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bambirex · 11 months

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It's A Game We Play: Chapter 9

Pairings: Geraskier, Yennskier, Radskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Radovid, original female characters, Essi Daven, Priscilla, Ciri of Cintra, Valdo Marx, Vespula

Additional tags: inspired by Mamma Mia! (movies), crack, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega jaskier, alpha geralt, alpha yennefer, beta radovid, awkwardness, jaskier is a good parent, protective jaskier, weddings, found family, post mpreg, fluff and humor, alternate universe- modern setting, jaskier is having the worst time of his life, valdo is here to make everything worse, confusion, banter, insecure jaskier, internalized slut shaming, light angst, family drama, there was only one bed, sharing a bed, valdo marx being an asshole, valdo marx and his ukulele from hell, drunk jaskier, mild language, sexual humor, jaskier in a dress, well it's a skirt but still, jaskier is essentially a milf in this

Rating: teen and up audiences

Full word count: 28,523 words

Chapter word count: 3,396 words

Chapters: 9/?

Summary: Jaskier's daughter is about to marry the love of her life, and she decides she wants both her parents at her wedding. Only problem is that Jaskier has slept with a little too many people in his youth, so the identity of the other parent is a mystery. That does not stop the bride-to-be from inviting three potential daddy candidates and unleashing absolute chaos in the process.

Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

Chapter summary: It's the night of Amaryllis's bridal shower. Sparks fly all over the place in general, and then Jaskier also fights off his insecurities in the raunchiest way possible.

Author's notes: Actually, writing this fic is like therapy for me. Hence why it's updated so soon. They're all super drunk and horny, that's pretty much the premise of this chapter.

Read on Ao3

This was a stupid idea. Jaskier wasn't even sure why he entertained it, for even a second.

"It's because you still have it in you," Essi teased, almost like she read his mind. She gave Jaskier a little wink. "And you want their eyes on you. It makes sense."

"I don't...!" Jaskier huffed. He felt his treacherous cheeks flush a deep red. Essi gave him a knowing smirk.

They were going to perform at Amaryllis and Sara's bridal shower tonight. While Amaryllis specifically asked them not to do that on her wedding, she was more than fine with her papa's band bringing the fun to the party. If the tragedy of Valdo Marx performing at the wedding had to happen - because Sara's mother was relentless, resisting all bribes and pleadings- then, at least an actually good band needed to play at the bridal shower. It was the fun part, after all!

Priscilla and Essi convinced Jaskier to dress up a little bit, which Jaskier used to enjoy a lot in his youth. He wasn't exactly the most modest Omega back then, gladly putting the goods on display and enjoying the trail of drool that followed him. He wasn't twenty years old anymore, though, and the idea of trying to act all sexy, especially in front of his exes, was a terrifying one.

"Look, you girls still look amazing," Jaskier told them earnestly. "Essi, I have no idea how you maintained this body after two kids. Seriously, you're both smoking hot. Me, on the other hand... I think you should wear your pretty matching outfits and I put on something a bit more... modest."

"Since when are you modest," Priscilla scoffed. "Come on, it's going to be fun! Besides, Essi is right, we all know you're just dying to seduce your baby daddies."

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his cheeks refused to let go of their blush. Unfortunately, he was just a human being, a human being who was still very much attracted to those three, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. The more time he's spent with them, the more his stupid heart and body started acting up. So, maybe his friends were right, maybe there was a part of him that wondered what they would think when they saw him in his outfit.

"Okay, but I'm not gonna wear it the whole night," Jaskier concluded with a sigh. His friends let out a triumphant squeal.

"Oh, the Omega urge to preen has set in!" Essi giggled. "Combined with your badly hidden lust for your exes, I say we're gonna have a lot of fun tonight!"

"I'll only be able to handle this with alcohol," Jaskier groaned. He still couldn't help a little smile when he imagined what this night could have in store.

They rented a whole club for the night. Amaryllis was worried Jaskier spent entirely too much money on her upcoming wedding, especially knowing how much he struggled with keeping the Dandelion afloat, but he always waved her concerns away with a "my sweet baby deserves the best". She could only hope he wouldn't wear himself too thin with the stress, to which the whole other parent situation only added to.

Amaryllis decided to focus on having fun instead. She grinned widely as she was led inside the club, where the decoration was a mix of classic wedding flowers and party balloons. Amaryllis and Sara both had veils on their heads which looked as mismatched with the rest of their club outfits as possible.

Amaryllis held onto Sara's hand tightly as their friends bounced ahead of them, already a little tipsy on their warm-up shots. Actually, a little bit more than tipsy.

"Richie Rich at 10 o'clock," Marion all but screamed into Vera's ear, who hollered in response. It caught Radovid's attention. He gave the girls a little confused, but still bright smile. Vera pretended to pass out, and she managed so well that she actually ended up on the floor, bringing the cackling Marion with her.

"I think we should keep them from drinking any more," Sara laughed. Amaryllis rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

She smiled when she noticed Geralt and Ciri approaching her. Geralt's smile widened the closer he got.

"You look very nice," he said. Ciri giggled.

"He means you look breathtakingly beautiful, but he doesn't know how to do compliments."

Amaryllis laughed. "Thank you, all the same."

"How's everyone enjoying the party?" Jaskier asked as he hopped next to them. His cheeks were rosy, and his smile was bright. He kissed Sara on the cheek before he pulled Amaryllis to his side.

"Do you like the place?"

"It's incredible!" Amaryllis grinned. She wound her arms around her father, sighing happily. "Thank you, Papa."

Jaskier gently pulled the veil aside so he could kiss her forehead.

"It's my pleasure."

Amaryllis gasped when she noticed Yennefer approaching them. She wore a leather two set, and she looked incredible. Jaskier and Geralt made a similar little noise, combined with wide eyes as they spotted her.

"Damn, I wanna look like you at your age," Sara sighed in awe. Yennefer sent her a grin.

"Hello, everyone. Jaskier, thank you so much for the invite."

"Of course," Jaskier replied softly. Yennefer smiled, and Jaskier returned it eagerly.

"Where's the archduke of mangoes?" Yennefer asked, scanning the partying guests. Geralt laughed softly.

"He's the king of mangoes, you know that."

Jaskier glanced at Amaryllis in confusion. Amaryllis giggled.

"I could've sworn on my life they were coconuts," Jaskier blinked. He then nodded towards the left. "He's there, trying to sober up Amaryllis's bridesmaids... oh, fuck. He's actually doing shots with them. Amaryllis, bring him here before he sends your friends to the detox."

Amaryllis did, laughing all the way. Radovid looked utterly proud of himself. Jaskier rolled his eyes at him fondly.

"I'm gonna go find my mom," Sara said. She pecked Amaryllis on the lips before she left. Amaryllis felt a warmth, that was definitely not just because of the alcohol, spread through her chest as she stood in the ring that Jaskier, Geralt, Radovid, Yennefer and Ciri made around her.

She watched as her papa spoke to the other three. The conversation seemed light, the awful tension that plagued their first few days together nowhere to be seen now.

Ciri stood next to her, gently elbowing her in the side.

"Wanna dance?"

"With pleasure," Amaryllis grinned. She bowed playfully. Ciri giggled and gave a quick curtsy before she grabbed Amaryllis's hand and dragged her to the dancefloor.

"Do you want to...?"

Jaskier blinked in surprise. Geralt shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. If it wasn't for his extended hand, Jaskier wouldn't have understood what he wanted.

"Oh," he breathed softly. He felt his cheeks warm up as he stared down at Geralt's big, calloused hand. Every braincell told him to say no. His heart whacked him over the head with a giant, neon YES sign.

"Yes," he eventually said. Geralt's wary smile brightened as he took Jaskier's hand into his own. Jaskier's skin buzzed at his touch.

His heart pounded as they swayed together with Geralt. His hands were so careful around his waist, like he was scared a stronger hold would break Jaskier.

Jaskier glanced to the side. Amaryllis was slow dancing with Sara, their eyes shining as they smiled at each other. Yennefer twirled Ciri around. Marion and Vera drunkenly swayed, tripping over each other's feet. Essi danced with her husband, while Radovid danced with Priscilla. As he looked over them, and then down their joined hands with Geralt, he felt his heart swell until it barely fit into his chest.

The pink fog quickly dissipated when he noticed Valdo sauntering in with a smug grin. He, as always, acted like he owned the place.

"Ugh," Jaskier gagged, "how did he get in?"

"He seems to have a knack for infiltrating your life," Geralt chuckled. He let go of Jaskier's hand. Jaskier immediately missed his touch.

Valdo noticed them, and his smirk widened. Jaskier rolled his eyes so hard, it was a wonder they didn't get stuck.

"Jaskier," Valdo greeted him cheerfully, "what a lovely party!"

"Which you weren't invited to," Jaskier scoffed. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want?"

"Oh, actually, Sara's mom invited me," Valdo replied with a grin. "So, I'm sorry, dear, but I'm staying."

He looked a little wary when Geralt moved towards him. He took a step back, holding his hands up.

"Don't worry, I didn't bring an original song, this time."

"You're saying that as if you would sing here," Jaskier huffed. Valdo only raised an amused eyebrow at him. Jaskier's eyes widened in horror.

"No fucking way," he hissed, "I will perform with my band! Yours isn't even here!"

"I'm a one-man band. Besides, there might be place for more talented musicians on this stage. And one maybe even for you."

Jaskier's hands balled into fists as he stared after Valdo once he left. Geralt scoffed.

"If I ever commit a crime in this life, this man will be the victim of it."

Jaskier sucked in a harsh breath through his nose. There was no way he was going to let Valdo steal the spotlight, again.

This was the perfect time to get his friends and change into their performance outfits - let everyone see The Sandpipers still got it.

Amaryllis felt both amused and confused as she approached the table Geralt, Radovid and Yennefer sat together at. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking at. Yennefer had a lock of Radovid's hair in her hand, inspecting it like a surgeon before an important surgery.

"This is so damaged," she slurred, her usually snappy, almost cold exterior buried under several glasses of gin and tonic. "Your hair's so pretty, and you let it get so damaged."

"I don't have time for a hair care routine, I wish I did," Radovid lamented. The way he lifted his glass was a little uncertain.

"Geralt, touch his hair," Yennefer demanded, "feel the split ends."

Geralt took another piece of Radovid's hair between his fingers. He hummed.

"It's dry."

"Yeah, what about yours?" Radovid huffed. He twisted Geralt's hair around his fingers. His eyes widened. "Oh, this is soft. Why is it soft?"

"Feel mine," Yennefer giggled. Radovid did, holding onto both their hair with an awed expression.

"Uhm... hello?" Amaryllis greeted them with a chuckle. They flitted apart in such a panicky way, like Amaryllis just caught them making out with each other - which, judging by the way they lovingly caressed each other's hair for God knows how long, and how extremely drunk they were, wouldn't even have been outside of the realm of possibilities.

There was a strange tension between them- competitiveness, for sure, but also something else. Something that had nothing to do with butting heads over getting into Jaskier's good graces, or fighting for the parental rights over Amaryllis. It was something else, a weirdly vibrating chemistry that Amaryllis couldn't quite describe.

"Jaskier... I mean, Amaryllis," Geralt groaned. He shook his head, blinking rapidly. "Shit, it's dark in here."

"Your eyesight is just getting worse, old man," Yennefer teased. "You also can't hold your liquor."

"Are you in the right state to talk?" Amaryllis asked carefully, interrupting Geralt who was about to defend his own honor. Amaryllis snorted when Radovid grabbed her hands, nodding frantically.

"Anything you wanna say, we're ready to hear."

"Alright...so, I was wondering, if you guys maybe wanted to go out with my papa?"

Geralt stuttered something. Yennefer just stared at her. Radovid once again nodded, the alcohol dissolving his pretenses entirely.

"I want to!"

"As... a date?" Yennefer checked. Her cheeks flushed, not just from the alcohol. Amaryllis smiled at her.

"Yes. I think you could each take him out individually. Spend some time with him, because... there's a chance his own gut feelings can come in handy, so to speak, in our little scheme. And, you know, he hasn't been on a date in decades."

She wanted to speed up the process of figuring out the truth a little bit, and she realized maybe Jaskier also needed some time together with the candidates in order to do that- besides, Amaryllis was hoping to secure him the one and only. Her papa definitely deserved some spoiling, as well.

"Decades?" Geralt whispered in horror. "You're telling me he hasn't been... romanced, after we left?"

"Except for Vespula, of course," Radovid pointed out with a snort.

"That was just a couple of times, and nothing since then," Amaryllis clarified. "Look, I know you all still have feelings for him. And I'm sure that's mutual. Let's kick things into gear!"

They all shared a look, which was full of confusion, a sense of challenge and a third, unrecognizable emotion.

Amaryllis swore when she heard Valdo's unmistakable voice in the microphone.

"This is for the wonderful brides, one of them which is unlucky enough to call Jaskier her father. Don't worry, beautiful Amaryllis, this song will cheer you up!"

"The only thing this song will do is make me commit arson," Amaryllis huffed. She quickly scanned the crowd, trying to find either her father or his friends, but she didn't see them anywhere.

Jaskier didn't know if he should have screamed or cried in frustration. He once again had to realize he was making a stupid decision.

He really should have thought ahead and tried on his outfit before the performance, instead of just picking it out blindly. He gave in to his friends' nagging and matched with them, but the problem was that the glittery, tight skirt he wanted to put on was one he used to wear before Amaryllis's birth. He was twenty years old when he last wore it, and many things have changed in the meantime. His body, most of all - and realizing this, minutes before he was planning to go on stage, was an incredibly humiliating experience.

"This is so embarrassing," Jaskier whined, his face burning with shame. "God, what was I thinking? I'm not twenty anymore, and definitely not skinny, either. I'm going to embarrass my daughter at her own bridal shower! Ridiculous, a cow trying to parade around."

"Hey, don't say that! You agreed you would wear it!" Essi reminded him softly. "Besides, you wanna show Valdo Marx you're the better performer, right? Grab onto that energy!"

"The only thing I can grab onto are my love handles."

"Calm down, would you?" Priscilla snorted from behind him, where she was still struggling to work his zipper up all the way. "And suck in a little!"

"I'm already sucking in, Priscilla, that's what I'm saying!"

Jaskier buried his face in his hands with a whimper. There was no way his exes would find him attractive in this, with the skirt pulled so tight over his wide hips. What if it would rip open on his fat ass, in front everyone? He would not survive that humiliation. Valdo would never let him live it down, and Amaryllis would be scarred for life.

He looked up at his reflection in the mirror with a deep sigh. He always believed he looked pretty, and he looked younger than his age, mostly - but the passage of time did not fully spare him, neither did the changes pregnancy did to his body. Sure, he wasn't fat, that was a bit of a hysterical over-exaggeration, but he definitely had some cushion for the pushing. He was not a young Omega with long, slim legs and a tiny waist anymore. What was the point in pretending otherwise?

"You know what, I'm not even gonna perform," Jaskier pouted. "You girls go and do your lovely thing. I don't wanna ridicule you, too."

Priscilla finally managed to zip him up. She also managed to slap him on the ass so hard that Jaskier yelped.

"Ow! What the hell!?"

"Say one more self-loathing thing about yourself, and I will full on spank you!" Priscilla growled. She grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders and spun him around, glaring daggers up at him. "Did you forget who you are? You are Jaskier Pankratz, for fuck's sake! The sexiest, sluttiest Omega on this island. The charmer, the sex god, everyone's favorite goddamn lay! Even the freaking mayor wanted to fuck you! You have three people practically pissing themselves with the need to suffocate between your thighs, and you're whining!?"

Jaskier gaped. Essi hid her giggles behind her hand.

"You got a bit curvaceous, so what? You look freaking amazing!"

Jaskier looked down on the outline of his belly through the skirt. He frowned.

"But..."

"You. Are. Hot," Essi told him, accentuating each word. "And trust me, people will drown in their own drool when they'll see you!"

"You are smoking hot," Priscilla continued. "Pull yourself together, sweet cheeks, and show everyone what you're made of! And this, right here,” she grinned, lovingly pinching Jaskier’s tummy, “is a very sexy little accessory."

Jaskier opened his mouth to argue, but he wisely decided against it when Priscilla and Essi all but growled at him. He rolled his eyes with a sigh. He could only hope he would survive this evening without a catastrophic event.

The crowd erupted into cheers, drowning out Valdo's voice when The Sandpipers entered the stage.

Valdo's eyes bulged out of his head when he spotted Jaskier. Jaskier ignored the queasy feeling inside him and marched forward.

As soon as the music rang out, his confidence started to seep back in. He felt in his element on stage, living together with the rhythm. Essi and Priscilla looked beautiful and radiant next to him, sparkling in their matching outfits.

Jaskier opened his mouth to sing, and everyone cheered again. Valdo marched off the stage, looking like a kicked dog.

No one laughed at him, instead everyone stared in awe. Amaryllis, Sara and their friends hollered. Jaskier's eyes skimmed the crowd for some more familiar faces.

His heart leapt when he noticed them - they were staring, and they absolutely did not seem to mind the way he looked. In fact, Yennefer licked her lips in a hungry way that made a pleasant shiver run down Jaskier's spine. Geralt gripped onto the edge of the table so hard that it rattled. Radovid shamelessly raked his eyes over him.

Seeing them looking at him like this, with so much unabashed awe and lust, all of Jaskier's insecurities melted away. He suddenly felt so young again, so playful and seductive. He's missed the feeling so much. He batted his eyelashes at them, which were elongated by mascara. His eyeliner did not just frame his eyes like usually, he made it winged. There was glitter on his eyelids to match his top and skirt. He even put on high-heeled ankle boots.

Finally, he felt sexy again as his exes' eyes followed him all over the stage, glued to the way he moved. Jaskier swayed his hips, running his hand over the curve of them teasingly before he leant forward, letting them take a peek at his cleavage.

He danced and sang full of energy, full of youthful playfulness. Everyone clapped and cheered and whistled. Jaskier felt like he was soaring as he playfully shook his butt, earning some more hollering from the crowd. Okay, maybe he still got it.

Jaskier could only look at them as he finished their last song. Their jaws hung open, their pupils were blown wide. He could feel the intense Alpha, and the less aggressive but spicy Beta pheromones in the air. Essi and Priscilla gave him a proud gin.

Daring, Jaskier his exes a kiss. Geralt swore under his breath, Radovid's jaw dropped even lower, and Yennefer batted her eyelashes.

"Dick up, brain down," Ciri said simply, pointing at where the three candidates practically melted over the table. Amaryllis laughed in disbelief.

"Damn, your papa is sexy," Marion grinned. Sara turned to her fiancée, amused.

"So, are they taking your papa on a date?"

"After this performance?" Amaryllis chuckled. She looked at Jaskier, who exited the stage with a flourish, grinning brightly. Then, she glanced at the other three, who had hearts in their eyes instead of pupils.

"I think they're all ready to take him to heaven."

#geraskier #yennskier #radskier #a/b/o #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #radovid #omega jaskier #alpha geralt #alpha yennefer #beta radovid #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #my fic #mamma mia au

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brayscharitycase · 2 years

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Corinth was always one to jump into action when things got rough. Even now, with the Witness bearing down on them all, he had been one of the few to follow Osiris, to sneak aboard one of Calus’ ships, and hitch a ride to Neptune.

But so often it seems, that bravery is met with tragedy.

It had been going very well so far, the young hunter managing to sneak past the Cabal forces, and only having to kill a few psions who had noticed him. It was going too well, really.

Phoebe hovered by Corinth’s shoulder, humming as she looked at the lock on one of the doors leading to the hangar of the ship. It required a key code, but maybe, just maybe, she thought she might be able to bypass it.

Corinth felt on edge. Why, he couldn’t quite place. Was it the fact that he was hurtling towards an unknown destination among a fleet of enemies? No, not really. There was something else nagging at the back of his mind, like something watching him, stalking his every move.

Osiris’ voice crackled over the voice com, and the exo is pulled from his thoughts to listen.

“I’ve got a plan. We need to get off of these ships before they land on Neptune. You need to make your way to the ship I’m on, I’ll meet you at the escape pods.”

Phoebe tutted as Osiris’ voice fades, pulling away from the door. “I don’t like this plan of his. It’s very..touch and go, even for him.”

Corinth’s hand raises, gently stroking her shell, feeling the quicksilver spikes fade slightly at his touch.

“I know. But it’s our only chance. Osiris knows what he’s doing, I’m sure. And I trust him, for what it’s worth.”

The small Ghost chirps, pressing herself into the Hunter’s palm. “You’re so trusting.” It wasn’t an insult. “Come on, let’s go, we need to-“

A scythe cleaved through the air, cutting cleanly through the Hunter’s hand.

A roar, a laughing, horrible sound. Corinth could feel his Ghost twitching in what remained of his hand, and he gripped her close, controlling the urge to throw up. She’d be okay. She had to be.

