#i would tag the characters but again i still feel like its too early for that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

natalicss · 3 months ago

Text

Like We Were In Paris II

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

part one

summary: you and ji-yong have been dating for a couple years, and you’ve kept under the radar this entire time. after the gala de pièces juanes, you two attend the chanel spring-summer 2025 haute contour show. however, the two of you are starting to get tired of keeping your relationship a secret.

warnings: not proofread AT ALL! i’m way too lazy for that, sorry. celeb!reader, implied age gap (reader is mid-twenties), lots of fluff, lil bit of angst, use of y/n, i still don’t know how to use this app i feel like an elderly man using a cell phone.

word count: 4.9K

nat’s notes: hey y’all! i came back for part two AS PROMISED! this was actually very hard for me to write as i kept changing my mind about how i wanted this to go. so im sorry in advance if its not all that great LMAO. i do wanna write a lil more about american pop star reader & jiyong, maybe i’ll do some sort of head canons about them, or some stuff about their relationship early on. i’m not sure. i also tagged the people who asked to be & i will try to keep tagging people in the future (if they wanna be). anywhore, i hope that you guys enjoy this, if you don’t…sorry<3 toodles!

tag list: @infinetlyforgotten @petersasteria

After the successful Gala Des Pièces Jaunes event, you had spent the next couple days in dressing rooms. You had been invited to Chanel’s Spring-Summer 2025 Haute Couture Show. You said yes, of course, having an affinity for fashion, and never turning down the chance to be near your long-term boyfriend. You and Ji-yong had been to a couple of the same fashion shows before. It was always easy to slip by with nobody noticing your connection. Oftentimes, you two were not seated remotely near each other and are far too busy with the peers around you to sneak away.

But this last week felt particularly more difficult. Unlike in America or South Korea, where you knew the paparazzi and knew very well how to remain under the radar, the Paris press was more complicated. You and Ji-yong had to weave your way around in more secrecy than ever. Every method you could imagine. Some instances, the two of you would sneak through a back door and slide into cars to avoid the cameras. Other instances, the two of you would make separate nonchalant appearances. Ji-yong would leave the hotel first, shy and polite as he waved and greeted the people around him as he’d slip into a car and drive off to his next location. You, wearing designer clothes and sunglasses as you walked out with a big smile and a more confident approach. You’d get in your own car, sliding into the back with your security with a huff. Within moments, you’d open your phone to shoot a text to your lover.

Y/N

i didnt get to say it before you left, but you look handsome today<3

You knew it’d only be a moment before he responded.

Ji<3

Thank you, Aein, you look beautiful!

You and Ji-yong hated that you couldn’t spend this Paris trip together more. After all, you two had all of the same events, same meetings, same friends to visit, and yet you couldn’t be by his side at any of it, not in public. Part of you didn’t mind, used to the routine, but part of you was starting to grow tired. It wasn’t like two years ago, when you first started dating. At that time, Ji-yong was still on hiatus, you were working on your fourth album, and everything had to be a secret. Secret vacations, secret visits, secret dinner dates where the two of you wore silly disguises. You were good sports, making a game out of it and playing ridiculous characters to see who cracked first. But that was two years ago. He was back in the spotlight again, you had released your fifth album a few weeks ago, he was releasing his own work. You two were confident in your relationship, everyone was. What was holding you back?

There was no black and white answer. On one hand, now was the perfect time to announce to the world that their rumors of you dating a random Hollywood actor were all false. On the other hand, were you so willing to give up that last piece of privacy you did have? You weren’t worried about the hate on either side, despite knowing how fans often get if they don’t approve of their favorite celebrities' relationship.

You had been in a public relationship way before Ji-yong. It was years ago, back when you were still new to the world of fame and glamour. Every corner you turned, the cameras flashing, the wave of hate you’d received, the amount of gossip around every song you released being about them or not, their interviews for their movies always being about you. Your careers had been forced to blend due to the way people reacted. The world had taken your last relationship by storm and had seemingly strangled it with their love and adoration. The lack of privacy, individuality, and respect for the two of you had been what led to you and your last partners split. It took the two of you years before the media finally stopped associating everything either of you did together. So, understandably, part of you was worried about that happening again.

You thought about all of this as you and Ji-yong were getting ready for the day. You both had things to attend to, tomorrow being the fashion show. One last fitting, one last meeting with your teams. You were styling your hair as Ji-yong had finished getting dressed, the agreement for him to leave the hotel first still agreed on. He looked at you, and you could see the way his eyes softened as he observed your eyes. He knew everything about you, down to the way your face looked when you were deep in thought, perhaps about to drown yourself with your ability to overthink.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, speaking in Korean first as he approached. You didn’t say anything, busy running your fingers through your hair as he quietly stepped next to you. He met your eyes in the mirror, his lips curling. “There she is.” You blushed at his words, putting your hands down as you finally turned your body to face him. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” He asks, reaching up to adjust your hair framing your face.

You didn’t know where to start. You and Ji-yong had talked about this a million times before. You two had always agreed to keep things the way they are. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change that. As he watched you get lost in your thoughts again, he tilted his head to meet your gaze. Your eyes were glossy, not all there as you already started mapping out every way the conversation could go, preparing yourself for every out come.

“Jagiya, you’re worrying me,”

You blink. It takes you a second to come back to the present, taking a deep breath as you try to explain the heavy complicated feelings in your heart. “I’ve been thinking, through this whole trip,” You subconsciously reach for his hands, looking for comfort and something to anchor you down. He lets you, his thumb running along your skin in soothing patterns. “I don’t know how much longer I want to keep us a secret.” You blurt, staring at your connected hands rather than his eyes. You were too worried about what you might find.

There’s a beat of silence. Then another. Your heart twists in anxiety, but you don’t dare to look up. Ji-yong’s breathing changes, only the slightest bit, but you notice. He stops his thumb from tracing its delicate patterns, instead letting it tap against your skin. You feel guilty. You both had so much to do today, this conversation could have waited til tonight, after the show tomorrow, or at just about any other time. You weren’t sure, but you knew this wasn’t it.

Ji-yong adjusts his posture, pulling one hand away from yours, only to bring it to your face. With the gentlest touch, he lifts your head so you finally see his eyes. They’re not angry, or frustrated, or even remotely annoyed. Instead, they’re as soft and warm as they’d always been, making your heart flutter the slightest bit. To be honest, Ji-yong had thought about this too. He’d admitted before that going public worried him. He was a celebrity, and that immediately brings its own multitudes of hardships. He knew that he’d keep any and all relationships a secret, unless the person he was with said otherwise. You had come into his life, unexpectedly, and changed his entire world in the best ways he could imagine. And here you were, the person he knew was the love of his life, staring back at him with sadness because of that very sentiment.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been feeling it too. He wanted to hold your hand down the streets of Paris, the two of you pointing out different things you loved about it, sharing kisses under streetlights. That night at the Gala, he had wanted to kiss you as soon as he was off the stage. And when you were finished performing? He wanted to part the crowd and sweep you into his arms, like he did at your own tours. But he’d been worried, worried about what people might say to you or about you. He knew how harsh they got. He knew you could handle it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put you in that position unless you were ready.

His hand, which caresses your face with a certain level of sincerity you only ever felt from him, was soft and moved gently. He smiled, a soft gentle one that made you feel more at ease as you realized he wasn’t mad at you in any way. “It hasn’t been easy, has it?” He asks you, raising a brow. You only shake your head, lips pursed into a line. He studies your features like you’re a work of art (cause you are). “I miss every second I’m not with you. All I can think about is where you might be. If you’re smiling. If you’re anxious. If you’re laughing. If you’re thinking about me, too.” He leans in close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And then you text me, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to be with you, and how mad I am that you’re not next to me.” You nod in understanding. You’d always felt that way about him, to the point it made your heart clench.

“I love you,”

“I love you more.”

You’re blushing wildly as he kisses your lips softly. Your feelings for him being translated into simple intimate touches. You’d never experienced something like Ji-yong before. You never wanted to let that go.

When he pulls away, he’s reaching for your jacket hanging off the back of a chair. You smile at him, memorizing his face like you’d done a million times before. You slide your arms into the jacket, letting your boyfriend adjust your outfit slightly. He focuses on your hair, bringing it out form under it and framing your face. Everytime his fingers brush your skin it leaves faint tingles in their wake.

“Why don’t we talk to everyone when we get home?” He suggests, looking back at you. Your eyes widen. You search his expression. “If you’re positive, then I’m with you.”

You smiled wide. You couldn’t help it. “I’ve never been so sure of anything.” Your arms wrap around his neck, and he laughs softly as you start to kiss all over his face. “I want nothing more than to scream about how I’m dating G-Dragon.” He rolls his eyes playfully, still not used to you using his stage name after all this time.

The rest of your days went smoothly. Both of you finishing up with your work, having dinner with friends, coming back to the hotel room to spend every possible moment together. Soft laughter as you each told stories from your pasts (many you’ve already told), legs tangled together under the sheets of your bed. Small intimate touches. Fingers tracing shapes on skin. Gentle kisses. Messy hair. If possible, your eyes were certainly heart shaped every moment you looked at him.

It was hard to hide it, even now, as you sit at the Chanel show. Both of you had arrived at different times, wearing extravagant outfits. You could feel his eyes on you as you posed for the cameras. He tried to keep his composure when he knew you were near by as he did interviews. Luckily for both of you, you’ve had years of practice. You held your head high with confidence, switching your energy from your usual softer self to the person you were on stage. America’s pop star. America’s princess. The way you posed yourself elegantly, batting your full lashes and gave your most sultry looks. How was Ji-yong supposed to not look? You were sitting in your seat, looking down at your phone as a text popped up.

Ji<3

You’re the most beautiful one here

You looked across the runway, your heart skipping a beat. He was already looking at you, a knowing shy smile on his face as he kept his phone in his hand. You smiled back at him, looking back at your phone.

Y/N

Says you<3 I love you

You put your phone in your lap, looking around some more. You felt lucky you had been to so many events, most of these people you already knew one way or another. It made small talk with the people next to you flow easily. Every now and again, you’d sneak a glance at your boyfriend, who was always staring at you like you were the show itself. It was hard to hide your blushed face, keep your voice from pitching when you talked to the other celebrities, and nearly impossible not to stare right back at him.

The show itself seemed to pass by with ease. You watched thoughtfully at every piece, making mental notes of things you particularly liked and wanted to mention to your assistant later. You’d lean over to your new friend of the night, whispering about different pieces and sharing your thoughts. You could see Ji-yong completely focused on the show, his eyes studying every model with intrigue. It was clear every piece that came out was being calculated into various looks. If he thought of something that worked, he’d raise his phone and take a quick photo. You smiled every time, excited to hear what he was thinking of later.

As the show came to an end, you were talking with your team as you felt someone graze past you. You looked up to see your familiar boyfriend, smiling at you fondly. You knew there were cameras everywhere, one minor slip leading to a whirlwind of chaos and news articles. The anxiety in your chest felt tight, but you kept your cool, straightening your posture and giving him a smile.

Ji-yong looked around, as if silently piecing together something. You followed his gaze, trying to see exactly what he was looking at. To you, there was nothing particularly interesting one way or another. Some fellow stars were talking, being interviewed, or just admiring the scene. Photographers were taking photos of guests, journalists asking people various questions. To you, it looked like every other fashion show even you’d been to. To Ji-yong, it looked like an opportunity.

There were no words shared. His hand clasped around yours, and without thinking your fingers tightened around his. You blinked in surprise, looking ahead as Ji-yong started pulling you through the sea of people. You were wide-eyed as you looked around. Your teams hadn’t noticed you disappearing, but you knew that wouldn’t last long. But Ji-yong moved with purpose, walking through like this wasn’t strange or something other people should take a second glance at. You tried to mimic his confidence, but the butterflies in your stomach refused to simmer down.

In a quiet corner away from the cameras and the wandering eyes, Ji-yong finally came to a stop. You looked at him with a surprised expression. Your lipstick-painted lips parted slightly as you watched him look at you. He adjusted the tie around his neck, something he’d been doing the entire day. You looked behind you, worried who was watching, but a hand wrapping around your waist caught your attention.

His lips pressed against yours. Soft, passionate, and urgent. You squeaked in surprised against him, your hands landing on his chest as he pulled you further into the corner. Hidden away from your peers, from your teams, and from the layers of paparazzi. Your hands clutched tighter onto his jacket. His hands, which traced your body slowly, slowly lifted to grab your face with the most gentle touch. As he pulled away, you could only blink at him with big doe eyes.

“I couldn’t stand there and act like you weren’t the most beautiful thing here.” He whispers.

The words caused your heart to do flips against your ribcage. His touch seemingly brought you back to earth, his thumb gently brushing against your cheekbone. “Says you, Monsieur G-Dragon,” You tease as you run your hands over the jacket again. This time, he’s the one trying to hide the way his cheeks blush. You looked at the bow tie with the flower on it, tilting your head as you reached up, slowly maneuvering the flower off. He looks down, blinking at it as you hold the flower in your hand, “Is that better?”

He reaches up, adjusting the tie again, and smiling softly. “Yes. Thank you.” He says finally. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual” You sigh dramatically, shrugging your shoulders. Ji-yong chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Got whisked away by a hot guy, can’t complain.”

Ji-yong raises a brow in amusement. “Is that what happened?” He asks. You look around. “What else would you call this?”

He steps closer, looking up in thought as he lets his arms wrap around your waist. His lips in a line as he tilts his head slightly. He narrows his eyes at you playfully. He didn’t have an answer. He rather liked the idea of whisking you away from the public eye. He did it often, though usually it was more hidden than this. You leaned into his touch, a natural instinct. The rest of the world seemed to drift away, even in moments like this. Only you and Ji-yong existed. Life was better with him. He knew you like the back of his hand. He knew how to make you laugh, how to calm your nerves, how to soothe your cries. He knew your favorite snacks, your order at your favorite coffee shop, and your favorite movies. The same could be said for you. You knew how to quiet his overwhelming thoughts, how to make him smile in stressful moments. You knew his favorite songs to play in the car. His favorite jewelry pieces to wear. You had his tells of when he was anxious or upset burned into your brain. And when one of you were around the other, everybody else melted into the background. Your love trumping anything else.

“We should probably get back out there,” You whisper. He hums in agreement, but neither of you make any move to leave. You lean closer into him, your head resting on his chest as his chin rested on top of your head. You knew it wouldn’t be long until the two of you were together again; a few hours at most. Lately, those hours felt like decades.

Ji-yong gave you another squeeze. “You go out first, jagiya,” He whispers. You pull away from his embrace, staring up at him. The way your glossy eyes sparkled up at him. It was like he could see every ounce of love for him you had, pouring out of you. He framed your face in his hands, kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” You whispered against his lips. Reluctantly, you pulled away from his touch, looking back at him again as you walked away. He only smiled softly. Your heart yearned to stay in that corner with him forever, until your managers found you and ripped the two of you apart. You chewed the inside of your cheek, turning away from him completely as you looked for any sign of your team.

In the dark of your hotel room, you and Ji-yong were a tangled mess of bedsheets and limbs. The rest of the event blew by, you making some lame excuse to your team that you had gone to the bathroom, and Ji-yong telling his team that he was looking at some of the pieces again. You ended up having a romantic dinner together, talking about the event and the people you ran into. A quiet night with glasses of champagne and flirtatious glances.

But now, as the two of you were sleeping peacefully in your quiet room, your phones began to buzz. A violent series of notifications flooding both of your phones. You begin to stir first, rolling over slowly, pulling Ji-yongs arms off of you as you reached for your cellphone. A series of calls, texts, emails, all from your manager, publicist, assistant, even friends of yours. You blinked a few times, your eyes squinting at the bright screen as you opened up a text from your closest friend. A news article.

Unexpected Couple! Musician Y/N L/N Seen With K-Pop Idol G-Dragon at Chanel Fashion Show

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach. No, no, no. You had been so careful for so long. You scroll, your breath escaping you as you look at a photo of you and Ji-yong. His hands on your face, his lips on yours. Another photo of you looking up at him like he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen (he was, to be fair). For a moment, you just stared blankly. Your thoughts struggle to catch up as your body seems to react for you. Nausea came over you. The room suddenly felt too small. The words on the screen burned into your eyes.

You looked at the top of your phone, seeing another phone call from your manager coming in. You ignore it, reaching over to your boyfriend and shaking him. “Ji?” You whisper. When he doesn’t immediately respond, your eyes begin to water. The anxiety, the fear, the stress catching up to you. It crawls up your spine like some sort of ugly clawed fingers reaching for your throat. You shake him again, a little more harsh as you croak. “Ji-yong.”

His eyes shot open. He flinches awake, looking around the room in a momentary panic before looking at you. First, he relaxes, realizing it’s just you. Then, his tired eyes take in yours. The tears threatening to spill over, your shaking frame, your heavy breathing. He sits up now, looking you over in concern. “Aein…? What’s wrong?” As he wakes up, he hears his phone. He turns to look at it, but the whimper from your lips stops him. Slowly, you hand your phone over. Ji-yong looks at you in confusion, but takes it and looks down.

Oh.

What was once a comforting silence now felt cold. The incessant vibrations of his phone on the nightstand made your ears ring. You crawled out of bed, wearing one of Ji-yong’s shirts as pajamas. You paced the carpeted floor, running your hands through your hair. Ji-yong remained silent. He read the article. Then he reread it. Then he read it again. He looked at the photos over and over. The title. The numerous texts you were getting. For a moment, he didn’t know how to react. He sat in the bed, dumbstruck.

On one hand, part of him wanted to be relieved. The secret was out, and there was no reason to hide his love for you anymore. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be on your terms. Organized by your teams. Some staged paparazzi sighting, or maybe a hard launch on your social medias. He wasn’t sure. The two of you never discussed it that far. Now there was no choice. All because he’d dragged you into his embrace in secret. A selfish moment, now on the cover of multiple articles.

Slowly, he put your phone down, putting it on silent before reaching for his own. He winced at the number of texts he was getting, reaching triple digits. He even saw texts from Taeyang and Daesung, two of the few people who knew about your relationship. But he didn’t answer anyone, turning his own phone off so he could set his attention on your pacing figure. “Jagiya,” He pulls himself out of bed, approaching you with soft eyes. You keep pacing, shaking your head as you try to sort your racing thoughts. “Jagiya, look at me,” He reaches for your hands, pulling you to face him completely. His heart ached as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. Your eyes wide with fear and worry. You wanted to go public. But not like this. You’d done so well at keeping your life private, and now it felt like it had been stripped away from you before you could even do it yourself. “I’m so sorry,”

His words caught you off guard. There’s a heartbeat of silence as you look at him. Your brows crinkle together as you look at him. His sad, anxious expression as he guiltily looks away. “What?” You whisper, a moment of clarity through your emotional storm.

Ji-yong swallows, looking around the room as he holds your hands tightly. Your touch being the only thing grounding him to this moment. “If we hadn’t, if I hadn’t pulled you away, they wouldn’t have seen anything.” He explains. Your eyes dance over his face as you let what he’s saying register. You shake your head. “Ji,” You coo, reaching forward to push his mint hair out of his face. He looks at you, eyes sad and guilty. “It’s not your fault. We knew that there was a risk. Since day one.” You remind him. You were right. Since you started dating two years ago, there was always the possibility the media would find out about the two of you. Both of you are major stars, with public lives (to some degree). “I just, I can’t believe it got leaked at a Chanel show.”

Ji-yong is quiet for a moment, looking over at you. “The photos are cute.” He says. You look at him in surprise. You think about the photos, how oddly scenic they were, how the photographer had captured a genuinely sweet and beautiful moment. You couldn’t help but laugh, wiping at your tears. Ji-yong cracks a smile, though the worry in his eyes still evident. Not worried for himself, no, but worry for you.

“Our managers are going to kill us.” You say, your voice weak from crying and still being tired. Ji-yong nods his head. “What are we going to do?”

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. “What do you want to do?” He asks you. Naturally, the two of you drift towards each other. Your arms wrap around each others frames, Your face tucked into his neck as you close your eyes. His grip on you tight, still gentle, and protective. His fingers rake through your hair as he waits. No rush for you to answer. No rush to figure out the rest of the world. He lets you simmer in his touch, your mind still racing.

You clutch onto him, not moving away from him as you start to talk. “I want you. That’s it. I want to be able to be with you. I’m not ashamed of being with you, Ji. I’m proud. So proud of you, being with you. I love you.” You feel his arms tighten around you. Slowly, you lift your head and look into his eyes. Now, they were glassy.

Ji-yong blinks away the pending tears as he sniffles. “You’re the love of my life, Y/N,” He whispers, reaching up to push your hair out of your face. You lean into his touch. “I will never be afraid to say that.”

You lean closer, kissing him softly. Your heart still pounding against your chest, your mind still a storm of fear and worry for what wrath you’d face from the media, but it didn’t matter. Not in the long run. You had Ji-yong. You loved Ji-yong more than you could ever explain to him or anyone else. And you knew that the two of you would figure it out together. You’d figure out everything together.

“Are you ready?” He asks you, looking at your phones on the bed. This was it. No more secret rendezvous. No more sneaking around. No more lying in interviews about your relationship status. Everybody knows now. There was no hiding from it now.

You smile at him, your eyes sparkling in the way he loved. You nod your head. “I’m ready,” You assure him.

And by the time the two of you would be leaving Paris, on your way back to Seoul, the entire world knew the secret you’d been keeping to yourselves. And in the early morning as you rushed out of your hotel with your security guards, you two didn’t hide from the paparazzi. Ji-yong walked with you, hand-in-hand, as you walked towards your car. The shouts of fans and cameras catch your attention. You smile and wave, blushing wildly as you realize this was real.

Ji-yong stands up straighter, his hand tightening in yours as he pulls you close. His hand releases yours, only to wrap around your waist tightly as he leads you forward. Ji-yong opens the door for you, despite the security guard reaching for it. Fans scream in awe, and you lean over quickly to press a kiss on his cheek. A weight you didn’t know was there, suddenly lifted. You beamed as Ji-yong slid into the seat next to you. His expression matched yours. Filled with love, excitement, a certain fondness and admiration. “Au revoir, Paris,” Ji-yong muttered as the car started to move. You giggled, leaning into him as you looked around the streets.

“Taeyang and Daesung will never let us hear the end of this.” You muttered, playing with Ji-yong's fingers absentmindedly. A gentle groan comes from Ji-yong, causing you to laugh again. An infinite amount of teasing and playful jokes awaited the two of you back home. Along with a million questions from friends, coworkers, the media, and who knows who else. But you were okay with that. It hadn’t been completely on your terms, but it was yours. Ji-yong was yours.

And if nothing else, it made your stories about Paris far more entertaining.

#kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #gdragon #kwon jiyong #bigbang #bigbang x reader #kpop fluff #kwon jiyong fanfic #fanfic #x reader

420 notes · View notes

bunnwich · 10 months ago

Text

Cinnamon Sugar Kisses🍬(Happy Birthday Leona)

Leona's birthday always finds a way to bring him down, maybe a visit from his favorite creature might lighten the mood.

