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neurotica-tales · 2 months ago

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The Silent Oath (Yandere Male!Mulan x Reader)

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In a world where only women go to war, men are expected to stay silent, soft, and small. But Mufan refuses.

When the Empire demands his ailing mother take up arms, Mufan does the unthinkable—he dons her armor, binds his name, and disappears into battle. No one is meant to notice him. But you do.

A commanding officer with steel in your spine and stormlight in your voice. You don’t look at him like he’s weak. And that’s all it takes.

He bleeds for your approval. Fights to be worthy of your eyes. And when he saves the Empress from an ambush no one saw coming, the nation calls him a hero—a man honored in a woman’s world.

But Mufan doesn’t care about medals.

He only cares about you.

Because now you’ve seen him—and Mufan has no intention of letting you look away. Not now. Not ever.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Up Next: Yandere Ariel (Arien) Headcanon (Part 1) (Part 2), Yandere Cinderella (Edric) Headcanon (Part 1) (Part 2), Yandere Snow White (Winter White) Headcanon, Yandere Belle (Beau) Headcanon

To find my main masterlist, click HERE.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Mufan didn’t look at his reflection.

He stood before the polished basin as steam curled around his fingers, the scent of plum blossom oil thick in the air, but he didn’t dare lift his eyes to meet the water’s surface. Not yet. Not until it was time. His mother was humming softly behind him as she pinned the final silk fold of his robe in place, her hands calloused but careful as ever.

“You’ll do fine,” she murmured, adjusting the drape over his shoulder. “You’ve always had such good posture. The matchmaker will notice that.”

He nodded, though his stomach felt like it was full of cold stones. He’d been told all his life that humility was the only armor a son needed, that a good match was his battlefield, and today—he would fight.

Outside, the spring air held a chill. The town was already alive with movement, merchant carts rattling past stone walls, silk banners swaying in the breeze. Every step Mufan took toward the matchmaker’s hall felt heavier than the last. He walked with his hands folded, his gaze respectfully lowered, but he could feel the stares.

“There he goes again.”

“Meiyu’s boy. The one who was rejected last year, wasn’t he?”

“Too strange for his own good.”

The matchmaker’s house loomed at the edge of the market street, its ornate red doors freshly painted, incense already curling from the rooftop brazier. As he stepped inside, the world grew hushed and scented with bitter tea and sandalwood. He bowed low before the dais, keeping his head down as expected.

The matchmaker barely glanced at him.

Her expression soured the moment her eyes landed on him. She circled him slowly, clicking her tongue, fingers twitching against her fan.

“Too tall,” she said at last. “And your hands—what are these, farm hands? No noble woman wants a husband with blisters.”

He said nothing. Just smiled softly, just as he’d practiced.

She asked him questions—sharp ones.

“What would you do if your wife returned late from war?”

“Would you cook if commanded?”

"Will your body be strong enough to give your wife many children?"

"You look delicate—are you sure you can give your wife healthy children? Some men can't even manage that."

He answered each one with poise, with care, with the exact wording his mother drilled into him.

But it didn’t matter.

When he complimented her teacups, she said he was too eager. When he bowed lower than etiquette demanded, she said he was groveling. When he dared to speak clearly, she accused him of arrogance.

The final blow came when she misquoted an imperial poem, and Mufan, gently, politely, offered the correct verse.

The matchmaker stared at him, lips pursed. Then she lifted her teacup and dashed it across his face.

The scalding liquid splashed over his cheek, staining his robe, the scent of bitterness clinging like smoke. The fine silk his mother had spent weeks embroidering was ruined in an instant.

“No woman wants a man who corrects her,” the matchmaker spat. “You’re a disgrace. Leave. Now.”

Mufan didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. He bowed so low his hair brushed the floor, then turned and walked out of the house.

The square outside was still busy. Still loud. And still watching.

He walked quickly, then faster, the tea cooling against his skin like the laughter he heard behind him—quiet but unmistakable.

By the time he reached home, his hands were shaking.

His mother was in the courtyard, trimming the jasmine vines with her cane resting across her lap. Her legs were wrapped in wool, and the silver streaks in her hair were pinned with simple ivory combs. She looked up as he arrived.

She saw the stains. The blotchy paint. The cracked porcelain look in his expression.

She didn’t ask what happened.

She just set the shears aside and took his hand, squeezing it gently in her lap.

“We’ll try again,” she said. “Next time.”

Mufan didn’t answer. Because something inside him felt too raw, too exposed. He hadn’t believed he’d be chosen, but some small part of him had hoped. And that hope, however small, had burned when it died.

It was late afternoon when the gong sounded.

A thunderous, echoing chime rolled over the hills, halting conversation, freezing footsteps, snapping market flags in the wind. The imperial official stood in the square, surrounded by red-armored guards, a scroll unrolled between her gloved hands.

Her voice rang with the force of decree.

“By order of Her Imperial Majesty, every household in the province must send its first-born daughter to serve in the Northern Campaign. Drafting begins tomorrow morning. Refusal to comply is punishable under martial law.”

The words dropped like stones into the crowd.

First-born daughters.

Mufan didn’t look at anyone else. He looked at his mother.

Her eyes were already dimming.

She was a war hero, yes—but that had been twenty years ago. Now her knees cracked when she tried to stand. Her lungs wheezed in the cold. She couldn’t even hold a cup steady anymore. If they forced her to go, she’d be dead before she crossed the pass.

Still, she squared her shoulders.

“I’ll go,” she said softly, more to herself than him. “I’ll go. I must.”

“No,” Mufan replied immediately. “You can’t. You won’t.”

She looks at him with determination. “I can, and I will. For the Hua Family's honor.”

He looked down at his tea-stained robe, the remnants of failed dignity, the silk crushed in his fists. His shame was still fresh—but his purpose? That had never felt clearer.

He didn’t speak again. What could he even say in that moment?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

That night, the air was cold. The moon hung like a thin sliver of steel above the roof tiles. Mufan moved quietly through the darkened home, lighting incense at the family altar, pressing his forehead to the floor.

He pulled out his cousin’s old armor from a trunk buried beneath linens—soft leather worn from use, light enough for his frame. He fastened the straps one by one, buckling the chestplate last. His reflection in the lacquered mirror was slim, sharp-eyed, and plain. He didn’t need to be beautiful.

He only needed to be mistaken.

He tied his hair in the soldier’s knot reserved for women. Applied soot around his eyes to narrow them. Smoothed balm over his lips to give them a faint sheen. And when he slipped the sword into its scabbard at his waist, it felt heavier than it should have.

He didn’t feel brave.

He felt inevitable.

As he passed the shrine one last time, he paused, knelt, and whispered:

“Forgive me. But I won’t let her die for me. I’ll bring our name honor—even if I have to become someone else to do it.”

His footsteps didn’t echo as he stepped into the night.

He didn’t turn back.

Not even when his mother opened her door and watched his silhouette disappear beneath the silver light.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The journey to the military outpost took nearly a week on foot.

Mufan didn’t speak much to the others he traveled with—first-born daughters from other villages, dressed in ill-fitting armor, most no older than he was. Some wore grim determination on their faces. Others, false bravado. One girl wept quietly at night when she thought no one could hear. No one comforted her. This was not a place for comfort.

And when he finally arrived, the military outpost didn’t feel real at first.

It was too clean. Too ordered. Too silent.

Even with soldiers shouting and drills clattering on stone, it didn’t feel like a place Mufan could exist in. The training grounds were carved into the base of a mountain range, enclosed on three sides by tall cliff faces and fortified with high stone walls. It was an efficient place—designed to build soldiers, not preserve them. He’d arrived just before sunrise with a dozen other recruits, their names called, checked, and recorded like livestock.

He answered to Mulan now.

His voice didn’t shake when he said it. His heart did.

Everything smelled like iron and mud and the cold crackle of early spring. And though there were girls here his age—some nervous, some eager—Mufan didn’t speak to any of them. It was safer to keep quiet. To watch. To stay small, unnoticed, and alive.

The first person he heard speak in a voice that didn’t sound like gravel or spit was Captain Liang.

She was the commanding officer in charge of training. Tall, broad-backed, with hair pulled into a severe braid and a mouth that had forgotten how to smile. Her voice carried like thunder across the field, and she treated every recruit like they were already disappointing her.

Mufan had expected that.

He hadn’t expected you.

You didn’t yell. You didn’t pace the grounds or inspect their posture with a whip in hand like Liang. You stood at a distance instead—arms crossed behind your back, a heavy cloak hanging from your shoulders, the insignia of a high-ranking imperial commander pinned to your collar.

You weren’t there to train anyone. You were above that. You were there to observe.

To evaluate.

To judge.

The moment Mufan saw you, he felt the air change.

You didn’t look like a woman who had anything to prove. You stood with the kind of stillness that comes from absolute control. The others avoided your eyes—maybe out of fear, maybe out of awe—but Mufan found himself watching you out of something else entirely.

Not desire.

Not yet.

Just… fascination.

You were the first person in years who didn’t move like they were performing. You didn’t need to perform. You simply existed, and the world shifted to accommodate you.

To him, you looked like the kind of person he could never be. Strong. Sure. Unapologetically powerful.

And so, at first, he admired you the way one might admire lightning from the safety of a hilltop.

Distant. Untouchable.

Dangerous.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The first days of training broke more than just pride. They broke skin, bone, and spirit.

Captain Liang worked them hard—brutal drills at dawn, sparring until blood slicked their palms, and obstacle courses designed to humiliate. Mufan was smaller than most. Lighter. Weaker. He did his best to stay quiet, to absorb everything without drawing attention. Every muscle in his body screamed by the second day, but he refused to fall behind.

When he stumbled during sword drills, Liang snapped at him.

“Mulan! That’s the third time you’ve let your blade drop. Are you fighting or dancing?!”

He bit his tongue and bowed.

She hated when he hesitated.

She hated him, though she didn’t know why.

He couldn’t blame her.

He only saw you a few times at first.

You never approached the recruits. You simply stood in the shade beneath the awning at the edge of the yard, arms folded, eyes narrowed slightly as you took notes. You never interrupted, never raised your voice. You just watched.

But that was enough.

Every now and then, your gaze passed over him—never lingering, never stopping—but even that momentary flicker made Mufan’s spine straighten.

You weren’t like Liang. You didn’t yell to be heard.

You were quiet power.

Unreachable.

Unyielding.

He never imagined you even noticed him.

Not until the third week.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The sun was cruel that day, bright and sharp against the packed earth. Mufan’s shirt clung to his back with sweat. They were practicing formations, taking turns in one-on-one combat while the rest stood at attention.

His partner was Ren—a broad-shouldered brute of a girl with a sneer that hadn’t left her face since the first day. She didn’t like him. Maybe because he was quiet. Maybe because he never flinched when she teased him.

“Come on,” she jeered as they circled. “Show me your pretty footwork.”

He raised his blade. Kept his guard up. He was fast, but not strong. Not enough to stop the weight of her shoulder when she lunged. She slammed into him hard, knocking him backward. He landed flat in the dirt, wind knocked from his lungs.

Laughter broke out across the formation.

Even Liang snorted.

But then everything stopped.

Because you stepped forward.

The silence was immediate. Even the wind seemed to still.

You didn’t shout. You didn’t scold. You walked—measured and precise—until you stood over him, your boots in the dust beside his ribs.

He blinked up at you.

And then, without a word, you extended a hand.

He stared at it.

He’d been offered hands before. Usually to mock him. Usually by girls who wanted to humiliate him further.

But yours was steady. Detached. Almost… clinical.

He took it.

You pulled him up, then looked him over briefly, like you were sizing him up for a reason he couldn’t guess.

“You need to strengthen your hips,” you said quietly. “Your upper body’s compensating.”

He nodded before he could think. “Yes, Commander.”

Your expression didn’t change.

“You’re not slow,” you said. “Just unstable. Work on that.”

And then you walked away.

That night, he didn’t sleep.

He didn’t even lie down.

He sat by the edge of the training field after lights-out, replaying the moment over and over again.

You hadn’t smiled. You hadn’t praised him.

But you’d seen him.

You’d spoken to him like a soldier—not a liability. Not a burden. Just a soldier.

He didn’t love you. Not then.

But something had shifted.

For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was pretending.

And that feeling—so brief, so terrifyingly real—was something he wanted to feel again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

From that moment on, he watched you more closely.

Not in the open. Not recklessly. But with intent.

You never spoke to the other recruits. You only observed. Took notes. Held meetings with Liang in private. When you left the field, you disappeared into the officer’s quarters, away from the chaos of the camp.

He started noticing everything. How you wore your gloves tighter on your right hand than your left. The way you tilted your head slightly when analyzing footwork. How you always lingered after sparring drills, even if it meant standing in the heat longer than necessary.

You weren’t cruel.

You weren’t cold.

You were focused.

And slowly, the admiration he’d felt—the kind that kept its distance—began creeping closer. More personal. More present.

He caught himself standing straighter when you passed. Training harder when you were near. Imagining the look on your face if he succeeded. If he rose above the others. If he proved himself.

He wanted to be more than a body in the lineup.

He wanted to be remembered.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You were kind to everyone.

That was the first thing Mufan noticed—before the way you carried yourself, before the way even Captain Liang addressed you with clipped respect, before your rank or title or insignia meant anything to him. You were kind.

Not soft. Not indulgent.

But you treated people like they mattered.

And that, to someone like him, was shattering.

He’d spent his whole life being measured—by matchmakers, by aunts and elders, by women with sharp tongues and sharper eyes. He’d been told what he could never be. What he wasn’t built for. What his purpose was supposed to be, and how far he’d already fallen short of it.

But you didn’t look at him like that.

When you first spoke to him—just a few words, a passing question, a smile—he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“Mulan, isn’t it?” “You’ve improved since the first week. That’s not easy under Captain Liang.”

Just that. Nothing extraordinary. But you’d said it with warmth. Like you meant it.

And from that moment on, Mufan began to change.

He didn’t fall in love right away. It didn’t bloom like fire or thunder. It crept.

Like water under stone, slow and silent.

At first, he simply watched. From a distance. You weren’t just a commander to him—you were a different species entirely. Calm. Clear. Purposeful. He admired that about you. Respected you. Respected the fact that your power didn’t make you cruel.

But it was your warmth that undid him.

Because you didn’t need to be kind. You outranked everyone at the outpost, including Liang. You could’ve kept your distance. You could’ve hovered in the cold, removed sphere most high-ranking women stayed in. But you didn’t.

You remembered names. You asked how people were doing. You gave out praise without condescension and criticism without malice.

He hadn’t known people like you existed.

He certainly hadn’t believed someone like you would ever speak to someone like him.

When you stopped beside him after drills one afternoon, Mufan was so stunned he almost dropped his water jug.

You gestured toward the bandage on his wrist. “Looks tight. Want me to re-wrap that for you?”

He blinked. “I… no, it’s alright. Thank you.”

“Alright,” you said, not offended. You smiled at him—gentle, unhurried—and then added, “You're learning quickly. I can tell you practice after hours.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

“I try to keep up,” he said quietly.

“You’re doing more than keeping up.”

You didn’t say it to flatter him. That’s what made it worse. You meant it.

You saw him.

That night, he sat up in his cot long after lights-out, legs crossed, fingers absently pressing the fabric where your hand had brushed his sleeve.

He hadn’t expected kindness. He hadn’t earned it. And yet you gave it freely, as though it cost nothing.

And that… that terrified him.

Because it made him want things he had no right to want.

He trained harder after that.

Not for recognition. Not for advancement. For you.

For the impossible chance that someday, if he kept improving, kept working, kept bleeding quietly in the dirt with no complaints—someday he might be worthy of standing beside you. Not as a soldier. Not as a subordinate.

But as someone you could look at with the same smile you gave the rest of the world.

It was a stupid hope.

But it was his.

He didn’t let it show. Not even once.

If he felt jealous when you praised another recruit, he buried it.