The Tormentor’s scythe was dripping with Exo blood, and something else, something pale.

Corinth pulls himself to his feet, his shoulders shaking violently as Solar energy pierced through the darkness, leaving trails of molten gold in that horrible face.

It twitched, finally falling still as Corinth’s scream faded. His hands shake violently as the golden gun fades, and he gently scoops the ruined shell of his Ghost from his pocket, ignoring his own bleeding half of a hand.

“Oh, Phoebe..”

Tears were dripping from his face as that tiny Ghost looked up at him. Her lens was cracked deeply, and it glitched on occasion. Corinth wasn’t really sure if she could actually see him. He very gently runs his hand over the deep gash, turning her so he could look at it. “Okay. Okay. We can-“ he gulps. “We can fix this. You’ll be okay. I promise.” Phoebe’s shell was littered with gleaming splatters of tears, but she still looked up at him, as if longing to nuzzle his cheek.

“I..don’t think..there’s any fixing this, darling.”

“No, no, we can, I promise, I just gotta-“

“No! Listen, please..Corinth. Darling, you’re such a wonderful person. I love you. Please..please don’t give up now..”

“Please don’t leave me..” Corinth’s voice was hardly a whisper, cupping that Ghost to his chest, feeling her feeble twitching fading.

“Don’t forget me..okay?”

Corinth’s head bows down to her shell, kissing the top of it as gently as he could. “Never. I never will. I promise.”

#ic status #ic: Corinth

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musewritingsforyou · 2 years

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The Three Rules

Rule #1, Rule #2, Rule #3

Summary: Spencer and F!Reader get engaged shortly before tragedy strikes

Warnings: explosion, crying, alcohol, angst, hospitals

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F!reader

words: 3.7 K

A/N: last part in this mini series, but let me know if you want me to make more like this!

*i do not own any CM characters.

~~~~~~~

Rule #3: never leave the other completely alone.

Spencer~

It was paperwork day at the BAU and the bullpen was starting to empty out as the day came to a close. That is, except for our team. Hotch told us that if we stayed late to finish all of the paperwork he would not only join us for our weekly family dinner at Rossi’s, but he would also sing with the karaoke machine, and that offer was just too good for any of us to pass up. Morgan stood and walked over to my desk where I was hunched over the files that laid in front of me.

“Pretty boy, please tell me it's happening tonight”

I nervously looked over my shoulder to see Y/N over at the coffee station across the room staring intently at two boxes of tea.

“Morgan, could you keep your voice down! She's right there!”

“Oh, calm down pretty boy, she has no idea!” he sat on the corner of my desk and proceeded to talk, though thankfully a little quieter.

“If you do it tonight it will be perfect, trust me! The whole family will be there and it will be beautiful, and we can help you out, and set up the atmosphere and it will be perfect! You have to do it tonight.”

“Do what tonight?” I could hear Y/N’s voice from behind me and I swear my heart stopped. Luckily Morgan is much better at covering things up than I am, so he took the chance to get me out of the hole I was in.

“Karaoke, I’m trying to convince your lover boy that he has to sing with me at Rossi’s tonight!” Y/N chuckled and handed me a mug before taking a seat on my lap.

“Ohh, trust me on this one Morgan, Spence may be a genus, but singing is not his forte.” Morgan laughed and I looked up at her with a pout.

“Really? I thought you loved my voice!” She laughed and shook her head at me while Morgan got up from my desk and walked back to his. I heard Hotch’s door open from above us and he walked down the stairs briskly.

“Well, it looks like we’ve done all we can for the night” He gestured to where Y/N sat on my lap with a small smile. Garcia walked in the bullpen from the back dancing her way over to Morgan.

“You know what that means my sculpted dancing king” he laughed and took her hand to swirl her around.

“It's party time!” Rossi came out from his office at the last second and we all quickly gathered our things agreeing to meet up at his mansion after a quick stop at our own houses to get changed.

Y/N~

As soon as Spencer and I got into our car to head home I noticed something was wrong. Usually he is only quiet on the way to work, but never on the way home. I even attempted to get him in a party mood by playing some bops from my phone, but still nothing, not even a crack of a smile when I sang horribly on purpose. On top of all that he was biting his lip. He only does that when he's nervous about something or if he's thinking, and I could hear the high whine from his IQ from the driver's seat that told me he was deep in thought. We finally arrived at our apartment and without saying a word we moved around the small place quickly, attempting to change into our party clothes. I threw on a dress that JJ had got me for my birthday and called Spencer over to me for help.

“Hey Spence?”

“Zipper?” I laughed as he made his way into the bathroom and smiled as he saw me. He slowly put one hand on my waist and the other on my back tracing the zipper line. Eventually, and very slowly, he brought the zipper up my back, moving his hand from my waist to slide my hair over my shoulder. He smiled at me in the mirror and spun me around to kiss me.

“You look beautiful”

“Thank you my handsome prince” I laughed and he took a deep breath before grabbing my hand and leading me from the bathroom.

“You ready?”

“Yup, you?” He gave me a little panicked look that I'm not sure was on purpose but then nodded frantically, trying to cover up his nervousness that seemed to come from nowhere. This time in the car he drove and played Brahms the whole way to Rossi’s. I saw him continue to bite his lip as he put one hand in his pocket and fiddled with something in it over and over again. Finally I got fed up with the silence and grabbed his free hand.

“Hey, are you okay? You seem a little nervous today.” he put his hand on my thigh and nodded.

“Yeah, I'm fine , I promise, just paperwork days you know?” I raised my eyebrows at him wanting a further explanation but he either chose to ignore me, or didn’t see as he went back to his silence and pulled into the driveway of Rossi’s house.

Spencer~

I knew she would notice my nervousness, that was inevitable, but I didn't quite think through how I was going to play that off. I saw from her face that she did not believe me one bit in the car, but now the time was coming closer and I wouldn't have to hide it at all from her anymore. We walked hand in hand up to the door and stepped inside to loud music and the sound of laughter coming from his enormous living room.

“Yayyyy! The lovebirds are here!” Garcia ran up to us with open arms and hugged the two of us before Morgan dragged her back.

“Lets slow down a little there babygirl” Y/N and I both laughed at what had become the usual weekly occurrence at Rossi’s team/family dinners. Next, Emily came up to us with a glass of wine in each hand. Y/N reached her hand out for one but Emily pulled it back.

“Mmmmmmmm, nope. These are for me now.” She slurred slightly and Y/N raised her eyebrows.

“Em, how much have you had to drink?” she put her glasses down and pointed at Rossi who was preparing food in the kitchen. He looked back and chuckled.

“An impressive amount I'd say” he replied and Emily smiled back at the both of us.

“Beautiful dress by the way” she moved on to Y/N as she began to walk away and JJ shouted from the corner.

“I did that! I knew it would be pretty on you!”

“Thanks JJ, you were very right” Y/N responded and took my hand to guide me to the dinner table outside with the rest of them.

As the dinner came to an end Hotch stood up from the table and raised his empty glass to us all.

“I just want to say, thank you all for making me come tonight, I don't regret it one bit. And now for the second half of my promise to you all…” we all got excited as we knew what came next.

“Karaoke and dance time is now in session!” We all cheered and got up to set up the dance floor in Rossi’s yard. After all of us had equally embarrassed ourselves with the karaoke machine we moved onto the dance floor and the mood became peaceful as we all grabbed a partner and danced slowly to whatever Garcia thought was fitting. Derek and Garcia both looked over at me where I was swaying slowly with Y/N and nodded their heads before Garcia got up to change the song. She put on Y/N’s favorite slow song and moved back to Derek as we began dancing.

“I love this song” Y/N lifted her head off of my chest sleepily and I smiled at her before taking her hand to dance. The nervousness that I had felt before went away completely as I looked at her serene face. I extended my arm to twirl her around and as she spun in a slow circle I dropped to one knee and waited for her to turn back around.

Y/N~

Spencer spun me in a slow circle and as I faced away from him for just a split second I felt my arm lower. I turned around to find him kneeling on the ground in front of me.

“A-are you okay?” I took his hand worriedly and the rest of the BAU team chuckled at me as they watched. Spencer laughed and squeezed my hand.

“I am now.” there was a moment's pause before he continued.

“When I first met you, I knew instantly that everything I thought I knew about love was wrong. And you made sure to tell me that when we first started dating. You got me through the hardest time of my life, saw me at my lowest and my darkest and never failed to see the light in me. Every day that I wake up to see you laying next to me is a blessing and I could never imagine my life without you” we were both crying and all our teammates around us were teary eyed.

“I promise you that I will always be by your side. So, Y/N, will you marry me?” I dropped to my knees weakly and sobbed as I threw my hands around his neck and cried into his shoulder.

“So, is that a yes?” I nodded into his neck and lifted my head for a moment.

“Yes, that a yes you idiot!” the team around us laughed and he slipped the thin ring onto my finger and helped me stand up before pulling me into a warm kiss.

Spencer ~

The next morning I woke up again with her in my arms. I smiled as I fondly remembered the events of last night and how we danced after I slid the ring on her finger. She grumbled something in her sleep and turned onto her stomach, reaching her neck out so that she could put her head on my chest. I heard my phone ring on the table and quickly reached out to it so that she wouldn't wake up.

“Hey Hotch, whats up?”

“I'm sorry to do this today of all days but we need both of you at the tarmac ASAP.”

“Alright, we’ll be there in 20” I hung up and slid her off of my chest as I went around the apartment getting everything together. After everything was ready to go I slid her into my arms and carried her along with all of our things into the car. As I set her down she shifted in her seat but remained asleep. We arrived at the jet quickly and while she still slept I picked her and all of our things up and carried them onto the jet.

“Pretty boy what are you-”

“Hey, shh! She's still asleep, be quiet” I whisper screamed at Morgan and they all smiled and chuckled at me as I delicately placed her on the couch and took a seat by her feet so that she could still feel me near her. The jet ride was short and by the time Y/N woke up on the jet-very confused and slightly angry that I did all of that while she was asleep- we had arrived at the police station. We only spent a few minutes there however because Hotch sent us all out into the neighborhood to do group canvassing. I was paired up with Morgan but Y/N and Emily were on the same street, canvasing the other side so that every house was covered. Morgan walked a little behind me as I walked up onto the porch of a white house and knocked at the door. I heard Morgan say something behind me and I turned the handle of the door. Suddenly as if in slow motion I realized what he had said and pushed him backwards only a moment too late.

Y/N~

Emily and I were in the living room of the house across from Spencer and Morgan when we heard the explosion. The thing about explosions like this is that the sound becomes very distorted and is almost impossible to tell where it has come from unless you wait for the rubble to clear. When you enter the academy everyone has to go through bomb training. We all get a little bit of it even if the field we are going into doesn’t deal with them often. They always tell you in those workshops to pay attention more to what you see than what you hear, especially if you are close to, or within range of the bomb. The thing is, neither of my senses would help me. The only sound I could hear was my own scream as I ran toward Spencer, and the only thing I could see was Emily as she jumped in front of me, preventing me from leaving the house.

“Emily you need to let me go!” I screamed at her and fought against her arms.

“Look at me! Look at me! You know we can't go out there! We have to wait! We have to wait!” I knew she was right but Spencer was out there. If I didn't know where he was, if I didn't know where the bomb was, how was i supposed to stay put. I continued to fight against her as she held me back in the doorway.

“Spencer! No Emily let me go! Spencer!” my screams only got louder as she held me back with a horrified look in her eyes. Eventually we heard the sirens. When they stopped, signifying that they had arrived, Emily finally let go of me, allowing me to spring out of her hold and throw open the door in front of me. Only I wish I hadn't. I wish she had held on for a minute longer. What I saw when I opened that door was exactly the worst I could have imagined. I saw Derek, bleeding and stumbling around in the wreckage. But worst of all I saw the firemen and medics pulling Spencer’s limp body out from the rubble. Emily stood beside me as I realized I had stopped moving. She called out to Derek and ran to him as the medics took Spencer into an ambulance. I unfroze myself and ran towards where they were taking him only to be stopped again by Emily.

“Emily, I need to be with him!” I had tunnel vision and felt myself diving into panic. Derek walked beside me with a limp and looked me in the eyes with an expression I had never seen on his face.

“Y/N, you don't want to see him like that.” it was too late anyways. They had already started to drive away with him. I crumbled to the ground sobbing and ignored the blood on my hands and arms from the sharp glass digging into me. Emily sadly picked me up and walked me to a car. we drove towards Spencer in a haze and in that haze, I didn't even realize how I turned the new ring on my finger. Hoping. Praying that the man who gave it to me was still alive.

Spencer~

When I came to, all of my senses were altered. I don't really know if I could call it being conscious other than the fact that there was a ringing in my head so intense I could feel pain. But that's really the only sense that was intact. I almost wish it wasn't. The pain was so bad it clouded all of my other senses and made them useless. I didn't know where I was or what had happened. All I knew was that I hurt, and I needed it to stop. The only thing that comforted me was that my thoughts never stopped. It's weird to have to focus on the fact that my mind was still working. But it was, at least in that one way. I could still order my thoughts. I could still picture things in my brain like the image of Y/N in that dress. Or that time last week when Emily brought in donuts and her face was covered in white powder. Or the other week when she went over to JJ’s house for dinner and she held Micheal the entire time on her lap so that JJ could eat. Rule #3 of how we keep sane while working together is that we never leave the other alone. I remember why we made this rule as I lay wherever I lay picturing her face on the night we made these three rules. It was the same night that I had told her about Tobias Hankle. It was the same night she told me about a time when she was alone as well. We both had trauma. We both knew what it felt like to be alone. Completely and utterly alone. Like there was no one in the world who would even notice that you were drowning. But she noticed. She saw me drowning and reached a hand out to pull me up. It's because of her that I’m alive today. Or am I? The thing about the brain is that It’s so complex that we don't really know what happens when someone is dead, or unconscious. When humans are awake we only use 10% of our brains. But the funny thing is, when we are unconscious there is 80-90% of our brain that becomes suddenly available. And yet somehow, with all of that extra brainpower, I still can only think of one thing. One person.

Y/N~

When The doctors finally came to find me heaving and sobbing in the waiting room, they turned to Emily and Derek before me. JJ was beside me, a hand on my back trying to translate to me what they were saying.

“He's out of surgery now, and we’re hopeful, but there was a lot of bleeding”

“When will he wake up?” Emily and Derek continued the conversation as I stayed shell shocked in my chair.

“Well- i’m sorry, is that his fiancé?” she stopped before answering the question and gestured over to me. Derek nodded and the doctor came over to me and knelt at my feet.

“I'm very sorry about what happened to him. I know that this can be hard to understand but-”

“You still haven't answered the question” I looked up with red and puffy eyes.

“I know this is hard, but we need you to understand that it's not about when it's about if.” She proceeded to try and explain to me the extent of the damage that was done to his brain but saw that clearly I was not interested in hearing it, so she turned back to a nurse and told them to take me to his room.

Spencer~

For days all I could do was hear. My eyes stayed shut and the pain continued. The ringing had started to subside just enough that I could even hear the quieter sounds from around the room I was in. Sometimes if Y/N fell asleep in the chair beside my bed I could hear her breathing, which calmed me. But mostly I heard her cries. The team came everyday, but she was the only one allowed to stay overnight. When they came at first they would try to cheer her up, bring her treats and coffee and attempt to convince her to eat something. But after about a week I think they started to lose faith in me. She didn't. She never did. The doctors and the team would come in and try to talk to her. They all tried to tell her that she needed to prepare herself. That maybe it was time. She never did. She fought for me. Every day. Today, the team came one by one, stopping by and trying to get her to eat, and leaving when she refused. She cried more than usual today, and I could feel her faith in me start to slip. But I also knew she wouldn't have to wait much longer. I knew a fair share of what was happening to me and I knew that once the ringing went away, more than likely I would wake up. And today, the ringing was barely a whisper. Out of nowhere it seemed she spoke to me.

“Spencer I love you.” With a shaky breath she continued.

“I need you to hear these vows just in case. Because even if you don't make it, I want you to know what I'm going to say on our wedding day, no matter how long I have to wait for it. The day that I told you my story I remember how quiet your apartment felt to me. For what felt like the first time in my life, the silence was because you listened. You held my hand and listened to me like no one ever had before. More than just listening to me, you believed me. When I showed you my scars you kissed each one of them and told me that I was beautiful. No one had ever done that before. For every problem that I helped you solve, you helped me solve ten, and I will be forever grateful that I got to see your beautiful mind first hand. The only regret that I have is that you've left me alone” her voice stopped and she placed her head on my chest before continuing.

“You promised me you would never leave my side”

Y/N~

I cried on his chest and paused before saying it again

“You promised me i would never be alone!” there was a moment of silence before his hand came up on my back and I froze.

“And you never will be”

~~~~~~~

#spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

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autumn-foxfire · 1 year

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I am still stewing in my Touya feelings. It was such a mistake to re-read this, literally no wonder I tried to reject Dabi so hard as a character at first. This is agony. And unfortunately the best use of a villain I've read, especially with a flame ability. Hori seriously did his research into this. BEING BORN WITH EVERYTHING, he could've had *everything* but he also had those cracks…so much it could mean to me do not start- the expressions on his face are ruining me, he's so surprised to hear his voice, hoo boy I could really turn that into a projected headcanon, the trauma of not recognizing yourself, the fact that when removed from a toxic environment he's capable of being such a nice kid and so surprised by the world *screams* the self-awareness to be pained and hateful but still think "okay, maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to say, I should probably apologize" did. Did your parents ever apologize to you. No, but you'd have conflicted feelings over wanting it or being able to stand hearing it too, won't you?

Hoping for something that just couldn't be there, but still just really wanting to see some kind of change, the realization that he never mattered as much as he hoped because his family moved on, accepting him as a tragedy of the past when he was so much more, but nobody could see him so he fights to be seen now. The endless feeling of your heart pounding away, being so desperate not to die at first because it was horrible on so many levels for a kid so young who didn't get to live, who had so much to do and say and prove to his dad because dying with all that inside was unbearable, not having really existed was unbearable, being known as nothing but the one who had potential but just couldn't match it and others' ideas of you was…stop speaking all my nightmares-!!! the way he uses *that thing* to refer to Endeavor now because the term "dad" disgusts him, he can only use it mockingly if he ever were to, the mindset of "if I have to die for certain, then you're coming with me" because it's unbearable to suffer and become forgotten, to end everything that was you and have the one who did it to you, who never got to really know you still walk free towards a redeemed and better life "he can feel proud of?" As if Touya was just a blight on his life and he's overcome that and is doing better now and all his friends are saying, "good job."

Yeah, I can see why he's so angry. It may not be healthy, but I literally cannot expect otherwise or blame him for feeling that way. He's really like the manifestation of all my darker thoughts, I have so many feelings for this kid. I need to stop wrestling with his character trying to find ways to make him a simple villain without a heart that I can clown on because that isn't really true and it was peaceful when I could believe it, but now that I can't, fighting him is causing me more conflict than just accepting that he's me. It's so annoying, and this is all without touching his love of stars, the night, witty words and snark, poetically heavy speech, hanging by the water, tappy feet behavior, hating fish. Rei may not be my mom to the same extreme, but I can really run with what we're given and it's certainly not helping. Being the oldest…being told the importance of being the first-born, but then…the loss of your old self, who you could've been health-wise and physically…good grief, Hori are you stalking me, no? Too many of us with the same backstory, huh.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Because your asks are very long I've decided to break them up into three parts, I hope this okay with you, nonnie. I am so sorry it took me this long to get to your asks.

When I say Dabi doesn't care about the LOVs, everything you just described about his raw emotions are why I think that is.

Dabi is focused on himself because he's trying to avenge the boy he used to be, he never got to live the life he was promised by his father, he sat by and watched someone else get that life instead (deep down he knows what Shouto is undergoing is abuse and he knows that he should care however all he can see is how his life was taken from him in so many ways that he's blinding himself to his brother's hurt and only seeing his own).

Dabi is an easy villain to project upon because he's the product of parents who have failed him, of our darkest thoughts brought to life, he's selfish and cruel because he's so human and he's hurting and he needs everyone who knew him to hurt too. His father, his family, his brother, everyone needs to see the life that was lost the day Touya burned on that peak. We all at one point want to lash out like that, to hurt everyone the way we've been hurt.

It's not cathartic though and we're shown that through Dabi, he's just burning and burning and nothing is helping fill that hole in his heart. It's a terrifying cycle and one that's hard to break.

#bnha #bnha dabi #thanks for the ask!!

