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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

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MW2 Reaction to Their S/O Who Self-Harms

Warnings: Heavy Mentions of Self-Harm, Non-Explicit Mentions of Injuries, Mentions of Violence (Not Towards Reader), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

A/N: Hey guys, just letting you know that this post is a bit heavier than my usual ones. This has been requested of me quite a few times, so here it is. I’ve tried to remain as realistic and respectful as possible while bringing you your favourite MW2 people. I’m going to link some mental health resources here for anyone who needs them, and I implore anyone suffering, regardless of whether you self-harm or not, to please, please talk to someone. Nobody deserves to live with the weight of poor mental health, so if you’re able, don’t hesitate to reach out to someone and tell them how you’re feeling ! Friends, family members, pets – anyone who you think will be able to be a good listening partner, even if they’re not a licensed therapist. And if you feel you have no-one to talk to, there are always options ! Local and national mental health services, some of which are free and don’t show up on phone bills ! A lot of the time, simply speaking about what’s hurting you is the first step to mental healing <3. Please stay safe, guys <3

Ghost

Is appalled at himself that he didn’t notice sooner.

He bundles you up into his arms, pulling you as close to him as physics will allow, and then some. His head is buried in your shoulder, his grip around you tight, but he doesn’t hurt you.

“Oh, Sweetheart– I’m so sorry,” you hear him whisper. His voice is thin and high as if the composite of helium, yet a sombre tone weights it.

“I should’ve known how you were feeling – I should’ve been here for you more–”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to console him, or how well you are able to conceal your suffering. Simon will never forgive himself for allowing you to go through this alone.

“It’s no excuse,” he says, and there’s a hitch to his voice. Something wet, warm, hits your shoulder.

Now, distraught as if he’d already lost you, Simon pulls away just so he can see your face. His eyes are glossy and red with tears, his face the mask of anguish.

He takes your head in his hands, holds it at the jaw, and, with angel tenderness, presses a kiss to your crown.

He tucks your head beneath his chin, encases you with his body again.

“I’m never gonna let anything hurt you,” he says, and you can feel his heart pounding against his chest. “Not again.”

And you know he means it.

Due to his own mental health struggles, Simon will use his own logic to try and help you.

He’s never had anyone to rely on – before you, at least – so he makes himself available to you wherever and whenever you need him.

He does everything you ask of him without question, whether that’s making you a bowl of soup or listening to whatever thoughts roll into your head.

He helps you get ready for bed and tucks you in when he can tell it’s been a taxing day, mentally or physically.

And he watches over you, as if to make sure you don’t disappear before his eyes, before going to sleep himself.

There’s nothing he loves more than to hold you, whether you’re upset or not. He just wants to feel your weight and your warmth in his arms, nuzzling you and telling you “I love you. D’you know that ? Very, very much,”

You do know. He tells you every waking moment.

And throughout it all, despite the unfortunate circumstances from which this is derived, Simon is just glad that you want to open up to him, and he’ll never deny you a request or a question, wanting to remain a source of hope and comfort to you for as long as you need him.

König

König’s many dealings with his own occupation have clued him into how severe one’s mental health issues can become. Especially when left unattended.

And, as a result, König has the propensity to become…overbearing.

Of course, he’s mortified that you’ve been suffering in silence this whole time, and while he knows he can’t change the past, or rewrite the stars to ensure this never happens again, he does everything in his power to prevent you from falling into despair.

“It’s okay, Engel,” he says, taking you into his arms and holding you close so you can hear his thundering heart. “You’re safe. You’re alright, you’re alright…”

In the beginning of your shared journey to healing, König tries to do anything and everything for you. Chores, cooking, pillow readjustment – anything he thinks would be a nuisance to you.

However, he ends up completing tasks that you actually find enjoyable, leaving nothing for you to do.

While you appreciate everything he’s doing – very much so ! – you still want some independence, even if it’s minimal. And you told him as much.

König looked like he was on the verge of tears when he apologised: “I just wanted to do what was best for you, Darling,”

You have to console him, tell him that his gallant efforts are not appreciated.

König still keeps an eye on you if he has cause to believe you may be trying to self-harm again, but he won’t smother you.

He’ll wait for you to come to him, trusting that you know yourself and him well enough to understand that there is nothing you can’t tell him.

Even if you relapse, or stumble a little, König always encourages you to get back up.

“That’s why our skin heals,” he says, holding your injured arm in his hand, cleansing you of your pain. “So we can start again.”

He loves taking you out on trips – anywhere he knows you’ll like.

He just wants to see you feel something again. Or at least see a sliver of happiness light up your face, even if just for a second.

Petting zoo, amusement park, shopping trip, spa day – you name it, it’s yours !

At the end of the day, when you’re exhausted and König is carrying you home on his back, your 6’10 military princess is just happy that he gets to spend time with you, your warmth the best he’s ever felt.

And he’ll do whatever he can to keep it. To keep you.

Soap

Initially, he’s in denial. But when he sees how tired you are, how grey your soul has become, his heart tears, and everything he’s ever felt for you comes pouring out.

He takes your hands in his, and, the feeling of tears burning his throat, he buries kisses into the back of them.

“I love you– so, so much,” he says, breathless. “You know that, don’t you ?”

The tone in his voice suggests haste, or perhaps desperation. The need for you to know that you are loved. Very, very dearly.

And when you start to cry, Johnny can’t keep his tears in any longer.

“It’s okay, my Love, it’s okay,” he tells you, voice low and soft.

He pulls you into an embrace from which you gather the impression you will never escape. Not while he’s holding on to you as if you could slip between his fingers at any minute.

“We can get through this. Together,”

His assurance is resolute as the sunrise in the morning, and you know, from the way he holds you, speaks to you, that what he’s saying is true.

“You’re okay. You’re safe now. We’ll be okay…”

Johnny makes a concerted effort to watch over you more from now on.

You still maintain your independence – that’s not an issue.

But if he can sense you’re not feeling too good, he’ll either ask if you want to talk about it or wait for you to come to him.

He trusts you to come to him when you’re ready, just as he trusts you with his heart.

He makes sure to ask what your boundaries are when it comes to talking about mental health, just to be sure that he doesn’t accidentally overstep or trigger you in any way.

The last thing he wants to do is upset you. He’d never forgive himself if he did.

And whenever you come and tell him that you’re feeling a little better today, or you found even just one, tiny thing to celebrate, like finding a cool pebble, he’s overjoyed, overcome with pride for your achievements.

Valeria

She is daughter and heir to her own demons, but none of them compare to the thought of you harming yourself or being harmed.

Her initial reaction is anger, but not towards you.

Never towards you.

She wants to eradicate whoever or whatever has driven you to feel this way.

It will take some explaining that the source of your pain isn’t necessarily easy to vanquish, and even if it is, right now, all you want is comfort.

Valeria doesn’t cry. Not in front of you.

Instead, she pulls you to her chest and cradles you while you tell her all your worries, your problems, your sorrows.

And, when she settles you into bed, she embarks on a journey to rid you of your demons.

If they are caused by something external, it’s gone by the time morning rolls around.

If your habits are a result of something within yourself, Valeria will try to remedy it as best she can.

Hours upon hours of research, tending to you whenever you need her, letting you know she’ll never let anyone or anything hurt you–

“And that’s a Valeria guarantee !”

She never breaks out her humorous side, so you know she means it.

She does have the potential to become a helicopter girlfriend, so you’ll have to speak with her and establish some boundaries if there are some things you wish to do alone.

Valeria will understand, but she does get worried when she doesn’t hear from you every hour, and she has to resist the urge to send one of her men to check on you.

At the end of the day, she trusts you and knows that you are your own person, intelligent enough to make your own choices.

All she wants is to be able to be with you, and so long as you plan on sticking around, she will work to bring you a life that can chase away the shadows in your mind.

Price

Due to Price’s fatherly nature, his immediate reaction is deep concern.

“Oh, Love,” he says, his brow creased as his discovery weighs heavy on his face. In all his years as a military professional, he’s seen many a mortifying scene. But none of them have hurt to witness as much as your suffering.

“Come and tell me about it,” he tells you, bringing you to sit beside him on the sofa. “Tell me everything, and I’ll listen.”

Whether you confide in him or not is entirely up to you; he won’t force you to divulge anything you don't want to. But he does remind you that “We’re a team, you and I. There’s nothing you can’t tell me – that we can’t tell each other.”

And he means it. Truly.

Whenever you stand by the doorway to his study, he drops everything and invites you to sit with him, on him – whatever you want to do.

And he listens to anything and everything you tell him.

Price is an incredibly intuitive, intelligent man, and whatever you tell him, even in passing fancy, you can expect to have it within an hour of you unintentionally requesting it.

Price once bundled you up in a blanket and carried you around the house, calling you “Love Bug”. Sometimes he uses it as a comforting tactic since it keeps you warm and you can be nearer to him whenever you want to be.

He calls you his “Brave little soldier” whenever he’s tending to your scrapes or cuts (intentional or otherwise), telling you how you’re the “Strongest warrior this side of the planet !”

He’s always looking for ways to make you smile.

It doesn’t matter what he has to do to achieve a result; for you, there are no boundaries to his love.

And yes, that includes making duck lips out of Pringles.

Or walrus tusks out of chopsticks.

And whenever you smile, no matter how faint, John knows that, regardless of how bleak things may seem now, everything’s going to be okay.

Horangi

Given how mental health is rarely spoken about in Horangi’s birthplace, even stigmatised, he understands how difficult it can be coming out to someone about your inner struggles.

Initially, he sighs, though not out of frustration or anger.

But rather, understanding.

He knows there’s nothing he can say to make everything alright, but he wants to try and help you in any way he can.

And the first step is thanking you for opening up to him.

“I’m just happy you felt you could talk to me about this, 내꺼.”

He does everything in his power to make your life easier: doing your laundry, keeping your toiletries organised, preparing your meals; anything that’ll put a smile on your face or just make your day more bearable.

He doesn’t want you to feel as if he’s trying to sanitise the content you watch, but if he suspects or outright knows that specific topics or content triggers you, he’ll try to steer you away from it and bring you some safer alternatives.

He knows that everyone has different contributors and triggers so he never assumes that one specific thing may be yours; instead, he asks what makes you feel good, what doesn’t, or, if you don’t want to talk about it, he’ll try and use his intuition.

He’ll never force you to give something up, though. But he’ll gently advise against it if he feels it isn’t serving you in your journey to mental healing.

He teaches you how to ground yourself in a way that’s immediate and effective, and, whatever the weather, he’ll take you outside if you ask him to – to feel the rain or the sun or the snow, or to be held by the fog that rolls in over the oceans and mountains.

And he’ll always be there to hold your hand when you want him to, to be your shoulder to hold on to when you can no longer stay standing; your driftwood in the black sea, leading you to the lighthouse on a calm shore.

Alejandro

After priding himself on being the one person in the whole world who knows you the best, he feels his world shatter.

Not because he’s been proven wrong – his ego does not come into this equation – but because he feels as if he could somehow have helped prevent whatever feeling has driven you to self-harm.

Alejandro is a strong man, both physically and emotionally. But seeing you like this, in a ceaseless sea of despair, he crumbles, falls to his knees before you as if you are God itself.

“Mi Amor…why ?” is all he can say. “What has caused you to do this ?”

When you explain to him that, sometimes, it’s not anything external at all, but entirely conjured within your own mind, your own worst enemy, he understands.

Even when he feels he has failed you, he refuses to allow you to come to any more harm, whether from yourself or someone else.

“We– we can get help for you, or– or we can just stay here, go out like we always do, go and see new things–”

Alejandro is the type to throw anything at the wall until it sticks. And by god, he is not stopping until something sticks.

He pays particularly close attention to you now. Not so much as to become a helicopter boyfriend, but enough so that you know he’s there.

He grants you your privacy, believes you are entitled to it as anyone else is, regardless of your condition.

But, if you disappear for half an hour or more, he’ll come to check on you.

He doesn’t want you feeling smothered, but he’s just so terrified of losing you that he’s not sure what to do for the best.

You may have to help him here. Let him know what you want, what you need, so he can do what is right by you.

He apologises for reacting the way he did when you initially told him. “It was…selfish, self-centred. I thought that I could just– destroy whatever was hurting you. But…now, I see that’s not how it works.”

Alejandro doesn’t rest until he knows you’re at maximum comfort and happiness (however much your mind will permit that day), and he will shield you from anything that could cause you to spiral, no matter what.

Rodolfo

For the first time, he’s dead serious. His face goes straight and thin with what you think is consideration.

And he stays that way until he breaks his own silence, his eyes softening as he looks at you.

“Mi Sol,” he says, quiet, as if keeping a secret. And then, you see it. Just a flicker. But a weight bears down on his shoulders – one which wasn’t there before. But it isn’t a burden of weight. Far from it. And you know this when Rodolfo smiles, his eyes becoming glassy.

It’s the weight of love, of his heart taking on your load, halving it.

He holds his arms out to you, pulling you to him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says. His hold around you tightens. “I know that can’t have been easy,”

From then on, he is at your beck and call – 24/7.

Though, this isn’t a big change given how he already willingly threw himself at any request you made. But now, he uses his intuition more. Taps into verbal or physical cues that let him know you’re not feeling all that good today, and so he’ll take over the chores and tell you to go and sit down.

He makes your favourite meal every night you want it, no matter how unorthodox it is.

Cereal and a plate of sausages ? You got it. Spaghetti with dino nuggies ? It’s already on the table.

The only time Rodolfo will ask you to do anything is when he thinks it’s for your own good – like taking a quick walk with him around the block so you’re out in the sunshine for a bit. Or washing your hair when he can tell it’s getting you down.

He never makes you do anything you don’t want to, though.

Nor does he make you talk when you don’t want to.

He listens whenever you come to him of your own volition. And if he can tell something is really bothering you, he’ll press once for any kind of information. If you don’t want to tell him, he drops it. But he’d rather risk your upset and try to find a solution to whatever’s upsetting you than live to regret it later when it all becomes too much for you.

And whenever you confide in him, he can’t hide how lucky he feels to have someone as special as you; even if you don’t see it right now, Rodolfo knows you’re the most important person in the world, and he won’t stop until you’ve grown into the person you’re destined to be, no matter how long it takes.

And he’s with you every step of the way.

Graves

At first, he was overwhelmed.

Of course, he was hurt that you’d been suffering – and hid it so well, too.

“Darlin’... I’m so sorry – I should’a known or asked or– done– somethin’ !”

To rectify his self-proclaimed self-inattentiveness, he purchases the best therapist money can buy.