If someone made you laugh, he turned his face so no one could see his jaw clench.

If a soldier lingered too long in your shadow or tried to impress you with loud bravado, he said nothing.

Because you had the right to choose. And he hadn’t earned anything yet.

So he waited.

And worked.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It wasn’t hard to hide his obsession. Not when he wore it like devotion.

He became the model recruit—quiet, reliable, never drawing attention. He didn’t try to be charming. Didn’t try to impress. He simply showed up early, trained until his knuckles split, and volunteered for every thankless task no one else wanted.

He never looked at you for too long. He never sought you out.

But when you passed by and gave him a nod, or a few words of encouragement, or—on rare days—an actual smile…

He remembered every detail.

And stored it like a relic in his mind.

The others liked you, of course. That was natural. Some admired your leadership. Others tried to get close for advancement. Some were bold enough to joke with you during meal breaks or call you impressive when they thought you were out of earshot.

Mufan didn’t hate them for it.

They just didn’t understand.

To them, you were a superior officer.

To him, you were something sacred.

A living proof that kindness and power didn’t have to be enemies. That dignity could look like warmth. That maybe—maybe—someone like him, shaped by silence and shame, could become someone worthy of kindness like yours.

And so he didn’t resent the others.

But he did burn quietly with the need to become more than just one face among many.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He didn’t know when it started. The small rituals.

Touching the corner of his tunic where you’d once brushed against him before every drill. Whispering your name, not aloud, but in thought, when the pain in his arms got too much to bear. Carving quiet patterns into the dirt beside his cot to remember the rhythm of your voice.

None of it was romantic.

Not yet.

It was faith.

The kind a starving man gave to a dream he hadn’t earned.

It took one moment—brief, almost accidental—for that hope to bloom into something dangerous.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You came to observe sparring again. Liang had the company lined up, and Mufan found himself paired with someone stronger, faster. His blade was knocked aside. He fell. Nothing new. Nothing shameful.

But you stepped forward.

You didn’t scold the other recruit. You didn’t interfere.

You just offered him a hand.

“Up you go,” you said, smiling. “You don’t have to win every round. Just learn from it.”

He took your hand.

And for the first time, he looked directly into your eyes.

Not down. Not away.

And he felt it.

He didn’t just want to be worthy of you.

He needed to be.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

He didn’t train. He didn’t write. He just sat in silence, clutching a strip of linen torn from the corner of the sleeve you’d touched. He didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t want to ruin it. It was ridiculous.

But it was yours.

He buried the cloth under his pillow like a prayer.

And he told himself, again, like a vow:

Not yet.

Not until I’ve earned it.

Not until I can protect you, the way you protect others.

Not until you look at me the same way I look at you.

Only then will I show you how much you mean to me.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Snow had begun falling by the time the orders came.

Mufan stood at attention, the hem of his uniform stiff from frost, as Captain Liang paced in front of the assembled unit. Her voice was as flat and cold as the wind.

“We received word that the 8th Legion needs reinforcement at the foot of the Shan Plateau. We leave before sunrise. Eat. Pack light. March fast.”

No one cheered. No one smiled.

This wasn’t a parade.

This was war.

Beside her, you stood silent—arms folded, gaze fixed on the horizon where snow-laced peaks rose into the gray sky. You were there to supervise, not command, but you spoke briefly after the briefing.

“Every step you take from here on out matters. Not just for the Empire—for the soldier beside you. If you fight, fight for each other.”

You didn’t speak long. You didn’t need to. Your words always settled like stone in Mufan’s chest.

He bowed with the others, not daring to meet your gaze.

But in his heart, the words repeated.

I’ll make you proud. I’ll fight for you. Even if I never deserve you.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The march into the mountains lasted four days.

The terrain narrowed as they climbed, and soon the path became a knife-edge winding between cliffs and forest. The snow grew thicker. So did the silence. Only Liang’s barked commands and the crunch of boots broke the cold air.

Mufan said little. He focused on the ache in his legs, the burning in his lungs, the weight of the pack across his shoulders. The others complained. Some coughed. A few cried when they thought no one was listening.

Mufan stayed silent.

He was used to pain.

He welcomed it.

It meant he was still moving. Still earning the right to stand in your shadow.

And every time he caught the faintest glimpse of you—riding ahead of the line, cloak snapping behind you in the wind—it pushed him forward.

I will survive this. I will be better. I’ll be someone you can rely on.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

When they arrived, the entire Legion they were supposed to reinforce had already been obliterated -- broken carts littered the area, wheels splintered, bodies half-buried in snow.

Liang examined the scene with a frown.

You said nothing.

But your hands clenched at your sides.

You ordered a halt. Sent scouts forward. Had fires built and tents pitched in silence.

The recruits muttered among themselves that night.

“Is this what we’re marching into?”

“I can't believe the 8th legion’s all dead.”

“No way we’re ready for this.”

Mufan didn’t speak.

He sat by the fire, sharpening his blade with methodical care, his eyes drifting to your tent every so often.

You’d gone inside hours ago. Your silhouette moved once behind the fabric wall—then went still.

He didn’t need to see you to know how hard you were thinking. He imagined your brow furrowed, your hands folded behind your back as you stared at maps and calculated who might still be alive.

Even in silence, you were still the strongest person in the camp.

He wanted to be that for you.

Not loud. Not bold.

Just reliable.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They were attacked the next day.

The first arrow came without a sound.

One moment, silence.

The next—

Thunk.

A cry. A body dropped ahead. Blood on the snow.

Liang shouted an order, but it was already too late. Shadows poured from the cliffs above—figures in dark armor, faces wrapped, blades flashing in the pale light. The mountain pass became a trap sprung tight around them.

"AMBUSH! SHIELDS!" Liang’s voice cracked through the air.

Chaos erupted all around them.

Arrows rained down from the ridge. Enemy soldiers charged from the high ground, their war cries echoing through the narrow stone walls. Mufan barely ducked in time to avoid a spear. The soldier beside him screamed as steel split her shoulder.

They were surrounded.

He couldn’t even see the end of the enemy formation—just a tide of bodies flooding down the slope. Dozens. Scores. Hundreds.

And they had no room to retreat.

They’re going to kill us all.

In that moment, Mufan forced himself to move. He blocked a blow from the left, parried another. All around him, Liang’s recruits were breaking formation, falling to panic.

But he didn’t panic.

Because he could still see you—on the far side of the line, sword drawn, eyes fierce. You weren’t screaming. You were issuing orders, holding the flank with impossible calm.

And that sight—

That was enough.

If you were still fighting, then he had to fight too.

He would not let you fall.

Not like this.

The snow shifted beneath his feet. Not from footsteps.

From pressure.

He looked up.

Above the enemy’s flank, a ridge loomed. Heavy snow had gathered in precarious heaps, crusted over with ice but brittle beneath. A single detonation—a blast in the right place—and the whole slope would collapse.

An avalanche.

They would all be buried.

Enemies. Maybe allies too.

But it was the only chance.

Because if he didn’t act, everyone would die anyway.

He moved.

Mufan dropped his shield and ran.

Not toward safety.

Up the slope.

He climbed past skirmishes, ducking arrows, slipping through enemy lines as if possessed. He didn’t call for help. Didn’t wait for approval. He didn’t need either.

He just needed a spark.

His flint. His firebomb. The pouch of powder he’d been saving for emergencies.

He reached the ridge, chest heaving, frost in his lashes. One strike. One throw.

He lit the bomb.

And hurled it into the hollow beneath the snow.

The mountain roared.

A cracking sound split the air—like ice snapping in the jaws of the gods. Then came the thunder—a tidal wave of white swallowing everything below.

The avalanche hit the enemy line like a hammer from heaven.

Mufan turned to run, but the snow was too fast.

It hit him like a storm, ripping the breath from his lungs.

And everything went cold.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He awoke buried.

Snow in his mouth. His limbs frozen. Light bleeding through the cracks.

He dug.

Blind. Bloody.

Until hands grabbed him.

"Mulan!"

Your voice.

He gasped as air filled his lungs. You knelt beside him, eyes wide with fear and fury.

“You idiot—what were you thinking?”

He couldn’t speak.

But when you touched his face, trembling, he knew you understood.

Because he’d saved you.

And even if he died now, even if everything fell apart tomorrow—

You’d seen him.

Really seen him.

And for a moment, that was enough.

Mufan stared at you for a couple more seconds before eventually losing consciousness.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Mufan stared up at you for just a moment longer, your face the last thing his mind could hold onto—then his world dimmed. His body went limp in your arms, breath shallow, lips tinged blue from the cold.

You didn’t hesitate. You shouted for help, voice cracking in the cold mountain air. Soldiers rushed to you, the avalanche-stilled battlefield groaning beneath them as snow settled over blood and steel. Mufan was passed carefully into waiting arms, and under your command, a makeshift camp was quickly assembled at the mountain’s base.

The survivors of the ambush had no choice but to rest. You couldn’t move forward. Couldn’t go back. Not yet. There were too many wounded. The storm was still coming down. And Mufan—

Mufan was barely alive.

Inside one of the supply tents converted into triage, the medics worked quickly. Armor was stripped. His soaked coat removed. Blood-slicked cloth peeled from his chest. Bandages were prepared—but all motion stopped for a moment when they uncovered him.

Not a single breath was drawn.

But every person in that tent knew what they were seeing.

He was not Hua Mulan.

He was not a woman.

"He’s a man," one of the medics murmured under her breath.

You stood in the doorway. You hadn’t stepped inside yet. But the words carried, clear as a sword drawn in the dark.

Your body stiffened.

He had lied.

The quiet continued only a moment longer before necessity took hold again. The medics worked in silence. His leg was splinted. The deep gash at his side stitched. His ribs were bound tightly with strips of clean linen. They packed warmth around him, kept the fire going. But even with their efforts, his breathing was faint.

You remained outside.

Until dusk.

When the mountain began to go quiet, you finally entered.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He awoke to shadows and firelight.

Everything ached. His skin felt fevered, the pain in his side a deep, pulsing throb. But when he shifted slightly, he heard the scrape of a stool, and then—

"Don’t move too much."

Your voice.

Soft. Controlled.

Not warm.

He blinked slowly, breath catching as he turned his head. You were sitting beside his cot, cloak draped over your shoulders, your uniform dusted with ash and snow. The look on your face was unreadable.

"I thought you might not wake up."

His lips parted. He wanted to say something clever, something to ease the tension. But his throat burned.

"You saved everyone," you said. "That avalanche... without it, we would have been wiped out."

A flicker of hope rose in his chest.

But it was short-lived.

"They discovered everything while treating you."

Silence.

He looked away.

"So. You know."

"I know you are not who you say you are, Mulan. If that's even your real name. That you lied about being a woman. That you shouldn’t have been here."

The way you said it—not with anger, not with disgust, but with weariness—it cut deeper than anything else.

"My real name is Mufan.. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to lie. Not like this."

"But you did."

"My mother. She was so sick. She was in the last war, making her unable to walk properly without a cane. I couldn’t let them take her. I thought... if I could just last long enough to take her place, to be useful, then maybe..."

"Maybe what? That no one would notice?"

"That you would notice."

Your eyes narrowed.

"What does that mean?"

"At first, I was just trying to not get discovered. To blend in with the crowd... But then, you looked at me like I mattered. You treated me like I was worth something. I kept going because I wanted to be worthy of that. Of you."

You stood, sharply.

"Don’t make this about me."

"But it was about you," he whispered. "It always was."

You ran a hand over your face, frustration thick in your sigh.

"You saved a battalion. You saved me. That’s why you’re not being executed. The generals know the truth now, but the decision has already been made."

"What decision?"

"You’re being discharged. At first light."

"Just like that."

He looked at you with a kind of stunned hollowness.

"So everything I did... doesn’t matter."

"It matters," you said quietly. "But it doesn’t erase the lie."

"And you? Do I mean nothing to you now?"

You didn’t answer.

You only turned away.

"You should rest."

You stepped toward the exit.

"I hope you recover well, Mufan."

"You’re not even going to say goodbye, are you?"

"Goodbye would make it real."

And then you left.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next morning, a junior officer brought him a discharge scroll.

No one saluted him.

No one escorted him out.

He left limping, bundled in a borrowed cloak with rations tucked under one arm and a splintered walking stick in the other.

You never came.

You didn’t even watch him go.

But he looked back. Once. Toward the mountain. Toward the camp. Toward you.

And something inside him shifted.

You had seen him.

You had touched him.

And still, you cast him aside.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It had been weeks since Mufan had been discharged.

Weeks since he’d left the makeshift mountain camp with a limp, a bruised heart, and the unbearable weight of your absence.

He should have returned home. He should have resumed a quiet life beside his mother and left the war behind. But Mufan could not quiet his thoughts. Not with the memory of your voice burned into him. Not when the last look you gave him was carved deeper than any blade could reach.

He drifted.

Avoiding cities, sleeping beneath trees, hunting with a stolen knife. Trying not to think about what it meant that even after everything—even after saving the battalion—he had still been dismissed.

Still sent away.

Still unwanted.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Mufan had wandered back toward the mountains without intending to. He told himself it was coincidence. But deep down, he knew the truth. His heart remained tangled in that place—in the memory of your hands cradling his face, your voice breaking as you said goodbye. He couldn't stay in the village, not when every breath he took away from you felt shallow and wrong.

He thought perhaps he could find peace there. That he might come to terms with what had happened. But what he found was something else entirely.

The battlefield was quiet under the early spring sun. Melted snow had turned the ground to mud. Scattered armor lay rusting in the thaw. Crows circled in lazy spirals above.

But something felt wrong.

He walked for an hour through the wreckage before he noticed it: a set of tracks, too recent, heading east toward the cliffs. Then another. And then a makeshift trail—footsteps, dried blood, a half-eaten rabbit carcass.

At first, he thought they were deserters. Survivors from his own battalion.

But when he followed the trail, creeping through the trees, he found them.

Enemy soldiers.

Some of them survived. But how?!

The mountain should have buried them all.

That was what the generals had claimed. That was what the Empress’s heralds had declared. That was what you had been told: the avalanche had crushed the enemy force. The war was supposed to be over, but it clearly wasn't. Not when there were still enemy soldiers around. Just a few feet away from where he was hiding, in fact.

No more than twenty, maybe fewer.

Frostbitten. Half-starved. But alive.

And plotting.

He crouched behind a crag of stone, holding his breath as he listened.

"...Strike the capital during the Empress’s festival..."

"Her security will be ceremonial. She'll be exposed."

"Kill the Empress. Sow chaos. Retreat north before they can recover."

Mufan’s heart stopped.

The war wasn’t over. It had just gone quiet.

He crept away, nearly slipping on loose shale. He didn’t sleep that night. Or the next. He ran. Cutting through old hunter trails and mountain roads until the stone gave way to farmland, then villages, then the marble walls of the capital rising in the distance.

By the time he reached the gates, his boots were falling apart and his limbs shook with exhaustion. He tried to warn a palace guard.

But no one listened.

They laughed him off. A dishonored soldier. A beggar in stolen armor. A man who should have been executed, not celebrated.

He was invisible.

Until he saw you.

in the midst of The Empress’s procession, which had begun.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The city was a sea of crimson and gold. Silk banners danced in the wind. Children laughed and tossed flower petals onto the cobbled streets. Music rang from flutes and drums as nobles rode by on decorated horses.

And there you were.

Mounted beside the Empress’s carriage, dressed in your finest armor, sword gleaming in the light. Calm. Confident. Beautiful.

You hadn’t seen him.

But he saw them.

Three men.

Too clean. Too careful. Faces too sharp. One moved through the musicians, another loitered near the archway, and the third...

Mufan’s breath caught.

The third was already climbing the palace wall.

He shoved his way through the crowd.

"Stop them!" he screamed. "They survived! They’re here!"

People shouted back in anger, thinking him a madman.

So he did the only thing he could.

