#i now have forbidden weapons but i guess that's acceptable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yanderes-galore · 1 year

Note

I know you've done Halo Infinite Sangheili so idk if you know this guy from the first Halo Wars, Ripa 'Moramee. he's been around years longer than the Halo Infinite guys but gets barely any content anywhere, so I'm curious how you'd imagine him falling for a human darling

Sangheili content my beloved... I'd love to! I have not played Halo Wars but I hope my research helps. Tried to stay in canon but was also creative.

Edit: I got carried away, this is long lol 😅 Guess I'm down bad 🤷‍♀️ I'd love feedback as this was REALLY fun to write. I also suggest having some background knowledge about Halo/Halo Wars to understand this more.

Yandere! Ripa 'Moramee with Human! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Violence, Murder, Religious themes, Manipulation, Internal conflict, Obsession, Human/Sangheili, Angst I guess, Violence against darling/wounds (You are enemies... it's only fair), Swearing, Denial, Feelings of betrayal, Kidnapping, Isolation, 'Moramee is losing his mind, 'Moramee is implied to have intimate thoughts, End is implied to also be intimate but nothing happens.

There's so much moral conflict in this pairing.

His whole purpose is to elminate the human race.

That's his whole purpose as Arbiter.

He thinks humans are weak, completely and utterly undisciplined in the ways of a warrior.

As Halo Wars is deep in the past of the Human/Covenant war, even before Halo CE, a pairing between Sangheili and human is forbidden.

Even more so if he's meant to kill them all.

'Moramee is known as ruthless with an insatiable bloodlust.

He's quick to anger and has a temper.

The moment he hesitates in killing you upon your first meeting... rage builds within him and tears him apart from the inside.

He's harmed humans, Unggoy, and Sangheili alike in his rage...

Why does he hesitate on a human!?

The Prophets demand your execution!

He's a savage beast even in Sangheili terms.

He knows nothing but anger and rage.

'Moramee has never had his own rage directed towards himself.

He likes victory.

The Sangheili had tried to hunt you down when he met you.

So when he finally cornered you on Harvest he was prepared to strike.

Why did he hesitate!?

He had one of his plasma blades lifted in the air, ready to strike.

Was he distracted?

Did you distract him?

Either way he hesitated enough to be hit by gunfire from your squad of marines/spartans, the Arbiter was forced to abandon his prey.

'Moramee is thrown into an enraging conflict with himself after this.

He doesn't dare tell The Prophets.

His subordinates notice his growing rage and keep their distance.

He's a yandere that would be driven to pursue his human through the desire to end his internal conflict.

He knows humans are weak and should perish in the wake of the Covenant.

However, the fact he couldn't slaughter you haunts him.

It scares him that you, as a human, make him weak.

He's a disgrace to The Great Journey....

He hates the fact you make him weak.

He doesn't even consider the idea of love... even if that may be what he's feeling yet can't understand it.

'Moramee loathes the idea of loving a human.

His moral and religious conflict make him volatile towards his own crew.

They already tremble before him.

Now when they hear him mutter to himself and roar in rage, they start to dread him pulling out his weapons.

If/When 'Moramee eventually tries to hunt you down again then he tries to do your abduction alone.

He can't have his crew find out about his true intentions with you.

Intentions he dreads but has to accept if he wants to regain his focus.

'Moramee intends to slaughter anyone he feels he needs to in order to solve his issue.

Expect him to send a small group of troops to remove your group.

Despite the order to kill your group and any humans they find aiding them, 'Moramee describes your appearance and gives the order to spare you.

Spare... something that baffles both the Sangheili himself and his troops.

He was not one to spare.

However, in a way you can view his true intentions as not sparing

His troops knew better than to question the Arbiter's judgment.

The order was sent... then executed like your team.

'Moramee awaits the fallout of the skirmish.

By the end of it you're standing in the middle of corpses making up your team.

Your skin sizzles around your wound, a plasma burst being the cause of your agony.

His troop had withdrawn and left you there, a wound to your leg and you gasping for breath in fear... and pain.

So much pain.

Once his troops relay back to the extraction point, 'Moramee stalks closer before wrapping his hand around your throat and decloaking.

Shock and fear paralyze you, the recent trauma of watching your friends die still fresh in your mind.

Along with the blood from their demise still staining your skin.

"You..."

The Sangheili growls, tightening his grip.

He could easily snap your neck.

"A human such as you should be killed for The Great Journey! You've ruined me!"

Upon your struggling 'Moramee and you most likely engage in one-sided combat...

It's enough to make the Arbiter vent his rage.

The entire time he curses you.

Every bruise... broken bone... he deals it to you for a purpose you don't understand.

'Moramee fights with you to try and clear you from his head.

You're fighting him to survive at least a little while longer.

