ma'am, i need to ask few questions". He was a man who visited dosnt visit her often.

"come in" and so he dose. The door swiftly opens and closes behind him "what can I help you with?" her eyes dont avert from the paper she was reading. Simply waiting for him to ask the question he came in here for.

"i have few questions about the next.. Operation" the British accent was something way to familiar to her by now. Every 3rd soldier or recruit was a British person.

"ask" the paper was signed an placed down, her gaze now on him

"the general has informed me that someone will be joing us, someone I personaly haven't met, and Laswell has no information about this" Blue eyes stared at her face as a light frown apeard on her face. Scared hands began listing true certain papers that had the symbol of his Task force on them. After few minuts she found the paper

".. Well this ain't right" she scooted her chair back and stood up "ill be right back, stay here"

So he did. Around 10 minuts past when she came back. "I confirmed with Shephard. I'll be joining the OP you will be performing in Croatia next month" Blitz walks back to her deal and sits into her chair. The paper now has a signature writen with red ink on it, it was nicely set down onto a separated file group.

"so you will be attending the breefing?" he asked while looking at her "I supose so" she replied while looking up at him from her sitting position "it's a OP as any other. Your team will find out the details in the breefing, I'll tell you now. Some people formed a gang, something with drug traficing, aperently it got out of control and the military was involved, so you.. We are sent to fix it. Get the boss and make him confess, eliminate him. "

"alright then ma'am" "I'll see you tomorow, captain"

salutes were exchanged and he left the room, closing the door behind himself.

If I should continue this please write down bellow <3

#cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod #captain john price #john price #price #john price x reader #captain price #captain johnathan price

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melancholysway · 2 years

Text

TMNT Headcanons: Japanese

For every installment of TMNT I’m providing why each turtle would speak/practice/appreciate Japanese, enjoy!

TMNT 2003

Leonardo

- speaking in Japanese strictly to speak formally to Splinter

- doesn’t curse

- nothing informal, iykyk

- I honestly think he would be great at writing kanji, I headcanon that Leonardo has the neatest handwriting out of his brothers

Raphael

- definetely uses that shit to degrade EVERYONE and EVERYTHING that pisses him off.

- You know that man gets mad at everything, even BUGS.

-Expect it to be very informal, likes to use it around Casey to confuse him

-can’t write it as good as Leo, but it’s legible & that’s what matters y’all

Donatello

- uses it to curse…but a little for the sake of speaking it just to speak it.

- Still working on informalities and formalities, but whatever

- not the best at writing it

-chicken scratch fr fr

- don’t ask him to write anything for you

-secretly uses duolingo, emotionally attached to the duo bird xoxo

Michelangelo

- uses it to curse

- can translate (when nobody asked,)

- also to joke around, observe:

Raph: *incoherent cursing in Japanese*

Mikey: so what he means to say is-

Leo: I know what he said!

TMNT 2007

Leonardo

-loves to describe different things using Japanese. Like, he'll compliment the weather or the way something looks

-liked to use it in South America to scare people into thinking it was a ghost

- sort of kind of writes it, not all the time, I think 2007!Leo would fuck up some Japanese poetry though <3

Raphael

-you guys remember his police radio right? Sometimes he'll go on there and talk in Japanese just to fuck with them.

-they dont know what he's saying

-observe the phrase Raph loves the most:

"クソ制服からゼリーを舐め続けろ、ろくでなし！"

-ill let you guys search that.

- uses it around Mikey to confuse him, but only for short phrases

-doesn’t write it as much, I headcanon he has the second best handwriting in this one since he’s canonically left handed, (I’m ambidextrous) but I speak for all left handed people that we dislike the lead stain on the side of our hands A LOT.

Donatello

-like raph, he uses it someitmes to fuck with the customers on the other line of his IT Tech Support job. If they're giving him a hard time, or being plain stupid, he'll start describing what to do to fix their problem in a different language.

-uses it freely, except one time he was helping a guy who was fluent in it.

-all it took was a "yokai" in response and Donnie was bamboozled.

-he doesn't use it as much on there anymore after that.

-definitely had one of those learn kanji books where you trace the symbols so he can better learn the linework

Michelangelo

-i like to think in this universe of tmnt, Mikey and Splinter watch J-dramas together

-its already mentioned that Splinter is into soaps, imagine him and Mikey watching a good old J-Drama from the 90s.