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aspoonofsugar · 2 years

Text

Just Another Cinderella Story

Cinderella is the Queen of Fairy Tales and one of the most universally known stories, with at least 345 different versions. So, it is no surprise this allusion is so relevant in RWBY, which gives it to one of its key characters and a Queen in her own right ;)

Not only is Cinder’s allusion at the root of her tragic past, but it is also important for her current storyline thanks to a series of symbols and motifs elegantly interwoven into the narrative. This meta will explore said imagery by focusing on 4 key elements found in all Cinderellas stories:

Evil Stepmother

Fairy Godparent

Prince

Slippers

The Stepmother, the Godparent and the Prince are found in the series twice: in Cinder’s background and in the main story itself. This shows that Cinder is stuck in the cycle of abuse. No matter how powerful she becomes or that she is now an adult. Deep down she is still a broken child, who can’t find her freedom.

When it comes to the Slippers, they are instead present in at least 4 different shapes, which makes them incredibly important for Cinder’s arc. They foreshadow the outcome of her story and can be used to explore Cinder’s character in all her complexity. In short, just like in the fairy-tale, they tell us who the real Cinder is, what is her major conflict and the characters, who’ll help her deal with it.

Let’s now start dancing with our Cinderella and see the woman who appears once midnight strikes!

CINDERELLA’S FIRST DANCE

You're no good I hope you know That your life is of no use And the truth is that No one's ever loved you

At her root, Cinder is a child, who is unloved in 2 different ways.

On the one hand there is an Evil Stepmother, who hates her:

On the other hand there is a Fairy Godfather, who does not love her enough:

Madame’s violence and abuse and Rhodes’s indifference and weak love are why Cinder is who she is. In a sense:

Cinder: Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

Madame and Rhodes were Cinder’s everything and even now everything Cinder is can be traced back to them. Symbolically, their failure as parents runs so deep that Cinder doesn’t even get a chance to go to the dance:

Rhodes: Then we’ve got about seven years.

Cinder: For what?

Rhodes: To train you for the Huntsman exam.

Cinder’s big festival is meant to be the Huntsman exam, where she can show the world who she really is. Not a worthless slave, but a skilled Huntress. However, the Evil Stepmother’s hate and the Fairy Godfather’s lack of love make so Cinder never gets this opportunity and she slips deeper into the cracks of the system.

At the same time, Rhodes does not play only the part of the Fairy Godmother, but also that of the Prince, which means he fails Cinder in an additional way.

Deep down, what Cinder wants is not to be a Huntress, but to be free and loved. This is why Rhodes becomes a beacon of hope in her horrible life. She imitates his hairstyle, looks forward to his visits and is sad whenever he leaves. This turns their sparring sessions under the moonlight into true dances:

Ozpin: If you think about it, fighting and dancing aren't so different. Two partners interlocked, although one wrong move on the ballroom merely leads to a swollen foot.

After their dance, the Prince is supposed to meet Cinderella covered in ashes and dirt. However, he still recognizes the beautiful girl thanks to the slipper and takes her to the palace. This is what Rhodes is supposed to do. He should see Cinder for who she is and accept everything about her. However, he doesn’t. The moment midnight comes and Cinder shows herself in all her complexity, Rhodes refuses her and brings tragedy to them both.

The Prince’s refusal forces Cinderella to fight for her freedom. In the process, she takes her 2 Slippers by force:

Rhodes’s Twin Swords are important plot devices in Cinder’s flashback, as they drive Cinder’s actions and kick in both Cinder and Rhodes’s first meeting and Cinder killing her adoptive family. At the same time, they clearly serve as Cinder’s first pair of Slippers. She uses them to “dance” with her Prince during their training sessions and she is given one as a memory of their last meeting:

Moreover, she is promised the other once she is ready to become a true Huntress (aka a Princess):

Rhodes: Just a few more years and you won’t need your guardian’s permission. You’ll be free.

Finally, as all weapons, the Twins Swords are metaphors for Cinder’s true self:

Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so cool.

To be more specific, they are intertwined with Cinder’s wish for freedom in 2 complementary ways:

They symbolize power, which Cinder wants to use to free herself (active)

They are gifts from a loved one, who can free Cinder (passive)

Cinder is both a violent victim, who wants to punish her tormentors and a victimized child, who wants to be given care and gifts. She wants not to be hurt and to matter for someone. She is angry and hungry. This is her duality, which is conveyed by the Swords. She manages to walk on a fine line between these 2 sides of herself until Rhodes betrays her. By this point, she has her dream of love and care broken and is left with only a longing for power.

However, she can’t free herself with that. Cinder needs both to affirm who she is through her own inner strength (active) and to be helped by someone in doing so (passive). How can she succeed, though? To discover it, let’s see how her Cinderella story is repeating itself in the present and if there is any hope for the cycle to be broken.

THE EVIL GODMOTHER’S SLIPPERS

Salem is the Evil Godmother, who combines the Evil Stepmother and the Fairy Godmother. She is basically a mix between Madame and Rhodes, in terms of both Cinder’s desires and of Cinder’s abuse.

It is clear Cinder envies both her “parents”. On the one hand she wants Madame’s power and status. On the other hand she wants Rhodes’s freedom. These ideas manifest in Cinder’s persona and demeanor. She dresses like the Madame, but fights like Rhodes. She wants to be at the very top of the system, like Madame in her eyes is. However, she also desires to be an outsider, like she believes Rhodes to be:

Cinder: Like you? You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want.

This is why she exhibits conflicting behaviors. She presents herself as a force of chaos, who refuses society’s hierarchies and rules:

Cinder: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you'll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier. And I refuse to starve.

However, she deep down keeps applying classism to herself and others:

Watts: You think you're entitled to everything just because you've suffered, but suffering isn't enough! You can't just be strong, you have to be smart! You can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been, is a bloody migrane!

She wants to destroy society, but also for others to see she is at the very top of it. This is why Salem, who is somehow outside the system (she is literally above the cycle of life and death) and yet controls it becomes the mentor Cinder wants to emulate.

At the same time, Salem is Cinder’s bad parents in one and traps Cinder in abuse, just like Madame and Rhodes did.

In her childhood, Madame is Cinder’s abuser that forces her to obey through pain and fear. Rhodes brings instead dreams and wishes into Cinder’s life. He promises a better future in exchange of her being a good girl, who handles her abuse “correctly”:

Rhodes: But hurting them isn’t going to make your life any better. You can run, but you’re going to be running for the rest of your life. Or you could find another way to handle it.

Madame embodies fear and Rhodes embodies wishes. Together they are why Cinder is unable to leave the Glass Unicorn. Salem obtains the same result, but manages on her own.

She controls Cinder through fear and violence:

And manipulates her through promises and desires:

She uses both weapons according to how she needs Cinder to feel and to behave. In this way, she balances being Cinder’s abuser (Madame) and her mentor (Rhodes).

However, the desire Salem promises to fulfill is just a pale imitation of Rhodes’s one. Rhodes represents freedom and love, while Salem embodies power. This is because Cinder has given up on the formers and has shifted her focus towards the latter:

Cinder: I want to be strong. I want to be feared. I want to be powerful.

Salem promises to turn Cinder into a copy of herself and delivers through costumized slippers:

It is not by chance Cinder’s emblem appears on her back the moment she takes Amber’s powers. It symbolizes that the Maiden powers are the Slippers Salem is using to make Cinder dance for her. This is also why, the moment she gets the powers, Cinder burns Midnight and starts making her own weapons out of magic and glass:

It is as if she is trying to overcome Rhodes by making a statement. She does not need his teachings and weapons anymore because she can now make magical slippers out of thin air. She is a Cinderella that needs no Fairy Godmother nor Prince. Still, Cinder’s Maiden powers are not really hers, but rather Salem’s and they come with the side effect of slowly turning Cinder into a Grimm, just like those she used to clean:

Cinder’s hunger for power is only trapping her into abuse and servitude. She does not realize that her current slippers are rooted in Destruction and leading her towards monstrosity, rather than humanity. Still, if there is Darkness, there is also Light and Salem’s Grimm Slippers are juxtaposed to the Prince’s Silver Slippers:

Maria: The Creatures of Grimm were made by the God of Darkness, but your light comes from his brother.

THE PRINCE’S SLIPPERS

Ruby and Cinder’s connection is set up in volume 2, when Cinder goes to the dance under the condition she must be back before midnight:

Emerald: It appears all the dancers have partners.

Cinder: How long do I have?

Mercury: You should probably be home by midnight, to be safe.

Her magical evening has her dancing with a young charming Little Red Riding Hood:

And losing her glass slipper (her weapons and clothes), so that she can disappear into the crowd and leave her pursuers with questions and mystery.

Ruby meeting Cinder the night of the dance and after Ozpin draws a parallel between dancing and fighting leaves no doubt: Ruby is the Prince, who will see Cinder for who she is and save her. To fulfill this role, Ruby is equipped with her very own pair of slippers:

Ozpin: Ruby Rose... You... have silver eyes.

In The Wizard of Oz Dorothy’s slippers are silver, just like Ruby’s eyes, which RWBY’s Wizard himself conveniently points out for the viewers to notice.

However, the Prince’s first attempt to use her Slippers on Cinderella does not really work out. It becomes instead a traumatic moment for both girls. Ruby activates her eyes out of shock and grief, freezes a giant Wyvern and strips Cinder of her new-found powers kickstarting her quest for revenge. Cinder is defeated when she thinks to be invincible and this leaves a huge psychological scar, which she tries to hide with arrogance, anger and hate. At the root of this failure, there is this:

Ruby: You said the light only reacts to Grimm, but... I used it during our battle at Haven. It reacted to Cinder.

Maria: “Maybe there was something there you just weren’t seeing”

Right now, Ruby is unable to properly see Cinder because Cinder is doing her damn best to hide her victimhood and humanity. She presents herself as a monster to hide her vulnerability and Ruby’s challenge will be to see the person behind the grimm. The Child eaten by the Big Bad Wolf, as @misstrashchan explains in this great meta. Only in this way Cinder can escape midnight and the time that stopped with Rhodes’s death can start running once again.

This is also why the setting of their first dance will probably be the stage of their final one:

Beacon Tower is a giant clock and its fall symbolizes both the Beacon of Hope losing its Light and the Time being frozen, just like the Grimm at its top:

Taiyang: Things at Vale are under control, but the school... It's... it's not that simple. That thing, whatever it is, doesn't seem to be dead. Don't get me wrong, you did a number on it. But it's not disappearing. It's... kind of... frozen. I know that doesn't sound too bad, but it keeps attracting more Grimm to the school.

The Wyvern is symbolic of all the characters’ trauma. It is a monster which is now where once the light was, like an untreated festering wound. It is Ruby’s trauma, that she buries deep within herself, so that it is inoffensive, but also impossible to solve. It is Cinder’s who is pushed into the shadows of society, until she becomes strong and dangerous enough to resurface and bring destruction. Just like the giant Grimm. So, for the 2 characters to solve their respective issues, it makes sense that they would meet again where their relationship began. This time, though, they can do things properly: the Hunter saves the Child and Cinderella is freed.

Thematically, both characters will be asked to choose between Creation and Destruction. Will Ruby choose to save or to kill with her eyes? Will she see Cinder as the Grimm that she has become or as the child she once was? And will Cinder choose Salem (a mother figure, the past) or Ruby (a child, the future)? Will it be power or choice that grants her freedom? And what will Cinder do once unchained? Who will she be when Midnight comes?

To answer these questions, it is necessary to firstly understand who Cinder is right now. Luckily, the last pair of Slippers makes it clear.

CINDERELLA’S SLIPPERS

Emerald and Mercury are taken in by Cinder in scenes that mirror respectively her first and last meeting with Rhodes. This conveys 2 things:

Emerald and Mercury are weapons she picks up, just like she takes the Twin Swords from Rhodes (by stealing > Emerald) and Madame (by killing > Mercury) in the 2 above mentioned scenes

Emerald and Mercury are Cinder’s childhood selves she is unconsciously trying to rescue

This duality is specifically why her bond with Emerald and Mercury is so nuanced. It is familial on some level, but Cinder’s experience with family is abusive, so she weaponizes and objectifies the kids.

In short, she turns who could have been a real family into a pair of weapons to use against her enemies. Her fight with Amber makes it clear:

Cinder is able to win against the Maiden specifically because she uses Emerald and Mercury as tools and smoke screens. She sends them after Amber, so that they can distract her with their abilities (Emerald’s semblance that confuses Amber and Mercury’s legs that let him withstand her elemental attacks). She joins the fight later on to deal damage, but is quick to fake her defeat, so that Amber’s focus stays on the kids. Finally, she finishes Amber off when her guard is down. In short, Cinder is symbolically using Emerald and Mercury as the Twin Swords, all to get a better pair of Slippers:

This frame’s very telling. The focus on Cinder’s feet hints to the Slippers, just like the similar frame in Midnight. However, here there are all 3 pairs of Slippers:

1) Midnight - Cinder’s past, the Twin Swords and Rhodes, whom she is desperately trying to leave behind

2) Amber - Who Cinder superficially wants to be, someone powerful, who has ironically just lost a fight against Cinder’s childhood selves

3) Emerald - Who deep down Cinder is. A crying child hungry for love:

And a thief/assassin:

It is really no surprise that Amber is defeated specifically because she fails to realize that the crying child she offered an apple to and the girl attacking her are actually one and the same:

It is just like Rhodes fails to reconcile Cinder’s 2 sides and dies because of it. It is just like Cinder loses herself by repressing the hurting inner child behind the mask of a powerful Maiden.

In short, the Maiden powers are who Cinder wants to be, while Emerald and Mercury are who she needs to accept that she is. They are also the only Slippers that are not given to her, but that she chooses freely, which should be indicative of their importance for her arc.

Finally, Emerald and Mercury are the conclusion of a cycle of abuse that starts with Madame and Rhodes, goes on with Salem and Cinder and reaches the kids:

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one

Overrun By the hate and the beatings defiled by a father

(I mean... if you read these lyrics together you literally get Cinder’s backstory)

Emerald was not loved, while Mercury was hated. Neglect and abuse. An indifferent society and a cruel family. Together they explore 2 sides of Cinder’s trauma and together they make the One (Cinder). Just like the Twin Swords turn into Midnight and the 2 Slippers of Cinder’s emblem draw an empy heart.

However, Cinder has failed to use her most important pairs of Slippers wisely, so far. Instead of healing through the kids, she is failing them, just like she was failed:

1) Her first meeting with Emerald parallels her first meeting with Rhodes and Madame. Superficially she acts as Rhodes by offering food and becoming Emerald’s idol. However, she is deep down acting like the Madame and trapping Emerald in a cycle of abuse:

Cinder: Don’t think... obey.

2) Her first meeting with Mercury parallels her last meeting with the Madame and Rhodes. Once again, she seems to be acting in the opposite way of her failure of a parent. Rhodes condemns Cinder, while Cinder praises Mercury. However, she does not aknowledge Mercury’s victimhood. She simply pushes Mercury on the path of violence for her own convenience, just like she was driven on that same path by Rhodes:

Cinder: Mercury... Tell me, are you anything like your father?

So, Cinder abuses the neglected child and neglects the abused one in what is just a tragic repetition of her life. Switching between neglect (at its best) and abuse (at its worse). What’s interesting on this dynamic on a writing level is that Cinder does not really treat Emerald and Mercury all that differently. However, the relationships she has with them appear as distinct. This is because Emerald and Mercury themselves are different people, with different experiences and reactions to abuse. The result is that they give Cinder back different fragments of her past self, just like 2 misshaped pieces of glass in a very fascinating mirror game.

The result of Cinder’s mistreatement of Emerald and Mercury is that they both leave her in the episode Midnight (so literally she loses them at midnight :P):

And once again their current situations mirror the Twin Swords in Cinder’s flashback:

Emerald is found by the Prince and her friends. She is saved and accepted because people are able to empathize with her, just like Rhodes empathizes with thief Cinder.

Mercury is instead stolen by the Evil Godmother and taken away from Cinder. It is a way to prey on Cinder’s frail sense of identity and to exercise power over her. He is the killer Cinder, whom Rhodes likes to ignore and who gets stuck in abuse.

So, Emerald is the Slipper she loses at midnight and is found by people who can save Cinder. Mercury instead is the Slipper taken away by the Stepmother as a punishment.

However, only together the Slippers make Cinder, as they are 2 different sides of her personality. Both kids need to be saved and empathized with, so that Cinder herself can be understood and helped. After all, the Slippers are meant to bring the Prince to Cinderella and this is probably what Emerald and Mercury will do. As for how this will happen, different outcomes are possible. As for now, I think the most interesting one is:

Emerald, as the Emerald Tablet, brings Knowledge to Cinder by confronting her. She should be the one to call Cinder out and show her who she truly is. This would also fit with her arc. Emerald is a survivor victim whose main flaw is her idealization of Cinder. So, for her to truly see the kind of person Cinder is and to challenge Cinder to see herself would fit.

Mercury, as the Messanger God, should connect the stone (RWBY) with the alchemist (Cinder). Because of this, it would be interesting if he were the one to empathize the most with Cinder’s most wounded part (he embodies it, after all) and to help others see it.

If this happens, it would also work as a chain. Emerald is helped and helps Mercury, who, in turns, makes Cinder more understandable to others. In general, though, Emerald and Mercury might share their roles of messangers of truth and mediators. What’s sure is that they will have a conflict with Cinder (like all abuse victims with their abusers in RWBY), but also inspire her to be better (like the other kids-mentor couples).

With their help, Ruby and the others will see Cinder and Cinder will see herself. Once this happens, the Prince will save Cinderella and Cinderella... what will she do?

MIDNIGHT - HEROES AND MONSTERS

A near unstoppable force, Cinder is now something more than human... And simultaneously... something less. Midnight struck one last time that night, Never to be seen again. The clock forever stopped in the waltz with Fire, Turned to ashes in Scorching Caress. "Who are you again?"

Cinderella ends with the protagonist being saved and becoming a princess. So, Cinder’s story will probably end with her becoming a princess too. This means she’ll finally become a true Maiden, which is exactly what she has been trying to do up until now. The problem is that so far Cinder has been going at it wrong. She is trying to be a Maiden (Salem’s Slippers) to run away from who she truly is (Emercury, her own Slippers). However, this does not work because you can never be your ideal self if you do not face who you really are.

This is precisely the point of Jaune and Pyrrha’s foiling when it comes to heroism:

On the one hand Jaune wants to become a hero to run away from who he is:

Jaune: Cause this is always what I’ve wanted to be! My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough.

This is why he symbolically enters Beacon through cheating. He acts as someone he is not.

On the other hand Pyrrha is a hero simply because that is the person she wants and chooses to be:

Red-Haired Woman: I don’t think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn’t a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

The choice between being a hero and being herself is never really a choice because being a Huntress is a part of who Pyrrha is. So, her final sacrifice is not really a negation of the self, but a result of who she deep down is.

Cinder is currently acting like Beacon Jaune, but instead of hiding her pain and insecurities by becoming a hero, she has chosen to be a monster. However, the truth is that she is just a human and humans have both Destruction and Creation within them:

Pyrrha: It’s not about why; it’s about knowing. Understanding dark and light helps us manifest our Aura. Everyone has some of both.

Once Cinder rediscovers her own humanity thanks to Ruby saving her and is reminded who she is by Emerald and Mercury, she will finally choose who she wants to be. This choice is clearly going to be key for the whole series. Basically, the Maiden of Choice will choose what the story theme is:

Salem: But even the most brilliant lights eventually flicker and die. And when they are gone... darkness will return. So you may prepare your guardians, build your monuments to a so-called "free world", but take heed... there will be no victory in strength.

Ozpin: But perhaps victory is in the simpler things that you've long forgotten. Things that require a smaller, more honest soul.

Is victory truly in a simple soul (aka humanity)? Or will humans choose darkness over light? Can a monster really turn into a hero? Do humans have this strength? The one to answer this question will probably be Cinder. And by doing so, she will also fulfill her destiny:

Pyrrha: When I think of destiny, I don't think of a predetermined fate you can't escape. But rather... some sort of final goal, something you work towards your entire life.

Salem: You’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want and here I am holding you back instead of lifting you up.

Cinder’s final goal is freedom, just like Pyrrha’s heroism and Penny’s friendship. Just like the other 2 maidens, she will get it, against all odds. However, it won’t be the freedom from everything that she has dreamt of, but rather the freedom of doing something only she can:

There's a moment that changes a life when We do something that no one else can And the path that we've taken will lead us One final stand

There's a moment we make a decision Not to cower and crash to the ground The moment we face our worst demons Our courage found

(..)

I may fall But not like this – it won't be by your hand I may fall Not this place, not today I may fall Bring it all – it's not enough to take me down I may fall

Choice will be Cinder’s Freedom.

#rwby #cinder fall #ruby rose #emerald sustrai #mercury black #salem #rwby rhodes #rwby salem #rwby meta #my meta #once upon an allusion

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demonxlove · 3 years

Text

【character analysis ― douma】

✎ just wanna start this by saying this is sort of both an analysis but also my own personal portrayal on douma’s character based on what we see from canon, so it definitely has a lot of my own opinions on it. & and it also sort of shows how i plan to write him if/when i get requests for him. you don’t have to agree with any of my thoughts but ya know i wanted to share them since douma is my fave character!