“So you can tell ‘em all about your feelings,”

He doesn’t realise how insensitive a gesture can be until it’s too late; it doesn’t even occur to him that you may not want a therapist, but just to speak to someone you know.

Someone like Graves.

And this is something you’ll have to teach him.

But, of course, this will also take time for him to adjust to.

“Well…I– uh…Are ya sure ?”

He cannot wrap his head around the idea that you could ever possibly want to confide in him about something so important, but he’s relieved that you do.

It takes time for him to understand that he doesn't need to have all the answers, or be a trained professional to help you feel better.

He just needs to be there.

To listen, to help whenever you ask for it (or when he can tell you want it).

He makes himself available to you as often as he can, sending others on business trips for him if he knows you’re encountering a particularly rough patch.

Your opening up to him inspires him to open up more, too.

Sometimes, late in the night, you sit together, awake, pouring your wine-darkest thoughts and patchwork memories into a never ending conversation.

Philip wants you to know that he’s always got time for you, so he joins you more frequently in your hobbies, and yours his.

Anything to simply be with you. And also to finish this cool bauble he’s started decorating.

Gaz

Gaz is young; he grew up in a generation that values mental health above all else, so he knows a thing or two about helping people.

However, he never assumes to know anything and everything about your causes, your triggers, your contributors; those he lets you tell to him.

He’s always willing to listen, no matter how early in the morning or late into the evening it is; he lends you his ear whenever you need it.

He tries to take time off work whenever he knows he can so he can be with you. Especially if you’ve encountered a rough patch and have asked him for help.

If you choose to pursue professional mental help, he’ll come with you if you want him to – hold your hand for as long as you want, speak for you if you’re finding that words are escaping you and you want his help.

There’s nothing this guy won’t do for you.

Not that there wasn’t already, but now he does it even quicker.

Brings you a healthy snack whenever he knows you need or want one.

He partakes in new hobbies with you when your usual ones just don’t cut it.

Colouring, crocheting, antique collecting, drawing, writing – he’ll gladly follow you down any path you take.

He brings you things he thinks may help you feel better, if only for a minute.

Whenever you need a change of scenery, he takes you on a “Magical mystery tour !” (bundles you into the car and drives to wherever your hearts take you).

He tries to pick locations he knows are scenic – ones which are calming and not too densely populated.

The days where you want to be around people – humanity – he brings you to the park, lays a blanket down for you and people watches with you the whole day.

At the end of the day, he won’t stop until you’re feeling better, be it by one percent or a hundred; any progress is monumental, in his eyes.

And he congratulates all your little victories with your favourite treats and days out of town – the country, even, when you’re feeling up to it.

He loves you so much, it’s unreal; he just can’t believe how lucky he is to have you in his life.

And he makes sure to let you know, whether through gestures or just telling you, every single day.

And he hopes that, even if you don’t believe it now, one day you’ll see yourself how he sees you.

The perfect human being.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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dottores · 1 year

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader gets a bit hurt in this chapter but only briefly.

notes: y'all we are officially 50k words in omg what a milestone. we are almost there--they are going to meet soon... but technically.... well you'll see. there are THREE special cameos in this chapter

A WARM WELCOME

“Now is not the time, doctor.”

Pantalone didn’t even raise his head to look at Dottore as he scribbled away at whatever parchment he was writing on. Dottore pressed his lips together, eyes cold beneath his mask as he watched Pantalone, unmoving. The windows of his office creaked against the winds outside, fireplace crackling to keep the room warm but other than that, silence rang loudly between the two of them.

Finally, when Dottore made no move to leave, Pantalone looked up. “What is it? I have a week to prepare for the induction of the Eleventh. I don’t have time for petty complaints.”

Dottore should be insulted, he could feel his irritation rising at the man’s comment but he forced himself to push it away. He had more important things to deal with, notably, his soulmate and as much as he hated to admit it, Pantalone’s resources were necessary if he wanted to find her before someone else did… before she got herself and by extension, him, hurt.

“You offered me resources a few years ago,” Dottore finally said, watching Pantalone carefully for a reaction. “I would like them now.”

The Regrator was a sharp man. Dottore did not have to go into detail for purple eyes to flicker down to his thumb, where the red thread connected him to his soulmate. He watched as Pantalone’s brows furrowed, as he tried to figure out why the sudden change after years of Dottore denying her very existence to him.

“You have terrible timing, doctor,” Pantalone murmured, pushing the parchments aside as he leaned back in his seat to look up at Dottore. “My resources have been all but expended between the upcoming event and trying to track down that menace to the east who has been slaughtering our underlings.

Dottore’s lips twisted. “It is not my timing that is terrible,” he said coolly, Pantalone raised his eyebrows and Dottore exhaled. “It’s hers. I believe she is here. In Snezhnaya.”

Pantalone exhaled, turning his head to the side to look out the window. “That’s not good,” he murmured.

“I know that,” Dottore said shortly.

“Why not send one of your segments?” Pantalone asked after a moment, pen tapping against the wood of his desk in an unsteady manner that had Dottore’s eye twitching in annoyance.

“They’re busy,” Dottore answered tensely.

A lie. Both Epsilon and Rho were back in Snezhnaya City with nothing to do until Dottore decided what research he wanted them to continue on after finishing a round of successful experiments in Archon residue down in southern Liyue. Dottore just didn’t want to send them after her.

Epsilon was Epsilon. He could not trust that the segment wouldn’t do something foolish driven by the emotions that the rest of them did not have or were not capable of understanding. He was the one that Dottore worried about the most ever since the thread appeared, fearing that he would do something that would irreparably strengthen the bond… like forcing Dottore to meet her because he thought it would be best for them.

And Rho had been the one most vocal about at least letting the kids meet her and if the kids met her, he knew it would inevitably lead to Dottore meeting her and that was the last thing he wanted.

He had a feeling that Pantalone could read right through the excuse if the unimpressed look on his face had anything to say about it but Dottore did not waver, raising his chin and staring down at where the man was sitting.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to look for her right now,” Pantalone finally said, shaking his head and scooching his chair back to ruffle through one of the drawers of his desk. “If you can send one of your segments to take out the threat in the east, I might be able to conjure some up and have them keep an eye out but right now my hands are tied.”

“Fine,” Dottore said sharply. “Give me the information you’ve gathered. I’ll send a segment to track him down and kill him.”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows again, this time not even bothering to ask the question that Dottore knew was dancing through his mind: I thought your segments were busy, he could hear the mocking words just through the man’s expression.

Instead, Pantalone just slid a thick folder across the desk to give to Dottore. He snatched it and tucked it under his arm, intent on passing it off to Rho before he returned to his labs, waiting for Pantalone to confirm that he would look for her.

“We don’t want him dead. We want him captured,” Pantalone warned. “Pierro wants information from him… then I’ll convince him to pass him off to you. Another test subject, you’re welcome.”

Dottore only smiled thinly. “And the girl?” he pressed.

“I’ll do what I can,” Pantalone said. “What do you know about where she is? Western or Eastern Snezhnaya? The border? I need to be able to narrow down the search, I can’t send men all across Snezhnaya with the upcoming event. I need them in the city to prepare for the arrivals of the aristocrats.”

“I know that she is in Snezhnaya,” Dottore told him. Maybe he would know more if he would swallow his pride and reach out to her, but that simply was not an option.

Pantalone stared at him, irritation thinly veiled behind his purple eyes. “You do not like making things easy, do you?” the corners of Pantalone’s eyes crinkled in annoyance at Dottore’s words before he finally sighed, shaking his head.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally repeated, “but with nothing to go on, I can make no promises that I’ll find her before someone else does… so, for all of our sakes, I suggest you try to narrow that down.”

It was cold.

You knew that was something you should have expected and you thought you prepared adequately for it but now, you thought that no amount of preparation could have made you ready to face this. As soon as you had crossed over into Snezhnaya, the temperature had plummeted, the sheer cold was beyond anything you had ever felt before--cold enough to crack the stones of the buildings in the small villages littered throughout the countryside, cold enough to freeze you from the inside out.

Traveling during the night simply wasn’t feasible, as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, the already bone-chilling temperatures plunged further. You had been lucky the first night when you were traveling down the main road deeper into the northlands--you had bumped into an older man traveling back to his home from the one of the villages, he had ushered you back to his place and he and his wife had looked after you, warning you that you wouldn’t live through the night without shelter in Snezhnaya.

Since then, it’d been a game of survival. The deeper you got into Snezhnaya, the more winding and confusing the roads became, the harder it became to track down villages to find inns to stay at and the more nervous it made you about finding shelter for the night. You thought that Snezhnaya was a trap laid out for foreigners, only those who were born and raised there knew how to navigate the lands without meeting an untimely end.

The tundra of the east appeared endless, a daunting venture you dared not make, and the forests of the west were dark and maze-like with dangerous creatures prowling about and the threat of getting lost and not making it to an inn before night fell was high… but the forest was the only way through to the mountain range south of the Snezhnayan capital city. If you wanted to get to the heart of the Fatui, you would have to trek through the forest and pray you stumbled upon one of the villages before the sunset.

You exhaled, leaning back in your seat at the bar of the inn you were staying at as you swirled your empty glass between your fingers. You had reached the end of the main road, the only way further into Snezhnaya was through the forest now but the thought of entering it made you anxious. A part of you thought you might be better off heading back home.

“Another?” the bartender questioned as he walked by you but you only shook your head, thanking him quietly as you remained lost in your own thoughts.

You couldn’t turn back. Not now, not yet. You had promised yourself and your father that you wouldn’t return home until you had ample evidence to bring this to court… unless you died trying to get it.

Your grandfather didn’t want you going north. He thought that no amount of evidence would be worth you risking your life for but you disagreed. You didn’t think there was any world in which you’d be able to live with yourself knowing you didn’t even try.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed that he was looking at you again--the man sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You couldn’t see his face, there was a hood masking it from view but you could feel his eyes on you, he’d been watching you for nearly thirty minutes now. A part of you wanted to confront him, grab your stuff and head over to his table and demand to know why he kept staring at you but… the more logical part of you knew you shouldn’t. You didn’t know why he was staring at you and all of the worst possibilities were running through your head:

Does he know what you’re here for?

Is he Fatui?

Is he planning on attacking you?

Your vision vibrated from where it was hidden beneath your cloak, warning you to prepare for a battle but you were not the battle type. You had never learned how to wield your vision in a combat manner and you didn’t know if he had a vision or not, you only knew that he had a large claymore set down on the seat next to him and all you had was a small blade that couldn’t even be called a sword. You had only learned to use your vision in the way your father and grandfather taught you when you were younger and it was not something you enjoyed doing to people.

Finally, you forced yourself to stand up. Your gaze caught the window on the far end of the room as you rose to your feet--it was dark already, night had fallen and the hazard of the cold had become even more real.

With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel to make your way over to the table the man was sitting at. You watched as his head turned to follow you as you approached him and you watched as his body tensed, gloved fingers gripping the edge of the table tight as you slid onto the bench across from him.

“Is there a reason you keep staring at me?” you finally asked. You leaned back against the wall that the bench was placed against, feigning ease, but your legs were tense, ready to move at the first sign of an attack.

“You’re not from here,” the man said after a moment of silence, you caught a glimpse of red beneath the hood he wore. His accent was foreign--unlike the Snezhnayan dialect you’d become used to throughout your travels.

“Neither are you,” you retorted. He shifted back in his seat, the lighting of the inn revealing equally red hair hanging in his eyes, cold and empty with something dark thinly veiled behind them that made your skin crawl--eyes that had witnessed massacre, eyes that promised vengeance. Vengeance for what? You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, you knew it would lead to nothing good.

You suddenly felt as if you had made a mistake.

“There aren’t many foreigners this deep in Snezhnaya,” he noted cooly. “Just merchants… are you a merchant?”

Somehow, you felt as if ‘yes’ was the wrong answer.

He was accusing you of something, you could feel it in your bones but you didn’t know what he was accusing you of. Being a spy? Was he Fatui?

“I’m not a merchant,” you said, taking in a small puff of air when you caught the blood smeared across the man’s chin and neck as the hanging lights in the middle of the tavern swayed a bit. His lips pressed together subtly at your words and your vision was becoming even more erratic--danger, danger, danger, it warned you.

Somehow, you knew now that ‘no’ had been the wrong answer too.

“It’s hard traveling through Snezhnaya without knowing what paths to take, you can get lost easily… all of the paths on the old maps have been snowed out,” he responded. “How’d you make do?”

“An older couple living off the main road pointed me in the right direction,” you told him. “How about you? Are you a merchant?”

You knew he wasn’t. No merchant traveled with blood staining their faces and a weapon the size of the average person. He had no goods that he had arrived with, he’d shown up at the inn a little after you had with only his sword in tow and his eyes were unfriendly and glacial, unlike the faux charisma that painted the expressions of merchants as they tried to get you to buy their products.

The man stared at you for a moment and then he said, “No,” with no further explanation.

The Fatui usually traveled in groups or as pairs. He had a foreign accent. He wore no mask or sigil that affiliated him with the organization as they usually did. Who the hell was he?

And then you remembered the hushed whispers of the elderly couple you had stayed with--warning you that the Fatui had become more active in their area because of a belligerent wreaking havoc throughout central Snezhnaya who had been spotted at a nearby inn. They told you to take care because they didn’t think that the Fatui would take kindly to any outsider in the area so long as the hostile remained terrorizing their strongholds but…

Was this…?

You watched him carefully, trying to figure it out without having to ask. You were several miles from where you had been staying with them now and it had been two and a half days. Traveling through Snezhnaya was slow and arduous, the wind fought you with every step and half of the time you were dragging yourself through snow that reached your knees.

If this was him, then maybe…

You didn’t even have a chance to finish the thought, head snapping to the side as the door to the inn slammed open and cold air rushed through the tavern at the entrance, blowing out half of the candles keeping the room lit up. Your stomach churned uncomfortably and from the corner of your eye, you watched as the man you were sitting with reached for his weapon.

Who the hell was traveling in the dead of night?

Your throat felt tight as you watched another hooded figure step into the inn. You couldn’t make out his features in the dim lighting, you couldn’t even tell if he was armed or not but there was an odd vial that glowed blue even in the dark hanging from his right ear.

The bartender had paused in making a drink for one of the other patrons of the tavern, a wary look visible on his face that you caught as the chandelier swung dangerously beneath a harsh wind. You let out a shaky breath, the cold from outside was already creeping beneath your cloak and freezing your skin. You wondered why no one was shouting at him to close the damn door like they did to other people who arrived until the bartender finally spoke up, voice shaky:

“Lord Harbinger,” he breathed out. “How can I-”

The man’s head turned in your direction--no, you realized, not your direction, his--and that was the only warning you got before the world around you exploded.