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. )

Words: 6k, 3rd person, Leona's POV

Notes: It's long, but I am really proud of this one. Leona is DOWN BAD in this. Deals with themes of depression and slight substance abuse.

Tagging: Moving tags to the comments!

Leona groaned, the sounds of the night an unpleasant cacophony in his ears as his body tangled in the blankets. The clatter of the blinds, the rushing of the waterfall down in the lounge, and the rumbling snores of the other Savanaclaw members. Riddled with envy, a soft growl passed his lips, tendrils of loose hair sticking to the sweat on his face. Climate-controlled; his ass. After stewing a bit longer on these grievances, he finally lamented to his restless mind.

Accepting his fate this evening, he kicked off the covers.

His hand went for the familiar object stashed under his pillow. 11:47. The light of his phone screen seared into his vision. It was too damn early to be having so much trouble already.

Scoffing as he sat up fully, he bent his body over to fumble in the drawer of his nightstand until his fingers wrapped around what he was searching for. A small bottle of prescription pills. Right. He was only supposed to take one a night but, three…three had a much better chance of working.

He hadn’t even really taken them since the tournament, but his mind was on double time tonight to torment him. Leona eyed the clock again as if the inanimate object would care about his ire in the least.

“Hmph.”

11:50.

Soon, another birthday.

He grunted in disgust. The empty family group texts, the gifts he didn’t need and definitely didn’t want. The forced grins of his peers and underclassmen that almost made him sick, all this racket for what? The solemn day of his birth? A whole country holding its breath, only to be immensely disappointed.

A day that arguably shouldn’t have happened. His parents had gotten it right the first time, right? He was well aware of the conditions of his birth…an accident ten years after his brother. He huffed at himself, and the pity party that brewed in his chest. So, what? Lots of people are born by accident.

It’s not that he didn't appreciate it, especially from the cuter underclassmen: Jack, Epel and even Ruggie. The whole Savanaclaw dorm was earnest enough. But…still there would remain that nasty feeling, nagging in his gut that made him wanna skip the whole song and dance altogether.

His heavy eyes fell to the white pills that rolled around in his palm, before tossing one back into his throat, able to convince himself for just one extra. After all, he didn’t wanna be too groggy for the mandatory celebration tomorrow.

He let out a little laugh to himself, the sound resonating off the walls of his room as he dumped the extras back inside the bottle. Cheers, to a life of just…existing, and joy…he had a whole lifetime ahead of him to do it more. He should feel grateful; lucky. But sometimes, it was hard to not sink comfortably into these thoughts of morbid existentialism.

Just as the dry pill rolled down his throat, a few raps sounded off at his door like magic. Fuck. He twisted the cap back on and tossed the bottle under his bed, he didn’t need another scolding from Ruggie. That or the guys were coming to wish him Happy Birthday at midnight again, he wasn’t really in the mood for visitors. “Come in.” He called out to the intruder, voice cracking. “What do you want? I’m-”

When the door finally creaked open his back straightened and a laugh of relief rumbled from his lips. It wasn’t Ruggie or anyone from Savanclaw at all. Leona squinted, the effects of the pill from earlier making the room hazy around their face. He hadn’t even smelled them, that's how out of it he was. He tugged at his shirt to pull it down over his chest, still wearing the same brown tunic of his dorm uniform from earlier. He cleared his throat and smoothed his hair back from his face.

Yuu shrugged at his efforts to preen himself from the doorway, hair sweeping over their face and a loose tee hanging off their frame.

“You.” Leona sounded off suspiciously. It felt like a strange dream but lucky for him, they were real and standing just a few feet away in their nightclothes. He didn't even know what to say. He hadn’t seen them in weeks. He had a strategy, after all, secretly hoping that that stupid little saying might be true.

Distance…something…fonder… Well, it worked for him.

But, from what Ruggie had told him, Yuu was so wrapped up in the VDC rigamarole with Schoenheit, they had little time for much else.

“Hn.” Three whole weeks of constipated feelings died inside his mouth and he grumbled at them. “What are ya doin’ here?” Leona blinked a few times, feeling the heaviness of his eyelids increase more than ever. He hoped his tone sounded better to them.

As usual, they weren't scared off or detoured by his sourness. The little beast only rolled their eyes at him and huffed as if he was inconveniencing them instead. There was that audacity he loved.

Using their back to press the door closed, they finished shaking their head at him and dared to move inside his room. As they approached him near the bed, blue shadows from his potted palms danced over their soft, but stern face. So they intended to stay…at least for a while.

He let out a breath and swung his legs and tail over the side of the bed. All the while, the numbness in his chest began to flutter and unfreeze. Suddenly, he was aware of his heartbeat again.

“Um, it’s your birthday? Duh.” They shrugged and the crinkle of whatever was in their arms made his ears twitch.

He leaned forward to get a better look, rubbing one of his eyes before staring at the bundle in their arms. “Oh, right…” He muttered, acting like he had forgotten, “Though, you're a little early….” He gave them his best smirk, but it took more effort than usual to summon.

Their mouth dropped open as their eyes glanced at the wooden clock on the wall.

11:58.

“Hmph.” This didn’t seem to phase them, propping a hand on their hip. The edge of their oversized shirt lifted to reveal their shorts underneath. “Guess I'll be your first.” They dangled the shiny bundle in the air between them. It was haphazardly covered in iridescent yellow wrapping paper and tied with some twine.

Leona shifted his gaze back to their coy face and he couldn’t help but smile at their usual bull-headed earnestness. He reached over and took the package from both their hands, his knuckles brushing against theirs.

“Mmm, guess so.” He mused at their chosen words and just like that, his heart sped up. So, that thing was still working, they still had him in a vice grip.

His first…

“Your hands are cold. You walk all the way here?” He inquired, running his finger over the small tag that dangled from the top. His name was scrawled in large, irregular handwriting along with a doodle of a frowning lion.

“Yes...how else would I get here?” They asked facetiously, adding an extra softness to their playful words. He could tell they felt sorry for him. Damn, did he look that bad? Despite their apparent pity, their face puckered into a cute little scowl, unable to hide their annoyance any longer. “Come on-” As they shook their head at him. “Just open it, okay?” They chuckled and their nose crinkled.

Leona felt that fatal, bittersweet dip in his stomach that made him ill, and then…everything was fresh again.

Damn, he was pathetic. Leona cleared his throat and unwrapped it slowly, smelling what it was before he saw it.

“Uh, i-it’s not much but…let’s just say, her highness hooked me up.”

He laughed at the mention of his sister-in-law, heart squeezing as he unveiled it in his lap. “Awe.” It was the smallest bag of baobab candy he’d ever fucking seen.

“But you know…I-I paid for it! I insisted, okay?” They tipped their chin in the air indignantly, poking a thumb into their chest. “Your sis, she just showed me the website basically. I ordered it online to be shipped here-” A little huff left Yuu’s mouth as they babbled on, before crossing their arms. “You like it? It’s your favorite, right?”

He looked down at the bag of candy in his lap, it was cute that they remembered cinnamon was his favorite. Just like at Vargus Camp when they sprinkled some over his cup of hot chocolate.

“Yeah.” But, the thought of them working, only to spend money on him, made him feel…sick. But…he knew it made them feel good to do it on their own. It was good for em’ and it was…cute how worked up they were getting. At least, they thought of him.

Leona bit his lip, trying to conceal his smirk. “Thanks, really.” He knew it had to be expensive to get it sent from his country to the college. The fees themselves probably cost double what the damn candy was worth. He bit his tongue and resisted his body’s urge to move closer.

Nah.

Space… Distance, all that shit. That was safer.

“You didn’t have to get me nothing.” He blurted out, halting the thoughts in his head, knowing they understood how much he appreciated them being here. “...But hey…If ya wanna pay tribute to me, I can think of some other ways too.” He jabbed, trying to urge some more fire from them.

Before he could blink they swatted him on the shoulder. “Cut it out…” They hissed, eyes scanning the room. What were they looking for? “Well, you’re welcome.” Their hand lingered on his shoulder instead of pulling away like he thought they might. The warmth of their fingers through his tank top, it’s all he could focus on in his sleepy haze.

Meanwhile, they used their other hand to gesture over to his chess table. “Sooo, since I’m here. I thought maybe we could…play a game?”

He yawned at the mention, pushing some air past his teeth, looking up at them incredulously. “Tch, seriously? Chess at this hour? Ya sure it's not too boring for you?” He probably shouldn’t have added that, but his ego couldn’t help it. “You know…” His eyes drifted to their fingers, now tangled even more in the fabric of his shirt. “...If you wanted something else from me. All you have to do is ask, alright?” He said through a whisper, mesmerized by the subtle movements of their hand.

They seemed to take it better than he thought, brushing him off and still playing with his tunic. “Nope. Just a game, that’s all. “I just mi…uh-” The edge of their pouty lips curled into a smirk as they trailed off.

His ears perked up.

“...Uh, u-unless you're too tired to take me on?“

“Mmm, never.” Leona snapped back, he could see the spark in their eyes. They were much more awake than him. Great Seven, what he would give for a little of that energy. He sighed as he stood slowly, stretching his arms over his head and pulling up his jeans. “Fine, if you have any chance of winning it’s gonna be when I’m dead tired like this, so-”

Their lashes fluttered, a bit of concern flashing in their eyes at his appearance, how noble. “Oh, I mean... You sure you’re up for it…?”

Leona rubbed his face, groaning in defeat. Without saying anything else, he sat down in one of the chairs by his chess table. White side, as always, and the pieces were scattered from a solo game he played earlier. He gestured to the chair across from him. “Just sit down. Come on, I’ll set the board.” --

He observed them intently as they popped another candy in their mouth. Their cheek was pressed against their knees as they eyed him back from across the board. “...What?”

Leona’s chair creaked against the floor as he leaned back some, folding his arms. A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. “So, what’s the verdict on my candy?”

“Mmm, it’s…not bad.” Their eyes drifted up and their lips pursed thoughtfully, sliding one of their pawns into defense against one of his knights. “Things taste better when they belong to other people you know.”

“Hm.” His smirk grew. “Is that so?” Leona had to admit, they had started out the game pretty strong. Must have absorbed something when he used to lecture them about chess openings. But, now they were falling off, the game sapping them of their vigor. Poor thing, he chuckled to himself hiding his smile as he watched them, watching him.

He knew they were just playing for his sake and he wasn’t sure if he was flattered or not. “My brother hates them.” Leona finally said, making his next move to draw the game out. Couldn’t be helped, he wanted to…look at them a little longer.

“He says they’re...too spicy.” He chewed his lip. “You should taste the real deal though, sometimes the vendors in Sunrise City make ‘em fresh in front of you…”

They rolled their eyes. “Pfft, well maybe he's just got bad taste.” They barely could get the words out, mouth full when they grinned. “That sounds nice.”

Leona shook his head, watching them pop in a few more pieces of the cinnamon candy, the seeds building up in one of their cheeks. “Maybe.” He remarked, his eyes widening as they kept going, stuffing their mouth full. “‘Ey now… You don’t chew the seeds up, remember?” He sighed, holding out his hand for them. “You’re supposed to spit 'em out when you're done.”

They looked at his open hand like he was insane, whites of their eyes visible. “Whaght? I didn’t vanna vee’ rude!”

Leona gestured again for them to spit, moving his open palm closer to their mouth. “And damn near choking to death is where you draw the line on being rude? This ain’t Pomfiore dorm, you can do whatever ya want here. I’ll allow it...as your gracious dorm leader.”

They made a face before spitting the now plain seeds into his palm. “Much obliged, your highness.”

He looked down and shook his head again, smothering the voice that told him to pop one of them in his mouth. Instead, he tossed the seeds in the trash a few feet away, rubbing his hand on his jeans. “Uh, it’s your move.”

Yuu rubbed their face, lids concealing half of their pretty eyes. “O-oh right...” They let out a breath, forehead wrinkling as they made their next move.

Sloppy.

Leona tapped his chin, one side of his mouth going up at their stubbornness to continue. “Hmph.” He could tell how bored they were. He gazed down at the almost clear board and fiddled with his queen piece, reaching behind his neck to rub it. “Thanks, for…coming to’ see me tonight.” He looked at the clock, it was almost 1 in the morning now, “But, ya don’t have to stay if you're tired.” He tilted his head at them.

“Whaaaat? No, I’m not!” They dug their heels into their lie, tugging their sleep shirt over their legs. “Okay…yeah.” They confessed. “I guess this is making me a little tired but-”

Leona’s eyes trailed up the curve of their legs to their conflicted face, still squished against one of their knees. Their gaze bore into him with a rare doe-eyed stare that he was no match for. “...I wanna stay and finish the game. Okay?”

“Fine, then I’ll make this easy for ya.” He smirked, mating them with his queen piece.

Yuu’s reaction was delayed, eyes scanning the board in disbelief. “Damn,” They grimaced. “Hey, I was actually trying there for a minute!” They cried, plopping the bag of candy in the center of the board, knocking over a few pieces. Twisting around, they pulled their phone from a pocket on their shorts. “Mmm, look!” They turned it around. “I’ve been practicing…when I have time. I’ll have you know I’m…uh- number 795 on the Night Raven College Board!”

Leona crossed his arms again, ears shifting toward them. “Hmph. I know, I could tell. You did...good there in the beginning. Just need to work on your midgame and-”

As he was going on they stood, snatching up the candy bag, knocking one of the pieces on the floor. They began pacing around his bed like a kitten looking for a sleeping spot, before plopping down where he had just been tossing and turning an hour ago.

They fiddled with the small bag of candy, before popping a fresh one between their red-stained lips. Laying back against the sheets, their shapely legs crossed as they wiggled their little feet. After a minute, their head slowly turned to him as they sucked on the seeds, the moon outside making all their bare skin glow. “Hm?”

Oh right, he had stopped talking. “Hn, Nevermind.” He grumbled, waving his hand in the air. He stood too, and followed, getting a closer look at the creature who so bravely laid claim to his bed right now. His? Nah, more like a wild little beast passing by. He had always known they weren’t the type to be tamed.

He chuckled as he came up to the side of the bed and looked down at them. “C’mon. Go to sleep now. No need to hang ‘round here for my sake. My birthday’s nothin’ important…I’ll have enough people kissin’ my ass tomorrow and singing my praises. Go back to the Ramshackle where you belong.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Lion.” Their features wrinkled indignantly as they only lifted their head to stuff more candy in their mouth, rolling it around behind their teeth. They flipped over to lay on their belly, kicking pointedly on one of his pillows as they spoke. “Oh, come on,” They propped their head on their elbows to glare at him. “You know you don’t want me to leave.”

“So?” He rolled his eyes, unsure of what game they were playing now. “Ain’t about me.” He snorted and worked his fingers on his temple and at the headache that was building behind his eyes.

“It is…your birthday.” They continued to roll the candy on their tongue and he was close enough to smell their saliva mixed with the cinnamon. “Do you…want me to stay?”

Leona blinked a few times, the purr of their words causing his ears to tingle. The pills were still not helping his twitterpated haze. “Course. Course, I do.” He sat down a safe distance near the end of the bed, still haunted by the sound of the candy in their mouth. “Tch. You should know that.” He turned his back to them.

After a moment, they sighed and crawled toward him. They crept up beside him like a timid little rabbit now, still laying on their belly, breaching his space until their bare arm was touching his. “How have you been?” They asked without missing a beat or lingering on any awkwardness that came before.

He had to laugh. There wasn’t much to tell. “Fine.” He said simply, it wasn’t a lie. “Don’t feel like a complete nuisance lately. And ya know…practice has been going pretty well. Everyone’s all fired up to do better in the summer, of course.” He sighed as his smirk faded.

“That’s good but-” They lifted their brows, a smile tugging at their mouth. “You’re fine?”

“Awe, don’t fret about me now… Wouldn’t say I’m worse. School’s got me in this troublesome therapy program, you know after…everything. So uh, it’s more like: I’m…treading water. Survivin’. I’ll be alright.” He looked away, the end of his tail tapping on the sheets. “Though I gotta say my birthday, you know…the concept of my existence ‘n all: my “place” in the world. All of that, always finds a way of…bringing me down a little.”

He couldn’t see their face but he felt them shift, sitting up. A pair of legs appeared to dangle beside his. He figured he wouldn’t have to explain himself any further for them to understand.

“I’m…sorry, Leona.”

“Don’t be, said I was fine.” He cleared his throat and looked down at them, now perched so diligently by his side. The warmth that kindled between both their arms felt…nice. Most of the skin-to-skin contact he received nowadays was from tumbling into club members during practice. “Can’t fix what you didn't break and all that.” He rubbed his face and peeked at them through his hand, watching them process his words.

As usual, he wanted to know what they were thinking. Leona smiled, he may not know for sure but he could see it, the way their eyes watered up. He hated the idea of being pitied but...he’d like to think it was something more now after all they'd been through together. That they were now somebody to each other, both their lives altered in a way they couldn’t go back on. And that the way they looked at him, meant something more.

“I understand.” They said in a voice so quiet it made his ear shiver. “If…it’s any consolation next time you’re, I don’t know, pondering your existence? Just know, I’m glad that you exist. I’m glad that we met, Leona.”

“Oh, really?” That was it. His breath caught, and his heart pounded at the simple words. How cute, he could even see them nibble on their lip in the dark. He knew they meant it, but he couldn’t help himself. “...Awe well, I’m glad my 21 years of torment could bring some levity into your life. That I exist for your entertainment,” He bit his lip and snickered at their expression of disbelief.

Soon they laughed too, covering their mouth quickly to spit out the baobab seeds into their hand, then hurrying to put them on his nightstand.

They butted their whole body against him when they came back and he gave in, letting their weight fall over him as they both cackled.

“Shut up.” Yuu slapped his chest once, but he seized them easily, pinning their arms to their sides. “Let go of me! You deserve to be hit! You almost made me choke to death just now!” They sputtered, loose hair falling all around their flustered face. “Then, just think, every year on your birthday you’d have a real reason to be mopy!”

He laughed even harder, laying his head back into the blankets, their soft, warm weight feeling good on top of him. “Heh, I guess you're right.”

Yuu scoffed, looking down at him disapprovingly but stayed anyway, chest pressed to his. They didn’t flinch in his arms like a skittish little prey animal, or look away in shame of the feelings between them. This time they only gazed down at him, eyes like mirrors, tilting their head to survey him. Leona stared back with equal intrigue, resisting the urge to wipe the stray cinnamon dust from the corners of their mouth.

Leona felt them let go of a held breath and relax into his arms. He took that as a sign to loosen his grip and wrap his arms around their lower back. In response, they only secured their position of dominance, nestling their head into his shoulder, acting like they belonged there.

Hmph.

His heart began to settle down and accept their gentle nuzzles, he still had to play it cool after all.

They smelled so good, just how he remembered. Sweet, but not too sweet, and earthy like the gardens back home in the dawn. His eyes fell closed. Oh, yeah. There it was, rearing its nasty head. Forces beyond both their understanding and any sense of logic, tangling them together again. Oh well, he was too weak to refuse.

In this moment of honesty, they only wiggled their foot against his as he let his tail drape over the back of their soft legs. Who did they think they were? Laying on him like he was just there to be a handsome pillow for them? Ack, who was he kidding? This is what he wanted, as soon as they stepped through his threshold an hour and half ago. Just comfort.

“You hungry?” They blurted out, face squished against his collarbone. “I’m starving.” They flicked their fingers at the end of his braid, their voice small like a child. He would have agreed no matter what they asked.

“Yeah.” --

They lead the way down the wooden walkways, wrapped tight in one of his blankets. Every so often their eyes would glint as they turned around to give him a small glance, making sure he was still following behind them. He laid on the counter while they cooked and while they complained how unsanitary it all was. It was bittersweet to see that they still remembered where everything was in the dorm.

He chuckled as they rambled on about various things while cooking, content to observe their chaotic technique. It was a lot like their skills in potion-making class. Climbing on the counters, spilling things and sticking their fingers in the mixture to taste along the way.

At the end of it, Yuu managed to cook the two of them some sort of egg dish along with some of the ham for his birthday tomorrow. It was his wasn’t it? Surely no one would notice one rabbit-sized and one lion-sized serving carved out of the side of the meat.

Once back in his room, they present the meal as if they were dining somewhere fancy.

The flavors were simple but good. For someone with no training they were good in the kitchen. That’s what he liked about their and Ruggie’s food. It was never boring, but the ingredients were few and humble, like their potion making: each one had a purpose. There was no fluff or pretention in the end product. As they ate together on his bed he forgot all about his birthday. It was just the two of them, and he was already homesick at the idea they would leave again.

“Ugh,” They lamented, face twisted in disgust as they poked their fork in the last bit of food on his plate, offering it to his awaiting mouth. “I swear you always win, And what you don’t...you cheat at.” They narrowed their eyes at him.

“Sore loser talk.” He retorted with a sly expression, opening his jaw to gladly savor the final bite of the meat and eggs, arms behind his head to rest back on the pillows. They lost to him alright and feeding him the last of his meal was their “punishment.” “Mmph, and how pray tell would I ever cheat at rock-paper-scissors, Beast?” He asked through his chewing, licking his lips.

They pulled back the utensil roughly, letting it clatter to the plate. “Ugh, I don’t know. but I’m watching you.” Their upper lip curled up as they scowled, revealing their own little fang before crawling over him to flop down. The black and white shadows played over their face from the screen. He didn’t use the digital projector much that his family got him last year, but tonight was an exception.

“How ferocious.” He purred at them, letting out a content sigh. Now that his belly was full he was even more weary. Leona’s lids grew heavier and heavier as his eyes settled on their form on the end of his bed. Their little huffs and rhythmic breaths sent tingles up his legs as they lay draped across him watching the movie.

How could he go to bed with a view like this?

“Mmm.” It was quiet as nothing but the film played out, the pictures reflecting in their wide eyes as they watched in rapture. He decided on one they hadn’t seen yet: an old noir he was fond of; a mystery. He figured they’d like that. Their little feet popped back and forth in the air as they continued to watch and after an indeterminate amount of time they gave him a backward glance.

“What’s up?” As their brow wrinkled at him they fished their two fingers into the candy bag. “Got a staring problem?” Licking the cinnamon from their fingertips they laid a seed on their red-stained tongue. They grabbed another and he could hear that they hit the bottom of the bag, eyes going a bit wide at the revelation, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Nothin.’” Leona responded, head dizzy and chest a bit lighter. “Are ya comfortable?” He used his tail to mess with them, flicking the end of it in their face.

They sputtered, attempting to swat it away as he dodged them, continuing to play with them. “Yes, Yes I am and you’re botherin’ me!” They put a finger up to their lip. “Shh! I can’t hear when you talk.” They knitted their brows at him before licking at the seed pinched between their fingers “...And get that thing outta my face before I bite it.”