✘ warnings before you read: cults, mental illnesses, mentions of death and trauma, especially childhood trauma (that partially stems from neglect) - also not so much a warning but this is very long and obviously contains manga spoilers.

⇢ let’s be completely honest here, douma is an extremely complex character. and while we know a lot about him, at the same time, it’s almost like we know barely anything. we don’t really know an extreme amount of what goes through his head, but it’s kind of just assumed he’s a completely emotionless character, usually stated to be a psychopath because of this.

⇢ i really, really urge anyone labeling a character with a mental illness to do research on it before even considering to use the term, i should mention. and it’s very important to mention mental illnesses are very different to how they effect each person. but from what i understand, both psychopaths and sociopaths (just in case that term gets thrown around too) feel emotions, just very differently to how someone not suffering from the mental illness does. now since i don’t have either illness i’m not gonna say douma is either one, as i personally don’t feel comfortable diagnosing characters with mental illnesses i don’t have or haven’t very clearly been stated they have in canon, but it’s very important to have a very clear understanding of those illnesses if you’re gonna say douma is one.

⇢ but regardless of how you see douma mental illness wise, i personally think he does have emotions, they’re just obviously not as clear as others due to his upbringing. and we do see he has emotions as a kid, shown very clearly by him crying due to everything these grown adults were piling on to him.

⇢ he’s very obviously upset. and why wouldn’t he be? to hear such things from adults day in and day out as a child, being expected to be the one to solve their problems? it’s stressful. it eventually leads up to what we see of his parents death. he’s not upset. he doesn’t really feel any sadness for the two. but that can be explained.

⇢ his parents never acted as parents to him. from the moment of his birth douma was just an object for them to create this cult. i don’t really know what they wanted from it: money? fame? who knows. but it doesn’t really matter. douma was just something for them to use in order to gain what they wanted. even if they did genuinely believe he was a special child, their actions sure didn’t show that. and while douma said that he felt sad they believed he was special, douma was a child. his parents had no reason to show their genuine intentions to him, so we’ll never really know what they thought. but as i said, they didn’t seem to care much how messed up he became as long their cult was in place. douma never had a chance to live a normal childhood, he was placed on a high pedestal from birth and never got to be child. never got to really understand things he should understand. he couldn’t understand actual genuine love from his parents or if he actually loved him. sure, he could feel things such as happiness and love and all of that, but if he did feel it, how could you ever expect him to know? he was in such a constant horrible state, how would he ever know how positive emotions even felt?

⇢ to go back to his parents deaths for a second, even if he didn’t feel anything, it didn’t mean it didn’t cause him any suffering. he was a child, that sort of thing you don’t come out from without trauma. especially since he saw it happened with own eyes. and that probably significantly worsened his already poor mental state. but that also means he was raised from that moment by the cult, and his chance of every coming out okay was straight up zero. let’s be real, the only reason douma has any sort of hold over the cult is because he is their object of worship. they didn’t treat him like a child or even a human being. he was nothing more than someone for them to worship and believe in that they would be blessed. of course, it’s a cult, so most of these people are victims much like douma himself, but the fact there had to be people at the top that were raising him and used him to accomplish their own goals. to use his influence as they saw fit.

⇢ and it was never ending cycle, he never got out of it. all he did was learn to keep the cycle going since he couldn’t simply just leave. and maybe there were moments where he thought himself to be happy due to having so many people worship him, but it wasn’t true happiness.

⇢ maybe the first bit of happiness he got was from being a demon and getting to interact with other demons? unclear since it’s not like we really saw it. but it was different. it was a small crack in the cycle. but those demons all ended up hating him due to his attitude, that despite no one liking he still kept up. why? why didn’t he just act in a way to make others like him?

⇢ maybe it’s a reach, but to me personally, it’s a mixture of how he desired to be - carefree without any troubles - mixed with how he imagined a child to act. like i said, he had basically no childhood, and it’s not uncommon for those who never get to experience a proper childhood to act more childlike later on to my understanding. he even uses terms like “bully” to describe people much like a child would.

⇢ however, this brings me to what i truly believe was one of the few happy times in douma’s life: kotoha.

⇢ i don’t think he realized it himself, because why would he? but he cared for a lot more than one would believe capable for him. i’m not sure if i would call it romantic or purely platonic, but kotoha was genuinely important to him. i mean, what purpose would he ever have to say he didn’t plan to hurt her? he wanted to keep that small bit of happiness in his life, maybe in somewhere deep in his heart he even believed they could be their own happy little family to break this never ending tragic cycle he went through.

⇢ but he lost that happiness. she grew scared of him and basically hated him in his eyes upon finding out the truth. and the cycle of tragedy continued once again.

⇢ and to really come to my last point: we’ve seen douma mad.

⇢ and i suppose some could write this scene off as him continuing to be emotionless, but it doesn’t explain the way it’s drawn. the shading on his face that is usually used to show anger. or why he would ever really care about what kanao said in the first place if it was actually true and it didn’t hurt him in some way. the reality is douma does many things that can’t be explained for someone who supposedly has no emotions. and a lot of these details about his character are more subtle, so maybe they mean nothing at all at the end of the day, but in my personal opinion this is how i interpret them.

✎ but that’s really how i see douma, another demon with an extremely tragic story, but one that doesn’t come to light just how tragic until you think more on it. and that is how i do plan to portray him when writing for him personally! maybe i’ll do this more for other characters at some point, but he was the one i wanted to talk about the most since i just have so many thoughts on douma.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #douma #kny #kny douma #doma #kny doma #demon slayer douma #demon slayer doma #character analysis #demon slayer spoilers #kny spoilers

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elfy-elf-imagines · 4 years

Text

Begin Again | Thranduil

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

Genre: Fluffy new beginnings

Warnings: ---

Words: ~2k

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page 💕 Also, I’m big dummy and lost the original request, so I couldn’t remember what all you wanted in this one-shot. So requester, whoever you are, I’m so sorry! And if you’d like another part to expand on your full request, please let me know!

It’s strange.

You’re whole life, you’ve always heard about how horrible it is for an elf to lose the one they love. It’s been described as feeling as though you’ve been ripped into two pieces, forced to live on without your second half. You’ve heard it feels like tiny needles stabbing into your heart until you can’t feel anything but a stifling anguish that seeps into your bones, poisoning your body from within until you eventually fade away.

Yet you feel none of that. You feel nothing at all, like a soul wandering aimlessly for the rest of eternity, cursed with never finding a purpose or reason to stick around. But being forced to endure, none-the-less. You can sail, as an elf that’s your right, and perhaps you would find peace, wrapped in the warm embrace of Valinor as you forget all your fears and pain.

But you don’t want to be happy, because being happy means you forget, and you're not ready to forget your beloved yet.

The forest floor beneath you is damp from the rain that blessed Eryn Galen a few days ago. The mud sinks in between your toes as you nearly melt into the soft ground. The forest around you is lush and green, wrapping you in its warm embrace that allows for a moment of respite from your thoughts.

The forest is empty, only the gentle sway of the trees and emerald leaves falling to the ground your company. You stare up at the sky that peaks through the canopy of leaves, the stars are out tonight and they burn brighter than you’ve ever seen them. And you wished to climb to the tops of the trees if only to feel the soft glow of moonlight on your skin.

But that would be a foolish thing to do, a whimsy only a child would fulfill. So you simply stand in the clearing, selfishly hoarding the only spot you’ve discovered that the sky is visible.

You thought yourself alone, something you covet more often than not.

And yet.

“Forgive me, I did not realize this spot was currently occupied,” a baritone voice sounds behind you.

Your heart pounds against your chest, the owner of the voice easily recognizable through your deep daydreams. Whirling around quicker than you’ve ever moved, you see King Thranduil standing at the edge of the clearing. He’s lacking the usual extravagant attire he usually dons, instead opting for a slightly more casual outfit. But he still wears clothes that could’ve been woven from silver and gold, the cloth glittering in the dim light.

“My king,” you say, immediately bowing your head down in respect, thoroughly inspecting your dirtied feet. “I will take my leave.”

“There is no need, it was I who interrupted you,” he moves further into the clearing and closer to you. His movements are smooth like a cat, his icy blue eyes lazily focusing on you.

“Yet you are the king,” you reply, voice hardly above a whisper.

King Thranduil is an intimidating figure, anyone within five feet of him would agree. Not in the way that lady Galadriel of Lothlorien is - her power so great you can’t help but feel suffocated, yet it is her kind smile that soothes even the most skittish. Lord Elrond carries himself with a warm presence, like a father he is kind and caring, but stern as well.

No, King Thranduil carries a sense of tragedy with him that can’t be masked by his cold eyes or looming figure. He is the shining example of how horrible things could get for an elf when their other half passes. So far gone is he, they whisper, that not even his son can pull him from his melancholy.

“Then as king, I order you to stay. It would be nice to have some company,” he responds, leaving no room for argument. So you nod your head in agreeance, but keep your head lowered, tracing every speck of mud covering your toes.

“Would you not even look at your monarch?” he asks, but his voice isn’t laced with anger or malice and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think there’s a hint of humor in it.

“I apologize, My King,” you say, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes meet his and for a second, you jolt, a sensation filling your body, something you haven’t felt in years.

“I have never seen you before. How have I never seen you?” he questions, thick brows furrowing in frustration and confusion, but his eyes remain locked on you, as do yours.

“Y/N, My King. I just arrived here a few moons ago from the Lorien,” you respond. He says nothing for a few moments, keeping his intense gaze locked on you. And for a brief second, you swear that he could read each and every thought that passes your brain, that’s he seen every memory you have.

“Well then, allow me to formally welcome you to Eryn Galen, Lady Y/N. Tell me how have you found my kingdom, thus far?” he asks, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture as he welcomes you.

“It is very beautiful, My King. The trees are so tall and the leaves so green,” you say, glancing up towards the sky, enraptured by the emerald canopy above you.

“Do they not have trees this tall in the Lorien? I was under the impression their forest was quite beautiful,” he replies, sharp eyes locked on you.

“They do but not quite like here. Do not misunderstand me, the Lorien possesses great beauty, the mallorn tree is magnificent to look upon, but Eryn Galen offers a different beauty. I find myself in great need of change these days, it would seem.”

“Perhaps one day you could humor me and tell me of what would need to warrant such a drastic change?” You turn to look at him, meeting his steely gaze, and he raises a single eyebrow at you. However before you can open your mouth to speak, he turns and leaves. Leaving you behind in the small clearing, and for a moment, your heart starts fluttering in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

And you turn back around, watching the leaves dance through the sky, free from the confining grasp of the branches. A small smile rests on your face, losing yourself in daydreams you never thought you’d see again.

“Lady Y/N, how lovely of you to join me,” King Thranduil's voice is crisp and clear, perfectly projecting across the large room. He sits languidly at a chair, carved from wood with delicate engraving dancing on the tops of them. A glass of wine in one hand and the other slung over the top of his chair, he is the picture of ease.

“It is my pleasure to join you, My King,” you reply, lowering your gaze to the floor once he meets yours. With slow and tentative steps, you move towards the open space to his right, where a glass of wine already poured. Your heart is racing, sweat building up in the palms of your hands as you open and close them. What feels like a lifetime later, you reach the chair, a guard so still he could’ve been a statue, pulling it out for you as you sit in it.

“Thank you,” you quietly say as the guard pushes your chair forward.

“Please, leave us” Thranduil’s voice is commanding and firm, not allowing any room for questions he does not wish to answer. Silently and quickly, every guard in the room filters out. And as their light footsteps disappear, you and Thranduil are left in the room...alone.

A small burst of courage surges through you, your gaze leaving the fine china it was tracing over and over again to meet his gaze. His eyes are just as icy blue as you remember, but somehow they seem softer than they had been in the forest. Or perhaps the light is playing tricks on you.

Everyone knows that elves only truly love once.

Your mouth is dry, nerves suddenly overtaking you. What are you supposed to say; to do? You’ve never spent much time in the presence of royalty, often preferring to stay in the shadows, content with a simple life. Yet fate seems to have other plans for you. Or is this just simply Thranduil, and the gods have nothing to do with his intentions - whatever they may be?

“Do not be so nervous. Please, drink. The food will be ready momentarily,” Thranduil says, motioning towards you with a wine goblet in hand. You nod, still silent as ever.

With a shaky, damp hand, you reach towards your wine goblet, grasping the cold metal in your warm hands. Taking a deep breath, you pick it up, bringing it towards your lips. The wine is smooth as it pours down your throat, cool and soothing to the dessert inside your mouth. It’s slightly sweet, not at all holding the bitter aftertaste the wine of Man possesses.

You set the glass down, turning your attention to Thranduil. He watches you with sharp eyes, an expectant look on his face.

“It is very good, Your Grace,” you mutter, and in exchange for speaking so quietly, you manage to keep your voice steady.

“Excellent.”

You smile, and it’s all nerves and anxiety, closely resembling a grimace rather than a beaming grin. Your heart is fierce against your chest, and you fear in that moment he will hear it. But if he does, he doesn’t comment on it.

“If I may be so bold, Your Grace, might I enquire as to why you’ve called me here?” Your voice is louder this time, but there’s a slight waver towards the end, betraying everything you feel.

He’s silent for a moment as if he’s gathering his thoughts, figuring out a way to deliver whatever is running in his mind. You nearly crack, the apology for overstepping your boundaries on the tip of your tongue when he finally speaks.

"Am I not allowed to simply get to know my subjects?" Thranduil asks, a sly smirk resting on his lips. He brings the goblet of wine to his lips, slowly sipping it. He lowers it slightly so that it rests just below his chin.

"Of course, but I suppose I'm just curious as to why you've invited me to a private meal with you. Am I correct to assume you don't do this with every one of your subjects?" you say, your eyes wide like a doe, with hands in your lap. Your fingers intertwine with each other, a way to distract you from the anxiety in you.

Thranduil continues to watch you, an unreadable expression in his ocean eyes. He inhales deeply, leaning farther back into his chair. After a few moments of silence, he opens his mouth.

“I find myself wanting to get to know you better. I find you intriguing.” Your mind turns blank, all sense and reason leaving it. For a moment you don’t believe you’ve heard him correctly, not grasping that a king would be so curious about you.

“I do not understand, what about me is so interesting? We’ve only met once, hardly having a full conversation,” you say. Your voice is firmer than before, drowning with disbelief.

“Then it would seem you’ve made an impression.”

You open your mouth, and then promptly close it, not sure how to proceed. Your heart is fluttering, though due to anxiety. Not this is something… different, a type of nervousness, but not due to fear. A light feeling that also leaves you light with giddiness and not weighed down by dread.

But it can’t be.

Elves only love once. Yet the mantra you’ve repeated over and over again seems to be losing its weight, the words no longer feeling as true as before.

“Would it be alright, if I were to get to know you better, My Lady?” he asks, his voice softer than before, his fair face still neutral, yet less austere than it had been the first time you met.

Elves only love once.

And yet.

“I would like that very much, Your Grace.” Your smile widens, less unsure than before, your eyes shining like starlight. The prospect of something new is exciting yet also terrifying at the same time. You should run and hide, fiercely guarding your already fragile heart like a dragon watches over its treasure hoard.

Elves only love once. And yet.

You push aside those fears, in favor of welcoming a chance at a new beginning.

And yet.

o0o0o

Tags:

#thranduil imagine #the hobbit imagine #thranduil #the hobbit #lord of the rings #thranduil x reader #the hobbit one shot #mirkwood elves #mirkwood imagine

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

A Raw Heart - *Sensitive! READ THE WARNINGS!*

Summary: You tell Henry about the worst tragedy in your life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1,863

Rating: Mature - Serious Angst, Tragedy, Anguish, Grief, Loss, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Possible triggers

Inspiration: I’ve thought about this story for a long time, and it’s a bit personal.

Author’s Note: Read the Warnings!

You and Henry had been seeing each other for several months, having met at the auditions for Night Hunter. It was the first time Henry had been in your place, over for a nice night in, you left him in your living room long enough to get you both some wine. While you did that, Henry looked around, peeking at stuff, but not invading your privacy, checking out the books you had on your shelves and the photos you had on display around.

He noticed a small Russian doll-like thing on one of your shelves and picked it up, admiring it.

“Henry.” You called, standing on the other side of the room from him, stiff as a board. “Put it down.” You almost hissed at him. “Don't touch it.” You told him, trembling and your voice unsteady. “Please.” You added, your throat tight and tears threatening.

“I'm sorry.” Henry squeaked, putting it back where it was on the shelf. “I was just admiring it. It's really beautiful.” He babbled, nervously. “Where did you get it?” He asked, looking over at you and was caught off guard by the tears dripping down your face.

“It's my son.” You mumbled, struggling to gulp down your tears and emotions.

Henry blinked and his whole body jerked, shocked by your words. “What?” He pushed out, his own throat tight.

“Oh god.” You mewled, realizing what you had said. “Please, leave.” You whimpered, then rushed down the hall to your room, slamming the door behind you and barreling into your bathroom, to drop to your knees in front of the toilet bowl, wrenching violently into it.

Henry carefully opened your bedroom door, hearing your dry heaves, and followed the sound of it. “Hey.” He whispered, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back, his face showing his deep concern for you.

“I as-asked you t-to leave.” You wheezed, panting into the bowl, your heavy tears dripping into it.

“I know you did.” Henry sighed, still rubbing your back in a reassuring way. “But, I can't just leave you like this.” He said, getting up and finding a wash cloth hanging on the towel rack and ran it under the sink faucet. “I never meant to upset you.” He whispered, gently wiping the cool cloth over your temples, forehead and cheeks, even pressing it to the back of your neck for a moment.

“You didn't know.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Only a few people know what that is.”

Henry gulped, a pit in his stomach and bit his lip for a moment. “You said...” He took a deep breath. “You said, it was your son.” He said, chewing his bottom lip to bits.

“I did.” You whimpered, sitting down and pressing your back to the side of the cold tub. “When I was twenty, I was dating a guy, but we broke it off. Two months later, I found out I was pregnant with his baby. I told him and he wanted nothing to do with me, or the baby. Shocker of the century.” You chuckled, but whined at how sore your throat was.

“What happened?” Henry frowned, resting back against the vanity, and drawing his knees up.

“Well, I had the usual three options.” You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Have the baby and give it up for adopting, keep him or the other option.” You said, glancing at him for a moment, to get the point across. “I wasn't going to the latter thing, wasn't something I could live with. So, over the next eight and a half months, I tossed back and forth between adoption or keeping him. I thought, just before labor happened, that I was going to put him up for adoption. I was twenty, still living at home and had a shit job. What life could I give him, a struggling mother and an absent father.”

You paused for a moment, lost in a memory.

“But, when I finally gave birth to him, and I saw him in all his bloody, messy and screaming glory, I was enamored by him. He was beautiful and perfect, but importantly, he was mine. My son. I made him.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “With a little help, I suppose. But, I made him, with my body, my blood and flesh, inside me for months. It was like, I already knew him and he already knew me.”

“Pals for the ages.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, tears dripping down your cheeks, as you recalled his little face, the warmth and weight of his teeny body in your arms, his smooth and downy skin against your chest. Hearing him coo at you, just before he latched onto your breast and fed, or how he squirmed as you bathed him. You would stay awake for hours, not caring how absolutely wrecked and exhausted you were from the day, to watch him sleep in the little cradle that attached you to the side of your bed. Remembering the first time he laughed, you blew a raspberry on his tummy as you changed his pamper and he became hysterical, filling your ears with that absolutely magical baby laugh, that no matter how horrible your day was going and how shitty you felt, you couldn't help but laugh along too; blowing more and more raspberries against his squirmy body and flailing arms and legs, his face bright with a face splitting grin.

“What happened?” Henry whispered, his voice weak and stomach clenching.

You choked suddenly as the horrible memory strangled you, like it had over the long years. “My boss made me work late one night, so I left him with my mother, she babysat him all the time, he was her first grand-baby and she was almost as wild about him as I was. I was a few hours into my shift, when my mom called, and I knew, instantly, something was wrong. She always called me before she put him to sleep, so I could talk to him and hear his little noises; and she had already done that.”

“Two hours before.”

“She had gone into check on him, and..” You froze, your breathing faltering and gripped the rug beneath you, tearing at it as your grief slammed into you. “He wasn't breathing and wouldn't respond. She called medical services, then called me, while they tried to save him.”

Henry's chin hit his chest, a tight bubble of grief in him. “I'm so sorry.” He whimpered, crushed for you, realizing what he had picked up was indeed your son, his urn. “I'm sorry.” He choked, moving over to you and hugging you against his body, letting you sob into his chest, soaking his shirt with your anguished tears, your heart splitting wails crushing him, like a factory of bricks.

“My boy.” You howled, clinging onto Henry, twisting your hands up in the back of his sweater. “My baby boy.”

