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starry-bi-sky · 9 months

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Part uh, four? of "Clone Danny"

...taking a risk and @ing @minnesota-fats since they seemed pretty hyped about this au. So i figured they'd want to know when the next part came out.

So where did we leave off? Oh yes... Danny taking the stairs two at a time to book it away from Bruce Wayne before he realized that he and Danny shared the same face.

So safe to say after Danny calls Tucker and they both panic over Bruce's appearance, and he finds himself slinging on his black hoodie and stuffing his pockets with his mask and his jawbreaker gloves before scaling down his second-story window to book it over to Tucker's place.

(you never know when there might be a ghost attack)

It's of no surprise to him when Sam is already there when he arrives at Tucker's, and they all migrate to Tucker's room to come up with a plan of attack. Was Danny gonna tell Bruce Wayne that he was a clone? hell no! He decided to let the man live in ignorant bliss and he is sticking to that decision no matter what anyone says.

Besides, his parents can open that pandora's box, considering they created it.

So their plan of attack? Literally just "avoid Bruce Wayne like the plague until he leaves" which is... a bit difficult right now.

"you could stay at our place until he leaves?" Tucker says

"And what if he stays for a month?" Danny asks, overthinking as he's become prone to do. Ghosts are unpredictable after all. "I cant have a month-long sleepover at your place."

"You could wear a mask?" Sam suggests

and Danny makes a face, "What kid wears a face mask in their own house?"

"You could feign an illness."

...And so on and so forth. They discuss ideas for nearly an hour until Sam leaves and Danny needs to head out as well before his parents discover that he's gone. (he cant exactly tell them he snuck out his window)

(He crawls back through his window only to get the daylights scared out of him by Jazz, sitting on his bed and wanting to talk to him about Bruce Wayne being, apparently, in their living room. Danny kicks her out instead because he already talked about it with Sam and Tucker and doesn't want to talk about it again for tonight)

Skip to later that night when he gets woken up by his ghost sense triggering. He wakes up with a chill and mist breathing out of his mouth, tasting like what freshly fallen snow smells like and ozone. It makes his teeth chatter.

Danny doesn't bother checking the time, and grabs his mask from under his pillow and his knucklebuster gloves. he all but sleeps in his hoodie and padding so all he does left is his boots and vest and thermos.

(He grabs his bat on the way out, and keeps his mask in his pocket until he steps outside)

when he sneaks into the kitchen, halfway through pulling his hair into a ponytail, light draws his eyes and there, up at who-knows-o'clock, is Bruce Wayne on his laptop. In their living room. He looks up at the same time as Danny.

Danny makes direct eye contact with him. Again. But there's no door to slam in his face....and behind Bruce Wayne, standing ominously at the window outside, is fucking Skulker. of course it is.

"...Mister Wayne." He says after a considerable silence where he's not sure if he's staring at Skulker or at Bruce. Skulker just stands. Menacingly. Like he crawled straight out of a horror movie.

Danny's not sure if Wayne's seen him or not.

(Bruce has, indeed, seen him in the reflection of his laptop. And considered investigating the problem just before Danny appeared.)

"...Mister Fenton." Wayne says moments after, sounding pretty calm and uncurious about what he's doing up. "What are you doing up?"

…Nevermind.

"Go…ing on a midnight stroll?" Danny says, he's a terrible liar but people never seem to assume he's off kicking ghost butt.

"With a bat?"

(Note: this is the only time Danny curses the fact that the Fenton Creepstick is painted with glow-in-the-dark-ectoplasm-infused paint. It's saved his butt numerous times in both finding it and smashing it into ghosts' faces. But now its just a hindrance.)

"...We have a ghost problem." Danny says, feeling like he came straight out of a sitcom. "What are you doing up?" Skulker looks like he's getting impatient behind the anti-ghost glass. Danny promptly ignores him.

"Just doing some Wayne Industries work." Bruce says.

And Danny nods thoughtfully. "Cool. Cool... Bye." And he turns and books it out the door.

He just barely has enough time to make it to the street and put on his mask before Skulker damn near takes his head off with his usual proclamation of skinning him. Danny, pointedly, sarcastically signs back his retort until he can get further away from the house.

\\\\\

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

#danny phantom au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc #danny phantom #dp crossover #danny fenton is a clone #danny fenton is not the ghost king #eventually all of my aus literally just become mini-fics because i spend too much time on one scene before i can move on from it #danny running into bruce late at night was the funniest thing to me #'what are you doing up?' same vibe as 'girl what are YOU doing at the devils sacrament? 👀'#im sorry damian you've become unintentionally irrelevant for now #he's staying in a magiclly procured guest room #he comes down after danny leaves to pester his father about fenton being up and leaving

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i984 · 1 year

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Snowy Escape

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x Chronokinesis! gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: HAND HOLDING AHHH, Probably Ooc! Wednesday Addams, author hasn't written fluff for a while now so it's rusty, your relationship is made vague in this one, Wednesday is a softie argue with the wall, let me know if I should add more warnings.

|Summary|: Wednesday witnesses a bewitching sight thanks to your powers.

|A/n|: I am finally back at the fluffy one-shot fic business. Check blog description for masterlist!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Snow.

Such a pretty thing, no?

Vermont is the snowiest state in the USA, so it wasn't uncommon to see white covering Jericho in the cold season. And this year, it's no different. Your first winter in Nevermore Academy. With her.

Braids decorated in crystalline powder, heavy eyelashes hooded iridescent dark brown orbs. Wednesday had a speck of red covering her freckle-painted cheeks. Though the tip of her nose and ears blushed a lovely cherry. She looked positively enchanting like this; there's no doubt about it.

"Winter suits you perfectly," you murmured softly to the girl beside you.

"The bleak skies and the stifling cold does reflect myself well," her impassive voice answered.

You hold back a grin, "I was thinking more about how it makes you blush."

"It's natural," Wednesday's eyes traveled from the bleached ground to your face, "When exposed to freezing temperatures, the body tries to warm itself by circulating blood close to the surface."

She's greeted with the sight of an amused smile. "What?"

You snorted at the bite in her tone, "Yes, silly, but I meant the blush compliments your look really well."

Wednesday doesn't answer. Instead, she turns to look at the barren trees far in the distance. Her blush has deepened, and now her whole face glows crimson. You decided not to comment on your observation.

A gentle hush cloaked the school grounds; no students were walking around. Even though the sparkling winter scape of white and silver proves a captivating sight, most opted to stay inside, sipping hot chocolate, protected from the freezing chill.

But here you both are, standing in the middle of the quad, watching heaven spew its ivory confetti.

"You said you wanted to show me something?" Wednesday breaks the comforting silence.

"Yeah, about that..." Your words trailed off as you rubbed the back of your neck on instinct, eyes refusing to meet the ravennete's inquiring gaze.

Indeed you had asked her to go outside after seeing snow falling from your dormitory's window; for a specific reason.

Though now, you're not sure if it's a great one.

Wednesday immediately recognizes the look of uncertainty on your face. The one you make when you've planned everything perfectly; but forgot to think about the uncontrollable variables, though which variables this time is still up for debate.

"Nothing is stopping you."

You finally turn your head to see Wednesday holding her usual blank stare, but somehow her face looks almost reassuring. Like she was challenging you to come through with your request.

"Well, if that's the case..." You take a deep breath to calm your nerve before you shoot her with the determining question, "can I hold your hand?"

Wednesday's eyes widen in the wake of your words; the preposition caught the raven-haired girl off guard. She obviously didn't expect you to ask her that.

Silence lingered between the two of you, and with each passing moment, you got more anxious about her response. Suddenly, you're more aware of the skin-seeping cold and your chilblained feet.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," you scratched at your eyebrow, "we can continue to watch the snow-"

The string of hurried words got silenced as soon as her icy hand met yours. Mouth gaping, steam exhaled from your lungs as shallow breaths fill the air.

Warmth floods your body; now it's your turn to have blood rushing to your face. Eyes lowering to see the small hand interlinked with yours, you can't fight the grin tugging your chapped lips.

It's the simple things, you thought.

"Thank you."

Her head moves in a subtle nod.

So simple it melts your worry away.

A free hand now raising in the air, you look over to see Wednesday's brows doing the same, wonder etched in her features.

"Ready?" Intertwining your fingers with hers, you clasp her hand firmly, the heat radiating from the touch slowly warming her skin.

"What are you-"

The fragile flakes hung mid-air, shimmering as they reflected the trapped light when you stopped the world around you. You feel the recurring frosty blow hitting your face cease; the world is entombed in a dome of silence.

The serenity of it all has a captivating quality; it's not every day you stop time. A hum escapes your throat in contentment, and you feel the girl beside you shift in her place.

"How am I still moving?" Wednesday's words echo onto the vast space, curiosity evident in her sound.

"Whoever I touch when I use my powers will not be frozen in time," You explained carefully to her, "That's why I asked to hold your hand."

"Fascinating."

Now it's Wednesday's turn to raise a free hand into the air, but hers brushes the stilled powdered gem. The touch was delicate, testing if the snow would crumble in her wake.

But the particle stays unmoving. Except for the two of you, everything in the world is trapped in a stoning spell, lending the lucky ones time to appreciate the beauty of the panorama.

The red scarf you gifted Wednesday for Christmas sits around her neck loosely, and her coat lifts as she stands on tiptoes above white concrete.

Her quirking eyebrows, the slightly jutted lips, the crimson shade; everything about her enamored you. You may be able to stop time, but she stopped your world from circling the orbit, moving the course as if she's the sun in your life.

"Bewitching," you breathed the word out, and Wednesday turned to find your gaze transfixed on her face. Not at the tranquil scenery or anywhere else. But at her.

Caught in a trance, neither of you realizes the earth resumes its activity; whining winds gusts, and fluttery snowflakes puffed down once more.

You can beg for Chronos' patience for only so long.

Wednesday takes both freezing hands into her coat's pocket.

It's the simple things that matter.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

|A/n2|: Thank you so much for the anon who made the request, as soon as I see it my body jumps and grabbed my laptop to write. You saved me from procrastinating yet again.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams fanfic #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday series #wednesday x you #wednesday addams #wednesday x y/n #wednesday imagine #wednesday edit #fluff #wednesday fanfic #my story #fanfic #Spotify

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agustdiv1ne · 11 months

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❆.*.•°◞8:02 p.m. — huening kai

genre: jack frost!kai, fantasy, fluff, a sprinkle of angst (brief description of frostbite/hypothermia)

wc: 1.4k

the tips of your fingers are turning a deep, inky blue.

the sight should concern you, and yet you cannot find it in yourself to care. your muscles refuse to function, as if having a mind of their own, rendering you unable to lift yourself from the snow surrounding your body, to find your way out of this damned forest. bones frozen over, you exhale, watching with glazed over eyes as your breath creates a fog in the air. much akin to the rest of your body, you are unable to feel your lips.

you are tired, so very tired. stars twinkle above you — glittering, joyful, taunting. get up, get up, get up. chase after us.

perhaps a small nap would be of help, then you can find your way out, following the stars all the while — you simply must regain some energy first. close your eyes and rest, and when you wake, everything will be okay.

“close your eyes,” a sharp, icy voice whispers within your mind. “give in to me.”

finding no reason to rebel, your eyes flutter to a close. everthing will be fine. you will soon wake and trace your steps back to the edge of the forest. tendrils of sleep curl around your mind, pulling tighter and tighter as you begin to slip into unconscious. you tiptoe on the edge of dreams when the rapid crunch of snow underneath boots catapults you back into reality. the sounds grows louder before it stops next to your ear. your eyes open a crack, blurry vision taking in the stranger. you catch a streak of fair blonde hair, a worried voice floating through your ears, before your eyes close once more. at last, darkness whisks you away.

you are unsure how long you remain unconscious, but when you do finally wake, death no longer sinks its talons into your chest. your entire form is bathed in a delicious warmth, and when your eyes blink open, you find a fireplace crackling with orange flames before your eyes. a blanket has been wrapped around your body, a small pillow cushioning your head from the hard floor. unfurling your limbs from their curled up state, you sit up. you look around with a frown pulling at your brows, noting the onyx sky outside through a nearby window. it is still nighttime — you mustn't have been asleep for too long.

the front door clicks open, a blast of cold mixing with the warmth of the room. a man who seems to be near your age quickly shuts the door before his gaze meets yours. physically, he is slightly intimidating — long-legged and a bit broad, the thinness of his striped sweater unable to hide his wide shoulders. you should be concerned about being alone with a man in his cabin seemingly in the middle of the woods, but the relieved expression his features melt into when he realizes you have awoken soothes your apprehension.

“you’re awake! i am glad,” he says as his lips curl into a gentle smile. in that moment, you find yourself thinking that he’s pretty, with strong yet kind features that further relax the tension in your muscles. “you had me worried.”

“i—” you start before hesitating for a moment. “thank you. for helping me.”

he hums, giving you a wide berth as he makes his way over to a dark wooden table, sitting down in a rickety chair that squeaks as he adjusts his long limbs. he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. his thin sweater and slacks concern you; how could he have gone outside in such thin clothing and remain so unfazed?

“why were you in the forest? at night, nonetheless.”

you pause for a moment before you respond, heat spreading across your cheeks. “i...got lost.”

his brows furrow at that, but he doesn't press any further, shifting so that he leans against the back of the chair, chestnut-hued eyes still trained on you, studying you. his icy blonde hair brings out the natural flush of his cheeks. you shake the thought away. he is beautiful, yes, but he is a stranger to you. untrustworthy.

“how are your hands?” he questions, playing with his own in his lap, fidgeting in his seat.

your hands! the cold had all but taken them when he had found you, but as they emerge from under the blanket, the frostbitten tips of your fingers have somehow returned to their normal state. your jaw drops, mouth parted. this isn't possible. this should not be possible. no, no, no.