“Oh, I’m quivering in fear.” He hissed before he finally had enough messing with them. His lips curved into a small grin of his own, his tail settling over the small of their back.

They looked back at him with mischievous eyes, form glowing by the moon on his bed.

“Mmm.” As their eyes settled on the screen, a dullness painted over their gaze as they looked down fumbling with the empty candy bag, clearly too beat to take any more jabs at him.

“Hm, You’re tired, aren’t cha? How is it? At the madhouse?”

“Well,” Their shoulders went up in a shrug and their eyes wandered the room. “To be honest…That’s kinda why I wanted to come here. Uh, I mean besides your birthday and all. Is that… bad?” They grimaced, awaiting his reaction.

He wanted to say it, but the words were stuck in his throat, and he didn’t wanna push it. He could behave, hold back.

“Nah,” He assured them and the rest of the words just slipped out. That and his hands had a mind of their own. “...Happy to be your distraction.” He sat up fully and moved closer, reaching down to tuck their hair behind their ear.

This caused them to adjust their position on his legs, blinking up at him. They gave him a little nod to assure him that how close he came was okay, even moving closer so he could reach them better. “But...Is that fair?” Yuu asked through a whisper, pupils a bit shaky.

He chuckled as he let his fingers drift down their cheeks, wiping the corners of their mouth with his thumbs, like he had been wanting to do all night. “Life’s not fair.” He said, letting out a small scoff at the deflated candy bag beside them. “Well, looks like you cleaned me out. So much for a birthday gift…” He teased, but he couldn't give less of a fuck.

Their wide gaze darted down to where he was looking but still allowed him to continue touching them. “Shit.” They hissed and he could feel their face go warm in his hands. I guess I’m a little distracted.” Yuu puffed out a breath, and they smiled “Vil doesn’t even let us have snacks. He locks the fridge after 8. Like…I’m not even competing! S-sorry, about the candy.”

It wasn’t like them to apologize. He tipped their chin up so he could see their face better. “...I’m just messin’ with ya. C’mon.” He was listening to them as best he could but he also felt himself getting sucked in. He swallowed. “Ey...you can eat whatever you want when you're with me.” He arched his brow, giving them a little wink.

“Hmph.” They let out a little relieved chuckle and relinquished his touch, letting their weary face fall into his cupped hand like the cute little herbivore they were.

“Oh.” He let out an audible sound at this development, as something stabbed through his chest. They were so damn cute and he was so damn pathetic. Sometimes the feelings were so intense that it hurt. Who woulda thought someone like him would be such a sap?

“It’s overwhelming…” They continued to wiggle closer, until they could lean their forehead in the center of his chest. Their eyes fell closed, and his fingers tangled in their hair as he began stroking the back of their neck.

He didn’t really know what the hell he was doing, he wasn’t used to comforting someone like this. But he was trying, and their skin was so damn soft under his fingertips.

“At every turn…there's someone telling me what to do. Everyone at the house being all needy and in the way. Ugh, I’m over it. Is that selfish?”

“Un-uh. Nothin’ wrong with wanting a little peace of mind,” He said, his fingers wrapping around their shoulders. “Know I wouldn’t last more than a day in that place…” He slipped his hands under their hair and traced down their back, letting his knuckles skate down their spine. “Looks like you’ve got more patience then me.”

They took note of his attempt to soothe them and began to play with his shirt as they talked.

“-Sounds like you could use a break…”

They froze at his words as if a realization struck them, features softening before him. “Yeah I-” Craning their head back they looked up at him, now eye to eye “I think…that’s why I came here.”

“Mmhmm,” He couldn't help it, his smile grew tenfold and his ego swelled. “Oh really? I’m that boring then, eh? That you only come to me to eat and sleep?” He was teasing them, but he could tell he struck a nerve.

“What?” They rolled their eyes at him, cocking their head. “N-no! I- Look! I know it’s your “day of birth” and all but I think I prefer the cocky, less self-deprecating Leona.” Unfortunately, this caused them to move from his lap and Yuu began to stack both their plates as they mumbled to themself. He resisted the urge to hold onto them and instead watched them pout and clean up, reaching down to set the objects on the floor.

“Tch, well…he's tired.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t a jab anyways I-”

There was a small rattle and he went quiet, knowing that they saw the bottle. They didn't say anything at first as they stretched back up, but after a moment of silence, their gaze went back to him. “You…goin’ to classes tomorrow?”

“Nah,” He crossed his arms. “Not if I can help it anyway.” He let himself fall back on the bed again, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re sure you're okay, Leona?”

He cursed himself for not hiding it better. “Don’t ask me that. I told ya, I’m fine. I wasn’t just saying it to make ya feel better. Tonight’s actually the first night I’ve taken ‘em since-'' He shook his head. “And it’s still not enough…” He muttered. “I’d sure be much better if I had a drink too tomorrow, heh.” He smirked as he rolled over, only to find them kneeling there close to him in the center of the bed. “Awe, now don’t look at me like that either...”

Their shoulders lowered and their face was soft again as they studied him, tunic hanging off of one of their arms. “Like what?”

“Like…my family.”

Yuu’s brows shot up and their expression shifted to one of defense. “I’m not.” They clenched the sheets below them. “No way I can judge you…” Yuu released a breath.” Were you…having trouble sleeping then? You just look…” They reached down, to tug on his braid. “...tired.” As they said this their hand went around his jaw, carefully moving his hair from his face.

“So I look that much like shit, eh?” At their touch the weight of it all began to collapse on him, Leona reached a hand to his face to overlap the back of theirs. “Yeah. I only took one anyway. Well, two...”

“Leona!” They scolded him in that voice, the one they used to use to keep everyone in line at this damn school. He missed it. It wasn’t too naggy or condescending. It hit him at his core, made his back straighten, and usually he knew they were right.

“What?”

“You’ve been tellin’ me to go to bed all night but…you are the one who should go to sleep!” They bit their lip as they laughed at him, shaking their head as they continued to pet him.

“But, I…can't.” He mouthed, the vision of their face above him a bit blurry. He wasn’t sure how it happened, how his head ended up in their lap, but he did, their soft thighs pressed against his face. They must have felt pretty bad for him.

“Mmm, looks like being a bit pathetic has its perk-”

“Shh-”

A wry chuckle rumbled in his chest and he put up his hands in defeat, lowering his ears. “Fine. You’re the boss, but…if you're gonna put me to bed…don’t I get a little somethin’ sweet? Technically you ate all my-”

Before he could say anything else he felt something soft and supple on his face, tracing on the edge of his scar. He let out a breath and his eyes widened as he sat up, tail standing on end.

They looked down at him a bit coy, touching a few fingers to their lips. “Sheesh… Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Didn’t know you lions were so jumpy.”

He swallowed, but tried to save face, running a hand through his hair. “...You lions, huh? He echoed. “Didn’t know little creatures like you were so…bold. N’ what was that all about?”

They rolled their eyes at his words, meanwhile they were acting so innocent, the final scenes of the movie playing behind their head. “I don’t know. Just a little…birthday gift. Something sweet.” Their shoulders rose up as they continued their little game. “If that’s okay.”

It was more than okay, he liked this game, when they came to play with him on their own. “Oh? A gift, huh?” His chest pounded so fast it was hard to speak, those damn pills. “...Sorry think I was a little…half asleep. I don't remember anything sweet…” He said through a delirious smirk. No way would it work but-

Without warning they slipped their fingers around his jaw, leaning down to kiss him again. This time, Yuu didn’t miss. They went straight for the kill, fitting their pouty lips between his for only a few seconds. Their soft little sighs, pulling at his broken heartstrings. When they were done, he was able to catch his breath again, a tingle going up his spine. He licked the taste of them from his lips, savoring it, the spices from the candy making his mouth water. The ball was in their court and if this is what they wanted he wouldn’t refuse them.

But, as usual, he was greedy…so he tested his luck once more.

He panted chewing his lip, “Hmph. That…all I get?” He frowned as if he wasn’t satisfied. “Hm, it is my birthday, after all.”

He managed to get a little laugh and a snort of disbelief from them. “...Needy.” The words were hot over his mouth as they lowered themselves to him again, nails digging into his jaw. They took their time with him, spreading their attention to the rest of his face beyond his mouth, leaving a trail of fire behind each little kiss.

Leona’s eyes rolled back, no one ever kissed him quite like they did.

He swore they did it on purpose, trying to coax the little noises from back of his throat. As they laid their lips on him more, his fingers gripped onto own his shirt, heart thudding against his knuckles. He let them do all the work as they pampered him, his tail bobbing between his legs. And all he could do was melt into their lap as they killed him over and over with their cinnamon sugar kisses. Unfortunately, he knew if he let himself taste them back, he wouldn’t be able to stop till he devoured them, and he didn’t wanna overwhelm them…this time.

When they were done he felt drunk, his lips still burning from the candy dust, lungs full of their sweet breaths. His head was dizzier than sleeping pills would have ever made him. It was fatal. He knew this would be even more habit-forming than any of his other vices.

“Now, that was somethin’ sweet…”

They stared down at him, a bit unimpressed, wiping the left over drool he had left on the edge of their mouth. “...You gonna sleep now, Lion?” They mused, playing with his braid, and using it to tap at his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” He let his eyes fall closed and sighed, the hole in his chest stitched together, for now. He felt himself drifting off already, safe in their custody, still licking his lips.

“Hey?”

“Hm?”

Tell me…’bout your day, hm? Mmm, what have you been doing since I last saw ya? Tell me anything.” He commanded softly. His body became more weightless in their arms as they petted his hair, massaging his scalp around his limp ears. “I wanna listen while I…”

“Oh? Am I that boring? You want me to put you to sleep?” Their soft laughter echoed above, so far off now.

He used the last reserves of his energy to chuckle one last time. “No, I just wanna…hear ya. That’s all.”

The last thing he felt was their lips over his left eyelid, then his right. That was it, this little move caused his eyes to burn. Hm, no one had ever kissed him like that, it was like he was a kid again.

“Fine. Happy Birthday, Leona.”

#twst #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona #leona twst #leona kingscholar x yuu #twisted wonderland #bunnwich writes📝

890 notes · View notes

peonysgreenhouse · 1 year ago

Text

-`♡´- the day you and the stars disappeared.

summary: the discovery and aftermath of your disappearance. what do your beloveds do in your absence?

tags: obey me characters (lucifer, mammon, levi, asmo, satan, beel, belphie, diavolo, barbatos, solomon, simeon, and thirteen) x gn!reader, angst, spoilers for the first chapter of obey me! nightbringer.

When Lucifer wakes up, the left side of his bed is cold.

It's not the most unusual thing. Lucifer was much less of a morning person that you were. He glaces to his bedside table. 8:30; it was too early for you to be out of bed on the weekend. Even if you woke up early, you'd still be tucked into his arms, or scrolling through Devilgram on your D.D.D.

Lucifer sits up, a pout on his face. You couldn't have strayed too far in such a short time.

"Beloved?" He calls, hoping you could hear him if you were in the bathroom. Lucifer says your name, this time a little louder, but again gets no response.

It wasn't your turn to be on breakfast duty... Perhaps you had a bad dream? You did tend to hide those things from him.

He closes his eyes and thinks of you. Usually, he would feel a faint warmth, like the fluttering of a moth's wings underneath his skin; it was the feeling of your soul connected to his through your pact. But now, even with all his focus, the feeling of your soul connection is nothing but a cold static.

Lucifer swallows the panic welling up in his chest and stands, quickly throwing on his clothes and rushing from his room. He starts in the basement, looking in any place a human could possibly squeeze into, desperately calling out your name. The ever-composed Lucifer, reduced to tearing the house apart when his human isn't in his sights.

He hopes that he is overreacting. He hopes that he'll find you curled up with Mammon, or on a walk outside the house.

He hopes that you are still somewhere that he can reach.

"Oy, Lucifer, what's going on?" Mammon. Lucifer takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself. If he let himself be emotional, his brothers would take that as a sign that something is very, very wrong. He would have to hold himself together, for now. "You're waking everyone up."

"Mammon, have you seen MC?" Calm enough.

"I haven't seen 'em since last night, they were with you, right?" You and Lucifer stayed up late to finish paperwork for your new student council role. "You didn't make 'em angry, did you?"

Lucifer's pout deepens. He's sure he'll age a millennia faster with how much he worries over you. "No, nothing like that. We finished up the assignments and then went to bed." Lucifer sighs, "and then when I woke up this morning, they weren't there. It's unlike them."

"You sure they just didn't go for a walk or something?" Mammon checks his phone to see if there were any messages from you.

"Mammon... try to connect to them with your pact."

Mammon closes his eyes, and repeats the same action Lucifer did only a few minutes prior.

Nothing.

Mammon instantly shifts into his demon form, fear evident in his eyes.

"I'm gonna go drag Solomon over here. He'll be able to track 'em if they're nearby, right?"

"He should be. Bring Simeon too, if he's there.". Lucifer straightens himself out. "I'll wake Leviathan and then go get Diavolo and Barbatos. Maybe they'll know more about what's going on."

Mammon nods, out the door before Lucifer can even finish his sentence.

Lucifer doesn't allow himself any more moments alone, he rushes upstairs to shake Leviathan awake.

-`♡´-

"No need to pound on the door, Mammon." Simeon smiles, but Mammon can tell he's annoyed. Giving Simeon a minute to open the door was Mammon's idea of being patient, he had half a mind to knock the damn thing off its hinges. "Is there anything—".

"Where's Solomon?" Mammon cuts him off, pushing past him and into Purgatory Hall's living room. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air; just how early did these guys wake up?

"He's still sleeping, I believe. Why are you in such a rush?" Simeon asks.

"MC's missing. Need him to find them. He in his room?"

"What?"

"You heard me!" Mammon can hardly keep it together. He didn't want to talk about it, he knew that if he started talking he wouldn't be able to stop.

He hadn't felt your soul connection so cold since... since...

"What's going on?" Solomon steps out of the hallway, still in his pajamas. "I heard Mammon yelling. What happened to MC?"

Of course he'd have been listening in. "Lucifer woke up this morning and they weren't there. Can't hardly feel their soul at all, it's like they're—".

"What do you mean?" Solomon's eyebrows quirk up, clearly not expecting to hear that. "What does it feel like?"

"Damn it, Solomon, it feels like it did when Belphie... y'know." Mammon can't bring himself to say it. It was too awful, what he did to you. "Enough talking, do your magic thing and find 'em!"

Solomon and Simeon exchange worried looks. "Alright, let me get dressed. Then we'll head off. But Mammon...".

"What?" Mammon huffs, already heading towards the door.

"I'm sure they're fine. You know how capable they are. Perhaps they just wanted some alone time."

"Yes, MC has survived a lot. I'm sure they just popped back up to the Human World or something... We'll probably be laughing about this with them at the end of the day."

Simeon smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Mammon tries not to let the thought that they might be trying to placate him bother him.

-`♡´-

"You want me to watch over our brothers? Why? What's happening?" Levi sits up in his bathtub bed, disoriented from being shaken awake so suddenly.

He had heard the commotion earlier, but assumed that Mammon had done something to warrant Lucifer's ire. Lucifer searching through Levi's room while he was sleeping wasn't the strangest occurrence. Mammon did hide things in here from time to time.

"Levi, don't worry over this right now. I'll fill you in once we figure out what's going on."

"No, Lucifer, tell me now!" Levi stands, suddenly very awake. "You're worried over something, and you're never worried, not like this."

Even standing up straight, Lucifer was still looking down at Leviathan.

"Telling you would only make the situation worse." Levi hates how patronizing Lucifer sounds. He hated it when they first fell and he hated it now. "Make sure the others stay put, I'll be back soon."

Levi moves quickly to stop him from leaving. "If you don't tell me, I'll... I'll summon Lotan!" Lucifer steps forward, but Leviathan doesn't budge. "I'll really do it, Lucifer! I'm serious about this!"

It would probably take Levi a few hundred years to muster up the courage to stand up to Lucifer like this again. But watching the cold pity fade from his brother's eyes and turn into something more akin to pride was worth it.

"MC is gone, and I'm going to the Demon Lord's Castle to seek Diavolo and Barbatos's help." Lucifer says it with such a barely-maintained calmness that Leviathan knows this is serious. That you weren't sucked into a silly game or hiding out in Purgatory Hall for the weekend.

Levi feels his heart sink.

"Now, can you do as you're told and stay put? I'll be back soon." Lucifer squeezes Levi's shoulder, forcing Levi to listen. "If anything happens, call me."

He nods, but once Lucifer turns to leave, he quietly falls back into bed. Levi watches Henry swim around in his goldfish tank; you had just fed him yesterday, how did things change so much in just a few hours?

No, he can't shut down here. If something happened to you and he wasn't there to help he would never forgive himself.

You had saved him so many times before, it was time for him to be your Knight. (God, he sounded like a normie).

-`♡´-

When Mammon arrives back to the House of Lamentation with Simeon, Solomon, and Thirteen (Solomon had called her for help), the front door is blown off its hinges. Levi peeks through sheepishly at the four of them, waving for them to come in.

"What the hell happened here?" Thirteen tries to shut the door behind them, but it slowly starts to creak back open as soon as its closed.

"I told Satan what happened." Levi sighs, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. "He went out to calm himself down. Said he'll be back by the time Lucifer gets home."

"Have you guys found anything here?" Simeon asks Leviathan. Just past Levi in the living room was Asmodeus, who was anxiously staring down at his phone.

Beel descends the stairs at the same time Belphie comes up from the basement: "I checked all the rooms upstairs, they're not up there."

Belphie shakes his head: "They're nowhere in the basement, either."

"I've been texting anyone that knows them from R.A.D. No one has seen them yet." Asmodeus blinks back tears. "This is crazy, you know! Why does this kind of thing always happen to them?"

"Well, they're not dead. So stop acting so sad!" Thirteen chimes in, sprawling herself out on the living room couch. "I checked their candle this morning myself. I can check again but trust me, I would know if they died. I'm a reaper, y'know?"

"You checked their candle this morning? Isn't that quite a walk from where you sleep?" Despite the situation, Solomon just can't help himself. Thirteen sits up and throws a pillow at the sorcerer, cheeks flushed.

"I just had some business over there, that's all." Thirteen huffs, sinking back into the sofa so she doesn't have to see Solomon's smug face. "Anyways, aren't you supposed to be doing your thing?"

"Yeah, get to it, Solomon." Mammon tugs on the back of Solomon's cape, pointing him towards Lucifer's room. "They were last seen in there. See if you can find anything."

-`♡´-

Simeon stands near the doorway to Lucifer's room with Mammon, watching as Solomon searches for traces of anything that might give them a clue as to your whereabouts.

Simeon had thought that he had accepted being human. He thought the feeling of powerlessness that was so overwhelming to him at first had finally settled; there was nothing he could do to gain his grace back after what he had done, after all.

But now? He knew even as an angel there wasn't much more he could do to find you. If he had become your Guardian Angel like he had teased so many times, he could at least feel out if you were in danger.

Cautious Simeon, always so scared to make that final jump.

He says a prayer for you, quietly. Simeon hopes that his Father would still lend his ear to his own child, no matter how far he had strayed.

"There's one strong concentration here." Solomon frowns, gesturing to an area a little above shoulder height, right beside the left side of Lucifer's bed. "but that's all I can sense right now."

"Yeah, there's gotta be something else you missed." Mammon anxiously looks around the room, checking to see for himself if anything was out of place. "Keep looking."

They both follow Solomon as he does just that. He checks Lucifer's bathroom, in the closets, in the halls by his door... Nothing.

"I just don't get it." Solomon says, eyes closed in thought. He leans against the low table in the hallways. "If someone went through all this trouble to kidnap MC, why would they leave such an obvious trace behind?"

"Who gives a shit their motive right now. Tell us that you found something that can lead us to them, Solomon." Desperation drips from Mammon's voice. Mammon needs some hope to hold on to; Simeon empathizes with that feeling.

If Thirteen hadn't assured everyone you were still alive Simeon is sure he'd be snapping at Solomon too. Solomon was a good friend, but there's something about how casual he is with everything that makes Simeon angry. Did he not love you too?

"I did, don't worry, Mammon." Solomon pats Mammon's shoulder, "Once everyone gets back, I'll explain what I found."

-`♡´-

Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer arrive shortly after Solomon is done with his search.

The anxiety in the room is palpable; any news at all could set them alight. Especially Satan, who seemed to be trying to remember old breathing exercises to keep back his demon form.

"Solomon, they're here!" Asmodeus announces, and Simeon, Solomon, and Mammon come out from Lucifer's room to join everyone in the living room.

Lucifer doesn't comment on the broken door, he doesn't much care if the house itself was destroyed in the process of finding you.

"Tell us what you've found." Diavolo asks; Lucifer had informed him and Barbatos about what had happened on the way back from the castle. It had been a long while since Diavolo had seen his old friend look so grave.

Solomon comes around the couch and takes a seat by Thirteen. She scoots away.

"Well, there wasn't much left behind to find.... Which is good in its own way." Solomon crosses his legs. "Time magic was used sometime in Lucifer's bedroom last night. It appears MC has been taken to another point in this timeline."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, all eyes go to Barbatos. Even Barbatos looks stunned, eyes widening in shock.

"Time magic?" Satan stands, hands clenching at his sides. "I would like an explanation then, Barbatos. Now."

"I... am afraid I am as in the dark as you all are." The hesitation in Barbatos's voice does little to persuade the brothers. Beel stands and keeps a watchful eye on Satan. If you were here, you wouldn't want anyone to get hurt for your sake.

Diavolo stands in front of Barbatos. "Now, you all know Barbatos isn't the only being capable of time magic."

"Is it possible that someone else used your portals?" Thirteen asks. "You leave those things wide open, don'tcha? Seems like an easy target."

"I would know if anyone other than myself used them, yes. But I did not feel any abnormalities last night."

Belphie turns to Solomon. "Wait, you said time magic, what time period did they get sent to?"

"Ah, well that's a little tricky." Solomon answers with a sheepish smile. "The residual magic was strong, but you would expect more to be left behind if they went to the future. Future magic is highly unstable, anyways. It's more likely they were sent somewhere into the past, probably around the time of the Celestial War based on my analysis."

Belphie shakes his head. "You can't say 'probably', you have to be certain about this."

"Then, yes, I am certain that is where they are." Solomon answers smoothly.

The second the words leave Solomon's mouth, Mammon speaks up:

"Okay, so how do we get them back?!"

-`♡´-

With lots of loud disagreements, and a few almost-fights, they come to terms that it has to be Solomon that goes after you.

No one particularly likes that idea, but he was the only one who wouldn't completely disrupt the timeline. His past self wouldn't be in the Devildom, so he could avoid paradoxes, and he was more than strong enough to protect himself if need be.

That same day, Barbatos prepares the portal for Solomon to go through after you. But not before one last warning from Diavolo:

Diavolo's eyes are stern, hand gripping Solomon's shoulder tight enough to where it would be painful. Solomon takes a step back, but Diavolo's body follows him.