“I know.” Henry choked and held you tight, tears dripping from his scruffy jaw and into your hair, rocking both of you. “I know, love. I know.”

“I miss him, Henry.” You sighed and sniffled, looking up at him. “I miss him, with every fiber of my soul and life.”

Henry smiled softly at you, brushing your hair out of your face. “I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do. But, he's still with you. He will always be with you, darling. In your heart and in your soul. Because you made him, with your body, your blood and your flesh, inside of you for months, and he's still in your body, blood and flesh, here and now, forever and always.” He told you, cupping your face in his shaking hands.

“Nothing and no one can ever take that, or him, from you. Even if he's not here with you, physically.”

You looked into Henry's baby blue, bloody shot and teary eyes, sucking your wobbling lip between your teeth, chin shaking as your body was wracked with a wave of new tears and emotions. No one had ever said something like that to you before. Everyone that knew about your son told you to move on, that the pain would pass and lessen, but it only grew worse over the years. Missing out on his first tooth coming in or losing one and sneaking money under his pillow for the tooth fairy, his first steps and word. His first day of school, his first crush on someone, watching him grow tall and do some many things you saw other kids doing. Your mother even suggested finding a guy and having another kid, but that thought horrified you, afraid that the same thing would happen all over again.

But, Henry's words had instilled something in your sore and cracked heart, like putting a plaster on it. He was right, your son might not be here physically anymore, but you had created him with your own body, nestled in your womb, his DNA was yours and it was still alive, so he was still alive, in that way.

“His name,” You said softly, letting go of your trembling lip. “was Julian.”

Henry smiled at you. “It's a beautiful name.” He replied, gently.

It was then, that it struck you, something you had only just realized as you shared a devastating, raw and such a personal moment that you have never shared with anyone else, or even talked about with the people that did, that you tried to avoid thinking about. You had freely given Henry the information about Julian, you had never told any of the guys you previously saw or dated, a few asked about the small, silver and blue urn, but you always changed the subject.

Why had you told Henry about him, so freely, letting down all the thick walls you had built around yourself over the years? You had known him for two months and been only four or five dates, but you felt safe with him; loved, understood and listened to.

Henry wrapped his arms around you and stood you both back up, guiding you back into the living room, sitting you down on the couch, then went into the kitchen, finding two glasses and two bottles of wine on the kitchen counter, obviously you had come into the living room as he picked up Julian's urn to ask which bottle he wanted. He just grabbed one, pulled the cork out of the neck and poured you both a glass, before bringing it out to you; sitting on the couch with you tucked into his warm and protective side. Neither of you said anything, sitting quietly on the couch, sipping your glasses of wine, in silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice still hoarse from all your crying. “I've been hanging onto that for so long.”

“Of course.” He whispered back, gently kissing your temple. “I'll always be here, if you need to talk it out, or cry it out.” He told you, giving you a tender expression, before hugging you snugly.

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #viking-raider fics #A Raw Heart #A Raw Heart *fic*#Hurt/Comfort #tragedy #Grief #Angst #Anguish #Loss #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill x You #Henry cavill x reader #Walter Marshall #Marshall #Nomis #Night Hunter

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding Part VI - Star Wars Time Travel AU

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V

Anakin watched Obi-Wan through the stalks for several minutes. He could see him kneeling at the base of the waterfall, occasionally glancing around, as if searching for someone. Just when he was about to break and interrupt him, Obi-Wan stood and walked over. They sat together on the low bench, surrounded by the carefully cultivated colored fungi.

“Obi-Wan...maybe we should talk about what’s going on with you. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.” Anakin offered hesitantly.

Obi-Wan tensed, hands clenching in his lap.

“No.”

“Master Windu and Bant both seemed to think this isn’t a drug thing. Please, let-”

“That wasn’t what I was saying no to.”

Obi-Wan stood and began threading a path through the mushrooms, careful not to step on any of the smaller ones. Anakin was forced to follow directly in his footsteps, not wanting to risk damaging something Obi-Wan clearly seemed to care about, but wishing he could look at his Master’s face.

“Did I ever tell you about Bruck Chun?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No. Who’s Bruck?” Anakin responded with deliberate patience.

“He was an old crechemate of mine, quite gifted, though he had a temper. There have been times you remind me of him. We were rivals.” They were approaching the end of the alcove, a large stone overhang throwing them in to shadow.

“Were?”

“He died. When we were twelve.”

When they reached the rock face, Obi-Wan started climbing straight up. Anakin followed. Several clicks above the floor, Obi-Wan squeezed his way into a narrow crack, invisible from the floor below. Anakin followed. They awkwardly shuffled along the passage until Obi-Wan suddenly dropped out of sight. Anakin followed.

They landed in a hidden alcove. It was half lit by sunlight filtering in from cracks above, and half lit by the glow of mushrooms and crystals tenaciously embedded in the rock face around.

“Oh.” Anakin said softly. “Is this where you go when you visit the fountains to meditate?”

“No, I hadn’t been here in years.” Obi-Wan answered wistfully. “I started getting too big, didn’t want to damage the passageway too much. I figured some other younglings would stumble upon it someday like I did. I’m sorry. I avoided this room for the first year or two of your padawanship. By the time I even thought to share it, you had already grown so big...”

He sat down, legs stretched out in front. Anakin sat next to him, mirroring his position.

“I’m glad you’re sharing it with me now.” Anakin smiled reassuringly, but Obi-Wan was staring ahead blankly.

The young knight swallowed nervously. “Did you...come here with Bruck?”

Obi-Wan let out a snort. “Gods, no! I hid here from him. Before we were rivals, he bullied me relentlessly.”

“And...this is the guy you said I remind you of?” Was he being insulted?

“At times. Math lessons, saber practice, none of that ever came easy to me. But you and him...you never even needed to study. And you do have a vicious streak, Anakin.”

Rather than try to argue in vain against the slight hurt, Anakin just asked, “How did he die?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “He fell.”

Anakin jerked in surprise, “Wait, you mean-”

“We were fighting at the top of the waterfall- it- he had nearly killed Bant. He was angry that we both had been chosen by Masters, and Xanatos used that to manipulate him into helping with an attack on the temple. Bruck was lashing out. He was a better swordsmen, but his anger made him unbalanced. I knocked him back. And he fell. I’ve forgotten a lot of details about him as a person, but I still remember his body at the bottom of the falls.”

"That’s...awful. I’m sorry.” Anakin said helplessly. He had known the bare basics of Xanatos’s fall, but clearly not the full story.

Obi-Wan sighed, leaning slightly to press their shoulders together. Anakin scootched over to try and provide a little extra silent comfort.

“I thought I had learned to live with my guilt over my part in what happened to him, but I suppose recent events have torn open old scars, so to speak.”

Anakin held his breath, Obi-Wan didn’t add anything else.

“Obi-Wan” he tried to nudge gently.

“Hmm?”

Anakin lost his patience, jumping up. “Master, please!” He half yelled, looming over his Master. A flash of fear crossed Obi-Wan’s expression as he looked up, which immediately halted the fit of rage.

He knelt down penitently, “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I shouldn’t have yelled, but please, let me help. I won’t get mad like that again, I swear. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“You’re not.” Obi-Wan whispered, expression blank. He shuddered all over, fists clenching tightly.

“You’re NOT here for me!” Obi-Wan shouted, suddenly offended. “How can you POSSIBLY claim to be there for anyone after what you-” Obi-Wan seemed to choke on the words. He let out a strangled cry and pulled his knees up to his chest. Tears welled, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Anakin stared wide-eyed, cold all over. “This...this is about something I did. I don’t understand. You... told me a few hours that I’m dear to you, what...what could I have done since then to make you...I don’t understand.”

“You know what you did.” Obi-Wan let out. “And the fact that learning about it didn’t stop me from caring about you doesn’t help, it just makes the heartbreak a thousand times more painful.”

Anakin racked his brain wildly. This couldn’t be about his marriage with Padme, right? He told him this morning that he didn’t mind the sneaking off. There was only one screw-up big enough that could possibly warrant this severe a reaction, and only two people alive knew about that, both sworn to secrecy.

“The younglings,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You - you didn’t even spare the younglings.” Obi-wan looked gutted, terrified.

Anakin felt like he had been dropped in ice water. This was- this was his worst fear- that Obi-Wan would learn about his darkest failing as a Jedi and be ashamed of him, angry at him, would abandon him. He had already made his judgement. How could he have even learned about about the Tuskens?

“Padme-” he breathed out. “Padme told-”

“No!” Obi-Wan denied desperately, lurching forward. “Padme would never betray you! I would never betray you! We both love you, Anakin. Please, some part of you must know that! You must!”

His master seemed frantic, fingernails digging painfully into Anakin’s arm.

“You love me?” Anakin asked brokenly, heart cracked open.

Obi-Wan let go of Anakin to curl in on himself again. He seemed very small. It hurt to look at.

“I think its safe to say at this point that there’s nothing you could, no betrayal or atrocity you could commit that would make me stop loving you. Despite what you’ve done, you’re my brother, my son- of course I love you. The fact that I led you to doubt my love for you might be my greatest failing, though there are so many its hard to really say.” Obi-Wan sounded utterly defeated.

Anakin’s heart was pounding. This was a nightmare and a childhood dream. Obi-Wan loved him unconditionally, but he knew about his slaughter of the Tusken's and was ashamed. This couldn’t be real. He can’t know.

“Palpatine-” Anakin tried to ask.

Obi-Wan growled. “I do not need to talk about how that power-hungry liar systematically worked to tear us apart. I want to know why you would-” he cut himself off again.

Palpatine told Obi-Wan- that was more than he could even begin to process.

"I’m sorry, Master. I’m so sorry for failing you.” The words came desperately tumbling out, “I was just- I was so angry about my mom’s death and-”

“Your mother’s death? You killed innocent children for the sake of your Mother?! I don’t- how could anyone possibly rationalize-” Obi-Wan hissed out, truly angry for the first time that day. He took a deep breath and pulled himself upright.

“Your mother’s death was a terrible tragedy and I will forever regret my role in it. I should have tried harder to free her, for her own sake. I was so afraid that if I pushed for permission with the council they would think I was failing you, and they would take you from me. I made- so many decisions out of attachment, out of fear of losing you, and in the end I hurt you so badly you couldn’t trust me. You didn’t trust me with the truth of your visions, so I gave you bad advice born of misunderstanding, and your mother died horribly. I- I can see how you would blame the Jedi for that, even if its not rational. I certainly understand why you would blame me for that, why you would hate me because of her death.”

Obi-Wan scrubbed at his face mercilessly, practically tearing skin in his haste to wipe away snot and tears.

“But why, if you were getting revenge, would you kill the children and not me?” “Why couldn’t you just kill me and be satisfied?” He finally looked straight at Anakin, asking like it was a real question.

Anakin was horrified. After a few false starts he finally choked out, “Master, I love you. I told you, you’re the closest thing I have to a father. You’re the last person I could ever kill.”

“The last person you could ever kill,” Obi-Wan echoed back, looking pained.

“Please, Master, tell me how to fix this. I want to make things right. How can I fix things?” Anakin begged.

“That’s not a fair question. You can’t unmurder people. You can’t put them back together like a- an engine or a droid- ”

“There has to be something I can do to make you forgive me!” Anakin said desperately. “You can’t just tell me you love me and then say I’m an irredeemable monster!”

“Well that’s an entirely different matter, though no less cruel to think about.”

He leaned into Anakin’s side once more, the press providing a hint of warmth even in the unshakable cold. “Anakin, it isn’t very rational or fair of me, but it wouldn’t really take that much to get me to forgive you. Kriff, if you just acted sorry for what you had done.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“If you told me that you regretted the lives you took and swore you were going to stop murdering, force help me, I’d probably take you back in an instant. All I ever wanted was to help you be the best version of yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” Anakin said immediately. “I’m so, so sorry for what I did. I lost control of myself because I was scared, and angry, and suffering and, and then I was so scared that you would hate me that I pretended it was ok, and I told myself that they deserved to die, but how could children ever deserve to die and please Master I’ll throw away my lightsaber just please, please don’t leave me, I need you, please-” and the rest of the words dissolved into large, ugly sobs.

Obi-Wan keened and pulled Anakin into his lap like he was a child again. Anakin scrabbled at his cloak, desperately trying to hold on. The terrible chill that had been haunting him slowly started to fade away as he was rocked back and forth.

After a minute, Anakin got enough of a hold on himself to consider trying to stop blubbering like a crecheling on his Master’s robes. But he quickly realized that Obi-Wan was also crying, so instead threw his arms around the older man and let himself go.

An uncertain amount of time passed before they both slowed from heaving sobs, to dry hiccups, to quiet whimpers. Eventually they ended up laying in a heap, boneless but for their hold on each other. And finally, the cavern was more or less silent.

Anakin felt physically lighter, mind clear like he had just completed an extremely successful meditation session.

Without a word, they slowly shifted so they were leaning on the wall instead of sprawled on the ground. Obi-Wan pulled his robe off, first using it to wipe his face, then tenderly cleaning his Padwan’s.

Anakin just chuckled.

Obi-Wan threw the robe so it covered the two of them, which was a little gross, but that only made Anakin snort giddily.

They sat there peacefully for sometime. The shadows from above started shifting, and Obi-Wan sighed, “I really should go eat something.”

Anakin sighed back at him in agreement. They both stretched in the small space, joints popping.

“Do you need to walk through the rest of the gardens first?” Anakin asked.

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, tenderly fussing with his kid’s hair and robes so they looked presentable. “This was...more than I could have hoped for.”

Anakin beamed, giving Obi-Wan one last quick hug before gesturing upwards. “Time to get back to the real world?” he joked with a hint of regret.

“Time to get back to the real world.” Obi-Wan repeated heavily.

Part VII

#star wars #star wars au #my au #time travel #suicidal misunderstanding au #Its about the DOUBLE MEANINGS in every conversation #Its about not Understanding because UNEXPECTED TIME TRAVEL is involved but also they’re idiots #obi wan gets a hug #fanfic #star wars au no 27 #why anakin #just why

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cloudycrystalkpop · 4 years

Text

SMOKY | Hell Below

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! reader

Words: 2k+

Warnings: self harm, possessiveness, demonic interaction

au: crown royal au | moodboard

series masterlist: SMOKY

Seonghwa paced back and forth in front of your door. He was placed on guard duty this evening and it was slowly torturing him.

Normally he would never complain, more than happy to forgo his own rest to know that his princess slept safe and sound. However, he was very aware that at the moment, his princess was not sleeping at all.

He gritted his teeth as he heard your voice moan out a name in pleasure. The name of your husband. A name that wasnt his.

Seonghwa squared his shoulders. He had made you a promise, one a very very long time ago.

When he was the man having you sing such pretty praises. When he wrote his name in calligraphy with his tongue between your thighs.

A promise he painted into your skin, one very late night. Kissing every patch that made you shy. Every inch that your family frowned upon. Every piece you had ever wanted to burn off.

"I will protect you, until the day my heart stops beating, And surely even after."

he is more than just a knight. No, after holding you, bare as the day you were born, shaking in his arms. After the words of hate and disgust at the case your very soul lived in, at watching you take blades to try and peel the unwanted flesh away, he would never ever let you hurt yourself again.

He would never abandon you, even if you took his heart right out of his chest, it was always yours anyway.

Seonghwa held his head in his hands. He was always yours anyway.

"They sure are loud huh?" Seonghwa jumped and reached for the sword on his belt at the voice.

"Sorry, bad night?" Hongjoong asked, standing before the heartbroken man.

"Yeah just, stuck in my own head." Seonghwa admitted. The other man nodded, scanning him with curious eyes.

"You and your princess sure are, close." he stated. The words curled on his tongue, watching Seonghwa flitched as the sound of a high pitched groan came from the lover's room.

"We... Used to be." he replied.

"I see. Makes sense why youre not so fond of that Duke." he quirked an eyebrow, a sly grin pulling at his features. "Hey, you wanna know a secret~" the man purred.

"Not tonight Hongjoong. Im not in the mood for your teasing." Seonghwa frownd.

"Hmm~ if you say so." his smile pulled into a playful childlike one, before Hongjoong skipped off down the hall, leaving Seonghwa alone with his thoughts once more.

Hongjoong purred to himself as he glanced over his shoulder as the knight stood at the lovers door. Lust is a very powerful tool in his bag of tricks, one that, it looks like, will do him very, very well.

you spent your days now often with Yeosang, his experience and wisdom helping you greatly in easing your nerves. he told you many stories, explained much about the kingdom you had never dared to venture around in.

whenever you did leave your family's estate, it was always with Seonghwa as your loyal guard. a long veil to hide you away from the world, or heaven forbid you simply, existing taint your family name.

you remembered the day The King died. he was an old man, had been sick for years. while not beloved by his people, he was well respected, and yet. when he passed, no one knew anything about him. there was no mourning, for there was no loss.

The Queen had fully stepped into power then, ten years younger than her husband she was more than capable of leading. and so it had been since your early teens. The Queen was now however, ready to pass her power, rather than see it out live her too, just like her husband.

and that, was where the crown prince and princess had come in. the pair lost at sea in a tragic shipwreck, the kingdom scrambling to find a new replacement. you and Mingi were nobles, sure. second rate royals even, your father once a prince, a second born. Mingi was next in line to become a Duke, chosen over Yeosang for your hand in marriage for, such a trivial reason. or so you thought.

“my family comes from the Valley, My Lady. Lord Mingi’s comes from the Sea.” Yeosang explained, an, almost forlorn look in his eye. “when yourself and your husband were married, it showed a joining of the land and the sea. loosening trade deals with other lands, its... business I'm afraid.”

“that’s all marriage is good for after all anyway. its just business.” you gazed off out the window, watching the roses sway in the morning breeze. the garden was beautiful, flowers in full bloom.

“I’m sorry you feel so my lady. but, you must admit how darling and romantic an idea it is.” Yeosang followed your gaze.

“to be married?” you wondered.

“the prince of the sea, wed to the princess of the forest. and a man who cannot see, tied to a woman never allowed to be seen.” he hummed softly.

“sounds like a horrible tragedy of a play to me.” you shook your head, eyes falling to your lap. “I should have a word with the playwright.”

“would you have preferred a different ending?” Yeosang wondered, dropping his head down to force you to look him in the eye. you chuckled, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile.

“I haven't decided.” you answered. “...are the flowers in the valley in bloom this time of year?” you asked.

“oh yes. the wild flowers were always my favorite as a boy. my sisters and I used to go out and make crowns out of them.” his voice was soft, eyes far away. caught in a memory from boyhood.

“...will you take me there some time, Yeosang?” his gaze focused back on you once more.

“if you wish to see it My Lady.” he grinned. “I will braid you a crown so lovely the royal jewels will be jealous.”

“promise me?” your voice betrayed you. a crack of pain hidden away there.

such a very different ending you could have had. one where you could spend your life safe, hidden away from the judgment and piercing eyes your mother always frightened you of. flowers in your hair, children at your feet, a husband who could provide for your every need. free to play in the forest of your childhood. there was no judgment from the trees, nor would you find it in the open fields.

“you have my word... My Lady.”

but your life was no fairy tale. you were to be queen of a kingdom you barely knew. sure, you had a husband, a man to wear the title of “king”, but both you and Mingi knew, the queen is the most powerful piece on the board.

“My little Prince~” you called to the darkness of the room as you returned to your chambers for the evening. “Mingi?” you cooed once more, looking around for the tall man.

“we need to talk.” you nearly screamed, the voice was not your husband’s. upon turning on your heel, you came face to face with...

“Seonghwa! you nearly had me jump out of my skin!” you huffed, smacking the man on the side of his arm.

“hey! I'm sorry I scared you but, I'm serious.” he sighed, rubbing his arm.

“very well.” you huffed, seating yourself on the plush bed and waiting for his explanation. Seonghwa shuffled, changing his weight from one foot to the other, gaze fixed on the floor. “well? when did you become so awkward?”

“since I had to listen to you having sex for hours last night.” he growled. your ears glowed hot, but you choked the embarrassment down.

“I am sorry, I'm sure that was a bit.. uncomfortable-”

“you don’t get it do you, Princess.” he lifts his eyes to meet yours. “I love you.”

a lump forms in your throat. you do not move, only stare him down, unblinking, unreactive.

“I have been in love with you for almost five years now. I was the one who took your virginity, I was the one who held you when you cried, I was the only who protected you from the evils of this world. and I-” his voice cracked. Seonghwa, your loyal knight in shining armor, the one who had been by your side for the better half of your life, was in tears before you.

“I love you! I'd do anything for you! I've been with you since you were just a young girl! I've stood beside you through everything! and I can't pretend that it doesn't hurt me anymore!” his eyes sparkled with tears, cheeks damp and voice horse.

“... I-” you never got a chance to finish your thought as the door swung open once more.