“h-how?” you panic, rubbing at the skin. “how did you—”

“my powers- i mean, i created a salve that can reverse the effects of frostbite,” he says, but the first part of his sentence is not lost on you. you have heard many stories of this forest, of the creatures that lurk within the shadows. he couldn’t be...

“your powers?” you squeak, backing yourself against the wall next to the fireplace. “y-you—”

he remains on the chair. a beat of silence. two, three.

“my name is kai,” he begins, and though he does not receive anything but a fearful stare in return, he continues. “i have resided in this forest for my entire life. most humans refer to me as ‘jack frost,’ though i am simply a myth to them.”

he allows you to simmer with that information, fixing you with a neutral expression. it makes some semblance of sense now; there's something different about him, in his aura. you are unsure how you have not noticed before, but his ears come to a point, unlike any human.

“i wish not to hurt you,” he finally says when he senses your body relax slightly. “however, the forest is dangerous at night, so it would be best if you remained here until morning. i will guide you out.”

you inhale deeply, weighing your options. you could stay, sleep in warmth with a seemingly benevolent mythical being protecting you — or you could take your chances in the pitch black, ice-cold woods, unaware of what could be watching, waiting to pounce on a vulnerable little human like yourself.

easily, you choose the former.

“i see. thank you again for your kindness,” you say with a lethargic smile. sleep seems to weigh your eyelids down now that your safety is essentially guaranteed. his presence screams sincerity, comfort, and, ironically, warmth. something inside of you tells you to trust him, and against your better judgment, your name tumbles from your lips.

“well, it is nice to become acquainted with such a respectful human,” he says, and you wonder what that could mean. you ponder what other humans had done to him to elicit such a response. “i do have a spare bedroom, but you may sleep out here if you would like.”

“a bed would be wonderful.” you nod, attempting to get up, but your limbs betray you. you collapse back to the ground. the man — kai — winces, but does not act to help you. you see him eye the fire next to you as you finally stand.

“heat...makes me weak. i apologize,” he says as you move towards him. his hand wraps around your wrist, fingers cold, guiding you down a hallway until you reach the door towards the end of the hall. you say nothing.

“i will leave you alone,” he says, the hand around your wrist dropping to his side as he opens the door for you. “if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me. i will be next door.”

you are unsure what comes over you as you lean up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a grateful smile, cheeks hot as you realize what you have done. “thank you, kai. i shall see you in the morning.”

a ruby red blush stains his cheeks, and he stutters out a brief good night before he's slipping into his room and slamming the door shut. you giggle a little — how odd; you, of all people, causing an immortal being's face to flush. quietly, you close your own door, dropping onto the bed to snuggle into the soft sheets. sleep arrives without delay, your eyelids drooping more and more as snow falls outside of the window next to the bed. you watch in wonder as frost begins to cover the expanse of the glass pane, your eyes blinking open a final time to find the entire window coated in ice.

among the fern-like patterns that riddle the window, a heart is tucked into the center.

masterlist

#txt fluff #hueningkai fluff #txt x reader #hueningkai x reader #txt imagines #txt aus #txt timestamps #txt soft thoughts #txt soft hours #hueningkai angst #txt angst #hueningkai imagines #hueningkai scenarios #💌 — hyuka

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sheeple · 1 year

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Miracles don't exist | 6: Christmas is in the air

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Nasty Ron / Soft Theodore [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

As you put the books you no longer need back onto their respective shelves, you feel a presence behind you. A silent groan escapes your lips as you turn around annoyed.

The yule ball is coming up and ─ after some awkward dancing lessons from Snape ─ everybody is hyperfocused on finding a date. Because Merlin forbids you turn up alone.

Draco has a shit-eating grin on his face as he leans against a bookshelf. "Guess who I just asked and said yes."

You give him a glare, not caring about this subject at all. "Parkinson?"

"How did you know?", he asks bewildered.

With a roll of your eyes, you turn towards him, "oh please, that girl has been giving you heart eyes since day one. If she didn't say yes, she'd be hexed."

Making your way back to your secluded corner of the library, you slump down into your chair and continue with the essay for potions. Draco, annoyingly, follows after you, taking place in the chair next to you. "I bet you also got a date."

You scoff, "who the hell would ask me?"

"Uhm, many boys would? You're good-looking", he states like it's obvious.

"I want someone to take me because they like me, not because they think I am pretty." Your whispers get harsher with each word, and you feel Madam Pince gloom behind a shelf.

Draco huffs. "Like who? One of those Durmstrang blokes that you always seem to hang out with? What's his name, Gollum?"

"It's Gjol, thank you very much. And no." You feel your cheeks head up for no particular reason.

"You can't be serious. Are you seriously wanting that big dumb hunk to ask you out? Pathetic." Draco huffs. He leans back and slumps in the chair.

Slamming your book shut, you hastily pack your bag. "I am not going to be dealing with your temper tantrum, Malfoy."

Hightailing out of the library, you ignore Madam Pince's scoldings and walk until you can't anymore. Your socks are wet as you stand to your ankles deep in snow. You run a frustrated hand over your face.

Why can't you just be left alone? Why do all these people want something of you? Your mother is in Azkaban and your father is dead, what more would people want? You're literally a child.

"Are you okay?", someone asks while they lay a hand on your shoulder.

Not noticing Theodore followed after you when he saw you leaving the library in a hurry, you yell and with one easy swoop throw him over your shoulder.

Theodore groans as he lands on his back and snow soaks through his cloak. You gasp and slap a hand over your mouth. "Theodore! I am so sorry!"

You help the brown-haired boy up, brushing the snow off his shoulders. He holds his shoulder, rubbing the sore spot he landed on. "Where did you learn that?", he chuckles.

With an awkward chuckle of your own, you scratch behind your ear. "In the summer, I snuck off every Wednesday night to go to self-defence classes in the muggle village a couple miles away. I didn't feel safe at home anymore, and since we can't use our wands outside school grounds..."

Theodore's smile falls and his eyes fill with concern. "(Y/n)..."

"It's okay! Really! You know how it is. Doesn't matter. Why did you follow me in the first place?" You shake your head, trying to switch the subject.

Theodore's frown doesn't falter completely, but it gets replaced by something more nervous. "Well... I heard you talking- I was wondering─", the boy runs a frustrated hand through his hair, "do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me? As in a date, that is..."

You are speechless, looking rather sheepish at the boy. "Is this because of what happened over the summer? Please, don't feel obliged, Theodore."

"I am one hundred per cent genuine, (Y/n). One dance, that's all I ask. After that I'm content."

"One dance?", you question, still a bit unsure.

"One dance", he confirms.

What harm can one dance do? "Okay, yeah I'll go with you."

A bright smile grows on Theodore's face. "Great. Thank you. See you in class?"

You wave as you watch him leave, and a deep breath leaves your lips in puffs of clouds. One dance can't do harm. But you don't have a dress... You told Aunt Cissy that it wasn't necessary to send one because you weren't going. But now that you have a date it's too late to send an owl home to ask for a dress.

Just as your eyes scan around the grounds, you spot a familiar trio going down to Hargit's hut. You can't believe you're doing this, but you know no other girl ─ or person at that ─ who would go dress shopping with you.

"Hermione wait up!"

While Hermione cruises the dresses at Gladrags Wizardwear, you are in the dressing room trying on all different kinds of dresses. It's a wonder she agreed to go with you, but after an encouraging nod from Harry, she agreed ─ reluctantly.

"So... who's your date actually?", she asks, pushing another dress into the fitting room.

You suck in a breath. "Theodore."

"Nott?!"

You slide open the thick velvet curtain, revealing the emerald green dress. "Yeah... he asked me. I declined at first, but he said that he only wanted one dance. That wouldn't hurt. Right?" You turn towards the Gryffindor girl, who has her arms folded over each other. "This isn't it."

"Isn't that also the guy you're supposed to marry?", she asks while you're back in the dressing room and putting on the next dress. You give a hum of confirmation.

You peek your head out of the curtain to nod. "Yup", you pop the 'p', "but he said it had nothing to do with that. What colour is your dress, by the way."

"Pink. I heard that the theme is white and silver, so I wanted something that fitted nicely with the theme."

You hum again, looking at all your options. Among the many green and black dresses, a beautiful purple iridescent flowy dress that's enchanted so that it looks like the fabric moves on its own. With a bright smile, you swing the curtains away and twirl around. "I think this is the one."

Rapping on the window makes the both of you turn around and Gjol waves excitedly at you. He enters the shop and exclaims something in his native tongue as he takes you in. Bjarne, who followed after him, chuckles and replies something back.

"Aren't you a vision? Please don't tell me you have a date for the ball."

You look at him guilty. "I'm sorry, Theodore asked me."

Gjol tsk's, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Lucky, lucky guy. Then promise me a dance."

A giggle escapes your lips as you look at Hermoine giddily. "Okay, I promise."

He excitedly kisses both of your heating-up cheeks before exiting the shop, tugging Bjarne after him and talking animatedly with his friend.

You clutch both of your cheeks, turning to Hermoine, "are all Durmstrang boys like that."

She comes close and giggles. "Yeah...", she sighs dreamily, "Victor and I- we don't really talk when we're together."

You smile brightly towards Hermione. A pang of sadness goes through your body. Even though you know it is for the best to stay away from people who aren't in your immediate circle, you miss this. Just a girlfriend to go shopping and do girly things with.

Pulling yourself away from her, you walk back towards the fitting room. "I'll get changed so I can pay and you can get back to your friends." You turn your head towards her, looking over your shoulder. "Thank you for coming with me, Hermione. You don't know how much it means to me."

You anxiously flatten any wrinkles from your dress as you walk up the stairs. Theodore came knocking at your door a while ago, asking if you were ready. But you told him to just wait for you before the Great Hall, that you were almost finished.

Daphne helped to put some stars in your hair, further adding to the ethereal look you were giving. At least, that's what she said. At first, you thought it was too much, way too formal for a school party. But Daphne, again the angel that she is, reassured you that it was the Yule Ball, for Merlin's sake!

You walk up the steps and see Theodore talking with Draco and Blaise, and when one of them points towards you. When you see the look in Theodore's eyes, you are glad you didn't chicken out.

He looks like a fish searching for food with his mouth wide open, gaping at you. Blaise whistles as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"I like your dress robes", you say softly, feeling overwhelmed by all the stares of the people around you. They're nothing special, just black robes with a black blouse underneath and a black tie.

Finding his voice again, Theodore takes your hand and makes you spin. "Don't you just look absolutely divine? Like a Goddess descended from the heavens, gracing us humble peasants with her presence."

You feel your face heat up at his compliments and hand your face in your free hand, turning away from him to calm down your smile. Which person wouldn't like to be called so beautiful that he says you look like a Goddess?

Theodore holds out his arm and you wrap your hands around his bicep, letting him lead you into the Great Hall.

You never expected to have such fun with Theodore. He excitedly twirls you around, dipping you, and lifting you up to the music. One dance becomes two ─ with an intermission dance with Gjol ─ and before you know it, you've danced and partied hours with Theodore.

When Theodore has gone to grab the both of you drinks, you spot Harry and Ron and their dates sitting at one of the tables looking quite miserable.

"Shouldn't you be dancing?", you ask with a smile, your hands clasped behind your back.

Both boys turn towards you, one with a smile and the other annoyed. Harry shoots from his stool, straightening out his robes. He stutters out your name, "yo-you look very pretty."

You giggle, looking down. "Thank you, Harry. You look quite handsome yourself. The both of you." You smile at Ron, which sends him off.

"Shut your filthy Death Eater mouth, Black."

Theodore appears out of nowhere with his wand drawn and pointed at Ron. "Say that again, blood traitor, and I'll hex you into tomorrow." A dark, and murderous glint is in his eyes as Theodore's knuckles turn white from how hard he is gripping his wand.

Gasping, you turn around and push against his chest. "Theo! Don't!"

He glances down at you and when he sees the concerned look in your eyes, he drops his wand to his side, but not pocketing it. You grab his arm and pull him away, out of the Great Hall.

"Where are we going?", he asks as you lead him up a pair of stairs instead of to the dungeons.

You answer with a small smile, "you'll see."

After climbing some stairs and unlocking some doors, you end up on a secluded rooftop with plants and benches around. You pull him towards the bench farthest away from the door and let yourself drop down on the stone bench.

Theodore follows your lead and looks out onto the valley that surrounds Hogwarts. Suddenly, a bubbling laugh escapes him and you turn around to him with raised brows.

"You called me 'Theo'."

Heat shoots up to your cheeks and you turn back around, realising your obvious mistake. Instead, you deflect the topic. "You shouldn't threaten someone with hexing them."

Theodore rolls his eyes. "Come on, he was asking for it. Weasely called you a Death Eater!"

The name makes you flinch. Theodore drops his rigid posture and shuffles closer to you. "I'm sorry", he whispers, grabbing your hand.

You let him, dropping your head to his shoulder and enjoying the cold nipping at your skin. And before you know it, you've fallen asleep against Theodore's hot-like-a-furnace body.

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry @choppedpartymuffinwinner @dianaswanda @literallyobessedd @lestat-whore

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c-o-t-o · 6 months

Note

Ooohh I was waiting for your prompt list to come out, yay!

Can I request fluff #8 with the Hayakawa trio on a cold night? Thank you!!!

Yes of course! I love the difference between all three of them.

Request: Fluff #8: Walking outside together on a chilly night

Characters: Aki, Denji, and Power x reader

CW: none, sfw.

Aki

You and Aki are walking back to his place from the convenience store. You see his breath in the crisp night air and realize he's not smoking, that you can see his breath because of how cold it's become. Thinking about it now, you find yourself crossing your arms feeling the chill, rubbing your hands up and down your arms for a bit of warmth.