"You bring them back safe." A warning, "And bring them back swiftly. Whatever you must do to get them back... do it."

Solomon, frankly, had had enough warnings from the demon brothers, and from his old friend Thirteen to understand that his life was forfeit if he came back without you.

He supposed he couldn't fault their protectiveness, however. If your safety was left alone in the hands of any other, he's sure he'd do worse to guarantee you came back alive and well.

"Of course," Solomon rolls his shoulder, shrugging off the Prince's hold. "You know I want them back just as much as you do. Perhaps even more."

Diavolo pats his back, his usual genial smile returning to his face, and he laughs. "Oh, I doubt that."

Barbatos gestures to the two, indicating that everything is ready for Solomon to step through. Solomon doesn't feel anything but calm, for what did he have to be anxious about? He was getting to see you again.

Was it selfish of him to be happy that he would be in a time period where the one you would rely on the most would be him?

"Bring them back to us," Is the last thing he hears before he steps through the portal, and into the past.

-`♡´- Lucifer

Lucifer busies himself with his work. If he fills his schedule enough, he doesn't have time to worry about you constantly, doesn't have time for his mind to cycle through the worst of what could happen with you out of his reach.

He volunteers to take on all of your duties that you were newly appointed as R.A.D.'s newest student council officer. Lucifer doesn't want anything to get in the way of you spending time with him again once you get back.

When he isn't working, he takes care of his brothers. The House of Lamentation always becomes a little quieter when you're not around, but the silence this time is more somber.

Lucifer doesn't scold them as much, gives them more leeway when they skip classes or forget to turn in assignments. He knows they're struggling and he doesn't want to add to that burden.

He hardly sleeps unless he passes out from exhaustion. When he does, his dreams are of blame. Why didn't he just wake up when you were taken? You were right there.

-`♡´- Mammon

Mammon had to be held back by Levi and Beel to keep him from going into the portal after Solomon.

It wasn't fair that that guy got to go and he had to stay behind. He was your first man! Mammon wasn't even sure that Solomon didn't play a role in helping you disappear. He never trusted that guy.

But all he could do now was hope that he would bring you back, right? It didn't matter anymore who saved you, just the fact that you were alive and safe and in his arms would be enough for him.

Mammon misses you ardently.

He texts you about his day every day. He knows the messages won't deliver, but he doesn't have anyone else to send them too. Sometimes he'll even call your phone so he can hear your voice in the voicemail. It helps him sleep.

-`♡´- Leviathan

He's just so tired of this. He thought once your trials at R.A.D. were over, you could settle down in the House of Lamentation forever.

If anyone deserved a life full of peace, it was you. You had endured way too much hardship on their account to keep having these things happen to you.

Levi tries to maintain a normalcy for you to return to. He buys games that you had on your radar for you to play with him once you got back.

He likes looking at the pictures you both had taken together. Cosplay pics, photobooth strips, candid polaroids... precious memories that could never be replaced.

And, when he really misses you, he takes one of your school uniforms, hanging up neatly in your closet and takes it to bed with him. It still smells like you, and if he closes his eyes, he can picture you're there with him.

Though, waking up and seeing you weren't there is like losing you all over again.

-`♡´- Satan

Satan worries.

He knew what he was like right after the Celestial War. He knew what monstrous things he did when he couldn't control his anger; before he made a conscious decision to crawl his way out of his emotional stagnation and to be more than he was created to be.

He gets into a habit of hanging out with Thirteen. Satan never really cared much for her attitude, but she's the only one who would know if you were still alive.

She's tolerable, in that when they get together they always end up talking about you. Satan doesn't tell her the best stories about you, no, those were reserved only for himself.

When he is alone, he often drifts towards your room. He knows his brothers often sleep there when you're gone, so he washes your sheets and makes your bed back up when they're not there.

Satan even tidies his own room just enough so that you would have room to sleep in his bed with him when you returned.

-`♡´- Asmodeus

To have both you and Solomon taken away from him in the same day, it seems a bit cruel, doesn't it?

He's thankful for all the consolations from his friends and his fans; the well wishes are nice, but it isn't the same as hearing it from your voice.

Asmo tells anyone who will listen about what happened to you in hopes that they'll spin stories back at him. Even if most were lies conjured to make him feel better, there always are some true stories in the mix. He hears a few rumors of ancient, powerful demons that he hands over to Satan and Belphie to look more into. He was glad he could do something.

Asmodeus starts collecting things that remind him of you. Flowers that never wilt, lamb plushies, silk pajamas — there's a box in his room of gifts to give you once you get back home.

He writes down everything that you've missed since you disappeared, he has so much to catch you up on, after all! And if there's a lot of 'I love you's' and things he misses about you in between topics, he's sure you won't mind hearing them, too.

-`♡´- Beelzebub

Beel feels a little lost without you there.

You were so ingrained in his daily schedule that he doesn't know what to do with a lot of his time. You, Mammon, him, and Belphie would always hang out after school, since the four of you had the same last period.

There was no sun in the Devildom, but he didn't need any to feel warm sitting next to you three. Mammon would bring cards, and you would take turns picking out games to play.

You would usually win; he loved seeing your smile as you asked for praise for winning. Belphie and Mammon would pout, but Beel was always happy to tell you you did a good job. He keeps an ongoing score sheet somewhere in his backpack:

MC - 102, Mammon - 16, Belphie - 59, Beel - 20. He didn't care much for winning as long as everyone was happy.

He makes his way to the gardens and finds your usual spot empty. Beel waits there for a long while, but only Belphie shows up.

Beel thinks that maybe in the past, you were waiting for him in the same spot too. The thought makes him feel a little less lonely.

-`♡´- Belphegor

Belphie misses you, of course, but he really finds this whole situation odd.

Time magic. Diavolo had said that other beings were capable of it, but Belphie had never heard of anyone, besides Barbatos, that had mastered it enough to send someone back that far. Belphie wasn't the most well-connected person, but he thinks he would've heard about them by now.

Satan thinks the same thing, and so the 'Anti-Lucifer League' is postponed, and in its place the 'MC's Detective Agency' forms. Beel sits in on most meetings, and the rest of the brothers join in occasionally.

But with so few leads there was only so much they could do. But still, Belphie is determined not to give up. If you were in his shoes, he knows you would do the same thing.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he wants to hear you say that you're proud of his work. To feel you pet his head and tell him he did good, to kiss him on the cheeks for working so hard.

...And, of course, making whoever did this pay for what they did would be good, too.

-`♡´- Diavolo

The last note you left him is still taped to his desk:

A chibi of you fist-pumping is drawn on the side of the yellow sticky. There's a big speech bubble that reads: "You can do it, Dia! Knock out that paperwork!" He can't help but smile every time he sees it.

It's silly, but when he looks down and reads those words of encouragement he feels your loss even more strongly. He's sure Solomon will be back with you soon, but as the weeks roll on, he starts getting impatient.

He sends all his best men to search for whoever did this to you. Without any solid leads, it was like chasing the wind, but it helped settle his mind, if only a little.

He supposes you did spoil him too much. He forgot what it was like to be so lonely when you were around. And unlike the brothers, he couldn't just curl up in your bed whenever he wanted to be reminded of you.

Would it be so improper to move you into the castle once you got back? At least here, he would know you were safe. Nothing like this would ever happen to you again on his watch.

-`♡´- Barbatos

Barbatos knows that all eyes are on him.

It isn't hard to figure out that the brothers are suspicious of him. Mammon's crows perch outside his bedroom, Satan takes extra trips to the library in the castle, Belphie "gets lost" wandering the halls after dinner... Even Lucifer asks him pointed questions about that night.

He understands that it comes with the territory of his powers, but when has he ever done anything to jeopardize the exchange program? If he wanted to send you away would he not have done it when you first arrived? Would he not have let you die at the hands of Belphegor?

The him of today would never think of such a thing. Barbatos cared too much about your safety to let you wander too far from his sights.

He knows it is an indulgence that only he is afforded, but he can't help but steal looks into your life back in time as you try to find your way back to them.

Perhaps the others would like to hear about how you are doing, but Barbatos thinks these things are best kept to himself. He was never a fan of sharing, anyways.

-`♡´- Simeon

Luke cries and cries and cries when Simeon tells him what happened to you. Simeon holds the boy in his arms tight, rocking him back and forth to soothe his troubled heart.

He had done this many nights in the past, and he's sure he'd do it for many nights in the future.

The last time it had happened it had been when Simeon had told Luke about losing his powers. You had been there, then, and had cried as soon as you saw tears well up in Luke's eyes. Luke was less sad and more angry at Simeon for not telling him sooner. He had held you both in his arms that night, and before long the three of you fell asleep together.

Simeon wishes you were here now to hold him. To tell him it was going to be alright. But he supposed if you were here the both of them wouldn't have anything to cry about.

Michael allows Luke to stay in Purgatory Hall for as long as it would take to get you back. Simeon is thankful for the company; with Raphael and Solomon gone, and the Hall silent, it was easy for Simeon to start blaming himself.

He hears Luke pray every night for your safety, and Simeon slips back into the habit as well.

-`♡´- Thirteen

Thirteen spends a lot more time in her cave when you're not around.

What's the point of going to R.A.D. if you weren't there? It's not like she cared much about anyone else that went there. And to hear the brothers cry about missing you... She couldn't take it.

She cared about you too, but you didn't see her moping around about it!

But even worse was the fact Solomon got to go back in time to save you. Just thinking about you spending all that alone time with that shitty Sorcerer makes her blood boil; he could live a thousand lifetimes and never once deserve you.

She goes and checks your candle every morning to see if the flame is going strong. Thirteen breathes easy when she sees the bright orange flame light up the darkness.

Reapers weren't supposed to interfere directly with mortal's lifespans, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt if she poured some of Solomon's melted wax onto your candle. It's not like he would need it anyways.

Besides, this was her making up for lost time. Every day you were away shouldn't count! You didn't choose to go back in time, after all!

492 notes · View notes

adieutristana · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! Can you write something cute with alt! powder? Like reverse comfort. Powder feels bad on the anniversary of Vi's death, and reader, her romantic partner, tries to make her feel better

of course! thank you for the request <3

you guys must really like my hurt/comfort LOL it's most of my inbox rn! not complaining though hehe

summary; powder’s girlfriend comforting her on the anniversary of vi’s death.

characters included; powder (act iii au)

tags/warnings; death (duh), grief, hurt/comfort, fluff, s2 spoilers, implied that reader and powder were childhood friends

men dni.

the scent of myrrh clings to the air.

today marks eight years since the death of vi. one of zaun's most promising, a young fighter with a heart of gold. determined, strong, and loyal.

but most importantly, vi, your girlfriend's big sister. her protector, one she looked to for guidance and love. comfort in trying times, such as these.

your hand is rubbing gentle circles along the skin of powder's lower back, trying to offer silent reassurance. it hurts you to see your love like this. her shoulders slumped, eyes weary, her gaze fixed solely on a photo of her sister. one where she seems so vibrant, so full of life. she didn't have a clue what the world had in store for her, the fact that her life would end so prematurely. it wasn't uncommon, people dying young in zaun. but powder never thought it would be vi.

"i still don't think it's fair."

she mutters, tone more somber than angry. you nod slowly, your hand continuing its patterns across powder's back.

"it isn't. she was taken too early."

you respond. powder doesn't speak for another beat afterward, tugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them as she continues to look over vi's altar. the doll of her sister, various lit candles, incense wafting through the air. a few small belongings of vi's that powder had managed to recover- some jewelry, little trinkets, the like.

"do you think she'd be surprised to see where i am now?"

you hum, wrapping your arm around her shoulder loosely and pressing your girlfriend into you. you take a deep breath in before nodding in response.

"i think so, yeah. her little sister, all grown up... a genius of sorts, too. always creating, always thinking."

she lets out a little 'mm,' continuing to gaze over the memorial.

"it wasn't always jobs and fighting, she was sweet. we used to pillow fight in our room when we couldn't sleep, and vi would always let me win." powder muses, a light chuckle escaping her. "she helped me learn to read and write, even though i got confused on sounding out letters and couldn't figure out how to hold a pencil at first."

you laugh at that, looking back over at powder.

"yeah? well, she was a good sister. that much is obvious to anybody who knew her."

powder hums in agreement, but she seems to slowly tense back up. she begins to pick at her cuticles and bite the inside of her cheek as she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. your girlfriend's blue eyes turn back to you.

"do you think she'd be... proud?"

you nod again, without missing a beat. powder didn't even have to ask that question, honestly. it was obvious to anybody who knew her that her late sister would be thrilled with how far she had come in life, with how zaun had changed for the better and powder was an active participant in that change. she had gone from an unsure, anxious girl to a confident, innovative woman. with the help of friends, family, the very people who supported vi.

"she is, pow."

"how can you be so sure?"

she sighs, but lays her head against your shoulder. choppy blue locks splayed across, with a slender arm wrapping around your waist.

"just look at you," you pause, returning your gaze back to your girlfriend. almost as if to emphasize your point. "you're a smart, kind, creative, genius of a woman."

powder scoffs lightly, shaking her head. you can tell she's about to make some remark in protest.

"i mean it, babe. you're a far cry from the powder she knew, but that's a good thing. she'd be proud that you made something for yourself, that you're happy. that you're living in a better zaun than she knew."

powder lets out a heavy sigh, her eyes finally meeting yours. seeing her like this always chips at your heart a little. she missed her big sister every day of every year, but this day never gets easier. it likely never will, no matter how many more years pass. vi's death left a hole in the city of zaun, in the heart of vander, in you, but nobody had suffered the loss more than the girl before you.

"i wish she would've got to see it." she hums, looking back to the altar. the incense sticks are nearly burnt out, the smoke getting thinner. "zaun, i mean. it's changed so much since she last saw it. people can build a life here, we aren't so neglected or war-torn or... whatever. hell, even vander and silco made up."

she scoffs in light amusement, betraying her current emotions. it's hard, knowing exactly what to say. you love powder, you want her to be happy. you've always hated seeing her so torn by grief. but grief is weird in those ways, never fully going away. hitting full-force while powder is in the middle of a crowded room, or powder feeling completely alright for a few weeks before her sister's death hits her all over again.

yet you've always been there to remind her of everything- and the fact that you don't ever get over it per se, but build a life around the grief instead. something you believe powder has done a fine job of.

"i know you wish she could've seen it. but wherever she is, i think she knows somehow."

powder sighs, her shoulders slumping in mild disbelief.

"yeah?"

"yeah. i mean, we don't know for sure about life after death, or spirits or any of that stuff. but i think that somehow, vi knows her sister is doing well, and that zaun is a better place than she knew it as."

the incense is finished burning.

"i'll get those."

you say before your girlfriend can get up. she lightly huffs, but doesn't try to stop you. you stride over to the altar, grabbing a few loose incense sticks.

"i know today is hard for you, love... it always is. but i'll be here the entire time, okay?" you pause to strike a match, bringing it to the tip of a few incense sticks. "you can do whatever you need to. talk to me. sit in silence. whatever you need."

you slowly sit down back beside powder, wrapping an arm around her shoulder from the side and squeezing in light reassurance. she lets out a shaky breath before settling her head back onto your shoulder.

"the whole time?"

"the whole time, love. i promise."

she sighs, turning her head to brush her lips against the soft skin of your shoulder. today is hell in more ways than one, but you make the torment a little bit more bearable.

"i like that... yeah."

#arcane x reader #arcane x you #jinx x reader #powder x reader #reader insert #sapphic

122 notes · View notes

ps-cactus · 6 months ago

Text

ROOTED – Sebastian Sallow & GN!Reader & Ominis Gaunt oneshot – 1864 words

tags and warnings: no smut, no obvious romance, however - established relationship, unreliable narrator, haunting atmosphere, mystery, dark magic, death and resurrection, identity loss and confusion, obsession, (a bit of) predatory instincts, survival instincts, blood, symbolism. Also posted on AO3

A/N: characters here are in their early twenties, not long since graduation. established relationship - you've been living with sebastian and ominis after graduation - you can see this as friendship (might be challenging, but you still can) or anything else; here it can be whatever you want.

Inspired by several songs: In the woods somewhere, Like real people do - Hozier / Rebirth - Poets of the Fall / Funeral of Hearts - HIM <- that's where the 'moonlight' and 'firelight' come from, and i liked how they worked together for these characters

Summary: You died. Here is what happens after a short while.

ROOTED

As you open your eyes, you’re struck by the absence of any memory that might explain your presence here, on the icy ground surrounded by trees.

The cold greets you first. It presses against your skin—a new sensation, a pleasant one. The last thing your body recalls is the suffocating heat of a fever, endless and draining. You don’t know how long it lasted or why it broke, you’re only glad it did.

You push yourself upright, steadying yourself on a large stone nearby. Intricate carvings cover its surface. Runes, whispers something deep within your clouded mind. Important, yes, but too complex for your dulled thoughts to hold onto now.

Your legs barely obey you, but you walk. Distance and time lose their meaning. You just know you must keep moving, must find… something. You don’t know what you seek, only that something is missing.

Had your mind been clearer, you might have noticed him sooner. A man—taller than you, but his frame feels neither threatening nor overly strong. The forest around you is pitch black, the thick canopy blotting out even the cloud-covered sky. And yet, you see him as though the darkness does not exist.

“Sebastian?” he asks. You find the sound of his voice comforting, and you take a step closer.

Perhaps he’s the one you’ve been searching for?

His blonde hair, light-coloured eyes, and pale skin evoke something ethereal. If nature had human embodiments, he would surely be the moonlight—the light you suddenly crave to bask in. Drawn by that resemblance, you step even closer.

He’s been facing you for some time now. He doesn’t approach, doesn’t move—he simply waits. When you stop before him, the forest’s silence envelopes you, undisturbed by your laboured steps anymore. Slowly, your weakened mind starts picking up more. It’s still hard to grasp and analyse the details, but you guess the man has been crying recently.

He points something at you—a wand. The word surfaces in your mind just like “runes” did—it’s important. Meaningful. Dangerous. The faint red glow at the wand’s tip pulses slowly, and you don’t like it pulsing in your direction.

“Hello?” Puffs of mist from his breath linger briefly before vanishing. Though you’re only steps away, he peers around as if still unsure of your presence.

“Hello?” you echo quietly and no mist follows your words. Your voice trembles, both hesitant and hoarse. He feels like the moonlight you crave, and you’re desperate for him to speak again.

“Is it... truly you?”

You stay silent, not because you’re incapable of answering, but because the question itself eludes you. Your thoughts are growing sharper and clearer, but you find no answer within you. Only the softly rustling trees seem to know what “you” means, and you haven’t been able to listen closely enough to grasp it yet.

“Hey?” His tone grows louder and firmer, and he takes a cautious step toward you.

“Hey,” you reply instantly. Your voice is louder this time but remains frail and faint.

The man approaches with deliberate slowness. The instincts generations your ancestors honed over centuries lie dormant within you, leaving only the faintest trace of awareness in the background of your mind. You don’t move as his hesitant fingers find your hand, trail to your shoulder, and then settle on your cheek.

“Hey,” you say once more.

His hand retreats sharply. Flecks of earth cling to his pale fingers, melting into mud speckled with fragments of old leaves. He doesn’t meet your stare, though you keep looking into his eyes. You can’t be sure about anything now, yet his eyes shine with something different—in a way that draws you in.

“But how?” He glances around again, his wand finally lowering from its aim at you. “He didn’t… no…”

He pulls you by the hand, as you walk slow enough to match your stumbling feet. He guides you to a house tucked amid scattered trees. Some of the tension in your chest eases as you realise—you’re not being taken away from the woods.

With each step further from the denser trees, something deep inside stirs sharply. You’re too new to this—to your new instincts—to decipher their meaning. This is, after all, your first day with them. You only know you long to return. The forest clings to you, and every step too far away would tear at you like a root ripped from frostbound earth.

Light and warmth fill the house. The shift in temperature makes you tremble. You want to leave, unable to fathom why the Moonlight man would bring you to such an awful place.

“When did you return?” he asks, releasing your hand. His words aren’t directed at you, but you enjoy hearing his voice all the same. “I’ve been searching for you, but...”

The fire near the wall, encased in stone, is the most dreadful thing in the room. Slightly less so is the other figure—a man standing before the flames. When he turns, the firelight catches his messy brown locks, making you think of smouldering wood.

The Firelight man moves swiftly, closing the distance until he’s right before you. His hands clasp your shoulders tightly, his eyes scanning your face frantically. Freckles scatter across his face, and as he stands away from the dreadful fire, you can’t help but wonder—would this freckled skin feel cool beneath your touch or hot like embers?

“I’d stopped believing it was possible...” he mutters, his wide eyes finally locking with yours and freezing there.

He wraps his arms around you, pressing you against him. His clothes are damp and chilled, with only a few spots where the fire’s heat has left a trace of warmth. He talks a lot, but none of it makes sense to you. He keeps asking some questions you could never answer. His clothes’ scent—of moisture and woods—fills your lungs, soothing in its familiarity. The urge to retreat back into the forest grips you once more.

“Maybe I… can get the bath ready for you,” he says, resigned to your silence, pulling a twig and a few leaves from your hair. “Or let’s just—”

The Firelight man immerses your hands in a water basin and carefully cleans them. The dirt gives way to fine scars—patterns carved into your skin, trailing from your wrists up into your sleeves. These scars, fresh and tender, awaken an inexplicable attachment in you, and for the first time in this new, raw existence, you feel joy.

The Firelight man’s hands are wrapped in bandages, and where they meet the water, faint dark spots seep through. He dips a towel into the basin and carefully wipes your face. You don’t object. You don’t know what else to do, so you simply stand there, feeling the cold water against your skin. The Moonlight man slips something over your shoulders from behind. The softness is nice, but the warmth is less so. You barely notice it’s a wool blanket before he steps away.

You crave moonlight—if not his presence, then the faintest touch of its radiance from the sky. You glance toward the window, but it reveals only shadowy blackness. A hand wrapped in frayed bandages carefully shifts your face back.

The water loosens one of the wrappings on his hand, exposing already familiar patterns carved into his skin, echoing your own scars.

The icy touch of the water on your face stirs a longing to return to the forest, to its pure and unyielding cold. But you still don’t know what you’re searching for or what truly matters, so you simply remain where you are. The Firelight man’s tousled hair glints in the firelight, its colour like deep mahogany, and you can’t tear your eyes away.

“You can hear me, right?” he asks, and your gaze shifts back to his eyes—brown flecked with green, like fallen leaves scattered on the woodland ground. “Want some water?”

Your eyes settle on the glass in his hand, but you feel nothing for the water within—no more than for the moisture still clinging to your skin.

“Or the tea, you must be so cold.”

“Sebastian, stop—just shut up for a moment,” says the Moonlight man, massaging his temples as he paces the room. “What is going on? Please, what have you done?”

“The thing you’ve desired above all else yourself,” the Firelight man retorts, the glass hitting the table with a resounding thud as he turns away.

“Tell me you didn’t go through with that ritual. It’s forbidden; they warned us—explicitly.”

