#in the immortal words of kit... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sayoneee · 1 year ago

Text

☆ AND I KNOW IT’S OVER (STILL I CLING)

percy jackson, who never seems to know when to quit, keeps coming back. (2.9k)

contains: percy jackson x daughter of minor god! reader. post tlo (alt universe - everyone lives). book percy descriptions. apollo (derogatory).

kashaf’s note: book percy descriptions bc that was my first love. (sry if i get some of the words wrong, english isnt my first language pls be patient!!)

SUMMER BURNS. at camp half-blood, the scorching heat has dwindled to soft caresses, from the heat of the fire during sing-alongs where your cabin joins hands and toasts marshmallows to the cool breeze balming the sun’s glare at its zenith in the sprawling strawberry fields. at home, the scorching heat leaves marks — the biker with flames for pupils who clutched an openly bleeding wound as he thrust a first-aid kit at you, and the girl not much older than yourself with tears marring her face as she handed you a pregnancy test to ring up, avoiding your curious (sympathetic) gaze.

however, despite it all — you stand infallible, much like your grandfather’s part convenience store and part pharmacy, a poor man’s family heirloom.

you stand idly, flipping through an edition of seventeen when the rusty door swings open to admit a familiar face — with unruly black hair and an equally reckless grin (you know exactly who it is from the ba-dum of your heartbeat), the infamous son of poseidon (with the same smile as shawn hunter from boy meets world) is easily recognizable.

you glance at the crimson blooming around the crevices of his knuckles, tightly gripping a faded and worn-out skateboard, his scruffy converse squeaking across the tiled floor, raising an eyebrow as you coolly say, “band-aids are in the back, on the right.”

jackson laughs, an all-consuming sound (the wind-blown half-blood hill where apollo seemed to smile down at you, the laughter, like the memory, evanescent), “thanks, doc.”

you discreetly watch him perusing the aisles, before stopping in front of the ancient fridge — your grandfather’s store was something of an 80s pompeii with the peeling posters of back to the future and motley crue and the antiquated maroon and cream color scheme — and pulling out an arizona green tea.

when he finally goes to look for band-aids, you attempt to fix your attention back on the magazine in your hands, but like a moth driven to a flame, percy jackson was unbelievably hard to look away from (a magnet among mortals and immortals alike).

jackson’s hands are on his hips, his tupac t-shirt creasing, thick brows furrowed as he decides between different types of candy with the same intensity as a single mother with two children and a nine-to-five (even in the mortal world, there is something else entirely about him, something that made it so that you could never truly write him off).

when he approaches the register again, it’s hard not to look up and watch his ascent. when he finally does come to a stop in front of you, he looks the same as he did the last summer, though the tiny silver trident earring is new, the camp beads resting peacefully atop his collarbones aren’t.

you ring up his items: a box of band-aids, the arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks, looking away from him all the while.

“good to see ya, doc,” jackson says, a wry grin on his face, and his eyes are so green — as green as they were at twelve.

“it’s never good to see you, jackson,” you snark back, reciting his total, “four ninety-five, by the way.”

he laughs again (your heart goes ba-dum again), and hands you a five dollar bill, shoving his things into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his baggy jeans, with a salute on his way out (his turning back was a sight far more innocuous than the last time).

the next time jackson breaks whatever tacit agreement lies between the two of you, your hands are similarly stained. reds and purples line your palms, much like the burgundy seemingly permanently staining your grandmother’s fingertips; the culprit (the bowl of pomegranate seeds) sits innocently beside you.

“back again?” you say, glancing at the familiar scarlet stains adorning jackson’s hands (a familiar blue friendship bracelet sits on his wrist, edges frayed with five years of wear, and there’s a lump in your throat).

“why, did you miss me?” jackson asks, again with that wry grin of his, skateboard in hand.

“you’re the one who came back,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest, willing the constricting feeling to disappear.

“doc, i’m sorry to have to be the one that has to break this to you,” he sighs sympathetically, putting a bleeding hand over his heart, “but the sun doesn’t revolve around you.”

“actually, jackson, the sun kind of does revolve around me, ‘cause y’know apollo, the sun god apollo? my grandpa apollo? my grandpa, the sun god, apollo?”

“going by your logic, that would mean time revolves around me, ‘cause y’know kronos, the time titan kronos? my grandpa kronos? my grandpa, the time titan, kronos?” jackson says, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets down another band-aid box, an arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks on the counter.

“y’know, if you cared this much, you might’ve passed greek,” you say, referring to the progress report cards you were handed at the end of summer.

he shrugged, handing you another five dollar bill, and proceeding to shove everything into his black holes of jean pockets, “yeah, well — wait, are those pomegranates?”

“yeah,” you say, “i peeled them myself — do you want some?”

(your father liked these, your grandmother had said earlier this afternoon, your mother liked to peel them for him, as i peeled them for her, and your grandfather.)

jackson suddenly looked bashful, fidgeting with the hem of his a tribe called quest t-shirt, “i’ve never had pomegranates before,” he confessed.

you blinked, taken aback, “you’re seventeen years old and you’ve never eaten a pomegranate before?” you pushed the china bowl toward him, “now you have to eat it.”

“my mom liked telling me the myths when i was younger,” he begins, setting down his skateboard, and reaching for the spoon before halting, like he was shocked, “she told me about persephone —”

“jackson,” you say, sardonically, leaning over the register to look him in the eye (there was always a storm brewing in his eyes), “i promise you, hades won’t come out of the ground and drag you to the underworld if you eat the pomegranate seeds i peeled.”

“i know what my next sleep paralysis demon is gonna be — thanks to you,” jackson says, looking down at the bowl and its floral blue pattern around the edges, playing with the spoon, and shifting the seeds from side to side.

“percy jackson, i swear to asclepius, you’re missing out on pomegranates,” you say, coming out from behind the register, and looking percy in the eye again, and there is something so earnest, so raw about your next sentence that his breath catches, “and, i swear on the styx, if hades does somehow come out of the ground to drag you down to the underworld, i’ll come down myself to drag you out, even if it’s tartarus.”

a rumble of thunder can be heard overhead despite the clear sky and scalding sun; percy blinks, before breaking out into a slow grin (your stomach seems to grow wings of its own, on the verge of flight.)

“invoking your dad, huh, doc? these pomegranates must be serious,” percy says, finally taking a bite — stepping around the bomb you just dropped.

you watch him intently, studying him as you studied tennyson and homer, “they are that serious.” there is something innocent about the way he eats, starved like every other teenage boy with black holes for stomachs.

“y’know, i can put that into a tupperware container and you can take it with you, right?” you offer.

“really?” percy asks through a mouthful of seeds, looking up from the bowl at you, “won’t you think i’ll steal it or something?”

“not really,” you shrugged, “i trust ms. jackson.”

percy nods solemnly — sally jackson is sally jackson after all, a queen among women, and an achilles of sorts, with her soft smile and steely eyes.

steeling your nerves, this is already the longest conversation you’ve had (ignoring the forever-ago late-night debriefs under a firmament of stars), you step up to the plate and take a swing, “how is she, by the way, haven’t seen her in a while.”

percy swallowed, eyebrows furrowing, “great — oh, wait, did i tell you she was seeing someone new now?”

“no way, really? good for her, honestly. i know, poseidon’s a god and all, but like, she’s always deserved just, so much more.” (you manage to make contact with the change-up thrown your way.)

there is something so sincere about your words, that percy can’t help but grin back, finally reaching the depths of his sea-green eyes, and there is something still so boyish about him, that you can hardly believe any time has passed at all, and that somewhere within this demigod who successfully defeated kronos, while saving luke, there is still a semblance of your percy.

“yeah, the guy, paul blofis, he’s an english teacher — absolutely worships the ground she walks on.”

“sounds perfect for her.”

“you should come over some time — see her, meet paul, y’know,” percy offers, still funneling spoonfuls of pomegranates, meeting your gaze head-on (this is the home run you were waiting on).

you grinned, a slow smile overtaking your face, pushing your hands in the pockets of your jeans, “might just take you up on that, before you change your mind.” (you’re leaving the ball in his hands now; it’s up to him to tag you out or let you reach home base safely.)

“nah, i won’t change my mind, unlike someone else i know.”

you ignore the jab (a smaller, suppressed part of you itches to shoot a reply back), instead choosing to focus on the hesitant hand of friendship being offered — as your father liked to say, keep moving forward.

you shrugged, and you swear, for a second you think the intensity of his gaze has lessened, almost as if disappointed. almost as if mentally shaking it off, percy hands you the china bowl back, empty, running a hand through his shaggy hair with a sheepish grin.

you smiled wryly, glancing down at the bowl and back to his face. “fatass,” you say, affectionately, and then almost freezing, wondering if you somehow overstepped the invisible lines constricting you.

percy laughs — a green light.

“lucky for you, though,” you say, disappearing behind the register for a moment before reappearing with a tupperware container filled with peeled pomegranates, “i peeled more.”

you hold it out to him, and he glances down at your outstretched hand, then at your face, before seemingly making up his mind, and accepting the olive branch, “you’re really committed to seeing my mom, huh?”

“well, obviously — the other alternative would be seeing you, wouldn’t it?”

“aw, c’mon, doc, i know you missed me,” percy says, a bit smug, picking up his skateboard, the tupperware container in his other hand (the one he still wears your bracelet on).

“in your dreams, jackson.” there is a peal of odd laughter in your voice as if you were unused to this kind of jocularity when fumbling over his name.

“in my dreams, we do more than just argue,” percy says, with one last smug smile and salute, before walking out the door, leaving you behind in the worst state of confusion you’ve possibly suffered (percy jackson: 1, you: 0).

(your grandmother admonishes you later that evening as you stand beside her stooped figure at your kitchen counter, peeling pomegranates, you gave the rest of it to that boy, didn’t you? her voice is not scolding, but you feel like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar once more. your immortal grandfather, the nuisance that he is, stands in the doorway, hands in an 80s leather jacket and matching sunglasses, waiting to be welcomed in. in contrast, his son — your father — brushes past him, grumbling, and takes on your grandmother’s burden.)

the analog clock reads ten fifty-five as you start mopping the floor, yawning when the front door swings open with a jingling bell, and a sharp metallic smell wafts into the store.

you whirl around, gripping the mop in your hand as a baseball bat, immediately alert as your demigod reflexes come into play. you physically relax at the sight of percy clutching his side, crimson pooling on the edges of his white t-shirt.

“of course you would attack a man when he’s injured,” percy says with a grin, blood dripping from a gash over his eye (luke had returned to camp some years ago, with a similar scar), and a split lip, collecting like rust on his t-shirt collar.

you scowled, dropping the mop and immediately rushing toward him, your healing instincts kicking in. lifting one of his arms and letting it curl around you, you shouldered him to the register, cringing with every audible wince percy let out.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked, as you sat him on your stool, reaching for the ambrosia and nectar you kept hidden under the counter for emergencies (one could never be too careful).

percy grinned — it came out more of a grimace, “what isn’t wrong with me — that’s the question you should be asking, doc.” he nodded to himself, and then immediately cringed at the action.

you glared at him, shoving an ambrosia square in his mouth, before turning away from him to put antiseptic on cotton pads. “does ms. jackson know you’re here?”

“no?” percy says. you walk over to the fridge, grab a water bottle, unscrew the cap, and drench the part of his t-shirt covered in blood.

“ow? in case you forgot, i’m still injured here, doc?” percy clutches at his side.

“you dumbfuck, your mom is probably worried out of her mind right now,” you say, scowling, stepping closer to percy (he still towers over you, even when sitting down).

“i iris messaged her,” he shrugs, looking at you as you shift even closer to him, cotton pad in your hand, “she just knows i’m with you — pretty relieved at that, dunno why.”

reaching out to grasp his jaw in your hand, you begin dabbing at the bruises on his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut as you try to ignore the way his hot breath is fanning across your face right now. “you didn’t tell her what happened?”

percy opened his eyes, staring at you. “no, how could i?” he says, slowly, “you were her favorite — still are, by the way.”

you don’t say anything for a moment — after all, how could you? (sally jackson’s homemade cookies drift to the front of your treacherous mind — the sunny afternoons with her kind voice, and percy’s loutish laughter.)

“you didn’t come to see her,” percy says, the statement not accusatory, his eyes fluttering shut again (you try not to let the way his eyelashes sit so prettily distract you) as you dab at the gash over his eye.

“i didn’t think i was welcome,” you say gruffly, turning away to grab bandages. “after everything.”

while the deeper wounds have eased into far easier, superficial ones, you still make sure to wrap and bandage everything — percy had a penchant for getting into trouble (one that you knew all too well), so it was the least you could do.

“i just told you that you were welcome, last time i was here, didn’t i?” percy says, an accusation.

“yeah, well, it was hardly an invitation was it?” you say, turning away from him, packing your supplies up.

“doc, you didn’t even come to take your tupperware back.”

you ignore him, moving to walk away when his hand is enclosed around your wrist (the hand that wears your blue friendship bracelet), tugging you around to face him.

percy’s standing up now, his green eyes looking more like a swirling storm with each passing second — he still hasn’t let your wrist go.

“what do you want from me?” you ask, trying to snatch your hand back from him, to no avail — his grip is ironclad.