The entire right side of his body felt like it was on fire. Dottore let out a spew of curses as his hand spasm and he dropped the vial he had been studying right to the ground, watching as the glass shattered and the silvery liquid splattered all over the floor, dissolving the tiles and eating through the ground.

Dottore exhaled, briefly shutting his eyes before looking down at the mess on the floor. His lips twisted in annoyance as he realized he was going to have to restart what he had been testing but the annoyance very quickly faded, instead shifting into confusion as the pain persisted. His gaze drew over to his arm--nothing was wrong with it on the surface level but it was a blinding type of pain that had him gritting his teeth, like a jagged blade was tearing through his bicep.

It was…

He hadn’t felt anything from her in nearly two weeks. No anxiety, no fear, no anger or sadness and certainly not any pain. He stared down at his arm, where the pain was coming from, and not for the first time since the accursed thread showed up, Dottore had no idea what to do. He thought that he should reach out to her, figure out what was going on and get a general idea of where she was so he could send one of his segments to find her. The pain was more than anything he had ever experienced through her and he wasn’t sure if it was just because she had a low pain tolerance and he was feeling what she was, or if it was because the pain was actually that bad.

Neither boded well for her.

But if he reached out to her, if she was fighting someone, it could distract her.

Dottore’s teeth grit together. He didn’t know what would happen to him or the segments if she died. He didn’t know how it would affect them. Logically, he thought it shouldn’t affect them at all. They hadn’t met her yet and if the bond worked anything like how they believed it did, it shouldn’t take effect until after they met, which wasn’t going to happen… but after two weeks of silence, Dottore was unsure. Every day that passed, an odd, unfamiliar feeling expanded through his chest. He didn’t know how to describe it besides overwhelming and unwelcome but he knew it was because of her silence and the lack of communication through the bond. It caused an emptiness that made him question everything they had learned about the bond.

And if mere silence could cause that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk knowing what her death would cause.

Are you okay?

He asked it before he could decide against it, taking a seat back down at the lab table he had been working at as he waited for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, he could hear the silver liquid still eating through the ground below, sizzling and cracking as the floor dissolved wherever it touched the substance.

He wondered if she would just ignore him like he did to her for years on end.

But then, his forearm stung--a familiar feeling that he hadn’t experienced in two weeks now. He hated how that empty feeling he hadn’t been able to get rid of since he had pushed her away immediately disappeared. It made him feel weak… as if he had no control over his own emotions like a puppet on a string being commanded by a stranger. He glanced down at his arm, red eyes flying over the words that had appeared.

Does it feel like I’m okay?

At once, he rolled his eyes, regretting reaching out to her. He rose to his feet again, pacing across the room to get the tools he needed to clean the mess of his mistake but before he even got halfway there, the pain tripled and a creeping fear began to spread through his chest. He grimaced as he leaned on a nearby counter, trying to regain control over himself but he found that he couldn’t--her fear and pain was simply too intense.

What happened?

He slid down against the counter he was leaning on until he was sat on the floor. He watched the silvery liquid from the corner of his eye, watching as it ate through the ground closer and closer to him as he waited for a response from her. He despised how he couldn’t compartmentalize her feelings. He had learned how to separate them from his and the other segments but he had never figured out how to store them away and convert them into something that was easier for him to process.

Attacked.

Dottore felt cold. His gaze drew over to the window on the opposite wall of his lab--it was dark out, the sun had long set and the wind was harsh. He wondered if the coldness was a result of the damning realization that she was in trouble or if it was because she was outside. Either way, Dottore needed to act--if she was still being attacked, he had to get one of the segments there and if she was stuck in the cold running after being attacked, she would die to nature.

Dottore tried to push away the rising anger--the fury that never failed to appear whenever he was put into an impossible situation because of this bond, whenever he felt like the gods were looking down at him and laughing as he played right into their sick games.

Who attacked you? Where are you?

He shot out questions to her at a rapid speed, the pain was getting worse on his end. He could feel a light-headedness and a fuzzy feeling beginning to seep through his body and mind. She had to be losing blood and too much of it. If she passed out, that would be the end. She’d be killed by the attacker or she’d be killed by the cold, there was no other fate that awaited her.

Don’t know. An inn at -------

Dottore stared at the indecipherable words branded onto his forearm--he wasn’t sure if they were scribbles or an ancient language that he just couldn’t understand, another way for the gods to laugh at him by dangling the answer wants right in front of his face but making it so that he couldn’t understand it.

What do you mean you don’t know? Figure it out.

Dottore wondered if she could sense his irritation at her response. He didn’t really care if she could, maybe it would make her think harder.

Fatui, finally scrawled itself on his forearm and Dottore thought he might want to throw something because he had called it the moment that he had realized she might be coming north, he knew that between her being a foreigner and their subordinates being anxious over the masked hostile running through their camps that something would happen. They called him Lord Harbinger.

Dottore stared at the words trying to piece together what was going on. Lord Harbinger? Pulcinella and Pantalone were rarely, if ever, sent on missions that would end in combat. As far as he was aware, Brighella was at Zapolyarny Palace working with Pierro on something. Capitano was traveling north from Natlan for the initiation of the new Harbinger in a few days, he’d be on a boat traveling the western sea. Scaramouche? It could-

He had a blue earring, it was bright.

A blue earring, he was acutely aware of the one hanging from his own ear, mind racing as he tried to remember where each of the segments were. Lambda and Theta were in Sumeru. Zeta was in Mondstadt. Delta and Iota were on the Fontaine border. Gamma, Epsilon and Kappa were all hanging around his labs.

Rho, it dawned on Dottore suddenly. He had sent the segment south to track down the belligerent because their subordinates had proved incapable. He had mentioned that he was closing in on the man. Had she gotten caught in the crossfire? Was she traveling with him?

No, that wasn’t possible. All reports had claimed that the hostile was traveling alone.

Rho, Dottore spit out, reopening the connection with the segment, intent on having him find the girl and drag her back across the border into Fontaine. Where are you?

Not now, Rho responded, voice cold and angry. It took a lot to anger Rho, he had tight control over his temper unlike the Theta and Delta segments. Dottore could feel something stinging his cheek, a cut--he wondered if the hostile had actually managed to land a blow on him, no matter how small. It would explain why he was so angry.

Get back to where you came from. Now.

Now? Rho demanded, livid. I’m on him.

She was there. At the inn. The reaction was instantaneous as Rho’s resolve wavered. If she dies because of you, you won’t even get the relief of deactivation.

Dottore rose to his feet again once he was certain that Rho had turned back, pacing across the length of his lab, careful to step over the melted ground where the substance had fallen.

Once he found her, this would all be over. He’d have Rho bring her back to Fontaine whether she liked it or not, and once he knew where she lived, he’d make sure to send one of the other segments to keep an eye on her so something like this would never happen again.

Finally, he would have some semblance of control over the bond for the first time since it appeared. He’d no longer be hanging onto her whims, he’d no longer have to stress about her getting herself hurt or killed and how it would affect him, he’d no longer be bound to this mess and he’d never have to worry about accidentally running into her because the segment would keep her confined to the city and he would stay far from it.

He’d send the Zeta segment. He couldn’t send Theta because he didn’t trust him not to do something rash. He couldn’t send Delta, Rho or Epsilon because the younger segments were attached to them at the hip and they would press to meet her. Lambda was an option if he could ensure that the segment wouldn’t try to ‘handle her’ as he threatened to already.

Relief began to inch its way through him—too soon.

He had jinxed himself.

She’s not here, he heard Rho tell him. I don’t know-

Dottore closed the connection, biting back vile curses as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of the nose and tried to think.

Where could she have gone? It had only been a few minutes. She was hurt. She couldn’t have gotten far.

Where are you? He finally decided to ask her and he waited, and waited, and waited for a response but was only met with the empty silence he had become accustomed to the past two weeks.

“Where am I?”

Your eyes followed the cloaked figure carefully, trying to keep your breath steady as the pain coursing through your arm gradually subsided. Your gaze flickered to the side, watching as the red, bubbling skin of your right arm began to smooth and clear beneath whatever substance that had been smeared over the burns.

“What is this stuff?”

You had a lot of experience with using elemental energy to heal wounds. Fontaine City had some of the best medics throughout Teyvat--Wriothesley’s family’s special trait could call upon hydro energy to heal even the most fatal and grievous of wounds. He had never been able to wield it the way his family wanted him to but his grandfather was the best of the best, he had helped you when you had broken your arm and leg ten years ago after falling down the steps of the clocktower when exploring with Wrio.

This was not elemental energy. It was odd and cool, like gelatin, but it worked as fast as any medic--in no time, the pain was gone and the burns had vanished, leaving the skin of your arm unblemished again.

“Old magics,” the person responded. Their voice was low, androgynous. You couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.

“Why did you help me?” you asked. “Who are you?”

You didn’t know where you were now--it was a dark room, a stone building with a fireplace on the opposite wall. The last you remembered, you had been in the snow. You had started to lose consciousness, the cold and the pain too much for your body to bear. You could barely even remember what had happened: you could picture the hooded man who you had been sitting with brandishing his claymore and the man that they had called Lord Harbinger meeting him blade for blade, pale fire coating his weapon and eating away at the wood of the inn, burning through your cloak down to the skin. You could hear the screams of the other patrons of the inn as they got caught in the crossfire of the battle between the two men.

And then you were here, in this room… with this person.

“Who are you?” you demanded, more insistently this time when you didn’t get a response.

Finally, a reaction from them. The flames flickered across their face as they turned to face you and finally, you got a glimpse beneath the hood… but it was not a human face that stared back at you. It was a mask, dark with a spade-like pattern around the eyes, a smile painted onto the plastic.

“No one,” they replied, “just a trouper.”

What? You thought to yourself, confused. Your nose wrinkled and your brows furrowed as you mulled over the word. A trouper? Like the entertainers at the Grand Theater?

“Why did you help me?” you tried again, raising your chin to meet the two voids in the eyeholes of the mask. They hadn’t tried to bind you or restrict your movement, they hadn’t even taken your weapon--just a bit of concentration and you could put yourself in control of the situation.

They tilted their head to the side, you couldn’t see their eyes or expression but you knew they were smiling, “Is that how you treat someone who saved you?”

You hadn’t even moved, you stared at them, unmoving, forcing your body to relax. How had they known what you were thinking? You weren’t a person that was easy to read--if you were, you would’ve been put on trial for treason a long time ago.

“Why did you save me?” you asked slowly, not letting them get out of answering the question.

“Because I want to help you.”

Yet again, they evaded the question. Your lips twisted in frustration, “Why?”

“Because I think we can help each other.”

There it was, you recognized, taking in a sharp breath. They wanted something from you. The air around you suddenly felt cold, as if the fire across the room had been snuffed out even though it was still burning bright. They were eerily still, almost like a statue as they watched you, waiting for a reaction.

“Why do you think that?” you asked carefully.

“Do you really think you can infiltrate the Fatui on your own?”

You were on your feet in an instant, reaching for the blade sheathed at your side but your eyes widened when you realized it wasn’t there. You only had half of a second to react before you found yourself backed up against the wall, a forearm pressed to your throat and the tip of your own blade pressed to your side, threatening to puncture the skin.

It had just been on you. How did they get it?

“Well?”

Well what? You wanted to scream, mind panicked and racing as you tried to force yourself to calm down and think but it was hard to concentrate with your air being half-restricted and a blade pressed to your ribcage.

They wanted you to answer their question, you realized, about infiltrating the Fatui.

“Yes,” you said but you weren’t even sure you believed it yourself. You kept telling yourself that you would figure out a plan once you got to the city and had a scope of the area and more information available to you but you had a feeling that nothing would change even once there. Zapolyarny Palace would be impenetrable.

“How?” they murmured, not letting up on you. You wanted to turn your face away, unnerved by the proximity of the mask, but you thought that would show you as weak and you couldn’t afford to show weakness, not right now. “Do you plan to storm the palace? Face the Harbingers and demand retribution for your father? Do you think you will fly under the radar of the Knave’s webs of spiders? That you can simply walk past the automatons of the Marionette prowling the streets of the capital city? You will find yourself a victim of the Doctor’s twisted experiments or the Friar’s sick games before you even hope to find the evidence you seek.”

You couldn’t mask your expression, not after hearing that. You stared at them, lips parting as if to speak but no words left them. You felt like a fish out of water--for the first time in a long time, you were fumbling for words, your tongue felt twisted and heavy.

How were you going to do it? The question laid atop you like a crown of thorns, tearing through your skin and scarring your face. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how you were going to do it. You used not being in the city as an excuse, convinced yourself that it was the only reason you haven’t thought up a plan yet but the truth was branded right on your face as you stared at the masked person: you simply didn’t know.

“I can help you,” they whispered, leaning in impossibly closer. “I can give you your in, the chance you need to find the proof.”

“How do you know all of this?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice cracked over your words but you were scared because if this person knew all of this then it could spell your end, just like that. All they had to do was send word to the Fatui and you’d have hell bearing down on your doors.

And if they knew about this…

“I know a lot,” they said cryptically. “Would you like me to help you?”

… did they know about your soulmate?

You let out another shaky breath, staring ahead. You didn’t know what to do. If you didn’t accept their help, would they sell you out to the Fatui? Or would they laugh and watch as you fumbled your way through Snezhnayan courts and fail to acquire what you had traveled all this way for? You could feel the pain ricocheting through your head, you could barely even think straight, much less come up with an answer.

If you did accept, you finally forced your head back on track, what did they want in return? That was what you needed to know.

“What would you want in return?”

“We don’t know yet,” they said quietly but their tone was not hesitant--if anything, it was amused. Finally, they released you, taking a step back to watch you. The eyes staring down at you were empty, like looking into an abyss.

A dangerous, dangerous gamble. It gave them too much power.

“No, I want to know what you want in return.”

We. You suddenly recognized how they referred to themself--we, not I, they were not working alone. You felt all the more suffocated at the realization.

“Then I guess we have no deal,” they said with a sigh, making a move to leave the room the two of you were in. Your heart leapt to your throat. “I cannot tell you what we do not know. Take the deal as is or fail, you will not succeed without help. You have no way of getting into Zapolyarny Palace. It is impenetrable.”

You should take that as a challenge, tell them fuck off and make them watch as you succeeded. Your blood boiled at the condescending tone and it took all of your willpower to not snap at them.

This was not the time for pride. You had to abandon all vices and virtues if you were to get the evidence to condemn your stepfather, if you were to bring justice to your father… and if this person were to offer you the chance you desperately needed… then maybe it was worth whatever price they wanted you to pay in the long run.