-Without english subtitles

-Splinter likes it that way, it's more dramatic

-has definitely taught some kids from the parties he hosted how to write pizza in Japanese

TMNT 2012

Leonardo

-okay, he definetely has watched Space Heroes in the Japanese Dub

-A1 voice acting, he loves it

-He sometimes like to say the orders in his head he says to his brothers in Japanese, to see if he still got his translating skills yk?

- would try and speak it around Karai to impress her no doubt

- called inanimate objects by their name in Japanese- couch: ソファー table: テーブル mutagen: 変異原, you get the gist yall

-while splinter was teaching them all how to read and write, Leo got his hands on some post-its and stuck them on every piece of furniture and machinery around the lair and wrote their name in kanji

-convinced that it works and don’t tell him otherwise

Donatello

-would 100% teach April a thing or two

-Master Splinter offered to teach April

-cue Donnie coming into the cut saying he could do it instead

-one on one study sessions with him and April, she enjoys it a lot

-donnie is actually a great teacher

-until he gets into the phonetic and semantics- ie; the science on why in the Japanese language they pronounce certain things the way they do

-she doesn't remember much about that part

- talks to himself while he’s working on an invention, sometimes to Timothy

-Timothy definitely doesn’t understand what the fuck he’s saying

Bayverse TMNT

Leonardo

-most likely uses it while on missions and fighting and in stealth mode, but mainly uses sign language during said stealth mode

-he practices his writing all the time, is really into line work and origins of the language/the evolution of it from ancient to modern Japanese

- enjoys reading it in his downtime, that man definitely has a stack of old Japanese literature that he likes to read!

Donatello

-Reddit man for the win

- anything about Japanese culture/aesthetics, he can answer!

-doesn’t speak it much, but he enjoys learning about the culture a lot!

-REALLY loves Japanese City Pop, probably bayverse Donnie’s favorite genre of music no doubt

-Donnie passes notes under the door of his lab to whoever’s passing by when he needs something, not a full sentence at all, just one word notes.

Observe:

After some loud knocking coming from the other side of the lab door, Leonardo comes to it as if it’s a habit at this point. He’s so used to Donnie not coming out his lab for hours, and he’s come accustomed to retrieving any item he needs from the “outside world.”

So when he sees the neatly placed slip of paper of “food!” written in chicken scratch kanji, he’s trudging his feet to the cupboard where Donnie’s secret stash of lab snacks are. Yes, a whole bin that’s labeled “lab snacks.” He reaches for the usual packet of strawberry frosted Pop-Tarts, noticing that there’s only one box left. He would have to ask April to get some again soon.

Leonardo wonders if he should attempt to toast them for Donnie, but as he glances at the silver toaster that Donnie fixed (again) a few nights ago, he thinks about how badly it would end and how pissed Donnie would get for having to fix it the 4th time this week. He picks out the aluminum wrapped strawberry Pop Tarts as is, placing the bin back in its secret place to where Mikey can’t see it.

Raphael

-likes the art aspect of Japanese culture, has the kanji for “family” etched on his shell

-since he knits in his past time, he makes small things that reflect the language or art in some way, whether it be making a cherry blossom rug for Splinter’s room, or making Mikey his requested mits for the winter time patrols with his name written in kanji

- like Donnie, he doesn’t verbally speak it, but incorporates it into his life in some way

-will engrave anything if his that he can with kanji

-since he can’t exactly get a tattoo, he reverts to engraving, hence his shell

Michelangelo

- 100% calls the pizza shop and orders in Japanese

-they don’t understand what he’s saying

-when the Hamato family is feeling some Japanese food, he hits them up and orders in Japanese, he gets all giddy when they respond back

Rise!TMNT

Leonardo

-him and Donnie argue in Japanese 110%

-he’s struggling with memorizing certain kanji symbols, so he’s using Rosetta Stone

-doesn’t like the Duo bird

-has a conspiracy theory that the Duo bird tracks his every move???