By the time it ends there's barely a scratch on his armor.

Your breathing is painful due to your heavily wounded body.

You can only stare at the Sangheili attacker whose orange eyes burn with confused anger.

You swore you saw the rage flicker into regret for a moment before he snarls again and picks you up.

Your body is so fragile in his arms while he drags you back to the extraction point.

Due to shock trauma you pass out in the Arbiter's arms.

To make a point to his troops (and keep up an act) he holds your limp body by the neck before his troops.

A message that humans will fall by his hands for The Prophets.

When you awake you're laying in some sort of cell on Harvest.

All except you.

Cheers congratulate him... even when it doesn't feel like a victory to him.

Your neck and everything hurts.

However you notice you've been treated... albeit clumsily.

Covenant know nothing about human anatomy.

It confuses you why they bothered to treat you.

You squint through your cell, you had been brought into a captured facility from what you could tell, repurposed to be a jail for the Covenant.

Your blood freezes when the Arbiter who fought you before enters the room.

"You are my secret from all the rest."

He stands in front of you, orange eyes glaring at you in hate.

"You are my only failure as an Arbiter. The human I can't kill. You are something that's tormented my focus for far too long. I never gave a damn about honor. However... you are a stain on my reputation I can't get rid of if the truth comes out."

"What truth, you ugly bastard... why do they care if I'm kept here?"

The Arbiter is silent... as if dreading the reasoning for your capture.

"Really now?"

"... my orders are to kill all humans. To slaughter humanity for the sake of The Prophets... and I can't kill you!"

He's seething, each word strained.

"I don't know why so I intend to keep you in secret. My troops don't dare question me. They fear me... which I will use to my advantage."

"Soft for your enemy now all of a sudden? My team would've laughed at a Sangheili's mercy if they weren't dead."

The Arbiter only glares at you and you see his hands clench.

"Watch your tone...."

"Or you'll kill me?"

With a frustrated scream of rage the Arbiter leaves the room.

Not only could he not kill you...

It's deserved but frustrates him all the same.

You taunt him.

He isn't sure what he was expecting.

You to be scared of him?

You to be over the death of your allies so quickly?

Was he expecting you to show something comforting to him?

He shakes his head and gnashes his mandibles.

He had a lot to learn about you.

He was never this invested in humans.

Yet after mission after mission on Harvest for relics to appease The Prophets, he found himself back in front of that holding cell.

The troops on guard cowered at his gaze.

What he wanted with you was none of their business.

The Arbiter struggled to understand why he kept holding onto this human.

His rage at your existence used to be hot enough to glass a planet on its own.

He continuously stood in front of your cell to chat, asking questions and learning how to keep you alive.

Learning about you in general even if your species was to be destroyed.

Each talk brought it down to a smolder.

You always hated him but your hostility also lessened with time.

Those who caught wind of his talks between you were quickly ended.

An Unggoy or Kig-Yar heard something they shouldn't have?

They're left at the Arbiter's mercy.

A Sangheili? 'Moramee threatens them into submission or sinks his plasma sword deep into their gut.

He wonders if you care he kills for you?

You're special enough to not only gain the Arbiter's mercy, but his casual discussion and attention.

Denial still burns deep inside him.

Despite this... acceptance is a quiet thought in his mind.

Each time he looks at you in the cell... he remembers both failure and discovery.

Was he simply exhausted?

He was starting to care for you like a fellow Sangheili... and he wasn't sure if he still hated it or not.

Perhaps he vented all his anger about you for weeks on end... leaving only forced acceptance.

He would laugh at this... his ego shattered and behavior pitiful.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

Whenever he looked at you he saw his biggest failure of all...

Him feeling companionship in a weak human heretic.

He could not be feeling adoration for you.

The idea brings a sick taste to his mouth... but a nervous and warm feeling in his chest.

The heresy of humans seemed infectious like the newly discovered Flood that threatened to taint the relics he sought after.

Ever so slightly you consumed his mind.

The Prophets wonder about his sudden distracted mind.

He assures them he is simply annoyed about the UNSC advances.

A lie... somewhat.

All to keep his human secret under lock and key.

It's gotten to a point he only ever talks to you with hesitant respect.

No one has broken his ego and mind like this.

You are certainly an anomaly in his eyes as a human.

Through his holy missions he develops other thoughts involving you.

Ones that he feels are even more of a sign of disloyalty to The Great Journey than simply sparing a human.

He's thought of releasing you.

He's thought of other things that would be considered sin among Covenant and Sangheili alike.

He's thought of how it would feel to take a moment a feel your skin.

His turmoil is at an all time high.

'Moramee coming to the conclusion that he sees you as that kind of a partner makes him sick.

The Arbiter is speechless on the topic.

His peers have claimed to see a broken look in the Sangheili's eyes when he passes by.