Committing injustices in the name of justice, the thought rang through your head loud. Wrio would love the irony.

“You can get me into Zapolyarny?” you finally questioned, hiding the way your hands were shaking behind you as you sealed your fate.

They hummed in agreement, “You will be on your own once you’re in there. Take care not to anger the wrong people… or draw too much attention to yourself.”

You could do that, you told yourself. Once you got in, you needed to find a place. Weasel your way in as an attendant so you could search for the evidence you needed.

“Okay,” you finally agreed. The air suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, you thought that if you looked up, you would see the blade of a guillotine dropping on your neck. “Okay, we have a deal.”

You didn’t have to see their face to know that they were smiling, the voids staring down at you glimmered cruelly, you swore you saw red deep within the eyeholes of the mask.

“Welcome to the game, spadille.”

rbs appreciated!!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

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ideas-4-stories · 4 months

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Cross Guild romance AU -

Buggy makes his own explosives, which doesn't sound all that important until you sit back and think of the ramifications and knowledge required for that. Buggy is damn good with chemistry, math, physics, and I bet he was the brain to Shanks's brawn on the Oro Jackson; he'd probably have been all over Crocus whenever he could to learn more about anything and everything.

Crocodile and Mihaw don't really put the two together, given that they see Buggy primarily as an idiot and coward. It's when an epidemic spreads on the island that some odd things click into place-

Buggy has forgone the big costume, is in comfy and sturdy clothes. His face is painted minimally, hair tied into a tight bun, bandana on, and he's working side by side with the medical professionals. He's elbows deep in checking vitals, organizing charts, and even synthesizing medications. More members are sick than not, and they go under a near-quarantine lock down to handle the illness. Between working in the medical tents and taking care of his people, Buggy has also had a hand in organizing for resources to be sent and delivered.

Neither Croc nor Hawk had even considered some of the balls Buggy has gotten rolling. They both have very strong immune systems, so they rarely face or think of illness or sickness as something to prepare for or to account for, but this just exploded one day seemingly without warning, and the clown had a plan in motion by eevening.

It's at this point that they begin to wonder if maybe there's something more to their Chairman than they first thought...

((Bonus points, they catch Buggy coming back from a long shift at the medtent, sent off by the other's to get some rest, so he's just at that sweet spot of tired enough to lose filter. They ask about the medicines, and Buggy goes on a mini infodump about chemicals, hormones, enzymes, antioxidants and antibiotics, mentions that he and a few others already have a few batches baking, and sleepily chuckles about how "the simpler ones seem to work well so far, thank goodness. I was worried... *yawn* that I'd have to dip into my supplies for my testosterone... *falls asleep at the table*.

Croc just becomes the Spiderman meme of "TRANS???" when Buggy wakes up))

I LOVE this is an understatement, this is so good!!! I love Competent!Buggy so much!!! Why can't the clown be a fucking genius while being clown-failure babygirl he is?

Buggy having a plan by evening is because he has so much anxiety, I mean, look at the poor clown! It's always the things that he didn't think of that happens that gets him in trouble. But this, he can do this. I also love the headcanon, that Buggy learn a lot of things from Crocus, so he has this in the bag!

It would be funny if Buggy could be fine in a really bad pandemics, but the flu and whatever the happened near Laugh-Tale is his biggest sickness problems. What am I saying, back to this cool ask!

Buggy being competent because he doesn't want his crew to die or get really ill, not because he needs them to work, but because he wants them healthy and happy. Buggy forgoing the pillow onesie for something better, and not taking that much time on his makeup is so good, that just shows how he priorities his Nakama before himself is so cute! I have a headcanon that Buggy has a least a Field Medic degree or a Nurse one. Mihawk and Crocodile watching at the sidelines is what I see them doing, because like the clown's being competent and they see there's not much they can do in this.

Yes, on Buggy rambling on and on about things he does, I want Buggy to infodump so hard. Like really really hard, Buggy could go on and on about things that interests him for a while.

Buggy is every gender and nothing at all to me, and the spiderman meme with Crocodile is the only one pointing at Buggy while Buggy is confused and sleepy, while Mihawk is just there on the sidelines. Is really funny to me.

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twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 7 months

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Can I ask for a gn! Yuu that has very long hair like atleast that's touch the ground?

No need to do the request do ill wait and

P.s. I love your monster au❤❤❤

Awww, thank you! If I had to say, I think my Monster!AU is my most popular AU so far 😂 It’s just so much fun, and while I love doing the worldbuilding, the wholesome silliness and found family vibes just always get me ;;v;;

Anyway, you most certainly can! I couldn’t help but get flashbacks to my high school years when my best friend would call me Rapunzel because of how long my hair was…and the sheer panic and horror she felt when I came to school one day after getting a haircut and my hair was up to my jaw. Don’t worry, it grew back! I’ve only had it cut that short once, but never again. :V It took three years to get it back down my spine. >.>

So while you asked for a gn!Yuu with long hair (and I’m assuming it’s in Monster!AU), you didn’t necessarily specify any scenario, so I hope you enjoy the random silliness based on my experiences with critters and long hair! >w<

////

When Yuu was finally able to get out of the ceremonial robes and into more comfortable clothes on the first night in Ramshackle, it came as quite a shock to Grim and the ghosts when they unwrapped their hair to the point the tips touched the ground. Given how dirty it was, however, Yuu had to quickly tie up their hair to keep it away from the dust.

“Where did you put all that?!” Grim asked, patting a paw against their hair as they tried to run their fingers through the long strands. “Why is it so long?!”

“Because I wanted it to be long?” Yuu replied with a shrug.

“Oh…do all humans have long hair?”

Despite being a chaotic gremlin in the beginning, Grim is more curious about the length and texture of Yuu’s hair than anything. At some point he realizes just how warm it is and will often be found practically wrapped up in it, snoozing away and just enjoying the comforting scent of their shampoo.

And then there were the monster students.

Hair is not a foreign concept by any means to these monsters, though the fact that there was someone who had hair this long? It reminded so many of those who knew the story of the Sun Kingdom and the princess with long hair who used incantations on a golden flower to bring her lover back from the dead!

“…your hair doesn’t glow, does it?” Ace asked, bouncing Yuu’s hair in his hands as he held it up to see it in the light.

“If it starts glowing, feel free to freak out, because I sure will!”

An issue that they came across, however, was how often the long strands got caught underfoot by monsters near them. More than once did their head jerk back because someone happened to step on it, whether they were trying to stand up or move to another spot. It happened more than once to the point Yuu’s neck started to hurt from the frequency. Such things didn’t go unnoticed by a certain unicorn…

“Honestly, you’re going to ruin your hair and your posture if you keep letting it drag on the floor like a mop,” Vil scolded them, the unicorn’s lion-like tail swishing in agitation as he worked through the newly formed knots.

“I can just put it up in a ponytail or a bun,” Yuu told him. “It’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not! If you’re going to keep your hair this long, then at least do something more presentable and functional to keep it healthy and strong.”

So began the long process of Yuu having to sit through lessons on hair care from Vil. They watched as he worked in the mirror to fashion their hair into new styles, referencing videos he’d watched online and resources for hair that closely fit their own to ensure he knows how to care for and teach Yuu. They listened as he instructed them on how to braid or twist their hair into styles they never even considered, and before long they were walking out of Pomefiore with hair care samples and a long, thick braid that hung at the back of their knees. It was a little heavier than they were used to, but not unmanageable.

It certainly made it easier to dance and run after their friends when a certain gremlin chimera got up to mischief!

When Cheka comes to visit, Yuu can’t help but notice how much he acted like a kitten that they just…couldn’t help but let him play with their hair. It was adorable to watch at first, but—like all things in Twisted Wonderland—something inevitably goes wrong.

“How did he get tangled up in your hair this badly??” Jack asked as he tried to figure out how to unravel the giggling child from their hair.

“Ow…Cheka was just so cute playing, and I only looked away for a second,” Yuu said, their hands on their scalp to keep the tugging at a minimum. “I didn’t think he’d get tangled up like this!”

“Halp!” Grim cried out, squirming around Yuu’s hair as well.

“Ow ow ow ow! Grim, stop! You’re pulling on my scalp!”

“I’m starting to think that human hair is used to trap prey,” Ruggie commented with a snicker, though his fingers were still combing through and untangling the hair quicker and easier than Jack.

After all is said and done, Yuu’s hair is quite fascinating even to Cater’s Magicam followers, leading to some crazy hairstyles and designs to be created (and lots and lots of safe hair dye and hair spray to be used). If Yuu wants to use a rainbow of colors or specific ones for their hair, Vil and Professor Crewel will find ways to help do so without damaging the roots or strands with harsh dyes or bleach!

Straight? Curly? Wavy? Dreadlocks? Afros? Any style and texture of hair a human could have! Imagine the possibilities with styles and colors in a world where Yuu can literally ask someone to use magic to see how something would look! And there wouldn’t be any issue with returning it to normal because magic~!!

Kudos to those of you who are able to confidently dye your hair wonderful colors, I love seeing the hues that can be done ;;v;; I'm too chicken to do it to my own hair, so I live vicariously through seeing others do it. 😃

Anyway, that’s all I can think of off the top of my head! Hope you guys enjoy! >v<

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #vil schoenheit #ace trappola #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu

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stacytea · 6 months

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Maedhros during the War of Wrath

I've been thinking a lot about it lately. Here comes a big hc drop: For starters let me say, I imagine the War of Wrath as maybe not a really long conflict, at least not very long for elvish standards, but a very devastating one. Beleriand was hardly liveable at this point, so I imagine that most of the supplies they had was what the host of Aman had brought with them. Considering that, they probably started running out of things after the first couple of years of war effort. Yes, the Balar island was still functioning at this point, but I don't think they had strong enough economy to do much more than sustain themselves and I think maybe there were some rare deliveries from Valinor from time to time, but I have this idea that it wasn't nearly enough. The war was consuming way more resources than could've been provided and as the time was going on it was getting gradually worse. Like I think that at the most critical point there were deficiencies of literally everything, from food & medical supplies to clothes & weapons. They stopped sending archers to fight, because there was no material to make arrows anymore, thousands of soldiers were dying from curable injuries, because the healers (there was a very strong shortcoming of them as well) didn't even have things as basic as bandages & maintaining hygiene was nearly impossible ( don't get me started on how it impacted Elrond who I headcanon to be one of the healers there and only something like 18 in human years and had to witness something like 5 out of 6 of his patients die and there was no time to even sleep, not to mention rest, because every wasted second is a lost life and there was just an overwhelming amount of death and despair all around him, and he wasn't able to do anything about it, wasn't able to really help) So let's imagine these thousands of exhausted, underfed, miserable, war-worn, I would even dare to say - halfway dead people, who just want this horror to end.... and then there's Maedhros. Maedhros, who had survived horrors far worse back when he had been a prisoner in angband, had survived hunger that could never be compared by any means to these little food deficiencies he had to deal with now, yeah, he didn't get to eat anything in three days, so what? This guy had watched his own downfall from the front row, had slayed civilians in Doriath and Sirion instead of fighting Morgoth... And now he was back where he belonged. On the frontlines. Leading armies against the enemy. Once again doing what he knew he should've been doing all that time. I believe during the War of Wrath Maedhros was more alive than he ever had been since his husband's Fingon's death. He was literally radiating energy and charisma, his mental state was very much improved. Once again he was Maedhros the tall, the Lord of Himring a Noldorin Warlord, not some heinous murderer, not a monster. For the first time in many years he was doing something that actually felt right.

#silmarillion #silmarillion headcanon #the silmarillion #war of wrath #maedhros #elrond #russingon #only mentioned tho

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restinslices · 3 months

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Heyyy omg first i wanted to say how much i love the things you write!! Thanks for giving me for free teehee ;p Second... sorry i always feel so awkward when i ask someone to write something that i dream of, like, i'm demanding or being selfish lmaooo im sorry for rambling... SORRY I NEED TO ASK ONLY YOU CAN DO IIITTTTT: So, i was watching Avatar: the legend of aang and there is this part when the group goes to a theater and Katara (the protagonist love interest) sits and then one of the group sits beside her and the protagonist is like "hey can you let me sit there?" its so cute like... SO SORRY, But do you think would be nice a fic, headcanon or anything when the reader is very liked by Kung Lao, Johnny and Kenshi (or any character you like) and they kind fight each other to stay closer to the reader or spend more time with them... Sorry for my bad english i had to let this out...

Idk why my brain was struggling to figure out how to write this but there we are. I hope you like it!

You were waiting for this particular movie for a long time and although you told them that coming with you wasn't necessary and you didn't wanna be a bother, they decided to join anyway

To you it looks like “wow, my friends are so nice”. To them it's “I can't wait to spend more time- y'all are coming too?!”

The fighting to stay near you begins early on

You ask to ride shotgun and obviously they say yes. Now they're fighting over who drives

Kung Lao says he can drive because he'll get you there quicker

Johnny says he can drive because he's the better driver and won't get you arrested (Kung Lao tends to speed)

Kenshi… well… he knows to sit this one out

None of them get their way though because Raiden ends up driving

Which annoys all of them because Raiden is the only one who doesn't like you

Childhood best friends who could only see each other as siblings type of shit. It pisses all of them off because that means Raiden is always near you

You go to a store to get snacks because who actually buys snacks at the movie theater?

And they are latched to you

You say to spread out and get whatever candy or snacks they want and they all magically want whatever snacks are in the aisle you're in

It's pathetic

Little problem though. You have two sides and it's three of them

There's behind you but it's not the same. It doesn't feel like they're apart of a conversation

“Everyone thinks I'm blind so to avoid suspicion, I should hold onto you”

Kenshi’s resourceful (I still don't know if he can see now or just in combat)

That guarantees him a spot by your side

Now the two most conceded people gotta fight for that next spot

Johnny immediately slides next to you but Kung Lao squeezes in and pretends he sees candy he really likes

He actually hates Sweet Tarts but it worked at least

These two are giving each other funny looks the whole time in the store

That's pretty much all they do the whole time you're in the store. Just sliding in between each other

Then you get back in the car and Raiden drives again, which still bothers them

You get to the theater, get your tickets and get to your room or whatever it's called. Last movie I saw in theaters was Black Widow-

You like sitting in the outer seat though so that means only one person can sit by you

Raiden goes to sit by you and at this point, they think it's on purpose

Johnny shoves $20 in his hand and has him sit somewhere else

So now the other two are mentally booing

Johnny goes to use the bathroom and Kung Lao sits in his seat, even though you say Johnny is gonna want his spot back

And of course Johnny comes back and wants Kung Lao to move, which causes a whisper argument and you have to take matters into your own hands and tell them both to move and for Kenshi to sit by you since they wanna be childish

They legit wanna kill each other now

“Everything was going fine. Why'd you take my spot?!” “You moved!” “I hate you” “Hate your debt” “Weren't you rejected as the champion?” “Weren't you?”