He leapt onto a festival float, yanked a ceremonial spear from its mount, and hurled it across the square.

It struck the bowman on the wall. The man staggered, missed his shot—and the arrow skidded harmlessly off the Empress's armored carriage.

Panic erupted.

The other two assassins moved.

One lunged at the horses, aiming to drive the procession into chaos. The second drew a blade and rushed the Empress’s carriage.

Mufan tackled him first, driving him into the ground with a roar. The man kicked him off and slashed across Mufan’s shoulder, but Mufan didn’t stop. He grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted, and used the momentum to slam his head into the stone.

The second assassin reached the horses.

You were already moving.

You leapt from your mount, landed on the attacker with surgical precision, and cut him down.

Then you turned—

And saw him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Your eyes locked with his, just as the square exploded into chaos.

You didn’t have time to process it.

Because Mufan was already moving again.

Blood trailing from his shoulder, vision blurred from the blow to his head, but his body still obeyed. His instincts—trained and sharpened by desperation—screamed one truth: you were in danger.

The crowd scattered. Soldiers shouted orders. But Mufan didn’t hear them. He only saw the blade aimed for your back—drawn by an enemy who had slipped in behind you during the confusion.

"Behind you!" he roared.

You spun just in time to deflect the assassin’s strike. Steel clashed. Sparks flew. You stumbled backward, but Mufan was already there, interposing himself between you and the second assailant.

The man lunged.

Mufan sidestepped, grabbed the attacker’s arm, twisted hard, and slammed his elbow into the man’s throat. The assassin collapsed.

Another figure charged from the left—a curved dagger in hand, aimed for your ribs.

Mufan lunged, intercepting the blade with his forearm. Blood sprayed. He didn’t flinch. He used the momentum to knock the attacker into the side of a marble column. Bones cracked.

More were coming.

Five, maybe six. Remnants of the enemy cell. All charging toward the Empress's carriage.

"They're trying to flank her!" you barked.

You sprinted toward the left side of the plaza. Mufan followed without hesitation.

He didn't ask if you wanted his help. He didn’t need permission.

This was his purpose.

He had bled for you.

He had survived for you.

Now he would kill for you.

The first enemy met your blade. You moved like a force of nature—elegant, relentless. Mufan stayed close, guarding your blind side. Every time you struck, he struck beside you.

One assassin tried to drive a spear into your side.

Mufan threw his weight into the man, both of them hitting the ground hard. The assassin rolled, kicked Mufan in the gut, and lunged again. Mufan caught the spear's shaft mid-thrust, twisted, and used it to drive the man’s head into the cobblestones. Once. Twice.

He didn’t stop until the body went still.

He rose, breathing hard. Sweat and blood stung his eyes.

"Two more!" you shouted.

Mufan turned just in time to block a descending sword with his own—a weapon he had taken from one of the fallen. The impact jarred his bones. He pushed back, pivoted, and slashed across the attacker’s thigh. The man screamed and fell.

The last enemy was charging you now. Fast. Reckless.

You braced—but the blow would land too soon.

Mufan hurled his sword.

It struck the attacker in the side.

Not deep enough to kill. But enough to slow him.

Enough for you to finish it.

You stepped forward and ran your blade through the man’s heart.

He collapsed at your feet.

Silence fell.

The crowd had cleared. Guards poured in, too late. The Empress was safe. The ambush was over.

You turned to Mufan.

Your eyes wide.

Breathless.

Covered in blood—his and yours.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, he knew:

You saw him.

Not as a dishonored soldier.

Not as a liar or traitor.

But as the hero of the kingdom. The Empress's savior.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The court never praised men.

Not for courage. Not for loyalty. Certainly not for bloodshed. In the Empire’s long matriarchal history, no man had ever stood on the marble steps of the Grand Hall wearing armor, let alone royal regalia.

Until Mufan.

The tale of the ambush spread like wildfire. Witnesses swore he had leapt through fire. Stared down blades. That he'd shielded the Empress herself with nothing but his bare hands. That he—a dishonored conscript, a man masquerading as a soldier—had saved the Empire.

For once, no one dared to argue.

And the Empress summoned him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The Great Hall was draped in crimson and gold. Musicians lined the periphery with silent flutes and still drums, waiting.

You stood among the royal guard, expression unreadable.

But your gaze never left him.

Mufan knelt on the stone floor, robes cleaned, wounds still raw beneath his uniform. He didn't wince.

"Mufan," the Empress said. Her voice carried the weight of centuries. "You chose exile. You endured disgrace. You returned not for honor, but to serve."

She descended the dais. Every footstep echoed like a drumbeat.

"You saved my life. And the lives of all within these walls. You defied expectation, and with that defiance, preserved a dynasty."

The ceremonial sword she carried gleamed with dawnlight.

She touched it to his shoulders.

"Rise. As Royal Protector."

Gasps filled the room. Murmurs of disbelief. A man—in this hall—knighted before them all.

Mufan stood slowly.

But his eyes searched for only one thing.

You.

And when he found your face, and you didn’t look away—when your lips parted as if to speak but faltered, caught between shock and awe—his heart sang.

Because for the first time, he was finally something he always wanted to be.

He was finally worthy of you. To stand beside you as an equal.

And more importantly, finally worthy enough to offer himself to you.

And if you accepted him—

He would never let you go.

Not for gods. Not for war. Not for the Empress herself.

Because he had bled to be seen.

And now that you saw him...

You would never unsee him again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Whoo! That was LONG! I honestly didn't expect it to be as long as it is. Hopefully it didn't bore you!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @kanzakls, @zorosasu

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

#yandere fairytale #yandere soldier #yandere mulan #disney mulan #genderbend #disney genderbend #mulan x reader

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rendiamberspirit · 5 months ago

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Arranged marriage / omega verse AU

Butsuma is dead, leaving Hashirama as the clan head and Tajima has stepped down after a serious injury he sustained the that last battle with Butsuma.

Now that Hashirama and Madara are clan heads they decide to pursue peace.

When peace is agreed upon the Uchiha demand a marriage to prove the Senju 's commitment.

As an omega of the main line Tobirama is the obvious candidate.

The Uchiha decide that is acceptable and a marriage happens between Tobirama and Madara (an alpha).

Things are going well they have been married for 6 months and Tobirama is already expecting.

It's Izuna's 19th birthday and there is a big party to celebrate with extended family, friends, and the elders.

Tobirama ends up admits his is only 9 days later.

Madara asks him if he is turning 19 or 20? He wasn't sure how old Tobirama actually was.

Tobirama gives him a weird look and says no, I'm turning 17.

Absolute silence descends. No one is speaking and everyone is staring at Tobirama in horror.

But none more so than Madara who looks like he might throw up.

Izuna says he must surely be joking. They joined the battlefield at the same time! They have to be closer in age.

Tobirama's just tilts his head and says his father had him joining the battlefield when he was 7. He was actually more surprised to hear Izuna was that much older than him. He too assumed they were the same ago.

Tajima, his face red with rage, asks how could his brother sell him off in a marriage when he is still a minor. That's beyond fucked up.

Tobirama defends his brother saying that Hashirama was the only thing that had stopped him from being married off when he was 15, he was grateful for the extra year of being a shinobi.

Everyone looks even more shocked and outraged. 15?!? That's beyond messed up.

Tobirama says it's a common practice. His mother had been married to his father on her 15th birthday.

Tajima swears and asks how old his father was, to which Tobirama responds with he was 21. He, like all the clan alphas had to prove they could survive long enough to be gifted an omega wife.

Tajima swears and says if he had known he would have tried harder to kill his father.

Tobirama is completely confused as to why everyone is looking so shocked and angry. How old are the Uchiha when they marry?

One of the elders inform him that they do not let anyone, alpha, beta or omega Mary before they are 18.

Tobirama is confused. How do they keep their numbers up waiting so long for children?

Then he is even more shocked to hear some couples even wait a couple of years before having children. Tobirama tells them that in his clan omegas are expected to have a minimum of 3 children in the first 5 years.

Izuna chokes and asks what if one of the omegas doesn't want to have 3 kids or doesn't feel ready for them when they marry.

Tobirama simply says it's not for them to decide. That decision rests with their alpha.

He hears someone in the back actually puke.

Madara, pale as a ghost, asks him if he had actually wanted to have a baby right away or if he would have wanted to wait?

And his response breaks the Uchiha's hearts.

Did I have a choice? Tobirama asks.

Making it clear to all of them that no, he hadn't wanted a baby. Or at least not yet

Madara looks close to tears.

Tajima is livid.

Izuna looks horrified.

Tajima declares that they will never have a joint village. He will not risk his clan being subjected to such barbaric practices.

Tobirama is now horrified. He never should have mentioned his birthday. He was shocked the Uchiha clan was so different. Both he and Hashirama had assumed they were the same.

Tobirama asks why? He tells Tajima that if it's such a big deal his brother will change tradition in the interest of peace and a joint village. The safety of children in all the clans of fire was his priority.

Tajima, the elders and Madara agree they will discuss it at another time and that they will request more information from Hashirama as well.

The party is pretty much ruined at this point, thankfully Tobirama's comment came towards the end of it.

The head family all leave for their joint home silently. Madara is having trouble even looking at Tobirama.

He asks Madara if he is angry with him.

Madara explains that no, he is angry on his behalf. And that from now on he will do the right thing and remain away until Tobirama is 18 and has had time to decide what he wants.

Tobirama is horrified, he has come to really like his husband, and he doesn't want to go to an empty nest alone. Why was Madara abandoning him? He was sorry he said anything.

Madara tries to explain it's not right, but all Tobirama is hearing is rejection.

Tajima intervenes and tells Madara they are already mates. He needs to continue to be a good and attentive mate. Just because they had different cultural beliefs and that it felt wrong didn't mean he could pick his beliefs over Tobirama and their baby's health and happiness.

Madara is conflicted, but he sees the hurt written across his mate's face and apologizes for saying he would leave.

Madara spends the next months conflicted by what he knows is wrong and his mates health and mental well-being. In the end he decides he was being selfish and his mate and their baby have to be his priority.

They have a happy healthy baby, but Madara puts his foot down on having more. They will not until Tobirama is a minimum of 18 and actually wants to. If he wants to. Madara is perfectly content to only have their little girl. She will grow into a wonderful clan head.

Hashirama doesn't fight Tajima on his demands. After his engagement with Mito, who was 20 and allowed to choose when she married and have children, he started to think that it was a much better practice. And less risky for the mothers health.

Tobirama ends up being the last omega ever used as an exchange in a marriage and the last one under 18.

Despite what Madara worried about, Tobirama actually did want a big family. He wanted at least 4 children, but if Madara allows it, he would like to still be a shinobi. Madara has no issues with that. He won't go on many missions as the clan head and he can absolutely be a stay at home dad.

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maybellewriting · 2 months ago

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Mark Variant Headcanons

Note: I tend to go on tangents as I write as if you and I have already discussed what I believed happened to our precious Variant Boys. Let's take a moment to peer into the Mayb-Verse starting with the first one in my current Pregnant Reader series: Prisoner Mark. With any fics that I write, these will be the base headcanons that I keep in mind as I do. Warnings: Mentions of canon violence, torture, hints of suicide, gifs from the show are included, and there are potential spoilers. I apologize if I missed anything.

It may get a bit repetitive, but some things in the timelines are going to play out similarly.

Prisoner Mark I believe that this particular version of Mark was so close to the main dimension in terms of how events played out. He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

His life fell apart in the Destruction of Chicago.

He was dumped or put on a break, and his life hits an all time low when he's discovered that his life is a lie. His father, his hero, is a liar. A murderer! Someone who seemingly never cared about his mom or their life. Maybe Mark only really held value in Nolan's eyes when he gained powers. Every major life event? Nolan was truly waiting on one thing: Him coming into his powers. The game of house was over. The illusion was broken. It obviously hurt Mark. He's wounded, angry, but he doesn't side with Nolan or the Empire. Mark fights just like in the main timeline. And, just like in the main timeline, Mark lost.

I think that this moment is where we lose so many good Marks because Nolan doesn't feel remorse. Nolan feels as though he's failed. Swept up in loyalty, in an attempt to right his wrongs by raising Mark too softly, Nolan is going to take Mark to the nearest Viltrumite prison.

Many Marks succumb to their wounds by now or they simply stop holding their breath in space.

This Mark doesn't. He holds on. Why? Well... That's his dad. His feelings are complicated and he's still in shock. There's a hope beyond hope that things will change, that his father will change. One day he's Mark Grayson and the next he's an animal in a cage. Escape attempts don't work. Either his father or some stranger in a Viltrumite uniform beat him into submission and throw him back into the same sterile white room. Sometimes they switch it up and throw him into a cell with an alien that's just as pissed or as scared as he is. Every day since Chicago is pain. He hasn't seen what he looks like. There's no clear view without a mirror. Just glimpses of what he can see when he passes by a window or a stray monitor. His healing factor is more of a curse than a blessing. While Mark doesn't quite die from new methods of torture or being ruthlessly pummeled, his body simply can't keep up sometimes. He's not Invincible. Not here. He feels how his skin consumes his goggles and fuses them to his body. He feels his hair go from full, to patchy, to bald with the new scars that take over his face and head.

Mark also feels how he grows with strength. He's bulkier than he remembers. His captor's hands don't quite wrap around his body or neck like they used to. He uses the harsh gravity chambers that strained his body to the point of passing out to hone his muscles. He doesn't know what he looks like. He's terrified to know. However, Mark is confident about one thing. He's going to free himself and kill every last Viltrumite who'd dared turn him into this monster. His father especially. There are attempts at soothing himself. He'll think of his mom or his girlfriend and attempt to mimic their touch on his face with his own hardened hands. It's bittersweet thinking that maybe they'd still love him for all of his rough edges when he escapes. When Angstrom darkens his doorstep, who is Mark to refuse his offer to not only be free but to face off with Nolan one last time? What did being good ever get him?

Viltrumite Mark/Mustache Mark I don't normally include those with so little screen time, but Mustache Mark is such an important parallel to Viltrum Mark in the Mayb-Verse that he's being included. That and he looked hot with a mustache in the show. To me? These Marks are two sides of the same coin. Both began life on Viltrum after Debbie was whisked away as soon as Nolan found out that she was pregnant. He didn't want them growing soft after he observed what Earth had to offer. Nolan wanted to raise his child "right". There is no media on Viltrum that's recreational. There aren't the typical toys for children either. It could point to why Nolan is initially against Mark in the main timeline "wasting time" playing baseball, or why he indulges in these habits after he loosens up such as writing books or sharing a beer with a friend.

Even mating before the population tanked wasn't even about love or intimacy. It was choosing which candidates would make the best baby or whoever was strong picking someone that they thought was worthy enough to have offspring with. Then, at birth, the first trial begins: Being scanned for any potential flaws. If there's a sign of weakness? Viltrum will snuff it out. Quoting when Nolan spoke to Rudy in Season 2 Episode 1 "But you should have died at birth". Mark passed and his window for being a child was slim. Debbie taught Mark how to walk and how to talk. Nolan then began forming Mark into a soldier for Viltrum, teaching him how to kill. Any sparks of humanity were given to him by Debbie when she could while Nolan wasn't around. Talks about the tooth fairy, celebrating his birthday, or her telling him about Earth and showing him old photos of her and Nolan before she was taken to Viltrum. Being the mama's boy that Mark typically is? These two indulged her because that's when she'd gain some of her old spark back. His training was intense. Gravity chambers, combat, practicing raids on nearby planets for the Empire to get some proper experience. Mustache Mark likely enjoyed his time with his father and was proud that he was contributing, slowly leaving Debbie behind. Viltrum Mark, in my opinion, is a mama's boy. He went from bringing her back his teeth as a child to treasures from distant planets when he was old enough. She'll never be truly happy. He knows this. Debbie has been homesick for as long as he can remember and she likely will be for the rest of her life. She's treated well in the society, often wearing a variation of the Empire's uniform and something Mark had given her. I think Mark likely shaves his face for her as well. He wants to look more like his mom than his father, and he wants Debbie to see him as her son, not someone who's been entirely brainwashed. Not like Nolan. Both Marks were likely given the same task that Nolan had been given: Go to Earth and boost the Viltrumite population. Angstrom comes to each of them with the offer to conquer more dimensions shortly after. Mustache Mark sees it as an opportunity to make his father proud and better serve the Empire. Viltrum Mark sees it as an opportunity to see where his mother came from and potentially give them both a way out of their gilded cage.