“i can’t let you walk away with your back turned to me again,” he says (the dim, lantern-lit night comes back into focus, and you wonder if you were too consumed by your own pride, if you had just turned around, if you had just stayed).

you realize too late that tears are pricking in the corners of your eyes, and you manage to successfully wrench your hand out of his grasp, a watery, sarcastic laugh escaping, “you’re a couple years too late, asshole.”

“i know that,” percy says, earnest, reaching out to cup your cheek, and wipe a stray tear (the action stuns you into paralysis), “but i miss you, and my mom misses you, and she hasn’t gotten off my case about you, yet.”

the thought of tender-hearted sally jackson scolding percy is an amusing one, and draws a laugh out of you against your will (percy’s smile grows a little brighter, and asclepius knows you’ve never been able to resist that smile of his), “i’ll come over for ms. jackson, not you.”

percy’s smile is even wider now (his hand is still ghosting your cheek), “same thing.”

“shut up,” you say swatting at his shoulder, trying to duck out from under his arms.

percy avoids your attempts to escape him, instead latching onto your hand, and pulling you out of the store. “c’mon, she’s expecting us for dinner.”

you let out an incredulous laugh, and let yourself be dragged out anyway (you would follow this boy anywhere, even to the depths of tartarus).

(your grandmother watches from the apartment window above the store, a soft smile gracing her lined features.)

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #percy jackson imagines #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #woc friendly #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson one-shot #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson series #percy jackson x fem! reader #percy jackson oneshots #kashaf ki likhai

1K notes · View notes

cursedhaglette · 4 months ago

Note

Solavellan recs you say? 👀👀👀👀👀

OHHHHH POOOKIIIIEEEEEEEEEE here's a lil bit of everything for you, go forth and feast

remorse is not an apology by deciblesque - you will find me gradually losing my shit in the comments of this one. we shouldn't be allowed to read it for free, it's so brilliant. i literally have no words, it's just so fucking good. post-DAV and an absolute must read. (also the author has some very delicious solavelassan smut if you need something to wash it down with)

the shrine of your lies by @swordbisexual - make that everything by ouiser by dear god, this one will have you needing solas so bad

the first six months of forever by lahtays - devastating, brilliant, sexy, post-solas doing his big stupid but written pre-DAV (as if we need DAV though) but they get to live in the world as they fix things and yeah. so so good.

scion by @widowling - we know martyr, we love (and love to hate) martyr, but honestly scion is gonna RUIN me in a big way and i can't wait. a good, like ACTUALLY GOOD, arlathan AU is hard to find but a sexy young solas is also the most important thing in the world to me, especially if he's also just a lil dumb. my beloved widowling nailed it. can't wait for more of this one.

love is not a victory march by @brunchatthebookstore - the inquisitor gets the call to go to minrathous in time for solas' ritual. this is an all-timer in the making, i just know it.

miles below the surface of the dawn by @gostak - long form smut that literally made me cry i'm not kidding. this fandom really has everything. you know what's more fucked up? KIT HADN'T EVEN FINISHED DAI WHEN WRITING THIS MASTERPIECE.... shfdkjhjsdfkjshdf

verhas'alhan - to yearn for wilderness by rosemarybagels - centuries spent after the veil falls and this is painful but absolutely beautiful and feels so wonderfully true to both characters and ugh. UGH. how to be heartbroken and hate each other but love each other all at the same time. gorgeous.

her hand was invented before god was by @citrusai - gan'freya woman that she is. solas snoop that he is. this is absolutely delicious and perfect and i've read it twice and i know i will again because it's so them.

the immortal game by @psykergirl - the most solavellan smut of all time. trust me on this.

all new, faded for her by @scaryanneee - putting this toward the bottom only because i've recc'd it before multiple times but not because i love it any less. it's one of my current comfort fics and anna is so so brilliant and perfect at writing the classic romance tropes we know and love but making them soooo sollavellan it's sick. also morinne is there but who cares when ATHERA. QUEEN ATHERA. god.

these hands, if not gods by @gefionne - also at the bottom only because i've recc'd it before and i think the whole fandom is probably bouncing up and down waiting for every update. my other current comfort fic at the moment. imagining young solas whimpering with nipple rings gets me through the day and gef...god bless gef for that.

there's........so much more porn here than i expected. oops. but also it's all literally so good i'm not even sorry about it. also if you want to support moi, i write a lil fic called requited but feel weird promo-ing it more than that. i also have more fic recs for solavellan answered here, here and here!

anyways, have fun and enjoy!

#thank you for asking bc this gave me a break from endless interview prep hehe #fic recs #solavellan fic recs #solavellan fics #solavellan #solavellan fanfic #solavellan hell #solavellan heaven #asks

188 notes · View notes

liberty-barnes · 3 months ago

Text

at your altar, i will pray

Singla Father!Arthur Leclerc x Deity!Female!Reader

Summary: Centuries after the old gods have long fallen out of modern worship, a little girl stumbles upon a well and prays to a mythical goddess for comfort.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of very light childhood bullying, mentions of child abandonment by arthur's baby mama, arthur has no idea what to do when faced with a goddess and decides to be stupid about it but he grows a brain eventually

Word Count: 4.3k words (oops)

Estimated Reading Time: 17 minutes

A/N: okay so I've been wanting to write this one for ages!! For those of you who don't know, I'm a Hellenic Polytheist (so I worship the old Greek gods) and I based my goddess version of (Y/n) off a mix of Persephone, Demeter, and (the first goddess I worshipped) Aphrodite! Hope you guys like this one <3

Masterlists | Formula One RI Masterlist | Taglist

Her temple had been empty for quite a while. It was practically in ruins. The old gods were all but forgotten these days, only mentioned every now and then in legends and myths, words tainted with scepticism.

She stared at the well, the source of her power. Once majestic and radiant, it was now all but crumbling, covered in moss, the water contaminated with algae. The last offering it received had been decades ago, a young couple who had prayed to the universe for their love to last. They’d called it a ‘wishing well’, and the prayer was a joke more than anything. It hadn’t even been directed at her. But the coin they threw in was an offering nonetheless. For a moment, she felt some energy return to her. She’d blessed that couple and their offspring, but they hadn’t returned since.

It was hard to keep track of time, nowadays. It always is, for immortal beings, but it seemed to have only gotten worse. She could feel herself start to fade. After all, worship is a two-way street: what use is a deity if no one believes in them?

She stared at the little family of rabbits that had taken residence in her temple. What once were two majestic pillars had collapsed and created a little burrow, perfect for them to settle in and keep safe from the elements. She waved her hand, growing some dandelions for them to feed on. The kits were still young, barely a month old; it would be best for the mother not to have to stray far to have food. Even that small action felt exhausting to her. Once upon a time, she could turn acres of barren land into flowering fields without breaking a sweat. Now, a single patch of flowers made her eyes flutter in exhaustion.

She took a deep breath, trying to connect to the forest around her. It was getting harder and harder, but she refused to let it go. This forest was her home, it was the seat of her power; it was her duty and privilege to keep it safe.

A child’s soft cries made their way to her, carried by the wind. She could feel their life force, getting closer and closer, travelling through the trees. Her heart clenched in her chest. A child’s pain never lost its impact.

She hurried behind one of the few pillars left standing, casting a quick glamour on herself so she wouldn’t be seen. The world went dark for a little bit as the effort needed for the spell made her faint, but she blinked through it when she heard footsteps stop.

There was a little girl leaning on her well. Her hair was hastily pulled back into two blonde ponytails, although the left one was so low it might as well be a pigtail instead. Her face was red from the tears, and her pink dress was stained with mud. Upon closer inspection, there was also a stick in her hair. And some leaves. Was that a hazelnut shell?

The child looked around the bricks making up the well, brushing some of the dirt and moss off them, until she found the one she was looking for.

A young couple had carved their initials on that stone. The last ones to come into her temple. The last ones to make an offering to her.

She had spent hours staring at the crudely carved P + H surrounded by an uneven heart, tracing the lines with her fingers, wondering what had happened to the young couple she had blessed. Now, forty years later, a little blond girl was mirroring her very actions.

“Mamie told me about this well. She said that when she and Papie were young, they made a wish to stay together for the rest of their lives, and to have children and be very happy.”

Oh. This was their granddaughter. She could see the resemblance if she squinted. In the upturn of her mouth, the sweetness of her voice.

“It worked for them. Papie said it was a… a conci- a coinence- um-”

Coincidence, she whispered.

“A coincidence. But Mamie did some research. She found out that a long long time ago, this was a temple. It was built for a… um, a pagan goddess. I don’t know what pagan means… But she told me the stories. Her name was (Y/n). She was the goddess of love, beauty, spring and, um… there was another one. I can’t remember now. But Mamie always said that Lady (Y/n) kept us safe.”

She sighed, hearing those words, her eyes filling with tears. That woman had remembered her. She believed. Even if she hadn’t returned since that night, she still believed. Enough that she’d passed it on to her granddaughter.

“I wanna believe that you’re real, Lady (Y/n). But it’s hard. Papie’s not here anymore. Papa says he’s in heaven. Mamie says it’s got nothing to do with you, cause even you can’t stop death. But… But you’re supposed to be the goddess of love, too. And if you could make Mamie and Papie love each other forever then… Why couldn’t you make my Mommy love me too?”

(Y/n) wanted to run to her. Pull her close. Tell her that, for all her abilities, she couldn’t actually create love, only nurture what was already there. She wanted to apologise, for what, she wasn’t sure.

“I started the big kid school today. CP. I was really excited, you know. Papa says it’s where I’ll learn to read, write, and do maths. I like learning. And I was excited to make friends. But… Everyone at school talks about their mommies. And I don’t have one. I don’t even know what she looks like. Whenever I think of mom… Well, most of the time, I just think of you. I think it’s because Mamie’s told me so many stories. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

The little girl got up, both hands on the edge of the well, and she looked down at the murky water.

“I wanna have a mommy too. I wish you could be my mommy, Lady (Y/n).”

She cried. A tear fell from her eye into the well’s water, and (Y/n) felt her powers surge. And another. And another. She felt dizzy with it, the sudden revival of her senses, and she remained sitting, trying to breathe through the waves and waves of euphoric power. Through the light spots dancing in front of her eyes, she could see the little girl lay down at the base of the well, rest her head on her arms, tears still falling onto the ground, adding to her powers.

When the little girl’s tears stopped and she finally fell asleep, it still took a good ten minutes for (Y/n)’s body to stop shaking. Her very being was buzzing with power, mind reeling from the most powerful offering she’d received in millennia.

She rid herself of the glamour, walking closer to the little girl. A few wisps of hair had fallen in front of her eyes and she gently pushed them away. The stone she was lying on had to be uncomfortable. And her temple was in dire need of some tender loving care. Time to get to work.

—

By the time the little girl started to stir, the place had been completely refurbished. The stone pillars had been put together and raised once again, walls rebuilt, and she’d even modernised it a bit by adding stained glass skylights on the roof, the colours reflecting on the interior. Her well stood at the centre of the temple, now gleaming and once again filled with clear water, though the carved initials of that sweet couple remained. The little family of bunnies has been given a nice nest, with more than enough food and water. Flowers filled the room and hung down from the roof, covering parts of the wall and floor, leaving a wonderful aroma of springtime.

(Y/n) walked over to the newly built bed, feather soft, and sat on the edge, running her hands through the little girl’s hair to fully rouse her out of sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, green as the forest around them, but with some flecks of gold adding depth. It took a few seconds for the situation to sink in, for her to realise that she was actually awake and not dreaming.

“Good morning, my love.”

Actually, it was more like evening. The sun had started to set a few minutes ago, the golden hour shining through the skylights.

“Where am I?”

She sat up on the bed, looking around the temple.

“Why, you’re home.”

For some reason, the girl seemed confused at that.

“I don’t understand.”

(Y/n) smiled at her, gently brushing her fingers through her blonde hair, mussed up from sleep.

“You came into my temple and prayed for me. Your tears were the strongest offering I’ve received since the old gods were the norm. How could I refuse such a sweet prayer from my daughter?”

The smile she got in return was blinding, and she giggled as the little girl practically tackled her in a hug.

“I knew it! I knew you were real! I knew you’d come for me if I asked.”

“Of course I did, my little daffodil. I will always come to you when you ask.”

—-—

Arthur couldn’t explain what he was feeling. Anguish, panic, desperation, anger, depression, helplessness. All at once. How could he have been so stupid? He harshly pushed away the branches of the overgrown forest no one ever went into, but it was his last chance.

“Papa, why don’t I have a mommy like my friends?”

He knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Told a little white lie. She was seven years old. He should’ve known she wouldn’t take the news well.

“Um, well… It’s complicated, mon coeur. Your mommy, she just… She wasn’t ready to be a mom. So we decided that it would be best if you just stayed with me. But you don’t need a mommy, cause I love you enough for the two of us, okay?”

In hindsight, his speech was… Well, it was shit. He’d been blindsided, and when combined with the sleep deprivation of a weekend of racing with not nearly enough sleep… It was bad. When his daughter said she needed a moment, he’d assumed she’d simply walked the twenty meters to her grandmother’s house, right next door. She’d done it often enough, gone to his mother when she needed time to process things, or someone to talk it through with that wasn’t him. It never crossed his mind that she’d go anywhere else, she knew she wasn’t meant to. She was a good kid. She’d never broken a rule before.