Mingi stood in the doorway, blank eyes staring straight ahead of him, his face blank of any emotion.

“get. out. of. our. room.” never had you heard the intimidation in Mingi’s voice before. his voice rumbled deep in his chest, but his tone now, was that of a final, deadly warning.

Seonghwa stared at Mingi, shoulders taught, fists clenched. but he didn't say a word.

“...you are dismissed Seonghwa.” you finally broke the tense silence between the two man.

“as you wish, My Princess.” Seonghwa made his way towards the door, stepping past Mingi, only to be halted by said man shoving him against the wood, hard.

“if you dare, to even think of touching my wife, if even the thought of her in such context even passes your mind,” he growls. “I will have you executed for adultery.”

Mingi stepped away from a very shocked Seonghwa.

“she may be your Princess, but she will be your Queen. and never, for a moment forget, she will only be your queen, and she is my wife.” and with that he slammed the door shut.

Mingi developed a possessiveness over you, you must admit you didn’t expect. the once shy boy who could barely speak to you, now kept one hand on your person at all times you were together. when asked he said he preferred you guide him over a staff member. but you know by now Mingi knew this castle perfectly fine. he didn't need help or a guide anymore. he was lying.

he also got rather upset if you were left alone with another person too long, without himself or his chosen guard close by. his chosen guard? Hongjoong.

you woke one morning to find bruises so deep on your hips and chest they looked like black ink in the mirror. Mingi was marking you now. like you were something that belonged to him.

knowing who you needed to speak with, you snuck away one morning, before the sun rose. to find Hongjoong.

“your highness! what a pleasant surprise~” the handsome man cooed.

“may I speak with you? in private.” you glanced to the rest of the guard, Seonghwa the only one not meeting your gaze.

“oh? absolutely. please, come with me.” Hongjoong lead you out into the gardens, just as the first touches of dawn peeked over the skyline.

“alright creature. out with it. what have you done to the prince.” you growled, arms crossed as you glared at Hongjoong.

“such mean words from the ‘princess’ herself~” he smiled a grin, one a little too long and a little too wide for his face.

“why are you here?”

“what a stupid question! you already know that answer~ otherwise you wouldn’t have asked to speak to me, alone.”

“fine, who summoned you?”

Hongjoong chuckled, one in tone too deep for the voice he speaks with. “the dead king of course. but that was a long time ago you see.”

“speak to me truthfully creature, did you make a deal with Mingi?” you glared him down. while your experience with his kind was limited, you understood the one true weakness they had. they cannot directly lie.

Hongjoong grinned once more, that same unnatural once, the one that extended too far up his face, showing teeth a human man wouldn’t have. his eyes crinkled at the edges in the grin, the white parts of his eyes turning dark as a bruise.

“no.”

you held back a whimper at his voice. inhuman. demonic. bloodcurdling.

“...thank you. you are dismissed.” you blinked, and the man was back as he was. charming smile and handsome features glowing once again in the dawn.

“as you wish, your highness.” and with that, he walked back into the castle. leaving you alone in the garden, a ring of dead grass surrounding where the pair of you had stood.

#mingi x reader #smoky au #prince au #demon au #knight au #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #Hongjoong x reader #mingi au #Seonghwa au #Yeosang au #Hongjoong au #Ateez x reader #Ateez au #Ateez sereis #mingi series #royal au #fantasy au

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terrietont · 3 years

Text

Undertale: A life for a life

When Toriel accidently kills Frisk mid-battle, a devious flower takes control unwarely creating hope among monster-kind for all except one.

Chapter 1: Murder

Shaking, she washed the blood off her paws,It’s crimson red staining her fur. Tears ran down her face endlessly. She couldn’t stop them. There were too many. Her eyes fogged up, barely a blur left in her vision.

Her whole body felt numb as a lump caught in her throat.

‘This isn’t real...’ She thought. ‘This can’t be real!’

Her lips quivered as her breathing quickened. Short inhalations and exhalations, in and out moving at the speed of sound. Her heart was burning against her chest, as if it were about to burrow through her entire body and escape. The numb feeling enveloped her entire body but at the same time the pure and agonizing pain of her heart pulsed against her very soul.

She had done this.

Her mind wandered into dark corners as the water from the faucet continued to flow. Memories flooding back into the dark abyss of her now empty heart. Horrible memories of what she had done.

The boss monster held her breath as the she turned off the tap. She leaned her hands agains the sink, looking down at the floor. Her chest moving up and down slowly. The disbelief of the situation made her dizzy. A bellowing cry escaped the former queen’s snout. She held her wet paws across her face, sobbing uncontrollably.

Toriel kneeled down onto the floor, holding her face tightly, a deep pained frown. Tears ran onto the floor. Sobs accompanied with hiccups escaped.

She realized something horrific as she held her breath.

“I really am no better than him after all” she smiled almost feeling like she was losing her mind. A another wail of horror escaped.

The grief. The tragedy. The horror of what she had done.

It was all true. She had killed the child. The one child that had trusted her enough to call her “mother” and now they had to be buried next to the first human.

A red glowing heart. An aura of red enveloped it. She could barely keep her eyes adjusted to the blinding beams.

The soul was still in tact for now, soon it would crack and disappear. What choice did she have now?

Her paws merely lay under the soul as it hovered above them.

She placed the soul inside a basket-like container, it’s visual presence undetected.

The only proof she had to be seen were the tear stains across her cheeks and the shaking of her limbs.

“I’m a murderer...” she uttered. Toriel leaned her head in her hands, hiding her face.

Flashbacks of her battle with the child enveloped her brain. She couldn’t fathom what she really had done. All the emotional distress was beating her physical form into pieces. She thought she would turn to dust any minute now.

“Hee hee Hee” a voice cackled. Startled, she looked towards the origin of the laughter. It was a flower. A white buttercup with yellow petals and a wide sinister grin. The flower top sat, resting on a thin green stem.

“You really think no one would find out about this?” Flowey laughed with an evil smirk.

Toriel hurriedly got up from her chair and put her hands out in a desperate gesture. “No please it was an accident!” She cried. Flowey’s grin widened.

“Accident? Haha! I KNOW you did it on purpose to try and “protect” the child.” Flowey leaned closer towards the former queen. His eyes going black with white pupils.

“Now look what’s happened...” He began, his voice echoing with poison.

“They’re dead.” Horrifyingly, Flowey’s face managed to mimick a human skull shape.

Toriel tripped backwards, chair falling behind her. Tears began running down her face again.

“Spare me your self pity!” Flowey seethed.

“YOU did this. This is all your fault!” He teased. “And after you tried not to be like him...” Flowey cocked his head to the side with a mocking tone from his mouth.

The reality finally set in. Toriel fell to her knees. “You are right. I am like him.” She wept.

“What are you going to do now huh?” Flowey asked mockingly. “Are you going to continue crying until you dry out into a sobbing excuse of a queen?” His voice was laced with venom as he spoke.

“Or are you going to go to the Asgore and tell him you’re just the same as him and expect forgiveness?”

“Or what if I take the soul instead? You won’t have to worry about it at all!” Flowey laughed. At this point Toriel was holding her head in anguish.

Thoughts, grieving, worries, all of it was swimming around her brain. Her body felt numb.

“No no no no no no no no!” She repeated hysterically. “No NO NO NO NO!” Her tone began to darken, her eyes going almost pure white.

Flowey began to feel uneasy, whether it was the absolute state of Toriel or the fact that the temperature was begining to pick up in the room, he didn’t know. “Shut up already!” He barked at her angrily.

Memories came flooding back for the Queen. A son, a child... a tragedy. “No!” She cried, fire surrounding her this time.

“Asriel... I’m sorry...” She shuddered looking at Flowey. Flowey frowned, his eyes growing with anger. “Shut up! Don’t you dare use that name!” He barked angrily.

Toriel let out a light chuckle, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes now looking bloodshot.

“My child, do not worry”

Flowey growled, gnashing his teeth. “Shut up! Just shut up!”

The Flowey looked towards the basket where the human’s soul was kept in. Vines burst out from the ground as they grabbed hold of the basket, taking the red soul inside.

“Haha!” Flowey cackled evilly. He took hold of the soul in his vines. He smiled deviously.

However without anyone’s knowledge, the soul began to glow brighter, moving closer to the flower. Flowey looked confusedly at it before feeling a sudden burst of energy rush through him. As if it still had the child’s sentience from before, the soul itself had chosen Flowey as it’s host without him even trying.

The power of this determination, the most powerful soul Flowey had ever felt. It rushed through his non existent body so fast and strong he felt almost overwhelmed.

The flower collapsed, dangling from his stem.

This soul was amazing. A power unlike any other. This child was stronger than anyone he had ever seen.

Asriel Dreemurr’s emerald eyes lit up.

A paw reached out to the grieving mother who was on her knees, unable to focus on anything.

“Mom?” The sad voice called out. Toriel turned slowly. What she saw caused the flames to die out.

“Asriel...?” The words were dry on her tongue, as if she didn’t know what she was actually saying.

Asriel looked down at his paws in shock. “I-I- I’m-“ before he could finish he felt a hard squeeze around his entire body. The shuddering mess that was his mother embraced him tightly. The warmth and relief of the hug filled the prince’s eyes with tears.

“Mama...” he cried out soflty. “Mama!” Another cry as he held her tighter. “My baby!” Toriel cried with exasperation.

As he embraced his mother, he felt a warmth in his soul and heard a voice, soft and echoing yet strange.

“Hello” the voice spoke. “I’m sorry” they said soflty. Asriel didn’t know how to respond, especially with the grief of his mother holding him tightly.

“Where’s dad?” Asriel’s tone was more upbeat, but his mother’s reaction was rather downcast. “In the castle.” She replied, hiding her disgust.

“Can we please see him?...” Asriel asked soflty.

Toriel hesitated. She really did not want to see Asgore again, but for the sake of their child, she would swallow her pride and anger for now.

“If you wish, my child.”

Without being spotted, Toriel and Asriel made their way through the underground and towards the capital. Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes were watching them from a camera view.

Alphys’s eyes widened. She nearly spat out her noodles all over the computer monitor. “O-oh my god! There’s THREE of them?!” She bellowed.

Asgore was busy minding his own buisiness, watering flowers.

“Dum dee dum” he sang.

Toriel entered the throne room, dreading the voice in front of her, whilst squeezing Asriel’s hand.

Asgore turned around surprised after hearing someone clear their throat to get his attention. “Oh? Is someone there?”

“Howdy! How can I-“ The king backed away a few steps. “Oh my...” he saw his son’s face, his Ex Wife’s patient smile. It all came flooding out.

“M-my boy...” Asgore weeped with a smile. Asriel ran straight to him, beaming with relief. “Dad!” The two embraced longingly. “Tori... you-“ Asgore began looking at the Ex Queen who was frowning worriedly. “Please do not Tori me Dreemurr!” She groaned exasperated.

“Mom please!” Asriel begged, holding tightly onto his father.

“I-I am sorry I just- how did-“ Asgore was at a loss for words, he didn’t know how his son came back, but he did. He was here and that’s all that mattered.

The horror stricken reality sunk into her. She tried to be angry, she tried to be dismissive and show no emotion but she fell to her knees yet again. Her sins were weighing her down heavily.

“I-I cannot take this any longer!” She cried. Asgore looked towards her, stunned and worried. “Toriel...” he uttered soflty.

“I have- I am-“ She hiccuped, feeling completely nauseated by the very words that she would have to say.

Asriel looked horrified as he realized what she was scared of. His soul. This soul... how did he get this in the first place?

He couldn’t remember and yet it was all about to be revealed.

“I have murdered...” Toriel uttered breathlessly. “

The king was taken aback. He couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. She had done something that he had done in the past to make her leave him? If he was unreasonable, he would’ve called her out, he would’ve been angry as to see she had taken the same path as him. But he stood there in shock, concern, fear. He loved her too much to let her feel the pain he had felt once.

“It is going to be okay...” He tried inching closer to her. Her eyes snapped away from him, pushing him back. “Get away from me!” She screamed. Unlike her usual anger towards him, this anger was a mask. A mask hiding pain and grief. This was an obvious mask it wasn’t to keep him away from her... it was to keep her away from anyone.

“I do not deserve your pity...” She seethed, her eyes turned away from him. Her fangs showed, angry and depressed. “After what I did” She began.

Asgore was confused now. She had said she was a murderer, but how so? Who had she killed? How was Asriel alive again? All of these questions plagued his brain.

“Please. You need to tell me.” He urged sternly, paws out in front of him.

“Take care of Asriel. I- I am going home” Her voice was meek and low. She had walked out of the throne room. Asgore desperately wanted to run after her, but he knew that would do more harm than good.

Asriel however was not going to give up so easily. “Mom!” He shouted.

He ran to her as her pace continued ever faster.

“Mom please!”

“Go away!” She yelled back, running away faster. Asriel was able to keep up, getting closer but remaining at a distance. “They know it wasn’t your fault!” He yelled.

Toriel stopped running and stood still, her face hidden from view. By now the two were by the caste hall, an eerie silence washing over them.

“I can feel their soul talking to me.” Asriel continued.

No response. “They say that... you have always been a good mother despite what you did today. They say they love you still”

Slowly, Toriel’s head began to turn back around. “Asriel.” She began.

“Asriel!” Asgore’s voice echoed towards the hallway. He rushed over to his son. “My son?” Asriel looked up at Asgore, glossy eyed. “Dad.” He murmured.

Toriel inhaled sharply and then turned and continued running. “Mom!” Asriel yelled out, a large white paw grabbing his arm, his other arm reaching outwards. “You must let her go, son...” Asgore sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry” he looked down at his child. Asriel’s breathing quickened. All he wanted was to have the family back together again, as happy as before. He was so tired of being a flower, he was so tired of being conflicted between two worlds.

Word got out that the prince of the underground was alive once more. The absolute shock and confusion swept over the citizens. How was this possible? Only Asriel truly knew.

“I hope the bed is as comfy as you remember” Asgore smiled down at Asriel who had himself tucked into his old bed. New home was less silent than it had once been.

“Thank you dad” he smiled in response. Asgore sighed deeply, smiling warmly. “If you need anything, let me know, alright?” The king looked over at his son who was making himself more comfortable in bed. “Will do” and with that, Asgore left the room quietly. His footsteps fading from earshot. Asriel stared up at the ceiling, his breathing slow.

“What do we do now?” He asked. A voice responded. “Are you awake?” A child’s voice asked in an echod trance. Asriel rolled his eyes. “Obviously.” He replied sarcastically. The child chuckled a little, the voice sounding less like a bad thought and more like some kind of weird guardian Angel.

“I just wanted to let you know... I’m okay like this.” The child’s soul admit. Asriel paused in thought for a moment. He couldn’t imagine a world in which living inside someone else’s body as a soul was a good outcome.

“Really, I am.” The soul spoke almost immediately after Asriel thought about it. The young monster’s eyes widened. “A-are you reading my thoughts?” He asked nervously. The soul chuckled almost in a naughty manner. “Maybe...”

Asriel groaned and lay on his side, ear squishing against the pillow. “Great... now I can’t even think without having my privacy invaded.”. “I promise I won’t look into anything personal!” The soul replied almost frantically. “You better not okay? I’m trusting you on this!” Asriel bit his lips.

“You can trust me, friend!” The voice replied, it sounded as if they were smiling as well. “Are we a team?” Asriel asked impatiently. “We’re a team!” The soul answered enthusiastically. Asriel couldn’t help but smile. This soul was warm and comforting. Although being invasive, he knew he was grateful for this soul, the soul that willingly gave itself to him. Why? He would never know.

#asgore dreemurr #asgore #toriel #undertale #asriel #flowey #frisk #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #asgoriel #undertale au #tumblr’s formatting sucks #pardon for the paragraph mess #undertale: a life for a life

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bluegarners · 3 years

Note

AHHHH YOUR CARD LOOKS SO GOOD!!!! maybe hope is scary with young bruce and dick ?

Ugh, dust, you know I’m such a sucker for them!! Thank you so much for sending in your request, I hope you enjoy it~ @dustorange

Hope Is Scary

Bruce never really realized how quiet the Manor was until he began to notice the echoing of padded footsteps that weren’t his own. Alfred was easy to tell, polished shoes with prim heels step step stepping along waxed hallways and carpeted floors. Easy and comforting in a way that Bruce was accustomed to and found a strange warmth in. Alfred had been wearing the same brand of shoes since coming to work for Wayne Manor. The same color and shoe size, and though Alfred had lost some weight over the years, he still carried himself like the young man at heart he’s always been.

But the additional pair of footsteps was new to Bruce and the dim creaking of stairs and uneven floor boards made that apparent to him.

Dick didn’t like to wear socks. He said they were distracting and made it easier for him to slip and fall when he was running around and trying to do intricate flips off of the railways and walls. When Bruce suggested that, maybe, he just not do those things, Dick had leveled a look at him that made him feel as if he had just stepped upon his parents’ graves. Which, perhaps, he did. This was Dick’s livelihood. All he had ever known. To ask him to stop flipping and twirling was like asking him to stop breathing. It just couldn’t be done.

Bruce buys him some socks with rubber pieces on the bottoms as a compromise. Dick wears them only once before stowing them away in a drawer. He says he doesn’t like not being able to feel the floor.

And maybe that’s something Bruce should have been paying more attention to. That key part in Dick’s reasoning. He’s new at this though. New to being a p... a guardian. To being responsible for the well being of another. Bruce doesn’t interact with children. Ever. Sure, he’ll smile at the camera and kiss a couple babies on the head so the Gotham Gazette has a nice picture and headline, but he’s never actually had to take care of a child before. What do nine year olds like? What do they do? Are there certain rules he has to follow? Rules Dick has to follow? It’s not like Bruce can go up to him and ask what his parents usually did because that would be horribly insensitive and Bruce doesn’t want to replace Dick’s parents. He doesn’t.

It’s only been a month since Dick arrived at the Manor. A little more than three since the Grayson tragedy. The weeks in between were days Dick did not like to talk about. Why Gotham thought a juvenile detention center was the next best thing to house an orphan still infuriates Bruce. He tries his best not to think about it. Dick doesn’t seem to be bothered much by it, however. In all actuality, Dick has been remarkably resilient so far.

Again, maybe that’s something Bruce should have been paying more attention to. The stability factor. It didn’t align with everything that had happened recently, but Bruce had taken it as a sign of hope for the small boy. That perhaps he wouldn’t be as badly affected by the murders or the things that happened afterwards. Of course, these were all stupid and foolish notions Bruce had convinced himself of. He’s studied psychology before, knows the signs and symptoms of PTSD, but Bruce kicks himself sometimes for not having invested enough time into child psychology.

Bruce’s room is three doors down from Dick’s. Between them is a guest bathroom, a guest bedroom, and a spare closet Alfred likes to keep his dusters in. They had allowed the nine year old to choose his own room and when he had realized Bruce would be down the hallway from him, a strange look had passed over his face. Dick had looked up and down the corridor, something similar to trepidation flashing across his young features, and Bruce had glanced around too, searching for the thing that had caused that look. It was just an empty hallway though, a picture here and there of a late Wayne or some sort of art piece Bruce has never really bothered to look at.

Briefly, Bruce had allowed a sliver of panic to settle into his chest at the idea that it was himself that was the problem. Perhaps Dick didn’t want to be so close to Bruce, a near perfect stranger offering a house to live in, and maybe three doors just simply wasn’t enough for the boy to feel comfortable. The initial anxiousness had passed after a week though, Dick showing no further outwardly signs of distress at their proximity. In fact, he was a rather cheerful child.

Was, being the unfortunate key word.

The small but sure steps that echo down the hallway at twelve thirteen a.m are Bruce’s first clue that something is wrong. It’s not uncommon for any one of them to get up in the middle of the night, seeking an out from the nightmares or sleepless dreams. Alfred’s habits usually just had him retiring into bed late and getting up early, something Bruce has been trying to coax him out of by taking melatonin pills. Bruce himself is a deep sleeper, his REM cycle taking only about ninety minutes to take over, but even then he can’t seem to sleep more than five or six hours at a time.

The smallest things will forcibly wake him up, now ingrained into him not to ignore them ever , and that has resulted in him listening very carefully to the patter of tiny feet across wooden floors. It’s Dick, Bruce knows this, and it’s not uncommon for Dick to get up late in the night for water or exploration. The boy was still learning to accept the fact that neither Bruce or Alfred would be angry with him for exploring the Manor, peering into all the rooms and invading the attics. Bruce had done the same thing when he was younger and he does remember it being quite fun, but Dick carries the notion with him that one little slip up will spell out his removal from his new home.

Bruce struggles with reassuring the boy. He hasn’t made any head-way as of yet.