-will switch the TV to a J-Drama or put Splinter’s TV to the Japanese Dub version of whatever he’s watching just to fuck with him

-secretly enjoys said J-Dramas

-pretends to be leader and barks orders in Japanese

-yeah nobody listens to him

Donatello

-using his “platinum library card,” he loves those Japanese picture books of modern art

-DOES NOT lend them to Mikey, since he’s missing some now

-overdue library books because of this

-really enjoys those learn kanji trace workbooks, will trace the symbols with a purple colored pencil

-also, everything he writes will be in purple

-he doesn’t care what you think about that

Raphael

-calls animals by their name in Japanese

-cats, dogs, whatever! He’s naming them out loud

-had a pet parrot once that he got to speak back to him in Japanese

-he loved that

-until Leo got his parrot to curse in Japanese

-didn’t know how to make him stop, so he had to deal with that for a while

Michelangelo

-participates in changing the TV around to the Japanese Dub with Leo to mess with Splinter

-the cause of Donnie’s overdue books

-he really likes the art! Preferably the modern art

-100% prank calls people with Leo pretending to be foreign realtors & telling people they’re overdue on their car insurance

Masterlist

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #bayverse tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2003 #raphael #donatello #leonardo #tmnt imagines #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt imagine #tmnt headcanons #tmnt 2018 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt fandom

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howaboutcaptainwesker · 9 months

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On Jake Muller's mother

Anyone else think way too hard about her and Wesker?

Before I begin this I would like to apologize for the way that I write despite English being my primary language 🔥

RE6 introduces Jake Muller, Albert Wesker's stupid son. I'm sure the thought "omg Wesker fucked" crossed everyone's minds when this plot point was first revealed

I personally had the thoughts "RE6 was dumb as hell and the whole thing with Wesker having a son probably wasn't thought out very well. This is a detail that doesn't matter." and "It was probably a quickie with a stranger - someone he sought out specifically to have sex with. Someone he didn't care about."

We don't have a lot of information on Jake's mom, except:

[These are from the RE6 files Jake's Family Situation / Written Report on Jake Muller]

She was born in Edonia

She was in her early 20's when she immigrated to the USA from Edonia and had the chance to meet Wesker

She returned to Edonia and gave birth to Jake without telling Wesker

She was mild-mannered and did her best to raise Jake

She loved Wesker

She died from an illness that she couldn't afford to treat

and

Wesker is described to have "abandoned" her and Jake

Just the fact that she was still in love with Wesker as Jake was growing up gives the impression that they had something a little more than a random quick fuck. Like, please read this letter to Jake from his mom.

"I love you, Jake. I'm so sorry to have to leave you like this. Please forgive me. And please, don't hate your father. I'm sure he loves you and is thinking about you, and I know you two will find each other someday. Stay strong."

RE6 takes place in 2013, and at that time Jake was 20 years old. If he was born in 1993, that means he was conceived in 1992-1993. According to Wesker's Report II, Wesker left the Arklay Laboratory in 1991 and transferred to Umbrella's intelligence division/information department.

(I refuse to believe that Wesker was in the army. I cannot find a reliable source for it beyond the '96 BIO HAZARD guide book published by Kodansha, a 1994 bio image from when he was still named Hustler, and this bio image that I cannot for the life of me find the source for.)

Wesker was absolutely not immune to attraction. Upon inspecting his desk 50x in a row in the original RE2, you can take an undeveloped roll of film from it that turns out to be a photo of Rebecca in an R.P.D. sports bra + shorts set.

(You could argue that he was simply keeping tabs/info on everyone while he was Captain because he was sooooo careful like that. But I'm not seeing an undeveloped film of Barry in a skimpy little outfit hidden deep within his desk, so... 🤨)

You know what? Sorry for pointing this out, but it's been weighing heavy on my mind. This is the only time I'm ever gonna get to talk about this. In 1998, Rebecca was 18, and Wesker was 38. Jake Muller's mom was described as being in her early 20's when she immigrated to the US. Wesker was 32-33 when he impregnated Ms. Muller. Every fiber of my being thinks he may have had a thing for sweet, young brunette women.

...Anyway, I'm sure Wesker was at least somewhat nice to Jake's mom, especially considering how much she loved him even years later. Wesker is an arrogant bastard, but he's shown time and time again that he's very capable of playing nice with others. (See: S.T.A.R.S. and Excella.)

I mean, every time he played nice it was because he had ulterior motives, but I don't think he had any reason to manipulate Jake's mom. If he wanted quick sex, he could've gone out and had it with anyone. He wasn't working at the Arklay Laboratory in the middle fuck-ass nowhere anymore. And he wasn't in S.T.A.R.S. yet, so he wasn't in the public eye. If he wanted to get his dick wet and be done with it, he could've done exactly that, but he stuck around Ms. Muller long enough for her to develop strong feelings.