But, five hours later, they still hadn’t found her. Arthur called his mother after a short hour of napping, asking if he should make dinner or if his daughter wanted to stay over for the night. But Pascale hadn’t seen her all day.

The forest was his last resort.

“I told her stories of a goddess that lived in that forest, and the well your father and I wished upon when we were young. She always loved to hear stories about Lady (Y/n). Maybe she went looking for it.”

It was stupid.

It was all he had left.

He breathed through the panic clawing at his chest, walking aimlessly around, hoping against all hope that some higher power or whatever would lead him to his daughter.

Please, she’s all I have.

There was a rough-looking path in front of him. Leaves flattened on the ground, flowers lining the sides. The branches were still overgrown but this seemed like his best chance. So he followed it. He didn’t know what to expect. But he sure as hell knew it wasn’t a temple that looked like it had materialised in the middle of the forest.

The walls were a gleaming ivory colour, with columns decorating it. Ivy climbed the walls, but it didn’t look like it had been left to grow on an abandoned building; it looked like it belonged there, like the vegetation served to connect the temple to nature around it. The sun gleamed off the rooftop, and the heavy door was closed. He walked up to it, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

“Melina!”

He ran to her, pulled her off the stool she was sitting on, and hugged her to his chest.

“Thank fuck you’re okay.”

Finally, he could breathe again.

“Papa, you said a bad word. Also, you’re ruining my hair.”

He pulled away, actually looking at her for the first time in five hours. He took in the way her hair was expertly braided, a flower crown on her head and little flowers littering her braided hair. She almost seemed to glow golden, and her outfit–

“Princesse, what happened to the dress Aunt Charlotte got you?”

What she was wearing was decidedly not the flowery pink dress his sister-in-law had bought her. It was white, in a fabric so delicate he couldn’t remember ever touching anything so soft, and it reminded him of a Greek chiton. Draped over it was a pink fabric, delicately embroidered with gold accents. The sandals on her feet were also unfamiliar to him. She looked straight out of one of the epic movies about ancient Greece his father had liked to watch.

“That dress was ruined, I’m afraid. Her little trek through the woods left the fabric torn and stained. Not to worry, I dressed her in more appropriate clothing.”

He turned his head, finally acknowledging the other woman in the temple. Had he been in his right mind, he would’ve noticed the faintly glowing aura around her, the way she carried herself with the grace and elegance of a superior being, the beauty in her every feature.

He was not, however, in his right mind.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing with my daughter?”

He saw her brows furrow, jaw clench, and eyes harden with barely concealed fury. For a moment, he could’ve sworn they shone red.

“I will forgive your insolence on account of your worry for Melina. But I ask that you refrain from treating me with such disrespect. This is my home, Arthur Leclerc.”

Had he been in his right mind, he would’ve apologised for his behaviour and rectified it immediately.

As previously stated, however, he was not.

Truly, it was a miracle he was even alive.

“Melina, let’s go. We need to get back home and away from this woman.”

His daughter did not move, simply crossed her arms with a disappointed look in her eyes. The mystery woman’s eye twitched.

“Papa, you’re being a dummy.”

“She’s not going anywhere.”

The words were spoken at a low pitch, almost like a growl, and with such power, it felt like Arthur was being physically knocked back. Melina walked towards the woman, raising her arms. She didn’t even hesitate in lifting the little girl, setting her on her hip, kissing the side of her head.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the foggy feeling taking over his brain.

“She’s my daughter.”

“And yet, she came to me. She prayed to me, made an offering upon my altar, and asked me to be her mother. I have claimed her, she’s mine now.”

He furrowed his brows, looking at her.

“Woman, what kind of mental instability do you have?”

His continued state of living was more than a miracle, actually. If there even is something above a miracle.

Faster than he could blink, Melina was on the floor and pushed behind the mystery woman. Her hands glowed in front of her, eyes shining a violent red, and he felt vines rise from the floor and pull at his limbs, forcing him to his knees. A vine came around his throat, getting tighter and tighter, until he could no longer breathe.

“How dare you come into my temple and treat me with such disrespect, mortal? Do you know who I am? I am (Y/n), goddess of love, beauty, spring, and nurture. I give life, but that does not mean I cannot take it. Do not take my reticence to cause harm for an inability to do so. I should squash you like the bug you are for your insolence.”

“Maman, no!”

The vine around his throat untightened, and he took a desperate breath in, panting and coughing.

The woman– Lady (Y/n), he reminded himself –sighed, crouching in front of his daughter.

“I’m sorry, blossom, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Melina frowned.

“You can’t hurt Papa, Maman.”

She sighed, but nodded.

“Fine.”

The vines around his body retreated, and he felt his head go faint.

“You–”

Lady (Y/n) looked at him.

“Me?”

“You– Goddess? Real?”

She seemed disturbed by the fact he could not form proper sentences. Were he in his right mind, he would be too.

“I’m very much real, yes.”

“Oh, bordel.”

He vaguely felt the thud of his head hitting the ground, before it all went black.

—-—

(Y/n) looked at the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious, and raised her hands at her side.

“That wasn’t me, I didn’t do anything.”

Mother and daughter looked at the man with similar looks on their faces.

“Maybe we should get him to a bed?”

“Great idea, poppet.”

Neither moved.

“Are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, right, yeah, hold on.”

Vines burst from the floor, wrapped around his body, and lifted him up through the air, delicately transporting him to the bed Melina had been resting on earlier that day. (Y/n) picked up a stone bowl, filled it with water from the well, and dipped a soft cloth inside.

“Alright, come here, time to learn.”

Melina walked over to where she was now sitting on the edge of the bed.

“So, what did I tell you about the well?”

“It’s the source of your power,” she replied dutifully, “It’s where people make offerings to you so your power can grow and you can help better.”

She nodded with a smile.

“Exactly. Technically, offerings work anywhere, and especially anywhere in my temple, but offerings given to the well are always more powerful. But this also means that the water itself carries my power. Remember how I told you I was the goddess of nurture?”

Melina nodded.

“Remember what that means?”

She frowned, trying to remember.

“It means you take care of and protect people.”

“That’s right, good job, baby. This also means that because I’m supposed to care for and protect, I have healing powers.”

Her jaw dropped.

“You do?”

(Y/n) nodded.

“Not to Apollo’s extent, of course, my healing powers are only minor. It means I can’t heal really bad illnesses like cancer, or anything like that, but I can take care of a few scrapes and speed up healing if you have any broken bones.”

Under Melina’s watchful eyes, she dipped the cloth into the well water, then wrung it out.

“It also means that the water from my well can more or less mimic my powers. It makes flowers grow faster, for example. But in this case, it’s gonna help take care of your father.”

She delicately ran the wet cloth over Arthur’s face, full of scrapes from the tree branches, and over the already-forming bump on his forehead from where he facepalmed to the floor.

Melina gasped as the scrapes healed before her very eyes, disappearing within seconds as if they were never even there.

“You wanna try? He still has a good number of scratches on his arms.”

She nodded so fast (Y/n) was almost worried she’d give herself whiplash. She sat on her mother’s knees, taking the cloth from her hands.

“Alright, wet it in the water… there you go, now squeeze the excess out… great job, my love, now remember to be gentle.”

She slowly ran the cloth over her father’s eyes, squealing happily when the scratches disappeared, leaving blank skin in its wake.

They healed Arthur’s arms with a single-minded focus, both happy to be able to share this experience. Melina had never thought she’d get to learn from her own mother. (Y/n) had lost hope of having a child to pass on her knowledge to.

So focused were they on this experience that they never noticed when Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, and he took to watching them with a soft look on his face.

“All done, Maman.”

“Good job, lovely, you did so good.”

“Thank you.”

Both girls startled. (Y/n) fought the urge to curse herself for her lack of situational awareness. It seemed that a few centuries of feeling weak had left her unaware of the world around her.

Arthur cleared his throat, raising his body to lean against the pillows. His cheeks were a bit red and he seemed to be having trouble maintaining eye contact.

“I apologise for disrespecting you, Lady (Y/n), I was… clearly not in my right mind.”

Melina turned to her with big innocent eyes.

“Uncle Charlie says Papa’s got sawdust instead of a brain so it makes him act silly.”

“Uncle Charlie needs to shut his mouth.”

(Y/n) bit back a smile, enjoying the dynamic between the two. She saw a barely-there twitch run over Arthur’s face as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

“Are you still hurt?”

He looked up at her, cheeks getting redder.

“Oh, no, I’m alright, don’t worry. It’s just a bit of soreness in my back from the racing, nothing I’m not used to.”

She blinked at him.

“Racing?”

He blinked back.

“Um, yeah… I’m a Formula One driver. I’m a reserve driver for Ferrari and test the cars for them as well. This weekend, I had to replace one of the main drivers cause he got food poisoning, so now I’m just feeling the effects still.”

He was saying a lot of words, but she understood none of them.

“What’s a Formula One?”

He seemed taken aback by that, but smirked at her in a cheeky way.

“I thought gods were supposed to be omniscient, how do you not know what F1 is?”

She huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Well, excuse me for being too busy fading to keep up with modern inventions! I haven’t had enough energy to care about what the world’s been up to since the 1940s, and even then, it was just because the war was so big that even my forest wasn’t safe from it.”

He winced, looking embarrassed at her answer.

��Right, sorry about that.”

She smiled at him dismissingly.

“Truth is, if Melina hadn’t found the well and made that offering… I don’t know how much longer I’d have lasted.”

Melina climbed onto her lap, nuzzling into her chest the way children do when they want comfort. (Y/n) couldn’t help but bring her arms around the little girl, holding her close to her chest.

“So, she saved you from fading and you decided you were gonna adopt her?”

She lifted an eyebrow at Arthur.

“I mean, in my defence, she did wish I could be her mother. It’s not like I took her against her will. She came to me, what was I supposed to do?”

She heard him mutter something under his breath about “cat distribution system” and “looking a bit different”, but she was too busy watching Melina’s eyes start to droop to notice.

“Tired, blossom?”

She nodded, yawning widely.

“I should take her home. My family’s worried sick about her, we’ve been searching all afternoon.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but hug the little girl tighter, not wanting to let her go.

“But… You guys just got here. I don’t want you to go.”

She bit back the sudden urge to cry, the panic clawing at her chest at the thought of being alone again, of feeling her power dwindle again, of starting to fade again.

Her temple answered her distress in kind, vines wrapping themselves around her legs in an attempt to comfort her, ivy crawling up the wall closest to her.

Arthur observed it all with a quiet intelligence in his eyes, not judging, simply trying to understand.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

He asked, looking her in the eyes.

“In the temple? Of course. I rarely leave it. Don’t really have anywhere to go, or enough energy to, most of the time.”

He nodded.

“Alright. Then so will we.”

She drew in a sharp breath, fighting against the hope blossoming in her chest.

“Lina has school in the morning, but as soon as she’s done, we’ll be here. I can bring some food and we can have a picnic. The weather’s looking nice for tomorrow.”

She searched his eyes for any hint of trickery. Dishonesty.

“Do you really mean that?”

He nodded, resolute.

“We’ll be back tomorrow. I promise you.”

She felt her core shake, and the water in her well rippled.

“Arthur, you can’t just say that. I’m a goddess. A promise made to me is binding, breaking it… it carries serious consequences that even I won’t be able to stop.”

He shrugged, smiling at her in a boyish way. She couldn’t help but be drawn by the way his green eyes seemed to sparkle.

“I’d be worried if I didn’t intend to keep it. But nothing short of a natural disaster could keep us away.”

She breathed out. Humans were not known for their trustworthiness. But, tentatively, she allowed herself to believe. Maybe just this once.

Melina was already asleep by the time Arthur walked out the doors to the temple. The sky around them was dark, making the forest look almost pitch black, but (Y/n) conjured up a small ball of light, allowing it to lead the way so they could safely make it back home.

Arthur looked back at her before fully disappearing, mouthing those same words again, cementing it.

I promise.

And that's that! Fun fact, Melina's name is inspired by Melinoë, a chtonich goddess and bringer of nightmares and madness, and daughter of Persephone.

Hope you guys liked it, don't forget to comment and reblog! My asks and DMs are always open

-Love, Miah<3

Formula One Reader Inserts

@aykxz98 @camelliaflow3r

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc imagine #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #at your altar i will pray

101 notes · View notes

leclucklerc · 1 year ago

Text

Something Immortal CL16 - 02. Bad Idea

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Wayne!reader

Summary: Y/n Wayne knows that this is a bad idea. But well, going against the law is something that runs in the Wayne Family.

Word Count: 4.4K

Previous Masterlist Next

“Is B really going to buy an F1 team?”

Y/n looked up from the plate of dessert in front of her towards where Jason was sitting. The both of them are in the VIP lounge of the Monaco GP, waiting for the race to start before being ushered towards the Ferrari garage.

“What makes you say that?”

Jason gave her a pointed look. “I’m not dumb,” he said. “I can see a business talk even if it’s miles away.” At this, he pointed towards the paddock that could be seen from the windows in front of them.

They could see a glimpse of Bruce, laughing and talking with people with different team kits. Y/n recognized most of them as the team principals or even the management team from different F1 teams.