"You're cold," Aki states while taking his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. You feel bad that he's given you his jacket, but revel in the scent of him coming off the jacket. It smells like fresh laundry and cologne, and you can't help but blush. Aki would rather be cold than you, it was the proper, gentlemanly thing to do, of course.

"Are you sure? What about you?" You ask concerned, not wanting Aki to feel cold or get sick. You can feel his lingering warmth in the jacket and it feels like he's holding you. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out gloves for himself.

"I grew up playing in the snow a lot, so the cold doesn't really phase me anymore." Aki looks at you blushing as you grip his jacket tighter and blush back at him. "Now any time I wear my jacket, it'll make me think of you. Besides," Aki pulls his gloves on, looks at them reminiscingly, then looks at you and smiles. He links his arm with yours. "I need nice memories of the cold weather."

Denji

In the middle of the night Denji wanted snacks, so you accompanied him to the convenience store. You had a feeling that if he went alone he'd get caught up in some kind of trouble. As he munches away on some sweets, he glances over at you to see you shivering, trying to breathe hot air into your hands.

"You cold?" He asks, now noticing the tip of your nose turning red. You nod your head, trying to rub your hands together to keep them warm. Denji pouts to himself, trying to think of a solution to keep both of you warm. He starts feeling around in his pockets, grinning with his sharp teeth when he pulls out a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket.

"Gloves!" He exclaims, almost triumphantly, until you mention that he only has one pair. His grin never fades as he puts one glove on your right hand, a glove on his left hand, and puts both of your hands in between into his jacket pocket.

"Heh, pretty smart huh?" He smirks. Although, when Denji realizes you need to keep holding hands in order to fit both your hands in his pocket, his face turns a deep red. You both blush at each other and look away coyly. Denji mumbles something but you can't hear him because he's looking away. When you ask what he said, he turns to you nervously, face still red.

"I said don't let go, or your hand will get cold," Denji's voice trails off as he looks away shyly, squeezing your hand a little more firmly. Not to keep it warm, exactly, but because he finally got a chance to hold hands with you and doesn't want to let go.

Power

You and Power are walking back from the convenience store after buying some food for Meowy. You didn't realize she'd dawdle for so long in there because it's already dark outside. You shiver at the nip of the cold air and try to nonchalantly ask if she's cold, too.

"Cold? No way! I got my sweatshirt on." Power smirks. When she sees you looking at it somewhat jealously, she shouts, "This is MY sweatshirt! And I need it!" She realizes how cold it's become and zips her sweatshirt up the rest of the way. She notices you shivering and rubbing your arms to keep warm.

"Aaghhhhhhhh" she groans and gives you the bag to hold. "I'll only do this once, 'kay? So don't get used to it!" Power unzips her sweatshirt and tries to drape it across both of your shoulders, huddling close for warmth. She sees you blushing at the fact that she did something nice for you, and looks away, making a "hmph" sound.

You feel her shiver a bit, and suddenly hug your arm, trying to get as close to you as possible.

"Don't look at me!" She hisses, but looks you right in the face as she says that. Her cheeks red from the cold and from blushing, she pouts before looking away. "I'm only doing this to steal your heat!" She rests her head on your shoulder and looks away from you smiling, holding your arm even tighter.

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thelustybraavosimaid · 5 months

Text

...

....

.....

I want to specifically talk about book!Jon here because I'm pretty sure this person doesn't know a goddamn thing about Jon in the books or his personality to even remotely reach this conclusion. I'm, quite frankly, confused at this response. So I'd like to provide some quotes:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. (Jon XII, ASoS)

If a child was something Jon had always wanted, as is clearly stated here, why would he force Ygritte to get rid of his own kid?

Let's not pretend like he doesn't love her, either. Was the beginning of their relationship dubious? Absolutely. But he did love her:

"Yes." His voice was thick. "First we'll live."

She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love. Wildling to the bone, he thought again, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. (Jon V, ASoS)

Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body...and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted.

...

"Who is Ygritte?" Donal Noye asked pointedly.

"A woman of the free folk." How could he explain Ygritte to them? She's warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. "She's with Styr, but she's not...she's young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she..." She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. The milk of the poppy was clouding his wits. "I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but..." It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her... (Jon VI, ASoS)

And he did mourn her.

Though Maester Aemon said his wound was healing well, Jon bore other scars, deeper than the ones around his eye. He grieves for his wildling girl, and for his brothers. (Samwell IV, ASoS)

She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander's Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said. (Jon VI, ADwD)

It goes without saying that Jon is one of the most progressive protagonists in the series. He:

•despises rape,

•advocates for those perceived "weaker" for not fitting the typical Westerosi gender standards (i.e. Sam and Satin),

•breaks the mould of Night's Watch traditions for hundreds of years by allowing freefolk men and women ages twelve and up to join.

Jon Snow values bodily autonomy.

Moreover:

Burning dead children had ceased to trouble Jon Snow; live ones were another matter. Two kings to wake the dragon. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. The words had been murmured by one of the queen's men as Maester Aemon had cleaned his wounds. Jon had tried to dismiss them as his fever talking. Aemon had demurred. "There is power in a king's blood," the old maester had warned, "and better men than Stannis have done worse things than this." The king can be harsh and unforgiving, aye, but a babe still on the breast? Only a monster would give a living child to the flames. (Jon I, ADwD)

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. "You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter…her face…"

"Greyscale."

"The grey death is what we call it."

"It is not always mortal in children."

"North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago."

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. "Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child."

"I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

"If Stannis wins his war, Shireen will stand as heir to the Iron Throne."

"Then I pity your Seven Kingdoms."

"The maesters say greyscale is not—"

"The maesters may believe what they wish. Ask a woods witch if you would know the truth. The grey death sleeps, only to wake again. The child is not clean!"

"She seems a sweet girl. You cannot know—"

"I can. You know nothing, Jon Snow.” Val seized his arm. “I want the monster out of there. Him and his wet nurses. You cannot leave them in that same tower as the dead girl.”

Jon shook her hand away. "She is not dead."

"She is. Her mother cannot see it. Nor you, it seems. Yet death is there." She walked away from him, stopped, turned back. "I brought you Tormund Giantsbane. Bring me my monster."

"If I can, I will.”

"Do. You owe me a debt, Jon Snow.”

Jon watched her stride away. She is wrong. She must be wrong. Greyscale is not so deadly as she claims, not in children. (Jon XI, ADwD)

Not to mention the conversation he has with Tormund:

"You are a free man now, and Ygritte is a free woman. What dishonor if you lay together?"

"I might get her with child."

"Aye, I'd hope so. A strong son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where's the harm in that?"

Words failed him for a moment. "The boy...the child would be a bastard."

"Are bastards weaker than other children? More sickly, more like to fail?"

"No, but—"

"You're bastard-born yourself. And if Ygritte does not want a child, she will go to some woods witch and drink a cup o' moon tea. You do not come into it, once the seed is planted."

"I will not father a bastard."

Tormund shook his shaggy head. "What fools you kneelers be. Why did you steal the girl if you don't want her?"

"Steal? I never..." (Jon II, ASoS)

So with that in mind, why would he force a woman of the freefolk — a group of people he had come to appreciate, and his first love — to drink moon tea? If she wanted to, she'd do it herself. But he would not force her. That is not how the freefolk work and Jon knows it.

#asoiaf #ramble

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raxistaicho · 1 year

Text

Fantasy Invader starts on the Claude arc! And also his racism arc!

You knew it was gonna happen. Three Hopes had Edelgard detractors showing their asses where Claude is concerned like never before, because in the end morality in Fodlan just comes down to whether a person likes or dislikes Edelgard and Rhea. I wonder how they'd react to somebody who thinks both are wrong? Oh wait, that was Claude in Three Houses, and they decided he totally came around on Rhea.

I did some researching myself, and just for once I think FI actually got some decent Buddhism symbolism in Three Houses.

To an extent, anyways. See, there's this story about how the Buddha was a golden deer king in one of his past lives, and he offered up his life as a sacrifice to a pregnant doe that was about to be slaughtered for her meat. Then there's just the ubiquitous deer symbolism of tranquility and innocence, which fits quite nicely into Buddhism. Evidently forest critters are big in imagery concerning the religion.

That's not the impression I got from the stories I read. If anything it sounded like the Buddha back when he was the deer king was already a pretty stand-up guy.

Also yes, this is going to be extremely racist. Sorry, actual Claude fans T_T

He's... not receptive to the teachings. He ends the story just as much not a follower of the Seirosian faith as he was at the start of the story. He's more faithful in general than Edelgard because he starts the story much earlier on the road of character development than she did and lacks her trauma, but he's still not pro-Seiros.

We don't, though. Claude doubts whether the church prohibits contact with the outside because it was politically convenient for him at the time: he has Byleth in VW to reform the church, and he needs the Knights of Seiros to beat the Empire.

And he doesn't personally treat Rhea as a force for good in his S support, nor does he urge Byleth to carry on her work. Note the emphasis on new values.

Also, Rhea herself admits she was a failure and a negative for Fodlan in her S support:

Uhh yup. FI went there. Before Claude came to Fodlan and learned the ways of the white people living there and got to know the white pope lady, he was a barbarian! He returned to Almyra all enlightened and learned!

Hahah, and you thought FI was only gross about Edelgard and Dorothea.

Also, the last bit about blaming other people for not liking Almyra, that's almost certainly FI complaining about Claude's battle dialogue with the pirate captain in Alois and Shamir's paralogue, which was... (sigh)

A mistranslation by fuckin' Treehouse.

In the original JP, Claude didn't say criminals like the pirates are the reason Almyrans are hated in Fodlan, full stop, but that people like them make things worse. Which they absolutely do.

Thanks to Teaspoon for this one.

(sigh) the two flags look nothing alike, you fuckin' idiot.

And no, the story of Verdant Wind is partly an infodump for stuff they didn't have in Silver Snow, but it's also the story of Claude learning to open up to and trust people. Except he still kinda doesn't since he never tells Byleth his true name or who he really is, but eh.

What Verdant Wind isn't is the story of Claude learning actually Rhea was right about everything. Because she wasn't, as she herself admits.

Yup, when Claude only knew brown-people ways he was "animalish", but he learned the ways of white folk he became enlightened!

Jesus Christ, Edelgard detractors got fucking gross over Almyra after they followed Claude to the Dark Side in Golden Wildfire.

Also as a reminder, dawn is good in Three Houses and bad in Three Hopes, even though Azure Gleam explicitly ends just before dawn:

This is a common headcannon from anti-Edelgard Claude fans, except there's... no sign of it in canon. Again, when Claude had a chance to talk about how much of an othered outsider Rhea was, he instead talks about how kee-razy her story was. Fact is, Claude never compared her to him, even after learning her backstory. Probably because Rhea's isolation was entirely self-inflicted. Contrast her against Seteth, who gets along with people just fine and has a positive relationship with both his colleagues and the students.

#fire emblem three houses #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard discourse #edelgard positive #claude von reigen #racism #content warning #Fantasy Invader

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edupunkn00b · 11 months

Text

It Could Always Be Worse, Ch. 5: Happy Families

Butterfly universe version of Happily Ever After, Ch. 5: Happy Families.

Prev - Happy Families - Next - All - [ AO3 ]

WC: 1038 - Rated: T - CW: past hospitalization, minor injury, angst

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” - Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina (1878)

Logan stood by the kitchen window, watching the snow fall on the road outside. He checked his phone again.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙, 𝚠𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛

That had been four hours ago.

Logan lifted his mug to his lips again, tilting it back, only to find it empty. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and refilled his cup. It was the last of the pot, so he washed the pot and the filter, then, after staring at the clean pot for a moment, took out a fresh filter and started to brew another batch.

Once that was complete, he picked up his mug and resumed his watch over the street. It had been snowing for the past hour and a half and, while it was beautiful, the untreated streets were getting slippery.

The roads were mostly devoid of cars. It was Christmas Eve and it looked like most families were already home. Finally, sometime after Logan finished that cup and had his first from the fresh pot, he spotted headlights. He watched carefully as the car slowly drove through the accumulating snow.

Logan let out a long sigh when he recognized Kelly's car.

Logan had just put the last dish in the dishwasher when Virgil approached him, twisting his hands together in from of him. "Um, Dad?"

Logan felt his shoulders tighten at Virgil's tone, but he took a deep breath and tried to push away the first five worries that bled into his mind at Virgil's obvious hesitance to ask for what he needed. He looked at his son, focusing so he could let some warmth out through his smile. "What can I help you with, Virgil?"

”Um, in the rush to get ready, I forgot to drop off the presents for Matt and his little sister and brothers." Virgil looked down at the floor. "Can you drive me?"

”Virgil, the roads are going to be pretty bad until they plow, I really do not think it would be wise to drive."

”Fine, I'll walk," Virgil turned away from his father, heading toward the shoe rack.

"Wait, please..." Logan dried his hands on a towel, following Virgil to the shoe rack. "It's dark, the roads are bad, and you're wearing dark clothes." Logan sighed, "I'll come with you." Virgil scowled at his father. "I can help carry the bags, at least."

”I can go places without you, you know. The safety plan Dr. Halls emailed you says I can," Virgil stood firm, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"This doesn't have anything to do with the safety plan. You know what drivers are like around here the one time a year it snows." Logan carefully brushed Virgil's shoulder. "I would prefer that you weren't alone out there."

Virgil looked out the window at the slow-moving car driving past. It skidded a bit on the turn around the corner, brakes squealing. "Alright, yeah."

"Let's get Patton. Remy's asleep but I'll leave him a note in case he wakes up."

Virgil nodded, "Okay. Okay, thanks, Dad."

When they finally arrived at Matt's house, Matt's mom answered the door before they even rang the doorbell. "Yeah, we saw you three trudging through the snow." She looked sharply at Logan, eyeing him up and down. "I saw you slip... Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, of course I'm fine." Logan stood stiffly and tried to smile. "Just a little bruised ego."