As for the abandoning part... I'm just grasping for anything at this point, but I'm sure that after a while Wesker realized that this (relationship?) wasn't something he could, or wanted to keep up. Nothing was more important to Wesker than his plans. Everything he did was to further his own goals, and Ms. Muller didn't fit into them. Plus he never had issues cutting ties.

The fact that Jake's mom left without a single word about her pregnancy makes me think that he gave her a very good reason not to contact him. I mean, maybe he just up and disappeared one day, but the way that things are worded in the RE6 files gives the impression that Ms. Muller chose not to contact him, not that she couldn't.

Maybe he said something along the lines of "I can't see you anymore." As for a good reason, "I'm not someone you want to associate with; I'm not someone you're going to be able to see in the long run." And then for good measure, "Please do not try to reach me."

--- Stop reading here I accidentally wrote fanfic ---

I can't stop thinking about all the possible ways they could have met, and what Wesker saw in her, and what she saw in him in return.

This is cheesy and overdone, but maybe they met at a coffee shop Wesker frequented. Ms. Muller saw him regularly, and thought he was a little funny in the way he ordered the same thing every day and never seemed to take off those dark sunglasses.

Small glances and acknowledgements of his presence turned into greetings and smiles. Each of them became a part of the others' daily routine, until one day Ms. Muller decided to strike up a conversation.

Wesker, who is usually too caught up in his own ideas and goals to care about anyone but himself, finds that he doesn't particularly mind the woman's presence. Wesker finds it easy to speak to her - refreshing, even. These interactions are not an inconvenience.

Ms. Muller, in my head, would be the first one to suggest that they hang out beyond their little coffee shop encounters. I don't think the thought would have even occurred to Wesker - and he'd surprise himself by saying yes.

Wesker ends up taking nice, long walks with her. Talking with her but mostly just listening to her speak, because although he finds her to be foolish in her naivety and kindness, he also finds her charming for those exact traits. I don't think he'd tell her a damn thing about what he does or what his main interests are.

Maybe he even spends a bit of money on her. He doesn't splurge, of course - money, although he cares not for it, is a tool he could use at a later date. But that necklace she saw through the shop window, or a small lunch when they've both got the time... spending money on those things is harmless enough. Just this once.

I doubt Wesker would want anyone over at his place, even if it does lack many personal touches because all he uses it for is to shower and sleep. He hates the thought of anyone touching, or worse, looking through his things.

But he'd be fine going over to her place, and he ends up doing just that, saying 'yes' to her invitation and...

--- End fanfic ---

TL;DR Wesker caught feelings for a nice young woman from Edonia, engaged in some terrible missionary with her maybe once (maybe several times), and then probably cut things off because he remembered he's evil

#resident evil 6 #resident evil #jake muller #albert wesker #jake #wesker #re6 #subjectspeaks #everyone feel free to correct me or share thoughts or whatever i Need opinions #link

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us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2 · 3 months

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9-1-1 (fox) x Hannibal (nbc)

(I would write a fanfic but I’m not in the mood)

All of last night I was thinking of this, anyway.

post fall and having lived in the woods for awhile, Hannibal and Will move to LA and become firefighters on the 118.

why? Well Hannibal didn’t want to go back into psychiatric work (bad memories) and loved doing medicine still, and thought “why not?”

flash forward, to him passing the tests and whatever and being a paramedic firefighter under the name Hans Anderson and does firefighter stuff.

everyone is like “Hans, is.. so weird” “he’s just European, English isn’t his first language” “but.. he’s so weird.”

eventually Will gets bored of staying at home with his dogs, and applies and becomes a firefighter too.

so the duo starts being REALLY WEIRD, mostly the whole

“hanni. Your not cooking them pork”

“Will, but the team would love my recipe”

“I do not want to help you choose a pig, no.”

“But will :(“

“no means no, we will make chicken for the team”

and the 118 mostly buck is like

”guys, what was that about?” “Buck. Just let them fight they will calm down later” “but what was the whole ‘no I am not choosing a pig’ thing about that’s a weird thing to say.” “Buck.. Hans and Will are just weird, don’t look to deep into it, it’s probably a European thing”

will uses his think like a killer thing for emergencies they go on to figure out what happened, everyone is very impressed and freaked out mostly by how well he figures out where when on the run murders take their victims and the whole “this is my design” thing he mutters.