“Y/n, seriously, I don’t have time to become a driver,” said Jason. “And I’ll probably suck at it, most of these guys had been racing since they were in diapers.”

“Still,” defended the woman, fully aware that Jason’s argument was fairly logical. “You don’t have to be a driver, but I think being around Formula One, something that you’re passionate about, can help you, Jason.”

He doesn’t have to be a driver if he doesn’t want to. Hell, truthfully, if Jason really puts his foot down and strictly declares that no, buying a whole Formula One team is not going to help him, then y/n and Bruce will stop. The both of them will leave this silly idea behind and never look back once more.

But she had seen him. How his eyes followed every garage that they passed in rapid attention. How he attentively listened to what John had said about Ferrari’s Formula One team, how he had watched the free practice and qualifying alone the days before.

It’s been a while. Maybe the last time she saw him being this passionate about something was before his death. To see Jason looking forward to something, to see his brother actually enjoy doing something outside of his crime-fighting activities.

“I-“

“Jay,” she said again, reaching out to hold the older man’s hand. “I- I know we’re not the best family. B is not the best father and the rest of us have not been the best siblings but still I-“ she stopped at that, eyes searching for Jason’s own.

Years of guilt appeared inside of her. Years of missing memories between the two of them. Years full of regret and anger that had soured their relationship beyond words.

Y/n, only wants what is best for her brother. “I still want you to be happy,” she said, blue eyes with a hint of green meeting hers. “I want to see you laughing again, be integrated into society, and live your dream-!”

Jason looks lost and y/n is really glad that this section of the VIP lounge was reserved for them.

Because the man in front of her looks so fucking vulnerable.

She still remembers that time when Jason just returned to Gotham. All Lazarus green eyes and rage oozing out of his form. How he had practically attacked Tim, taunting the rest of them, and begged their father to choose him over that clown.

Y/n also remembers the emptiness that appeared in his eyes when they informed him that the Joker was dead.

It was one of the most terrifying moments of her life. Because Jason had it made his mission to kill that clown. To avenge the fallen Robin that had remained unavenged. To finally end the reign of terror that the prince of clowns had put upon Gotham City.

To know that he’s dead?

Well.

There are just so so many things left unsaid between the two of them. Too much pain and history that had happened between the two of them. To see, Jason who had always raged and raged looking this lost is-

“I’ve been wondering-“ said Jason, leaning forward. “Ever since that clown died, I’ve been wondering what the fuck I should do with my life-“

It’s a familiar conversation. Something that Jason had told her months ago under the darkness of the night. When there are only the two of them on top of his safehouse rooftop, sharing a stick of cigarettes to fight off the cold.

Y/n leaned forward, touching their shoulder together. It’s something that they often did before Ethiopia all those years ago. When Jason was nothing but a short and skinny kid that’s not too far off y/n own size.

It’s been years since Ethiopia and a lot of things have changed.

“Have you decided, Jay?” she asked, eyes closing and head leaning towards his shoulder. “Whatever you want, you know that we will support you.”

Jason was silent for a bit.

The female too, sat there in silence, giving the older male a chance to think it through.

“I still want to be Red Hood,” he whispered, far too low for anyone to hear except y/n. “I still want to make Crime Alley a better place for people to live in.”

Y/n has to fight off a smile at that. Such a typical answer for a bat. Such a typical answer for the son of Bruce Wayne.

“Yeah?” she said.

Jason hummed. “But I also want to live my life.”

A smile appeared on y/n face. She can feel the excited thrumming of her heart as she continues to listen.

“Oh?” she asked. “And that is?”

“Going to university, getting an English degree,” at this, he stopped. “And living the dream F1 fan life ‘cause my family owned a fucking team here.”

Y/n laughed at that; happiness clear on her face.

Bruce got the honor to wave the checkered flag that marks the end of the Monaco GP.

Her dad looks pleased, but she also knows that inside of that large smile and laugh, her dad simply doesn’t care. This business trip to Monaco had been a risky move after all, if it’s not for Jason’s happiness, y/n doesn’t think her dad would even consider going on this business trip.

In the end, when her dad was handed the checkered flag, the man put the flag into Jason’s hand.

“Do you want to do it, Jay?”

Jason blinked. “Huh?”

“Waving the flag,” answered her dad, letting out a smile. “Instead of me, my son can do it, right?” asked Bruce, turning his head towards where the president of FIA and the chairman of Ferrari stood.

“Of course, of course!” Said Ben, the president of FIA. “It would be an honor for us!”

“But they literally asked for you” answered Jason.

Her dad merely laughed at that. “They said you can do it, son.”

Jason may look like as if he wants to protest, but y/n knows that the man is far too excited at the prospect of waving the checkered flag at the Monaco GP. He may grumble and curse her dad a few times, but he really can’t hide the happiness that’s shining through his eyes at the mere thought of it.

The older man too, seemed to notice his son’s excitement as he let out an indulgent smile as he watched her brother being escorted to his position.

“Jason looks happy,” she said. “It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

“I know,” murmured her dad. There was silence between the two of them before her dad leaned forward towards her a bit. “I saw you earlier.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow. “What?”

“I saw you flirting with one of the drivers,” replied her dad. “The Ferrari one.”

Ah, she thought. He was referring to Charles. “It was an act, Dad,” she simply said. “You know, like your Brucie Wayne persona? I just think that it will do us some good if we’re on a friendly term with the paddock.”

Her dad stared at her. “There are better ways to do that, like chatting with the FIA president, for instance,” replied the man as he turned his gaze toward where Ben and John were talking with Jason near the track. “I don’t think flirting with a driver will really help our cause.”

Y/n shrugged, “He’s cute, what can I say?”

“Y/n.”

“What?” she hissed out. “I have to watch you flirt with Selina the entirety of my life, let me flirt with cute boys for a change!”

“You know it’s different,” pointed out her dad, leaning closer towards her. “Don’t associate with anyone outside of the masked community.”

The woman rolled her eyes at that.

She knows that the older man has a point. She knows that he’s doing this in order to protect all of them. Not only his hidden identity, but the rest of the family and possibly the rest of the Justice League. Bruce has always put a tight leash on all of his children regarding the interaction and the social circle that they all kept. Most of the time, the man didn’t have to worry considering most of his children worked inside the masked community, resulting in most of their friends being another superhero.

But y/n?

Despite her close association and frequent presence in their nightly activity, she sometimes thinks that her dad forgets that she’s not a vigilante or a hero. Yes, she knows all of their secret identity, yes, she often assisted her brothers on their not-so-legal work.

Outside of all of that, y/n is a civilian. She’s just a normal doctor who’s not saving the world during her past time. She’s a normal woman that’s working in a perfectly legal job.

Friends are hard to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world. Friends are harder to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world who is also hiding the fact that he’s the dark knight himself.

“I know,” she hissed out. “It’s a persona dad, I doubt we’ll talk again.”

Her dad gave her a look as if he didn’t believe in that.

And well.

Um.

Charles won the Monaco GP. The first Monegasque driver to do so in the last 93 years. Jason had failed to hide his excitement as he waved the checkered flag.

Her family was there, right in front of the podium as they watched the Ferrari drivers and the McLaren driver celebrating the win that they acquired. Y/n was standing there, smiling politely as she watched the champagne shower that was happening in front of them.

It was also then, that their eyes met.

She was not sure if Charles was looking at her or at someone near her, but the man’s already wide smile had gotten wider as he locked his eyes with her. And it was also then, that Charles sent her a wink.

Huh.

Okay.

Oookay.

I’ll meet you later, he seems to mouth off, a bit quickly, before he continues the champagne shower with the rest of the drivers.

So much for not talking with him anymore.

“Hi, stranger.”

Y/n can’t help the quirk of her mouth at that greeting.

The woman turned her gaze towards the source of the voice, eyes immediately falling towards where Charles Leclerc stood next to her. There’s a smile on his lips, hair tousled and green eyes twinkling.

“Hello,” she greeted back, raising her glass of champagne. “Drink?”

Charles chuckled. “I had enough champagne for the day,” replied the male as he took a seat next to her.

She can’t help but laugh at that. “I mean, you won today,” answered the female, putting down the glass of champagne on top of the table in front of them. “How does it feel to be a Monaco GP race winner? And did you actually drink the champagne that’s being sprayed earlier?” Being sprayed with a bottle of champagne sure is an experience, it seems.

“Amazing,” he breathed out, inching closer to her. “I guess a change of mindset is the only thing needed to break the curse.”

“I told you,” said the female, amusement dripping on her tone. “Guess I did become a really lucky girl today.”

“I hope so,” answered Charles. “I did remember your words throughout the race.”

“Oh? You did?” teased y/n. “Seeing Charles Leclerc win the Monaco GP live and being constantly on his mind? What a lucky girl I am.”

Charles let out a laugh at that.

The dinner party around them is buzzing with blaring music and drunken chatter. The event itself was hosted by WE and the FIA. A collaboration work between the two entity that marks the beginning of WE’s involvement in the motorsport industry. It was the reason why her dad – a reclusive who hardly leaves Gotham if he can help it – needed to do a business trip in Monaco.

And of course, for the simple reason of buying Jason an F1 team.

Not that y/n is complaining. She had wanted to visit Monaco forever and this was the perfect opportunity to do it. Watching a Formula 1 race live is a bonus that she will never miss out on.

The dinner party that they hosted was the formal event that they made for the winners of the race. Though, it seems most of the drivers are in attendance. No doubt advised by each of their respective team to gain the elusive Wayne sponsorship.

She knows that the news of Bruce Wayne wanting to buy an F1 team or become a major sponsor had already made its rounds. Even the bigger teams who don’t really need more money came in order to make some kind of connection with Wayne Enterprise.

Truthfully, this dinner party made her nervous a bit. After all, it’s not like she attended a party outside of Gotham.

But still, Charles’s sudden presence helped ease up her nervousness for a bit.

“Where’s your brother?” asked Charles, eyes flickering around the room.

“Ah, Jason is not feeling well,” replied the female. “He decided to stay in our hotel.” Which is a blatant lie. Y/n knows that Jason brought his Red Hood gear all the way here. He’s probably prowling the streets of Monaco, searching for that gang boss who made him join this business trip to Monaco initially.

Charles hummed at that, taking a seat next to her.

“I heard you helped orchestrate this whole dinner party,” started the man.

Y/n laughed at that. “Orchestrating is a big word, considering me and my family just throw some money at the event organizer.”

“Still, I really like the red accents, it was as if you already know that Ferrari is going to win today’s race,” said the male as he gestured towards the red flower as well as the red napkins on top of the tables.

The woman grinned cheekily at that. “Who said I don’t? Maybe I have the power to see the future?”

Charles raised his eyebrows at that, amusement clear in his eyes. “Oh?” he prompted out, leaning forward. “Can you see my future then?”

Y/n hummed, mouth closing in a wide smile as she too, leaned forward. Both of their face are really close to each other. “Hm…” she let out. “I think… You’re going to be really drunk tonight.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling. “It’s given,” he said, grinning.

“Really?” she said, sounding amused. “Do you want me to see further into your future?”

“You can?” asked Charles, with a tilt of his head, mouth still grinning. “What a fearsome power that you have.”

The female giggled. “I think I can see…” she whispered. “A future world champion here.”

Now, Charles is full-blown laughing, the glass of champagne that he had been holding now forgotten as he lets the amusement to envelop his very being.

“Seriously,” he said the first part in French before he switched back to English, “You really know how to appease someone.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” said Charles. “You better be careful, or I’ll think that you’ve been flirting with me.”

It’s a bold thing to say, especially to Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

She knows that she’s one of the most desirable women in the marriage market, considering her looks and her family. Many people had attempted to flirt with her, to trap her with their honeyed words and kind gestures.

But still, it’s been a while since there’s someone this bold.

“Well, I’ve been flirting with you,” replied y/n instead. “It would be embarrassing if you thought otherwise.”

Yeah, the moment she uttered those words, she knew that this was a bad choice to make.

Because at that moment, she could see the sparkle of interest in Charles’s eyes. The light that suddenly shone behind those green orbs as the man leaned forward toward her. Y/n could faintly smell the cologne that he wore, a masculine one that reminded her of her dad for a bit.

“Oh?” he said, mouth quirking up and eyes crinkling. “I’ve been flirting with you too, if you haven’t noticed.”

Okay, this isn't good. She needs to stop this before they go further and ignite her dad’s anger.

“I see,” answered y/n with a smile. “Anyway Mr. Future World Champion, I think your team principal is looking for you-“

It was the perfect excuse because she really did have seen Fred wandering around the room in search of his driver. However, whatever she was going to say stopped immediately when a hand reached out to grab her wrist. She immediately looked down, staring at Charles’ palm.

“Hey,” said the male, grinning. “Wanna go somewhere fun?”

She should say no.

Y/n can already imagine her father’s disappointed sigh and the loud protest from her brothers. She can already see her doing the walk of shame tomorrow, with Jason silently judging her. It would be stupid of her to say yes because there are just so many consequences waiting for her if she took up that offer.

There’s literally no reason for her to say yes to someone that she barely knows.

But well-

Charles looked at her with those bright green eyes of his, the corner crinkling up from how wide his smile was. There’s something about his expression – so transparent, so genuine, something that she rarely saw in Gotham – that tickled her heart at the right place.