"Oh, is that another word for butt?" Patton laughed. Logan turned to Patton with a frown, already opening his mouth to correct the rude remark. Patton cut him off, "What? It was just a joke." He looked down at the ground. "Mom woulda laughed."

Logan took a deep breath and swallowed back his reactive words. Before he could properly respond, Virgil interrupted. "Hey, is it okay if I say hi to Matt real quick? I know it's late. I'll be fast." Matt's mother pursed her lips, staring at Virgil for a moment before finally nodding. He mumbled a quick thanks and sidled past her into the house.

Matt's mother met Logan's eyes. "Can I talk to you for a bit?" She looked significantly at Patton.

"Oh, of course. We can walk and talk."

Logan limped a bit as they walked, taking careful steps. The snow was beautiful, but underneath was a layer of ice from when the temperature had risen just slightly before dropping suddenly. Matt's mom watched his tentative movements. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course I'm fine. Just a little kink to work out from the fall. Please don't worry about me." He tried to straighten his posture and take longer, more confident steps. He grit his teeth against the pain radiating up his back. He looked at Matt's mom, bowing his head slightly. "You'd seemed like you had something important to discuss."

"Yes, well. Matt's stepdad and I have been talking and... We both think it would be better for both of the boys to spend less time together." Logan froze for a moment, uncertain he'd heard her properly. He stopped walking, turning to meet her eyes. "They're both in bad places mentally and they seem to be bad influences for each other. Like a loop of negativity." She smiled at Logan, the warmth not quite meeting her eyes. "It would be better for both of them if they kept their distance from each other. Matt's changing schools at the end of January, too, so it will be easier for them. "

Logan fought for words. "I really wish you would reconsider your belief. Matt and Virgil are best friends." Logan could feel his voice rising in pitch and he bit his lip, fighting to keep his tone under control. Reason with her.... "They are each other's support networks. I think it would actually be detrimental to their health to cut that off so suddenly, particularly as they are going through major changes like Matt changing schools."

"Well, our mind is made up. I truly am sorry but you'll need to help Virgil find someone else to depend on. I need to do what's best for Matt.” She started walking back toward her porch. "Please don't bring Virgil around here anymore."

#It Could Always Be Worse #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #Logan Sanders #Virgil Croft #Patton Croft #Kelly Croft - OC #mentioned #butterfly universe of Happily Ever After #what happened when Janus and Remus met at Jack's party and Janus never walked home alone #sanders sides fanfiction

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Miranda x Abigail ----The Song of the Crow Ch.1

If you prefer the Ao3 format, link here.

[Abigail]

The sun's light is slowly diminishing from the atmosphere.

With it, so are all notions of safety within the village.

People have already began hastily closing up shops and barricading themselves inside their homes.

She may have thought it was overly superstitious of them when she first moved here –or a strange, creepy custom— but a few days was all it took to realize this isn't as much a baseless fear as it is an absolute necessity.

The village belongs to its inhabitants during the day... and to its monsters at night.

The mad howling from the forest, drawing closer as the darkness deepens, is a common occurrence throughout the years of her stay.

She isn't an animal expert by any means, of course, but she's pretty sure normal wolves don't sound like that. They don't quite have that rasp nor that echo in the back of their cries... and they do not patrol settlements for anyone who hasn't heeded the local prophetess' warning to remain inside after sunfall, as if ordered to do so.

No. A lot of things aren't right with this village. Too many to count. But she knows she's not here to correct them, or to judge, or to really care.

She's only here to hide.

As for the rest, the strange happenings, the disappearances, the superstitions, she simply goes with the flow. Doesn't ask too many questions, doesn't let questions be asked about herself and her motives.

“Abigail!” A male voice suddenly calls to her from one of the closing shops, tucked off to the side of the snow-sprinkled road.

“Yes?” she turns, her calmness a stark contrast to most others in the neighborhood, already making a run for their homes when the sun isn't even close to setting yet.

“Lady Eira came by earlier, but I only realized a few minutes ago I didn't put the incense she bought in her bag! C-could you take this to her, please? Before...the sun sets?” He stutters. He knows what he's asking is reason enough for her to shove the bag he's presenting her with right back in his face.

Were it anyone else, that would be the outcome.

“Of course.” Abigail nods, instead, accepting the offering with ease.

The shopkeeper's eyes widen. A bow full of gratitude is given, before he locks up shop and retreats towards his own house.

Contrary to him, though, she doesn't see this as a demanding task at all. The village isn't that big, for her to worry she won't make it home if she takes a detour towards Lady Eira's, first.

Besides, Abigail feels she more than owes her, the woman who offered her a job –helping with all the house chores her frail body no longer allowed her to do herself— when she first came into the village, owning little more than the backpack on her shoulders.

Running a few kilometers to deliver her incense that will guarantee her safety for another night is really a non-issue in her eyes.

She gladly rushes to the old lady's door, earning wide-eyed looks along the way that go utterly ignored.

One knock on the heavy iron doorknob. Then, two. A single crow cries and flies away from the roof of the house, yet no further movement comes from within. Still, Abigail gives the elderly woman ample time to pick up her skull-tipped cane and make her way to her.

Except she never does.

“Lady Eira?” she calls from outside the gates to the yard. No reply.

Luckily, Abigail knows Eira never locks. Pushing the outer gate open is child's play for her and after years of tending to the woman's house she is sure the key will be hidden at a certain nook by the door.

A habit she has warned her multiple times about because she has seen exactly how fucked up people are in the outside world. This village can't be any different, with or without its peculiar cult-like beliefs.

Lady Eira has always brushed her off, however, saying there is no need to fear theft –or worse— under Mother Miranda's ever-watchful eye.

The village's blind faith in this woman never ceases to astound Abigail, but she initially thought perhaps Eira, in all her years and the wisdom born from them –this part is debatable, for most people simply call her mad— would know better.

An exasperated sigh escapes her lips as the lock turns. A quick apology is given when she enters the house. At first, she thinks the old lady is asleep. After a scan of the rooms, though, she comes to the shocking realization;

The house is empty.

With the sun's last light rapidly fading from the sky, Lady Eira is outside.

A cold chill, similar to an electric shock, runs through Abigail's body at the thought. Her heart starts pounding like a war drum in her chest. Knots form in her stomach.

What if she's lost? A dark part of her mind comes alive to ask. What if she's forgotten how to return? What if she's unable, trapped somewhere by a sprained ankle or worse?

But... it's getting late... Another, more reasonable, part argues.

...What if you can't help her, like you couldn't help Alex?

And it's that thought that does her in.

Abigail comes out of the old, quaint house like a hurricane. One look in the sky tells her the sun is drawing further and further away –no time for niceties.

“Hey, you!” she asks one of the last villagers left about, a man no older than forty, running to his home.

He ignores her. Big mistake. Abigail's gaze darkens as she walks up to him.

“Sir?” she tries again, polite through gritted teeth.

No answer. He remains with his back to her, trying to fit his key into the lock with shaking hands.

A flare burns across Abigail's nerves that she recognizes as her anger taking over her actions. She grabs the man's jacket at his back and harshly pulls him off the steps, like a dog on a leash.

“I'm talking to you!” her voice grows hoarser.

The local immediately curses and tries to swing a punch at her. “You fucking outsider!”

Abigail's past training kicks in, then. She grabs his arm and twists it behind his back in the same breath as she slams his face into the wall of his house.

“Do I have your attention now?” she asks. “Listen to me. You don't know who I am, where I come from, where I've been. But believe me when I say I have no issue leaving you out after dark.” she states, voice shrouded with the ice of someone who has already done terrible deeds.

The man struggles hopelessly, yet her hold does not give.

“Lady Eira wasn't home. Have you seen her? Do you know where she could have went?”

“W-what do you even care? If she's not home by now that crazy old hag is as good as dead anyway!” the man replies.

Abigail sees red for a moment. But a moment is all it takes for her to turn him around and shove him right back, by the throat, this time.

“Don't talk about her that way.” A voice in the back of her head is telling her to make sure he's never able to badmouth her again. “Answer the question.” Her fingers threaten to cut off all air supply.

“Agkh! Alright! I-I saw her going into the forest. I thought the ha- the old woman finally completely lost it.”

Another crow's caw draws both the man's and Abigail's gaze to the nearby streetlamp. The bird is looking straight at them with its black eyes.

“...M-Mother Miranda is watching.” the man starts whimpering.

Ah, not this shit again. Abigail thinks. She watches as he drops to his knees praying to the rumored prophetess just because of some bird. When she looks up, though, the crow is eerily still and gazing directly at her. A chill runs down Abigail's spine, but she shoves the creepiness aside.

“The fuck are you looking at?” she asks the bird, summoning the bravado she doesn't necessarily feel, for what she's about to do.

The crow doesn't move.

Abigail breaks the standstill when she turns... and takes off in the direction of the forest.

Why. Is the question she asks herself as she runs, nearly out of breath. Why do you endanger yourself for a woman you don't even really know?

There is no answer to be found in the spreading dark. There is only the clutch in her stomach at the sound of the first howls.

“Lady Eira?” Abigail calls. “Lady Eira are you here?!”

A twig snaps –and it makes her twist to its direction. Every muscle within her body is tense in a fight or flight reaction…

Until Abigail’s eyes catch sight of the telltale skull-tipped cane. Lady Eira comes into view not long after, moving slowly her way.

“What are you doing here at the witching hour, girl?”

“What am I doing here?!” Abigail’s voice sounds funny to her own ears, brimming with a mixture of relief and breathlessness and sheer fear. “I came looking for you! You weren’t at your house and I— and I—…”

“Well. I was just picking some herbs over here.” she says as if that’s the most logical thing in the world. Abigail begins to consider she really has lost it, as the rest of the village says.

“It’s after dark! Don’t you hear the howling?!”

“…What howling, child?”

Abigail stares at her, speechless. She opens her mouth, then closes it right back up. No way. No way, right? She’s just messing with me. She has got to be.

“Please, just let me escort you back.” she breathes out.

“…very well.” Lady Eira nods.

Abigail’s back tenses with nearly every howl, but at least they do not seem to be getting closer. Yet.

She has recited nearly every prayer she knows—

“Do not be so tense, oh brave one!” the old woman comments.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It just occurs to me that we can get eaten at any moment, but I’ll definitely try to relax.” Abigail rolls her eyes, chest heaving from the stress.

“Yes, do so. I have already told you; no bird flies in this sky nor beast walks upon this land if Mother Miranda does not allow it.”

“Ah, yes. I’m sure ‘Mother Miranda’ will really give a shit if an outsider becomes a wolf snack.” she replies. “Actually, I don’t think she cares about the village period, but let’s not argue right now.”

Abigail can hardly believe it when they make it to the old lady’s house and lock the gates, just in time for the dark to really settle.

She lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, before slumping against the shut door.

Lady Eira goes about the house, lighting up the incense candles and placing them outside the windowsills before pulling everything shut tight. She then sits in her favorite chair and observes Abigail with those eyes… eyes that look deep, past skin and pretenses. Eyes that look ancient and wise, unlike what others would claim.

“Tell me, girl. Why did you come looking for this old woman?”

Abigail tries to calm her racing heart as she focuses on the gloom outside for her reply. Ironic; To be asked the same question she asked herself multiple times.

“We are not related. Even if we were, few would risk their lives in this matter. Only the purest of loves and the highest of fools would venture outside at the hour you did.” When she talks like that, Abigail can’t think of her as senile.

“I don’t know.” It’s easier than busting her head open looking for the answer. She doesn’t care. She only cares for the fact they’re both still alive.

“But I wish to.” the old woman can get so demanding at times. “Is it because I offered you work when you came here?”

“No.”

“Because I remind you of someone? A grandmother you held dear, perhaps?”

Abigail can’t help but chuckle at that. If only Eira knew how fucked up her family was. That there had never been such a notion of a mother or a grandmother to hold her dear and to be held in such a way in return. There had only ever been—

“Call it the novelty of playing hero.” Abigail replies, curt and to the point like the officer she once was. “That’s all.”

“Do not think to lie to me, girl.” Eira slams the bottom of her cane on the ground and Abigail jumps. “You are not so shallow.”

A vein pops at Abigail’s forehead. “Because I was trying to prove something to myself, are you happy now?!” she snaps.

“Hmm… no.” The old lady shakes her head. Abigail thinks perhaps the wolves –or whatever roams the streets at night, anyway— will be better than this. “What is it?”

Abigail’s jaw clenches. “That I can be brave.” she lies with a straight face. Yet, somehow, she knows the old woman will call her out on her bluff.

“That you can be good.”

The certain way she delivers the sentence, as if it’s a universal fact, feels like a slash. Abigail feels slashed open. Somewhere in the depths of her eyes, the beginning traces of tears sting.

She remains silent.

Thankfully, Eira does not ask any more questions before she tells her to sleep on the couch.

The monsters won’t be going anywhere whether her eyelids stay open or not.

[Miranda]

Shortly after the girl’s breathing has evened out, she allows the guise to fall.

Ink-black wings slowly fan out behind the elderly woman, until they engulf her whole. Soon, ‘Eira’ is no more. In her place stands Miranda in her full height, stretching her sore neck. This old woman's form is always so uncomfortable.

The prophetess walks over to the modest, wooden coffee table in front of the sleeping girl and takes a seat on it. Ice-blue eyes study her closely.

Such an enigma, this one. Running out after sunfall for a mad, old woman. One moment stressing about being good and the next shoving a man into a wall face-first, all but threatening to break his arm if he doesn’t cooperate.

Of course, Miranda saw. She sees everything that transpires in her village.

Abigail, she thinks, would make a great host for the Cadou. Her military background is not hard to see, with the discipline she always has about her, the reflexes, the combat skills, the toned lines of muscle visible on her arms when she works. She has the body to withstand the parasite and the will to not be driven mad by it.