Hannibal despite what the media and chilton pushed he actually liked helping people and saving them from their deaths, he just also liked eating people.

whenever Hannibal runs headfirst into a flaming building to help people? Will is right behind him, whenever Will runs into a flaming burning headfirst? Hannibal is right behind him.

after a rescue, Will changed his clothes in the change room and some of the 118 saw his MASSIVE SCARS, mostly the one on his abdomen.

obviously they didn’t think it was old and were promptly asking questions and trying to treat Will while he was getting ready flustered.

“Guys, please just stop. It’s a old scar, it’s not a big deal”

“WILL WHAT DO YOU MEAN”

“guys, it’s just from someone who hurt me, it’s fine”

“WHO HURT YOU, It LOOKS LIKE YOU WERE GUTTED”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past I don’t care anymore.”

“???”

the 118 start being extra observant when Will gets injured in the stomach.

but when they bring up the whole thing to Hannibal

“Oh, Will’s scar? He got it when a boat rotor he was working on suddenly came on and gutted him, I was there.”

they stopped asking about it, but after awhile they noticed the bullet scars, and the scar on his head, and some more.

then it came to Hans’s odd behavior.

the way he wrapped his arms like they were bound when he was stressed, the weird feelings like they were being stalked by a predator but it was just Hans lounging around reading a book or other things, his odd jokes about food Will always laughed hard maybe they were inside jokes, those times when he was able to diagnose with 100% accuracy patients ill’s and everytime he joked “I could smell it”.

he was weird, and the fights he and Will had were evenly as weird.

one time when most of the 118 was out doing a rescue Will and Hans were getting into a heated argument while they cooked.

buck was kind of the only one there having sprained his knee on a previous rescue and was healing up. Buck was being really quiet mostly just sitting in a chair while he put some ice on his knee when. He heard it.

“Hanni, I can’t believe you. After everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve put ME through? I can handle be thrown in a mental asylum, I can handle being framed, but THIS? Hanni, I love you but I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Will, I just wanted to make something for you. To show you my love.”

“Hanni, you always have. But this was stupid, I love your cooking I love you, but just can’t you source your meat any other way? can’t you show me your love while not slaughtering our food for us?”

“Will, Bella. I will for you, I will. I am sorry.”

“I can’t blame you, it’s so sweet. But just Stop it, you can’t keep this up.”

“Okay Bella, okay.”

buck just was so confused by the whole thing, Hans and Will were in love??? Will went to a mental asylum and was FRAMED??

buck really wanted to say something but they were quietly talking about the food and it seemed like a private conversation.

it was really weird though, the whole “food” aspect of it.

And it kept happening, these weird arguments about food.

always when Hans and Will thought there was no one around and buck happened to be creeping around because Hans’s cooking was SO GOOD.

he heard these snippets of a life before the 118, and it was just them talking about this girl Abbigail and murder cases?

just quietly lamenting this girl, with grief in their throats.

hans also talked about this other person Mischa, and how they were dead.

Hans and Will never talked much about their time before the 118, they mentioned something about Cuba one time but that was it.

the scars they shared violent and deep, the way they just were able to see and understand grisly killers.

just everything about them was wrong or hidden, they just are strange.

#-pop #9 1 1 #9 1 1 abc #evan buckley #9-1-1 #911 abc #911 fox #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter #hannibal series #hannibal textpost #nbc hannibal #hannibal x will #will graham

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enid-rhees · 4 months

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hey!!! i wanted to request an enid x fem!reader modern au where they go to the same school and enid has like a one sided rivalry with the reader and the reader is oblivious as to why enid doesn’t like her until they end up hanging out at a house party, maybe smoking on the roof or wtv, and enid admits that she doesn’t actually hate the reader and that the reason she gets so mad all the time is because she likes the reader and doesn’t know what to do about it. and then they kiss 😛 thank u sm!!!

i (don’t) hate you || enid rhee x fem!reader

warnings: a bit of angst, weed (smoke responsibly!)

a/n: thank you for requesting, anon! i am such a sucker for non-apocalyptic stories for Enid, so i really loved writing this 🫶🏻 Enid icon made by @elisiassideb1tch 💙

Enid Rhee Masterlist

you didn’t know when or how it started, really. you had never been mean or said anything mean to Enid, but yet, she treated you like you killed someone.

everyday in the classes you had together, you were always met with stabbing glares from Enid whenever you made eye contact with her. and the thing was, you honestly wanted to be her friend. you’ve attempted to talk to her before, but she would only give you a dirty look and walk away.

today wasn’t any different.

you sat in the seat you were assigned to in your fifth period class: English. students started to fill up the class, and you managed to catch Enid walk past you as quick as she could. oh, you forgot to mention, you share more than one class with Enid, and this happened to be one of them.

her perfume briefly filled your nose, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes at the sweet scent. everyone sat down in their seats and the teacher stood up from her desk. Mrs. Smith was her name.