When asked he responds with violence.

The entire time he experiences moral turmoil, you have no clue.

You simply answer casual questions and refuse to answer anything that gives valuable information.

You speak to him with no fear or anger anymore.

You've been here too long for that.

As Harvest dies all around you, you're forced to speak casually with a leader of its downfall.

'Moramee hopes you're happy to cause him this pain...

It's only fair due to the pain he caused.

He feels there's only one way to deal with his problems.

'Moramee couldn't focus unless he got it out of his mind and system.

Rage replaced with irritation... 'Moramee makes his way to your cell.

He calls off the guards and taps at the keypad lock.

You're struck with confusion when the Arbiter enters the cell.

"Is my execution finally here?"

His alien eyes glare... but there's a hint of amusement within them.

You struggle when his much larger body shoves you against the wall... the Sangheili craning his neck to growl at you.

"Not in the way you expect, human..."

The Sangheili Arbiter places a hand against the black body suit you wore, stripped of its heavier armor long ago.

"You've infected my mind long enough. I plan to end this and make you my newest victory instead of my oldest failure."

#yandere halo #yandere halo wars #yandere ripa moramee #yandere sangheili #yandere teratophilia

87 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years

Text

Knight in Shining Red Armor | Dante + Child!Reader (DMC 4)

A/N: Hey so this is a rewrite of one of my first (and only) DMC fic from like...2016. This takes place post-DMC 4

You can read the og one on my DeviantArt! But if you're here for the new one then I hope ya'll enjoy!

Summary: Child!Reader was taken under Dante's wing after being saved from a demon invasion, but even years later he hesitates to tell them what he truly is, fearing they'll resent him for his demonic heritage.

............

"Hey, um..Dante?"

"What's up, kiddo?" The red-clad devil hunter asked, though he wasn't completely paying attention to you. Rather he was sitting at his desk, feet kicked up as he was flipping through a magazine.

Meanwhile you were roaming around the shop, stopping only to gaze at the massive curved sword with glowing gems hanging on the wall behind him. He mentioned claiming many weapons--"Devil Arms" as they were called--from defeated demons, but you were curious about their names.

"Just wondering..what's that sword behind you called?"

"The Sparda. It sealed the barrier between the Underworld and human world. Nero went through hell and back, quite literally, to return it to me, so don't even think about touching......it?"

Dante put the magazine down as he turned to see you holding the Sparda in your small hands. You smiled triumphantly, but stumbled a bit before the blade accidentally slammed into the wooden floor, making you wince.

"Oops."

Yet your little act amused him, as he chuckled and shook his head. "You're a little too young to go devil-hunting, I'm afraid. But maybe one day you will."

"And maybe you can help pay off Dante's debt, too." Trish lightly joked as she entered the room, taking the giant sword from you and putting it back on the wall.

Her words were responded by a groan from the male, who went back to reading.

"Whatcha reading?"

Dante slowly lowered the magazine to see you sitting on his desk, but he just snapped it shut and tossed it into the trash, out of your line of sight. "Nothing that eyes like yours gotta see."

"Okay....ooooooh, what's this briefcase?" Hopping off the desk, you ran over to Pandora and crouched down to poke the skull emblem.

"Pandora. That baby can turn into six hundred and sixty six different weapons, but...right now we only have access to seven." Now he was feeling like an exhausted teacher on a museum trip, trying to explain each exhibit to his hyper first graders--the exhibits being his Devil Arms.

Yet as you ran around asking him about more of them, he couldn't help but see his childhood-self reflected in you. Just full of energy and never-ending curiosity and optimism.

Yeah..he definitely saw the resemblance.

Eventually you decided to leave him be and dash off to your room.

And only then did Dante drop his smile, sighing as he put both feet back on the ground. He ran a hand through his hair before dragging it down the side of his face tiredly.

"You know..you'll have to tell them eventually." Trish reminded.

"How, though? That kid's afraid of all demons..hybrids or not. I'm pretty sure saying "oh by the way the guy who rescued you is actually half-demon" is gonna send 'em running, and...I can't risk that." He shook his head, gazing at the jukebox in the corner.

"But I think [y/n]'s old enough to comprehend the concept of not all demons being evil," Lady chimed in after overhearing the conversation. "Just give it to them straight and I'm sure they'll understand."

As much as Dante wanted to argue, he saw that she had a valid point. But he still worried...

How would you react?

It's been a few years since he saved you from a Mega Scarecrow, though it turned out that more demons invaded your neighborhood, slaughtering everyone you knew and loved. And as he took you back to the shop to patch you up, he could see the terror in your eyes, any traces of innocence long gone.

No child should have gone through such a tragedy.

A tragedy that he was all-too familiar with.