But.

Although those are certainly factors, they are not the only ones. There are far too many hidden parameters to the process and she’s still studying what makes the Cadou truly favor one host over another.

On one hand, Miranda is curious about Abigail. On the other… she really doesn’t want to ruin such a fine specimen on a whim.

Especially when she has already found a suitable vessel for her daughter’s resurrection. All that’s needed now is to acquire it.

Until that time comes, Abigail can make the mind-numbingly boring hours she pretends to be the old lady pass by a little faster. There is no need to risk breaking her most interesting distraction to date.

Abigail shifts, her pretty face scrunching cutely in her sleep. She settles for a little while, then stirs again. Her brow furrows deeper. This time, she looks like she’s hurting.

“Alex…” comes out in a broken whisper. “Don’t go…”

Miranda wonders if it’s a past lover she’s calling for, or a friend, or a family member. She knows the pain of the latter never truly goes away, not even in sleep.

There is no refuge from it for herself… but she has the power to make Abigail calm, even for a little while.

The thing is, Miranda is not the prophet of a magnanimous god, nor would she ever call herself compassionate in any way or capacity. She doesn’t even fully understand why she bothers to move her hand atop the other woman’s forehead, where her silky brown hair is mussed from sleep.

A silent command; And the nightmare vanishes from her mind. Her expression eases, relaxes once more, her fingers unclench from the white-knuckled fists she had them in.

Consider this a gift for your bravery.

Miranda rises, then and walks to the door. When she steps outside, the beasts that roam the land all turn towards her, curving into deep bows.

Icy eyes glance upon them once, the gates of ‘Eira’s’ home pulled shut behind her.

Silent as the grave, black wings once again shroud Miranda’s form. When they break apart into dissipating feathers, a flock of crows flies away into the night.

Ko-Fi

#mother miranda #mother miranda x abigail #mother miranda x oc #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #creative writing #lady dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #and that one fishdude #SURPRISE the fic that's been stuck in my head for a while now #mother miranda needs more love and I'm here to serve crow bae #love it? hate it? always interested to hear your thoughts

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 2 years

Text

@a-reader-and-a-writer requested: 14. Making snowmen

Romanticgumchewer's Christmas Spectacular - DAY TWO - Frosty's Ugly Cousin (Rick Flag x OC)

Summary: Rick and Dee make a snowman in her parent's front yard...it doesn't end up as pretty as they had in mind.

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 807

Warnings: fluff and that's it I think

Timeline: December 2019

if i go masterlist

A/N: please look at the timeline date before reading, all of these Christmas pieces are taking place different years!

“You kids have fun!” Fanny called as Rick and Delphia walked out the front door.

It was a beautiful Christmas Eve day in Baltimore. The ground outside seemed to glow in the midafternoon light. Pristine white snow blanketing every surface from the snowfall the night before. The brick houses that lined the street Delphia had grown up on looked like they were pulled straight out of one of those painted puzzles. Thick quilts of snow covering the roofs, Christmas lights strung up along the porches or lining the gutters, decorated trees glowing inside the warm homes, children in technicolor coats playing in the empty streets.

“She does know we’re adults right?” Rick asked over the crunching of snow beneath their booted feet.

“Yes. Two grown adults about to make a snowman.” They stopped in the middle of the front yard, underneath the giant oak tree, and Delphia grinned up at him as she clapped her mittened hands together. “You work on the base while I get some rocks and twigs?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They split up. Rick began working on rolling up the large base for their snowman, while Delphia went back towards the front door to the snowed over front garden that she knew her parents covered with a generous layer of stones. She needed enough of them for the buttons, the eyes, and of course that classic smile. The carrot for the nose was already stowed away in her pocket, as was the scarf that would go around his neck.

It hadn’t taken much convincing that morning to get Rick to brave the snow with her. She was expecting to have to practically beg him to join her in her snowman making adventure. But all it took was one simple question and a pushed out bottom lip for him to concede. Arlo had called him a pushover which made Rick chuckle.

I just really love your daughter, sir, he said.

Those words made a heat rise in Delphia’s cheeks even now.

After digging through several inches worth of snow, she found the rocks she had been looking for with numb fingers. With a small noise of success, she pulled out as many of the dark stones as she thought would be necessary to decorate their snowman. And when she turned to look at Rick’s progress, her head cocked to one side in bemusement. He was standing next to the massive ball of snow with his hands on his hips — cheeks red and hot breath billowing up towards the sky. He looked proud of himself. Even thought that was the lumpiest snowman base Delphia had ever seen. But there was still time to save it. The middle and the top couldn’t go as badly right?

Wrong. The middle section turned out looking like more of an egg than a sphere. Then the head of the snowman ended up way too small — so the two of them packed on more snow to even it out and accidentally made it too big. Rick and Delphia looked at each other before looking back at the erected snowman. It certainly wasn’t the prettiest thing either of them had seen.

“Maybe with the other stuff on it’ll look better?” Delphia offered with her hands on her hips.

“Don’t see how it could make it worse,” he said.

They pushed into the packed snow each of the rocks. Three for the middle to look like buttons, a few for the crooked smile, and two for the eyes. Rick added the carrot nose, accidentally pushing it all the way through to the other side of the snowman’s head — causing both of them to burst out laughing. Delphia expertly wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s neck, making sure to get it tight enough so that it wouldn’t blow away in the wind. They took a step back when their work was done. Hands on their hips and heads cocked to one side.

It still looked terrible. The face was lopsided, the carrot nose now barely poked out of the front, and one of the stick arms was definitely way lower than the other.

“Well,” Rick sighed, “Certainly ain’t no Frosty the Snowman.”

“Frosty’s ugly cousin, more like,” Delphia mumbled back.

He laughed as he pulled her into his side. “You had fun though?”

“Of course I did,” she said, looking up at him with a smile, “I’m with you.”

The smile he gave her was so soft, made even more boyish by the redness of his cheeks and nose. He planted a kiss on her hatted head, nuzzling into the hand knitted fabric as he pulled her into him even closer.

“Let’s head inside. Your mom said somethin’ about mulled wine and my interest has been piqued.”

They walked hand in hand back inside her childhood home, feeling cold but filled with a warm joy.

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installments, just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother @reysorigins @hawsx3

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liibrii · 3 years

Text

Omimi x gn!Reader || fluff || wc: 0.8 || 🦊

“Hey, Omiren-“

“No.“

“I haven't even said anything,“ you pout.

“And I'd prefer if it stayed that way.“

“Ruuude,“ you draw out your voice pretending to be offended. “So anyway, you remember that new cafe down by the train station? Apparently they are giving out a discount for couples.“

He pretends to not understand what you're getting at. You poke at him for fun so often he's not about to waste the chance for a payback. “So?“

He has to cover his mouth to hide the smile creeping on his face. Your frowning face is just too funny. “So I need someone to go with me!“

“Shh, library,“ he playfully flicks you on the forehead. “Ask Michinari. This sounds like somethin' he'd be more than happy to go along with.“

You lay on the table and mumble: “He has his own plans.“

Omimi pats your head. “Feelin' left out?“ You stick your tongue out. “Aran?“ he proposes.

“I don't fancy having a horde of his fans on my back tomorrow.“

“Shinsuke then.“

“Busy. Before you ask, I'm not allowed to reveal his plans.“

“He'll have time tomorrow.“

“The offer is only for today,“ you mumble. “Valentines and all that.“

Omimi turns the pencil between his fingers. “So I'm pretty much yer last choice?“ He poses the question as half a joke but at the same time he feels a sting of disappointment.

“Technically speakin you're the first since I haven't asked anyone else.“ You smile as sweetly as you can. “And you're also one of my very best friends so in a way this is-“

His hand covers your mouth. “Ya know sweet talkin' doesn't work on me. Ya didn't even get me chocolates. Why would I do ya a favour?“

You remove his hand, holding and swaying it for a few moments before letting go. “I gave them to you last year.“

“They were filled with wasabi.“

You shrug. “Listen, it'll be my treat. You don't need to do anything but be there. And have a fun time I guess.“ You bat your eyelashes and Omimi hates the way his heart skips a beat. “It'll be awesome,“ you try to convince him, “and so much cheaper! You can get two cakes for the price of one!“ He pretends to return to studying. “Coffee's included in the offer too you know,“ you chime.

He leans on his arm. “Yer not gonna give up, are ya?“

“You know me so well Omiren,“ you snicker and poke his cheek.

He gives in. He never was able to oppose you for long. So he gathers his things and stands up. “Meet ya at the entrance in five minutes?“

By the time it takes him to get changed you're already outside. He thinks you look adorable with your scarf and snowflakes gathering on your hair. When you wave and smile at him he gets distracted just enough to not notice the snowball in your hands. The one that a moment later meets his face.

He should have anticipated you'd pull something similar. So he's not even mad.

“You're late,“ you chime, bouncing excitedly on your heels. “Come on, come on, we gotta get there before all the good sits are taken!“

In your excitement you forget the road is frozen and you slip but Omimi catches you before you end up on your back.

“Careful! We're supposed to go to a cafe not hospital.“ He pulls you back on your feet.

He loves seeing you so excited. You're practically jumping and he worries you'll slip again. When you arrive to the cafe it looks quite full. You take his hand.

“Let's find somewhere to sit,“ you smile.

Omimi has to admit the visit to the cafe, (he refuses to call it date) is lots of fun. The cakes are incredible and since it's Valentines and you hang on his sleeve, calling him 'love' and 'sweets' every time the waiter comes around, you even get some exclusive pastries. Seeing your happy grin when you try them makes his heart flutter. He can't help but fall even more in love.

When you leave it's already dark outside. While you walk the short distance to the train station he watches with suspicion as you grab another handful of snow and begin forming it.

“Hey Omiren? Your birthday's in a few days, right?“

“Yes. Why?“

“Do you think they'd give you a discount? Maybe even free cake? Hey!“ you protest when he takes the snowball away.

“Perhaps they would. Why'd ya ask?“

Without the snowball in your hands he notices the nervous fidgeting. “Do you wanna find out?“ You take a deep breath. “Make it a proper date?“

#omimi ren #omimi x reader #hq #haikyuu #inarizaki #inarizaki x reader #omimi fluff #hqcorenet #this is so self indulgent it's not even funny #I love him #omiren #naming fics is hard #might come up with a title later #libri scribbles #oomimi ren

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smortbokuto · 3 years

Text

Guilt. (sequel)

warnings: my shit writing, fluff, there is a child, angst, implied cheating, fatal disease.

pairings: ushijima x oikawa, iwaizumi x oikawa.

a/n: please, this one is uhh like- yk? not that painful

word count: 2.9k

main story.

❛20th January, 2023.❜

gloomy clouds that hung low in the darkness of the guilt filled night were now ready to burst into white beauty. cold and divine. the sun had already reached out into the limits of sky, extending its warm rays welcoming everyone with all love and warmth.

the view was white as far as the eyes could go. the clustered houses where white, the once green lively trees were brown dead with soft snow hanging on them comfortably.

he didn't know when the night drowned into the heavenly morning of snow. the taste of tears and guilt was still lingering on his tongue. face completely red and flushed. white trails of dried tears stuck on his cheeks like some dried paint.

he couldn't help but curl up in the covers of the old bed he shared with his long lost lover...

and the same old bed where he brunt all the years of trust, dedication and love.

even though the bed smelt like dust that had settled on in years, he could smell the cologne of iwaizumi's cologne that he used to wear over his perfectly tanned and toned skin. he could clearly hear the god sculptured mans' morning voice that day when he woke him up to tell him how it was so pretty outside due to snow. he also had woke up Amaya to show her how snow looks like.

wait-

"shit." he jolt up from the bed, the tainted covers falling on the ruined wooden floor "shit shit shit," scrambling out he fished for his phone, eyes widening at the realization that he hadn't reached home since yesterday. slender fingers tapped all over the span of the guarded screen as he placed it over his ears. legs tapping on the creaky floor as he waited for a response from the other end.

"please pick u- hello?!" practically screaming he called out.

"hello? Mr. Oikawa?" a feminine voice answered back, low and sleep laced.

"ye- yeah. sorry i didn't reach home. Amaya- is she okay?" he could feel thorns poking his throat. it felt like an omen to even speak her name. his own daughters name. his voice wavered at the thought- no, memory- of her clutching his leg as she looked at him from her vision of sight. asking about her father to wake up.

it was so easy to tell her. to lie to her because, in the end she was just a kid- 3 year old- she would forget about her father like she forgot about her mother. its easy. just lie and move on. no explanation is required.

┊19th September, 2021.

the sky was unusually suffocating for an autumn season. the place, open and wide, was flooded with men and women sobbing and giving condolences for their loss of a friend, nephew, brother, son and a lover.

the scene looked like a black and white movie and he sat there, face blank with not a single tear shedding from his eyes, watching everyone do the job he couldn't do; cry.

rather he wondered why they were even crying. he was, if being honest, feeling light, like a burden from his shoulders was lifted off as he watched his pale, lifeless lover sleeping peacefully in the encased cushioned walls of his forever bed.

'at least, he doesn't have to know about my affair anymore.' was all he could repeat in his thick skull again and again each time he saw another extra sobbing and putting flowers on the half open cascade.

"dad?" a sweet saccharine voice, timid but audible enough for him to hear in the sweet sorrow he was witnessing, spoke up. looking down his eyes softened at the sight of his 3 year old looking at him expectantly for some answers.

"what is it?" he smiled tenderly at her, his slender warm fingers carding through her soft locks.

"why is father sleeping there? when will he wake up, i want to play in his arms." her pink lips jut out in a small pout.

oh. now how was he supposed to tell her that she can't play in his arms? not anymore. the tender smile, fucking fake, dropped down into a frown as he knew denying her would be a result to her hours of tantrums.