Full Mask/Phantom Mark

I think we have another Mark is similar to the main dimension! He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. What went wrong? Debbie. While Mark and Nolan were training and Mark had aspirations of being a hero, Debbie was home. She had her doubts, especially after Damien Darkblood approached her.

Debbie investigates Nolan herself. She finds his bloodied suit and she's obviously devastated. Her husband is a murderer who killed their friends!

She drunkenly confronts him and, instead of punching the drywall, Nolan kills his wife.

It's obviously not the best talk when Mark comes home and finds his mother dead and his father assuring him that she meant nothing. That he didn't love her. Not the way humans do. Mark is overcome with grief and is stronger than Nolan realizes due to his adrenaline. It isn't like what happened in the main dimension with Chicago. Mark is blind with rage. He keeps getting up, he uses everything to kill Nolan. There are blocks and blocks of damage, but Mark's the winner. He carries guilt and grief. People are hurt, some are killed, and Mark is now truly alone. He goes dark. The GDA claim that the Grayson house and everyone who lived their lost their lives with many others in an explosion caused by Invincible. Mark becomes reclusive and hides his face. If there are any villains, they better reform. Because he isn't funny anymore, he isn't compassionate anymore, and he doesn't want to hear what sob story is good enough that they have a right to kill someone's mother. In the dead of night, this Phantom is coming for them and putting them in the ground. His life is empty but there's heartstrings to tug. Angstrom knows exactly how to make this Mark buckle. Doesn't he want a chance to see his mom? What would he do to have that?

Sinister Mark It has been stated that people in his dimension are "off". Whether they're more prone to violence or go beyond what they would typically do as a villain is speculative. Such as this Mark's encounter with Firebreather in the comic. "The Duncan Rosenblatt of my dimension would be ashamed of you! He's the King of all monsters- one of the most ferocious villains I've faced. What happened to you?!"

That being said! I don't think there was an event that made him a bad person. He was simply born that way. Part of him knows it and no one ever truly reigned him in. He followed societal norms like a checklist. Go to school, get good grades, make a friend. It wasn't all smooth sailing. There were a few fights in his early youth. Nothing Nolan scolded him for and none that Debbie knew how to handle. I think he'd observe those around him be good and wonder why he was rotten inside. They seemed to come across their generosity so naturally and he had to observe things in TV for it to click. That if he fucks up, all he needs to do is apologize with a grand gesture. It works for a while. He learns that he has the kind of face where he can get away with almost anything. But as soon as his powers kick in? There's a shift that we see with the main dimension's Mark as well. Such as in Season 1 Episode 1 when Mark pushes back against Debbie's authority. "Make me." In this dimension? She never really knew how to raise her occasionally violent kid, so she went back inside alone. She likely thought it was best to have Mark let off some steam and tire himself out, but that was the first and most important instance that he learned that he could do whatever he wanted. He was Invincible.

He sides with his father because it aligns with his beliefs at the time and kills his mother for going against them with Cecil. Mark sides with Nolan because it's convenient. Until it isn't. He doesn't want to be told what to do, he doesn't want orders on how to instill fear on a planet to conquer it. Because he doesn't want to conquer it, he wants to burn it all down. So he kills Nolan when his guard is down and takes Earth as his post for the Viltrumites. He's biding his time until he can take the throne for himself.

When Angstrom comes and offers power? He believes he's truly won, he deserves this, and who could really stop him from turning every dimension into ash?

Sheisty Mark This Mark probably has some of my favorite headcanons in the Mayb-Verse out of the bunch!

I look at his suit, specifically his veil, and I think that he took over the mafia. Walk with me. He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. However, his shift in personality comes very early on in his hero career. He genuinely wanted to help people. When Titan betrays him? That creates a ticking time bomb. He's pissed. Mark is looking to get his lick back and he seizes the opportunity. It isn't in a moment of a double cross, it isn't even that clever. However, Mark caught a glimpse of Nolan. He was waiting for his dad to swoop in and save the day. Yet Nolan doesn't show up.

If Battle Beast wants a fight? Mark can give it to him. Battle Beast isn't interested in money so his loyalty shifts back to his own bloodthirst, leaving Machine Head's goons to the New Guardians. Mark had the best intentions. He's seen his dad fight, save the world. Nolan is the strongest person Mark knows. When the battle is done, leveling Chicago, Mark is left shocked seeing that his father is dead. He has an unexpected ally once the smoke clears and a deadline he isn't quite sure of.

Battle Beast will come back when Mark has another worthy foe or when Mark reaches the same peak as his father.

He has the brute on speed dial and a lot of grief.

He isn't a "big picture" hero anymore. Crime needed a firm hand and Mark was willing to step in. Who's going to stop him? Titan was going to give him the ins and outs as his right hand man. In exchange, Titan gets all of the resources he needs for his family. Mark helps Debbie with the mortgage, gets her gifts, runs background checks on her new boyfriends, flies her wherever she wants to go since his father used to do it on a whim, and changes his costume so that it covers his face. He adopts an accent in meetings as he postures as someone he's not. As if he wasn't a privileged rich kid from the suburbs.

The accent becomes something he can't quite turn off anymore. If someone asks if he from Brooklyn, Boston, or some other town, he simply agrees with an "Uh... yeah!" because he genuinely doesn't know what he's doing. He expands his crime empire and he gets drunk on the power that comes with it. He's blissfully ignorant about the Viltrumites that are coming, but he'd only join forces with them to further expand his own reach. He's got bottles, bottle girls, bottle boys, bottle theys. Whatever gets him the deal where he's the boss. When Angstrom comes with the promise of new dimensions, Mark sees dollar signs and he's chasing it.

Omni-Mark

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. He grew to love the domestic life more than what Nolan did as a hero. He sees it as a 9-5. Mark clocks in, saves the day, and goes home. He looked up to his father and aspired to have the same relationship that he observed at home. Passionate, peaceful, and having someone to come home to.

It could be why he has such a distaste for Eve. She doesn't seem to stop helping the world and it clashes with his own views. It's petty! But when she implies that he doesn't do enough? When he's saving the world, helping his girlfriend study, going to the soup kitchen, crunching time so he can go out on dates... Mark is livid. He's better off without a superhero girlfriend. He wants to come home and shut that part of his brain off.

I think Mark also lives by a calendar app. His significant other gets their own color.

So when his father reveals that it's all a lie? When Nolan is assuring him that Debbie meant nothing, that he didn't love her. Not the way humans do. Mark is overcome with rage and is stronger than Nolan realizes due to his adrenaline. It isn't like what happened in the main dimension with Chicago. Mark is blind with rage. He keeps getting up, he uses everything to kill Nolan.

When it's over? Mark carries the guilt that he killed his father.

His home dynamic changes and he steps in to fill the role of the man of the house. He cares for Debbie and he balances his life with his girlfriend. It's controversial that he changes his suit to resemble Omni-Man's, but that was his father. As shitty as a person Nolan was for lying to them? Mark still loved him and looked up to him.

He sees it as his responsibility to shoulder Nolan's burdens. Whether it's at home or being a hero.

Mark is burnt out. He makes awful decisions to crunch time and eventually outright kills villains because he sees that they'll never change. It'll be the same bullshit last week that threatened him being late on some special occasion with his girlfriend and he's never late.

When Angstrom comes and promises power? He's more interested in potentially seeing his dad. If Nolan is around, he won't let an invasion slide. Then maybe, just maybe, he can put the family he broke back together.

Maskless Mark

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he comes to realize that, yeah, he likes William. It isn't his place to step in while William was with Rick. So he scores a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. After the ReAnimen incident that puts Rick in the hospital, Mark comes out to the both of them a few months later. He's pleasantly surprised when he has a girlfriend and a boyfriend who keep each other company when his work makes him busy. It's an odd dynamic but a happy one.

However neither his girlfriend nor William expect Mark to be as busy as he was. Mark feels guilty and angry as they discuss their problems in William's car. It had been a meeting that was long overdue. Typically they all go over finances, date ideas, or even open up about what they need in intimacy with the third being a mediator. However, this time, both of his partners agree that Mark isn't around enough.

Frustrated, Mark flies away to clear his head with every intention of coming back and rekindling things with them. He'll be around more, he'll save the world only when the world really needs him. He doesn't want to be a figure like his father was. As if his absence is expected.

As the the two of them make their way home, it's Nolan who stops them. He was never really happy about the dynamic. It made Mark soft and lose track of his priorities. He's exploring facets of himself instead of embracing his Viltrumite heritage. He's worried that Mark is going to get too comfortable playing house and the two of them are to blame, so Nolan crushes the car with Mark's lovers inside.

So when his father reveals that it's all a lie? When Nolan is assuring him that Debbie meant nothing, that he didn't love her. Not the way humans do. Mark is obviously upset. But when Nolan tells him that his boyfriend and girlfriend are nothing? That they're paste on asphalt? Mark is blind with rage. He keeps getting up, he uses everything to kill Nolan.

He mourns the two of them deeply. He's angry at himself, sure, but it's easier to point a finger at Cecil who kept dumping work on him as if he wasn't a young adult who was trying to figure everything out.

It's easy to conquer the world when there's nothing holding him back anymore.

When Angstrom offers him a chance to cross dimensions? The promise of power is interesting, but he has his own motivations that have him shooting towards Upstate University as quickly as he can in the hopes of finding William and his girlfriend.

Lensless Mark

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

Like Sinister Mark, I don't think anything bad happened to him. There wasn't a tragic event to make him shift into a terrible person that wanted to take over the world. In fact, I think his powers are what made him a terrible person. In the first season Mark explores his powers. He's testing flight, he's doing flips and tricks and everything he's ever dreamed of. I think this Mark looks up to his dad more and leaves Debbie behind. I think he spends a lot of time with Nolan and picks up Nolan's values as he's teaching him how to be a hero.

Mark eventually treats people very casually. This is about fun, freedom, and trying to absorb everything that he can in his training. He loves zipping to Paris to grab his girlfriend something and timing himself just because he can.

When it's time to join his father? There's no hesitation. When there are rebellions, he's ecstatic. If Sinister is comparable to a sociopath, Lensless is like an orangutan. An animal that will pick something apart out of morbid curiosity and entertainment.

He's hot and cold and it's hard to tell exactly what will set him off.

When Angrstrom comes with his offer to conquer more dimensions, he takes it happily. It's like the saying, 'If the cat's away, the mice will play'. If Nolan isn't there to regulate Mark, he's going to have his fun.

His outfit is different in the show than the comic, but I think it was a good change!

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

When he comes into his powers, he's confident, free, and happy. Mark also begins to adopt Nolan's attitude. Humans are pitifully weak. They're pathetic in a kind of cute way! The Earth needs Viltrum to guide it into a new era of peace. There'd be no more wars, no more famine, no housing crisis. Mark's doing them a favor.

However, with that mindset, it's hard for him to let people go. His mom, his girlfriend, and William. He really did hope that they'd grasp the bigger picture. If they don't? Mark won't kill them. They're so weak that he doesn't have to. He wants to keep those he loves, after all, for as long as possible.

He'll give them chances, sighing like a frustrated parent during a teen's rebellious phase. They don't know any better. Crippling them, like he did Eve in Season 2 Episode 1, is a mercy compared to the death that other Viltrumites would give them. He's got people that will take care of them for the rest of their days! Mark will visit when he can.

The biggest yandere vibes out of any variant just because of what happened to his Eve.

It's an entirely different story for those he doesn't care about. He sees them as a chore at best. Whether that's needing to quell rebellions or protests or giving the scared, pacified populace jobs. Mark does have a shorter fuse if they aren't someone of importance to him.

When Angstrom comes with the promise of power and dimensions, he'll accept the offer without hesitation. Angstrom was more useful than he originally thought! While he can't wait to expand the empire and make his dad proud, Mark does miss when certain people could talk to him.

Mohawk Mark

Last but not least, Mohawk Mark! He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

He was relatively good once. He was a hero that loved the attention. While he's proud of his Viltrumite heritage, he takes just as much pride in his cunning that he picked up while he slowly grew stronger. As soon as he learned that there was a Grand Reagent? Mark wanted that throne.

And he always gets what he wants.

That's how he began wooing his girlfriend! There's nothing like trauma bonding and saving the day to catch the eye of Amber, a cute clerk at the comic store, the barista that draws hearts on his cup, or his goody two shoes student council president. He has tunnel vision with his attraction. If he can't have what he wants? He'll bide his time or date someone who looks eerily similar until his love interest is freed up.

With his cunning, Mark comes to realize that Viltrumites tend to muscle their way through their problems after observing his Dad and a few others. As great of a race that they claim to be, they're barbaric. It's likely that they think Mark is revolutionary which is how he comes into power so early. A Viltrumite prodigy, if you will.

When Angstrom comes to give Mark a deal, he takes it without hesitation to expand his empire and to indulge his own selfish whims.

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secretmellowblog · 1 year ago

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I saw Les Mis live for the first time the other weekend, and the surprising standout performance for me was Kyle Adams as Grantaire. He is a performer who has obviously read the Brick, and uses all of his stagetime to convey as many aspects of Brick Grantaire as possible; he also reads Grantaire’s love for Enjolras as explicitly gay and romantic (there’s a moment I’ll talk about later where he blows him a kiss.) I was actually surprised by how much he managed to convey in so little time!

Some highlights:

When Enjolras is asking for a “report on the strength of the foe,” Grantaire enthusiastically raises his hand, posturing and gesturing wildly at himself to volunteer. Enjolras casts him a disdainful look like “anyone elSE?” And that’s when Javert jumps in with his “I can find out the truth.” It’s like a small silent version of the Barrier du Maine scene; Grantaire was really giving that “je suis farouche.”

In general, there was this repeated Thing where Grantaire obnoxiously acts out in order to get Enjolras’s attention, and then flails around uselessly whenever he actually has it. Very in character.

Grantaire often goes on uproariously and jokingly about love; then, whenever he’s approached by Enjolras, he doesn’t seem to understand what to do about it.

Whenever Enjolras is singing dramatically about revolution— during Red and Black, Do You Hear the People Sing, and One Day More— Grantaire gazes at up at him with a amazed, awed, and overwhelmed look on his face, sometimes with his hand on his heart.

During Red and Black, there’s a moment where Grantaire “jokingly” caresses Enjolras’s face. Then during Do You Hear the People Sing, Enjolras passes Grantaire by and casually caresses his face; Grantaire acts a bit stunned, as if surprised Enjolras would deign to touch him. Finally, there’s a dramatic “reassuring face-caress” during the gay verse of Drink with Me.

There’s a repeated thing where Grantaire keeps offering Enjolras a bottle of wine, half-jokingly, only for Enjolras to reject it. In the last verse of Drink with Me, after Grantaire finishes his verse and walks away, Enjolras finally accepts a bottle of wine (though another character gives it to him.)

Iirc Grantaire doesn’t join in the fighting initially; he just stares at Enjolras in awe, and then mainly stands by Javert to “guard” him. I mainly mention this because I think Javert and Grantaire are a very funny duo, just as a concept. I think “being forced to listen to Grantaire monologues” is an excellent punishment for Javert.

During Marius’s verse of Drink with Me, Enjolras climbs to the top of the barricade, standing in the light. Grantaire is at the bottom in the shadows, attempting to sleep. As Marius sings about his love for Cosette, Grantaire raises his bottle to Enjolras, and then blows him a kiss. It’s very “let me sleep here until I die here.”