Maybe it’s the dimpled smile, maybe she was simply swept up by the moment.

But the next thing that she knew was-

“Yes,” she answered.

The smile that Charles let out can ignite the room.

The music is loud. Louder than what she used to.

There’s a huge misconception of her back in Gotham. Due to her father’s public persona, as well as her brother’s less-than-idle nature, the media had portrayed her as a party girl once upon a time.

But really, this is the first time for her to be in a club.

Clubs are not that common to start with in Gotham. Due to the high crime rate, and the many many dangers, clubs scarcely exist in the city. Galas though? Galas happens almost every week. Due to that, y/n only ever attended galas and galas.

So this, this is a new experience for her.

She could see the throngs of people around her, dancing and laughing, fully immersed in the music around them. There’s something about the air that just made everyone highly excited as if there’s no tomorrow.

It didn’t take long for her to be swept up by the atmosphere too.

“So, how are you enjoying the night?” Yelled Charles as the two of them laughed and danced in the middle of the dance club. Y/n was glad that she had opted for a short dress because really, the ball gowns that she used to wear for galas will be sticking out like a sore thumb in this kind of scene.

“It’s been fantastic!” answered the woman, amidst the loud music. Her mouth is a bit aching from how wide she’s been grinning but that really can’t dampen her mood. “It’s not my usual scene, but I guess a change of environment is not that bad.”

“Oh? Gotham doesn’t have a lot of parties?” laughed Charles, hand finding themselves around her wrist.

She stepped closer, face almost touching. “Mostly galas, or gatherings,” said y/n, letting out a shrug, before a grin overtook her face once again. “It’s not exactly safe to throw a wild party like this in a city like Gotham after all.”

Something flickered in Charles’ eyes as he let out a hum.

“So,” started the woman, wanting to change the subject of the conversation. She leaned forward, cocking her head for a bit. “Is Monaco nightlife had always been this lively?”

“It is when it’s my party,” said the man, as they stepped out of the dance floor towards the bar.

Ordering for the both of them, Charles sidled close to her.

“You’re really trying to get drunk tonight?” teased the woman.

“Not too much,” replied the man. “I wanna remember you.”

She hummed. “Well, what’s stopping you?” she asked. “Don’t you think we should make more memories then?”

Charles turned to her, and the grip that he had around her waist tightened.

“Oh?” he said, voice lower. “Are you sure?”

The grin that she lets out must’ve been enough of confirmation because the next thing that she knew, they’re stumbling into Charles’ Ferrari, lips interlocked with each other in a desperate and sloppy make-out session.

She’s grateful that the parking space is located in a discreet place because her appearance right now is less dignified than what Bruce Wayne’s daughter should be. Though, she really can’t seem to care right now. All she knows is the taste of Charles’ lips on her and how his hand traveled all across her body, giving her a delicious tease of pleasure.

They fell into bed together.

That night had been a bit of a blur, to be honest. He remembers dancing with y/n, laughing, and touching her under the club lights. He remembers dragging her to the edge of the dance floor, head leaning forward.

“Can I?” he had muttered, head cocking sideways.

Y/n had let out a laugh at that, hands winding around his neck before she too, leaned forward.

He remembers the sweet taste of her mouth, how she had opened her mouth, letting their tongue meet in a wet mess. How his hands had wandered around, starting from her back before reaching downwards towards the edge of her short dress.

“Let’s take this somewhere,” muttered y/n back then, releasing his mouth with a string of droll still connecting them. “Somewhere more private,” the last part was whispered and he remembers the jolt of arousal that hit him at that very moment.

Charles doesn’t have a clear memory of how they managed to get into his apartment. All he remembers is how he pinned y/n by his front door, savoring her as they rutted against each other like a teenager.

The night ended with them on his bed, rustling against each other and-

Charles cracked his eyes open, watching the sun filter into his room from the crack of his curtain.

He could feel the pounding headaches as the memories from last night rushed into him like a tsunami. Of him winning the Monaco GP, of him attending the formal dinner, of him and y/n stumbling into bed together-

His eyes widened as he immediately turned his gaze toward the other side of the bed.

Sitting there, still topless with a blanket covering her, is y/n Wayne, brow furrowed as she scrolled something on her phone. That sight immediately warmed something across his heart as he stared at the woman silently, not wanting to avert his gaze for a second.

“You’re awake?” asked y/n, turning her gaze towards him.

He let out a hum, shuffling closer towards her.

At that, y/n’s hand fell on top of his head, caressing his unruly mop of hair. It’s soothing, something that he really needs amidst the headache that’s been throbbing inside of his head. They stayed like that for a couple of moments, basking in each other presence.

The moment didn’t last long because y/n phone rang.

“Yeah?” asked the woman before she stared at him for a moment before she began talking in a language that he didn’t understand.

Charles faintly recognizes it as German. He knows a couple of words, but with the way y/n talking as if she’s a native speaker, well, it’s safe to say that he really doesn’t have a clue about what she’s talking about. The phone call didn’t last long. Only a couple of minutes at best. Though, at the end, y/n let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” he asked, sitting up.

“Charles, listen,” stated the woman. “This is a bit awkward, but I gotta go.”

He ignores the disappointment that erupted inside his chest. The driver had been hoping that they could have breakfast together before taking a stroll around Monaco before he had to see her off.

“I really enjoyed last night but-“

Before she can even finish that sentence, Charles interrupts her again. “Can I see you again?”

Y/n blinked, staring at him. “Yes?”

“See you again,” said the driver, leaning closer. “I really enjoyed last night. More than simply enjoying it,” he continues. “I like to do it again.”

The woman is still staring at him.

“Of course, I mean not only fucking, but like, I would love to have a date with you,” he continue, tongue a bit tied at the sight of an angel in front of him. “If you give me the chance?”

Honestly, he was not expecting much. A woman like y/n must have had a lot of suitors or partners all her life. Charles will be the luckiest man on earth if y/n even gives him a chance for a single date, let alone dating her.

It was silent for a bit, as the both of them stared at each other with no words being exchanged.

The moment was broken when y/n let out a loud laugh.

It startled him a bit, Charles doesn’t really understand what’s funny about his declaration and yet, he doesn’t really mind it. After all, the sight of y/n letting out such a carefree laugh is something that he will integrate into his memory forever.

“Yeah,” said the woman, finally. “Let’s see each other again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” grinned the woman. “But next time, bring me to a proper date, okay?”

Charles laughed at that, giving her a single kiss.

taglist!

@piceous21 @myloveforfandom-blog @barnestatic @ilivbullyingjeongin @fangirl-dot-com @halleest @a-beaverhausen @sagestack @redcellghost @mac-daddy-210 @kellysthilaire

350 notes · View notes

astranyx · 1 year ago

Text

So I'm sure you've all seen this picture before:

It's gotten a surprising amount of use here on Tumblr. So allow me to regail you with the tale of how it came to be.

A while back, (like five or so years) Facebook would not stop inundating me with an ad for a "build it yourself" Hurdy Gurdy kit. Naturally I complained about it to my friend group since it was absolutely ridiculous. Well after about three or so months I finally broke down and bought the damn thing. This immediately prompted my best friend @thevoidwatches to make an edit of the popular Garfield propaganda meme to read "You are not immune to the Hurdy-gurdy." And we all had a good laugh about it. Void ended up helping me build the Hurdy-gurdy which was a very fun time, even though the cursed thing sounds like a dying cat. But even still it's a very beautiful to look at piece so I keep it around.

A bit of time passes and @theshitpostcalligrapher opened their askbox to get some good good shitposts to make calligraphy of, and naturally I had to get the meme immortalized. However I didn't remember the wording void used for some damn reason, and ended up submitting "I am not immune to the Hurdy-gurdy"

So why am I telling you all this? Well 2023 just ended and my friend group did our holiday gift exchange. And when I opened up my gift I found out that my best friend @anonforlackofabettername commissioned shits to make me a truly curséd thing.

BEHOLD:

A new and improved version of the infamous "I am not immune to the Hurdy-gurdy"!

Apparently anne got pictures of the damned Hurdy-gurdy to send to shits for the drawing right in front of me, and I had no idea what their true purpose was for.

It goes without saying that I absolutely love and adore this gift. Now I just gotta find somewhere to hang it up.

#this is one of my favorite gifts I've gotten #it's absolutely ridiculous #calligraphy #shitposts

919 notes · View notes

sculptorofcrimson · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere! Valdor

Valdor, the most loyal, the greatest of the Custodes, a Primarch in all but name. Who else can obsess more than him, whose every function besides loyalty was beaten out? A/N: Playing “fucked up obsessive twinks” on easy mode here, aren’t I? I’m sorry, SCP-XXXX who requested this, but you told me Valdor was a twink, and evil twinks are the best kind of men, so therefore this is your fault! Full throttle ahead, let us be damned together! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Relationships: Valdor/Gn!Reader, mentioned Valdor/Emperor Mentions: @kit-williams would you like some food?

Valdor does not love.

The Custodes simply can not love. Their love perished beneath treachery and fire, ten thousand years ago, and they simply cannot piece the remnants that was a heart back together again.

The Emperor took away their ability to love any but Himself, and what else could be left but a hollow void, an immortality without substances, a heart that beats while it lacks its other half?

There was simply nothing left of him to spare when the Emperor had brought down his claws. His love, his joy, his dreams, all gone, wiped away like sand upon the sea. Leaving behind nothing more than a hollow without sustenance, a phantom vestige of a dream crushed long ago, its corpse entombed within perfected flesh and bone and blood.

He loves no one, not even himself. When the Emperor died ten thousand years ago, he lost his way. He lost his tether to life itself. And for ten thousand years he wandered for the corpse of his master. There was a poem once, a poem so long ago about the loyal dog that stood guard before his master’s bones, who licked the once-petting hand once, and laid down to die.

Valdor’s loyalty is no weaker than that dog’s.

He loves no one, not even himself. But he loves the Emperor. He loves Him, so brokenly, so obsessively, so utterly insane in his adoration, the First Custodian would have let Him tear him apart if He wished.

He loved the Emperor.

And that is why he loves you. He thinks you to be his Emperor. If not Him, then at least a shard.

He doesn’t care who you were, he doesn’t care whether you were once a captain, a Chapter Master, a Thunder Warrior even. He thinks you to be his master, back from the dead, one of His shards caught in life and flesh.

He thinks you’re Him. Or, if not Him, at least a fragment of His former glory.

Valdor calls you his Emperor, his shard, his beloved, he ignores any name you had once in favor of calling you his master. A name is only a word, after all, and you are nothing but his Emperor reborn, in his mind. A guardsman, an Astarte, a Thunder Warrior, you are all mortal beneath his eyes. He only smiles that cold, humorless smile of his when you attempt to correct him, when he brushes off your words with the same cold, humorless disinterest.

Valdor thinks you to be his Emperor. And he doesn't care that you were once someone else, you were not always his beloved, you were not the master he imagined, that you are not the master he built from memories and bones.

You were nothing before his master, he reasons, you will be nothing after his master, and you were his Emperor once upon a time. It is doubtful if he can even know love, if he had not projected his own delusions of his Emperor upon another. Valdor failed Him once and only now the fates have judged him fit enough to protect a shard of Him, one that is so frail compared to himself, so unspeakably mortal, his atonement for the master he failed so long ago.

He failed the Emperor once, and watched Him die. He will not do so again.

Protection. You will never walk free again, never without his cold presence by your side, that effortless, confident stride as he accompanies his master. You will never know the taste of sunlight, the easy voice of another conversationalist before their words taper off into uncertainty, and then fear, beneath the jealous glare of your bodyguard. How their sentences trail off, how Valdor looms like some ancient, murderous harpy, his shadow constantly overcasting yours.

He knows nothing of love, of human emotion. But he knows protection. And he knows obsession.

Valdor is not a passionate man. But he is neither a cruel one either. Of course, Valdor will never raise a spear nor blade against his adoration, to strike his master would certainly mean death, but he will slaughter your loved ones without even horror. He will whisper litanies of loyalty on his knees while his Custodes sink in the knives. He will speak ironclad promises and gilded oaths when they label your soldiers traitors and slaughter them upon the snowfields, when they hail for unity, and hear the blade fall.

He seems to like walks in wintery fields. It reminds him of what he lost long ago, when the Emperor took him atop Ararat, and he enacted His first vengeance upon the Thunder Warriors. He sometimes brings you there, to altitudes higher than even what a Space Marine can withstand, and gathers you beneath his cloak, whispering memories that were never truly yours, asking for your orders, asking for your forgiveness, asking if you can remember what it felt like ten thousand years ago.

(Sometimes, you can nearly believe him when he says you’re a shard. It’s flattering, almost, to be under the eye of the captain-general.)

He can kill. There is nothing left of him if he could not. Nothing but the Emperor’s spear, a sharpened tool meant to kill and to serve, and to be cast away when its function is complete. You have nothing to fear from him, of course, he would rather end himself than raise a blade against his master. But he loves no other. He does not know how to love. And that makes him dangerous. You know it when you gaze into his eyes, you are sure you could imagine him covered in the blood of your loved ones, guardian spear flashing as he hacks through them without even the shadow of hesitation. He will take no fear, no regret, no relief, barely even satisfaction in the grim act, and yet that is somehow more profane than joy in slaughter. Not even a single hint of joy, wild and unfettered in the sheer cruelty, not even a single hint of an ambition for why he would lay such altars of blood before his master’s feet, only simply because He wanted it to be so, and simply because he loved Him.