Kenshi is feeling great though. You guys are whispering and laughing the whole time

He definitely feels better than the other two

He makes sure to hold his bladder. Y'all are not finna fuck him over

The other two are side eyeing him the whole time

They use passing snacks as a way to still chat but you’re like “bro there’s a movie on”

The movie ends and you guys leave and they don't even protest about Raiden driving because they know it is what it is

They drop you off first and once you're inside, the yelling starts

Multiple things are revealed

A) Raiden knew what he was doing. He finds it funny.

B) Kung Lao and Johnny are now enemies for life

C) Kenshi believes he has a better chance with you now

More events will be planned and this will happen all over again so good luck

Y’all I made a library run and I’m so hype for these books. Y’all don’t understand. I was riding my bike back home with a smile on my face

#mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #kung lao #johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #raiden #kung lao x reader #johnny cage x reader #kenshi takashi x reader #kung lao headcanons #johnny cage headcanons #kenshi takahashi headcanons #mk1 headcanons

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beautifulpersonpeach · 8 months

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I'm still here ngl..

Listen, I see this and feel so much happiness. Jimin dancing, showing who he is, showing the versatility of his style and giving us just a glimpse into the extensive, vast range of his talent.

There's been some revisionism happening regarding BTS that's ratcheted up in the last three years or so. I can't be the only person who's noticed it. People more forcefully asserting things about the members that are just plain absurd, like saying this or that member isn't that talented, or that xyz member has this massive character failing that's only just apparent now for some reason, or that things they've said and done aren't actually the case. After FACE, I noticed people saying shit like Jimin can't sing and can't dance...

That reminds me, I went to a cup-sleeve event in June for another group and someone told me to my face Jimin can't dance and I almost uppercut that bitch. It ticked me off but I didn't actually assault her. What I did instead was ask her to explain what she meant, told her I disagreed, and showed her why by playing Jimin's Black Swan solo DP. She took back her initial claim and said she'd just been in a k-pop group online and all those people were saying is how none of the BTS members are that talented especially Jimin who apparently can't sing to save his life and whatever dancing he can do is limited to a few moves from 6 years ago.

Plain insanity.

Jimin, out of the kindness of his sweet, magnanimous heart, is giving the amnesia patients a crash course in who he is. He's reminding people he is Park Jimin of BTS. The dancer who joined a nearly bankrupt agency, had the shortest training period in that agency's history, and with the least resources, and debuted as the main dancer and lead singer of what is now the biggest group in the world. The man who critics from all over the world laud as a virtuoso, in voice, dance, and performance. His voice has brought men to their knees, calmed babies, enchanted concert halls, made stadiums full of people cry out in pure joy. There's nobody alive or dead like Park Jimin, and the fact we all get to exist in the same time as him is a blessing too many people (for my liking) take for granted.

ThisIsJimin is a gift I'm thankful to Jimin for giving us again.

Anyway, I was watching that clip again with a friend and she pointed out how cool the dance practice room was. Noted how it's a massive improvement from the old BigHit halls that had mold growing on the walls and water dripping on live wires in the back. It's taken years, hard work by the members, good business sense from BigHit/HYBE, and a lot of my own hard-earned money as well as the resources (time, money, otherwise) from ARMYs over the years to get to this point - and I just want to say, speaking for myself, even though I still see massive room for improvement, I feel very happy with the state of things.

HYBE is cultivating a solid roster of talent built on BTS's hard work. The world-class facilities in the building is the first good sign, as well as the talent now being fostered there. I love the quality of the army of dancers Jimin had access to for his SMF Pt2 performances, I love that NewJeans is doing so well that Riot Games sought them to feature on their new World's anthem, I love that a whole new generation of incredible groups are growing in the environment created by BTS's own trials and success.

BOYNEXTDOOR is a group that continues to have my attention because all six boys are just that good. They posted their dance practice for Crying today (my favourite song from a rookie group in 2023), and I noticed they did it in a similar dark coloured dance practice room Jimin filmed his #ThisIsJimin choreo in. And that really just put a very silly smile on my face for a reason I can't pinpoint yet.

youtube

Maybe it's aftereffects from the Jimin Effect after streaming his reel as hard as I'm streaming Indigo lately.

I see the asks you send, about Golden, JK in general, jokers, this or that thing happening in fandom, and I'll get to them at some point but I don't want to talk about them right now. Because I'm still stuck on Jimin showcasing himself in that air conditioned, world class dance practice room that's only possible because of his hard work, tenacity, talent, and love for his group.

I'm still stuck on Jimin and legit cannot move on. He's such a beast. Such a calculating, proud, stubborn, and kind beast of a man.

I'm not sure what's going on with me.

We're in Jimtober so maybe his juju is just extra strong and I can't escape his grip no matter what I try. Anyway, it's a good idea to stream FACE, allow yourself to re-experience his album, check out his other solos as well (played Christmas Love over the weekend and realized it sounds even better on low frequency speakers), and eat a lot of spicy food followed by warm/hot drinks because Jimin is curious about such things (and it really does work).

#jimin #bts #bts chapter 2 #gush post #boynextdoor is an amazing group and you should get into them if you haven't already #Youtube

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12u3ie · 1 year

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Hi I am NOT normal about pottery shards and I WILL talk about them

AKA: under the cut is me explaining all the pottery shard designs out in Minecraft 1.20 snapshots as of now (March 23, 2023) in alphabetical order, going over their design and their possible meaning in the lore. Pictures of each shard will be above the text of the listed shard. Now, let's get on with it shall we?

Angler. Starting off simple. A fishing rod with a fish at the end. The ancient society knew how to craft fishing rods and catch fish.

Archer. A drawn bow and arrow. They crafted bows and arrows and knew how to use them. Probably related to skeletons somehow. Maybe the skeletons are them? Maybe the skeletons just stole their technology once they were gone? Unsure.

In real life, bow-and-arrow technology was revolutionary in terms of human evolution. Some archeologists even theorize that bows were the tools that began the end for our cousins, Neanderthals. But in Minecraft... who knows?

Arms Up. A humanoid figure with their arms raised. The arms-up pose means something unknown. Perhaps a gesture of friendship, or peace? What we do know is that, for near certain, the ancient peoples were humanoid in nature, close if not near identical to modern players.

Blade. A sword. Very similar to the standard Minecraft sword model, with a slightly different hilt. Maybe a pixel art limitation, maybe not. The ancient peoples knew how to make swords.

Brewer. A bottle of some description. Seems like a mixed design between a glass bottle and a cauldron. Nevertheless, it has its origins in brewing. They knew how to brew potions. Did they have a different system of brewing to the modern day, or did they have access to the Nether for materials? Currently unknown.

Burn. A flame. They knew how to make fire, or at least knew of its existence. But drawing on the last point, perhaps it's not a fire, but a blaze powder instead. The textures are oddly similar to one another.

Danger. A creeper. Seems like these mobs have been around for a while, and have always been a pain in the backside to watch out for. Wonder if they replied to such a call of danger with "aw man."

Explorer. A map with an X, marking a specific spot. They hid treasures in the ground likely in the same way of IRL pirates - marking a spot on a map for later. Sadly, from modern treasure maps found in shipwrecks, it seems they weren't able to get back to all their spoils in time. Also indicates they knew how to make and use maps.

Friend. An iron golem face. The ancient peoples knew that iron golems existed and that they were protective and friendly towards them. Perhaps, building upon other, older theories, they made the iron golems themselves.

Heart. A standard heart shape. Possibly a visualization of love. Or perhaps they had hearts within them as humans do in the real world, and this is what they looked like.

Heartbreak. A heart broken in two down the vertical center. ...Let's go with the first assumption of the previous shard's imagery. A broken heart is often a symbol of a bad feeling over a lost relationship. The ancient society had intricate relationships between its peoples. They loved and fell out of love, in any and possibly every such meaning of the term.

Howl. A wolf. In the words of a dear friend of mine, "They had doggies!" Or, more likely, began the process of domesticating wolves into the tamable breed we know today. At the very least, they knew of the existence of wolves, regardless of whether the ancient people-wolf relations were good or not.

Miner. A pickaxe. The ancient peoples were able to craft tools like pickaxes to mine for resources. The pickaxe here, much like the sword, is slightly different in design to what we know today.

Mourner. A warden. Now this... this is a very interesting one. I have my own theories that would require a bit more explaining than this format will allow for. (Maybe I will express such thoughts at a later date, if readers wish to hear them...) Let your thoughts be known in the tags!

Plenty. An open chest. This proves that the ancient peoples had the ability to craft chests, and the need for extra storage beyond what could be carried (presumably in their inventories, if they had them).

Prize. A gem. This is an indicator that they were able to mine for resources. Now, some sources may indicate this as a diamond. However, the shape is very distinct from that of any diamonds ever in Minecraft. This may be a completely new - or rather, very old - and different gem than anything players have seen before.

Sheaf. A bundle of wheat. They had means of farming and collecting wheat, and perhaps other crops as well. Agriculture is a part of their culture.

Shelter. A tree. They were able to hide from the elements underneath trees, later emulating this with their own buildings.

Skull. A skull. This could either be the skull of a skeleton mob, from which the skull item drops today, or perhaps the skull of the deceased. They knew of skeletons and death in one form or another.

Snort. A sniffer. This proves that sniffers existed at the same time as this ancient civilization, and that these people were in some form of contact with sniffers.

-~-~-

Remember that anything listed here was important enough to the society of ancient peoples to be immortalized in the art of their pottery. Each one of these has some sort of significance.

-~-~-

Taglist: @darubyprincxx @nightshadeowl @eagle-warri

#i use the word 'golem' only because of its use in-game #i do not fully agree with the term and prefer construct #figured i should state that loll #twelves rambles #minecraft #mineblr #twelves theories #also another disclaimer: any one of these could be wrong #these are educated guesses here #can use for theories IF CREDITED #emphasis on the CREDITED

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twogyuu · 1 year

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The Meaning of 'First Love'

Pairing: Donghyuck x fem!reader

Synopsis: In which you and your roommate, Donghyuck, have very different understandings of first love.

Genre: Fluff, crack, roommates-to-???, kind of fake dating???

Warnings: Food, Urban dictionary definitions, unedited

WC: ~1.2k

A/N: I dunno what I'm doing 🤡 - maybe . . . just maybe might turn this into a series???

. . . .

"Mine?" Donghyuck nibbled on a slice of cucumber. He looked off out the window for a moment before answering. Rain pelted against the glass, sliding down slowly. The picnic the two of you had planned was ruined by the weather (Hyuck did not check the night beforec . . ), so you opted to do it inside instead. The food was already prepared and your schedules only aligned in such a way that today would work - not many more in the near future.

"Mmm . . . well, in seventh grade, there was this girl from the year above who always came to watch my soccer games," Donghyuck explained, "Hyemi was her name," he smiled fondly at the memory, "Gosh, she was so pretty."

You scoffed. "How'd you know she came to see you specifically?"

"She told me so behind the bleachers," he explained.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. He was using that tone where his pitch went up at the end of his sentence - an indicator that he was fibbing.

Donghyuck looked up at you, stopping mid-bite, knowing he was caught.

"I-I . . ." his voice trailed off. "I think? Jeno asked her and she said she thought I was cute."

"Jeno could've lied too," you deadpanned.

Donghyuck jerked his arm as if he was about to backhand you, letting out a brisk 'tsk'.

"So annoying," he muttered under his breath. "How about you?" he tossed a pickled radish in his mouth. "Who was your first love?"

"I . . . don't think I have one," you replied.

"Ey, lies," he groaned. "C'mon, you've had to have a crush on someone at some point, right?"

"I mean, I've had crushes and situationships, but never . . . anything that was reciprocated clearly that I could've defined as love."

"What the heck?" Haechan pursed his lips. "Wait - you've never dated?"

You shook your head, unbothered.

"No one? No one at all."

"Nada - I told you crushes and situationships."

"Huh," he creased his brows together, scratching his head, "I guess. What is a 'first love' to you then?"

"It's love right? So I expect it to be mutual - a two-way street."

"No," he retorted, "I don't think first loves have to be reciprocated - it's just like . . . the first person you're really truly romantically interested in."

"How 'real' can romantic feelings be when you're in seventh grade!?" you chuckled.

"Really real," Donghyuck replied. "Hyemi made my heart go-"

He put his fist over his chest flexed his fingers in an exploding motion.

"If you loved her so much, where is she now? I don't see her coming to see you every day."

"Yeah - unfortunately, I see your ugly face," Donghyuck pressed two fingers against your forehead to push you away. "But first loves aren't meant to last - at least most don't."

"They aren't, but I still stand by my word," you replied. "Love should be mutual for it to be considered love."

"Shall we consult the great resource of urban dictionary then?" Donghyuck fished his phone out of his pocket and started typing away.

You rolled your eyes, but didn't push back.

He cleared his throat and recited the definition:

"First Love is the first person you want to be with. You can talk to them anytime of the day/ night regardless. First love is the person who you first see a future with and want to last. The person who you first feel a fast connection. The first and one of the hardest heartbreaks .. many believe First love also happens to be their last. You’ll always have place in your heart for them because they’re the first person who you cared for even . First love can happen in any age or anywhere even if you never meet a person."

"Nah," you waved a carrot at him. You leaned over to read the definition for yourself, not minding the way your shoulder pressed his. "See?" you pointed at the screen. "'Connection' - that still entails two people - reciprocated feelings, relationship."

"Well, how about friends to lovers?" Donghyuck tried to argue.

You pointed at him playfully. "Lovers - reciprocated."

Donghyuck blew a raspberry, quickly swiping out of the site. He didn't want to fight about it anymore - you were stubborn and stuck in your ways. He'd learn really fast from the few weeks of living with you that he needed to pick and choose his fights.

"Tough crowd," he muttered. "Well now that if you put that way, then I never had a first love either"

"You've dated before though," you said. "You've had to have 'loved' them to date them."

Donghyuck let out a questionable hum. "I had one girlfriend - can't say I liked her a whole lot."

You gasped. "You didn't like Yena?"

"I mean, she was cute and I was excited at first," Donghyuck shrugged. He laid back on the picnic blanket and shut his eyes. "But there's a reason we only lasted a month."