Finally, Grantaire has his "book death." After he spends the entire musical on the fringes being skeptical, he joins Enjolras in the final battle. He climbs up the barricade and says (I was close enough to hear) "Long live the Republic! I am one of them."

I'm genuinely impressed by how much of the Brick characterization he managed to convey with so little time-- some ad-libbing and lots of silent acting moments! It really gave me a greater appreciation of what a strong performer in a musical can do, and how they infuse even 'smaller' parts with lots of nuance and personality.

#les mis #grantaire

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the-voldsoy · 8 months ago

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Alrighty it is almost the end of the year so, in no particular order, here are podcasts I recommend of the ones I've listened to this year! (let me tell you picking favourites for this was So hard) (Unfortunately I can't just do all of them because there are almost 50)

Hello From The Hallowoods: The world ended, but we're still here, and shit's weird. (Has made me cry; even the trees are queer; my comfort show<3)

Camp Here And There: Good morning campers! The time is 7:63AM and Cabin Magpie Moth has spontaneously combusted! Whichever one of you little woodworms can put it out first can come get a puffy sticker from me in the Nurses Cabin! (Is it a horror? Is it a comedy? I don't know, you'd have to check to be sure)

Wooden Overcoats: Funn Funerals used to be the only funeral parlor on the island. It isn't anymore. (Sitcom, the main characters are the most miserable wet cats you ever did see)

Re: Dracula: Maybe this year, they'll be okay. Maybe this year they'll all live. Maybe this year he won't go, and she'll be alright.

Magnus Protocol: TMA's louder, bolder, less serious younger sibling.

The Silt Verses: Oh boy. Let me tell you, you will look at crabs differently after this. (WET horror, genuinely the best pod I've ever heard)

Archive 81: Dan, a newly hired archivist, has to listen to and catalogue a set of old audio tapes. The tapes contain interviews conducted by someone Dan has never heard of. Dan is in an isolated bunker in the middle of the woods. Surely nothing will happen to our dear friend Dan. (What is it with archivists and getting snatched by The Horrors? Ignore the tv show it doesn't exist)

Red Valley: Just a couple of guys with an interest in research station Red Valley, whose focus was cryonics. It's completely defunct now. I wonder what happened. (Ethics? What's that?)

Woe.Begone: Some say it's about time-travel, some say it's about keeping yourself and those close to you alive, some say it's about online safety. All can agree on one point: What the fuck why are there cowboys now

Midnight Burger: Midnight Burger is a time-travelling, dimension-spanning diner. Dunno how it works or where it's going next. We open at six! (The episodes are an hour long minimum but it's worth it. Comedy sci-fi, lighthearted fun :)

Old Gods of Appalachia: The Appalachians are spooky y'all. (The narrator's voice is so comforting in this, it feels like campfire stories)

Dreamboy: Went into this pod being told it was made by the people who made WTNV and absolutely no other information. Let me tell you I did not expect the main character to tell us that he got a hard-on in the first episode. (The most sexually explicit pod I've listened to)

The White Vault: Nice little trip to Svalbard to check on the remote research station, surely nothing will go wrong :) (Holy Fucking Shit What Is That) (Recommend 1st season especially to The Thing (1982) enjoyers)

Camlann: Ever wished that you were apart of Welsh folklore or Arthurian legends? Or perhaps some of the last people left on Earth? No? Ah well, you'll pick it up soon enough. (Three idiots and a dog in Wales, fighting for their lives)

Breaker Whiskey: Imagine. Being the only person on earth. Just you. Just you, and someone on the radio. Just you, the radio, and a woman you absolutely do NOT have sexual tension with. (This one looks really long because it has 260+ episodes, but they're like 4 minutes long each so it's not really)

Ethics Town: Don't worry about it. (Cannot recommend enough, it is a mindfuck)

Tell No Tales: What if ghosts were a thing that could infest a place, like rats or roaches or mold? What if it was your job to exterminate them? And the million-pound question, do ghosts deserve rights? (I am waiting so so patiently for the rest of s2)

Remnants: You wake up in a place you recognise. You have always been there. You have no idea where you are. You see a stranger's life. You recognise them. You knew them once, you think. Discard or reshelve? You don't know what that means. It does not matter. Discard or reshelve, that is the question. (I am going insane over this pod)

Not Quite Dead: Vampires! Alfie is an overworked A&E nurse who does not have time for this shit. Unfortunately, he does not have a choice in this matter. (A really interesting take on vampirism, going into the biology. It is fascinating, and an exciting story)

Travelling Light: Space Quaker! Listen to the Traveller tell you about every new planet and civilisation they visit. Whattttt noooo they don't have a crush on one of their crew members what are you taaaalking abouttttt (Very comforting pod, beauty in the mundane in a way? But not mundane because yk. Aliens)

Someone Just Like You: Brilliant horror, just really well written. I don't even have words for it. So far there are only 6 episodes and the concepts/plots of each seem cheesy, but my GOD the execution.

The Bright Sessions: People with powers get therapy! Thank God, they need it so bad. (I love one particular antagonist so much, I need to put him in a microwave)

Poe: Evermore: It wasn't until I started this that I realised that Edgar Allen Poe would have had a Boston-ish accent. Reallyyy interesting story of his life, and I keep getting jumpscared by VAs I recognise. Faulkner Silt Verses what are you doing here.

Witherburn After School News: Your school radio host getting WAY more involved in the news than they should. Really hope they're still breathing. Love the folklore section though!

Before The Tone: Voicemails from someone who just got a job they probably shouldn't have. (Brilliant idea for the format, and great execution)

I Am In Eskew: What if you were trapped? What if you had a home, a wife and a child? What if they aren't real? Are you sure? Go and check. What if your city tried to kill you? What if it loved you very much, more than anyone else? (Horror but the narrator is the saddest wettest man you've ever heard)

Sherlock & Co: Modern day Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson is a true crime podcaster. Dear God I did not think it would be as compelling as it is.

#only going to tag a few from these because there are still 27 on this list and I don't want to clog up too many tags #hfth #remnants pod #ethics town #woe.begone #audio drama #fiction podcasts

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kaliuchisangel · 3 days ago

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Hi can you do a Malachi x fem!reader where she’s on the ZB tour and she also makes music and she performs a few of her song and one people can’t figure out who it’s about until the LA show where she brings Malachi out during the song and that how they announce that there dating :)

Lover/Friend

Pairing: Malachi Barton x Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff

Requests: open

Now playing: Lover/Friend by KAYTRANADA ft. Rochelle Jordan

A/N: Enjoy!

You had been part of the tour since the start, performing as an opening act with your own original music between the main cast numbers.

It wasn’t just an opportunity—it was a dream. What no one knew, though, was that your newest song was about him.

Malachi Barton.

The boy with the charming smile, the playful spark in his eyes, and the talent that made him impossible not to watch. Offstage, he was even better—funny, genuine, and the one who always made sure you’d eaten between sets. But for months, you’d been keeping something from the world: you two were dating.

You hadn’t planned to keep it a secret forever, but there was something special about having it just to yourselves. Still, every time you performed that song—your new song "Lover/Friend"—you’d feel the words burning to be more than a mystery.

Tonight was the LA show, the biggest stop on the tour. Every seat was filled. Your set was almost over when the beat for "Lover/Friend" began to pulse through the speakers.

Cheers erupted. The crowd loved this one. You stepped to the mic, offering a little smirk.

"This song… means a lot to me. And, uh maybe tonight you’ll figure out why."

The audience screamed like they already knew something was up.

The bass kicked in.

Lover, friend… Lover, friend… Lover, friend 🎶

You moved across the stage, letting the rhythm pull you. Your dancers followed in perfect line, and you felt the confidence flow.

Waitin’ for me, I’m waitin’ for you… Why we pause when we feel the emotion? 🎶

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of him—Malachi, standing just in the wing, still in costume from the last number.

He was watching you the same way he always did: like the rest of the world had disappeared.

You sang directly toward him for a beat, your voice dipping lower.

If you want it… you know it wasn’t out the blue… 🎶

The crowd screamed again, probably thinking you were just playing into the performance.

The second verse came, your heart pounding with each lyric.

No defenses, satisfaction… Stopped your heart just to get a reaction…🎶

The bridge approached—the part you’d planned. Your band knew. The stage crew knew. Even the dancers were ready.

You held the mic to your lips and turned toward the audience."LA… you ready for a surprise?

"The roar was deafening. You grinned and pointed toward stage right. "Everybody, welcome my favorite person to the stage."

Malachi stepped out, and the volume somehow doubled. He had that easy smile, a little sheepish but lit with something proud. The crowd was already going wild, but it went absolutely feral when you took his hand and pulled him closer.

You didn’t stop singing.

Heard you wanna be my lover (lover)… wanna be more than friends… 🎶

Malachi laughed under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were actually doing this. But he didn’t let go of your hand.

You turned to face him during the next line, your voice softer but clear over the music.

Ooh, and you can’t pretend…🎶

The stage lights shifted to warm golds and soft pinks. The dancers moved around you in a loose circle, giving the moment center stage.

By the final chorus, you weren’t just holding his hand—you were right in front of him, your free hand resting against his chest.

What’s it gonna be (lover?) Don’t you wanna be (friends?)🎶

You let the music take over, singing with that mix of joy and adrenaline you’d been holding in for months. Then, in the middle of the last "lover, friend" repetition, you leaned in and kissed him.

The crowd exploded.

Malachi pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin turning into a soft, almost shy smile—the one he reserved for you. He said something under the noise, but you could read his lips perfectly.

"You’re insane… and I love you."

The song ended with the dancers striking their final poses, the beat fading out, and the audience still screaming like they’d just witnessed history.

Malachi gave a little wave to the crowd before tucking his arm around your waist, pulling you close for one more quick kiss.

You could already imagine the headlines: Y/N L/N Reveals Relationship with Malachi Barton During LA Show.

Backstage after the set, you were still buzzing from the adrenaline. Malachi was leaning against a speaker case, watching you pace with a wide grin."Well," he said, "guess the secret’s out."

You laughed, still a little breathless. "Worth it?"

His expression softened. "More than worth it."

Then he pulled you in, kissed you again, and you swore you could still hear the echoes of the crowd cheering in your ears.

TAGLIST:

@imnotjadaddy

@laylayschipzz

@alexisunknownhere

@lovinashlin

@casey1-2007

@ssp33dyy

@mischivana

#malachi barton #malachi barton x reader #malachi barton x you #Malachi barton #x reader #Malachi barton x reader

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tavolgisvist · 8 months ago

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Q: 'When I’m Sixty-Four'? A: Paul. I think I hepled Paul with some of the words, like "Vera, Chuck and Dave" and "Doing teh garden, digging the weeds."

(John Lennon, 1972, interview for Hit Parader)

Q: 'When I’m Sixty-Four'? A: Paul’s completely. I would never even dream of writing a song like that. There’s some things I never think about, and that’s one of them.

(John Lennon, 1980, All We Are Saying by David Sheff)

A pert clarinet chimes in as Paul sings “go for a ride,” and then fills out the lead voice with harmony during the last verse. The verse climbs from worldly-wise homey virtues and promises to the humble title question: “Will you still need me/Will you still feed me/When I’m sixty-four?” The bridge has a more expectant beat and shifts to minor, but the final line of the stanza always resolves whatever troubles may lie ahead—all worries are ironed out, all doubt laid to rest. Before returning to the main verse, a chime of happiness is duly rung.

(Tell Me Why by Tim Riley, 1998/2002)

JOHN: … But when I was singing and writing this and working with her [Yoko], I was visualizing all the people of my age group, from the sixties, being in their thirties and forties now, just like me. And having wives and children, and having gone through everything together…I’m singin’ to them. I hope the young kids like it as well, but I’m really talking to the people who grew up with me. And saying, ‘Here I am now. How are you? How’s your relationship goin’? Did you get through it all? Wasn’t the seventies a drag, you know? Here we are, well let’s try to make the eighties good, you know?’ ‘Cause it’s still up to us to make what we can of it. It’s not out of our control. I still believe in love, peace; I still believe in positive thinking – when I can do it. I’m not always positive, but when I am I try to project it.” <…> …we…we were the hip ones in the sixties, but the world is not like the sixties. The whole map’s changed. And we’re goin’ into an unknown future, but we’re still all here. We still…while there’s life there’s hope.” Kaye: “So it seems like instead of the ‘down’ litany of the early seventies where all the things you don’t believe in, now it’s…” JOHN: “Exactly! And that’s why I put the ‘ting, ting, ting’ on the beginning of (Just Like) Starting Over. And I hoped somebody would catch on, but it’s easier if I explain it. ‘Cause I like to be mysterious. A little part of me still…But, in actual fact, on the beginning of Mother, the Plastic Ono album, you hear this litany [makes sounds of bell] Bong! You know, very slow church bell. Which was like a death knell. ‘I don’t believe in, I don’t believe in’ and the Freudian things about mother and father, and that was a kind of negative/positive. I was tryin’ to make a positive out of a negative, but it was heavy-going. And the reason this one [(Just Like) Starting Over, to start Double Fantasy] goes, ‘ting, ting, ting’ is to show that I’ve come through. And whoever’s listening must’ve come through, or they wouldn’t be here. And that’s the…because I always considered my work one piece, whether it be with Beatles, David Bowie, Elton John, Yoko Ono… So, to me it’s one part of one whole piece of work from the time I became public ‘till now. And that’s the connecting point between that, and you [Kaye] hit it right on the head. And the eighties is like we got a new chance, you know?”

(John Lennon (and Yoko Ono), interview with Laurie Kaye and Dave Sholin, December 8, 1980)

#not saying #only ting ting ting #accidental coincidences #the beatles #john lennon #john and paul #intervew: john #1967 #david sheff #hit parader #1980 #1972 #the songs we were singing #when I'm 64 #tim riley #paul mccartney #just like starting over #mother

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padfootagain · 8 months ago

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Love in Verses (XXXVI)

Chapter 36: ‘So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Time for an adorable first date!!! Also, a reminder that this is not meant to be read by minors…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3839

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Of love

I have been in love more times than one, thank the Lord. Sometimes it was lasting whether active or not. Sometimes it was all but ephemeral, maybe only an afternoon, but not less real for that. They stay in my mind, these beautiful people, or anyway beautiful people to me, of which there are so many. You, and you, and you, whom I had the fortune to meet, or maybe missed. Love, love, love, it was the core of my life, from which, of course, comes the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned that some of them were men and some were women and some—now carry my revelation with you— were trees. Or places. Or music flying above the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun which was the first, and the best, the most loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into my eyes, every morning. So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began.

Mary Oliver, Red Bird

Andrew looked at his reflection in the mirror, hesitated, freed his hair from the bun he had gathered it in.

He heaved a sigh, trying to slow down his heart, to alleviate the knot in his stomach.

He was so fucking nervous. God, Andrew had not been this nervous since his first date with Samantha. No, scratch that. He had not been so nervous since he had presented his thesis.

He checked his outfit again, pondered his choice for the hundredth time. A black shirt, black pants, black vest, brown leather shoes. Was it too much black?

He shook his head. He looked good in all black, his mother had told him so, and he trusted her with this. He readjusted his glasses. Should he wear contacts? Sam liked him better with contacts rather than glasses…

Fuck Samantha.

Andrew preferred wearing glasses, and so he kept them perched on his nose.

Hair up, or hair down?

He couldn’t choose, thought his hair looked good enough today even if he let it loose but then again he didn’t want to have his hair always falling before his face. He opted for the middle ground, tied up only a few strands in a half bun and let the rest fall loosely to his shoulders.

Yeah… he looked good enough.

He added a little bit of his cologne, just to make sure he smelled nice. He turned towards his dog, who was lying behind him on the floor, his head resting on his front paws.

“So… Elwood… what do you think? Do I look nice?”