“I never promised you anything regarding this, Ominis.”

“Do you even understand what you’re talking about?”

They keep arguing, their voices climbing in volume and speed. They’re unbearably loud, and it feels so wrong here. You look out the window, drawn closer to it—to the serenity of the night. Beyond the glass lies peace itself—the dense weave of branches, the cushion of moss on the ground and trunks, the gnarled roots snaking through the forest floor. You can see it all so clearly and it mesmerises you.

The clamour behind you doesn’t stop; it feels wrong and chaotic, but truly—means nothing. Their voices fade into the background as you stare at your hands again, now spotless except for the delicate beautiful patterns carved into your skin.

The narrow crescent moon emerges from behind the weighty clouds, and your gaze is drawn upward immediately. For the first time, you can inhale fully, as though the moonlight’s pale, ghostly light exists purely to let you breathe.

The scents around you grow vivid. Wooden floorboards, some damp and others dry and warm. Pungent and earthy, herbs waft from a table nearby, mixed with the burlap’s rough aroma. A dusty sofa carries the weight of years, while the blanket on your shoulders smells of wool and spices... and then you smell blood.

You tear your gaze from the crescent moon, drawn to find the scent's origin. The frayed bandage on the Firelight man’s hand is seeping with warm blood. You’ve never seen fresh blood spilling from human skin before in your life, but instantly, it’s all you desire to see. This is what you were meant to find. Your hands ache to reach out and feel it.

You swallow at the idea of tasting it with your lips.

Without even looking, you sense the moonlight’s gentle touch where it slips past the clouds to grace your skin. It soothes and strengthens you. But it could do so much more outside, beyond these walls. The forest waits for you, as much as you long for it—along with the presence that you know now lingers deep in the darkness.

Your growing instincts warn you that arriving alone would not be accepted. You don’t rush. You stand still, inhaling deeply. The scent of blood dominates the house now—it’s all you can perceive.

The dispute continues in the voices lower but still tense. The Moonlight man’s cheek glimmers faintly with the tear. The Firelight man lifts his eyes to you, his words ceasing, plunging the room into silence.

Everything finally makes sense—you’ll be genuinely embraced there tonight if you don’t return alone. They must come with you.

And you will stop at nothing to ensure it.

#my sleepy brain produced this #my first oneshot in years #no beta read #not a native english speaker #don't throw stones if there are mistakes - you can always dm #ominis gaunt fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #ominis gaunt x reader #mind tags and warnings #hogwarts legacy oneshot

112 notes · View notes

saintsylestine · 6 days ago

Text

Pit-Born

Angron x Unamed Person (2nd person POV)

Authors note: Angron/World Eaters ≡ New Hyperfixation. This was kind of a "character warm-up". I wrote a 3rd person perspective too (〃ω〃) will probably post it on here or on AO3...

Chapter 1: Old Blood

It started the same way it always did — with screaming and metal.

The forge-pit echoed like a tomb full of dying engines. Down here, sound didn't travel clean — it rattled, bounced, came back wrong. You could hear a chain whip crack a hundred meters away and still not see who screamed.

You didn't look anyway.

That was Rule One: Don't look. Don't listen. Don't care.

You shoved another data-slate into the auto-filer, its screen cracked, half the glyphs glitching. It smelled like promethium and charred bone.

Not the worst thing you’d filed this week.

The Overseer's boots scraped overhead — heavy, servo-reinforced. You tensed on instinct. Not because he always hit people.

Because sometimes he didn’t.

And that was worse.

You could still feel last week’s bruise where he’d leaned in real close and whispered, “Got a sharp tongue on you, scribe. We'll see how long it stays attached.”

You hadn’t flinched.

You just smiled, right in his rebreathered face, and said, “With respect, Overseer, I’m the only one here who can read the requisitions. Unless you’d like another thousand barrels of corpse starch instead of ammo.”

That had earned you a full day scrubbing latrines.

Still worth it.

---

Your cot — if it could be called that — was a sheet of rebar strung between two rusted wall-beams, up in the tech-shed above the arena. The pit was always visible. Always audible. The noise of violence was your lullaby.

You'd long since stopped waking up at the sound of bone breaking.

You'd been born on a ship like this — or maybe it was a hive, or a mining rig. Honestly, it didn’t matter. They all smelled the same. Sweat. Shit. Cheap oil. Despair.

You had no family. Just bruises with dates on them and the memory of learning to dodge a fist before you could read.

Your first language was Low Gothic, spoken through cracked teeth.

Your second was silence.

Your third — learned in the shadows, in whispers — was High Gothic.

You memorized texts like other kids memorized the sound of their mother’s laugh.

You didn’t have one of those.

But you had a perfect copy of the Imperial Hymn etched into your skull, and you could translate six dialects of tribal war-speak from memory.

That made you useful.

And in this place, useful was the closest thing to safe.

---

You were hunched over a dataslate when the click-hiss of metal toes on steel drew close.

You didn’t look up.

Most people looked when Astartes entered a room.

You’d learned early that looking just made it easier for them to decide where to hit you.

The voice that followed was dry. Precise.

A vox-filtered growl wrapped in High Gothic.

"Subject Delta-9-Zeta. Report."

That was you.

Not your name, of course. You didn’t have a name — just a tag on your dataslates and a serial number on your file.

You didn’t stand.

Just looked up slowly, let your gaze drag over the towering figure in red and brass plate. He wasn’t a full Astartes — not anymore. An old veteran, maybe. One eye augmetic, one hand missing.

More administrator than killer now.

That made him almost tolerable.

"Yes?" you said, dry as reprocessed rations.

"Your assignment has changed," he said, ignoring your tone.

Your heart ticked faster — just once.

Reassignment was never good.

"You’re being deployed with the XII Aggression Fleet. Oversector Caduceus."

Your stomach twisted. That was Eater territory.

"Interpreter-class auxiliary," he went on. "You’ll serve under Primarch command."

Silence.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

"I’m sorry," you said, voice flat. "I thought you said Primarch command. I must’ve inhaled too much ceramite dust. Would you mind repeating that?"

He didn’t.

He just handed you a slate with the orders stamped in blood-red ink.

You read it once.

Twice.

Then let out a low, bitter snort.

"So what was it, then?" you muttered. "Did I piss off someone important? File the wrong report? Fuck the wrong officer?"

"Your reassignment is classified," he said. "Report to Dock H in one hour. You will be armed with a Rosette, an auto-transcriber, and a field lexicon. May the Emperor protect."

He turned and left before you could ask what language the Eaters even spoke.

---

You sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing, the data-slate still clutched in your hands.

You felt nothing.

Or maybe everything, just compressed into a needlepoint of white static.

You’d survived pits. Overseers. Starving.

You’d survived Astartes who treated mortals like flies.

You’d survived by being small, useful, and forgettable.

And now they were throwing you to him.

Angron.

The Butcher.

The Warhound.

The broken thing the Emperor couldn’t fix.

You laughed.

Just once.

Short and sharp and not very sane.

"Fuck me sideways," you muttered, dragging your hands down your face. "Guess it’s a good day to die."

You stood, grabbed your satchel, and walked toward the last job you’d ever take.

---

There was dust in the air, curling like smoke, even though nothing was on fire.

Not yet.

The forge-hold always looked like it was dying, but it never did. It just sagged. Creaked. Bled from its vents like an old animal too stubborn to fall over.

You walked slow, hands in your coat pockets, head down just enough to avoid notice — but not enough to look weak.

The air was thick with machine oil and ash. Someone was getting beaten two corridors over. You could hear the crack of a fist. The small, wet grunt of impact. The quickening rhythm. Then silence.

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t even turn your head.

That was just Tuesday.

---

You passed the med-station loading vent — the one that smelled like shit and boiled antiseptic — and nearly missed him.

Small thing.

Pit boy.

Maybe twelve? Maybe less. Hard to say, when hunger took years off your face and added ten more to your eyes.

He was crouched under a rusted console unit, shirt drawn tight to his ribs like it could keep his bones from falling out. His mouth was open a little — not begging. Just breathing wrong.

You walked past.

Then, without looking, reached into your coat and palmed two protein tabs from your stash.

Nothing fancy. Just dry, chalky, corpse-reclaimed synth meat. The kind that kept your stomach from eating itself.

You dropped them by his foot as you passed.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t say a fucking word.

He wouldn’t either.

Not here. Not if he wanted to keep them.

But as you turned the corner, you felt it —

that burning little spot between your shoulder blades, where his eyes were pressed like a brand.

You told yourself it was nothing.

That he'd sell them.

That he'd die soon anyway.

You didn’t stop walking.

But your jaw was tight when you reached the lift.

---

The locker room was empty when you slipped in.

Good. You hated witnesses. Especially the quiet ones.

The overhead light flickered, casting sharp silver across rows of dented lockers, a cracked tile floor, and your rust-stained cot wedged up in the corner where the wall never quite stopped leaking.

You didn’t sit.

You just pulled your coat off and hung it on the dented hook that barely held weight.

Your fingers worked on instinct — removing your worn gloves, checking your satchel’s seals, running diagnostics on your auto-slate.

Busy hands made a quieter mind.

But it crept in anyway — the thought you’d been avoiding all day:

You were leaving.

Soon.

For the XII Aggression Fleet.

For him.

The Butcher.

You exhaled through your nose. Rolled your eyes at nothing.

Then you moved toward the locker.

The back one. The one no one else touched.

It took a kick to open.

You liked that about it.

Inside:

One clean dataslate

A bent stylus

Half a rag stuffed with inksticks

A folded rag you sometimes used as a pillow

A shard of mirror, metal-backed, scavenged from an old downed servitor casing

You pulled it out and turned it in your fingers.

It still had a little rust at the edges.

Still smelled faintly of oil.

You raised it.

Looked.

Your reflection was...

Fine.

You looked fine.

Sharp face. Straight mouth. Dark-ringed eyes. Scar across the bridge of your nose where someone had slammed your head into a filing desk last year.

You didn’t remember what for.

You didn’t wince.

You adjusted your sleeves.

The red thread peeked out — fraying, thin, wound twice around your left wrist.

Not a bracelet. Not anything.

Just… there.

You didn’t remember where it started.

You’d replaced it years ago, probably.

But it was the same color. Always that color.

And it stayed.

But your eyes drifted — just a little — to the hollow under your collarbone, where the skin still bore the ghost of a branding scar.

They’d burned the designation into you at seven.

Later, they reassigned you. Gave you the Rosette.

They never scrubbed the mark.

You ran your fingers over it, once.

Then opened your satchel and pulled out the chain.

The Rosette gleamed, faintly. Cold.

You slipped it over your head and let it settle against your chest like a second spine.

Interpreter.

Liaison.

Disposal.

You smiled at yourself — a tired, crooked thing.

"Dead girl walking," you murmured.

The mirror didn’t argue.

The walk to Dock H felt longer than usual.

You told yourself it was the weight of the satchel. The ache in your calves. The extra rations you slipped into the locker for the kid — even though you knew he’d be robbed by nightfall.

It wasn’t the fear.

You didn’t do fear.

Not anymore.

Just… managed expectations.

The corridors stretched on, pipe-lined and blistered with rust. The scent of blood and reek-oil clung to everything. The walls sweated moisture that wasn’t water.

You passed two tech-priests arguing in Binaric over a servitor with a bent spinal frame.

You nodded. They didn’t nod back.

Good.

It meant you were still invisible.

---

Until you weren’t.

The World Eaters came around the corner like a pressure wave.

There were four of them — no escort, no fanfare. Just blood-steam and footfalls that shook the grating under your boots.

They didn’t march.

They stalked.

Armor painted in drying gore. Symbols carved into shoulder plates. Chainaxes clipped at their hips like talismans. Helmets off. One dragged a flayed corpse behind him, trailing blood like a bridal train.

You moved to the wall automatically — you weren’t suicidal — but you didn’t shrink.

Not anymore.

Just… still.

Small.

A shadow in the oil-smoke.

And then one of them looked at you.

Long, slow.

His head tilted, like a predator seeing a noise, not prey.

His face was war-scarred, with ritual cuts down both cheeks, teeth filed into points.

He didn’t snarl.

He smiled.

Just like he was already imagining how you’d look when you stopped breathing.

It was worse than a snarl.

The one behind him said something low — in a dialect you almost recognized. It sounded like Low Gothic, if Low Gothic had been spoken underwater by a dying god.

You caught a single word:

“Pretty.”

Your jaw locked.

You didn’t blink.

The third one — older, scarred across the throat, with a chainaxe in one hand and a ribcage strapped to his back like a trophy — let out a low chuckle.

It rattled your bones.

None of them stopped.

They passed like smoke through flame — too big, too loud, too close.

And when they were gone —

when their scent still burned in your nostrils like hot metal —

you realized your hands were fists.

Your pulse throbbed in your ears.

Your throat was dry.

And your left hand was pressed to your wrist.

To the thread.

Still there.

Still tight.

You released it.

And breathed.

Once.

---

The dock loomed.

Metal towers stretched overhead like broken ribs, lights flickering red in the fog. Servitors clanked in dull circles, unloading crate after crate of munitions, medicae supplies, and human bodies wrapped in tagged cloth.

No one greeted you.

A grox-skinned quartermaster waved you toward a loading bay with a metal stylus like he was swatting a bug.

You stepped into the hangar’s belly.

And froze.

The ship squatted on the far platform like a beast half-woken from hibernation.

Brass-plated. Bladed. Covered in kill-scars.

The hull was decorated in chains. Bodies. Rusted prayer plates hanging like teeth.

Red banners snapped in the oil-wind, each one stamped with a single glyph:

XII. AGGRESSION.

And there, carved deep into the prow —

etched like a curse into the bone-metal surface —

THE WARHOUND.

You felt your stomach curl.

Your knees didn’t buckle.

But they wanted to.

You adjusted your satchel.

Pulled your coat tighter.

The chain around your neck was cold.

The thread at your wrist, warm.

You took a step forward.

And the doors swallowed you whole.

---

The air inside the Warhound was colder than you expected.

Not freezing — just sharp.

Sterile.

Like someone had cleaned it, but only after too much had already rotted inside.

The ramp sealed behind you with a hiss and a hydraulic moan, drowning out the dock’s chaos.

You stood there a moment, letting your eyes adjust, heart pounding too close to your throat.

No welcome party.

Just the groan of metal bones and the sound of your own breathing.

---

The first corridor was long, narrow, barely lit — a transport vein designed for bulk cargo and soldiers too massive to care about human comfort.

You walked it like a ghost.

Boots too light. Shadow too small.

The walls were not quiet.

You could hear them.

Something. Someone. Screaming.

Deep down in the ship’s gut.

Not pain.

Pleasure.

Or whatever passed for it here.

Metal screamed too — engine parts groaning in their sockets, servitors shuffling, plasma lines weeping gas like breath.

You passed a hanging banner — black leather, red ink, stamped with the sigil of the World Eaters.

A single glyph burned into the surface beneath it, carved with a blade instead of inked:

OBEY.

You didn’t stop walking.

But your pace slowed.

---

They didn’t bother showing you to your quarters.

Just dumped coordinates into your slate.

Barracks wing. Deck 7C. Assigned scribe’s cell.

You found it after two wrong turns and one narrow hallway lined with skulls that might not have all been decorative.

The door didn’t open until you swiped your Rosette — and even then, it groaned like it hated the idea of letting you inside.

You stepped into a box of cold steel.

No bunk.

No blankets.

No personal effects.

Just a hard floor, one wall-plate for filing, and a single fixture: a half-broken shrine to the Emperor of Mankind, blackened by smoke.

You looked at it.

Didn’t kneel.

Just stood in the center of the room, flexing your hands.

The floor still smelled like blood.

---

They fed you twice over the next two days.

You didn’t sleep the first night.

Too cold. Too loud. Too full of footsteps you didn’t want to track.

No one spoke to you.

Except one of the ship-serfs, a half-bent wretch with broken fingers who shoved a tray toward you and muttered:

"Don’t look anyone in the eyes, not even the humans. And if he calls for you — don’t run. Just go."

You didn’t ask who he was.

You already knew.

---

On the third day, the vox pinged.

It wasn’t a request.

Just three words:

REPORT TO PRIMARCH.

You stared at the screen.

Then glanced at the door.

Your hand almost lifted — a half-reflex — but didn’t reach for anything.

Instead, you exhaled.

Flexed your fingers.

Rolled your neck until something cracked.

No ritual this time.

No satchel clutching.

No thread-check.

Just you.

And the sound of your own breath.

Then turned toward the upper decks —

and walked straight into the jaws of the Butcher.

---

You expected a throne.

You weren’t sure why.

Some leftover delusion, maybe. Some half-remembered pict of how a Primarch should sit — tall, clean, golden light behind him, banners fluttering.

What you got instead?

Chains.

Dozens of them.

Massive iron lengths suspended from the ceiling like a meat hook cathedral, half-rusted and rattling with every engine groan.

And in the center — seated on nothing, slouched against a pillar of blackened steel —

Angron.

No armor.

Just blood-washed skin and scars that didn’t look like they’d healed so much as calcified into the bone.

He wore a shorn-off crimson wrap around his waist, a torn pelt thrown over one shoulder like a trophy.

The Butcher’s Nails gleamed in his skull, still hot — you could smell the metal.

Smoke curled from where some of them met bone.

He didn’t move when the guards ushered you in.

He didn’t even look.

You had the brief, surreal thought that they might have brought you to the wrong place.

Then he breathed.

And the chains shifted.

---

You didn’t bow.

You didn’t salute.

You just stood there, coat grimy, Rosette heavy on your chest, arms at your sides like you were bracing to be hit.

Not for show.

Out of habit.

You weren’t afraid of dying.

Not in the normal way.

You’d seen death.

Served it coffee. Filed its reports.

What scared you was what was behind those eyes — the not-rightness, the way he looked like a man who had once had a name, a face, a soul — and someone had taken all of it and left the shell walking.

You knew that feeling.

That was the problem.

---

After too long, he looked at you.

The weight of it landed like a slab of stone between your lungs.

Not heat — not rage — not at first.

Just pressure.

Like the whole ship was holding its breath to see if you’d break.

His eyes were red.

Not glowing.

Just… raw.

Like something had been scraped out of him that was never supposed to grow back.

“Interpreter,” he said, voice low and rough, like every word he spoke clawed its way up from somewhere unwilling.

You didn’t answer immediately.

Not to challenge.

Just to remind yourself you still could.

Then:

“Sir.”

The word tasted wrong in your mouth.

---

He pushed off the pillar with a sound like a mountain shifting —

his weight slamming down into the metal with a shudder that echoed through the chains.

He didn’t walk toward you.

He didn’t have to.

He just stood there. Massive. Half-naked. Covered in old warpaint and fresh, flaking blood.

“You spoke to me,” he said.

Not a question.

“Yes.”

“You mocked me.”

You almost smiled.

“Yes.”

A sound broke in his chest.

Not a growl.

Laughter, maybe.

Ugly. Unused.

“And yet you live.”

You tilted your head.

"Not for lack of trying. Sir."

A beat.

No reaction.

Then —

a step.

Just one.

And it was too much.

Your back straightened. Muscles tensed. You didn’t move. But every instinct screamed animal. Run. Kneel. Disappear.

He stopped inches in front of you.

Looking down.

Heat coming off his skin like a forge.

Scars close enough to count.

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t lean in.

Didn’t snarl.

He just looked.

And you felt it.

The way his eyes moved — not lazy, not leering — but scanning.

Like reading a battlefield.

Or an old map he used to know by heart.

Your face first.

The scar across your nose —

A rough line where bone had nearly split skin.

Then your neck.

The spot where your coat gaped open just slightly — not salacious, just exposed —

where the edge of your brand still flared faint and red under pale skin.

He saw it.

You knew he did.

You didn’t flinch.

Then your arms —

the sleeves too light, the shadows too obvious.

Old lash lines. Scar tissue where skin had tried to grow back wrong.

And something behind his eyes… shifted. Just slightly.

Not pity.

Not even interest.

Just that silent filing you recognized from men who used to bet on pit fighters.

What hurt.

What healed.

What didn't.

You wanted to say something.

To break it.

But what would you say?

Yes, I survived.

No, it didn’t make me stronger.

Just meaner.

So you said nothing.

And neither did he.

Only—

you watched him watch you.

And knew:

He’d seen more in those ten seconds than most men would in ten years.

And the worst part?

He didn’t look away.

His gaze traveled lower. And landed.

At your wrist.

Just a flick of his eyes.

Not long enough to be certain.

But you felt it.

Like something being filed away.

---

“Why are you here,” he said, voice quieter now.

Not soft. Just... less full of war.

You blinked.

You weren’t sure if it was a real question.

Or if he even knew what it meant.

You gave the only answer that mattered.

“Because someone wants me to die. And they thought you'd be efficient.”

Another pause.

The heat of him didn’t lessen.

But he didn’t move.

“They were wrong,” he said.

You looked up — full into his ruined face, into eyes that had seen more betrayal than the galaxy had names for.

“Why?” you asked.

His mouth moved. Slowly.

Like a man tasting language for the first time.

“Because I haven’t decided yet.”

….

You didn’t say anything after that.

What would’ve been the point?

The god had spoken.

Not judgment.

Not mercy.

Just delay.

And somehow, that was worse.

—

The guards didn't come to collect you.

No vox chirped in your ear.

No voice told you to leave.

But something in the chamber changed.

The air thinned.

The chains went still.

The pressure lifted—not gone, just... redirected.

Like the Warhound had already moved on.

Or begun listening to the next thing.

So you walked.

—

The doors didn’t creak or hiss.

They just opened.

You stepped into the corridor with your hands still at your sides.

Your jaw locked so tight it ached.

Your mouth dry with the aftertaste of blood and something older.

You weren’t sure if you’d been dismissed.

Or released.

You walked.

Slow. Deliberate.

Not because you needed to.

But because anything faster would feel like running.

And you didn’t run.

—

The halls of the Warhound weren’t made for mortals.

They were made for men the size of statues and twice as dead.

Your boots clicked on steel that bore the stains of a thousand campaigns.

Your coat scraped rust from the walls.

And the light overhead stuttered every five meters —

enough to keep you guessing if the shape in your periphery was a shadow, a machine, or a man.

You didn’t look back.

You knew better.

—

Two decks down, you passed an open bulkhead.

Inside: a war-serf chained to a data pillar, his mouth wired shut, fingers twitching over keys he couldn’t see.

His eyes flicked up as you passed.

You nodded.

He didn’t.

You kept walking.

—

The smell changed first.

Oil. Blood. Meat.

The musk of World Eaters lingered in the air like a second skin.

You turned a corner and—

Froze.

A group of astartes stood at the end of the hall like pillars made of hunger.

Their armor steamed with fresh gore. One of them held a helmet under his arm, where brain matter still clung to the visor.

They didn’t look at you. But they didn’t move either.

Like they were waiting.

You inhaled.

Walked straight past.

No eye contact. No quickening pace.