"That's fair, I guess." You pushed aside the paper plates of food and rolled over to lay next to him.

"Also according to that urban dictionary definition, she definitely didn't leave an 'imprint,'" he snorted.

"Did Hyemi?" you teased.

"She was hot."

"Okay," you shrank away from him. "That's enough - I don't want to know about your eighth grade fantasies."

"It was seventh grade, but anyways."

Purposely, he snuggled up against you.

A comfortable silence passed, the sound of rainfall filling the room. Since it was mid-day, the both of you opted to leave the lights off, letting whatever remnants of sunshine passing through the clouds to slip into your shared apartment. It cased a cozy gray cast over everything - your clothes and the furniture all looking a little duller.

Kind of reminded you of young adulthood.

Donghyuck and you have been roommates for the better of two years now. At this point, You knew his habits like the inside of your palm - his constant need for physical affection being one of them. It was irritating initially - you enjoyed your personal space. However, like a quiet cat coming to sit in your lap while you were reading, you slowly grew accustomed to it. Sometimes, the missing weight of body on yours when you were doing school work on the couch or just laying around watching TV, was starting to feel strange.

"You know what this means then?" Donghyuck asked.

"Hm?" you peeped an eye open.

"Neither of us have first loves," he snickered. "According to your definition, at least."

"So you never truly loved Hyemi?" you teased. "Didn't leave an 'imprint'?"

Donghyuck sighed dramatically, shaking his head and ignoring your comment. "What a pitiful pair of roommates we are - lonely and loveless."

He rolled onto his side, blowing air at your nose.

"Dude!" you wrinkled your nose, opening your eyes to glare at him.

"I have an idea though," he smiled mischievously.

"Yeah?"

He smirked. Before you could blink, he caught you off-guard, planting a wet kiss on your cheek.

"Hyuck!" you exclaimed, swiping at his saliva.

"Wanna be my first love, Y/N?" he asked, winking at you playfully. "Test out this definition of yours?"

#haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #haechan fluff #donghyuck fluff #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios

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morganas-pendragons · 1 year

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Haven’t We Given Enough? | Joel Miller

Okay, so hear me out. I've known about this game for years but have been exclusively an Xbox kid since like 2004 so I've never had the opportunity to play it. I heard Pedro was cast as Joel and I was shocked that I actually knew the actors playing Joel and Ellie. Saw the trailer, watched the entire first game gameplay, and now I'm here.

Whoops.

I will say this though: I'm really bothered that I could find like nothing but hardcore smut in the tag for this character. I aim to change that. Enjoy some hurt/comfort!

@ironmandeficiency

This is meant for a fem!reader. There are themes of past pregnancy in this that may come back into play later (reader had and lost a child) so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, read at your own risk.

***

It’s remarkable how similar he is to the very thing you’ve thought him to be since you met. While Ellie is like a summer fire burning across empty, barren fields, Joel is the vengeful, unrelenting snow storm that threatens to pull you apart.

He becomes increasingly good at it the longer you know him. Those dexterous, strong fingers wrap around the rungs of your ribs and pull them apart until the fragile beating thing you call a heart is exposed.

That fragile beating thing has simply endured too much. It’s endured heartbreak, and loss, and pain, and it’s somehow still keeping you alive despite having lived through the beginning of the Outbreak and twenty years into it.

Sheer determination has kept you alive. Not love, not your little sister, just a culmination of all the things you’ve endured that have turned into anger.

It’s not like his anger though. Yours is calm. Methodical. Purposeful.

Joel Miller’s anger is exactly like him: Vengeful, unrelenting, terrifying. It’s only once you meet that your anger begins to temper down into something he has never quite known. Not in this life anyway.

Gentless. Compassion.

Peace.

And well, Joel Miller finds that the longer he knows you, the more he aches to learn what that really means.

It’s weird. You know it’s a weird habit, but you’ve been doing it since you were a little girl and have a difficult time not falling back into old habits. People have often accused you of being aloof. Bashful.

At the very least, people-watching is resourceful and educational. It really teaches you about what to expect from the ones you don’t quite know yet.

People watching was how you found yourself drawn to Joel Miller.

It started whenever Marlene sent Tess and Joel to smuggle the two of you out of the city. You were Ellie’s older sister - born before the Outbreak, almost fifteen years her senior - and her solely remaining blood family since your parents deaths. Your mother’s dying wish had been whispered into your ear with her final breath: Look after your sister.

So you did.

“I will be damned if you even think I’m not going to follow that girl,” You snarled, jabbing your thumb into Marlene’s chest. “That’s my sister. My blood. My promise. You will not take that away from me.”

The Boston QZ was, as to be expected, a literal hell. The only way that you and Ellie were going to survive was if you joined the ranks of the Fireflies. You did. You did, and it ruined you. Any remaining semblance of innocence that you had died years before.

You didn’t want to think about that. It was past, it was gone, just like that part of who you’d been at that point.

All gone. Just like the rest of the world.

Marlene knew better then to argue with a Williams. Where you lacked, Ellie made up for it. It was comical how a fourteen year old girl, in certain situations, had more diplomacy then you did.

She was the one who talked when Joel came into the room for the first time.

“Be careful with that one,” You warned afterward. Marlene snorted as both Williams sisters simultaneously crossed their arms over their chests and leaned into the counter as Joel left the room to confer with his partner. “He’s a storm.”

Ellie knew of your comparisons. She knew of your uncanny ability to read people, to see people, and she’d never doubted you. Not once.

“Funny. First time you told me this, you said I was a fire. If he’s a storm...” She nudged her head uncertainly in the direction Joel had left in. “Then what kind of storm is he?”

Your eyes flutter closed. You’d been able to gauge a lot just from those few minutes of conversation. “Winter,” You reply quietly. “One of those blizzards we got caught in the winter you turned four. Mom and Dad had us hunker down. We didn’t leave the bank we were in for well over a week. Stayed in the safe.” You pause. “If we had even threatened to step into that storm, we would’ve been obliterated. That’s the kind of storm Joel is. Unyielding, vengeful.”

“Your comparisons never fail to amaze me, kid,” Marlene commented. “You’re right on the nose. Watch out for Joel Miller.”

He’s nothing if not ruthless.

***

For the first couple of months you’re forced to travel across the country with Joel, you hate him. You hate how dismissive he is of you and you hate how he continues to act like dragging Ellie to the Fireflies who will then make the cure is the worst inconvenience he can possibly experience.

You hate him. You hate him so much because he seems to be able to see right through you. No one has done that since-

Not since him.

Ellie knows who he is. Joel doesn’t. He doesn’t ask why you sometimes wake up with a cry bubbling in the back of your throat, or why your hands always subconsciously drift toward your ring finger when there’s nothing there.

He also doesn’t ask why your hand is almost always lingering on your stomach when he sees you through the cracks in the doors of the rooms you and Ellie sleep in.

He doesn’t ask.

So you don’t tell.

***

You remember the first time he ever saved you from a clicker on your way through Pittsburgh with Joel, Henry, Ellie and Sam. It’s another one of those instances where you can recall things most other people can't: the details people cannot be bothered to remember.

The smell of the tunnel. Damp. Dark. The smell of infected wafting through your nose, a familiar smell now just like the burnt bodies you so often found permeating the air in the QZ.

The click of the shotgun. The desperate shout of Joel’s voice as he tackled that creature to the ground before firing once, twice, three times into its face while you struggled to regain your breath.

The way that, afterward, he’d tossed the gun into Ellie’s arms to take your own into his hands and survey your skin for bites.

“You good, darlin’?” He’d asked, and your brain short-circuited because this was not the same man who'd spent the last several weeks showing you and your sister nothing but utter disdain and contempt.

“Yeah, yeah... I’m good.” You murmur. “Thanks Joel.”

The most memorable part of that particular day - aside from the sunlight and the way it reflected just right against the grey and white of Joel’s hair and his eyes - was the way you had learned that, underneath the rough exterior, he had the same bleeding heart you did.

***

Jackson is nice. It’s clearly the beginnings of what’s meant to become a larger, thriving civilization somewhere down the line, but it’s the first place you’ve been in the last twenty years that feels calm.

Joel’s entire demeanor changes upon arrival, and it’s not until the gates open that you realize why: The man who steps through - and is clearly one of the few in charge - bears a remarkable resemblance to him.

You and Ellie later find out that it’s Tommy. His younger brother.

The details of that newly made memory are astonishingly clear: The curve of Joel’s smile, the feeling of the sunlight, the laughter that echoes as the three of you are led inside.

For once in the last two decades, you have finally met someone who doesn’t have malicious intent.

“So who’s the older girl, Joel?”

“Kid’s sister,” Joel replied curtly. “That’s it.”

Tommy clucked his tongue and shook his head as they entered the water plant. “I know you better then that,” He argued. “Way you look at her? Not just her sister. You’ll figure it out sooner than later even though that thick skull of yours.”

The plant is attacked by the bandits who have been trying to infiltrate the compound for the last couple of months. Your illusion of peace is shattered as you again are forced to take, take, take, until there’s nothing left but bodies to deal with.

That’s when you find out Ellie is gone. You find out Ellie is gone and for the first time in quite a while, you are properly afraid.

And fear fuels you. Just like anger.

Joel knows anger, but he doesn’t know your anger until he has the gall to tell your little sister she doesn’t know what loss is. It’s unfortunate you manage to hear the entire conversation through the bedroom door while staking out the house to ensure you’re in the clear.

She’d run away from Jackson. Why, you don’t know, but you had been more panic then anything else because it was the first time Ellie had ever attempted to do something like that.

You really just wanted to know her reasoning.

“What do you want from me?!” Joel snaps, harsh and sharp, as he storms deeper into the room.

“Admit that you wanted to get rid of me the whole time! Admit that my sister has been nothing but an inconvenience to you and you’ve felt burdened by us both!”

You can’t see Joel’s face. You can’t see his face, but you see the way his body reacts to that statement. He’s trying really hard to keep himself under control. It’s admirable.

They argue for what feels like years. Ellie calls him out, again and again, only to be stonewalled by Joel’s incessant need to keep everyone at arms length and provide as little information about himself and his feelings as possible.

What causes you to storm into the room is the statement that makes the whole world grind to a stop.

“I’m sorry about your daughter, Joel... but I have lost people too.”

“You have no idea what loss is.”

Ellie’s entire aspect shifts into something akin to both horror and shock as you storm into the room, fury radiating from your features, to only then whip Joel Miller around and slap him in the face.

Your handprint burns against his cheek as he stares at you slack jawed, raising his own hand to cradle him jaw. Joel’s seen you do a lot of things. He’s seen you kill, and he’s seen you comfort, but he’s never bore witness to the heart of the storm itself.

He immediately regrets provoking the argument now.

“El,” You say quietly, fury dripping from your words as you grip his shirt with tight fingers. “Go downstairs and join Tommy. Now.”

Ellie doesn’t argue. She never has because she knows better. With a curt nod, your little sister evacuates the room like a flood has just fallen upon it to leave you - the gentle storm versus the vengeful one - alone with Joel.

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t.” You snarl. “Don’t you dare. You don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to telling her she doesn’t know what loss is, you sanctimonious egotistical-” Your hands pound against his chest, once, twice, three times. Every hit makes you just a little more tired. “We all know what loss is, Joel! You’re not the only one who’s had to deal with the funerals!”

Funerals.

Huh.

Snatching your hands with his own, Joel’s response is quiet and extremely unnerving as he murmurs, “We didn’t have funerals. We just burned them.”

You don’t have time to reply. There’s people in the house, and you’re left to slip back into your mask as you remove your gun from its holster and flick the safety off.

You don’t spare Joel a second glance.

***

It’s another dead end. Another dead end full of questions and no answers that leave you asking more that no one seems to be able to give you. There might be nothing here but bodies and unanswered questions, but it does give you one thing that makes it memorable.

The way that Ellie has smiled more now than she has since your parents and Riley died. You don’t try to intervene, to make yourself apart of what are undoubtedly her memories to carry, so you watch.

It’s enough.

It’s pretty straight forward into the University - nothing, nothing, and more nothing - until you’re ambushed by another group that has you and Joel fighting hand to hand for the first time in a while.

You’ve only just managed to incapacitate yours when a resounding crash sounds from outside, and you just barely see the telltale salt-and-pepper hair go careening over the edge of the balcony.

Seeing Joel like that.. That’s the second time you’ve known the same fear in such a short amount of time: Fear of loss.

There’s me, the fool with the slow heart who dared to think I could love someone else again.

***

The storms feels like it’s dwindling now. Like it’s simply the kind you get in the early hours of the morning in December, where the clouds are thick and gray and cover the entire sky as snow slowly falls to stick upon the chilled earth.

Joel Miller has been this unyielding, fierce storm that threatens to tear everything apart from the moment you met him in Boston. He’s cold. Calculating. Sharp. You’ve seen what he’s capable of - and reacted quite violently the first time, you hadn’t realized the human body held that much blood - and have experienced the ramifications of what such things can do.

The nightmares, the abrasiveness, the need to push everyone away because it’s simply easier than allowing yourself to love something that death can touch.

You’ve always known Joel to be a storm, but since Ellie - and you, though you just don’t know it yet - have wormed into his heart, the storm has dwindled. It’s gentler. Softer. More willing to listen to reason, to fight for something other then himself.

The rough exterior that turns so many people away is slowly giving to show who’s under the surface.

You were almost positive that your heart was going to give out when you watched Joel fall from Ellie’s horse. You’d barely been able to do anything about the wound he’d obtained from the rebar at the university, using what meager means of medical supplies you had in your saddlebags to pack and dress it so the bleeding stopped.

Ellie had watched you from the top of Callus as you carried him to the horse and slowly eased him into her arms.

“Do you think he’s gonna make it?” She asked you later, long after you’d lost sight of the school over your shoulder.

“I hope so, El.” You reply quietly. “I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t.” It’s half a truth with a confession hidden in between of your true feelings toward the matter. You’d spent so much time watching Joel - learning about the inner workings of a man your heart aches to know, to heal, to love - that you weren’t sure what you’d do if his steady, sure presence wasn’t around anymore.

The three of you have made your home inside a garage in an abandoned neighborhood when the snowfall hits. Ellie volunteers to take care of the horses while you situate yourself and Joel into a crude attempt of a sleeping situation inside, pushing two of the remaining mattresses together and scrounging up blankets for you to shield yourselves from the cold.

You don’t like how pale he is. His wound isn’t infected, which is good, but his heartbeat is too weak and you can’t help yourself from feeling somewhat responsible.