The dog lifted his head at the sound of his name, making Andrew chuckle. He walked over to pet Elwood behind the ears.

“Yeah, I agree. I look decent enough. Wish me luck! I’m gonna need it.”

Andrew had made sure he wasn’t going to be late, even if he had to drop Elwood at his brother’s. He had set up five alarms to mark the passing of time. And indeed, when he knocked on your door, he was two minutes early.

He was picking you up tonight. For your first date he was the one planning everything. He hoped you would like the evening he had planned for you. He wanted to impress you, to be honest. He wanted to show you that he could be better than Frank, that you didn’t have to regret your choice…

He took a couple of deep breaths as he waited before your front door, looking at the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Your favourites, he had made sure to choose them. He hoped you would like them.

When you opened your door, he was left speechless. He froze, stared, couldn’t help his eyes from raking your frame. You in your emerald dress, the one he had bought with you and that he had dreams about, the way you had tied your hair, the light glimmer of a jewel around your neck…

You… you were… so fucking…

“Gorgeous.”

You raised a surprised but amused eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips now. And Andrew blushed all the way up to his ears…

He cleared his throat, tried to overcome his embarrassment. God, he really was the worst…

“You… Hi.”

“Hi,” you let out in an excited breath, grinning up at him.

“You… you look beautiful,” he complimented you, making you shy away a little.

“Thanks. You look nice too.”

He grinned at that, a wave of pride washing over his heart.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He handed you his flowers, and you thanked him again, breathing in their sweet scent.

“These are my favourite flowers.”

“I know,” he nodded, and you seemed touched by his answer, emotional now.

“You’re ready to go?” he asked.

“Sure! Just have to put these in some water and grab my purse. Come in.”

He obliged, waited while you were getting ready. He was fidgeting when you came back, his shoulders bent, nerves making him want to disappear. He had to bend to pass your doorframe, and he hadn’t straightened his posture after that.

You noticed as you walked back from your kitchen, found him still standing before your door, rubbing at his palms. And you were frowning now, slowly approaching him.

God… were you second-guessing this already?

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

He looked at you, surprised.

“’Course. Just… a bit nervous, I guess.”

The understatement of the century. He was this far from shitting his pants…

You reached out, placed your hand on his upper arm. His heart quickened at the touch, he felt his muscles relax without being able to control his own body.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look smaller than you are.”

He raised a surprised eyebrow, but didn’t straighten his posture.

“You do that when you’re sad, or feel bad, or just… want to disappear. Are you… Are you uncomfortable with us going on a date?”

“Uncomfortable? No, of course not… I’m… nervous. Terrified that I’m going to do something stupid and ruin our date, but… no, I’m not uncomfortable with us dating at all, on the contrary.”

“I like it, you know? How tall you are. I really like that about you. So… no need to shrink down when you’re around me, alright?”

His heart was filled with warmth, and finally, Andrew stood straighter again.

“Besides… I’m already in love with you. So… no pressure. It’s not like you have to seduce me or anything.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Right…”

You offered him a tender smile, narrowing your eyes a little at him, mischief painted all over your features.

“Actually… can you bend down for a second?”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“Just for a sec.”

Slowly, he obeyed.

“A bit more…”

He bent down again, until you were raising to your tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

You gave him a toothy grin, a mischievous one that made him giggle like a lovesick fool.

“Alright, now we’re ready to go,” you smiled, and he followed you outside of your flat again, his skin burning where your lips had touched him, feeling a little light-headed after your gesture, dizzy with your perfume.

He drove the two of you outside Dublin, all the way down to Wicklow. Andrew finally started to relax during the drive, conversation settling smoothly, as it always did with you. The sun was setting, it would soon be nighttime, but for now the light was painting the sky with golden and red, stripes of purple stretching towards the horizon.

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going!” you noted, and Andrew smirked.

“That’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Hmm… I hope you’ll like it. Had to ask for some help from locals to get everything ready.”

“Really?”

“Hmm.”

“What have you planned?” you asked, fully intrigued by now.

“Ha! Won’t say! It would spoil everything.”

You mumbled something about Andrew being annoying, and it made him laugh.

Indeed, he had asked a few friends to help him set up the scenery he wanted for the date. He was also using a part of the land owned by some family friends.

You frowned as you entered the property, but didn’t head towards the house; Andrew aimed the wheel towards the small wood instead, that stretched beyond the fields of barley.

“Where are we going?” you asked again.

“This property belongs to some friends. My parents live nearby, they’re practically neighbours, have been friends for decades. I asked if I could spend the evening on the edge of their wood. We shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Oh… right…”

“They own the whole farm,” Andrew explained.

“Okay…”

“Don’t worry, no one is going to come during our date. I just needed a nice spot to set up my terrible plan.”

You chuckled at that, let Andrew drive the rest of the way in silence.

He parked by the edge of the trees, opened the door for you, and you smiled at the gallant gesture, a tinge of teasing in your smile.

“Oh, thank you, dear knight in shining armour…”

He rolled his eyes.

“Come on, don’t take the piss. Let me be romantic tonight, alright? The lad is doing his best…”

“Alright, alright… sorry.”

“Right, you need to close your eyes now.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. This is a surprise. Don’t worry, it’s just behind those trees. And I won’t let you fall.”

He offered you his open palm.

“Trust me.”

His smile was kind, infinitely tender. You stared at him, but he didn’t read hesitation in your eyes, your expression was a little too emotional for that. Still, you nodded, slipped your fingers in his hand.

“I do trust you, Andy,” you tenderly smiled up at him, before closing your eyes, and Andrew struggled to breathe at your words, his heart feeling warm again.

“Although… I don’t know if I should,” you joked, back with your playful tone. “You are a pretty clumsy lad…”

He laughed at that.

“A clumsy giraffe, that’s what I am.”

Still, when he gently pulled on your hand, you followed him.

You walked for no more than a couple of minutes, before reaching a tiny clearing. Nothing impressive, but there was enough space between the pines and oak trees for Andrew to set up his plan.

He had hung a large set of white sheets between two trees, had set a projector so you could watch a movie. A blanket, some cushions and a picnic were set to eat during the film. He had borrowed some fairy lights from his parents to hang them around the clearing, and his brother and Alex had helped him set them up.

It looked nice. He hoped you would like it…

“Alright, you can open your eyes.”

You blinked, gasped as you took in the view. You looked around, found no words to say.

“Andy…”

When you turned to him again, you had tears in your eyes.

“This… this is…”

He offered you a shy smile, trying to take in the view as well. The way the sunset was painting your frame with orange hues, how the fairy lights shown in your eyes…

“Do you like it?”

You laughed, blinking tears away.

“I love it. This is… this is better than what I had imagined.”

“Good,” he whispered, burying his hands in his pockets, feeling himself relax.

“What are we watching?”

“A movie you like,” he answered simply, moving towards the cushions so you would both take a seat.

The picnic was simple, nothing too fancy, but you were glowing, a grin permanently glued to your lips, and so Andrew reckoned that he was doing something good. When the evening turned into night, that the sun finally disappeared beyond the Wicklow Hills, and that the moon and stars were left to light up the heavens with silver, Andrew proposed to watch the movie while you ate your dessert. You nodded eagerly, waited patiently while Andrew was setting up the movie with his laptop.

You recognised Pride and Prejudice with the first frame, gasped at the sight.

“This is perfect, Andy,” you breathed.

You leaned closer, letting your shoulder and head rest against his arm. He kissed your hair.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked in a quiet voice, warm and deep, and he noticed how you leaned even closer, until he was snaking an arm around your waist.

“This is… perfect,” you repeated yourself, and Andrew grinned, feeling proud and content.

“Good… That’s grand…”

“Andy… you know I… don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, by any means. This is magical. It’s… no one has ever done anything like this for me.”

He tightened his hold on your waist without noticing, his heart speeding up as he felt dread replace peace.

“But?” he encouraged you to continue.

“But you don’t need to impress me, you know? I… I love you. This is amazing, but spending time with you is enough to make me happy. Okay? I don’t need all of this to be happy to be with you.”

He felt tears rising to his eyes, but he blinked them away as he nodded.

“Thank you…”

“No, thank you, Andy. Thank you for tonight, thank you for everything…”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, picking up some fruits and watching Elizabeth and Darcy fall in love all over again…

You helped Andrew pack up everything in his car, leaving the clearing undisturbed by human activity again but for the fairy lights hung in the trees, Andrew would come back for these later. You failed to spot the owl you heard before leaving, but you didn’t mind. You took one last look at the small clearing, at the moon almost to its fullest above your head, at the stars shining bright and clear against the inky sky, and you thanked them for keeping a warm and bright weather for tonight.

Andrew drove you home, you chatted all the way, sang along to the songs on the radio and laughed at the lyrics you invented. He walked you to the door of your building, and you both remained standing there for a couple of minutes, under the pretence of finishing your conversation when, really, you simply didn’t want to part. At last, once neither of you had anything left to say, you looked up at him in silence, hesitating. You didn’t want him to leave…

You noticed how his cheeks grew a little pink, how his gaze grew more intense, entrapping your stare. They held such tenderness as they rested upon your features, such fondness… you dared to call it love…

And Christ, Andrew was so handsome like this. All in black, elegant and so damn tall, with his hair held back to reveal his features. You wanted to trace the edge of his sharp jaw, you longed to feel the roughness of his beard under the pads of your fingers, to kiss the bright pink of his lips… And in the streetlights the red in his hair and beard shone brighter than usual, his eyes a darker shade of green and brown. Your heart was pounding at the sight, your entire body heating up at the thought of reaching out to touch him…

“Y/N?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I… Can I kiss you?”

You grinned at that, reassured. He wanted the same thing as you did. Andrew wanted you too…

You finally noticed that his breathing was irregular, loud and slightly trembling. That his fingers, as they reached for your hand, were warm and calloused and unsure. He seemed vulnerable, waiting for your answer. As if he didn’t really believe this was happening either, as if he too was unconsciously awaiting a rejection.

You closed the space between your hands, intertwined your fingers together, and Andrew released a long breath.

You stared right into his eyes as you spoke.

“Please… kiss me, Andy.”

Something changed in his expression, then. It held the same tenderness still, the same loving expression, something close to adoration. But instead of doubt and fragility, his gaze darkened, he seemed more confident again. His grin was bright and a little dreamy as he reached up to cup your face in his large hand. And if it made you feel small, his touch also made you feel safe.

Slowly, he bent down, while you went to your tiptoes to meet him halfway. When he finally kissed you, it was like the world had disappeared, like you were the only beings left in the universe, like time itself had stopped to grant you this moment. You let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Meanwhile, his now free hand was resting on the small of your back, pressing you against him. For how long you kissed, you couldn’t have guessed. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away, gasping for air, head spinning a little, your chin burning because of his short beard, all you wanted was to kiss him again, and again, and again…

“Andy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to come in?”

He blinked his eyes open, stared at you, but there was nothing but want, desire and awe to find in your gaze. And so, Andrew let out a shaky breath.

“You’re sure?” he asked anyway, even if the answer was obvious, written all over your features.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded.

Before you could add another word, Andrew was kissing you again, more urgently this time, something filled with sparks and want, kissing you like he never wanted to stop…

He did break away though, nodding, his nose brushing against yours in the process.

“Yeah… yeah, I definitely want to come in.”

You giggled at that, noticed he was blushing, but you still took his hand and guided him inside the building.

In the elevator, his lips were back on yours, he was pressing your back against the wall, hands holding tightly your waist. You had rarely felt so wanted in your life, and you were not even in your apartment yet, let alone your bedroom.

He followed you to your door, you noticed the way he closed and opened his hands repeatedly, as if refraining to reach out and touch you.

The second you were locking your door, Andrew was kissing you again, pressing your back to the wooden surface, holding onto you tightly.

“Y/N?” he whispered against your lips, and you hummed quietly to encourage him to continue. “You… I trust you to tell me if anything feels wrong, if you don’t want me to do something, if you feel uncomfortable or… whatever. Alright? No matter what it is. Okay?”

You looked up at him, pupils blown, and panting with want, hair already made a mess by your fingers, glasses a little lopsided upon his nose. You had never felt as safe as you did in this moment.

“Okay. Same for you. I trust you to tell me. And I trust you to stop, too.”

He gave you a reassuring smile, silently nodding. He kissed you again, tenderly, softly this time. Slow and loving.

“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, stealing all the air from your lungs.

“I love you too, Andy. I love you…”

You kissed him once more, passion making your movements more urgent again, he groaned when you gently captured his lower lip between your teeth.

“You’ll be the fucking death of me…” he murmured.

He let out a breathy chuckle, the kind that revealed he seemed barely able to believe this was real…

“Can I undress you?” he asked, voice deep and low, the sound alone making your entire body tremble.

“Yes… God, yes… Can I undress you?”

“Please, do…”

A second later, his jacket was on the ground; your shoes soon followed.

You felt the tip of his fingers glide up your waist, sneak behind you to touch the bare skin of your back. Every fibre of your being was on fire, boiling, burning, burning…

“Any boundary I should know about before we do this?” he asked, voice so deep, you thought you were losing your mind.

His warm breath was fanning over your lips and chin, reminding you how close he was.

“Erm… I don’t know… Nothing that could hurt, I guess…”

He chuckled sweetly.

“I’m not much of a bdsm kind of guy either, if that can reassure you.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed, you absolute softy…”

“Anything else?”

You couldn’t think straight, had nothing to add. You asked back the question.

“Nothing I can think of right now… but then… it’s hard to think at the moment.”

You both giggled at that, and if you were still both highly turned on, you bathed in the solace of the moment, all trust and tenderness.

“You’re still okay with me undressing you? With me touching you like this?” he asked, and you nodded.

“You too?”

He chuckled, something darker in his gaze as he bent closer to kiss you again.

“Y/N… you have no idea how much I want you…”

His lips moved to your jaw, your cheek, your neck. He nibbled at the tender flesh over your pulse, kissed and tasted your skin with a brush of his tongue…

Your legs were shaking, you were ready to combust right there, against your front door.

His fingers were back to your waist and then moved up your frame as he spoke again, a path excruciatingly slow across the velvety material of your dress, from your waist to the edge of your breasts. He flattened his hands on your stomach, and you took a sharp intake of breath at how big they felt across your torso.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he confessed into your ear, before sucking on the skin behind it. “Dreamt of you… Christ… I want you so fucking bad. The sins I want to commit with you…”

Then his hands left your stomach to travel down to your arse, and then to the back of your thighs, a silent demand to let him carry you to your bedroom. You didn’t hesitate as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his torso and kissing him again. You undid the buttons of his shirt while he walked to your bedroom, letting your fingers cover his breasts, touch his chest hair, fall across his stomach. He shuddered under your touch, his breathing stammering, and you felt so powerful like this, held within his arms and able to summon such reactions from him.

“God… I want to taste you so bad,” he confessed, and you were surprised at how straightforward he was about this. “Can I? Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Yes… yes, please…”

The undressing resumed, he peeled off your dress, your stockings, your underwear from you, and you pushed away his clothes as well.

There was so much awe in his gaze as he took you in, eyes travelling your body as if to make sure he would remember every inch. When he caught your gaze once more, you could read nothing but want and adoration in his dilated pupils.

A silent question, one last checking in to make sure you were still fine to continue, and you nodded, reaching up to touch him, no matter where, you only longed to feel the warmth of his skin under your palm. You untied his hair, the last item remaining on his body, while his glasses had been discarded to your bedside table a while ago. His hair fell down around the two of you, you giggled as it tickled your shoulders, and so did Andrew. When he lowered his lips to your skin again, it was with the intention to touch and kiss every inch of you, make sure you knew how much he longed to worship you.

Your eyes closed with his lips reaching at long last their final destination across your skin, and the groan he let out when you pulled on his hair as a reaction to your pleasure made you question whether this was real or merely one of your dreams.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier x fem!reader #hozier series #hozier au #hozier professor au #hozier fic #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #series #professor au

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crisispider · 1 year ago

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[ ◉¯] ✧˖° → @overclocks liked for a thing!