Just small, steady footsteps, echoing like prey walking through a den of sleeping lions.

One of them said something low, in that same guttural dialect.

You didn’t translate it.

You didn’t need to.

You heard the word “pet.”

And you felt the way they said it — not cruel.

Not even mocking.

Certain.

Like they’d already seen how this ends.

----------------------------- to be continued-------

I feel like I need to know more about Angron to write more dialogue for him (／＼) but thank you for reading!! Would love to know your thoughts.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer fantasy #angron #world eaters #angron x reader #slow burn #primarch x reader #wh40k x reader #x reader #reader insert #warhammer x reader #wh40k fic #wh40k

46 notes · View notes

heytemporary · 23 days ago

Note

So what broke you on MHA? Was there a turning point for you?

OMG MY FIRST ASK!? Never thought I’d see the day someone would use my ask button to the point I completely forgot its existence. But thank you!

Now to answer your question….hm. It’s been such a while since I’ve actually immersed myself with MHA, but let me give you a little backstory of how I got into it.

Around 2019 I believe, or maybe late 2018. I was 16yrs old and a friend of mine recommended it. I was immediately hooked, and that’s saying something because usually it’s hard for me to get into a show without loosing interest. I’m talking about hyperfixtating and obsession, not a one time thing or immediate drop.

My first favourite character? Fukimage Tokoyami. Then it was swapped for Hero Killer: Stain. Then I considered favouring Spinner before it was officially last swapped for Hitoshi Shinsou.

Pinpoint of when I began to lose interest? Sometime after the sports festival arc. It was still there, but my main driving force was because of Shinsou. Like I previously mentioned its been a while since I’ve actually immersed myself with MHA so I apologise I can’t give a detailed analysis of why this episode was the nail in the coffin.

Even when I first started watching the series I could already see the flaws and was highly critical, but I bared through it in hopes it couldve gotten better.

Also, I’m someone who’s a tunnel vision fan. Not the bias type fan, but I hardly interact with the fandom unless its to look at certain fanart or fanfiction or they’re likeminded people.

Imagine my surprise and disbelief when I decided to go out of my bubble and see everyone worship the ground b*kugo walked on. Honestly for a moment I thought I was going insane or was being too harsh on him, until I decided to download tumblr and found the critical tags

Sidenote I once did have a tumblr account that was active in the 2019-21 mha critical accounts before I decided to delete it.

Then I dropped it around late 2020- early 2021. Just didn’t feel like torturing myself with a show that disrespects its characters, and the overall census of the fandom lacking critical thinking skills. And also 16yr old me was just salty Horikoshi wasnt paying attention to Hitoshi but I digress that doesnt count lol.

Then sometime around 2023-24 the final war arc began gaining attraction. At first I ignored it cause I was just a tired hater, but then I just kept on seeing it everywhere and decided you know what let me check it out and see how far Horikoshi fell off.

And boy was that arc a cluster fuck within itself. Too many things going on at once. This arc and that arc and that character and this one and that. I was just hating the entire time.

But it was only after the dust settled, the episodes were animated and the manga finally finished did I decide to rise from the ashes and rejoin the tags under a new account that I originally used for Demon Slayer fan content.

While I can’t give you a dissect analysis on an episode or a character because that would require me to go back and watch the episode and truthfully I don’t wanna torture myself again…I can lay out the things that I never liked about MHA.

In no particular order

•The world-building. Not utilized in the grand scheme of things, and it being focused on Japan is not an excuse. This is not your average story where only a certain group of people hold powers and those powers are God like. These are your everyday people, born or not born with a Quirk thats unique and tailored to them. So many opportunities, gone and wasted.

•Addressing controversial topics (Lack of better word). Horikoshi would highlight it….and then forget it the next day. An opportunity to touch the darker side of Quirk society, or have a talk about the philosophy of it.

•Too many characters. You want to have a large cast fine, but if you’re going to do that please understand your limits and what you can handle. If you know you can’t write for every single characters then establish that, make it known that x character is a one off character, a side character or a plot device etc- As long as they all help contribute to the story in some way instead of leaving them to rott then suddenly remembering they exist and you try to make them have this important arc as if I should care when you never even bothered to make us care for them.

Or just reduce the cast, simple as that. Seriously, 20 entire classmates? Horikoshi, please take a page out of Danganronpa when it comes to handling a large cast. (Fyi: Im also critical of Danganronpa but I know when to give credit when due)

To be fair Horikoshi couldnt even handle his main characters properly.

•Tell don’t show. This is quite common in the Anime Industry, and for what reason I have no idea. Never liked this type of narrative storytelling, but I’m able to suck it up just as long as you know how to make it work. Horikoshi just did the most with it, and especially with too many flashback scene it just turned me off if anything.

•Lack of consequences. It took me a very long time for me to tolerate asshole characters turned good, and you can thank bakugo for that. Before I always had my foot on their neck everytime, and you could not convince me to even shed fake tears for them. Bakugo is coddled by both writers and his insufferable fans, so their love for him only fuled my dislike for him.

But aside from bully archetype characters there’s also plot type of consequences, and I can see Horikoshi lacks the nuances to delve or stick to the door he opened. The supposed high stakes are illusions, and that is best seen with the war arc. Like you knew all the heros and students were going to survive, except maybe like 1 or 2 no one should honestly cares about yet apparently everyone held a pity party for midnight lol.

•The disrespect of the Female Cast. Horikoshi had the perfect opportunity to address the sexism the female cast wouldve faced. He barely brushed it and he was only using his jerk off right hand to create these characters designs and story. He’s a disgusting pervert

•Favouritsm. Horikoshi favours Aizawa, Hitoshi, Mineta and Bakugo. 2 of them are confirmed to be his self inserts and that speaks for everything in itself.

• I may add more bullets in the future when I remember my other reasons as to why I dislike MHA. But this is about it really.

Thanks for the ask, and my first one! Honoured to answer your question.

#heytemporaryask #bnha critical #anti mha #horikoshi critical #mha critical #anti bnha #anti bakugou katsuki #anti aizawa #anti mineta #anti hitoshi

27 notes · View notes

artist-issues · 4 months ago

Note

I was writing out a really long meta analysis piece on the og Beauty and the Beast on how music and lighting were used to tell a story and I tagged you in it because I thought it’d be fun to debate some of that stuff with you but now I can’t find it in my drafts at all! It’s all gone 😭 so I came to your blog to make myself feel better and found your post about Zazu in the Mufasa movie and seeing you draw the characters in the original Disney style really cheered me up. Their animation used to be so beautiful and had so much love in it (your art was gorgeous by the way, it actually looked like a real lion king film!)

Anyway! If it’s not too much on you, I’d like to hear some rambles on Disney, it could be about anything really, but I’ve just gotten some really awful news tonight and I need something to take my mind off it please

Oh I'm so sorry to hear that! I want to be there for you. You're so kind about my art, thank you; I wish I'd seen the post. I’ve had it eat my drafts before like thirty times; recently my phone is doing this fun thing where I can’t type more than two paragraphs without tumblr freezing up, so I’ve lost more that way.

Let’s see…let’s talk about Disney’s Sequels! In these trying times of remakes and prequels, the Direct-to-Vieo Sequels start to look pretty good right about now, don’t they? I think they actually got better as time went on and money went into Disney Toon studios, but I’ll list my top three and explain why!

Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch (no I’m not biased leemee alone)

‘The Lion King II: Simba’s Pride

Bambi II

I can explain myself.

Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch

This movie is amazing. It repeats the best things about the original Lilo & Stitch (tight focus on character-relationships, character-specific comedy, and a simple story) while still having its own vibe, as if these are the exact same characters you know and love, but they have a recently-new normal.

Stitch isn’t a destructive artificial-brain figuring out how to think outside his programming anymore—now thinking outside his programming is the new-normal, but he still has to learn how life with a family works. Lilo isn’t lonely anymore, but she is still stuck in her own little world, in a way. Nani isn’t struggling to keep her family together anymore, but she is still struggling to keep them all happy. And Jumba and Pleakley get character arcs, which is beautiful.

If you’ve never seen it, I don’t want to spoil it. It is a really good movie. They took this concept, which was originally from Chris Sanders’s early story ideas for the first movie, where Stitch is in danger of death but Lilo’s love revives him. And they made a movie out of that.

It’s great, because Lilo is still working through missing her parents. The movie doesn’t brush that aside, or act like having Stitch fixed everything for her. Instead, she’s become singlemindedly focused on winning the same competition at hula school that her mom did, because she wants to feel a connection with her mom, and because her peers are still treating her like she’s worthless.

The thing is, Lilo gets the confidence to try and win this because of Stitch. She’s downcast and believes that her bullies are right. You get the idea that this is how she would feel if she were still a lonely orphan. But this time, because this is the sequel, Stitch is there.

So he tells her they’ll win the competition together. And in this movie, while Lilo is struggling with getting her sense-of-worth from Stitch, or a hula competition, Stitch is struggling with his sense-of-worth, too. He’s glitching out and his programming is forcing him to act destructive all over again. He’s not sure if he’ll always be bad—he’s wrestling with the possibility that he’ll hurt Lilo and his new family.

And in the meantime, Jumba is trying to solve the problem, but he’s afraid he’ll fail, and lose his worth in the eyes of the family, as well as lose Stitch. And David, in a little side-story, is afraid he’s losing Nani, that she doesn’t value him.

All of which sounds really dark, but it’s really an interesting place to take the characters, and truthfully the whole film is so lighthearted where it needs to be, but not afraid to be earnest and emotional, either. And the point of it is really good. It’s “love is more powerful than death.” It’s powerful enough to overcome questions about self-worth, and it’s powerful enough to overcome the gaping hole that loss and failure and other forms of death leave. It’s gorgeous.

2. The Lion King II: Simba’s Pride

People take issue with this sequel because…I mean, look at it. There are parts of it that are animated really well, and the character designs are good, until you measure it up to the original Lion King, and then it’s just not even the same league. Besides, the writing is very dramatic, sometimes the sound editing for the characters’ dialogue is placed strangely or feels like the pacing is weird…

But I love it, and not just for nostalgia. I love it because it is about a new set of characters (like a sequel usually should be) but the previous set of characters still act in-character.

Not everybody agrees with me. Because Simba seems much less fun-loving, and so uptight and formal, that he doesn’t feel like the same character we knew and loved in the original Lion King, at all.

But it only takes like one second of thought to realize that, as a brand new king who’s uncle murdered his father and emotionally blackmailed him, and was able to do so easily because Simba himself was so self-centered and reckless as a child, and then Simba made big mistakes by running from his responsibility for so long…

…where we find him in this sequel makes total sense.

Of course he’s feeling like he has to overcompensate for abandoning the kingdom and getting fooled by Scar. Should he realize that not everyone is going to betray him, and he is the real King and can rule gently and fairly without being over-controlling? Should he? Yeah. But like. This is Simba. His major character flaw is thinking too much about himself—it used to be thinking he was awesome, then after his dad died it was thinking he was unable to be a good leader and everything was his own fault. Now, everything he ever dreamed about being a King, he dreamed when he was like the lion-equivalent of nine years old. And found out it was all wrong. He’s having to figure this out with only his father, whose very absence is a sore spot, as an example. Of course he’s suddenly obsessed with being just like his dad, and that makes him talk all formal, and pass strict judgement, and say things like “I’m seeking counsel from the Great Kings.”

Of course Simba would be protective of Kiara. Overprotective. Lying and controlling. Because as a child, he and Nala almost died over and over. And the worst of the worst things happened to him, as a cub.

Of course he wants to banish Kovu. It’s not because he’s racist. (What does that even mean?) It’s because he was betrayed and manipulated as a young, naive cub by someone who claimed to love him, then broke his heart and his life. So when a dark lion who literally looks like and claims connection to Scar waltzes in and appears to be manipulating his daughter and stealing her young heart? Yeah, no, it wouldn’t be Simba if he didn’t overreact.

But that’s enough about Simba. I think the movie’s real strength is symbolism and premise.

First off, it continues the symbolism of a reflection in its own unique way. The movie is very on-theme. Its point is “Hate divides us, but love completes us.” (Its not “We Are One,” that’s just Movie-Speak)

Kiara feels incomplete. Divided from a whole other half of who she is. She says so as a cub. She’s not just a princess; she feels like there’s a part of her that wants to be capable and bold and take action. But she can’t be that, she has no outlet for that, because as the Princess, everyone is always over-concerned for her safety and wrapping her in like, wild-animal-bubble-wrap. Then she meets Kovu, and he is capable, and bold, and takes-action—he seems independent. (He’s not, at first, but he has more control over his immediate actions than Kiara seems to.) And he gets her and loves her, and she loves him, despite their flaws, so that is her missing half.

And with him, he doesn’t know how to just enjoy life. He’s been trained his whole life to act out of passe-down hatred; he’s been run through drills, and there’s even a scene where Kiara has to teach him how to play…and then he goes back home to his sister, who clearly also wants to play, but just calls it “fighting.” That’s the world he comes from.

But he meets Kiara, who is all about trying to enjoy life and have fun, and it’s a whole new outlook for him. It’s what he had seeds of before his mother’s hate stamped it out, and Kiara completes it for him. So they really are each others’ other half. And they have that in common. Kiara could be independent and a capable leader, if her father’s hate (which manifests as paranoia and overprotectiveness against danger) weren’t stamping it out. Kovu could have fun and protect good things instead of killing, if his mother’s hate wasn’t stamping it out. Dividing the good parts of them. But then their love for one another overcomes all that and brings them together.

And they do that literally, with the reflections in the water. Simba needed to learn his father lives in him, he’s a part that can’t be separated. Kiara and Kovu needed to learn that love makes them part of one another—that’s the key to no longer being divided.

Just like how, in the end, love forgives—so the Outsiders are able to come back into the Pride. Instead of being divided, the prides literally merge into one, and are completed. Love all that.

If you think of it all as like, “how do we make Simba into a strong King when he has so much baggage to overcome?” And this adventure with his new family teaches him that? Then you can see it’s a really beautiful movie.

And I love, of course, that Mufasa appears to be orchestrating all these events. Like, there’s a Higher Power at work. It’s all good.

Bambi II

This movie has the same vibes as Lilo & Stitch 2, even though it’s a midquel.

I love that Bambi gets his own characterization and character arc in this movie, even though he’s pretty one-dimensional in the classic film. But yet, none of this feels out of character for Bambi. He’s sort of gentle and very young, but you can see glimpses of dreams and ambitions and even strength that show off what he’ll be like as an adult Great Prince of the Forest.

I think the animation is very good, soft and cute. It’s not so much about realistic-cartoon-animal movements, graceful and charming, like the classic was, obviously. This animation is more about emotion and appeal. Which I appreciate, because the story is, like most good Disney sequels, very relationship-based.

It’s about Bambi being cared for by the Great Prince, and how the relationship between a father and son is about more than duty; it’s about nurturing. I just love that. I love how carefully they build up Bambi as feeling distant and unsure of what’s going on in his father’s head, but wanting to please him nevertheless. I love that the Great Prince doesn’t know how, exactly, to care for or relate to Bambi, so he defaults to just telling him how to be dignified and Princely.

I especially love the scenes with Ronno or the Great Prince. I like the fact that those old Disney sequels can take a character that didn’t have a lot of dialogue or screen-time in the original, and build out a whole story around those characters, giving them personality and writing that somehow always feels true to those characters. The Great Prince might not know how to father, but even when he’s insecure he has a kind of put-on calm and reserve. He’s not made a fool-out-of, ever, or bumbling. I love that Ronno, on the other hand, is ridiculous and brutish, just a little-boy bully…but he’s also truly threatening, for Bambi and Faline and their friends.

I think the emotion in this movie hits really well. Because they’re so careful to interweave Bambi’s emotions about losing his mother and wanting to find the same feeling of safety he had with her in his father, with The Great Prince’s emotions about wanting to “do his duty” even if it hurts when he feels he’s not what’s best for Bambi…

Because they build that up believably and spend all their time on that instead of big, epic adventures or larger-than-life tales, the movies turn out really well.

Honorable mentions to Cinderella 3: A Twist in Time, The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning, Tarzan II, and Lady and the Tramp II: Scamp’s Adventure

I hope your day is better tomorrow, friend.

25 notes · View notes

2demondogs · 7 months ago

Note

Heartbreaking Charthur angst. Like a "What if..." Charles never left to help Rains fall and was there for Arthurs' end (high honor, help John ending)?

Anon I see ur vision, I respect your smoke, you are real for this, etc ad nauseam.

Any incorrect details um... blame it on the alternate timeline. I'll be honest I didn't proofread cuz this shit made me sad.

Words: 1.7k Tags: sickfic... :), character death, stream of consciousness, a lot of nondenominational religious Thoughts, major spoilers

Arthur had realized, since his first and last doctor's office visit, just how much time there was in a day.

Job after job after job and all that precious time he had never realized was slipping by. He wished he had never slept, for one; he hoped in the afterlife, if there was one, he might never sleep, because all things must end eventually, as he is still learning, and he'd hate to make the same mistakes twice.

He thought the Devil would look like Dutch, God save his soul — does he, here, mean himself, Satan, or Dutch? Arthur still doesn't know, supposes that they all need saved just as badly — and that he'd be worker of the month down there, too.

Turning tricks, maybe, wouldn't that be funny, workhorse to company pony, he thought recently, and then the pains started in earnest because workhorse wasn't always his middle name and it hurt badly to think of the days before.

Arthur still wants to go back.

It's been nearly an hour since Micah kicked him in the ribs. He knows, because he has become good at telling time, as if the universe is letting him on all those preternatural secrets a little early. It hurts so badly that it has ceased hurting at all— wouldn't he be sad to know it, if Charles had not shot him once Dutch had discarded him, too.

So many emotions on the matter of Dutch, yet no time to feel them. It's a good thing he began grieving him when Hosea died.

Instead of the sharp, white-hotness that he had worried was a rib puncturing his already squeezed lungs, there is now a constant ache throughout his body, maybe his very soul; he had used all of his breath screaming when Charles tried to move him, has not gotten one good one in since, and he thinks they both know the truth.

It's all up to one cough.

One last kick in the ass and it's lights out for old Mister Morgan, because that rattling in his breath can only mean one thing.

Charles kneels before where he lays on his side, looks down at him the way he had looked at that gored horse they came across while hunting, months ago— the way he looked at it before he told Arthur to put it out of its misery. He couldn't pull the trigger, even if he knew it was the kind thing to do. There is something meaningful in that memory which Arthur cannot think of words for, but he understands it the way men understand things when they are dying: silently, and completely.

Why is Charles so quiet, now? Arthur's eyes fall shut, and he cannot find the strength to open them for a long time.

He wouldn't be greedy if God came to him and said sure, son, you all look like ants from here, I'll drop you back into seventy-eight. Blood is seeping into his lungs, has to be, and every drop makes Heaven and Hell sound a whole lot more real.

In a perfect world, he might have left and made house with Eliza or made himself suitable for Mary, swallowed that boring life the happy way most men do. Because he would know. He would work in a mine and he would be happy to breathe in the coal, because he would know.

His wedding ring, he would know that, too, and suddenly this split-second daydream becomes a nightmare all over again.

I need to move on, Arthur, she wrote. It was one less thing to leave behind.

Sometimes he wished that Charles went, too, that he had chosen the type of belonging he'd grieved so often or that he had chosen Dutch, never to be on this mountain in the first place. That he had spat on Arthur and left him without a trace of his mortal life as he lay here dying, none except the familiarity of the sun breaking the sky and the grass dancing in the valley below — dancing, what a funny word for it, or maybe he's just hallucinating as his consciousness begins to slip to—

Well, wherever it's going to go.

No matter what, Arthur wishes that Charles did not look at him that way when he decided to stick around. They both knew it was because of Arthur, and they both knew it was temporary. He's been giving him the same look. Something like love, and grief.

I'm not dead, he wants to tell him, but Arthur knows there's no difference now and Charles doesn't deserve any more lies, anyways.

He lied to everyone, and selfishly.

How many of them will die? Hosea was coughin' more. Was I contagious before...?

That day, Arthur had realized just what all those science folks mean when they say humans are brief, in the grand scheme of things even if he was not egotistical enough to believe life begins and ends with himself— but men are temporary, and there's only been so many of them, and there only will be so many of them. He had marveled at the huge, ancient bones he found for that odd little critter of a lady, months ago.

Just yesterday, he entertained the idea that God had been real even before he needed Him most, and that He was telling him something by crossing their paths: Life before you, life after you. Don't get comfortable.

Rest assured, Big Man, he thinks, I am not.

But somehow, he almost is.

Death is certain, now. There is no guessing here, no waiting without knowing.

Some divine intervention, he's sure all dead men receive it as a consolation prize of sorts for completing the great big task of living. Charles' large, warm hand is on his shoulder, light as a feather. He tries to speak, even though he can barely think in words, and all he manages is a groan that comes from deep in his gut.

Arthur wishes he would crush him, that he'd hold him even if it made him scream in agony. He wishes Charles was—

Was—

No, he doesn't. He doesn't want Charles to give him the mercy execution.

Arthur just wishes he were not giving Charles his own form of execution. He is laying still, grimacing hard each time the shallow raise and fall of his chest makes his body scream. Charles has no idea what he is feeling, but he must be able to see on Arthur's face that he's feeling things inside his body which should not be happening: the sac of his lung ripping further open, his bowels threatening to let go, his sternum pressed tight to the skin above from a week of near-starvation because there is no amount of food that could feed the disease that is eating him alive.

He knows how it feels to watch a man you love die, even if his had been his father and he's certain that it's harder at their present age, and when you've chosen to love someone. No hands of blood had pushed them together.

Arthur wishes he had known it sooner.

He doesn't know if he ever wants to hear it from Charles' mouth, but he blinks his eyes open as the vague, misty image of that day finally fades for good. The sky is breaking hard beyond the shadow of Charles' form. It is glorious as sunrises always are. He feels his bones grinding on one another. He is clenching his teeth so hard, his molars are about to be pushed through the gums and into his mandible.

Never one for making his own decisions, Arthur wonders again if God is real or if he is coping with this horribleness in the only way he knows how: relying on someone else.

Again, he wants Charles to crush him. Even if it stabs the broken rib through his lung and out his back, even if it kills him before he can use his last breath to find out how his throat smells— he wants Charles to be the one to hold him.

Hosea is gone. So is Dutch. Arthur would long for Charles even if they were both here, although alarmingly he feels as though Hosea is somewhere around him — he cannot see, smell, or hear him but he knows it silently, and completely.

I love him, Arthur is thinking, has no time to study how selfish he would have felt just one month ago for his desires in this moment. Dead men cannot regret any longer, or maybe regret becomes like the pain when you are dead, grows so big that it blocks out the sun of peace. He made me feel safe, he thinks, already in the past tense, as if he is rehearsing what he will tell all the fellow skeletons.

He squints through the morning light and finds Charles' face, drawn tight in an expression he has never, ever seen before.