In his eyes, you are his Emperor. But he does not always obey you. He does not kneel as he would’ve knelt before his master. Because he knows, Valdor knows that to protect Him, to serve Him properly, sometimes he must smother Him for His own good. It’s the twisted rationale of a dog who has lost his master, whose death had rocked him so thoroughly he was willing to kill to save Him again.

Valdor kneels, of course. He’ll kneel before you and speak his words of loyalty, he’ll give you his names one by one if you only ask. Valdor has never considered himself eloquent with words, but he’ll listen to you, he’ll even let you command him as the Emperor would have done. Rank be damned, he cares not if his Emperor had been reborn as a guardsman or an Astartes or even a Thunder Warrior.

But he does not hide his obsession. To obsess is the only way he knows to love, after all. He’ll smother his beloved with his protection, with his adoration. He’ll hack his way to be their only protector, their only bulwark before the madness, the only man they can trust to defend them. Gaze upon his Emperor once, he’ll tear them apart. Love the Emperor more than him, and he’ll bury their bones beneath the snowfields.

And be loved by the Emperor more than him….and he’ll betray them as he had betrayed the Thunder Warriors. He’ll sink in golden knives and golden spears in turned backs without even the hint of remorse, Valdor will remind his beloved that it is he who is the servant, it is he who serves to be praised for his duty. Valdor can take you from your family as the Emperor took him from his, he’ll so effortlessly ensure the utter protection of his new Emperor, all for himself.

No one will protect you more than I, my liege.

It is he who should be the favored servant.

No one can love you more than I, my Emperor.

He’ll croon those litanies of loyalty to you. He’ll whisper those promises of protection, of ambition, he’ll promise you an eternity while standing atop the frozen ashes of your loved ones. He’ll promise you a throne if you don’t cry, if you’ll love him as his master did. He’ll bring you a crown of gold, he’ll strangle the living storm for you, if only you promise to let him protect you, if you promise if you’ll be his Emperor.

You died once. I will not let you do so again, my Emperor.

And his obsession would never be checked, and much less ended by the true power behind the Imperium.

You are his Emperor. In that mind He broke so thoroughly long ago, you are the Emperor, reborn. Heavy is the head that bears the laurel, bloodied is the hand that holds this mad dog’s leash.

It is Valdor who should be the favored servant.

No one will protect you more than I, my liege.

He will protect you.

He will protect you, obsess over you, guard you with the hollow that is a heart. He’ll bring you a throne, a crown, an army, an eternity, if only you promise, if only you’ll be his Emperor.

The Emperor died ten thousand years ago. And in turn, he casted you in His corpse.

261 notes · View notes

miumura · 1 year ago

Text

(Y)OUR EXPECTED FATE — JUNGWON FF

“ i always want you when i’m finally fine. ”

SYNOPSIS Jungwon felt he was on the verge of uncovering the solution — how to make you stay by his side for eternity. He had always loved you, and in every lifetime, you reciprocated that love. Convincing you to become immortal with him should be straightforward, right? However, your response proved far from what he desired, as if it were destined to be just his expected fate in every lifetime.

( 🗝️ ) THE PAIRING sorcerer!jungwon x knight-gn!reader

⌞ + ⌝ GENRE royalty au, doomed immortal x mortal, angst, subtle amounts of fluff !

𓍼 WARNINGS mentions of injuries (cuts/bruises), mentions of blood, mention of lifeless body, use of petnames

♡⸝⸝ WORD COUNT — 2.2K+ ( 2262 )

AUTHOR’S NOTE there was this one tiktok that had a plot like this and UGH i couldn’t get it out of my head…so you know i had to write this !! creds to that one tiktok bc i kept thinking about this all day…🤍 also, part one? maybe????

—> READ PART TWO ( HIS EXPECTED FATE ) HERE !

Jungwon lingered around the entrance, waiting for you to meet him. He knew you were practicing on the training grounds, and he was worried that you might overexert yourself once again. While he admired your dedication, a deep concern always lingered, fearing that such commitment could lead to severe injuries. But, he wouldn’t be surprised if you did walk out looking all rough. After all, he was used to that sight of you.

“Jungwon!” As you finally approached, he heard your cheerful greeting. However, this time, something was different. Your smile remained as bright as ever, yet the cuts on your arms and face had increased, now more pronounced and bloodied. Typically, Jungwon would rush over to greet you with a smile, but this time, his heart raced for entirely different reasons.

"YN!" Worry filled Jungwon's tone as his fingers gently brushed against your cuts, causing you to wince at the slight burning sensation. A guilty look adorned your face as you avoided making eye contact with him. Taking hold of your cheeks, he directed your head to meet his gaze, and soon his eyes cautiously inspected the wounds on your arms.

"Don't look at me like that," you chuckled lightly, seemingly unfazed by the numerous injuries sustained in the past hour. Jungwon shook his head, "Just when I thought I could leave you alone to take care of yourself."

"I just overdid it today—I promise not to show up all bloody like this next time," you firmly said, but he was aware that it was another one of those promises you might struggle to keep. Jungwon grabbed your wrist, leading you away from the training grounds and swiftly taking you to the secluded spot that had become your retreat.

“Sit there,” he pointed at the tree stump nearby, and made his first aid kit appear out of thin air. Jungwon being a sorcerer was definitely shocking to you, although after encountering so much magic within the realm of royalty, it shouldn't have been surprising. Still, you still find yourself randomly wondering how he was able to do things like that within a split second.

"Look at me," he softly instructed, followed by a quiet sigh. It was evident that seeing you hurt stirred a deep discomfort within Jungwon, even if the injuries were minor. As he wiped the blood from your cuts with a cotton bud, both of you winced simultaneously. It seemed he had grown accustomed to reacting this way.

"You know, I still don't understand why you panic like this. You always manage to treat me perfectly," you remarked, attempting to ease the tension with a hint of humor.

"And you always worry me—your injuries are getting worse as the days go by. Did you think I wouldn't notice the bruises on your knuckles either?" Jungwon reached for your hand with his free one, lightly caressing your fingers while still focused on inspecting your face. "You shouldn't ruin a face like this—not that I'm saying that in a bad way. Is there a different way for you to train so vigorously?"

"Well, what do you expect a skilled knight like me to do? To just back down now that I've built myself a reputation?" you chuckled. "No can do."

"Well, YN, I wouldn't laugh during a situation like this, where you have me tending to your awful cuts."

"Dropping the honorifics, huh?"

“My apologies, Sir YN. Is there anything else you command me to do?” A soft laugh leaves your lips again, causing the tense Jungwon to finally break into a small smile. It was as if your laughter was his medicine.

“Kiss me.” Jungwon's face flushes, but he places his hands on the sides of your face, slowly leaning in. Just as you close your eyes, you hear a slight giggle. Feeling something other than his lips on yours, you open one eye to see him just treating your wounds again as if he didn't just tease. “You’ve got a cut here–wait until I finish.”

“Hey that’s not…” Your voice trails off when he unexpectedly kisses your cheek. “...nice.” A peck comes with the next, and it just keeps going. He continues smothering kisses on your face, now making you want to escape his grasp despite you asking for them in the first place.

After giving you the final peck on your lips, he moved away from your face, a proud grin on his face for his handiwork. Handing you a small mirror, you examined your face and noticed how all the gashes from training had disappeared. Touching your cheekbone, you inquired, “What did you just do? That seems like a new technique you've learned.”

“You wanted kisses, didn't you? So, I did a little something,” Jungwon replied with a mischievous smile. “And it's a secret.”

“How mean,” you huffed lightly.

“I still need to tend to your arms and hands. Can you try to stay still for me, my love?”

Jungwon completed the task more swiftly than he had anticipated. He yearned to kiss you more, as his actions seemed to convey more than words ever could. Seating himself beside you, he lay on the tree trunk behind, reaching out for your hand. Together, you both gazed into the horizon without uttering a word.

He wished for you to rest, recognizing that even though he had healed your cuts, your body remained fatigued. Your energy levels hadn't been up to par lately, and he couldn't help but worry if there was something more serious at play.

But, even in quiet times like these, these moments are things he actually cherished the most. It allowed him to collect his thoughts.

Glancing back at your calm state, the question Jungwon had lingering in the back of his mind finally comes back to him.

Right.

He had to ask you this. But how?

Would he ruin this moment for the both of you?

A wave of countless thoughts flooded Jungwon's mind. The timing never seemed quite right. When would he ever get the chance to share something this important with you? This quiet moment was the only time you and he spent together without any peculiar occurrences.

Should he just ask the question already?

Should he— “Jungwon, do you need something?”

“Huh?” Caught off guard, Jungwon blinked for a moment. He hadn't realized that he was lost in his own thoughts. Shaking his head slightly, he offered a sheepish smile. "No, nothing in particular. Just enjoying the moment with you."

"Is everything okay? Your hold on my hand is a bit...” He noticed the tightness in his grip and instinctively loosened it. “Sorry.”

“You seem like something is on your mind. Why not share it with me?” In moments like these, your attentiveness always shone through. Despite his usual tendency to back away, this time, Jungwon felt a stronger urge not to let the opportunity slip by like any other day.

“Well, um,” He found himself stumbling over words, struggling to articulate his thoughts amidst the whirlwind of emotions. Your understanding gaze encouraged him, appreciating the cute side of him you always found endearing.

“I... I wanted to ask you something important,” Jungwon finally confessed, looking into your eyes with a mixture of nervousness and determination. Your expression softened, encouraging him to continue. “What is it?”

He took another deep breath before speaking, “YN, have you ever thought about... eternity? About staying by someone's side forever?”

“Eternity you say…” You thought deeply of the question–it was certainly one of those questions that went beyond the usual conversations you two would have. “Well, I guess I have considered that–in a different sense. What makes you bring this up all of a sudden?”

“I said I would protect you for my whole life, did I not?” His hands interlocked with yours, and his tone…

His tone seemed rather…

Sad.

You knew his emotions better than anyone else could; you could instantly tell if something was off. It was as if he had repeated that question to you countless times before.

You just didn’t know how to explain it. It was just a gut feeling.

But why would he be sad?

You didn't quite understand it, but you hesitated to delve deeper.

“And you have done great so far, my dearest,” You tried to offer comfort, tightening your hold in response. “My wounds have never healed better when I’m around you.”

He nodded, appreciating your reassurance. “Of course, my love. Seeing you hurt is something I can't bear, especially when I know I can do something about it. But...that's not exactly what I'm trying to say.”

“Oh?”

Jungwon hesitated for a moment before letting out a nervous chuckle, “I was just... wondering if you'd be open to the idea. You know, staying with someone you care about for a very, very long time. Like, forever.”

The sincerity in his eyes left you with a sense of vulnerability, and you realized that this wasn't just an ordinary conversation. Jungwon seemed to be hinting at something much more profound.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

He sighed, nodding his head. “Yes…what I’m trying to say is that I find I can find a way to keep you beside me forever.”

“You mean... granting me immortality?”

“Exactly.” He nodded, his hold on your hand tightening, as if he had no intention of letting you go. “I’ve been experimenting with various spells from the countless books I’ve read during endless nights. I can share some of my findings with you, if you’d—”

“My love, I must decline that offer.”

“Huh?” Jungwon was puzzled by the sudden interruption. Gazing at you with widened eyes, he realized you weren't joking.

You were being serious.

“Oh. Is that so…” You noticed his eyes glistening, causing a twinge in your heart. Making people feel sad, especially those you love, was something you truly hated.

“Don’t misunderstand—I love you deeply, more than words could convey. But, after all the achievements I’ve accomplished as a knight, I don’t want them to go to waste.”

Jungwon couldn’t comprehend it.

“But, my love, how would it go to waste? Your accomplishments will be remembered for ages, even centuries. And you can continue achieving much more... if you choose to stay.”

He's trying his best—he wants you to stay. Was it selfish of him to wish for that? However, there's no time for self-doubt; what shouldn’t be doubtful is his love for you.

He wants you.

So he pleads. He tries his absolute hardest.

He’s just so close.

So close to stopping this wretched fate of his.

“Why, aren’t you the sweetest?” you smiled, freeing him from your grasp to run your fingers through his hair, providing instant solace. With your touch, Jungwon sighed, this was clearly taking a toll on him.

“Is…is that a yes?”

“The answer is still a no. I want to stay by your side as a mortal being.”

“But…but why?” he questioned, a mix of confusion and desperation in his eyes.

“Because, that way, it can make our memories more cherishable, don’t you think?” you smiled at him, your words piercing through his heart. How could you radiate joy in a moment like this? However, he couldn’t deny the truth in your statement. Across countless past lives, you were always a part of them, turning each one into a profoundly memorable experience.

Different clothes, different situations, different personalities—he had encountered them all. Yet, irrespective of the flaws or imperfections, he found himself drawn to you in every single life.

He remembers all the moments he’d be able to make you smile.

He remembers the sweet laughs you’d have—each one he would consider as a beautiful melody.