'all your fault to spoil her like this,' his jaws clenched in frustration 'Hajime.'

"i can't wake him up." he smiled covering up his frustration as he got up from his seat, collecting the little soul in his hands as he walked flawlessly towards the cascade "just," taking a deep breath "tell him you love him and we can leave so he can sleep peacefully, okay?" he ordered politely to which the child obliged.

he watched the kid turn towards they pale man, who she called her father, as she brought her small hand over her lips and leaving him a kiss that lingered in the air to reach for her father with a muffled smack of her lips against her palms.

"i love you, please wake up fast so we can play!" she happily chided, absolutely unaware about any of the thing that went on around her. ┊

he needed answers. he was desperate for them.

"she is," there was faint shuffling in the background as the lady spoke "she is sleeping right now. is everything okay?" the voice enquired.

he hummed, sighing in exhaustion "i will be, uh, late. so please take care of her." with that he hung up, tossing his phone on the bed, watching the bed dip under the mere weight of his phone.

his legs felt weak and the utter disgust for himself wasn't helping him in a bit. turning around he looked at the window, closed and tainted with dust, from where Iwaizumi used to watch out the scene for hours and hours.

his teeth grit together as he felt a sour tinge linger on his tongue that burnt his throat.

"i was so pathetic to you..." he whispered yet it came out completely audible.

"now you realize that? after two whole years?" a heavy voice boomed from the hallway near the bedroom in a berating tone. the voice gruff and loud was enough for oikawa to flinch as he turned his head way too suddenly with wide eyes.

"why are you here?" the brunette could only hiss at the sight of a man he wanted to see the least right now.

the man standing on the door ruffled his dark olive hair as he scrunched his face in annoyance. "why? i figured you were here."

"go away i don't need you to tell me that i fucked up. it was your fault too." venom dripping in his tone he turned away facing the window as he tried to look out at the view that Iwaizumi used to like a tad bit too much.

"it wasn't my fault. none of it was. you are selfish, Oikawa and you always will be. no fucking matter what." the male commented, disappointment undeniable audible in his tone.

was he wrong? no. it was a unspoken fact that he had voice out. oikawa was... selfish, pointing fingers at other to never feel the guilt and internal agony of a mistake. but pointing fingers never really change the direction of guilt, now does it?

he knows. he knows too well yet he chooses to throw a veil of ignorance over it and walk around like he has been the victim. a most common card he had always played in his life; victim card.

but now? it won't work. the realization and guilt is literally overflowing in black thick liquid all around, out of his system.

"please leave, i don't require you here." it was a simple order. anyone can follow it and oblige to it.

and so did Ushijima. but not before, "you have a 5 year old daughter, think about her."

and with that, oikawa was left alone. and he will be alone for the rest of his life. a payment for his sins. simple enough.

'i need answers..."

it was stupid to believe that the entries would end just like that. on the note to find more he fumbled into the the nightstand with the broken lampshade on it he found few crumpled sheets.

smoothing it out he let out a shaky breath as he saw a new set of date written with black ink.

❝7th August, 2021.

i am.. dying. i don't want to. i have a kid to take care of. Amaya is precious. who is going to be there for her? i wished to see all seasons with Toru but i can't. now? i can't even see it with Amaya. i just hope that Toru can give her the enough love from my behalf to you. so, Toru? if you ever find this, tell her i love her. i love her with my everything. i wished to see her grow but i can't. not anymore. so please look at her grow and achieve whatever she has always wished for.❞

"why are you crying?" a faint voice echoed as it dripped into his ears. a voice that was so familiar. a voice he didn't know he craved desperately to hear.

"i was selfish..." sob after sob raked his body and system completely as he replied back with an effort he never knew he had to put.

silence.

"you realized. love her on my behalf." there was a smile audible in the speech. "i will see you soon."

"mhm"

folding the paper neatly he tucked it into the folds of the hardcover diary before smoothing out another entry under his calloused fingers.

every date, every sentence, every word fueled another wave of regret into his system. but this was something he knew would come someday.

'i will change. i will embrace it.'

❝10th September, 2021.

i had a dream. i was happy, with Toru. he was happy with me. we were happy. were. we are not. we used to visit the dandelion field that blooms twice a year. full bloomed. Amaya loved it there. Toru take her there someday. tell her that this was the place i met you. this was the place i wished to make you mine. sucks i couldn't. hope Ushijima makes you happy.❞

"I would. i promise." he whispered in between he pained heart.

if only he could truly see who Iwaizumi Hajime was. if only he could love the man named Iwaizumi Hajime the way he deserved.

'its my fault. mine. mine. mine. mine!'

repeating the ordeal to fold the paper and putting it in the diary he prepared himself to read yet another only to have his brow to perk up in curiosity as he saw an envelope, baby pink with a small blue heart made on the corner. the name was of his daughters'. hastily but carefully he opened it.

❝Dear Amaya,

baby, i am Hajime. you will probably forget me till the time you will learn to read and get this letter. but.. i am your father. you used to play in my arms and watch the sunrise and sunset with utmost excitement.

i wished to see it more with you more in my arms but soon i can't. but i will still look at it for you. you are the only lady i have every loved. i love you. i hoped to see you grow up and become as pretty as your dad. sometimes things are not supposed to go the way they are supposed to. but that's okay. it's natural. learn to accept them and adopt them. he is a good man but he makes mistake. grow up and help him, okay?

i know how sweet and good soul you have so when you grow up love everyone. humans are beautiful, learn to love them. see you soon baby. kisses.

Love,

Hajime.❞

why? why? why?? just, why...?

"its just the way i was."

"i know."

carefully he wiped the remnants of stray tears of emotions as he placed the letter safely back in its folds making a mental note to give it to Amaya when she was a certain age.

❝toru,

i have a confession to make. you will probably find this or never find this. but i never had the guts to tell this to your face. i can't ruin the happiness you finally achieved. i am not holding a grudge against you for it. i hope you have the journey you wished for with Ushijima.

After the day i found out about your affair i started to get nightmares. it wasn't that bad. just the infidelity my dad used to show to my mom resurfaced. their fights and all. it is too much to take, Toru. I suffered. don't let this happed to Amaya. she lost her mother already. she is loosing me. she won't remember any of us but don't let her see what i have seen. i loved her the way i wished to be loved so love her just that way? i don't doubt you. just a request...❞

"i am late. i will. i will." he promised. a promise he will keep till his lungs will give out. he deemed to fulfill it no matter what.

pages after pages he flipped, smoothed and read them. pain pierced holes into his body confusing him to breathe beyond a limit or not. a value to pay, perhaps.

he vowed to fulfill all the wishes Iwaizumi wished for. he could have fulfill them himself but he is not there... anymore.

❝30th April, 2021.

i hate how i am so selfish. i hate how i can't hate Oikawa rather i am still selfishly, desperately in love with him. i love him just a bit to much and it truly hurts. it hurts to see him with someone. it hurts to know that i couldn't love him the way he deserved. i hate how i wasn't enough.❞

he could feel his heart shattering into pieces. pieces that would never be easy to gather back together. a vile hatred filled into his system for himself.

how fucking cruel to make a person hate themselves for something you have done.

"fucking imbecile." he cursed himself. self loath for the right word to describe his feelings for his past actions.

❝6 May, 2021.

i made milk bread for Toru. but i don't have the right to give it to them. he won't have it with the feeling and emotions he is supposed to have while eating them.❞

his eyes widened at the realization as a gasp left the constricts of his parched throat and the events that took place that day resurfaced.

┊6 May, 2021.

"Toru?" a man, bit more taller than the called out man tapped his shoulders.

"yeah?" the brunette turned with a tender smile and adoration filled his eyes as it met the man in front of him. these eyes of adoration was supposed to be for Iwaizumi yet they were displayed to Ushijima.

"i got you milk bread." he commented as he passed the nicely wrapped box to the shorter man.

oikawa couldn't help but cheer up and hug the buff man in front of him, thanking him for the efforts.

just like that Ushijima used to present himself with a nicely packed bento filled with different sweets and edibles oikawa just adored every week.┊

"no." words of denial slipped from his chapped lips.

doesn't matter how much he deny it. he knows, now. he knows now why they tasted so familiar.

"why...?"

"because that's what people do when they are miserably in love. sounds pathetic but it's true."

silent scream rolled down his tongue as he realized that it was never Ushijima to make milk bread but Iwaizumi. it was always him. everything felt like falling apart.

he wondered, is this how Hajime felt?

"yes."

❝17th August, 2021.

if i could go back in time and change the past, i would rather not. but the only thing i would hope for is to come back to take care of you and Amaya the way you both deserved. Goodbye, Oikawa Toru.❞

one sob, then another and another and another. there was no stop to it. the dam that was holding everything back broke down, the doors opening making all the pent up regretted emotions to flow out with a force no one can dream to take up with.

a chant of continuous 'sorry' and 'please' left his mouth as he read the last entry. the last entry written by Iwaizumi Hajime.

free?

free.

without guilt?

with guilt.

"why are you crying, Toru?" strong arms wrapped around the brunettes sobbing figure. "you are free, finally. live again. love again. in a right way."

"i am sorry, Hajime. i am so sorry. so fucking sorry. if only i loved you right. if only i didn't fuck things up. if only..." he sobbed in hysteria.

"Toru... it's time to let me go. this new place. new journey i am going is so beautiful, ethereal and serene. you will find me someday but not right now. not yet." Hajime coaxed him to the calm he was missing in him "it's not you, it had never been you. it's me who needs to be forgiven to stay pathetically in love with you. to not let you go. now i can. so can you. i never blamed you, in my living journey or in my afterlife."

"i am happy. finally."

#haikyuu oikawa #oikawa fluff #oikawa angst #oikawa toru #oikawa tōru #angst #fluff #iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #hq x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! fluff #iwaizumi fluff #iwaoi fluff #haikyuu iwaoi #haikyuu!!

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lauwrite1225 · 3 years

Text

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria's life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday!! Moodboard a little special today as it's Sophie and Osferth centred instead of the story this time 😉

Warnings : fluff ;) and mention of death!

Chapter 10 : This is not what you wanted

Vicky is getting used to how her dreams work. The first night, she dreams of the person's death, waking up abruptly with an erratic breath after having felt the coldness of death running through her veins. Then the following nights it’s a mess of memories from a huge variety of periods of time. She sees so much during this phase that she rarely remembers everything, but she wakes up at the same emotion that the person felt.

That’s how one early morning, when the sunlight shyly starts to fight the darkness, she wakes up with tears in her eyes and a deep sadness tearing her heart apart. Finan’s hand is on her cheek, his thumb wiping her tears as she breathes slowly to make the emotion fade.

“Are ya alright?” He asks when she finally meets his eyes in the dark.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry for waking you up.” She apologizes, turning on her side to face him, his hand leaving her face to rest on her waist.

Over a week has passed since the night they first kissed and even if they haven’t yet made it official to their hosts, Finan keeps sleeping with her. He also steals her kisses when they are just the two of them which amuses her a lot, making her feel like they are teenagers. However, she knows that the bond, no matter how confused it still is, that ties them together is far more than an infatuation.

“It's alright.” He smiles briefly before he starts to look more concerned. “Ya've been tossin' around for awhile now.”

She bites her lower lips as memories of her dreams emerge and she moves to settle against him. She closes her eyes, his fingers playing with her hair kindly, easing the tension in her body. Slowly, she remembers the story. It was cold, very cold and Sihtric was walking in the snow, his clothes wet and sticking to his skin. By his side there was Osferth, in a pretty much similar state, holding his rifle tightly against his chest. The two warriors looked miserable as they were shouting a name that she can't remember. They walked for hours in the forest until they suddenly stopped in front of a body. The man was laying in the white snow, a puddle of blood freezing around him, his chest perforated multiple times and his blue eyes opened wide to the sky. It was Uhtred.

Now she remembers what Osferth told them the day they arrived. Sihtric fell to his knees next to his Lord, shaking his body vigorously, wanting him to come back. The Dane furiously shouted at him to wake up, slapping him. Tears warmed his cold cheeks as they trickled down his face. Osferth kept questioning him in panic on why Uhtred didn't come back yet and Sihtric only yelled at him angrily that he didn't know. And so they waited hours in the cold winter, shivering under the heavy rain that started to fall. But Uhtred never moved, his skin turning blue and his eyes still contemplating Valhalla.

Finan's hand that grazes on her arm brings her back to reality. “I dreamt of Uhtred's death.” She finally tells him and she feels him freeze underneath her.

He doesn't ask any questions and she doesn't talk more of it, both of them knowing the wound is still too recent for the Irishman.

The days are pretty much like usual, starting every of Victoria's mornings with her training. She is getting better with the rifle, and even if she misses the feel of Finan behind her to guide her, she is proud to be able to succeed on her own. She also improves in close combat, now knowing where to hit to force her opponent to bend double. Sometimes, when she's making another task she whispers the combination of movements he taught her earlier. However, her practice has a tendency to raise a tension between them when they fight that hasn't yet been resolved.

“I win.” Finan whispers in her ear, out of breath after making her fall, keeping her firmly on her stomach against the floor and folding her arm behind her back.

She tries to hit him with her free hand to free herself, groaning when he easily grabs her wrist and presses it in the mud. He chuckles at her attempt and leans until his chest grazes over her back. She gasps a breath at his closeness, a warmth growing low in her belly as his lips hover over the shell of her ear.

“Do ya give up?”

“I never admit defeat.”

He laughs again despite the determination in her tone and frees both of her wrists. He holds himself above her as she rolls onto her back and she shivers when she notices the heat in his eyes. Her tongue snakes between her lips, the sight of it making a smirk grow on Finan's face. She grabs his shoulders to pull him down to her and he closes his eyes in anticipation of meeting her lips. But instead it's her knee that meets his stomach, hitting him right in the liver. Finan growls in pain, falling back beside her in the dirt, his arms wrapped around his waist. She can't help but giggle as she straddles him proudly.