His eyes are open sores. He's never looked more like an angel.

With the last of his breath, Arthur opens his mouth and finds it suddenly very hard to draw in air. His throat itches, and if he swallows this cough he will simply choke on his own vomit instead— so he begins to hack, feels his lungs decompressing and the violent convulsions through his abdominal wall as things that are not meant to touch it touch it.

He gets his wish, because Charles is curling around him. He wants to shove him away, but then he doesn't; if Charles is going to get sick, he already has, and this is all he could have ever wanted in this moment. Charles is warm, and his chest presses over Arthur's jolting side as if holding him still, and he realizes the man has been talking but he has no time to regret not listening.

He's forgotten English, anyways, doesn't think in words anymore but feels everything. His throat thickens with the metallic taste of blood and his body squeezes, squeezes— Arthur goes stiff in panic and shock, fingers of both hands clawing into Charles' arm, and if either of them were sober the blood his nails draw would be felt.

In the moments before he can no longer breathe, he sees — with that nonmaterial eye that shows men dreams, nightmares, the best novels — something like peace.

Yes, Hosea feels very close now, and Charles, very far away.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 spoilers #charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #angst #oneshot #ask #charles x arthur #major character death #kinktober 2024 #Now if you guys don't mind me I am going to have to cheer myself up #Tone tag on this fic: evil!

35 notes · View notes

butterfliesornauseous · 7 months ago

Text

“And I’m sorry”

(500 special 5/5 with just many months later)

Fun fact, I originally started this blog with the intention of being an oc sickfic writer and originally was posting prompts to start getting my name out there and get more comfortable before I posted fics, but I only posted one actual fic and took it down because I still didn’t like my writing and became way more comfortable with prompts and had a lot of fun with them, I think for the final part of my late special I’m ready to bring River and Milo back so here’s them early in their relationship :)

Warning for Emeto, stomach noises, awkwardness, food mention, embarrassment ,reason of illness is in tags for spoilers,

**both characters have also had past ed’s it’s only very lightly touched on and not out right stated, but it’s still hinted at so trigger warning in case**

(Also my sickfic style is way different to my prompt and a and b stories, so I hope the change up is all right and still okay to read:))

Something had quivered inside River’s stomach. A gentle wave of butterflies fluttered in his gut, dancing to the pattern of his fingers drumming softly against the velvet table cloth while he waited. The cosy little restaurant wasn’t exactly buzzed with life tonight but Milo, the bleached blonde he adored was nowhere to be seen.

The air was bursting with spices and sauces scents that would bring a hungry growl out of any stomach yet for River’s own it tugged him deeper into his nervous daze.

River had thought ‘where is he?’ A couple of times now, each time caused a new picture such as the possibility that Milo was probably triple checking his outfit or had begun to fret over his hair as always, or he lost his wallet again, to enter his mind. Each tugged at River’s lips in a way that made his body’s inside feel that much more warmer and mushy.

Realistically he knew it was sort of his own fault that he had been waiting a while for his date. He arrived at the restaurant early just so he could work on taming his need to fidget every few seconds so hopefully he could prevent his hands shaking and his voice rising to a higher octave all night. The issue however, was his brain constantly turned back to giddy thoughts about how he was finally going out with his best friend.

It was the acknowledgement of the butterflies that increased how intense everything felt, and he shifted in his seat as one of his hands came up to play with the thick choker around his neck.

The sound of a squeak being across the table brought River out of his thoughts and grounded him fully into reality with a delicate but rushed voice spoke.

“I’m so so so sorry for being late!”

There he was, Milo bobbing his head in multiple short paced bows that caused his small half up ponytail to bop with him. Milo paused for a second looking at River siting and then quickly sat down himself, tightening his ponytail in the process and tucking his fringe behind his ears. “Sorry…. You look really nice River.”

River’s voice blurted out a fast “Thanks. “

Taking a moment to force himself to breathe he added “Nono it’s not an issue at all." His hands shook for emphasis.

He wanted to choose one of the million compliments swimming through his head, but his voice had died on him ending its permission for him to say nothing more than a “You too.”

‘Get a grip you’re making yourself worse’ River mentally sighed. He would rather not have the butterflies turn into anxious queasiness or possibly even make it to the point where he loses his lunch and possibly forever scars Milo’s memory of him and first dates forever.

Milo stated to apologise again. “I’m so sorry, see one of my friends borrows my charger which was cool dude but then my phone was flat, and I needed to get an Uber because my car is in the shop and I-“

“You’re rambling.”

‘Cute’

There was something about the way Milo had been trying to say so much in one go. The informality in his tone and red in his cheeks eased River’s mind and a just tiny bit of the pressure in his belly.

Milo’s mouth gaped somewhat before another “Sorry.”

River himself can’t really talk on repeated unnecessary apologies, he’s always the first to apologise for everything, still he found a light smile on his lips as he replied “You don’t have to keep saying sorry for everything.”

If he was a bolder person, he would have taken Milo’s hands, kissed them and spoken that the blonde is adorable. That he should stop fretting over everything because he’s just River and River isn’t someone worth getting this flustered for. Yet another squirm in the pit of his stomach made just a small noise come out his throat.

The silence that followed for a beat was broken by Milo deciding to speak first. “Sooo…” he glanced around the room and settled on picking the menu up, “have you seen anything you like yet?” His tone was bashful, spoken in a slightly quieter than previously.

‘He must think I’m weird damn it’

River shrugged. “Not really I honestly kinda of just sat here.” He picked the menu up himself not really reading it. The restaurant's ambience was the only thing heard between them again with the only lick of comfort being they were both together yet at the same time the tension was created because of the fact they were both here together.

“Look I’m going to be completely honest,” Milo folded his menu down so he could gaze at River. “I’m so nervous that I apologise if this is awkward.”

River wasn’t sure if it was Milo would want to hear if he even wants any validation at all but River felt the tension leave his body.

“Oh god I’m sorta glad, I’ve been sitting here for the last couple of minutes thinking I’m so awkward you must find me weird.”

A laugh bubbled from Milo’s mouth, the type of laugh that bounced off the walls and melted into River’s ears. It was enough to pull River into Milo’s spell and make him turn into a love drunk fool who lost control of his brain before he could stop the spill of him finally being able to say longer unfiltered sentences.

“To think we have known each other for so long, and yet I can’t form words right to explain how happy I am that we are out together, You know nine-year-old me with have been stoked to hear he’s on a date with you.”

Milo’s eyes went wide. “R-really?”

“You’re surprised?”

“Mean… Well… I’m not going to lie about it, when we used to hold hands it did make me feel weird things in my tummy and I would be disappointed when you would let go but…” Milo this time gently pulled his fringe back away from his ears.

The pound in River’s heart had stopped for a second like it needed to get ready to speed up after. ‘Milo liked me back as a kid?’

“That sounds like a crush Milo.”

“It so is not, perhaps it was a small infatuation with you but not a crush-” he watched as Milo’s face twisted with a cringe at his wording then it changed to him laughing. If only Milo had known that his laughter was causing all those silly sensations in Rivers stomach to feel like permanent function of his body.

This is all River wanted for Milo. For him to feel free with him and loosen up like this, he would do anything to keep Milo feeling comfortable. But it was a big step tonight for the both of them, outside the first fire date context and River said the first thing that he could think of in hope of continuing the night go be easy for them.

“Want to maybe spilt a dish, would that be easier for you?” That would be easier for River.

Milo’s expression changed first to a look similar to suspicion which morphed into relief. “Actually that would kinda would be nice.” His eyes held a small twinkle of relief. “Uhh what about the carbonara… maybe?” Milo held up the menu, this being the first time River truly held interest for anything on it.

“I think it sounds good too.” River nodded. He bit back his tongue for a moment to make sure his tone conveyed he’s asking this for Milo’s sake and not as a disguise for his own issues. “Are you sure you are okay with this?”

River’s hands were pulled away from his own menu, the softness of Milo’s warm skin leaked into his own as Milo intertwined their fingers tightly. Milo looked to the side as his voice sweetened into fondness “I feel comfortable eating in front of you River.” He squeezed River’s hands. Meeting river’s gaze again.

That meant a lot to him, more than Milo would ever know.

“Milo… I… I do too.”

—————————-

They both put their fork down at the same moment. Milo leaned back into the chair and River hunched. The carbonara was heavier than River expected, a taste different from what he was used to. It sat heavy in his stomach, getting ready for when ever his stomach decided to attempt to digest the rich sauces.

“Good?” Milo asked with a some hesitance as he leaned back up as he patted the top of his tummy while Milo tried to loosen his choker.

River nodded. “Yeah……Good….” No not really, it’s not a taste River was used to, a little on the stranger and chewy side but it was his first time trying this restaurant. Who is he to judge how different places cook their food.

It probably took them over an hour to finish their one shared carbonara from River being a slower eater. A normal eating speed was something River could never let himself do in front of others. His insecurities had attacked him the whole night that he would be judged if he did so and through our the years he had learnt Milo is the type to try to match the pace of who he is eating with.

A gurgle had been brewing in his stomach. He felt his belly tense before he heard a sludgy type of sound emit from him as his stomach went loose again. Milo was sitting slightly slouched over with his thumb circled under his chin with the rest of his fingers in front of his mouth with no reaction of hearing anything when River hastily glanced up to him.

He squirmed involuntarily. Ages ago the flutters finally shooed off only for them to slowly creep back into his now packed stomach, raging back to full life.

It took a strong movement inside him for him to put a hand to his stomach. He hadn’t noticed he was a beginning to bloat until his felt the strain against his pants.

Under his hand he was painfully aware now of how thick the sauces and pasta were mixing up under his skin like small bubbles of unease were popping around the sitting food.

Across to him, Milo blew through his lips and River sat up. “Sorry did you say something?” River’s voice came out shaky, he mentally blamed it on a mix of embarrassment and the chill growing in the late night.

“…. No….did you want me to say something?” River shook his head at Milo’s prompt. He knew the blonde also probably needed a minute to let his tummy prepare to digest as well. He would hate to force Milo to get an upset stomach for him.

Quietness retuned between them, the lack of sounds from the boys forced River to gain more consciousness over the expanding trouble in his belly, which had begun pushing a bit more out.

He took a deeper breath, holding it for three seconds to placate his urge to rub his tummy or do anything else to ease any of the pressure swelling. River allowed himself to close his mouth and squeeze his throat muscles to compel a small quiet burp that he breathed out his nose but stopped at just one with how much it tasted like their dinner but warmer.

The gurgling in his stomach wasn’t held back from it. They were gurgles that ranged from higher sounding foaming noises that fell down to deeper small rumbles that had him sure Milo must be hearing something from the orchestra.

River didn’t feel it but a sudden curdle noise that got higher until it broke into a grumble issued itself, and he cringed. His eyes shut at the loudness yet once he opened them he saw his date blushing a pretty red. “S-sorry, I’m digesting loudly.”

Similar to earlier Milo bowed his head again before his grabbed his tummy when a wetter noise rose from him. “I think it might do that all night-uh that’s so embarrassing.” Milo grimed as he rubbed his hand under his ribs with a small “shhh please.”

He wished he had the confidence to tell Milo it was okay and that his own gut had been churning up a quiet storm for a bit now and Milo’s reaction was cute, but his energy had started to drop the more his meal sat. “It’s no….problem.”

Milo seemed like he was to add something else but instead settled on reaching for his drink when his hand nearly hit it over. In response River jumped forward to grip Milo's wrist, noticing the faint shake and sweat to his hand. Both locked their eyes at the same time.

“Am I allowed to apologise again?”

River hesitated then nodded.

“I kinda of use all my elegance up at dance” Milo said flustered boarding on embarrassed. They took a second longer of River holding Milo before pulling away from each other.

“I think… I think it’s our time to go. River muttered as he realised a couple waiters were staring at them. “We have been here for a while.”

“I-yeah…”

————————————

The bright night sky outside the restaurant grew cooler as the stars became more clear while they walked on the sidewalk. River pulled his jacket closer to his body.

“You don’t have to walk me to the train station…. But I do really appreciate it Milo.”

Milo seemed almost untouched by the cold, even undo doing his top buttons on his blouse. Under the faint street lights, Milo actually looked even a tad sweaty.

“What type of….date am I if I let you walk home by yourself?” He faulted in the middle, sounding unsure of his choice of words.

River offered a hum. His response was more pained than he intended to sound. His focus wasn’t cooperating with him anymore, it being hard to concentrate when the feeling of bubbling in his belly felt like it could have bubbled up at any moment. ‘Of course you let your nerves get to the point of nausea’ Heat pooled in his cheeks.

Milo sighed and all that followed was the sound of their matching footsteps, the new silence that fell between them

Was no saint to be kind enough to mask the occasional boil inside Milo’s stomach that River was too kind to point out.

He did however take notice of the sounds coming from Milo had started to turn into a more constant watery burble compared to earlier’s growls. Again that wish of courage to reassure Milo he also was going through his own embarrassing gut issues, layered guilt inside the uncomfortableness under his clothes that had become completely tight.

River wanted to be polite. On a normal night he would have wanted to spend as much time as possible with Milo but in his stomach he knew deep down he couldn’t handle that much longer with him.

Saliva invaded his mouth, coating his tongue in the taste of carbonara, he shakily uttered, “Y-you really don’t have to stay, it’s-…. It’s cold out here, I don’t mind if you go.”

The ‘O’ movement made a burp escape his throat. Another one followed a little louder with a spin that was a little sour. “I’m so sorry.” River’s hand went up to cover his mouth “I’m so sorry” the other went to his stomach.

It was that feeling in his stomach that happened every time something went wrong. A deep tug that stirred deep within him before it gurgled up his throat and slipped through his fingers onto the pavement.

River gagged again, the warm liquid felt like it could rival the heat that flamed his cheeks as Milo gasped and made a strangled noise. His body stopped anymore coming up but at the cost he became locked up in complete embarrassment and worst was his gut was still heavily sloshing, still full of bile that desired to make another appearance.

‘You are so disgusting River.’ He could have died on the spot, and he would never be more thankful, his nose and throat burnt, his head was fuzzy, and his eyes went watery. Milo must have been so disgusted with him.

“C-can I touch you?”

River eyes shut tight. His mind fell blank as to why Milo could ever want to touch him after losing his dinner, his heart beat fast like it’s expecting Mill to push him over.

Though all he felt was Milo’s fingers on the chain of his choker loosing it and with care, pulling it off his neck. His whole body relaxed, un restricted now, he managed to straighten up.

He wiped his mouth and finally turned to face Milo. His mind span trying to form another apology but… Milo was trembling. The street light above revealed his pale face and-

“Sorry” Milo said before he pitched forward himself, gagging only once before pasta spilt out of his lips.

Oh, this wasn’t just a nervous stomach anymore….

River had chosen the meal that they shared and “I’m sorry” is all he could say before patting a hand on Milo’s back, he then leaned forward himself with another heave.

#emeto #upset tummy #emeto warning #emeto fic #emeto writter #food poisoning/#emeto tw #I hope it’s clear if you re read it they are both getting sick #I’m so scared I haven’t written an actual fic for years other than when I wrote the first draft of this last year but then took a massive #break again so I hope it’s okay for a rusty writter :)#also I’m extremely sorry to have been gone for a long time but the title is actually a coincidence lol #ocs Milo&River

34 notes · View notes

curioussubjects · 6 months ago

Text

I just finished Veilguard, and...I'm really not sure how I feel about it?

All in all: good game, had fun, but still didn't quite hit some of the highs it wanted to hit and it's still not as good as DA2

(Spoilers galore below for everything)

The Good:

Pretty game is pretty;

Love the codexes, especially the ones written by companions or with their commentary;

Speaking of, the Mementos had so excellent tid bits of lore flavor to them, as well;

Regrets of the Dread Wolf was a damn good quest;

Some truly funny party banter;

I actually thought it was really easy to figure out who my Rook is as I played the game, which was much harder for me to do for my Lavellan in DAI;

And speaking of Lavellan, she was in character she WOULD say that she WOULD do that. Bless;

Everything about Nevarra and the Mourn Watch, I wish there was more content there because I was so into it;

Orb and dagger mage is really fun to play, which was VERY surprising considering I don't play close range ever;

I also really enjoyed destroying blight boils for some reason lmao;

Petting cats (they PURR WHEN YOU DO);

Assan <3;

Taash being so autistic;

Teia and Viago my beloveds;

✨Friendship✨

The Solavellan of it all;

And Solas, too. Love that sadsack disaster man;

Maybe this is super basic of me but I liked Varric's narration...idk it's comforting;

Honestly, just Varric in general was a bit safety blanket in a nice way for me because the game feels overwhelming at first;

There's no party like an all Dalish party!

Exploring -- loved finding all the fun details in each location, and I know I didn't even do enough in my playthrough;

I'm weak for stories about guilt, fear and regret. And I'm even weaker when those stories are so obviously about forgiveness and moving forward. Also love. Always love.

The Bad:

The pacing. I've said this before but DAtV could've used a more explicit arc structure or have quests note which level they're meant for or SOMETHING because some times it seemed I was doing quests too early or too late for when I was in the main story. I also thought events kept oscillating from happening too fast or too slowly, and it very much did get in the way of immersion;

The romance. Literally what are you doing Dragon Age that you fumble the romance. Granted, I only romanced Davrin so far, but I'm getting the sense from looking through the tag that maybe Lucanis' romance also feels a bit off? Honestly I have so many issues with the romance progression for Davrin that it's its own section;

I hope this is only a Veil Jumpers issue, but I thought Rook was so separate from the faction. I felt very little connection to them;

I've seen some people point out NPCs talk to Rook like they're a child, and while I don't really agree with that I do think Rook doesn't have enough opportunities to be knowledgeable in their own right. Especially annoying with a mage Veil Jumper Rook! I miss the Inquisition perk dialogue options that let my Lavellan be a smarty pants;

Holy overdesigned armors! Yikes!

Not all areas are as well developed as the others: Rivain is the most egregiously empty and underdeveloped, but I actually thought Arlathan Forest was super lifeless too. So was the Lighthouse! You get the early game discovery bit and then nothing ever again and it's like oh that was really it huh (and the stuff we did get was so good please more?);

I hate to say this but BioWare missed the mark with Rook's place in the group. The companions seemed connected to each other, yeah, but Rook was like some cross between group therapist and not-so-undercover boss. There was none of the warmth Hawke got from their companions (or the Inquisitor, for that matter!). The game really needed 1. a lighthearted party hangout cutscene and 2. companions coming together to take care of Rook (the fact this isn't even a thing in the romance is bonkers to me);

Taash's personal quest being about choosing between being Rivain and Qunari as if that's how culture works is Bad Actually;

The worst minimap I've ever seen in a game wow;

Also: give me back my beacon marker;

The gods were in a regret prison but what were their regrets exactly we just don't know.

The Bad (Romance Edition):

Again, the pacing! Incredibly slow to start (and not in a slow burn way, mind!) and then super fast in the last third of the game;

In fact, the romance seemed to be running on a completely different level than the rest of the story. The last romance scene was incredibly out of place tonally, especially.

The first two romance titles for Davrin are "Thrill of the Chase" and "Hot and Bothered"...and like WHERE????

Davrin never writes about Rook as a romantic partner or as if he has any concerns with the relationship...which we later find out he has, but was news to me;

Tbh, the romance felt like an afterthought. There were cutscenes that in any other DA game there would've been flirting options, for instance, but this time there was nothing (what do you mean Rook can't make a flirty comment when Davrin is shirtless working out with Taash? It's low hanging fruit!);

Not nearly enough flirty banter between Rook and Davrin, which is nuts considering their personalities;

I'm really super disappointed with Davrin's romance, which sucks because he's actually perfect for my Rook and I really like his character. There was so much potential for a really fun romance that was both tense and sexy, but also sweet. But no. Secret good Davrin romance that exists in my head save me.

The ???:

Southern Thedas got scorched when the North didn't how?

Please tell me who was catfishing Andraste;

Making enemies super aggro on Rook unless you specifically have companions taunting was very weird.

#dragon age the veilguard #datv spoilers #datv #dragon age #ok there were many thoughts #but they're bullet points it's fine #the lists are also not comprehensible or in any particular order #i think im closer to figuring out why the game isnt quite working for me though #there's just something fundamental missing that i havent been able to put my finger on just yet

19 notes · View notes

strlitetheatre · 8 months ago

Text

MARK CHASITY THOUGHTS !!

thank you @biscuits-spooky-diner [ sorry for the tag again lol ] for reminding me w ur reblog i went fucking bananas w this LMAO

a lot of these are heavily headcanon-centric and i wanna preface that before i get into it bc i know some people may not agree!! thats fine!! i just like thinking these silly lil things

thoughts below the cut because its a Lot and i may add to this but idk?? shrugs we'll see

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

starting off strong, i really am a sucker for the 'two [ or more ] characters that one actor/actress plays are related on some level' concept and i believe mark and duke are cousins bc CAN U IMAGINEE

theyre cousins on their moms sides but their moms dont really get along due to differing views and ways of parenting, but mark and duke are pretty close. theyre each others favourite cousin

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

mark and karen are both gay in opposite directions but they were very close friends growing up due to overlapping social groups (their parents, church groups, most likely abstinence camp goers, etc), and because of their respective families and being unable to be true to themselves, they got married and had grace very early after they graduated highschool

mark loves karen very much, but purely platonically. he is the type to tease her, sometimes poke fun at her, and he respects her immensely! they both work insanely well as a duo, and they hold down the fort of their picket fence home extremely well, but they are not in love

he n karen live a very domestic life, they can even be pretty physically affectionate at times [ hugs, cuddling, kisses to the head, cheeks, hands even ] and share quick 'i love you's before separating for the day, but something about it was always just slightly askew from romantic love and affection

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

circling back to highschool, mark and ted definitely had a secret on-again-off-again relationship for at least a few months to a year.

they inevitably fell out because ted was sick and tired of being kept as a secret [ i have so so many thoughts about the spankoffskis too dont get me started on that tho ] and ended up giving mark an ultimatum: either choose to stay with ted and become public, or choose his family and run away from himself

i think its clear which mark chose. they dont talk much anymore

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

his middle name is anthony :33 no reason for this i just think it fits. mark anthony chasity :3333

he is a very sensitive man! growing up was extremely hard for him between an overbearing and coddling mother, and a hardassed and pushy father, and being heavily sheltered on top of it all

he wasnt shown a lot of genuine love and affection growing up (his mother would lovebomb him, his father didnt believe he needed it, and they were both pretty strict considering he was their only child) and he tries to do better with grace but still ends up unintentionally repeating cycles out of wanting to keep her 'safe'

he truly does love his daughter, he loves grace s o fucking much, but he n karen didnt have many positive role models to base themselves off of parenting-wise, therefore carrying a lot of fabricated truth into their relationships both separately and together with grace

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

mark has an architecture degree and he would love to be an actual architect but alas. realty was what he could get into

hes the one in charge of most of the chasity homes interior decoration! he has an eye for colours n specifically he really enjoys pastels, but his favourite colour overall is actually green

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

MARK CHASITY IS THE MARK FROM WORKIN BOYS [ getting forcefully pulled off stage, gripping the mic ] PLEASE P[LEASE JUSR HEAR ME OUT

before mark began working in realty, he worked at a bank. golden parachutes bank [ 'golden parachutes' is something mentioned in show stoppin number w like no context?? this concept is my gfs idea tho ] [ **I WAS INFORMED ITS A BUSINESS TERM but atp i feel like hatchetfield Would have a bank named after a business term lmfao ]

mark met greg through duke when he was about 20 or so [ I ALSO FIRMLYY BELIEVE THE GREG FROM WORKIN BOYS IS MAXS DAD BUT MY JÄGERMAN FAMILY TREE IS A WHOOOLEE OTHER CAN OF WORMS ], began seeing him, and greg was the one to bring mark into the polycule around 23-24

all of them worked at the bank! henry hidgens was one of the younger executives there

HIS N HENRYS DYNAMIC SPECIFICALLY was never sexual i believe, but it wasnt healthy overall because there was a power imbalance between them, and i also believe mark wouldve been one of the younger men in the polycule

henry and mark had a very 'wolf and lamb' dynamic, mark being perceived and treated as 'innocent' due to how he carries himself and how he was raised, and henry sometimes doing specific things to intimidate and even scare mark

all in all things do not go well. yeah. i am Not gonna get too deep into that bc it delves into pure indulgent au headcanon bullshit [ this entire post rlly lol ] but to shorten it: i believe mark to be a sole survivor of the workin boys incident in some aus and after the deaths of the boys he quits the banking job n goes into realty god bles

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

coughs. anyway. he really likes historical art and i believe mark n grace are so similar in how theyre both So abnormal about historical things [ graces general interest and infatuation w the waylon place and its history that she basically infodumps about in npmd ]

he would infodump about historical pieces and their stories to anyone that would listen, which is usually his wife or daughter

SPEAKING of historical art n bringing back his architecture degree, when grace was around 10 mark built her an exactly-to-scale miniature replica of the waylon place as a dollhouse, down to the scaffolding, lighting, wall decor, etc

it took him years and was a complete surprise. it is his favourite and most pride-inducing project to date, even more bc it was for his baby

28 notes · View notes

punishing-eden · 5 months ago

Text

Rant/Review: Wuthering waves, its Writing...