He remembers what had made you happy in those lives.

He knows them all by heart.

He longs to share those stories with you, but the fear of overwhelming you with his endless tales holds him back.

He would never want to burden you like that.

“I guess so…” he manages to utter, his voice choked with unspoken emotions.

“I can tell you’re hurt,” your tone softens, your smile fading into a slight frown. “But it just won’t be the same. I would feel much prouder about how many things I can accomplish during my time. I hope you understand.”

His lips thinned, and he slowly nodded, trying to convey that he was okay. Attempting to hold his head high, he looked at you with a certain glint in his eyes. “As long as you’re happy, my love.”

“Thank you,” you exhaled, shifting your position to lay on his lap, closing your eyes. Jungwon chuckled, a bittersweet sound, brushing your hair away from your face. “Let’s just relax, hm?”

“Yeah. Relax,” Jungwon agreed, feeling his energy drain out of him. How could he relax? He was tired. How many more moments like this could you two share before he was forced to part from you again?

He can feel the tears he tried holding back come back to him. His eyes were becoming blurry as he continued to look down at your figure.

He feels even sadder, as his blurry vision seemed to portray what he eventually ends up experiencing.

He should’ve known by now.

No matter the timeline, he was fated to be separated from you.

Despite his efforts, he would watch you leave, helpless to change the outcome.

The haunting image of holding your lifeless body would repeat, tears streaming down uncontrollably.

A new start awaits, but it was another wretched path he was forced to follow.

This was his expected fate.

💬 : ayaya

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

383 notes · View notes

exolocke · 2 months ago

Text

Zenless Zone Zero: Immortalized (Male Reader fanfic)

A/N: This prologue takes place under a couple of POV’s none of them being (Y/N) this is more giving contexts of how Civilians see you or in this case the identity of the masked hero you are and your effects on the world around you. Chapter 1 will have you getting into story events from your/(Y/N) perspective.

It’s not just an OC tagged as X Reader

Wattpad Currently has all the Prologue + Chapter 1 and 2 as well as an attempt at a power set/kit description like agents in the game have.

This is my first time posting any of my written work so suggestions for improvement would be appreciated.

Prologue: Just an Urban Legend

Location: Twelfth Street, Janus Quarter

New Eridu is many things, the last city on Earth, constantly under threat from apocalyptic space time anomalies, but it's also brave, and her people are strong despite the constant threats, standing side by side against the potential end of everything. With every day being more a gift then a promise, one thing the people of New Eridu love is passing on their rich cultures. From recipes, to beliefs, even combat techniques, people made sure to pass knowledge down, to stop them from being lost to time. But an easy favourite were stories, from past times, or just to pass time, Urban Legends, Folk Tales, Comics, and Movies. (a promise of a brighter day some would say)...

Within a apartment complex in the Janus Quarter, under the bright light of a kitchen, as the last hints of sunlight hang in the sky. The sound of typing on a keyboard slows eventually stopping... the man sitting at his laptop ran a hand through his unwashed hair, leans back, and sighs.

"Still stuck?" A soft voice asks, coming from just behind him.

Glancing over at the TV in the living room across from him the man watches the news broadcast. Having been silenced a while ago but the Headline in big red letters was still visible on the screen.

"New Companion Hollow Erupted-20 People Still Missing"

Feeling his wife's arms wrap around him from behind finally gives him the final push he needs to say what he's thinking. "People need hope... I write these articles so that people don't give up... but the more this happens the more it feels like I'm just covering the same points with different words. And each time it gets harder to do."

Taking a deep breathe and resting her head on her husbands shoulder, she took some time thinking of what to say, looking at what her husband typed so far. Urban Legends... "Maybe you just need to take it from a different point of view... give them a story, instead of reiterating the H.I.A. has it under control."

"And how should I go about getting this different point of view?"

"Why don't you go tell Sonya a bedtime story and see how you feel when you come back?"

Taking off his glasses and rubbing his face. "Yeah... I can do that, maybe it will get me out of this rut."

A tired smile graces his wife's face. "Good, having her home from school all day has her wired... so good luck." Giving him a strong peck on his cheek before watching her husband getting up and heading to their daughters room.

Approaching his daughters bedroom he slips back on his glasses as he gets to the door.

"Knock Knock darling." He said while rapping on the door with his knuckles. He heard some giggling coming from her room before his daughter called out. "Come innnnn Papa." With a chuckle he opened the door to Sonya's room.

As he stepped into his daughters room he found Sonya laying on her stomach at the foot of her bed colouring a drawing intently.

"Darling, time to go to sleep , I know you want to finish your drawing but it's bedtime now." His daughters gaze immediately shooting up to him from the page in front of her, a pleading look in her eye. "Sorry Darling but you can finish it tomorrow... on the bright side, I've been sent to tell you a story."

As he watched a big smile break out across his daughters face. "Can it be about The Saint!?!"

He couldn't help the sigh that escaped him... before a mirthful smile graced his face. "Of course it can but you need to get in bed first." Watching as Sonya immediately leapt up from the floor, putting her crayons and drawing on her desk and flinging herself onto her bed as fast as she could.possibly ... now waiting with an expectant look on her face

"Under the covers." He said with a chuckle, as he watched his daughter wriggle herself under her blankets.

"Ok.. good now let's see... last time we did Saint v.s. The Corrupted Subway didn't we?" Looking over at his daughter as she nodded expectantly, he decided to walk over and take a seat at his daughters desk in front of her.

As she held the obviously handmade Saint doll tightly to her chest. "How about... how about instead of Saint v.s. something we do Saint saves the day?"

————————————————————————

Location: Lemnian Companion Hollow, (Unnamed)

Footsteps thundered behind us as we ran as fast as we could, weaving between construction supplies and equipment. Taking a quick glance over my shoulder at my pursuers... "Fuck!!" Eight Ethereals-!? *THUMP* slamming into Jace in front of me, I looked up at the three massive walls surrounding us on all sides... "A Dead End!?! DOUBLE FUCK!!!" I hissed.

"Come on get up!!" Caleb grunted pulling both Jace and I back onto our feet. "We have to get out of here before they cut us off!" He stated, but before we could even turn around we heard it. "RHAAAAH!!!" a screech cut through the air behind us, spinning on my heels I looked back the way we came.

We were already surrounded... "Triple Fuck." Those two words barely left my lips before the first Ethereal charged at us. It was nearly on me in an instant, two bladed arms shooting out at me. For a moment I thought I saw a blurring of movement just off to the right, but it didn't matter, this was it. This is how it ends—

*BANG* The sound rang out louder than a gunshot. In a blur of Blue and Gray the Ethereal was slammed into the wall on my left. Cracks spiralling outwards from the impact. And there, standing in the settling dust was a man clad in Gray and Blue tactical gear. Gray cargo pants tucked into black combat boots, what could only be described as a utility belt with countless pouches on it, a gray armoured vest over some sort of blue metallic shirt, and brown leather bracers.

"You're The Saint." Caleb all but whispered.

"You- you're real?" I stuttered out, more a question than a statement.

"Holy shit." Jace echoed his disbelief.

Everything felt like it was standing still for a moment, the Ethereals processing this new threat as he pulled his tower shield free of the wall he used to flatten the first Ethereal, it was beautiful, shaped like two overlapping wings, a beautiful blue metal. There was barely a second to appreciate the craftmanship before combat erupted again.

An Ethereal with clubbed hands charged and swung wildly at The Saint, moving with practiced ease he weaved under the blow and getting behind the first Ethereal and planting a hefty kick to its back, sending it tumbling to the ground.

Quickly following the first, two Ethereals were already on top of him, parrying one with his shield using its momentum to sling it into the wall on our right, before the third could get close enough to attack, Saint reached behind him, pulling his weapon off his back, it looked like some kind of Drill-Lance hybrid. As it started to spin and shift into gear in his hand, he dashed forward with terrifying speed, driving the lance through the chest of the third Ethereal, with so much force his strike carried them back into the fourth Ethereal behind it, shredding the both of them to bits with the drilling function.

The fifth and sixth Ethereal's barely stood a chance, both charging up Ether shots, bursting against The Saints shield with little effect, neither of them got a chance for a second shot. Saint launched himself into the air with a massive leap, immediately closing the distance on Ethereal #6 and bringing the bottom of his down on its head, crushing it into a burst of Ether energy. Immediately swinging his lance to the left in a wide arc, more akin to a great sword as the spinning body of the Lance chewed into the fifth Ethereal like a paper shredder as it shuddered and crumpled to the ground.

By now both the first and second Ethereal had recovered, the second Ethereal reached The Saint first, using his shield to throw it into the air above him as the first Ethereal swung at his exposed right flank, in a flash of speed he brought up his lance to parry, grinding through the clubbed hands of the Ethereal, following up with a slash parting its torso from its waist, quickly spinning around to the Second Ethereal still laid out on the floor, driving the Drill Lance directly through it and into the ground in an eruption of multicoloured sparks.

We stood there for... a while, slack jawed as The Saint slung his Lance and Shield onto his back.

<\\You kids alright?//> his voice rung out, but it was altered, slightly garbled like a filter had been put on it... a Voice Changer..?

Looking up at him now facing us, finally getting to take in all the details of his suit. The shirt under the vest actually seemed to be some sort of scale-mail, stylized in the shape of feathers, the brown leather bracers covering his forearms and hands seeming to have more advanced tech hidden within upon closer inspection. With him now facing us I could see the mask that covered the bottom half of his face, which must be why his voice sounded odd. But the thing that stood out the most... was his glowing electric blue eyes.

Caleb was the first person to really gather his bearings. "Uh.. yes! yes we're good."

As he walked up to us I took into account just how massive he was, he had to be somewhere around 6'9. Reaching into one of the pouches on his belt he pulled out a pill bottle and tossed it to me. <\\You three have been in this Hollow a while, I suggest you each take two//> he stated.

"These are..?" I asked confused.

<\\Anti Corruption Meds//> He said, gesturing with his hand to hurry up.

"Dope." Jace whispered from behind me.

<\\Hey, that's all of them, right?//> He called over his shoulder to someone behind him.

Shortly after that a Bangboo with an knitted orange scarf came into view.

"Yes these are the last 3, we should gather with the others and make our way out of the Hollow while the carrot is still good." A relatively female voice came from the Bangboo, surprisingly, not using the typical bangboo language.

As we listened to their conversation the three of us took our Anti Corruption medication, which was particularly unpleasant without water, but hey we're alive!

"So- a Bangboo with an orange scarf?" Jace started.

"Don't PubSec and H.S.O. sources believe the Bangboo with an orange scarf belongs to the Legendary Proxy Phaethon?" I asked looking at Jace and Caleb for confirmation.

"So that's how you stay so untraceable within the hollows." Caleb mused, gesturing to the Bangboo. "The Saint and the Legendary Proxy Phaethon are a team."

The Bangboo quickly turned around to look at Caleb, almost in a panic. An impressed whistle left Saints mouth, sounding a little odd with the voice mod on his mask. <\\You put that together fast//> he seemed genuinely impressed.

"That's so Fuckin Cool!" Jace exclaimed, leaping up into the air like an excited kid. The Bangboo chimed in as it waddled up to us.

"While we appreciate the adoration you seem to hold for us, I hope you can understand how dangerous that information is." Now, a much more distinctly male voice coming from the Bangboo. As it looked over at Saint.

<\\Yeah... as much as I can appreciate how exciting it would be to go and tell everyone you know, Phaethon and I operate in the shadows doing this, so the less details the authorities have the better//>

As the Bangboo waddled back over and past Saint, Caleb spoke up. "Because your technically classified as Hollow Raiders right? Unless it's an accident that gets someone stuck in a Hollow, it's only supposed to be Law Enforcement or other Hollow related organizations in here. Which makes you being here a crime."

As Jace listened to what Caleb said he almost looked offended on Saints behalf. "But he's not a Raider, he fights Raiders! And he comes here and saves people! He isn't running a crime syndicate from here! He's more like a Hollow— oh what's the word?" Looking over to Jace I suggest. "Vigilante?"

Jace snaps his fingers shooting me finger guns. "Exactly! He helps people!"

<\\While I may be here to help, your friend is right, we are illegally in this Hollow. So just less details keep it safer for us to do our work. Vague description of features, no mention of Phaethon, etc//>

"Oh of course!! Your secret is safe with us!" Jace exclaimed, a dopey grin on his face and holding two thumbs up.

<\\Good, then we should collect the others survivors and get you all out of this Hollow//> he turned around and gestured for us to follow. <\\Follow me//> Saint called.

"I'm the one with the Carrot here Mr. so your all following me... technically." The Bangboo teased. Seemingly back to the original female voice.

————————————————————————

After about a ten minute walk we reached what seemed to be a small hardware store swallowed up by the Hollow, this is where Saint seemed to have gathered the rest of the survivors to hide, once we had got there, I counted over a dozen people, people that Saint saved.

I watched him move amongst the group of civilians, checking the on children, and elderly, along with any wounded. What caught my attention most though was his movements, they almost felt like a dancer... he wasn't dancing but he moved so elegantly, beyond how a normal person would. Always seeming to be aware of where his big freaking shield and lance were hanging when he turned, and how to not knock into anything or one, but beyond that he moved silently even with all that heavy gear, every move was purposeful and were of his surroundings. Further than that even with all that tactical gear on him, he didn't make a sound when moving, like he could be walking directly behind you and you would never know.