The footsteps stop outside his door and Bruce can see the shadow of small feet beneath the gap. The lights are on, dimmed in the hallway, and the figure stands there for several moments, refusing to move. The handle shutters, like someone grasping at it but failing to fully turn the mechanism, and Bruce sits up in bed unsure at what to expect. The handle slowly turns again, jerking back upwards when the door opens a crack, and Dick stands in between the door and the corridor. His slight figure blocks out some of the light, shadowing the child’s face, and Dick continues to stand there, seemingly staring into the void that is Bruce’s room.

“Hey,” Bruce whispers, completely lost on what he should be doing or saying. “Are you okay, bud?”

Is he allowed to say that? Is it alright for him to use nicknames yet? Bruce has heard Alfred refer to Dick as “lad” or “chum” a few times, old English nicknames second nature, but Bruce has been careful not to overstep his bounds. He still doesn’t know what the boy thinks of him. What he thinks of his… guardian.

No sooner do those thoughts enter and leave his mind does Dick turn around and begin walking away. He pads away almost as noisily as he came and Bruce tosses off his sheets to follow the boy. Just as Bruce steps out his door, he sees Dick re-enter his own room, leaving the door wide open. The lights aren’t on in Dick’s bedroom, bathed in darkness, and as Bruce takes measured steps to check in with the boy, he hears Dick begin to cry.

It’s a sad and hollow cry, one that Bruce himself is much too familiar with, and his heart skips a beat as he fumbles with the light switch. Dick is sitting on the floor, legs splayed out in front of him like he’s fallen, and for a moment Bruce wonders if he did fall and hurt himself. He crouches down beside the boy, hands hovering and unsure of what’s appropriate for him to do.

“Dick?” he asks, trying to look into the boy’s eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

The nine year old ignores him though, continuing to cry and look down at the carpeted flooring. The tears that pour down his face and drip off of his chin sadden Bruce deeply, a strange pang in his chest as he merely watches the boy sob in earnest. Should he get Alfred? No, the man gets little sleep as it is. Besides, Bruce is an adult. He can handle this, he’s handled much worse before.

“Dick,” Bruce tries again, “Bud, please look at me. What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

He’s ignored again, the boy’s small shoulders shaking beneath the weight of his tears. Cautiously, Bruce reaches a finger under Dick’s chin, tilting it upwards so he can see his face. Dick’s eyes are open but there’s a lull in them, like he’s not quite focusing on anything at all and is merely just staring off into space. They contract and expand like normal though and carefully Bruce waves a hand in front of his face. This seems to be the wrong thing to do as Dick flinches back, a whimper escaping him. At the sound, Bruce feels himself pale a bit.

“Sorry,” he is quick to rush out. “I didn’t- sorry. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

It’s like Dick can’t hear him though as he continues to whine, hands fidgeting with nothing and grasping at air. His mouth moves in patterns like he wants to speak but has forgotten the right words, and his eyes dart about as if picking one thing to look at only to find it gone the next. It scares Bruce. He doesn’t know what’s going on. What’s happening? What is happening?

Despite his better judgment, Bruce reaches out a hand again, gently placing it on the ankle of one of Dick’s splayed legs. He’s wearing SpongeBob themed sleep-wear, and though Bruce nor Alfred know hardly anything about the cartoon, Dick’s smile had bloomed at the sight of them and had shyly given them each a hug. It was like receiving a… gift. Full of love and gratefulness that Bruce isn’t used to getting. It was warm. Genuine. Kind. He places his hand, that is neither warm nor kind because he has hands made for punching and handling sharp things, atop the ankle-cuff of the silly pajama bottoms and Dick screams.

Bruce jerks his hand back, immediately shuffling backwards, and he’s about to say something, say anything, say sorry because he’s still new at this, still doesn’t know where the boundaries are, still doesn’t know if Dick is even happy here at the Manor, but Dick is still screaming and wailing. He’s staring off into a dark corner of the suddenly too massive room and a chasm yawns before Bruce as he struggles with the urge to help and the knowledge that it’s not wanted. He steals a glance towards his open hand, half-way expecting to see blood or angry red or something that would tell him what he did, how he hurt the boy, because that wasn’t his intention but he should have known. He should have known.

His hands are not made to be gentle.

Soft and thunderous footsteps pound against the wooden floors and Bruce surges upwards as Alfred enters the room, robe half on and feet clad in old gray slippers. His crinkled eyes are wide open, searching for the distress that had announced itself so loudly, and with a presence of mind Bruce himself isn’t capable of having at the moment, flicks on the light switch to the room.

“Good heavens,” Alfred cries as he finally sees the sobbing child. “Master Dick, what in the world-”

Finally, Alfred’s eyes flick over to Bruce’s guilty and hunched form, a hand hidden behind his back and an awful look of shame shrouding his sharp face. “I don’t know what I did,” Bruce says, shaky and uncertain. “I didn’t hurt- I didn’t mean to hurt him, Alfred.”

The butler just frowns though, neither unkind nor scolding. Instead of a lecture or some reprimand, Alfred cautiously approaches the nine year old, who is still staring sullenly into the far corner of the room and heaving with great hiccups that expand his small frame to a great degree that was surely painful. Carefully, in full view of the child, Alfred lowers himself to the ground and assesses with an experienced and all-too-ready gaze.

“Master Dick?” he calls softly. “Can you hear me?”

There is no response other than the continuing tears and rough hiccups that echo in the much too wide room. One would think with the impossibly thick pillows, soft blankets, and even softer still carpet, sound would travel as if stuck in a tube, but each cry is as loud as a gunshot in Bruce’s mind. He caused this. He did this. He… didn’t mean to.

Bruce is a man composed of glass shards and copper stained cement. There is nothing gentle about him. He should not have tried to be.

Alfred stands then, hands on his knees as he heaves himself off of the ground. Were his joints bothering him? Bruce thinks he should look into getting another physical therapist for the butler. Maybe a chiropractor or massage therapist as well. It couldn’t be good to crouch and bend so often and the man has-

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, “a word, please.”

At the beckon, the younger man takes a few steps forward, meeting the butler halfway to the door. The brighter lights from Dick’s room bleed out into the dimmer hallway, a shadow of sorts created between the two sources as their figures shroud the doorway. Carpet meets wood and Bruce wonders if Dick chose the softer texture for a reason. If he chose the cushioned floor so he’d have something nicer to land on when he falls.

“I don’t like it when I can’t feel the floor, Bruce. I just don’t.”

Bruce sighs heavily and with the knowledge that he was never fit to be any sort of guardian to Dick. He had fooled himself into believing he could save this child from the same fate he’s cursed himself into, save the child from years of torment and ache that came from the bones of murder and the empty graves of justice and peace. Who was he to think he could save someone from that when he was still stuck in that chasm himself, still struggling to use these scarred hands of his for anything else other than exacting his vengeance in the dark night.

“Alfred,” and Bruce hates the way his voice cracks but he’s so lost and still so young himself, “I didn’t-”

“No,” the butler sighs, placing his own calloused hand on Bruce’s sagged shoulder, “No, you didn’t, my boy. I know you would never hurt that child, not if you could stop yourself, and even then that would be some fight.”

“But, Dick, he’s-”

“He’s fine, Master Bruce, I promise you that. He won’t even remember any of this come morning.”

The younger man looks up, still so horribly ashamed and confused. “I don’t understand. He’s crying. He- He screamed when I touched him, Alfred. He’s terrified of me. I must have done something to make him so scared. Maybe this was all a mistake. I thought I could help him by bringing him here, but I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?”

Alfred’s face is a weathered one. The creases in between his brows tell of many nights spent thinking, frowning at the future and unknowns. The crow's feet that dance and jump at the corners of his eyes also tell of many days spent laughing, smiling, embracing the present. He, too, has his own scars to tell about stories that are best left unsaid, marks that are proof of a life that could have been but would never be. There are a thousand words alone that can be thought of through the visage of the old butler’s weathered face, but sometimes, it’s good to say them aloud. Sometimes, they are needed, deserved, to be said aloud.

“My boy,” Alfred says, a softness in his eyes belaying the heartache in his face, “you have done a tremendous thing, bringing Master Dick here. A tremendous and kind thing. In the few weeks that boy has been here, I have seen remarkable growth and healing. This,” Alfred motions to the crying nine year old still on the floor, “is all part of that. This is a sign of hope, Master Bruce.”

“He’s frightened of me, Alfred. He… I’m not good for him.”

“These are simply night terrors, Master Bruce. When you were a child, you had them too. I know it’s… scary to look upon but you must understand that they are here because the boy finally feels safe. Master Dick finally has a place, a home , to feel safe and happy in once more.”

Dick wails again, forlorn and raw, and Bruce flinches at the sound. The palm of his hand stings with the phantom touch of soft fabric and the echoes of wrong-doings.

“What do I do?” he asks, head bowed and voice hardly above a murmur. “I don’t know how to help him.”

Alfred squeezes his shoulder, a grounding and solid gesture. “For now, my boy, you must merely be there for him as I once was for you.” Alfred sighs, releasing Bruce’s shoulder and letting his arm fall back to his side. “Talk to him. The terror will be over soon enough, but in the meantime, comfort the boy. Coax him back to bed. This will pass, Master Bruce, but please. Do take it as a sign of hope for the boy. He is in desperate need of it.”

Alfred’s muted footsteps go back out into the corridor and Bruce is left standing halfway between the open doorway and the weeping nine year old. The carpet feels like grain beneath Bruce’s toes as he shifts to face the boy, tugging against his feet as he takes the three steps that distance them. Slowly, gingerly, Bruce lowers himself to the floor and criss-crosses his legs. He does not touch the boy, does not dare get close enough to even consider it, and folds his hands together in his lap. The bumps and fine lines he feels on his own palms make him cringe and he hides them deeper into his knees.

Dick doesn’t stop crying. His bright blue eyes stay transfixed into the far corner of his bedroom and Bruce wonders what he sees. What captures his attention so completely and holds onto him like that of cold hands and wilted flowers. Alfred said Dick won’t remember tonight. Won’t remember coming to Bruce’s room. Won’t remember cowering away from Bruce’s touch. A small part of Bruce hopes that he doesn’t. Hopes that tonight remains forgotten in oblivion, the only shred of evidence of it all being the wet stains on SpongeBob pajamas.

Dick mutters something, voice small and a jumble of nonsense, and Bruce’s heart clenches in his chest. His hand twitches to wipe away the salty tears that slide down the boy’s face but Bruce resists the urge and continues to sit motionless. Yes, it was better to have this chasm between them. Dick is kind and pure, composed of things that would only become crippled when exposed to what makes up Bruce.

He was not made to be gentle.

Bruce sat with the nine year old into the night, well after the terror had stopped and Dick had fallen asleep once more. He leaves before the first creep of morning, slinking back into his room, and splashing cool water on his face. By eight, Alfred is ringing him to come down for breakfast and with heavy limbs and an even heavier heart, Bruce lumbers down towards the kitchen.

He freezes when he spots Dick happily munching away on eggs and toast, mussed up and pillow-worn hair splayed in different directions. He sees Bruce as well and gives a sloppy wave, sleep still tugging at his small arms and droopy eyelids.

“Mornin’, Bruce,” he says. “Alfie made toast.”

And it’s just as Alfred said it would be. Dick doesn’t remember any of it. Bruce does. He always will. But this is hope, right? This is what healing is: searching eyes. Tears. Screams. Terror. Helplessness.

This is hope, Bruce reminds himself later that night as his door creaks open again and footsteps slap against the wood floors. Dick screams at him again and howls at the walls, grieving over things he won’t remember in the morning but will bounce around in Bruce’s head for weeks after.

This is hope. This is healing. This is Dick feeling safe and comforted. It has to be, it has to be.

But it scares Bruce.

#Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #bad things happen bingo #hope is scary #night terrors #so if it's not clear Dick is not afraid of Bruce at all #he trusts Bruce completely #i didn't want to ramble in the actual fic so i'll explain it here #when someone is recovering from a traumatic experience symptoms don't always show right away until that person's brain feels safe enough to #essentially freak out- which is what is happening here #my little brother had night terrors for a week straight and he would scream for hours and point at his closet saying that a bad man was #in his closet- he never remembered it happening when he woudl wake up the next morning #many children go through night terrors and it doesn't have to be from trauma #it can just be a bad sleep cycle or their circadian rhythm is off #they're very scary to see if you don't know what's going on #dustorange

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insufferablelust · 4 years

Text

THE ARTIST AND HIS MUSE (v)

Hi lovely people! it’s me again with the fifth installment of TAAHM, hopefully y’all enjoy this, as always thank you for your support, and excuse the grammatical errors. As i said before, this story is dark themed, so it can get triggering to some people, please read the warning, and read at your own risk.

WARNINGS : BEWARE DARK FIC. SMUT, Angst to the max, Mental Illness (PTSD, with severe anxiety and depression), Some Fluff, hints/mention of Suicide (doesn’t happen), Psychological abuse (in flashbacks), over sensitivity (both sexual and non sexual), hints of Masochism, Anxiety attack, Soft raw tender moments, aaand thats it.

———————

A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. —Pearl S. Buck.

———🍃———

Little did they know, that night is going to be the beginning of a roller coaster ride.

———//———

It was already late when she opened her eyes the next day, her soft sigh occupied the quiet room as she scanned for the one person she craved the most, biting her lips at the cold left side of the bed sheet. However, he’s kind enough to leave the only thing she could reminisce about last night in a form of a long letter note he left on her night table, written with purple ink,

“Good Morning Y/N,

I hope you’re feeling well, although knowing how anxious you can get, i know your mind would wander off and we don’t want that. If you can remember what i said, then good but if you can’t, i said that i left because it’s more convenient for the both of us, not because i don’t want to be with you. Believe me, watching you sleep right now really put an image inside my memory that i’ll never forget, you’re so beautiful.

I hope you don’t mind, but i put on Debussy on your vinyl right now. I want you to know that we’ll still talk about it, preferably today, maybe we can go have dinner unless we have a case. There are things i never got the chance to say, and i think its time i finally tell you, later.

As for your past, we’ll also talk about that too. But i want you to not worry— yes i’m disappointed still, but i know why you did what you did. We’ll figure out a way.

Lastly, please take care.

Spencer R.”

By the time she had finished reading, her internal being is overflowing with emotions, dangerous ones that she won’t be able to control and she knows this. Her eyes teared up at the sight of ‘Classical Lover Etiquettes’ cued up on her record player. Her legs were incredibly sore, as much as her thighs and arms. There was just so much that’s happening, so much to feel, and she needed to escape.

Her feet dragged her to the balcony, inhaling the scent of life, breathe in heavily as she hoped— cross her fingers hoping to die that the amount of oxygen would be able to drown her from all the confusion, even more so the horrors that started to flows back in. Spencer opened a large deep wound that she had buried a long time ago, and then he showed her the way to paradise. He confuses her as much as she probably confuses him.

She wanted to apologize for being complicated, wanted to get on her knees again and show him how much she needs a savior right now; someone to love, and cherish to get her mind off of the horrible things in the past. She wants him to know that he can help her, by guiding her like he did the night before, by owning her like he said the night before, by loving her like he promised. She needs to be devoted to him, she would do anything for him.

She knows how damaged she is on the inside, she put up a persona every day so people could believe that she’s alive. But the only time she ever felt alive was with Spencer. The only time she ever wished she’s not complicated is when she’s with Spencer, His name consumed her like the opiates she used to take. He owned her soul already and she’s not letting that go. Even if the world stands in her way. She deserves this, this pure thing for once.

So she cried, hard. Hard enough for her neighbors to hear, to check up on her, but she wasn’t listening, she stayed crouched down in her balcony, her vision was blurry and she can’t think of anything— only Spencer.

“Spencer..” was the only thing she remembered saying before she witnessed darkness and drowsiness penetrate her eyes as well as her other senses— sending her to sleep.

———————————

Y/N didn’t even flinched when her father’s screams once again filled her ears, telling her how she doesn’t belong, she isn’t supposed to be here, isn’t supposed to exists. She could smell the strong scent of alcohol from his mouth, clouding her senses, but she refused to give in and cry, in fact she doesn’t feel a thing. Moreover, she’s just bored, her father never got violent with her, never laid a hand on her, neither does her step mother— well not when he’s around anyways.

By the age of 9, Y/N already knew what kind of man her father was, the kind that doesn’t want to admit reality, he’s a violent genius who works in the dark, with barriers covering all sides of his life. He never hurt Y/N physically, like he always claimed. But 12 years of psychological torture will fuck you up, she thought. She lived in isolation, and darkness where the only things she knew.. were alcohol, math, abuse, impending death, and screams.

She doesn’t have anyone related that’s nice to her, enough to shield her from all the abuse. The only person that could bring her peace is Mr. Bones, one of her father’s men. He always looked out for her, he gave her hope ever since she was old enough to know that being told you were never meant to be alive was not okay.

“I apologize, papa. It won’t happen again, I swear it.”

Her eyes stayed on the ground as she feels the warmth of his palm so close to her cheek, she yelled in her mind— her mind telling her to scream at the old bastard to “Hit me!”

“Hit me!”

“Make it hurt!”

“HIT ME!”

——

Y/N felt a jolt, her eyes searching for signs of where she might be but she can’t seem to open her eyes, the smell— is clean like iodine, the next thing she felt was the rough yet strangely comfortable sheets that grazes against her skin, And then she heard the talk, someone’s talking.. She recognized the voice well, so well like its imprinted deep in her soul, She tried to open her eyes.. yet she keeps on missing.

“S-she— i found her pale.. she was so pale and cold.. “ Spencer! her mind screamed, that’s Spencer.

“Spencer!” She tried to yell, but still nothing,

“Spencer please!” Nothing.

“What did her neighbor said?” Hotch!

“Hotch please i’m awake!”

“She was screaming, and they found her clutching her shirt tightly, she was crying and she.. she said my name over and over again, before blacking out.. thats why they called me first after calling 911” Is that true? she has been taking her meds, hasn’t she?

“Did anyone said that she was about to jump or anything like that?”

“No! No! Spencer i’m not suicidal!”

“N-no i don’t know.. Hotch i was with her last night, i should’ve—“

“Please don’t cry! please i’m sorry i love you i won’t do it again!”

“Hey no, she looked like she was having a panic attack. Has she ever mentioned anything about being depressed? or experiencing anxiety attacks maybe?”

“no... no... don’t tell him Spencer, you promised.”

“Stop the silence, Spencer you promised you won’t tell anyone.”

“N-no.. not that i know off.. she wanted company so i stayed with her, we watched movie.”

“Spencer...” She tried again, believing that it won’t work, he won’t hear her, maybe she’s not even here anymore— just floating away from her body. But when she saw his head turned towards her, she sighed contently, letting go of all the burden for a second just to hear him mutter her name in silence and peace.

“Y/N... you’re awake wait let me—“ before he could exit the door, Hotch pulled him back a little, telling him that “It’s okay, let me get the doctor.” Leaving Spencer and her alone.

Her heart rate accelerated as he sat down on the chair next to her, eyes filled with worry and fear— Y/N couldn’t take it, couldn’t bare to see how broken he looks, because she was selfish and complicated, because she was damaged.

“I-i wasn’t... trying to.. jump” Her voice came out laced with fragility, all raw and quiet. She’s trying to tell Spencer that she’s alright, as long as he’s here she’ll be alright. “Don’t.. please don’t blame yourself, it was an anxiety attack, a bad one.”

“Have you been taking your meds?” There it is, the question she has been hoping she wouldn’t have to answer. She looked down at his trembling hands, reaching to grab it but unable to do so because she realized now that she was restrained to the bed.

“Why am i being restrained?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No Spencer i haven’t! now why am i restrained? i’m not a danger to anyone.” Y/N half yelled with a cracked voice, closing her eyes tightly at the tears that’s threatening to spill out of her eyes.

“Miss Bones, i see that you’re awake now.” Her eyes never leaving the sight of her cuffed wrist, ‘did they honestly thought you were planning on killing yourself?’

“I’m not suicidal, i’m an FBI agent for god’s sake.” The tone of her newfound voice surprised everyone including Spencer.

“Then why were you unconscious on the balcony of your apartment?”

“Because i haven’t been taking my pills! look, i haven’t for years now and i was fine. It was just rush of emotions, and i got overwhelmed okay? doesn’t mean i was going to jump. Believe me thats the last thing i would’ve wanted.” The last bit was a whisper, indicating the raw pain behind it. It was the truth, moments before you passed out you were thinking of Spencer, of how he’s your savior.

“Okay, Agent. We believe you, now why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll have you prescribed for something stronger, meanwhile i’m going to take the cuffs off” The doctor replied gently, except you know he’s not a doctor well he is but he’s a psychiatrist. Great, now everyone think she’s crazy.

——————

After the incident, you rarely talked to anyone on your team not because they don’t want to but because you won’t let them. You’ve caused enough pain, so the last thing you want to see is the pity on their eyes and face, it was nice seeing how they care though— sometimes in the mornings you can hear Garcia and JJ dropping new baskets full of goodies and treats for you to try. Sliding a note underneath your door before leaving.