"Tooooooonnnnnyyyyy" He practically SINGS the older hero's name, it was unclear if he was here with an actual PURPOSE of if he had just come to BOTHER.

"How long you been in here man? You are starting to smell RIPE."

#[ ◉¯] ✧˖° → Let’s Do This One Last Time.. [ Main Verse ]#He lives to bug him

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mudpuddlenl · 1 month ago

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Hadestown Amsterdam details I love!

Before I do this, some info on when/who I saw. I saw the matinee on July 6th, from front row (seat 14, so around middle of the right front row section. Not close enough to the middle to have the lamps swinging over me, but a few seats away from it). This means I couldn’t see some big overview things, but could see quite some details!

Main cast had no covers/understudies. The Hermes I saw was Maarten Heijmans, and the workers I saw were Maxime Karsten, Mickey Vermeer, Tiago D’Hondt Bamberger, Winny Herbert, and Christopher Short.

Here we go!

Act 1

- Hermes does a little check-in with every chorus members/worker, Eurydice, and the band, before he starts singing

- when Eurydice asks for a match Orpheus immediately starts searching for one in his apron (and finds one, but Eurydice is closer to Hermes and takes his instead, and he’s kinda sad about it)

- Eurydice is absolutely demanding Orpheus sings his song during Wedding Song. Like she’s not asking. She’s demanding he sings it and is super angry he hasn’t tried to fix spring with it yet

- The fates are such taunting/mocking assholes in this one btw (said with so much love). Their every action screams “here to cause drama and happy about it”. Actively laughing about it and making the finger wave type handgestures types of taunting/mocking assholes

- Persephone throws the bouquet in her bag as if it’s a bridal bouquet at the beginning of living it up on top (one of the chorus/workers catches it)

- She interacts with front row a bit during LIUOT too. I think she winked at me (or at least in my direction)

- Eurydice has this almost scared and feral animal feel to her in her verse of All I’ve Ever Known. She grabs him by his shirt, pushing and shaking him, he reaches out to her and she shrinks away as if scared… it’s intense

- Hermes’ silly little leg kick when he comes to the front with the parasol :) (you can see it in the trailer actually. Tumblr won’t let me add a link for it but if you look up Hadestown Amsterdam you should be able to find it)

- The end of Way Down Hadestown is incredible but special shout-out to the awkward silence after “kinda makes you wonder how it feels” - Hades kinda stares at Eurydice and Orpheus literally jumps in front of her in a protective stance (Eurydice steps in front of him again at “all aboard” and you can tell Orpheus is worried about it)

- Orpheus is sitting to the right side at a table with his back to most of the stage for a big part of act 1. He’s writing his song (only standing up from it to perform his lines in the songs). He’s there until the start of Wait for Me, after which he stands up excited about something and goes to Hermes, and Wait for Me kicks off

- Wait for me was incredible as always but especially in front row, the smoke/fog would come into it. Still 100% visibility but just added a ton of immersion

- The workers also came in from the side and attached the lamps themselves

- A lot of fog on the ground in general for most of the underworld scenes

- They made the last “free” in Why We Build The Wall a very quiet calm one and it was incredible

Act 2

- Hermes leads out an already very drunk Persephone for OLOTU, and she’s trying to get him to drink more as well (he does end up getting another cup, but is very measured and slow with it, he stands to the left of the stage leaning against a bench or table for most of the song)

- OLOTU was just Persephone and the band (and Hermes watching). The fates came in halfway through during Persephone calling out the band

- She made a lot of cool choices but I couldn’t focus on any of them because she sang part of the second verse directly to me. Like, eye contact, very slightly bowed down, gesturing, the whole deal. I am in love I think! I won at life!

- There is so much to talk about here and I might have forgotten some of it sorry

- Persephone is on stage the whole time, though not always in the spotlight. She sat by the piano for Flowers and there was just. Such heartbreak on her face (and she also sometimes looked away)

- Orpheus comes running through the audience for come home with me II and they are instantly hugging

- Hugs that are simultaneously someone shielding the other! Hugs that are simultaneously someone shielding the other!!!!

- Going to give a flashing lights warning for Papers here for anyone who’s going to see it who might be sensitive to it. It’s only a small bit of it (5-10 seconds at most) but it’s intense

- The fates drag Eurydice off of Orpheus (dragging her out of a hug, in fact) but I’m pretty sure she’s actually upstage in the dark with the fates for most if not all of it. She saw all that

- absolutely no break between papers and nothing changes. Like right into the other one could think it was the same song. I’m talking not a single beat. Orpheus does not look at the fates during this he’s just lying there in pain at the very front of the stage (same place where Eurydice ends up at the end of When the Chips Are Down, actually)

- in the beginning of If It’s True, he sings at the very least part of the first verse directly to Eurydice (and she’s shaking her head to him but not saying anything)

- He also later sings “tell me what to do” directly to Eurydice

- Eurydice is also the last of the workers to stand up

- During the beginning of Chant II, Persephone is trying super hard to connect with Orpheus, like panicked chasing after him on the turntable kind of super hard, but is unsuccessful (they keep drifting past eachother)

- This Hades is also way more like, taunting/mocking and also kinda aggressive sometimes? Very dominant but a bit hotheaded

- The lights at “I conduct the electric city” went very bright then dark with a like, power outage ish feel to it (complete with sound). Only to then switch to immediate bright white spotlight on hades on the balcony

- The last verse of Epic III was altered. I don’t remember all of the new lyrics but man it HIT

- I didn’t mention it before because it was irrelevant back then but all the workers except Eurydice wear these head caps/head protection things/bandanas? They have the headlight and the goggles on them. During Epic III they take them off to reveal their actual hair and it makes them look like individuals again rather than all the same workers. (With the way they played it, I headcanon this is when they got their own memories back and remembered their name again)

- Hades is PISSED during Epic III. As soon as Orpheus starts comparing his relationship to Hades’, he attempts to step in and stop him. Persephone has to actively stop him and tell him to “let him finish, hades!”

- He gets even MORE pissed when more people join into Epic III. He starts actively yelling “SILENCE!” and trying to intimidate the workers, but is drowned out by the singing. He points accusingly at Hermes but isn’t able to get to him. He stands nose to nose with Orpheus in the center as the workers dance around them and he closes his eyes and bows his head down to not look at him and presses his hands to his ears.

- He struggles with the first “la la la” and almost gives up, but Persephone stands in front of him reaching out and he tries again, and succeeds this time. He and Persephone join hands and he opens his to reveal the red flower. Persephone puts it in his vest. :)

- The dancing was delightful. There was a kind of youth and childishness to it. He’d spin her around and she’d run around the stage like she sometimes would in her drunk dancing, but this time with joy behind it. They attempt a move, fail, look at eachother like “nevermind” and laugh. They do fakeouts and small teasing and silly dancing to make eachother laugh, and they laugh together. Hades lost his flower but they didn’t care (Hermes ended up giving it back to him for His Kiss, The Riot). It was just incredible. In the end, they hug. (They hold this hug through the entirety of promises)

- The line “I don’t know where this road will end, but I’ll walk it with you hand in hand” is partially sung to the workers (Eurydice runs up to them and quickly holds each of their hands as she sings)

- One of the fates has little bells on a string she like, manoeuvres between her hands (the other two are still violin and accordion) during His Kiss, The Riot

- Doubt Comes In was incredible. Incredible lighting and use of the turn tables, Eurydice would be there one moment and be gone the next. It really made you feel what Orpheus went through!

- At the end of doubt comes in, Orpheus moves up to the stairs to the right of the stage (there’s light shining from there). He turns on the stairs while nearly at the light.

(This image is the stage at the beginning of act 1 since I forgot to take one of beginning of act 2, but you can still see the stairs here (to the right of the instruments on the right side). During wait for me, the wall splits into 3 pieces (I think the seams are pretty visible in the picture). The drummer was placed in the booth behind the bar)

- You can FEEL the despair on Eurydice’s face as she falls back. She clutches her hands over her face and tries to cry out but can’t

- Orpheus lies fully flat face down looking at the hole she fell in, and keeps this pose for most of road to hell II

- When he does stand up, he just walks up those same stairs in despair and leaves the stage

- During Eurydice’s segment near the end of Road to Hell II, she finds the red flower in her jacket quickly after lighting the candle. She seemed like she vaguely recognized it (and was confused by recognizing it)

- Orpheus also steps forward again when she asks for a match :)

- During we raise our cups, they make sure to also have workers bring cups to the band!

Small edit: actually found a video of the bows and We Raise Our Cups from the show I was at! (If you look closely, you might be able to spot me)

youtube

The video doesn’t show it but the band played a little while longer even after Hermes went offstage and we were all clapping and still standing up and it was a lot of fun :D

#my posts #Hadestown #Hadestown nl #hadestown Amsterdam #Youtube

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crisispider · 2 years ago

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Peter wasn't even A LITTLE surprised when the kid eventually lost the battle with their stomach. He had watched far too many people empty their stomach over the years that never even remotely phased him. "Nah please, that's NOTHING! I could tell you countless stories that are way worse than throwing up in an alley.

"Do you at least fee any better?"

" Ope, nope. Nope. Too late. " She spins around and doubles over, trying to be as quiet as possible, all form of decorum forgotten. " Sorry. I don't generally yak that often. Must have been something I ate or...The only time I do actually barf is due to my seasickness. " Ramsey stands back up and wipes their mouth with the back of their hand. " That was... humiliating. "

#999spider #➤ Let’s Do This One Last Time.. [ Main ITSV Verse ]#[ ◉¯] ✧˖° → Queued

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alexanderlightweight · 26 days ago

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I'm losing my mind over the most fragile of poisons lmao. I'd love to see a continuation where Alec sees how powerful Magnus is and just decides to keep seeing him as a damsel in distress. sfw/nsfw 🩷

i do love that verse so i'm glad and here is the last part. i hope you enjoy! this is somewhat based on the prompt as in he's never actually seen magnus as truly a damsel in distress (despite magnus' best attempts) he's just overly attentive and protective and thinks magnus is wonderful and capable but shouldn't need to if he doesn't want to because alec is more than happy to. like magnus could bring an umbrella and alec would be like 'but i have wings :( '

<3 lumine

the most fragile of poisons

Magnus is reclining on his throne when the feeling of a cool breath against his nape sends tingles down his spine.

It’s the ghost of Alexander’s breath when he sleeps and a sign that his boy has crossed one of Magnus’ wards. How Alexander got this close without Magnus realizing sooner, he’s not sure. That changes nothing as Magnus realizes his shadowhunter is entering Pandemonium.

Most likely out of desperation.

Magnus knew Alexander had been trying to get permission to enter Brooklyn, but he hadn’t known his boy would be this foolish. However he should have, with the way Alexander has been more and more tired and listless of late. The rifts are getting worse and Magnus knows Alexander needs official permission to request warlock liaisons. However he’s denied every attempt and it’s because it wasn’t time.

It’s not the right time yet either, however leaving means several things including leaving Alexander alone in Magnus’ court.

Magnus knows his choice the moment his eyes take in Alexander as he enters the main floor. His boy’s wings are out. Alexander’s precious feathers are within snatching distance of greedy fingers. And while no one would dare pluck one, Magnus knows many would risk a touch.

His magic is not blue but red with possessive fervor as he clears a path and stalks down his dais to Alexander. Despite the clear warning a hand reaches out as if to touch and Magnus unravels the body before it can dare.

A wing comes up on instinct, blocking him from blood and gore and Alexander is looking at him with wide, awed eyes that don’t look angry at all. The little smile on his lips is one of pleasure and he doesn’t resist as Magnus grabs him by his quiver and hauls him up and to his throne.

“I told you not to come here.”

“You said it was dangerous. That I shouldn’t risk it. Not that you were the king, Magnus.” Alexander’s eyes widen dramatically, “are you dangerous to me then?”

—

Alec knows he’s playing with fire but he feels justified in the way Magnus bristles in offense at the question.

Serves him right for all the times Alec’s been worried about him. If he’d just told Alec he was this powerful months ago, well, Alec would have slept a lot better.

“I will be in bed if you keep this up.” Magnus tells him and Alec just smiles and ignores the countless eyes on them as he lets his feathers fluff up and arc around Magnus. Alec is thoroughly pinned down to Magnus' throne, Magnus sitting on him with possessive ease.

“That’s fine, can you lean forward?” Alec ignores the threat, because Magnus can posture all he wants. But Alec knows that no matter his rank, Magnus is rather particular about his hair and Alec is worried he’s got a bit of viscera in it. “Thank you.” Alec tells him, because Magnus did lean forward even if if was only to wrap one of his arm’s around Alec’s waist. Alec uses his fingers to carefully thread through Magnus’ hair, preening it with careful intent before deciding it’s clean.

“You are upset.”

Alec snorts, because yes that’s true but with the way Magnus is acting, Alec doesn’t think he knows why.

“Because I was worried about you. I’m relieved, and trying not to think about how you just keep getting more attractive. Because I have a difficult enough time not thinking about you constantly.”

—

Alexander pouting at him because Magnus is apparently, too attractive is a boost to Magnus’ ego he wasn’t anticipating. As is Alexander’s continued care and attention.

Magnus wasn’t expecting this.

He was expecting to soothe feelings and settle accusations of betrayal. Not being told that Alexander had been worried. That it was only concern being held against him. Especially when Alexander settles, done preening Magnus’ hair to look at him directly.

“You didn’t want me to know?”

There’s an underlying note of uncertainty, perhaps even of hurt that have anger spiking in Magnus’ veins.

“I didn’t want to lose you. I know my own reputation, Alexander. We both do."

Alexander blinks at him, “you think I like you because I thought you had limits?”

“You’re a shadowhunter, Alexander. How am I supposed to know what a shadowhunter sees in warlock. Most of your kind would rather light me on fire than find me attractive. You know you're an outlier."

“I find it a relief that you’re unlikely to be threatened and more than capable of handling threats if you are. Most shadowhunters are attracted to strength. It’s considered odd not to be. But I liked you because of you. Power didn’t matter. You are magical enough on your own, no matter your abilities.” Alexander shrugs and presses his forehead to Magnus’ own. “That's what mattered."

“Liked?” Magnus asks, because he's always been the first to reopen a wound.

“Well you’re uh—” Alexander’s cheeks flush and he grins at Magnus in a way that has the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re even more magical than I thought. I did and do like you ,a lot. But I fell a little in love with you when you parted the room and pulled me up to throw me on your throne by my own quiver.”

Magnus tries very hard not to show both his victory and his panic.

This is going nothing like he expected and he needs to show Alexander all of himself.

Now.

Before this fantasy crumbles and while Magnus can still use the tender lure of new affection to see how Alexander reacts.

AN:

alec is very sincere. he's only holding his own anxiety against magnus and he finds him even more attractive and he's like 'wait you can just immolate people as well?'

alec: wow he's even more competent. i'm so lucky.

magnus: how is he real?

magnus has more warlock marks in this verse that's what he's worried about.

#lumine writes #writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #the most fragile of poisons #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters

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bumblebeeonthistle · 2 months ago

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Anyone up for a game of tag?...with ODM gear?...where Levi's it?

Tags: Levi/Reader, slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, canon verse

Characters: Reader, Levi Ackerman, Hange Zöe

Summary: On orders from Erwin Smith, you have received private training lessons with Levi since you started as a cadet. One evening, Levi suggests that you play tag – for training purposes only, of course.

Excerpt from my Levi X Reader fic

It’s been months since you’ve last seen Hange, so as soon as you spot the familiar tall figure approaching beside a noticeably shorter silhouette, you feel your mood rise considerably.

Damn it. You’re growing soft, you guess.

“Hey, little prodigy!” they call, waving their arms at you in their signature greeting.