((An Essay about what I think about the game so far. Note, I have not played into the story of the Blackshore))

Edited

Tags: Feel free not to read, rant, review, essay, long read, opinions, spoilers

*Do note that everything I say are my opinion*

So, I started playing this game since it's launch. Agree to disagree how I feel about this game and it's current trajectory, because my take on it won't be an overall positive one.

I will mostly talk about the story writing in this essay since it is the most glaring issue for me. This topic, I know, would set off some really heated debate, mainly, as I have observed within my scope.

In regards to Wuthering Waves, I'll start with the positives, the combat. I think this is an area that actually outshines Genshin. The bosses in Wuwa are harder, but fun to play. The stakes are higher, and the flexibility of player attack combos feels nice to play.

Unlike Genshin, the boss does not hover, go under, or flash around the area for the majority of the time. I can count how many times I have to wait in the area for a few seconds just for the boss to reappear, hit them within a few nano seconds before having to wait again.

The bosses have their own movesets, attack, counterattack, parries, and combos that keeps you at your toes. They don't shy away from giving you a hard time, and Kuro allows the bosses to have their abilities to be on par with the playable characters.

What I also like are the bosses, or anything really, does not caters to certain limited characters' playstyle or element. This, however, might be too early to say.

The graphics looks quite nice, the NPCs have personality, and I enjoy the many expressions they give. More generous cutscenes, and Rover being allowed to speak. Exploration modes like the grappling hook and parkor are nice touches as well.

With many good stuff happening in Wuthering Waves, it is easy to see how this game can compete with Genshin Impact in the market. Yet, despite so, it did not stop me from uninstalling the game from my Ipad.

It has been said before by many since the launch. Voiceover, music, dialogues, Ui, and other details in general are making and breaking the game.

I have heard a lot of theories and things as to why the launch is what it is. Back then I was told to wait due to their history with PGR. As a fan I was willing to wait, and endure the state of its launch and mediocrity as long as the experience of the whole package is good.

Which brings me to the glaring issues:

1. The Writing and the Execution.

Needless to say, people flocked to Wuthering Waves is because the game feels like it could offer something different in the genre of open world RPG. Not only is the combat a factor, but also the type of themes and the stories it can tell.

Genshin's story is not bad, but some players deemed the themes of the plot are a little too fantastical and childish. Wuthering waves, given how serious its lore is, and the devastation theme in their concept of a sci-fi world seems like a nice change from a pg friendly game.

I would like to point out, Lore ≠ Story, and Plot ≠ Storytelling.

I think the marketing team stating Wuwa as a story rich game might be a mistake, because the game certainly did not live up to the hype; it did not execute that hype it display in the launch trailer. I won't go into a detail analysis of the storytelling. But, I know this topic has sparked heated debates.

We can all agree to disagree, but this still does not take away the disappointment, and the issues that I have for the game.

The reason for my source of unsatisfaction are due to the quality of the writing, the writing direction, and the medicore execution of plot points. This extends to character story as well.

I want to experience what the lore and open world has to offer, as it was marketed. The story is essentially the overarching experience of the game; a window to the world of Solaris-3

This is where I am coming from when I am getting into the game.

Yet, as the patches progress, the glaring issue of actually writing a story, instead of a fanfic fantasy tested my patience. To me, the main story didn't feel like a progression of the protagonist's journey of their own agency or their accord.

Which brings in my next point:

2. Characters and Fanservice

I hated the fanservice in Wuthering Waves. I know, quite a big statement.

I believe a good story and fanservice can co-exist, as long as there is a good ratio to it, and is tastefully done.

The fanservice is overly glaring in the story and character quest. Mostly, it was unwarranted. This is what I hate, not the nature of the fanservice itself, but the unwarrent fanservice that is shoved down our thoarts.

Given the vibe and type of game Wuthering Waves convey through the main story, the fanservice really feels jarring. Pairing it with bad writing, it feels like a amateur fanfic writer wrote this, and somehow the Creative Director green lit this as good.

Yinlin's character quest is an example, the one I have gripes with the most. The writing of her story, by how I experienced it, did not make me like her at all, and to force a fanservice scene really takes the cake. It doesn't make sense to me, and it made me begin to question am I playing an Sci-fi open world apocalyptic RPG, or actually an anime isekai dating fantasy game.

The latter is not what I signed up for.

So, it is no surprise I never rolled on the character banner after the beginner's banner. I was pretty much rolling for weapons for my existing characters instead. (Hence, I wish I can convert my green and gold convene to weapon convenes.)

In theory, I should have rolled for Jiyan, but I didn't, because there isn't much interested shown by his character other than the beef with Geshu Lin. ((Edit: The craziest thing is, I legit have no idea what that beef is even about?)) His character quest did nothing to convince me to roll for him.

I shed a few tears during Xiangli Yao's story quest...but it's for an NPC and his monoluge. Not sure what Pascar has to do with Xiangli Yao's, at least how I understood it, urge for solitude to ponder and search for answers to his intellectual curiousity(?).

The characters in Wuthering Waves, to me, feels like a 3D manifestation of tropes rather than characters. There is no depth, and has shown no depth, in their own personalities, and how their dynamic with other characters, NPCs, and Rover develops. It's (the developed relationship) there because the story said so.

My favourite characters so far in the story are actually, Aalto and Encore. These two have more personality to show, and when they are together, they actually create character dynamic. They are also introduced with something to contribute to the progression of the story; providing an insight to the lore of the First Civilisation and the Black Shore.

Scar is also a character that seems to be interesting, but I won't say that for sure until we see him more in action. In all honesty, I think he is interesting because he is the "antagonist" in the story who provides tension and conflict, something like building up to a climax or a twist.

With an antagonist, there is a protagonist:

3. Rover as a protagonist

Now, I know that the silent protagonist is seen to be a self insert. But, I tend to believe even if the protagonist is silent, there should be at least some consistancy to the characterisation. Because, the switch between the UwU rover, to the Serious/Hardcore Rover feels jarringly inconsistent.

Another point to make is Rover and their, still, lack of agency. From my own understanding of what was presented to me, we should be viewing the story through Rover's lens. Yet, there are times where I felt their response and reactions are passive to naught, and it does not make sense to me, as there is no reasoning on Rover's behalf.

For example, should the seed of doubt linger in Rover's mind after a confrontation with Scar? Since Rover has no memory, what makes them fully trust Yang Yang to the tee? When Rover learns about their significance to the world through Jue, during the confrontation scene with Jinhsi, should the first thing Rover did was to demand for more answers? Ask more questions on the spot, instead being like, "Oh... Okay...". Should the first thing Rover did, after Yinlin zapped them unconscious, is to deem her as a potential enemy for self preservation purposes?

Instead almost all of the agency are given to other characters. In the arc at the Northfall Barrens, most of the agency were given to the resonator cast when they were defending Jinzhou; having their Avengers moment. Rover was just there. Then they were told to find Jiyan. And the rest of time was Jiyan speaking, taking initiative even towards the end.

Like, what was the purpose of Rover being there? Was it because Yang Yang said so? What would Rover achieve by fighting with the Midnight rangers other than earning a hero status? Who knows.

Because of having little to no agency for the Rover, the story feels lost. There is no definate overarching goal.

Sure, they might be searching for their lost memories, but there is no definate goal post for the story to reach it's conclusion for Rover's journey. There is no intrigue to keep the story moving forward.

Genshin's story, as an example, has always been about the MC finding their lost twin, with the conclusion that they will, hopefully, reunite and continue on their mysterious journey. Along the way of finding their sibling, things happened. The regions and their crisis as subplots, that reveals the lore and the trajectory of the world MC is travelling in to reach that goal.

I am not saying Genshin has the best writing. It has it's flaws. But, regardless of the sometimes, messy and muddled execution of plot points, having a good story can really make an impact to the gaming experience with games like these.

Gameplay alone can only take a game so far. In the Jinzhou region of Huang Loong, the exploration of the world map needs more work, and even then there needs to be stories that makes the world an interesting place to explore.

Due to the three points mentioned, I was heasitant to begin the new chapter to the Blackshore. With how the story's bad ratio of Character/story development to Fanservice, and the execution of the storytelling, I have been, instead, grinding the domains, bosses, and Tacet fields.

The voice about whether or not I have been phished to play an Anime Waifu fantasy game grew louder at each patch. The fact that I, as a player, have no choice but to endure the jarring superficial segments of dates and fanfiction-quese sequence (I mean the cliche and chessy ones) is enough to turn me off from the game.

It might have not been it's intent, but with how intergrated the fanservice is, it's really hard to take this game seriously anymore. To me, I feel like I was in a lost.

The gameplay alone was not holding the game up for me, as there's only so much you could do in the open world. Either it's boss, puzzles, or combat. The events are always in relation to combat alone, and they are recycled at each patch.

My patience for the, "Just wait, it will get better just like PGR" is wanning. I don't think being a fan of PGR can be used to excuse the apparent state of the experience of Wuthering waves.

Which is a shame, because I really tried to be patient, and I tried so hard to like it. I have been waiting for this game since its first announcement. I remember looking at Rover's very first design and the promo art, being all excited, wanting to play it so badly.

Needless to say, Wuthering Wave, unfortunately is not living up to what it says it's going to be. I think there is potential for the game to be great, but, as of now, and the direction things are going, it feels like they have decided to go a certain way.

Though, I wish they didn't have to phish me into adding numbers to their download count on lauch day. (They didn't actually phish me, but given how everything turned out felt like it.)

I hope, things will get better in the game, and that the experience can be more enjoyable for players alike. Yet, as of now, I won't been having it in my gaming roaster.

#punishing eden #thoughts #wuwa #Wuthering waves #This is a review or a rant?#Idk

17 notes · View notes

lindseybots · 1 year ago

Text

Welcome to The Wind’s Track AU!

A lot of people have been stopping by to check this AU out, so I thought now was a good time to make a pinned post for this.

What is this AU?

This is a Legend of Zelda AU in which Link, the Hero of Winds from Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass (nicknamed Wind in this AU), sticks around New Hyrule as a spirit after his life has reached its conclusion.

During his wanderings as a spirit one day, he went to check on his old pal Niko to find that Niko had taken in a baby named Link (nicknamed Spirit in this AU) whom he found washed ashore. This baby will eventually grow up to be the Hero of Spirits from Spirit Tracks. Wind is surprised at the matching name and almost identical appearance, but even more surprising than all of that is that this kid has the ability to see and hear him.

Basically, the ghost of the Hero of Winds helps raise the Hero of Spirits.

Don’t know where to start with exploring the AU? Try this, or try exploring some of the tags!

Important Links / Tags

Tags:

#The Wind’s Track AU

#The Wind’s Track

# WT AU

#WT Fanart

#WT Comic

#WT reference sheet

#Lindseybot answers

#WT Wind

#WT Spirit

(if you want to type these in manually, do it lowercased. Tumblr sometimes gets weird with the tags if you capitalize them.)

Links:

WT AU Collaborative Spotify Playlist (A Spotify playlist for the AU made with y’all’s help.)

Some WT AU Questions and Answers (under the break)

Q: Is this associated with Linked Universe?

A: No. While Linked Universe is a wonderful AU, the Wind’s Track is its own, separate AU. The events of Linked Universe DO NOT and NEVER WILL HAPPEN in the “canon” of this AU. If you would like to see a little more of my thoughts on that, please view this post.

Q: Can I post fanart, fanfics, etc. of this AU?

A: Absolutely! If you do, all I ask is that you credit me for the AU. (Also, please tag me so I can see it. 🤭) While on the subject, feel free to check out the tag #WT reference sheet if you’d like to see references of the characters within the context of the AU.

Q: Is there an official fic for this AU?

A: Unfortunately, no. I am not a confident writer. I have an Ao3 account (Lindseybot), but I never post fics on it. I, instead, use it to subscribe, leave kudos, leave comments, etc. I occasionally post little comics of the AU here on Tumblr, however.

Q: Will there be a full comic then?

A: As of now, I do not have any plans to do that. Not only is this AU still very early in development, but that would take a LONG time. With my current schedule being the way it is, it just wouldn't be feasible. Still, never say never. You never know what the future may hold. As of now, I plan to just occasionally post mini comics and art pieces that take place at any random point in the timeline of the AU.

Q: Can I use your art as an icon, banner, etc.

A: Sure!! I’m honored that you like my art enough to want to use it for that! Please just make sure to credit me!

Q: Can I send you asks? / Can I send you a lot of asks? / Can I send you suggestions?

A: PLEASE DO! Hearing from y'all makes me very happy. Anons are welcome too! If you decide to ask anonymously, I will give you an anon name. If you ask about a character’s shoes or something (as a silly example) I might dub you "Shoe Anon." Whether or not you use the name is up to you, but if you want to send another ask later and make it known to me that you are the same anon as from a previous ask you can be like: "Hey! It's Shoe Anon again! I have another question!"

Q: Why does Wind look young? Did he die young?

A: Nope! Don’t let his looks fool you. He may look no older than during the days of his adventures, but he actually lived a long, happy life. His adventures were the most impactful part of his life. As such, his appearance as a spirit is simply a reflection of that.

Q: What ships are in this AU?

A: ST Zelda x ST Link. If you want to see more of my thoughts on that, check out this post.

Q: What games will this AU cover content from?

A: This AU will contain spoilers for the following games:

The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker

The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass

The Legend of Zelda: Spirit Tracks

Other games within the Legend of Zelda series are subject to be mentioned, but they are a lot less likely.

Q: The Spotify Playlist collaborator link isn’t working, but I want to be a collaborator. What do I do?

A: Not to worry! Spotify’s collaborator link always expires after seven days. We are forced to put up with that feature. Send me an ask about it. I’ll renew the link! :)

Q: I want to add a song to the playlist, but I don’t want anyone to know I was the one who added it. Is there still a way for me to add it?

A: That’s perfectly fine! Send me the song name and artist name through an anon ask. I’ll add it for you!

#the wind’s track au #the wind’s track #wt au #the wind's track au #the wind's track #I will update this as more questions come up

39 notes · View notes

dat-town · 1 year ago

Text

haunting

never seen circus masterpost

Characters: Yunho & female reader

Setting & genre: magical realism au, ghost au

Summary: Yunho was the centre of your universe. He made you so happy and you wished you could do the same but his eyes were always so, so sad.

Warnings: general creepiness of an eerie circus, ambiguous ending, mentions of blood, injuries, car accident, self-conscious MC, implied past death

Words: 1.4k

i guess i will tag you in all of these @restlessmaknae

You remembered the day you had met Yunho and fallen in love with his dimpled smile almost immediately. He was the typical boy next door with his easygoing and kind personality, it was impossible not to love him. But somehow it had been you whose seatmate he had become on the first day of university and then all other days too during your shared Economics lectures.

You and him had been inseparable ever since.

You had spent a meaningful majority of your early twenties with him by your side. Study sessions in the library had turned into café dates and then cuddling on the couch in front of Netflix. Weekend trips to the beach, dissing terrible job interviews, murmuring I love yous into his warm skin under the blazing sun and him kissing every one of your fingers until you couldn’t feel the unforgiving cold of January.

You loved him more than anything.

Especially after the accident. He was the only one who still looked at you the same way.

It had been awful. You remembered the yelling, the honking and a blinding light. Then the pain had come and everything had gone dark. When you had opened your eyes, it had been Yunho you had seen first. His temple had been bloodied, glass shard cuts all across his lovely cheek. He could barely open his eyes and his head had been wrapped in white gauze.

You had cried yourself to sleep because you had known it had been your fault. You had been the one who had insisted on visiting the circus even in the pouring rain. Looking back you couldn’t understand why it had been so important to go on that particular Sunday. There would have been other days and other circuses. There was no other Yunho. No circus was worth that much.

Yunho had recovered but after that you had promised yourself you wouldn’t let him get hurt ever again. But something must have been broken between the two of you after the accident because his eyes had become so, so sad. He still looked at you lovingly, like you were the most precious thing and for those moments you felt seen and beautiful even if other people looked away when they saw you. Nobody else mattered, not when you had Yunho. You just didn’t get why he felt so far even when he was brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Are you happy?” The boy asked, cautious, and you blinked at him in confusion.

“Of course, I am. I have you,” you smiled at him but Yunho looked like he was made of glass, crackling at your words.

When your boyfriend proposed a weekend getaway, you were more than happy being on board with the idea. You hadn’t really been going out since what had happened. You needed it to feel some normalcy again.

“Where are we going?” You asked curiously while you were walking through a forest during the golden hour. You liked surprises and Yunho was always the best with date nights as he was a much better planner than you were but you had always been curious by nature.

“You will see,” he said with a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He sounded tired but that must have been because he worked those extra hours over the week.

He didn’t let go of your hand even when you reached the edge of the forest path and you saw a circus right in the middle of the meadow in all its shiny gilded glory.

You flinched at the laugh of clowns and the eerie music, phantom pain throbbing in your skull. Your steps halted and you took a shaky breath.

“Yunho…” You whispered, feeling uneasy.

“It’s okay,” Yunho reassured you in his soft voice, letting you nuzzle closer. “I’m here.”

You tried to find excitement and awe in the wonderful spectacles all around but deep down you had a bad feeling. Maybe it was because of what had happened and your brain subconsciously associated circuses with inevitable tragedies but you could almost feel yourself spiral into panic. You didn’t quite feel okay in your body. It was almost like you were watching yourself from the outside.

You jumped in surprise when a black cat ran across the road right in front of you and heck, you weren’t superstitious but did it mean that you would be unlucky? Maybe you should have left.

But Yunho seemed determined to stay and he was clearly looking for something, so you told yourself to be patient. It must have been the surprise. What could it be, you wondered, a fortune teller or a palm reader?

The tent of a ghost whisperer wasn’t what you expected even though it felt awfully familiar. Have you been there before?

You turned to Yunho, the question burning on the tip of your tongue, but he was looking at the girl behind the candle lit desk, hovering over a bone coloured board with letters scattered over it. You vaguely remembered that tool from horror stories as something used to communicate with the dead. An Ouija board.

The young girl in old fashioned clothes behind the desk looked up at the two of you and hummed knowingly. There was something unnerving about it as she looked at you.

“I knew you would be back. Most people are,” she said, melancholy ringing in her voice and you furrowed your brows in confusion. She wasn’t sure whether she talked to you or your boyfriend.

“She… she is just a shell of herself. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” Yunho spoke up hoarsely.

“I told you there was always a price to play,” the girl reminded him but the entire scene had you going a little crazy because you couldn’t understand anything.

“What’s going on, Yunho? Who is she? Why are you talking like you are breaking up with me?”

Yunho turned to you, his usually warm nougat eyes devastatingly sad and then he walked you to the full body mirror on one side of the tent.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered and there were already tears pricking your eyes because what could have been so terrible about your looks that made him call you a shell?

Then you saw it.

There was Yunho, tall and handsome, perfect if only a little pale and his smile you loved so much was lost on him. And you? You were nowhere. In the mirror there he stood alone, no sign of your reflection. You reached out to touch the furniture with shaky hands and looked down at your skin, half-transparent in this new glow.

“Am I dead?” Your voice hitched, panic coursing through you.

“Your soul is trapped in a limbo between this world and the beyond,” the stranger girl explained patiently. “He’s the one keeping you here.”

So you did die. Now that you thought about it, you couldn’t tell when was the last time you interacted with somebody else other than Yunho. Or when you last spent time alone. Or when you ate or went to the bathroom. All you could remember was being with Yunho, everything else was just a blur. As if he was the reason why you even existed, the Sun of your universe.

You felt like crying but you couldn’t. Ghosts didn’t have tears. You must have imagined every tear and every touch since the accident and it only made the loss cut deeper.

Yunho was crying though, crystal-like tears were running down his cheeks and when you reached up, you could feel the warmth on his skin against your own cold nothingness.

“I love you so much that I brought you back,” the boy whispered and you could feel your heart break for him even if you didn’t have one anymore. You never wanted to see Yunho suffer, not like this, not because of you. “But it’s not the life you deserve. You should move on. Find peace.”

The thought of him saying goodbye, of losing him scared you.

“No. I don’t want that. I’ll be staying with you, Yunho. Please, don’t do this,” you begged because you wanted to stay by his side, you didn’t want to be alone. The two of you were supposed to be together forever.

But it was too late. The boy was already taking off the couple bracelet you both had and the ghost whisperer took it from him, letting it fall into flames, smoke going up dark and quick.

Your scream cut through the night, extinguishing every lit candle and by the time the sun came up, you were once again faded.

But Yunho swore he could catch sight of you in mirrors from time to time.

#series: never seen circus #ateez x reader #yunho x reader #ateez angst #yunho angst #stories

46 notes · View notes