“Joel Miller,” You whisper, long after Ellie is gone and it’s just the sound of uneven breathing and the pounding of your heart from where you lay curled around him on the pair of mattresses. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself into my blood stream. You’re not allowed to give up on me. On us. Do you understand?”

Joel doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t answer. You don’t expect him to, but part of you wishes he’d open those dark brown eyes and gaze up at you with all the longing and desperation you’ve felt towards him since... since.

The bitter cold that settles in your bones is an alarming reminder that you need to curl around Joel to preserve body heat. Last thing you need is him dying of hyperthermia.

“Don’t leave us,” You whisper again, curling your fingers into his hair as you tuck your body around his own and press your chin against the top of his head. “Don’t leave us.”

We can’t take another funeral.

***

The first time Joel wakes up is the day before Ellie leaves for another hunting trip. She’s scrounged up a meager amount of supplies through the houses in the neighborhood, just enough for you to get by, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the guilt settling in your stomach when you hear Ellie’s stomach growl halfway through the night.

It’s not like you’re sleeping anyway.

Joel’s sudden state of awareness is brought upon by the fingers raking through his hair and the warmth that touches his skin from the body wrapped around him. It’s odd, foreign. After so many years of isolating himself from other people, he hadn’t realized how much he craved physical contact.

And the burn that follows is enough to make him groan.

“Joel?” Immediately your hands are at his sides, Ellie’s face just above his head as his vision swims. The pain is muted. Numb. He’s barely feeling is because he’s far too distracted by your hands. “Can you hear me? I’m going to check your wound again. If you stay awake enough, I want you to eat.”

Ellie has taken his head into her lap before he can protest. Joel is awake just enough to say your name, low and hoarse, before his vision swims with black spots and the last thing he can remember is the burn.

He can remember the burn, and he can remember how you made him feel in the midst of it. Peaceful. Safe.

Joel Miller has never known peaceful or safe. Not since her. Not since Sarah.

And as he succumbs to sleep, he finds that he wants to know it more.

***

Ellie’s been gone for too long. You know she’s been gone for too long, and you haven’t heard from her on the walkies the two of you had found a couple of weeks before.

She’s been gone too long. You need to go find her.

That’s the second and final time Joel wakes up.

You’re halfway through loading his shotgun when he finally comes to, wide eyed and alert as his hands scramble for purchase on the closest weapon to him. “Easy, Joel,” You chide gently. “It’s just me.”

Something settles in him. He seems at ease with your answer.

“Where’s-” Joel grunts as he sits up, pressing a hand to his side as he does so. You ease the shotgun to the side and kneel down to his level to meet the worry in his gaze. “Where’s Ellie?”

Your frown deepens. “She went out to hunt too long ago,” You reply. “I was just about to secure this place and then go look for her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You fidget nervously with your hands as your gaze drops into your lap. “I didn’t want to leave you alone, Joel.”

He wants to scold you. Joel wants to chastise you for such a foolish decision when your sister’s life is on the line, but he can’t find it in him to do so because your gaze is so genuine. He’s not used to that.

Joel Miller is not used to real.

Pressing a gentle thumb to the divot in your chin, you’re captivated by the way the condescension and hostility in his demeanor is gone as he slowly moves his fingers to cup the curve of your jaw. “Thank you,” He murmurs gratefully. “But now we need to go find Ellie.” A pause. “Are you ready to do what we need to do, if it gets bad?”

He always asks you this. Right before he has to embrace the side of himself that scares you, that you’ve tried so hard to keep at bay, Joel warns you about it.

“Yeah. Yeah...” You pump the shotgun in response and press it against your hip. “Yeah, I am.”

It’s uncanny how quickly you’ve learned how to slip into your masks. The mask of the gentle, compassionate woman that Joel had only just gotten to know disappears in the face of the violence he’s so accustomed to - shifting into something darker, more apathetic, more willing to do what needs to be done.

Even for the sake of one life.

You don’t even flinch when he starts torturing two of the men patrolling the neighborhood you’ve called home for the last few days. Not when the screaming starts. not when the blood pours.

“Now, the girl. Is she alive?”

“What girl? I don’t know no girl!”

The poor idiot doesn’t start talking until Joel has driven his blade clear through his knee. According to his endless rambling, your kid sister has become the newest pet to someone named David.

And that makes you see red.

You don't blink twice when both bodies lay motionless on the ground.

“Hey Joel?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

“When we find this David,” You drag your fingers across the expanse of his shoulders to rest them on the exposed skin of his neck. His pulse thrums steadily under your touch. “I’m going to be the one to put the bullet in his face.”

***

The storm has died down to a newly fallen December snow. The temper has eased, and the anger has dissipated - only to be directed toward the people who are most deserving of it - into something that searches, that yearns, for something.

Snow melts. Snow melts and reveals what lays beneath it.

You’re just inside of the Salt Lake City limits when it happens. You’re the one who volunteered to take watch while Joel and Ellie slept. The three of you were nearly in the endgame now being so close to the Firefly hospital. Once your sister was taken there, the world would finally be saved.

And you could finally settle. No more running, no more existing.

Chewing absently on the inside of your cheek, you fiddle with the edge of your rifle from your lookout point over your camp. You’re almost too deep into your thoughts to hear him scream.

But he doesn’t just scream. Joel screams Sarah’s name, and everything becomes astonishingly clear as to why he has been the way he is. Ellie had told you about Tommy trying to slip Joel the last photo of him and his daughter before the outbreak. How he’d refused it. How he, to this day, remained adamant that his departed little girl would never be a topic of conversation.

No one warns you about the loss of a child.

“Easy, Joel,” You warn, shouldering your rifle as you climb down from the tree to sit beside the bed. His shaking fingers are wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade. “There’s just a couple of hours until the sun comes up. You thirsty?”

Dark eyes flicker to the next bedroll. Ellie is still sleeping.

“No,” He replies gruffly. “But thanks.”

There’s a long moment of companionable silence that passes as you sit beside him, finally feeling courageous enough to spill your heart at his feet, “For all those months when we started this, I hated you. I hated you because you clearly hated me-”

“First off,” Joel interjects sharply. “Never been a time in which I hated you. Don’t know what gave you that assumption.”

“So if it wasn’t hate, then what was it? I’m not an expert at reading Joel Miller,” You shrug. “At least not yet.”

The sun is just beginning to creep over the edges of the three line in front of you. The sky above is shifting from the deep black to a soft, gentle blue that will shift into the golds and oranges of dawn.

You’re running out of time.

Joel swallows the knot in his throat as he contemplates his answer. Giving the real answer means being real and vulnerable. He’s not sure if he’s ready for that yet.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for that but with the open, earnest way you’re looking at him? He’ll get there eventually.

“Sarah was my daughter,” Joel says quietly. He can’t look at you. If he looks at you while he says this he will come apart at the seams. “She died at the start of the epidemic. Longer that goes by, more I’m almost.. grateful.” The words are sour on his tongue. It sounds so wrong. “She was too good for a world like this one. Too pure. Any kind of innocence I had was gone a long time ago. I was made for this kind of life,” His eyes slowly shift to meet yours. You haven’t taken your gaze off of his face once. “You and Ellie weren’t.”

You smile. “That’s sweet, Joel. Really. But you could not know-”

“I do know. I know because you have something that doesn’t exist anymore.’’

You tip your head to the side in confusion. “Which is?”

“Goodness. Compassion. You’re real,” Joel pauses, running his tongue along his teeth. “That’s why it looked like I hated you. I hated you because I was afraid of how real you are. How gentle you are.”

“Why would that be something you’d fear?” You ask softly.

“Because I don’t deserve that kind of thing, Sunshine. Goodness? Compassion? All the soft things that died with my little girl?” He shakes his head. “Those aren’t something you give to someone like me.”

You’d noticed over the last couple of months that every time you touched Joel, he recoiled like he had been burned. You’d seen that before too. It was the look often accompanied by the quiet desire to seek more of something you’d been deprived of: The look of a touch starved man.

It was why you’d been more deliberate in starting slow. Cheek touches, chin touches, gentle fingers raking through his hair to scrape across his scalp and kisses to bloodied knuckles on the nights things were bad.

If he wanted real, if he wanted peace, you were more then willing to give it to him.

“I had a son,” You whisper. This is not something you are ready to divulge to Ellie. Not yet. “He was born around the same time she was, though she never knew it,” Something akin to realization flickers through his eyes before he’s opening his mouth to apologize, most likely, but you hush him with a raised hand as you continue. “He died before he ever turned one.”

You didn’t want to continue. It was still too fresh. Too raw. He would’ve been fifteen soon.

Joel took your hand into his own and spread your fingers apart, dragging the tips of his own fingers across the back of each of yours before lifting them to his lips to kiss all your fingertips.

“They have a word for someone who’s lost a spouse. What do you call someone who lost a child?”

And there it is, that quiet understanding you share that makes you ache to pull back what remains of his walls and finally reveal the man who lay underneath.

You hum thoughtfully as you then lean forward to just barely graze your lips against his cheek.

That’s also the same time Ellie decides to wake up. She sees the way your silhouettes cast across the grass as the rays of early morning light emerge from over the trees. She sees the way Joel leans into you like he’s seeking something, and she sees the way scarlet dusts your cheeks when you finally pull away.

Hm.

Seems like you’ve finally found what you’re looking for.

***

Everything finally feels right. You’ve finally started down a path that ends with Joel realizing that you love him, with Joel realizing that he’s deserving, and with you hopefully realizing that he’s been reciprocating for quite some time.

The three of you are at the hospital in Salt Lake after being caught in the flood. You’re the one who took the most damage. Battered and bruised, Joel is left to watch helplessly from your bedside as you sleep. He’d only just woken up himself in the same state.

Marlene comes in much, much later to tell you what’s going on with Ellie. What the real cure is, what it will do to her.

And suddenly, again, everything comes screeching to a halt.

This is the story of how, despite everything between you and Joel going right, everything begins to go wrong and you’re left with a decision that will inevitably cost you your sister.

All of those lives, for the sake of one.... is it worth it?

Haven’t I given enough?

part two??? :D

#The Last of Us #tlou #tlou1 #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel x Reader

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revletter · 4 months

Note

How does Geno sleep?

GASP. An inbox ask about something I already can't shut up about? AND an excuse to glow-up some more old art?! 🤩

In my headcanon:

Badassery notwithstanding, Geno often just sleeps like a sweet little doll. It feels natural and comfortable - after all, long before he ever borrowed it, it spent almost every night sitting like this.

Also, lying down felt a bit too vulnerable for a while. Especially at the beginning of his adventure. In fact, he got a TERRIBLE first impression of anything resembling unconsciousness - so terrible that for his entire first week on the planet, he didn't sleep at all.

And then he discovered sleep is actually… lovely.

Here's a little bullet point story about that! 😊 [oops, it actually got pretty long, haha... hope you enjoy it!]

Geno Versus Sleep

During that first big fight, Bowyer sent a wall of electricity crashing toward ♡♪!? and the two people who had shown up out of the blue to fight by his side. Before it even hit, he knew it would be too much. He heard Mario's shout, Bowyer's mocking laugh, then dimly felt the impact of his borrowed form against the ground.

The next instant, he found himself alone in a blank, dark, starless void. This was new. And… not good. ♡♪!?'s mind was still very much aware, but he couldn't see, hear, feel, perceive anything. All he knew was that he was still in the doll's body.

Then a harrowing realization dawned on him. With almost all of his magic tethered to a body that wasn't working, he didn't have enough left to escape it…

[Continued under the cut]

Seconds later, there came a feeling almost as jarring: a sudden, wild, violent propulsion back into his senses. The first sense to return was a gaggingly sour taste. Then the unmistakable pain of his injuries knitting back together. Then a voice saying "Good morning! You okay?" - then the blurry sight of Mallow's face. Geno was just as disoriented as he had been when he'd first commandeered the doll.

He quickly learned this feeling was a Pick-Me-Up.

Cool.

He inwardly decided to avoid all of that mess involved in being less than conscious - at least when he had a choice in it.

His first full night on the planet, he kept watch all night long. And the second, and the third. Mario and Mallow became increasingly concerned, which Geno only found endearing. Patiently, repeatedly, he put them at ease about his lack of need for sleep.

(He did not mention any other reasons he might be avoiding it. These people had saved him and his mission; no way was he going to get picky about their methods. Besides, even the child could clearly handle these things without complaint. He resolved to do the same.)

He did, however, often feel a specific exhaustion: being low on magic left him dim inside, almost too depleted to maintain his hard-won motor control over his feet and fingers. On any normal day, the Star Road would restore him directly and abundantly, but now he felt this exhaustion more than he ever had. And it was work and expense to use physical consumables to keep himself going.

When he mentioned this inner conflict in passing - masked as appreciation for how much they spent on him - he was quite surprised to learn that for Mario and Mallow, sleep restored their magic. Intriguing.

Resolving to try and save his friends some resources, he finally decided to give sleep a shot on purpose.

Mario and Mallow were both amused to see Geno flop to the floor between their beds like a toy. After several days of watching the serious, otherworldly warrior wreck things ten times his size on the battlefield, it was easy to forget that part - but his limp doll slump against the wall was a clear reminder that his form was still every bit the silly oversized plaything.

"You sure you don't want to lie down?" asked Mallow.

"It's alright. I don't think it makes a difference to this body," said Geno. "Besides… if something happens, I can be on my feet faster."

In his own bed, Mario rolled onto his side toward him and offered a reassuring smile. "If anything happens, we're right here. We'll be in it together."

They turned out the lamp, and Geno tried to relax. He could do this. Piece of cake. He'd been here a week; he'd been able to tolerate feeling trapped in an unconscious body several times. If he had to face that for several hours in one go… well, he'd experienced worse things.

Hadn't he?

What? Yes, of course he had. Stars, what a silly thought. People down here did this every night. Surely he was blowing this way out of proportion. Surely it couldn't possibly be such a -

Geno felt something fluffy brush against him. It was Mallow's hand, wrapping around his. "S'gonna be okay," the kid said, sounding already half in a dream.

Of course. Mallow seemed to have a sixth sense for these things. Geno chuckled softly into the dark, feeling equal parts sheepish and glad for a friend like this. "That's what I'm here to make sure of, my little friend," he redirected anyway, but Mallow was already asleep.

On his other side, he heard his other friend shift. Mario looked quite awake, the shine of his eyes just visible in the starlight through the window. Mario didn't always pick up on Mallow's reactions and what they meant. Had he this time?

Confirming his suspicions, Mario quietly slipped out of his bed and sat next to Geno on the floor.

"Let me guess," Mario whispered conspiratorially, "where you're from, there's always someone alert and guarding, yeah?"