Hotch insisted you to take a month break, which you would’ve tried to argued but you knew you didn’t stand a single chance. You could’ve lose your job, he could’ve fired you for lying about your psychological problems and endangering yourself but he didn’t, though he wanted you to take the break, and do another psych eval, so you agreed.

The bad thing about not going to work, except the obvious fact that you miss your work family and you missed out on catching men women alike your father and his killer— is not seeing Spencer often enough. It made you anxious just thinking how he’s doing constantly, Prentiss has said in a text that ‘he seems okay, just a little off’ in which you ended the conversation quickly, not wanting to let invasive questions spring up to life.

You’ve tried to contact him multiple times, yet he never answered the calls, there was one time where he had responded your text; it was the one after you told him that you haven’t eaten and taken your meds because thats what you do now, pretending like he actually listens you, that day you heard a knock, before finding out that there was a box of pizza; the tuna, with creamy mushroom kind, your favorite. Spencer is the only one who knew about it, so it was him. You cried that night knowing that he was close... yet you didn’t see him.

After that, nothing. Nothing at all, until it was your 17th day isolated in your apartment trying to get better. A therapist from FBI was supposed to come today, checking up on you, Hotch’s order. So when you heard a knock, you opened the door without looking.

“Y/N...”

“Hi you must be the— Spencer?” You eyes went wide as you recognized the person standing at your door, you swear your knees buckled finally seeing him again after so long. His hair seemed longer, his eyes has bags under them, he doesn’t look fine.

“Spencer, you look—“

“Can i come in?” His voice startled you, it was deep, deeper than you remembered it last.

“Yes, yes please come in..” You watched him enter your house, eyes scanning through every bit of everything, probably profiling your condition. So you let out a chuckle as you close the door, “I’m fine Spencer, unless you didn’t notice, i’m doing therapy 3 times a week plus routine visits from every therapist in town it seemed like. So i’m good” the tone of your voice reflects sarcasm and you know it, but how can you help it when he wont even look at you.

“Thats good..” He mumbled, sitting down on the couch where you two talked the last time about your past, you remembered that night’s event so clearly you could’ve sworn you have an eidetic memory. “You haven’t been sleeping have you?”

“no.” you sat down next to him, deciding that you shouldn’t touch him even if you wanted to.

“Why?”

“Because i worry about you.”

“Spencer, i told you i’m—“

“No! no you can’t say that you’re fine, again. do you know what you did me? after the night we had, you basically suffered an anxiety so bad you collapsed on your balcony, while whispering my name. You don’t get to say that you’re fine, i deserve more Y/N.”

You didn’t flinched even once when you heard his voice raised, if anything you just close your eyes and not let the volume of his voice get inside your head, “Everyone who yells is the same like your father, wake the fuck up” is what your mind been telling you but you refused to listen to it, Spencer is good, he’s a good man. So you controlled your breathing for a second before opening your eyes to see Spencer’s face begging for answers.

“You’re right, you deserve answers and you’ll get your answers but can you please listen to me and don’t interrupt? Spencer, i need the space if you want me to tell you, the space to make you understand.” Your palm move on top of his to see his reaction, you expected him to swat your hands away or at least flinched but strangely he let out a pleasant sigh, like he was relieved, like every weight has been lifted off of him.

“Okay, i’m sorry for—“

You cut him off before he could say what he’s sorry for, you don’t need it— his reactions are normal, too normal that it makes you fall in love with him over and over again. “Shh, don’t. You don’t have to explain, you don’t have to respond, just.. wait here, i’ll tell you everything okay..?”

With a nod you get from him, you stand up to make two chamomile teas, bringing it to where Spencer is sitting on the couch, then after you put on Gymnopédie on your record player, you sit down next to him. To your surprise, he leaned and laid his head on top of your thighs, curling up on the couch— which sent a smile to your face, you haven’t smiled for so long and of course Spencer Reid is the one who put your first smile since.. you don’t even remember when.

————

“It’s one of my favorite, I love the serenity of it.” You whispered, as your fingers ran through his soft hair. Relaxing your back against the couch and enjoying the tune of one of your favorite classical of all time. Spencer smiled at that, you swore the smile could lit your insides like nothing else.

“I’m a beethoven guy, but i guess Satie is alright..” He laughs, his laugh sounded like heaven, his smile and laugh makes you dizzy. This is the Spencer that makes your heart pound ten times faster, and the one that makes you lost for words each time, the one that you’ll love... too fast Y/N, too fast.

“Of course you are, it’s not hard to see..”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Spencer looked up at you, he looked so pure like this, like he was made to justify every wrong things that has been done, like he’s an angel that protects the earth from filth. He’s pure and tender, it takes all of your willpower to not lean down and kiss him.

“Oh yes, explanation.” You laughed awkwardly, eyes refusing to meet his. “Look at me, please” You shake your head at his demand, your eyes still trailing to where the record player is going.

“Look at me, Y/N.” You did, you looked. Under any other circumstances, the authoritative tone would instantly leave you dripping wet ready to submit to him. But this time, you only whimpered and nods.

“Good girl, now tell me” He cupped your cheeks, the gentle gesture sent you to oblivion.

“I don’t know where to start..”

“I heard the beginning is a great start.” His lips tugged into a wide smile, you heart warmed at the sight before you sigh, your fingers still curling and uncurling itself on his hair.

“I opened up to you that night, it’s something strange for me, i told you something that i swore i would never tell anyone, but i told you because.. because you were right, you are right Spencer. And i guess after that we took it to a whole new different level, i want to be able to do all the things with you and cross all boundaries but it’s something new to me, so that morning when i... woke up alone, it was scary, i felt so small and sad in such a big space. I was overwhelmed, by the thought of letting another person in, i don’t wanna take it slow but then again the transition won’t be easy for me.” Spencer opened his mouth as he was about to say something, but you simply leaned in shakily and press a quick peck on his lips as a sign that you’re not done yet, to your surprise he pulled you down one more time and let the kiss linger this time before letting you pull back, whispering a small “go on.”

“I lived in isolation most of my life, the only taste of real life emotions i ever got was the moment right after my graduation. The man who saved me, he teached me social skills, and the basics of.. of having this gift of rawness emotions. But i’ve been so closed off, i realized its just not possible for me to fall in love or feel such a strong emotion towards another, the only strong emotion i’ve ever known before this was.. hatred towards my father and his killer.

I had PTSD when i was 13, consistent with severe anxiety and depression, at one point Mr.Bones insisted that i...i started talking to myself, admitted me to a psychiatrist where i got my.. antipsychotics for um the voices. But i came out well, and he promised me that if i was able to make it, he would change my identity, stripped me out of my old misery, give me a new one, my father was a very very important man where he worked, so does his men including Mr.Bones. Thats why before i was 21, there’s no record of Y/N Bones existed because.. i didn’t, i never existed.”

Y/N ended it with a smile, looking down at Spencer whose eyes brimming with tears. She shook her head, her trembling fingers wiping the traces of tears. “Hey no no, please don’t cry, please it’s hurt to see you cry..” She whimpered.

“Spencer please say something..” Her eyes pleaded with her, as he sat up, before inching closer to her and before she even processed the warmth of his body, his lips pressed themselves against hers in a gentle loving way. His thumb stroking her soft supple cheek, as his lips took its time to explore every inch of hers, imprinting how it feels so he can remember it all the time. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck as he guided her to his lap, pulling back a little.

They stared at each other for such a long time, before Spencer move his hand downward— tugging on her shirt. “Do you want to?” His voice rise your goosebumps to wake, all the adrenaline rushing through your core as you nod eagerly. “Please”

——————

“Tchaikovsky.”

“what?”

“This is tchaikovsky.” Spencer looked up at her, seeing how needy but beautiful she is, her skin glistening under the dim lights, her lashes are wet, her eyes glassy, and her lips bitten raw. He smiled admiring her before continuing his exploration down her labia, stroking it gently— almost like he’s teasing her.

“yes Spencer this is, Oh god!” you stopped mid-sentence as you felt the warmth of his tongue exploring from her slit up to her clit, flicking the sensitive button gently— Holy mother! doesn’t he know how sensitive she is?

“I’m pretty sure Tchaikovsky isn’t god, Princess.” the doctor giggles as his fingers tracing her tummy gently, caressing every mark every curve every indent every scar so so gently to show her how much he appreciates her, appreciate her beauty— all of it.

“Shut up!” She whined and shuddered as she feels him burying his face against her sensitive pussy, tongue swiping side to side at her slit as his nose bumps against her clit sending intense pleasure throughout her body making her jolt and convulse as she tug on his hair.

“Are you sure that’s wise, princess? i’m the one in charge of your orgasm here” Her legs quivered, his tongue push inside her and explore every inch of her inside— moaning at the taste and catching every drop.

“Sorry! so sorry Spencer, just don’t stop!” Oh how sweet is that, her voice cracked at the end, meaning he’s doing a good job. And the boy wonder does seek for praises sometimes.

“Never planning on it, love.” He mumbled against her pussy before inserting two fingers in, and moving them in a brutal pace whilst her tongue and lips sucking on her clit.

“Oh! Spencer, you’re so good at this” Her eyes shut tightly, as her fingers gripping his hair— she’s practically grinding against his face which he moaned at the sight and taste of her, oh so heavenly.

“C’mon Princess, come for me then i will give you what you’ve been waiting for” oh the way she clenched around her fingers so tightly, made him groaned and shut his eyes tight as he works her over the orgasm

“Spencer! oh! thank you!” Every inch of her skin was burning and her brain was mush. So much pleasure, that she could die happily now. Her body shivers still, when he comes up to leave tiny kisses on her face. “Good girl.” Spencer then align himself at her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her pussy.

“Ready, princess?”

“Yes.. yes please?” With a smile on his face, Spencer bent Y/N’s knees before pushing the tip of his cock inside of her slowly, indulging in the velvety warm walls that welcomed his cock. The feeling is like home. Her mouth agape, as her eyes roll at the back of her head, and her fingers intertwined with his.

He stilled inside her for awhile as he let out grunts of how “so warm and tight, pet” she is. He then leaned down to press a gentle loving kiss on her lips before thrusting his cock in and out of her slowly, keeping the pace light as they both relinquish all the frustrations out, and indulging in each other’s warmth. It’s perfect.

“so— full, Spencer..” Her desperate whimpers was the one that egged him to move faster, thrusting his hips so every-time he thrusted in, the sounds were slapping of skins and their moans. But when one particular deep thrust, her cunt involuntary clenched around his cock and she screamed “Thats it! thats it fuck!”

Spencer grinned, before letting go of her hand to grip her waist, pulling her closer to him then continue to fuck her with a torturous brutal pace, hitting the spot over and over again. “I’m not going to last if you keep- fucking clenching that tight cunt Y/N” He warned, eyes glinting with a dangerous look like how he was that night. Feral.

Strings of plea left her mouth as she arched her back, he was so deep— filling her to the brim and making her feel good.

“Please cum inside me!”

“I will baby, i will. But first you gotta cum alright? can you do that? i know you can, c’mon” His breathing labored as he move even faster, her headboard banged against the wall, and her body bounced. With one final deep thrust, they reached their peak, and shuddered at the feeling. Spencer pulls out before grabbing a wet cloth from the beside table and carefully wiped her sensitive areas, causing goosebumps that were dying down to rise again.

“Swan lake” Was the first thing she muttered as her legs still quivering, Spencer looked up at her confusedly as he set throw the cloth to the dirty hamper and laid down beside her once more, cuddling her to his side.

“What?” he asked, his fingers running through her hair.

“Tchaikovsky’s, Swan lake was playing.” They both laughed at her answer, shaking their heads. It wasn’t until Y/N’s eyes flickered to his hazy ones, that they muttered it together,

“I love you—“

———————

TBC!

As always, TAGLIST is open, blurb requests are also open any genre of course, send them in along with suggestions and/or constructive criticisms! thank you. Just message me or send me an ask :) thank you for supporting. I’M SO SORRY FOR THE REUPLOAD, the TAGS DOESNT WORK TUMBLR IS MEAN TO ME AGAIN❤️

( @blancastans @spencerwaltergubler @slutforthegubes @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @babybloomer @liaabsurd @midnightsubmissives @addie5264 @maybankslut @secretpickleprofessordean )

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #dom!spencer #taahm #spencer reid blurbs #criminal minds smut

212 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 4 years

Text

*kicks down door* WHO WANTS TO READ ME RAMBLE/RANT ABOUT THE GRALEA LEVEL IN FFXV AND WHY IT ACTUALLY WAS A GOOD LEVEL AND EVERYONE SHOULD PLAY THE NOCTIS ROUTE AT LEAST ONCE RATHER THAN THE GLADIO ROUTE EVEN THOUGH IT’S TERRIFYING AND FRUSTRATING.

No one?

WELL TOO BAD.

(Unless you haven’t played or watched the game yet and don’t want spoilers in which case TURN AWAY NOW).

...Ahem. *deep breath* Okay so I will forever stand by my opinion that chapter 13 of the game (the one that takes place on the train and then in Gralea) is Good™ and does exactly what it's supposed to in the narrative. That is not to say I don't hate it with a passion and didn't cheer when they added the Gladiolus route for those of us (like me) who didn't want to replay the Noctis route again, but I will stubbornly insist to anyone that wants to listen that the chapter's difficulty and wildly different tone and pacing was THE POINT of the darn thing and deserves some respect for it.

See, the game up to that point is, if not always lighthearted (because it's not), has still been something of an Adventure Story™. Yes there's horrible tragic things like Insomnia falling and Regis dying, but for the most part the gameplay is exploration and cool combat mechanics and the relationship between the four brothers. It's ... happy for a good chunk of it. There's this light at the end of the tunnel, this comfy assurance that there can be a happy ending, that this can all be fixed and tied up in a neat little bow somehow.

Then Altissia happens. Luna dies, Ignis is blinded, and the game puts you on literal rails, forcing you to go hurtling toward A Different Tone. Everyone is stressed, everyone is scared or angry. You’d THINK that this is the lowest point of the story and that surely there’s going to be an emotional reconciliation between Noctis and Gladio and then we’ll get back to exploring and saving the world and all that jazz.

Except we don’t.

The train scene with Ardyn and Shiva happens, and the entire heartbreak with Prompto happens, and that’s when things start to seriously crack. You lose all access to your magic while stuck in this narrow train, then you lose the Regalia, your symbol of freedom, your main way to travel through the game (even when you fast travel, the animation of arrival shows you getting out of the Regalia). You are now trapped in Gralea. In dark, hostile territory with one of your party missing, one of them blind, the other angry at you, and still no magic. Then a few minutes later you are forcibly separated from the rest of your party, the characters you’ve spent all game getting attached to, and leaning on, and laughing with. They are your last anchor points to the brother dynamic that has kept the whole game on a lighter note and now they are GONE. You have none of your weapons or skills, you have no idea where the others are (first time playing the game without spoilers anyway), you have NOTHING. No hope. No backup. No distractions from the fact that, oh yeah, this is a story where the Bad. Guys. Win. Are winning, have won, and all Noctis (all you) can do is take out the Ring that slowly killed Regis, that Luna died for, the thing that represents everything going wrong and all NOCTIS must do to fix it even when he is painfully, woefully unprepared ... and finally put it on.

Noctis (and by extension you, the player) MUST shoulder the responsibility of being the king of a lost kingdom, of acknowledging that he IS the king, his dad was MURDERED, and Luna was killed for the thing you are now wearing and everything it means. It’s your only option until you eventually find the dead Ravus and take back Regis’s sword toward the middle/end of the level, which you can’t use recklessly because every swing drains your very life-force, forcing the Ring to still be your “best” option in many cases.

Most of that level is spent running, and hiding, and praying that the MT Units on the floor don’t leap up and try to murder you, or that the daemons don’t notice you, or that the teleporting daemon doesn’t find you, or that Ardyn will just SHUT UP because his taunts are really unhelpful right now.

The only hope you have left in this level is to grit your teeth and get through it with the Ring until you can reunite with your brothers and get magic back and go get the Crystal, the mcguffin of this whole game, and put the game back on the normal track of brotherly dynamics and fun quests. Just get to the Crystal, and everything will somehow start going back to normal.

And then that turns out to be a trap too.

Welcome to the final act of a tragedy, and your character is the one living through it. There will be no restoration of the norm until you’ve seen this to its final conclusion. There will be no light save for the one Noctis dies for.

Even when I first played that level (vanilla, not even a day one patch version btw because I was an idiot like that) and hated it because it was terrifying, I never thought it didn't belong in the story like ... quite a few comments I saw on the internet later insisted it didn’t. This is Noctis's story. This is Noctis's tragedy. THIS is the level that strips every last distraction and security blanket and shelter away from him and makes him put on the Ring and thus shoulder everything it represents. There is- terror here, there is trauma, there is GRIEF. This is practically Noctis's headspace without his brothers, because let's not forget that while we the players are having fun fishing and catching frogs for a silly scientist lady, Noctis is a refugee from an empire that MURDERED HIS FATHER and the FATHER OF HIS SHIELD-BROTHER, destroyed his HOME and then, right before Gralea, murdered Luna, the girl who he's known and talked to and confided in via letter for twelve years. This is a world falling into literal darkness (and if the player hadn’t noticed how the daytime cycle in the game kept getting shorter and shorter before this point YOU CERTAINLY NOTICE NOW) and it's up to Noctis- JUST Noctis, ONLY NOCTIS thanks to a Prophecy made long before he was ever born, to somehow Fix It™.

One person. Just one.

And he has to fix ... all of this.

How?

He doesn’t know. During the Gralea level he DOESN’T KNOW. All he (all we) know is that the Crystal is the key, but since the Crystal only answers to Lucis Caelums, that means Noctis is the key, and Noctis (and you the player) is painfully aware of how Not Ready he is.

And the weight of that is enough to render you helpless in the face of it. The fear of that is a maze. The terror of it is a monster following you down the halls that you cannot escape from and cannot kill while it laughs at your misery.

All of that is GRALEA. The capital city of the people who overthrew his home, killed his father, killed his fiancé, and isolated him from the last safety nets he had.

The entirety of chapter 13 isn’t meant to be enjoyed. It’s meant to make you scared. It’s meant to frustrate you and make you feel helpless. It’s meant to make you feel sick when you learn what the daemons and MTs you’ve been killing really are. It’s meant to make you RAGE against Ardyn, and the Empire, and this entire situation because you’re one person and you’re not prepared for this and it’s NOT FAIR and you just want things to go BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS AND ALL OF THIS SUCKS.

Yeah. It does.

And who else do you think feels like that?

Noctis.

Chapter 13 isn’t meant to be fun. It’s meant to make you feel like Noctis does.

And what emotions would you expect from someone who has just lost everything and is expected to fix everything for everyone else, and now has no distractions or shields between him and his grief?

I remember reading an article about “why this chapter failed” and it was basically to the order of “this game is about a fun road trip with your bros and reuniting with your fiancé and chapter 13 breaks away from that too hard” and I respectfully have to disagree.

This story isn’t about a “fun road trip” and it isn’t just about “reuniting with your fiancé”. From the very first cutscene we are told that it’s not in Regis’s desperate (and soon revealed as last) words to his son about setting forth on a journey and not being able to go back. We are told it’s not in the first hour or so when Insomnia burns and Noctis cries and Cor tells us that “in his last moments together he didn’t want to be your king, he wanted to be your father”. How is that a “fun story about a road trip?”. Yes the road trip IS fun for us, and it IS about the brother relationship, but in a large, LARGE part-

Final Fantasy XV is about a young man setting out into the world and facing the hardships of it. It’s about loss. It’s about regrets. It’s about how no matter how much you want them to, some things can never go back to the way they were yet you must keep going anyway. It’s about how the darkness of the world will just keep taking-taking-taking until someone is willing to pay the price to make it stop, and that sometimes a happy ending for the people you love most means giving up your own personal happy ending on their behalf.

Final Fantasy XV never really hid the fact that it was a tragic, bittersweet story.

But it’s in chapter 13 that the story refuses to let you mistake it for anything else any longer.

Could the chapter have been structured a little better so that the gameplay itself wasn’t so frustrating? Probably. I know almost nothing about game design so that’s not really my call. But does the chapter, for all its frustration and anger-inducing inversion of pacing and tone, brutally get the point across?

Maybe it’s just my opinion, but I’d say yes. Yes it does. Because this video game was the one that fully 100% convinced me, in a way that no other video game had before, that the platform could tell heart wrenching stories, could give me characters I would care for, cry over, rage on the behalf of.

And a big part of that clicked for me at the ending, but it likely wouldn’t have if I hadn’t first struggled my way through chapter 13 and all the emotions it causes and represents just like Noctis did.

...

There. I’m done. Thanks for reading my long-suppressed rant on the most hated chapter of FFXV.

#Secret Engima Rambles #SE rants #ffxv #storytelling things #writer things #I will die on this hill

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