“I told you I'm never admitting defeat.” She tells him when his features twisted by the ache start to ease.

They quickly separate when they hear Sophie's car approaching, both of them sitting in the mud when she gets out of it. She stares at them with wide eyes when she closes the vehicle's door. “Eh bah, have you seen yourselves?”

They frown before looking at each other and noticing the dirt on their faces but also clothes. “Collateral damages.” Finan grins as he stands back to his feet and stretches a hand out for Vicky to grab.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “You two should wash before we eat.”

It's only when they are cleaned that the French woman allows them to sit at the table for lunch, much to Vicky's joy whose belly is aching.

“How's your dreams going?” Osferth asks her when he puts salad on his plate before handing her the bowl.

She hesitates a moment, remembering her last dream. “It's still confused, old memories. But it will soon be more recent ones and I'll be able to have real clues on where he is.” She explains.

Osferth nods and stares down to his plate. “It's really strange, once I met you, I stopped dreaming of you.”

“I did too. Once I'll have met Sihtric, I should be rid of it.” She shrugs and rests the bowl in the middle of the table.

“Really strange.” The monk repeats, a long silence taking his words away.

Though, to everyone's surprise, Finan breaks the silence. “Maybe it's because we are meant to meet each other.”

Victoria looks up from her plate to find that Finan is staring at her from across the table, his gaze intense but nonetheless soft. She tries not to blush, knowing she had the same thought a few days ago, that everything may be written.

His words stay in her mind until night time, when she watches him poke the fire before heading to bed. He removes his hoodie and lets it drop to the floor, doing the same with his t-shirt. Even if she has seen him a few times shirtless since they met, right now seeing the flames' light dance on his scarred skin really does something to her. For a week they've been teasing each other but never a step further but now she has enough of it. She stands up and grabs his wrist before he can take his sweater for the night. He raises a surprised and confused eyebrow at her, opening his mouth to speak but he doesn't even have the time to say a word before she captures his lips. He growls in their kiss when her palms graze over his chest to curve around his neck or to let her fingers curl in his hair.

The feel of his warm skin under her hands makes her crave to feel it against hers. She chuckles when he grips her hips to guide her to the bed. She drops on it, bringing him in with her fall. She hums when he kisses down her jaw and neck, closing her eyes to relish the sensation. Their breathing gets heavier and their hands grow more adventurous, eager to discover each other.

But when Vicky grabs the end of her pullover to get rid of it, Finan suddenly covers her hands to stop her movement. She frowns at him as he looks in the direction of the front door intently, looking alert.

“What is it?” She asks him, her breath still heavy.

“I've heard a noise.” He whispers and when she opens her mouth to demand more information about it, he prevents her with his hand. “Hush.” He orders her and she reluctantly obeys.

He removes his hand and leaves the bed, grabbing his sweater to put it back on, which makes Victoria roll her eyes in an annoyed. He takes the Colt resting on a furniture and carefully walks to a window, his back against the wall to not make himself visible from outside. Vicky stares at him intently, still waiting impatiently for more explanation. But the sudden sound of a vehicle arriving in the clearing startles her and Finan growls a bunch of Irish insults when a white light starts to alight the room from outside.

“What’s that?” She asks him in panic as she stands up but he doesn’t answer.

Finan moves to knock at Osferth’s door, but it opens before, revealing the confused monk. The two men exchange a nervous gaze before taking Finan’s previous position against the wall. Sophie joins Vicky near the bed, her teeth biting nervously into her lips. They can hear the agitation outside, men shouting orders to encircle the house while the blinding car’s light keeps alighting the area.

“Are they the men that attacked you in London?” Osferth asks after glancing outside.

“I don’t know, but I doubt they want us any better.” Finan grumbles, his fingers scratching his beard nervously.

Victoria makes a step further to catch the men’s attention. “We need to get out of here.” She declares, even if it’s a pretty obvious fact to all of them.

“The house is encircled, Vicky.” Finan replies, his finger making a loop. “It’s too risky.”

“But we don’t die!” She frowns, ready to run away at any moment, not fearing the bullets that could reach her if the men are armed, which they undoubtedly are.

Finan’s jaw twitches at her sudden rise of confidence but he doesn’t have the time to contradict her when Osferth replies: “But Sophie does.”

The three immortals turn their eyes to the French who just looked at them alternatively. “Don’t look at me like that!” She orders them, hating to be their weak point.

Finan shakes his head and stares back at Vicky. “It would be too risky anyway. If they are good shooters, the time we’ll need to come back will be enough to get caught. We need a bet-”

A voice rising in the sudden calm outside stops Finan in his sentence.

“We don’t want you any harm!” A man shouts with what Vicky guesses is a light german accent. A simple look at the two warriors is enough to tell her that they already disbelieve him. Though, they don’t reply and listen as he continues to speak. “All we want is Victoria Davis. We know she’s here.”

Vicky’s breath runs short at the mention of her name, her heart beating faster in fear as memories of London come back to her, a shiver running down her spine when she remembers the cold edge of the gun against her temple. Finan mumbles a bunch of insults, trying to have a better look on the outside.

“Do you think it’s them again?” Osferth asks the Irishman again and this time his answer is more certain.

“It must be.”

Finan glances at Vicky, with a worry she didn’t expect but it clearly increases hers. She can’t understand what they want from her, and why when they are encircling Osferth’s house they aren’t even asking for him. Questions without answers multiply in her mind and she feels her lungs starting to have difficulties filling with air. The man outside speaks more urgently and Finan looks back to Osferth.

“They can hide in the basement and we just try to convince them that she’s not here.” Finan proposes, which sounds like a lopsided plan but also their only one.

“What if they take you instead?” Sophie questions them, her hand resting on Vicky’s shoulder to try to ease her.

“They don’t want us, maybe don't even know us, the worst they can do is to kill us which isn’t that much of a problem.” He wryly answers before turning to Osferth to have his opinion.

The monk agrees, seeing no better way and they head to the hatch leading to the basement. While Osferth opens it quickly, Vicky grabs Finan’s arm nervously. She is the reason for this whole situation, of the risk they are taking and she is hating that. She couldn’t bear it if something happened to one of them. Maybe she should just obey the man to keep them safe. But she has no idea of what they want from her, why she is so precious to them that they have to engage the great means. She thinks of it, balancing the pros and cons, her fingers tightening around Finan’s arm.

“Vicky?” His voice makes her blink, coming back to reality. Sophie is already climbing down the ladder, Osferth handing her the oil lamp. “It’s goin’ to be alright.” Finan takes her chin between his fingers to force her to look at him and he smiles confidently.

She wishes she has the time to tell him how unsure she is about this plan but he kisses her forehead softly before pushing her to the basement opening. She joins Sophie downstairs, the room illuminated by the only weak flame of the lamp. It’s cold and she wraps her arms around her chest while Osferth closes the hatch. They can hear them push what Vicky supposes is the bed over the opening and she can’t help but bite her inner jaw, if they don’t come back, they are both stuck here.

In the basement, the time seems to stretch. Victoria knows it’s been only a few minutes since they are here but she feels like she’s been staring at Sophie pacing the length of the room for an hour. Vicky would like to find the words to reassure her, but she’s tormented by her own worry. So she sits on the floor, her back against the wall and tries to listen to what's happening outside. But it’s barely possible, the stones muffling any voice. Though, they perfectly hear the shot resounding in the whole forest. Sophie stops suddenly, her hands covering her mouth while Vicky looks up to the ceiling as footsteps create a real cacophony. Her heart beats terribly hard in her chest. Is it one of the men who’s been shot? She doubts it, so it must be Finan or Osferth. She knows they’ll be both fine in the end, they must be, so she just tries to slow her breath, as if the men upstairs could hear her if she dares to breathe too loudly.

After too much time to both women’s opinion, the footsteps fade and engines sound arise before a complete silence finally settles. It lasts for long other minutes during which Vicky can even hear her heartbeats in her ears. Sophie still hasn’t moved from her spot, her teeth sinking into her index to calm her anxiety. When they finally hear the bed being pulled away from the hatch, they both let out a heavy sigh of relief and walk to the ladder.

“They are gone.” They hear Osferth say as he opens the door.

“Osferth!” Sophie climbs up first and Vicky is outside as well, the French is hugging the monk tightly, his arms around her waist. “Are you fine?” She asks him, her voice breaking after sobbing. She takes a step back to check herself if he is indeed healthy, and her face falls when she notices the blood on his clothes. “Mon Dieu, you’re bleeding!”

She tries to take a better look at his wound but he catches her hands. She glares at him and before she can protest he cuts her off with a soft kiss. It releases her shoulder from a part of the tension she’s been carrying and when he moves away she is smiling shyly. Though, Osferth's expression doesn’t ease, his brows slightly furrowed and jaw strongly clenched. Vicky notices it before Sophie and starts to look around, though she already knows the answer. Finan isn’t here and Osferth is the one having been shot. Her throat tightens and her eyes start to sting as she feels the tears filling them at each of her blinks.

“Where’s Finan?” She finally asks Osferth, her breath stopping until he dares to answer.

“I… I don’t know.” He says, looking down shamefully. “They killed me and when I came back, they were gone and Finan too.”

Vicky doesn’t even give him the time to finish his sentence when she starts to walk to the front door, stepping outside and ignoring the breeze that is wrapped into her clothes as she starts to call Finan. She shouts his name while walking around the house and in the forest until there’s too many tears in her eyes and sobs prevent her to breathe correctly. Her heart is aching, torn apart between despair and guilt, and she has to lean against a tree to not fall over. She stays there for a while, sitting in the mud until Sophie comes to fetch her to hide from the starting rain.

A/N : Every peace comes to an end :((

Thanks for the comments! It's such a pleasure to read them and to answer them!! You are the bests 🥺💕 If you have any theory or even vague idea of what could happen next, I'm very curious to read them 👀👀

Tag : @for-bebbanburg @osferth @maggiescarborough @finansarms @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby @solinarimoon

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alexhogh7137 · 4 years

Text

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Eighteen: Terror in Wessex

Chapter Seventeen

Word Count 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of blood, torture, mentions of rape (no details, just implied), heavy angst

When Hvitserk heard those double doors open, his heart dropped. He knew what that symbolized, and that was his worst fear: him losing you. He rushed Ivar's room and just as he expected, you were gone. Except this is real and not a vision. Where you would normally lay, are a few blood drops in the fur that would cover your body. He almost threw up at the sight but kept himself composed.

Hvitserk "Ivar...IVAR!" His brother looked over at him and then next to where you would lay.

Ivar "The guard's-the guard's were supposed to keep watch!"

Hvitserk "Go see for yourself." Hvitserk knew what his brother would witness as soon as he walked out of those doors, but he didn't want to tell him himself. Ivar needed to witness what happened this horrible night.

When Ivar opened up the doors fully, there were drag marks in the snow so he followed it. He pauses when he sees the first set of guardsmen that were positioned by the doors. Their throats were slit and they were disarmed. Ivar looks back at his brother, who is standing in the doorway, not moving. Ivar walks on with shaking legs, so scared of what he might witness next. But with his head up, he walked on and followed the drag marks. He can see many more of his men, deceased in the snow. The white, crisp snow is now stained with red blood. The smell is starting to set into the air around him, but him being a viking, is used to such a smell as death.

Hvitserk "She isn't here!" He shouted from inside.

Ivar stops in his tracks and his head falls to the ground. He shouldn't have hoped that the vision came true. Why did he hope for such a thing? He walks on, searching for any sign of you but there was none. Your dragon's are whimpering, growling and breathing fire trying to find you. Ivar walks over to them and tries to comfort them but it was no use. He looks behind your dragon's, where the trading post is and finds a blood pile but no body. He falls to the ground and starts to cry. Hvitserk joins him a short while after and sits down in the cold snow.

Hvitserk "How did you let this happen?"

Ivar "I did everything I could-"

Hvitserk "YOU SLEPT BESIDE HER! HOW DID YOU NOT WAKE? She was right next to you, Ivar! But for some reason you did not wake up. Or did you?"

Ivar "N-no I did not. I don't know why I didn't."

Hvitserk "Now, we lost her and many of our guardsmen. We have no idea who took her nor do we know where she is being taken to."

Ivar "I will find out who and where she is Hvitserk. Even if it is the last thing that I do." Hvitserk just scuffs and gets off of the ground and stumbles his way back inside. Ivar lays alone, dragon's frantic behind him, staring at the blood that he knows must be yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awake in a dark dungeon-type of place. You attempt to get yourself up and run but your body soon let's you know that you cannot do that. You touch your head and wince out in pain. Your chest feels like you can barely breathe, and it feels like all of your ribs are broken. Your nails are all broken off and your wedding ring is gone. Your legs are scratched to all hell and are freezing. Where are you? You look all around, trying to familiarize yourself. You crawl your way up to the barred window where the small source of light is coming from.

Once your eyes adjust to the scenery, you know exactly where you are. You are home. You fall back down and sob uncontrollably. Why did he take you, and for what purpose? He banned you, so why did he bring you back? And why did he beat you this badly? You let out a scream. A shriek, to be exact. When you do, you can hear footsteps coming from outside of your cell door. You crawl your way into the corner, and hold your limbs close to your body, even though it causes you so much pain. When the door opens, your father appears in the doorway.

Father "Hello little one. Finally awake, are we?"

"W-why am I here? You banished me!"

Father "Ah yes, that. That is in the past now."

"Why am I here? Why did you beat your only daughter?! Haven't I endured enough torment?!"

Father "I was not responsible for your beatings, dear one."

"Then who was?" You watch as your father smirks at you. He turns his attention to the doorway. You are confused for only a moment. That is, until your sworn enemy comes through the door: King Harald.