As he finished his rounds checking on everybody he walked back over to Jace, Caleb and I, holding a young boy in his arms, looking at the kid his clothes were covered in dried dirt, the only clean parts of him were his face and his right leg up to his knee, both seeming to have been cleaned with water and a cloth. His leg had gauze wrapped around a lot of his calf.

"How bad is he?" Caleb asked.

<\\He'll be just fine, though he won't be able to walk//> Saint paused, a look almost like guilt flashing across his face. <\\Would one of you be able to carry him? It's best for me to keep my hands free in case we face anymore danger//>

Immediately Jace stepped up in front of Saint. "I can do it, definitely." He said reaching out and scooping up the mostly dirty young boy.

<\\His name is Quinn, watch out for him//> he said a hint of relief in his voice.

With that we all gathered together and followed Saint and Phaethon in the direction they said the exit to the Hollow was.

————————————————————————

As Quinn babbled to Caleb and Jace it gave me some time to think, and that thinking led to so many questions. Saint was walking at the front of the group, not horribly far in front of us, so I sped up a bit to try and talk to him.

As I made my way up beside him, taking a deep breath I asked. "Is it ok... to ask a few questions before we get out?"

He glanced at me out the side of his eyes, before taking a sweeping look at the landscape around us. Maybe looking for threats. <[sighs]> <\\I assume these questions are about the proxies and I//>

As he asked that I glanced back at Caleb, Jace, and now Quinn as well. Seeing how they and all the other people with us were just acting like it was a casual day for a stroll.

"Why keep your existence a secret?" I questioned, deciding to rip the bandaid off right away.

"Look how safe everyone feels with you around?" "We are in a Hollow and nobody is even scared!" "People tell stories about you like they tell stories about Section 6, or- or even the Void Hunters! You give so many people hope... your a hero... but you refuse to even let them know your real." It all came spilling out so fast.

I looked up to find him looking at me... he looked sorry almost. <\\Yeah, that's a fair ask//> As he ran a hand through his hair he looked like I just added an extra hundred pounds onto his shoulders.

<\\I know it looks simple from what you've seen today and the stories that are told... but that's only the surface people know about what we do... and why we do it//> He glanced over to Phaethon's bangboo. It wasn't looking at us, but I can tell it was listening in, it had slowed its pace a small amount to walk closer to us.

<\\We never intended to play hero, saving people from Hollows. This started to find answers to something I can't tell you about. For your safety//> his tone took on a more serious weight then it had all day, he had kept up beat, to relieve us of our worries.

<\\They can't be in Hollows for long, having a low Ether Aptitude, unlike me. So Phaethon focused on learning how to navigate the Hollows, and I took it upon myself to become strong, strong enough to go into the Hollows to gather the information we needed.//> Saint seemed to be struggling to choose the right words.

"You didn't want to be some legendary hero?" I asked.

<\\Legendary is a strong word. But no, the intention was... not this. We set out to find answers to a secret...//> He paused for a moment taking a shaky breath. <\\A secret that looking into already cost people their lives. So we stay in the shadows while we look for these answers... it's safer that way//>

Now I was just confused. "If you aren't seeking to be a hero, or save people—"

<\\Why are we here//> Saint said, glancing at me as he finished my thought.

<\\Because its the right thing to do. We have the strength and skills to help, so when people are in danger we show up cause we can save lives. But there's no hunger for the glory or renown that can come with these acts of "Legendary Heroism"//> Making air quotes with his hands.

I was about to ask another question but Phaethon... or their Bangboo came to a stop.

"We're here." We were stopped in front of a car repair shop, specifically one of its garage doors. Saint stepped up to it, sticking out his hand, as a sound between a rip, and a crackle sounded out through the air, and a fissure appeared. A swirling vortex of mostly different shades of purple, but it had some pinks, blues, and other colours.

"A Fissure!" Someone in and amongst our group gasped.

<\\Looks like we made it folks, if you could all file out in a neat and orderly fashion that would be amazing. Don't want to get injured now that you basically made it out//> And there it was. His cheerful and inspiring attitude was back. As all the survivors slowly filed out of the Hollow he gave me a knowing look.

<\\Knowledge is power, the less people know about what we do the safer it is for all of us//> I nodded as he said this.

"Understood." He patted me on the shoulder, and then my friends and I, plus Quinn filed into the fissure and out of the Hollow.

As the lurching in my stomach subsided, and my eyes adjusted to the lights shining in my face we found ourself just outside of the Hollow, seeming spat out right in front of an Pubsec Encampment outside of the Hollow. H.S.O., H.I.A., and PubSec personnel were rushing around, checking the survivors that had come out first for injuries and ether sickness symptoms. Someone seemed to notice my friends and I, and was now quickly making their way to us.

————————————————————————

Location: Twelfth Street, Janus Quarter

As I finishing narrating Sonya's bedtime story, watching her sleep peacefully, silently as I could I made my way over to her, brushing some hair out of her face and kissing her forehead. I then worked my way out of her room and quietly closed the door behind me, making my way back to the living room, I was greeted to my wife curled up under a blanket reading a book. The sun had finally set completely and the room was filled with the warm glow from the floor lamp in the room. Making my way behind her I placed a kiss to the top of her head, and looked at the TV, the news broadcast, still silent but with new information glowed on the screen.

"All missing people(s) found and accounted for" but what really caught my attention was the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen.

"Claims of the Saint saving the missing people(s) and add to growing speculation on if The Saint truly exists. PubSec Officials still resolute in the claims The Saint seeming to be some sort of Shared Ether Induced Hallucination as they "Have no Evidence" that he or she truly exist."

My wife moved to slip her bookmark into her book before looking up at me. "Did you find any inspiration while you were putting Sonya to bed?"

As I chucked, leaning down to peck my wife's lips now she was facing me. "I think I might just have an idea." I whisper, moving back over to my laptop at the kitchen table.

Within an apartment complex in the Janus Quarter, under the warm light of a floor lamp, as the warped face of a moon, scarred by Hollows, climbs into the night sky the sound of typing on a keyboard resumes. This time with a certainty that could only convey a strengthened hope for a better day.

GAME START

@jacenradio7

#zenless zone zero #belle zzz #wise zzz #reader insert #male reader #hoyo games #male!reader #male! reader insert #male reader x zzz characters #zzz x reader #zzz x male reader #zzz x y/n #zzz x you #zenless zone zero x reader #zenless zone zero x you #zenless zone zero x y/n #zenless zone zero x male reader #zzz

29 notes · View notes

the-astra-disastra · 2 months ago

Text

a closer examination of painted flame (jentry x kit)

this is not a babygirlifying kit rant. this is not a bitchifying jentry rant. this is not a hating on michael rant.

this is mostly trying to analyze jentry and kit’s relationship throughout the series and looking at some points that ive seen discussed online either vilifying kit, or that aren’t really addressed at all in regards to jentry, in a different way.

and, by the way, this will have spoilers for episodes 1-10, i think, so just be warned!

first off lets look at kit

kit as a painted skin demon who sustains his life off of draining others’ qi, has in the past killed many people he was once close to. and yes, im aware that he didnt mean to and can’t control his qi draining abilities, which explains why he’s done it, but does not excuse him. he needed to survive one way or the other, and though he did it in a way that is unethical and does include some degree of manslaughter, that’s the way he was created.

although kit did initially first start getting close to jentry because of mr cheng, he did eventually begin genuinely caring for her.

as a painted skin demon, though hes tried his best to integrate and learn as much as he can about human life, he doesn’t really truly understand a lot of human things such as, say, no means no, like when jentry rejects him. he does not understand, after everything he and her had done, after he’d assisted in helping her get rid of her powers, why she would turn him down. confused, it would make sense to try and keep doubling down, keep attempting to talk to her, to just see her in order to sort things out, or even in hope of trying to “fix” things.

again, this is not to excuse him for stalking her or harassing her, but simply an explanation.

in response to the “oh he’s centuries old wtf and she’s 16” claim,

yeah. honestly, yeah.

we know that kit has had romantic relationships in the past with other (presumably) adults (see episode 6), and it would honestly be really weird and gross and icky to see him be in a relationship with gentry while she’s 16.

(there is also a whole other debate to be had on whether he’s still mentally a teenager, but based on his presumed other relationship(s), im going to say no)

(and also there’s so many beloved immortal-ish character x younger (teens to twenties) human ships that aren’t given as much flame either)

do i think a romantic relationship could never be not weird? no, i didn’t say that.

again, maybe once jentry is older, maybe in her 20s or 30s or so, because of the relationship between gugu and zhongkui.

even though it was addressed in maybe a comical or jokey way, wallabee does indeed call zhongkui gugu’s “weird looking ex-boyfriend,” and that’s proof that an immortal-ish and a human could probably have a relationship.

though maybe they’re broken up for a reason.

when kit loses his temper with jentry, he honestly has a perfectly valid explanation for feeling that way:

“so i’m more human than i know, but not human enough for you?”

jentry is the one who told him that a soul was what you choose to do, and jentry was the one who came back, who still treated him respectfully even after she knew he was a painted skin demon (though, after initially running away and threatening to kill him and all of that).

i do think that maybe that might have also been a big part of why kit likes jentry so much: because she was the first to really accept him for him, even if she didn’t at first.

(does that excuse him for getting agressive to the point of violence (on some lockers, sure, but what if it was jentry?), cornering her, and yelling in her face? no, of course not.)

and jentry’s response to what he said? nothing.

because he was pinning her against a wall, because she couldn’t get a word out while he was ranting, but also

because yeah. honestly yeah. she wants normal, and even though she can say all of these nice words to kit, she knows that he’s not really normal.

and can you fault her for that?

let’s move on to jentry.

jentry felt like an anomaly, an outcast in her town ever since she accidentally revealed herself as the town’s “demon girl.”

she’s always felt out of place, and she never wanted her powers.

jentry’s life ever since moving back to riverfork has been the opposite of the quiet one, the normal one she’s wanted to get back to in seoul.

she wants normal. heck, she needs normal.

and after she saw how gugu gave her her powers (a whole other can of worms), amongst all that betrayal and loss and anger— she found an out.

she found a way to be normal.

and she knew a way to achieve it.

whether intentionally or not, jentry manipulated kit using the feelings she knew he had for her to influence him into helping her plans.

she told him that they could be free from cheng and gugu’s fight in a way that kind of implied “we can be free together.”

and though i know that that’s not what she explicitly said, kit, i believe, very much thought so.

she did not force him to help her.

but he did, while chasing a false promise of being together with the girl he liked.

from my standpoint, it was quite obvious that jentry had no feeling or intention to start a romantic relationship with him after he revealed his true form.

“i thought the way you felt was-“

“it was real jentry. it- it is real.”

they stare at each other, and jentry has a resigned look on her face.

and she’s allowed to do that! i acknoweldge that!

and much like jentry has no actial control of kit, and she did not actively force him to help her, kit has no control of jentry, and cannot force her to like him back, no matter how much he wants her to.

after his sacrifice, am i frusturated that he never got to really talk things out with jentry? that jentry never really apologized to kit or was even treated in-show like she did something wrong? that kit was really the only one who the show painted in a bad light as jealous? that the show killed him off and didn’t find a better way to integrate michael x jentry? that jentry’s choice was taken away from her by killing kit?that maybe this all was because of a time crunch or netflix or plain lazy writing?

(the last points are explored really well in this post if you’re interested: https://www.tumblr.com/hamliet/771156735054479360/jentry-chau-vs-netflix?source=share)

yeah, of course i am. but there’s nothing i can do, now can it? better not bitch and moan about it and just wait for season 2

at the end of the day, jentry and kit are imperfect characters, who have messy, complicated emotions and perspectives on the world and their situation. perspectives that are most definitely biased and are most definitely not entirely right or wrong. but hurt and complications with a relationship is definitely a two way street, and they both had a hand in why their relationship, their friendship went awry.

do i think this will change anyone’s minds on the ship, be it hate it or love it? nope!

do i think kit deserved to be with jentry and jentry with kit? do i think they would be a good, healthy, non-toxic relationship if they did manage to get together?

honestly its a mixed bag, and i don’t really want to share my opinions on the ship in case it makes you view this post a different way.

but i hope you understand that those last two questions? they are entirelt different from just “do i ship painted flame?” or something like that. you can like a ship but not think it’s healthy or will work out, and that doesnt make you a terrible human being, or a “promoter of toxicity” and whatever.

fic and fandom and shipping is meant to be fun and escapist, not a battleground for wars and ravagery.

and thats the moral of the story isn’t it? ship what you want! doesnt have to be right, or canon, or in agreement with the larger fandom’s opinion at large! just make sure it isn’t … illegal. like, grossly illegal. or something like that.

ok, analysis over! bye! go watch jentry chau if for some reason youve read through this whole thing and havent!

(ps. tumblr was acting odd but i found the without sources here:

#jentry chau vs the underworld #kit jcvtu #jcvtu jentry #jentry chau kit #analysis #ship analysis #character analysis #astraline rambles #jentry chau #jentry chau spoilers #painted flame #jentry x kit #paintedflame #paintedflame analysis

29 notes · View notes