"Yeah," Geno whispered back. "It's what I do."

"Well, who does it for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Up there, who guards you when you need it?"

Geno was quiet. Mario clearly didn't know his real source of trepidation, but… he'd never specifically considered this question. His unspoken answer was, of course, 'Still me.'

Mario seemed to take his silence as an answer. "Hey, you know what? I'll sit watch tonight."

Geno blinked. "Mario, you really don't have to do that."

"I'm gonna."

"But... you need nightly sleep."

Mario leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "Wanna know how little rest I got when it was just'a me and Mallow? And how much I've gotten for the past week with another actual adult around? It's like having my brother here, but you actually stay awake all night, like - I dunno, almost like you're some kinda star watching over us or something."

Mario's eyes were glistening with humor in the dark. Geno couldn't help a soft chuckle in return, and stopped trying to dissuade his determined friend from his new side mission.

"I can handle one all-nighter. Get some rest… stella dalla testa dura," Mario added under his breath as he got up, a good-natured tease he probably didn't realize Geno understood just fine.

Nice projection there, hard-headed human, Geno thought with affection as his friend sat in the same chair he would have chosen himself, the one next to the window and in full view of the door. He knew it was far from the first time Mario had done any of this… including the unnecessary and probably futile gesture of support at his own expense.

But he was surprised at how much it helped.

Before he even asked it to again, Geno felt his body relax. His eyes drifted closed; his head and shoulders drooped more deeply. The ever-present restlessness in his feet and fingers departed as he realized that, for tonight, he could at least withdraw from the most complicated joints and actually give himself a bit of a break.

Through the wood of his eyelids and chest, ♡♪!? could still see a dreamy, unfocused version of the room. He still had all of his senses. He could still feel Mallow's fluffy hand. The little guy had pulled Geno's entire forearm close to him in his sleep, as if his arm were a doll itself.

Some time later, he heard Mario softly snoring. Geno noticed that he was slumped backward in his chair, his neck at an angle even he recognized as uncomfortable. He sorted himself back into his body. As he got up, Mallow made a little sound and clutched his arm more tightly; Geno carefully detached it at the elbow.

By this point he knew that, if woken, Mario would only be embarrassed and more doggedly committed to staying awake. So instead, he tucked a pillow behind his friend's head, and covered him with his bed's left-behind blanket. Then he quietly sank to the floor next to Mallow again, plugging his arm back into his socket so the little guy wouldn't get a scare when he next awoke.

He relaxed his head and limbs again, letting the sounds of his sleeping companions soothe him, until… finally… he felt it. The magic of this world, barely perceptible. It was always there in the living things, the trees and flowers and mushrooms and people, so strong in his friends, and now it was slowly suffusing every part of him that he'd allowed to relax.

He knew that at its deepest root it was the same old, deep source of magic as that of the stars. But down here it was slower, gentler; less of a fiery focused precision, more of a flowing peace just out of sight.

Feeling at ease at last, he surrendered control, for the first time head to toe, purposefully, completely. The gentle flow of magic coursed like water through his cooling chest… pleasantly ran through the starlight fringe of his spirit like a caring hand through hair.

What a gift of an experience sleep is... he thought contentedly. Yes, I think I'll be able to handle this indeed.

Bonus headcanons:

With his action figure joints, Geno can technically lock his knees and sleep standing up like some kind of weird horse. He doesn't, though. That would freak people out.

At some point in their adventure, Geno somehow acquires the ability to snore. It sounds like creaking. Because it IS creaking. Geno somehow cannot hear himself do this, and genuinely thinks they're all making a joke he doesn't quite get. Finally, Mario, with his assortment of handyman skills that include carpentry, does the rest of the party a favor and gets some graphite and wax into Old Man Geno's joints.

The first time Princess Peach uses star magic (Come Back) to revive Geno, he's absolutely awestruck. He wonders if she has the slightest idea how much sheer potential she has. Here's a big long headcanon of mine about that, with some art!

#minific #geno #geno smrpg #smrpg #super mario rpg #supermariorpg #fanart #fanfic #writing #smrpg fanfic #glowed-up art #my art #mario #mallow #mallow smrpg #my writing

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toushindai · 3 months

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totk spoilers but are we ACTUALLY meant to think it’s poetic or flattering or triumphant that Rauru was like “oh YEAH? Well in thousands of years this guy called Link is gonna kick your ass”

How much has he even heard about Link? He must have had at least one more conversation about him with Zelda because the Master Sword doesn’t come up in the Zelda and Sonia tear, and by the King’s Duty tear Rauru’s just like oh don’t worry, if we don’t finish Ganondorf off I’m sure your bf can handle him. As I’ve said before, his “We rely on your knight” line rubbed me the wrong way starting with its appearance in the trailer, and it really does not feel less entitled after watching said knight (and that legendary sword he carries) very very VERY nearly get one-shotted by Ganondorf at the beginning of the game. And Zelda knows this! What does she feel watching her Better Dad Substitute sacrifice himself and simultaneously sic the evil bad guy on Link—a siccing which explicitly shapes Ganondorf’s attitude towards Link at the beginning of the game? At what point did she have the emotion of “welp. I know why Ganondorf knew Link’s name now.” The musical blending of the LOZ theme/hero’s theme with Rauru’s theme seems to suggest that it’s not an emotion meant to be had at exactly that moment, but I cannot watch Rauru sneer “remember that name” without yelling HE DOESN’T NEED THAT INFORMATION at the screen.

I played through the GSI in Japanese recently and Rauru did seem a touch less entitled to Link than I’ve been reading him—mostly because of the formal, polite, outgroup-equal language he used with him—but I still can’t get over the extent to which Rauru heard about Link a few times and decided, sight unseen, that he was going to clean up Rauru’s mess. My man what made you think that. What gave you the right to decide that. And how frightening to be Zelda and watch Rauru pin all the world’s hope on her beloved knight who Ganondorf absolutely fucking wiped the floor with. We see this worry in her in the Master Sword in Time cutscene! To what extent can Zelda’s transformation and before that her petition to the other tribes of Hyrule for Link’s sake be understood as a forced action due to Rauru’s conviction that Link could do this no sweat? Almost entirely, I feel—but does the game know that?

I just. Isn't it intentional? Doesn't it have to be? The fact that Rauru already needs the correction, once, that he cannot and should not face the Demon King alone. Then his melodramatic claim that Link has got this on lock. Then Zelda being like 😬 not sure about this actually and going through the whole process of talking to the ancient sages + draconifying for the sake of the Master Sword. Because Rauru absolutely set Link up to fail and Zelda is the one making sure Link has the resources, including the support of others, he needs to succeed. And the game is so much about community, about not doing things on your own.

And yet the way the scene is scored and animated and the way all the other characters talk about Rauru's sacrifice seems to treat this as a a moment of culmination, of triumph. I am getting such mixed messages here.

Understand, I’m saying all of this with an aching fondness for this poor self-deluded hypocrite. And also teeth-grinding frustration. I think he deserves to feel suffocatingly humiliated when Link almost didn’t survive Ganondorf’s attack and I also have tremendous sympathy for the shame and terror that it might be far too late to correct his mistake that he must have felt as he waited for Link to wake up. Both of those things. Hopelessly lonely man who found people to love him and built himself into a role he was never adequate for. I wish the game looked at this a little more. I wish I could tell if the game intended this at all.

(This is not the most intelligently written post but I assure you I mean every word of it.)

#totk spoilers #tears of the kingdom #totk rauru #rauru (lozbotwtotk)#tou and the tearful kingdom #bad and imperialist zonai get put in the goat wiggler #nintendo look at me. look at me. do you KNOW how interesting your character is. did you do it on PURPOSE. or am I making this UP.#I love him I hate him I am shaking his terrarium SO SO SO SO HARD every day

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 11 months

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Ok y’all it’s time for a grishaverse world-building rant (mainly linked to soc/ck) and there’s a good chance this is gonna turn into a long and rambling post but bare with me.

*CONSISTENT GRISHAVERSE SPOILERS AHEAD*

In the Netflix show, why did they replace Alby’s lion toy with a toy train? I wanna talk about the absence of the lion, but also of all things why did they choose a train?

The train really stuck out to me when watching season 2 and at first I wasn’t my sure why, and just struck it up to the fact that I was expecting a plush lion. I think it’s absolutely notable that they exchanged the lion for a different toy, because the TV show didn’t give us as much opportunity for the foreshadowing surrounding Alby Rollins’ existence as we had in the book, since Van Eck is the key to a lot of the passages that foreshadow Rollins having a child. The fact that Kaz was able to present the lion was what served as “proof” for his attack on Alby, and is one of the best scenes showcasing Kaz’s incredible intellect. Since Kaz had never seen Alby, in fact had no concrete evidence of his existence whatsoever, he based the entire presence of the toy lion on Pekka’s pride in his gang, the Dime Lions. But since the show doesn’t have the opportunity to explain the gang culture of Ketterdam in as much detail as the books, which is obviously understandable and it’s the kind of thing I would expect to be lost in the transition from source to adaptation, they can’t make the assumption that the audience will associate the lion with the Dime Lions, particularly since they haven’t explored the gang tattoos (as a side note the meanings behind the tattoos are just *chefs kiss* but anyway-) So unless they were making specific effort to try and include more references to the lions earlier on, it makes sense to change the toy. It also leaves open the option for later in the show (fingers crossed, I’m praying for good news right now) to bring the lion in for different schemes and to create more anticipation and build up for the absolutely iconic Inej move of replacing the lion with a crow in the last chapter of Crooked Kingdom. So I understand the choice to change the type of toy that Kaz takes from Alby, especially since we already know that it’s Alby being used as the threat in this scene and in the books we didn’t, but of all the options why would they choose a toy train? My best guess is that it’s a nod to the Conductor and the train across the fold in season one, but it kind of annoys me because, other than the train that was added for the show and the tank in ck that is explained as amongst the first of its kind, THERE ARE NO MECHANICAL VEHICLES IN THIS UNIVERSE YET. None!!

We have to remember that the development of a constructed world is based on its needs and it’s understanding of it’s resources, not on mimicking the development of our own world; so although some people are probably thinking ‘well they recently developed flying vehicles, it makes sense for trains to exist before that’ I would genuinely argue that in this world it makes no sense whatsoever. We know from explanations in soc and ck (in Retvenko’s chapter mostly, but also in Joost’s and a few other references) that there has been no need to develop engines for boats because the winds can be calmed or summoned by Squallers; they fill the sails or fend off storms to keep the ships moving, there is no need for development thus far because grisha possess the natural resources to maintain the power they need. But in Ravka the presence of the shadow fold meant it became necessary to develop other options, so progress came about and Nikolai developed the Hummingbird. But it’s very important to note that (to my understanding at least, if you happen to know I’m wrong please feel free to correct me) the Hummingbird is still entirely dependent on Squaller power to maintain its flight, because development is always based on the previous model. Similarly, the tanks being the first motorised vehicles we’re introduced to makes perfect sense in the world we’ve come to know and understand, especially since we’re learning from the perspective of mostly Kerch-born or Kerch-living characters. Jesper tells us that there are very few carriages on the streets of Ketterdam, that horses are a luxury because the space to keep them is a luxury, not because they open up further modes of transportation - this is also emphasised by the knowledge that one of the greatest signs of prosperity in Ketterdam is a house with its own dock. This is because canals are the main way of moving, and since the boats and their squallers are a time-proven method of travel there’s no current need to develop engine mechanisms for boats, and cars aren’t needed because no-one would use them to travel. I’d also like to add that I realise not everyone has access to Squaller power, but the rich of Ketterdam do and they live in an incredibly classist society. In the Barrel, most of the boats are moved by rowing and/or punting, as is made clear at the end of soc when the crew row to meet Van Eck and he is brought by Squallers, and the theme is continued throughout ck.

The most likely place for cars to crop up first, based on what we’ve seen of the different countries, is probably Ravka; the country is a hub of innovation and the fabrikators there are the most free to practice their craft. However, Ravka is also a country that has been at war since it was founded, there is no room for any type of development that does not further their chances of survival against Fjerda, Shu Han, or their own civil war. Other places we might have expected to see motorisation pop up faster could be the farming provinces of Kerch and Novyi Zem, since they could be utilised for tractors and ploughs. But most innovation in Kerch is centralised around Ketterdam, where the engines are currently unecessary, and although I don’t know enough about Novyi Zem to argue either way the auction in Crooked Kingdom may imply that their government’s budget is lower those of Kerch, Fjerda, and Shu Han. (But again, we don’t have bundles of information about the Zemeni government so I’m not super confident there). We do, however, know that Jesper was the only one other than Matthias who already knew what a tank was when they got to Fjerda, and so it’s fair to predict that there’s been at least some development in that area in Novyi Zem, or at least enough interest for news of them to reach the gunsmith Jesper worked with. But let’s assume that the invention did come from Fjerda itself, at least for the time being. This makes perfect sense!! It was mostly likely developed, unbeknownst to Matthias, by the parem-drugged fabrikators being held at the Ice Court. Now that they have access to this power, Fjerda achieves all of the same tickboxes to be the initial place of engine development as Ravka does. Of course, Fjerda is also at war or under threat of it, but I think it’s important to remember that the Fjerdan government doesn’t really see war with Ravka as a threat at all. They see it more as an opportunity to prove themselves, to properly cement their position in the world economy and as a global power, which we know Kerch - or at least the general population of the country, if not the government - does not currently see it as. So it makes sense that their developmental focus would not be on ease of travel for the majority of its people by developing cars or flight machines, but on engines that can be used for dominance: tanks.

I’m hoping I’ve kind of got my point across here even if in a slightly convoluted way, but I want to add Inej’s quote from the scene with the tank to really cement the idea that this was development on a scale they had never experienced before: “They were moving - and not a horse in sight!” Someone who has seen a train at any point in her life, or who has any understanding that trains exist and work, is not going to be absolutely blown away by the concept of moving without the aid of horses. So why pick a train??? I don’t know, I’m clearly thinking far too much into it but I just… I dunno, it bothered me, there were so many other things to choose. I didn’t really mind the train in season one because it was set up like a one-of-a-kind contraption, but the idea of there being toy replicas of steam trains implies a very different level of development in a world clearly implied to be pre- its industrial revolutions.

Anyway, thanks for reading my mad ramblings! I have SO MANY thoughts about world building and structure in the Grishaverse, and world building as a browser topic as well, so if you want to hear anything more please let me know!

#grishaverse #leigh bardugo #six of crows #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #nina zenik #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #world building #kanej #wesper #helnik #soc analyst #book analysis #fantasy books

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