Harald "Hello, Y/n. Have you missed me?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hvitserk did not sleep a wink the remainder of the night. He just paced and paced in his room and in yours. He saw your dresses, your accessories, and cried. Cried because he couldn't save you. Cried because the only woman that he has loved since Thora, is gone and he doesn't know what to do. Where to begin. Once Ubbe is awake, he finds his brother's in absolute dispar.

Ubbe "What happened here?!"

Hvitserk "It came true, Ubbe. My vision. It came true. I lost her."

Ubbe "But the guard's-"

Ivar "Dead. All of them are dead. The one's on duty, that is. Completely massacred."

Ubbe "Who would've done this?!"

Ivar "Greatest guess, her father. But I could be wrong."

Hvitserk "It has to be him, Ivar. He is the only one that has harmed her in the past."

Ivar "That is not completely true."

Ubbe "Than who else, hmm?"

Ivar "King Harald. He killed her mother. So why couldn't it be him? I mean, don't you remember her vision?!"

Hvitserk "Of when he came to Kattegat?" Ivar nods, "Yes, of course I remember."

Ivar "I say we hunt King Harald down. He must know something."

Ubbe "And if he does not?"

Ivar "Then we go to Wessex."

Hvitserk "We should do that first."

Ivar "You are not king! I am, have you forgotten brother, hm?" Hvitserk chuckles and then clenches his jaw.

Hvitserk "No, I have not forgotten. I also have not forgotten that you were beside her when she was taken, Ivar. Is she here, hm? Is she here, because I can't find her anywhere! And you could've saved her."

Ivar "I did my best-"

Hvitserk "Your best? YOUR BEST?!" Did you not see all of the blood by the trading bank? What if she is gone, hmm? What are you going to do?"

Ivar "I wouldn't worry about that too much, Hvitserk. Life goes on!"

Ubbe "Ivar!"

Ivar "What?"

Ubbe "Your wife is missing, and possibly very injured. Show some respect!"

Ivar "I am. I have already ordered my men to prepare our ships.

Ubbe "Good."

Hvitserk gets up and walks away. He is so infuriated that he has to get away from Ivar before he does something that he would regret doing later. How could he say that? How would life go on without her? She is with child. She is his queen, his wife. He feels sick to his stomach. Hvitserk just wants you back home, safely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing King Harald standing beside your father like they are the closest of allies, made you feel more terrified than ever.

"What are you doing here?"

Harald "Well I am here by your father's request. Y'see we have made an agreement."

"And what is this agreement?"

Harald "Your father will give me anything I desire in this entire world, if I let him stay the King of Wessex."

"And what do you desire? Why am I here?"

Harald "You are what I desire, Y/n. You and your dragon's...fascinate me. You are so unique, so different for anyone else I have ever met. And your dragon's, well...they can be very useful."

"YOU ARE NEVER GETTING MY DRAGON'S!"

Harald and your father chuckle, "Y'see you are not in any condition to be making such a statement. Look at you, broken and frail."

"Just let me go."

Harald "Oh but I want to get use out of you first!"

"I AM WITH CHILD!" Your father takes a step back. Completely stunned.

Father "You are what?"

"I am with child. Your grandchild."

Father "You lie! Your husband cannot impregnate you!"

"I am WITH CHILD!"

Harald "What do we do?"

Father thinks only for a moment, "Beat her for lying to me. Then do whatever you wish to do with her. Just make it quick."

"No, no, NO!" You scream and shout but it is no use. He hits you, beats you almost to unconsciousness. And then takes you. Uses you as an object for his perverted needs as you sob and beg for mercy. He does not let you go. To him, you are his little price, his little toy that he can do whatever he wants to. Once he is finished with you, he hits you one more time. Hard and powerful. But not just anywhere, no no no...in your belly. You cry hysterically as you hold your belly, still small but growing slowly. Praying that she is okay. You lay on the floor, bleeding from pretty much every area of your body and pray, pray to the gods to let you and your child make it out of this alive.

"Hvitserk...Ivar...where are you?" You say out loud, as if they could hear you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ivar looks up at the sky, as if he can hear something. Almost a whisper but it is so clear. Clear to him as if the voice was directly next to him.

"Hvitserk...Ivar...where are you?"

Ivar "YN?" He turned around but no one was there, especially was not you. He knows that you and him have a connection. Ever since that dream of you before he met you, he knew that you and him were connected not only in marriage but in mind. Meanwhile, Hvitserk is in the middle of another breakdown when he hears your voice in his head. He gets up and runs all around the house, searching for you. But of course, you are still gone. So he searches for his brother next, finding him with your dragon's.

Hvitserk "Did you hear her?"

Ivar "You heard her too?!"

Hvitserk "Yes. She's...she's alive."

Ivar "We have to go save her. Before it is too late."

Hvitserk whispers to himself, "Hang in there, baby. We're coming. Just hold on. Stay with me."

…

You hear the man that always comes to save you, and you hear him loud and clear. You look down at your belly and smile.

"Daddy is coming, little one. Hold on for me, please...please stay with us." You look down at the blood coming out between your legs and breathe in deeply. You try not to think about the pain that you are in, and try to think about being saved. You have to be saved. You are not ready for Valhalla.

@hvitserkmarcosource @a-mess-of-fandoms @jzr201 @youbloodymadgenius @ivarsgoddess @conaionaru @ivarzeitgeist @herestherealproblem @kaitieskidmore1 @heavenly1927 @saldelys

#the battle between love and fire #ivar the boneless #ivar the god #ivar lothbrok #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk #ubbe lothbrok #alex hogh andersen #marco ilsø #marco ilsoe #jordan patrick smith #vikings

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 4 years

Text

I'm watching the entire series of Game of Thrones for the first time. I've made my way to season 3, making sure to watch as many commentaries as I can. Last night I listened to the Set Design / Costume Design commentary for S3 Ep 4: "And Now His Watch is Ended".

I know most historical costume Enthusiasts / Critics either don't touch, or make exceptions for Fantasy productions and on the whole I agree with that. But something about the Game of Thrones costumes (and how the show's popularity has impacted costume design on productions actually set in the medieval / Renaissance time period) has just really been bothering me.

(Perhaps you see what I mean here with Contessina De Bardi in Medici: Master's of Florence and her sneaky mini structured neckline)

It may be a couple of things, but lots of the ... insights from Michele Clapton shed some light on this for me. I have a few questions.

First: North of the Wall, we spend some time in this episode with The Night's Watch at Craster's Keep. Of Craster's wives, Clapton said [Disclaimer this is not an *exact* quote because I couldn't find a transcript anywhere and my sister sent back the Netflix DVD and I do not have an idetic memory - but the important parts of the comment are, in my own estimation, accurate] : "With Craster's wives I got this idea of them just having bits of rabbit, whatever they can get, woven with grass..." this raises in my mind, SO many questions.

Firstly - we ARE north of the Wall, yes? Where, as we have seen, the ground is just about ALWAYS covered in snow, or 90% mud. So where is the grass coming from? And also what they are wearing is so clearly not grass?

This also provides a segue into my second question.

Do sheep exist in Westeros?

Why is it that this show has such an aversion to wool? Every man wearing protective clothing is wearing Leather (or rather I should perhaps say "vegan leather"). Every Hearty Weave (TM) appears to be an attempt at Linen; and every Fine Lady is wearing Silk satin, or if you're Olenna, silk brocade (in obviously hot weather, because naturally elderly ladies benefit from heat stroke).

I've not seen one woollen cloak. Not. One wool... anything really. I ask myself "Why?"

100% natural wool is wondeful. It's naturally flame retardant; it keeps you warm; it breathes well; it's soft in a light weave; it's strong in a heavy one; its water repellent. So what is with this endemic erasure of wool? Even productions like 2018's Mary Queen of Scots have had costume designers like Alexandra Byrne who, when searching for a durable fabric for cold and rainy Scotland, came out with a wardrobe comprised entirely of DENIM. Which, as we all know is the WARMEST AND MOST COMFORTABLE of fabrics when damp. Now we all know Byrne's real reason for using denim is because it's cheap. The problem is Byrne tried to justify it by saying all of that guff about wanting a fabric that wears well in rain (Which, I cannot stress this enough- denim does not) and, of course because denim would be "ReLaTaBLe". But I digress.

All that aside, perhaps the things that bother me most are components and composition. Which is where we get into the wooly (heh) area of me being a person with interest in HISTORICAL costume, critiquing a FANTASY series.

So let's just get this out of the way: I'm not saying that anything that the costume Department did with this series was "Wrong" [with one exception, but we'll get to that when we get to it]. I'm just going to say that I don't like the way it was approached, and my reasons on WHY.

I think I have a modicum of justification for my opinions here because, fantasy is fantasy, yes but the concepts of "Fantasy" and "Medieval" have become so strongly connected that the line between them has become so blurred in the modern mind as to be almost non-existent anymore. We're in a strange cycle here. "Fantasy" was directly inspired by Medieval and over the years took more and more creative wiggle room because, the great thing about fantasy is, you can make it whatever you want it to be aesthetically. But as Fantasy and Medieval have become so intertwined, more and more creative license has been taken with the latter, so that the original inspiration has become beholden to imitate the art it inspired.

But I'll save my pontification on the modern eye and Medieval fashion for another post, and try to keep on track only as far as this affects my feelings on Game of Thrones.

My justification is that GoT is not just inspired by Medieval England/Europe in the broad sense that most Fantasy of the Sword and Sorcery variety is; it was SPECIFICALLY inspired by ONE ERA of English History, The Wars of the Roses [15th century] (with character inspiration from other eras, as recent as the 16th century).

The thing about being interested in Historical Fashion is, once you know it, you can't UN-KNOW it. For example, my understanding of the medieval approach to clothing composition is "Cut as little as you need to because sewing is tedious". You don't want to have to sew more than you have to because what's the point of that? Practically no clothing in the medieval period was tailored because why bother doing that when you can just sinch it with a belt, or lace it up the sides? Is any of that applied here? Nah. Because when we look at Sansa's dresses, look at those obviously machine stitched, perfectly pristine seams. ~whistles~.

I'll never throw shade at a costume department for using sewing machines, but I will shade them for not bothering at all to make clothing for a universe that has no sewing machines look like it was made in a universe that has no sewing machines.

I can agree with not holding Fantasy series to historical standards - to a point. To wit: as long as it's believable IN-UNIVERSE.

AS FAR AS WE KNOW, the GoT universe doesn't yet have Mechanized looms. Now I know that they make some pretty unreal lace in Myr, but I just can't think of any in-universe justification for the texture of Danny's blue number in season 3.

Another thing that bothers me is the proliferation of corsets and how those corsets are approached.

Here are some historical corset facts.

• the term 'corset' wasn't widely used to refer to structured undergarments outside of France until the late 18th century (1700's). Before tart they were called "stays" (16th-17th century) or "a pair of bodies" (15th-16th century)

• structured undergarments first appeared in the 15th century, as the bodice of under-dresses(kirtles) were lined with reed or Buckram to provide back and breast support and provide a smooth surface for the gown worn over it. It also provided a foundation for multiple layers of petticoats, so the waistbands wouldn't dig into your sides.

• Structured undergarments that existed independent of a kirtle or petticoat aren't in evidence until the 16th century (Elizabethan/Renaissance) and aren't widely used by all classes until the late 17th century.

• Most 16th-17th century boned foundation garments had straps, since they didn't reach down much farther than the natural waist, unless they were designed with a high back.

• Corsets, stays and other structured undergarments were never worn without a shift/chemise/slip underneath because...

• Corsets chafe.

• Corsets are difficult to clean, but shifts are easy to launder. Shifts protect your skin from chafing and protect your very expensive corset from the oils produced by your skin

(Reproduction example of 15th century style kirtle, from Prior Attire. Source video here)

(Sansa's... corset here has this bizarre low back and 18th century style tabs on the bottom? It also seems to lace only down to her navel. Not quite sure what's going on here, it really doesn't seem to be supporting her at all.)

The reason I hate, hate, hate the way Sansa is costumed under her... very suit-like gowns is because she never ever is shown (so far) wearing anything under her corset; her gowns are all long-lined, flowing and loose fitting; and show only wears (usually) one petticoat under them. So in short, I dislike that Sansa wears a corset because Sansa has NO REASON to be wearing one.

◇◇◇◇Another Thing◇◇◇◇

I want to spotlight on a little thing from the commentary that really hits on one of my larger problems with the aesthetic interpretation of this show in general.

During one of the scenes with Stannis and Melisandre, Clapton mentions that they made Melisandre's hair a darker shade of red in season 3 than it was previously. She says the phrase "sort of makes her more earthy".

Yes. Let's make the FIRE priestess more EARTHY. LET'S JUST DO THAT. AS OF THIS SHOW ISN'T "EARTHY" enough.

There's this fantastic quote I read somewhere by GRRM about how he loves fantasy because it's colorful, where real life is gray and brown and olive and dull. Melisandre is arguably the most colourful character in the show/series. In the books, EVERYTHING about her is Red. And not just red. She's scarlet and crimson. When she's introduced there's this fantastic description of her wearing flowing robes of scarlet silk with slashes in it revealing a darker, blood red fabric underneath.

That was passed up for a monotone, very simply cut red gown and I can't stop asking myself why a designer would scrap something like that without even trying to pay homage to it.

This show just sort of takes everything colourful in Martin's world and MAKES it gray and dark for the sake of Gritty Realism (TM). I suppose that's part of trying to appeal to a wider audience, but I just find it increadibly visually uninteresting.

◇◇◇◇ONE MORE LITTLE THING◇◇◇◇

Is this the sofa from the Study in Clue?

???

#historical costuming #game of thrones #corset #sophie turner #sansa stark #a song of ice and fire #emilia clarke #danaerys targaryen #danaerys stormborn #melisandre #15th century

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