“alright, today, i have set up a project for all of you.” groans and whines filled the room, and Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes and waved her hands. “all you need to do is read one of these books i have sitting up here with me, and you’ll need to write an essay explaining the plot and moral of the story. and you’ll be doing this with a partner.”

oh god, you thought. you pretended not to care by scribbling doodles on your notebook in front of you as Mrs. Smith started to read out names.

“Enid and Y/N!” Mrs. Smith suddenly announced. your pencil froze in your hand and you slowly looked up at her, and then at Enid. you met her eyes, Enid didn’t look happy. what a surprise.

Enid raised her hand, “can i work on this alone?” your eyes lingered on Enid still, and you swore you felt your heart drop a bit. you really didn’t understand what she had against you. and you couldn’t lie, it hurt.

“oh, um, sure. Y/N, you could work alone too or find someone else. it’s up to you.” you sighed and nodded. “i’ll just work alone.” you said quietly.

Mrs. Smith clapped her hands together once. “okay! you’re all in pairs or working alone. now, ill be passing out the books. and the book i give you is the one you do your project on, so do not try and beg for a new one.”

you could really care less about which book she gave you; you’d read anything that came your way. you continued scribbling in your notebook until Mrs. Smith dropped a book on your desk.

Romeo and Juliet, great.

“i got paired with Henry for that English project.” Carl told you, mindlessly playing with his food in the cafeteria. “yeah? good for you.” Carl furrowed his eyebrows at the way you responded. “what’s up with you?”

you sighed and dropped your piece of food. it really wasn’t that good anyway. “i got paired with Enid for that stupid project. but literally right after Mrs. Smith called our names, she asked to work alone. so that left me with working alone as well. i’m just.. frustrated.”

“isn’t that a good thing? i thought you didn’t like her.” you groaned, “no! i’ve never hated her, Carl! i wanted to be her friend, but she’s the one that acts cold towards me, and i haven’t done anything to her. that’s why i’m so frustrated.”

Carl only shrugged, “i don’t know, then. it’s weird, but it seems like there’s nothing you can do. just try to ignore her whenever you can. don’t pay any attention to her, maybe she’ll finally stop.”

you nodded, “yeah, i guess i’ll try. see what happens.” you looked down at your food, “can we go? i can’t stand looking at this stuff.” you asked, grimacing down at your food. Carl laughed, “yeah, we can go. wanna head to the library?”

“yeah, i wanna work on this project.” you and Carl both stood up and walked over to the trash cans to throw your trays away. when you turned back around, you stumbled back as someone’s shoulder ran into yours. you turned around again, watching as Enid threw her tray away and began to walk away as if nothing just happened.

you let out a deep sigh and began walking towards the exit and straight to the library. Carl found a table near the back and you dropped your bags down on one of the chairs and pulled your laptop out. “don’t you need to read the book first?” Carl questioned.

“i can’t tell you how many times i’ve read Romeo and Juliet because of English class. and the plot and moral isn’t that hard to understand. i can knock this out in ten minutes.” you shrugged.

“i don’t think Henry knows shit about the book Mrs. Smith gave us.” Carl sighed, making you chuckle. “what book?”

“The Hunger Games.” he responded. “oh, you’re so lucky. i would much rather have that.” you whined, opening up a Google doc. then, an idea popped in your head, and you remembered that Carl had been begging you to go to this upcoming party with him. “okay… i’ll tell you what.”

“since this is going to take me around ten minutes, i’ll do the project for you and Henry. and you finally shut the fuck up about Ron’s party. okay? we got a deal?”

“deal. but you’re still going.” you sighed. “whatever. you also owe me a pizza.” Carl groaned while you smirked over at him. “we need to stop doing things for each other.” he sighed.

you began to type away on your laptop, and Carl had quickly told you he would be right back to use the bathroom.

“do you have to be everywhere i am?” a voice of clear annoyance spoke. you looked up, not surprised to see Enid. you laughed, “i’ve been here for like, five minutes, Enid. you’re the one who walked in after me. stop acting like i’m some freak who’s following you around.”