You’re just about to offer a half-hearted wave when you suddenly find yourself enveloped in a strong embrace.

“I missed you, little P,” they coo, their nose buried in your hair.

“I refuse to be named after a bodily fluid. That’s where I draw the line,” you scowl, trying to pull away from them without hurting them.

And failing.

“No no, not pee, but P! As in the letter P – for prodigy!”

“Nobody but you will know the difference!” you groan.

“What about L then? For little? Or for Levi’s, you decide.”

“I hate you,” you grumble.

Maybe not so soft after all.

And to think you’d been happy to see them.

You turn to Levi for support, but he only shrugs as if to tell you that you’re on your own this time.

Traitor.

“Can’t you just call me by my name?” you complain.

“Where’s the fun in that? Levi here is Shorty, I’m Four-Eyes or Glasses, and you’re our little prodigy!”

“I think you forgot the prefix to Glasses,” you mutter, earning you a twitch of Levi’s lips.

“So, should we start training, or are we just gonna stand here and chitchat all night?” you snap.

Before any of them can answer, you’ve grabbed Levi by the wrist and proceeded to haul him with you into the woods.

It’s first when you reach your forest clearing that you realise how casually you’d just touched him. Of course, you’ve done similarly before, but that was before the whole almost-kissing thing.

Mortified, you let go of his hand and whirl around to apologise, but he shushes you with a finger on your lips. “Do you really think you could have dragged me here if I hadn’t let you?” he muses, eyes twinkling silver and mouth curled into a smirk.

Your scowl immediately returns, and you stomp away from him.

“Oi, how are we supposed to train if you’re leaving?”

His words make you halt in the middle of the clearing. You can hear him approach you from behind and turn around to face him. “Okay, what’s on the program today then?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“We’ll play tag.”

You feel your jaw drop.

He can’t be serious…right?

“You’re catching flies,” Levi says dryly.

It takes some time before you’re finally able to string together a coherent sentence.

“What are we, five years old?” you scoff.

“It’ll be good ODM practice,” he points out.

You think about it for a moment before concluding that he’s right. Not that you like it – you’ll probably spend the whole night chasing him around, or the whole night being caught by him. Neither of which you’re particularly excited for.

“Who’s it?” you ask.

Levi’s eyes darken. It sends chills down your spine and you can’t decide whether it’s from anticipation or fear. Probably a bit of both.

“I am. You have a head start of thirty seconds.”

It takes you a moment to realise that you need to get the hell away right now if you don’t want to get caught within the next minute.

You shoot into the air and begin zipping through the forest. If you can get far enough away, he won’t be able to hear the whizzing of your wires – because regardless of how much you oil the main housing, you know Levi will still be able to hear that – and you might be able to use the darkness to your advantage.

But you know it’s in vain when you hear him set off the ground after twenty-seven seconds have passed – because if you’re able to hear him, then he probably already knows where you are too.

Dammit.

Levi catches up to you after an embarrassingly short amount of time, like a shadow following you through the night. It doesn’t take long before you see the figure whizzing only a dozen metres to your right. You know you can’t outrun him so instead, you wait for him to get closer.

Closer.

Just a little closer.

Close…closer…closer…

Without warning, you drop to the ground. As you’d hoped, Levi continues his trajectory for a split second longer – enough for you to shoot in the opposite direction.

You swerve in and out of the trees, so fast that it takes all your concentration not to collide with anything. The wind whips your hair around your face and you feel your eyes sting and water. Furiously, you try to blink away the tears so they won’t obscure your view.

And before you know it, you’re back at your clearing. You aim for a tree on the opposite side, scanning the area for a glimpse of silver, listening for the faintest sound of whizzing wires.

But the forest has gone silent.

Too silent.

You should have known he was only waiting to ambush you.

As you shoot over the clearing, a figure comes hurtling at you from the side, too fast for you to avoid. The last thing you see before you’re thrown off course is Levi’s eyes and a glint of teeth. The impact of your collision knocks the breath out of your lungs as you both speed towards a large tree.

You feel Levi’s arms form a protective cage around your body, and he’s basically carrying you by the time he lands elegantly on a tree branch.

He loosens his grip on you slightly. “Got you,” he breathes into your ear before finally letting you go.

You stumble out of his arms, thinking that it wouldn’t surprise you if you keeled over from embarrassment right now.

Laughter sounds from below, and you spot Hange eyeing you from another tree, their long legs dangling over a branch and notebook at the ready.

“I suck at this,” you grumble.

Geez, you hadn’t even been able to evade him for longer than a couple of minutes at most – and he’d practically princess carried you because you were thrown totally off course during your collision and hadn’t been able to land properly yourself.

Levi’s fingers twitch at his sides before he curls them into fists, hiding them in his pocket as he answers. “It’s still a couple of minutes longer than most would’ve been able to.”

“If you say so,” you huff.

Then, you square your shoulders, sauntering over to him.

Fake it till you make it, or whatever the saying is.

“Well, is it my turn now?” you ask.

You really don’t look forward to chasing Levi around the forest – you’ll probably end up playing this stupid game until curfew starts because there’s no way you’ll be able to catch Levi if he doesn’t want to get caught – but you can still pretendto be confident, right?

“You don’t need to give me any head-start,” he says, just before setting off from the ground.

“You little--”

Seething, you set off after him.

As you’d predicted, you spend the rest of the evening following Levi around the forest.

You curse and yell and try any dirty trick you can think of to catch him off guard, to make him veer off course, to make him slow down. Anything that would give you just a glimpse of a chance of catching him.

But he’s always just beyond your reach. Sometimes, you think he’s letting you catch up to him on purpose, just to tease you – to let your fingertips barely graze the hem of his cloak just before he speeds up again, leaving you behind frustrated and fuming.

It’s like a game of cat and mouse, but where the mouse is the one toying with the cat instead of the other way around. And by the time training is finished, you’re gasping for breath, your uniform sticking uncomfortably to your back.

You land heavily on the ground after Levi calls it a night, swaying on the spot.

“Hey.” A firm grip steadies you before you collapse onto the forest ground. “Hey, breathe.”

“I’m trying to,” you hiss, “but someone made me chase them around the whole forest for an entire two hours!”

“Actually, it was only one hour and forty-three minutes,” Hange informs you.

You send them a nasty glare. They just shrug, then busies themselves with flipping through their notebook.

Sighing, you turn towards Levi. “So, am I excused now? I could really use a bath.”

“Actually…”

Read the rest on ao3 if you're interested! Call my name || Levi X Reader

#levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #levi aot #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #aot fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #hange zoe #hange zöe

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merrybloomwrites · 4 months ago

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When The Wolves Come Out (Chapter 3)

Story Summary: When Y/N gets hired to play drums for One Direction, the last thing she expects is to find herself as part of their pack. Especially since it seems that they don’t want her there. Only time will tell if they’ll accept her, or if the omega will have to deal with rejection from the others.

Chapter Summary: Throughout rehearsals and the start of tour, the boys continue to keep their distance from Y/N, leading to her developing touch deprivation.

Previous chapters: One , Two

Word Count: 1.9K

Tags/CW: omega verse, omega reader, alpha Harry, alpha Zayn, alpha Louis, beta Niall, beta Liam, poly, cat calling, touch deprivation

AN: Normally I write longer chapters (like 3k-6K words) but I’m enjoying these shorter quicker chapters for this series. Feels like it works better, plus there’s less waiting time between posting, which I know I enjoy as a reader haha

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

The beeping of your alarm slowly wakes you up, and you get ready hoping that today will be better than yesterday. It’s your first official rehearsal with the band, and you hope to win over the others by being able to show off your skill. If yesterday's meeting is anything to go by, you won’t be winning them over by your charming personality. Not when they’re apparently so determined to not let anyone get close to them.

Just before leaving you pick up your bottle of scent neutralizers, about to methodically put them on before remembering the rules Simon had for you. He told you not to wear blockers, that they should always be able to pick up on your floral omega scent. You don’t really like this, as it makes you feel vulnerable, especially in a city you’re unfamiliar with, but you follow the rule anyway.

The rehearsal space is a bit farther than the offices were, so you leave early to make sure you give yourself enough time to walk there. A wrong turn takes you down an alley that leads to a side street. Checking your map app shows this will get you where you need to be, so you follow it rather than turning around.

The main street had been loud and filled with people, most probably on their morning commute. But this way is quiet, practically deserted. You nearly jump out of your skin when a voice shouts out, “Hey pretty thing!”

Turning around you see a man behind you. You can get just a whiff of his scent but it’s enough to know he’s an alpha. Internally cursing yourself for taking a back road, you start walking faster.

The footsteps behind you grow louder, and you know that the man has picked up his pace to get closer to you. Now panicking, you start jogging down the road. You just need to get to the end of the street so you can turn back to the busier part of the city and you’ll be safe.

Just as you get there he seems to admit defeat, and angrily shouts out, “You shouldn’t be wandering all alone with a sweet scent like that!”

Doing your best to ignore that comment, you finish your walk and arrive at the rehearsal space. You try to compose yourself, but you’re still shaky, and you know your scent has probably turned a bit sour from the fear you’d just been feeling.

After taking some deep breaths you walk into the room. Niall, Louis, Harry, Zayn, and Liam are all there, and they turn to look at you. After quick good mornings they go back to what they’d been doing. Not wanting to bother anyone, you head to the drums and take out the music you’d been sent.

As you flip through the pages, you sense eyes on you. Looking up you see Louis staring your way, his eyes calculating, even a little bit worried. Like he can sense something is wrong. Maybe he does have some alpha instincts in him. But instead of coming over to check if you’re okay, he simply shrugs and goes to talk with Niall.

Finally the rest of the band and the music director arrive and it’s time to actually get to work. It’s a bit chaotic at first, but it doesn’t take long for everyone to click. By the time you break for lunch, any negative feelings have gone away, replaced now by excitement.

You grab food and sit at one of the tables, soon being joined by the boys. At first you think this is an improvement in your friendship with them. But then they start talking among themselves, barely acknowledging that you’re there.

Rehearsals last a few more hours, and everyone’s ready to head home by the time you’re dismissed. As you head outside you’re surprised by Zayn saying, “Good work today.”

“Yea, you’re really talented,” Harry adds.

“Glad you’re on the team,” Louis then says before all five of them get into their car.

While walking home you think about that interaction. The words were nice, even if they seemed almost reluctant to say them. Sighing to yourself, you accept that for now, you’re looking at an amicable working relationship at best.

You just hope Simon can accept that as well.

Weeks pass in a flurry of planning, rehearsing, fittings, and numerous meetings to make sure everything is ready for the upcoming tour.

A few days before setting out, Louis gets called in to meet with Simon once again.

“Y/N will be joining you on your bus,” he states with no preamble.

“Excuse me?” Louis says, shocked by this news.

“She’s an omega. She’ll need to be close to alphas while touring.”

“She’s an omega. What if she slips into heat? Or one of us goes into rut? It’s not safe!”

“You know that won’t happen,” Simon answers. “You’re all on the best suppressants, not a chance you’ll fall into a cycle unexpectedly. You just don't want her around, and to be honest, I'm disappointed in you boys. You’ve rejected her since she got here, pushed her away, ostracized her.”

“We didn’t ask for her to be here. She’s a great drummer, and we respect her as a musician. But as we said before, she isn’t going to just push her way into our pack.”

“And as I’ve said before, you cannot be a pack without her. She will be on your bus. Maybe the time together will open your mind.”

Louis leaves that day feeling frustrated, like his words don’t matter. He gets home and shares the news with the rest.

“I don’t like this,” Zayn says.

“Seems like a bad idea,” Harry agrees.

“What if having her around triggers one of your ruts?” Liam asks nervously.

“I said that to Simon, he said it won’t happen cause of our meds,” Louis replies, clearly still agitated from the meeting. Niall moves close to him, tucking to the alphas side in an attempt to comfort and calm him. It helps, but Louis suddenly thinks that it might be nice to have the true calming pheromones of an omega when he’s upset.

He shakes away the thought a moment later and instead enjoys a night with his pack.

He manages to put the news of their bus mate out of his mind for the following days, but as they load up to get on the road there’s no denying it.

“D’ya think you could wear some scent blockers?” Louis asks you the first night.

“Not allowed,” you reply curtly.

“What do you mean not allowed?” Harry asks.

“I mean that Simon told me I can’t wear them. It’s one of my rules.”

“He’s such a wanker,” you hear Zayn say under his breath.

Not wanting to cause any problems, you get into your bunk and try to sleep. Even with all the stress you’re feeling, the familiar lull of the bus driving down the highway helps you fall asleep in minutes.

The next morning is tense, and you can feel the boys' annoyance at your presence. The logical human part of you knows it must be difficult to have someone new, especially someone with a strong scent, invade their bus. The omega part of you is less understanding. It’s on edge, upset at the rejection of the others.

Luckily you arrive at the first venue, and you no longer have to worry about your dynamic with the others. Now it’s time to just worry about your job, about putting on a perfect show for the fans.

And that’s just what all of you do. Opening night is a success, and everyone heads back to the bus on a high. You’re even invited to hang with them in the lounge as everyone comes down from the adrenaline of performing.

For a little while, everything feels right. But then it shifts once more and you find yourself being pushed out of the conversation again. Not only that, but you watch as the boys huddle closer together. Liam rests his head on Louis’ chest, and Niall finds himself sandwiched between Zayn and Harry. The betas look perfectly content, and your omega cries out for that kind of affection.

Not wanting to broadcast your feelings to the others, you rush out a good night and head to your bunk. You spray scent neutralizers on the curtain that separates you from the rest of the bus, hoping it will block your scent from getting out.

More than that, you don’t want the boys knowing about the scented clothes from your former pack mates. You still have a couple from both Kevin and Joe, and you pull out one shirt from each of them. You place them by your pillow so their scent will be close to you. It’s a sad imitation of a nest, but it’s the best you can do.

As weeks pass you start feeling drained. You write it off as exhaustion from the constant work and travel. But then you start to get shaky, cold, itchy, not to mention the headaches that seem to get worse daily.

The European leg of tour ends, and you all spend a few weeks in South America for a run of shows there. After the first few days you finally admit that you’re experiencing touch deprivation. It shocks you, since you’re constantly surrounded by alphas. Their scents around you should be enough to keep this all at bay.

But their constant rejection of you must be distressing your omega more than you’d realized. It’s never that they did anything major. They were never mean, or rude. They included you at mealtimes, would check in and see how you were doing. But it was always them just being polite.

You’d also learned the dynamic between the five of them was deeper than you originally thought. On numerous occasions you’d walked in on them being physically intimate with each other. You’d seen duos, trios, even walked in on all five of them on the floor together sharing kisses.

Even though you hadn’t expected that, it didn’t bother you. Part of you was happy for them, glad they had one another, and that they all seemed to have a healthy relationship.

The part that did bother you was the jealousy you felt. You wanted that type of intimacy as well. Every time you watched the alphas dote on Niall or Liam, you’d feel another pang of jealousy rip through you. It’s not like you were looking for a relationship, but seeing how happy they were, it felt like they were rubbing it in your face.

Plus the pheromones. They were overwhelming. Especially whenever the boys would get intimate. That always led to you hiding in your bunk and breaking the no scent blockers rule. Anything to prevent the others from picking up on the sweet smell of your slick.

As the symptoms of touch deprivation worsen, you count down the days until your first US show. It’s at MetLife Stadium, and you consider it your hometown show. Your family and previous pack members will be there to support you. If you can just make it to New Jersey, you can spend time with Kevin and Joe. Hopefully being around the alphas will help with the depri.

And hopefully your bandmates will accept you as one of their own before it’s too late.

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AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one should see the dynamic between reader and the band starting to shift, which I’m excited for!

#harry styles x reader #one direction fanfiction #one direction x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #niall horan x reader #zayn malik x reader #liam payne x reader #omegaverse #alpha beta omega

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