“i’m just tired of seeing you. i’m tired of your face, your voice, just looking at you is irritating the fuck out of me.” you honestly didn’t know what to say back, why is she saying all of these things? she can easily turn around and walk away, but instead, she’s making her problem yours.

“Enid, if you hate me so bad, then leave me the fuck alone. you are constantly making your own life harder by talking to me. you make me feel like fucking shit for no reason, you go out of your way to say these things and blame me for it! just leave me alone!” you cried out, and some heads turned towards you, including the librarian. you didn’t know where the sudden outburst came from, you’ve been holding it in for a while.

Enid was silent. she looked down at the ground before turning on her heel and walking out of the library. Carl came back just then, turning to look at Enid and then back at you. “what just happened?”

“nothing.” you said quickly, taking a deep breath. “i’m almost finished with this. we can go home afterwards.”

you could hear the music blaring through speakers outside, before you can even get inside the house. people crowded outside as well, some sitting alone with a beer can, and some with their tongues down another’s throat.

you walked past all of them and opened the front door, there were even more people here than outside. Carl stayed right behind you, eyes scanning around the place. “i’m gonna find Henry. stay safe, alright? just text me if we need to leave.” Carl shouted over the music. you nodded and began walking over to the drinks. Ron definitely stole the various six packs of beer, but you weren’t complaining as you cracked one open.

walking around the house, you started to realize why you really hated parties. it was hot, the music was overwhelmingly loud and people screaming over it didn’t help. in every corner, there was someone making out with a person they probably wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

and now with Carl not by your side, you really didn’t know why you were even here. you thought about leaving, but you knew he’d probably get drunk and you’d have to hold his hand like a child all the way home.

a tap landed on your shoulder. you turned around, and of course, it was Enid. you sighed and began to walk away, but she grabbed your hand. “wait,” she began. “come with me. please.”

you debated on pulling your arm away from her and telling her to fuck off, but the way she looked at you made it near impossible. you nodded, “fine.”

Enid led you outside, and then to a gate that went up to the roof. the two of you climbed it, and sat on the center of the roof. you looked out over the other houses, you hadn’t seen a view like this before. Enid tapped your shoulder again and handed you a joint. you didn’t even question why she had it. “thanks.” you mumbled, and she reached over to light the end for you.

you put the joint between your lips and inhaled deeply. the smoke filled your lungs and you closed your eyes in utter relaxation. then you looked back at her, “why’d you bring me up here, Enid? didn’t insult me enough today?”

Enid began to speak, and then she cut herself off with a sigh and dropped her head in her hands. “god, i’m so sorry.” she whispered. you furrowed your eyebrows. then she looked up at you. “i’m so sorry. i… i’m such a terrible person.”

“Enid-“ you started.

“i don’t hate you.” Enid blurted. “i never hated you. but i made you think i did because im so… goddamn stupid.” you shook your head slowly, “i don’t understand, Enid.”

“i like you. so much. im practically in love with you. but… a girl has never made me feel the way that you do. and i got scared. so i did what i thought was best but i was only hurting myself, and hurting you even more in the process. i’m so sorry.”

you could only stare at her. you didn’t know what to say. Enid never hated you, in fact, it was the total and complete opposite of that. she liked you, like… like liked you. your heart started to beat faster and faster.

“i’m-i’m not expecting you to forgive me. i totally understand. i’ve been such an asshole to you and i don’t deserve-“ Enid was cut off when you slammed your lips onto hers. it took her a few minutes to process, but then she was kissing you back just as hard. Enid gripped your waist and kept you close to her as your lips moved perfectly against each other; fitting perfectly like a puzzle piece.

the kiss continued, neither of you wanted to pull away from each other. even though you were almost out of breath, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

when you did pull away, Enid was breathless and she couldn’t stop looking down at your lips. “wow,” she laughed, and you laughed along. when her eyes met yours, you got lost in them immediately.

a smirk made its way to your lips. “you have a lot of making up to do for putting me through all of that for months.” Enid laughed, “i can’t argue with that. tell me what you want, it’s yours.”

“you.” you whispered, bringing her lips back to yours.

#divider creds : cafekitsune #enid rhee #enid twd #twd enid #enid rhee x reader #enid rhee x fem!reader #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #the walking dead x fem!reader #twd x fem!reader

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