After the defeat of the Savior, things have been looking up. You've regained your happiness as you lived in Devil May Cry and learned of Dante's tales of devil hunting, though the memories of that horrible night never truly left you alone.

Along with that, just seeing a demon is enough to make you run and hide, and you were terrified when you first met Nero and saw his demonic arm.

From that incident alone, Dante became extremely reluctant to tell you of his own demonic heritage.

He just didn't know if he's only hurting you more by keeping it hidden..

...............

Later that night, you were plagued by yet another nightmare. Different demons, same neighborhood...same deaths of your loved ones.

But in this one Dante got hurt, too. And you tried so hard to be brave for him, even shouting in the demon's face...but in the end you failed as it snatched you away, dragging you into the darkness of the Underworld before he could reach you.

Although you calmed down since awakening, you wanted to be sure he was alright.

So with what little moonlight shone in the shop's darkness, you located the worn sofa where Dante laid. He was engrossed in some TV program, though after sensing your presence his eyes flickered to you.

No words had to be exchanged in order for him to see what was wrong, as he sat up and patted the spot beside him. You smiled in relief and climbed onto the sofa, snuggling into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. "Th-Thanks, Dante."

"No prob. So uh..another nightmare, I guess?"

"Yeah, but..they hurt you, too and...I-I tried staying brave. I shouted at them to leave you alone and..they didn't listen. But...I think one of them looked scared of me."

"Wow." He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Gotta say I'm impressed."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Y'know demons are used to seeing kids scream and cry, not take a stand against them. Plus that's pretty epic of you to defend me, so thanks." With a smile, he ruffled your hair.

"You're welcome," you giggled a bit. "But..I really just wanna be as brave as you. I mean...Nero says you laugh at giant demons and tease them all the time. How do you do that without being scared?"

"Well..it comes with the business. Getting them riled up just makes the fight more fun. At least for me. You might think I'm crazy but if ya decide to hunt demons one day...you'll see what I mean."

"But until then, could I watch you fight one? Like a big bad one?"

"......."

"Dante?"

"..kid, there's a reason I never took you on any missions." Dante sighed, swallowing back the growing lump in his throat as he carefully planned his next words. "And how I always...bounce back from getting smacked by a demon tail. No human would be able to withstand that without some broken bones."

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "Then..how can you if you're human?"

"....because I'm not fully human."

As much as he wanted to shut up, he decided to tell you the truth once and for all, not sugarcoating anything:

He explained how his parents were a demon and human--a forbidden romance which resulted in himself and Virgil being born. His bloodline allowed them to blend in with humans, exercise their demonic abilities in battle, and even tap into their true demon forms.

All the while you listened silently, with not much emotion on your face. So it was hard for him to tell what you were probably thinking in this moment.

It scared him.

"...and that's it." He sighed, closing his eyes and looking away from you. "So go ahead and hate me if you want. I won't blame you for-"

"Can you show me?"

Dante blinked stupidly as he swung his head back towards you, wondering if he heard you right.

"I...wish you told me before, but I don't wanna be scared of demons anymore." You smiled a tiny bit as you elaborated. "Especially not one who helped me. So...can I see your other form?"

"...a-alright. Just...if you get scared I can turn back instantly, so don't freak."

"I won't."

He had doubts you'll keep your word, but he got up and activated his Devil Trigger form. As he opened his eyes, you gasped upon seeing how much they were glowing--being orange rather than blue. Red electric sparks danced around his metallic body as he observed you close, anticipating your reaction. He expected you to scream or cry.

Yet..there was only curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

"Scared yet?" He asked in his distorted voice, crouching down in front of you.

Not even the way he spoke startled you, as you just shook your head. "I was wrong all along..not all demons are bad."

"Not even this one?"

"Nope. You look awesome..like a knight in shiny red armor."

"...wow..I um...." For once, the talkative devil hunter was at loss for words. But when you learned forward to hug him around the neck, he was completely shocked.

Earlier in the day he thought of countless worse-case scenarios, and yet...the best-case was happening right now.

You were accepting him, hugging him even.

He couldn't believe it.

Dante smiled as he wrapped his arms around you, making sure his armor spikes didn't hurt you. "Thanks, kid. It really means a lot that you're not terrified anymore........[y/n]?" He was concerned about your lack of response, before realizing you were dozing off.

'Damn..I might make a pretty good dad, after all..' He mused, standing up and making the trek back to your bedroom. Then he set you down and tucked you in, relief and warmth in his heart.

He had a feeling that your nightmares won't be so bad anymore. Now he felt like he could truly protect you.

Why?

Because he was gonna be your knight in shining red armor.

"Jeez, man. Quit clanking around shit and---AH!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!!"

"Shhhh! Chill out, Nero. You'll wake 'em." Dante was quick to shift back to his human form once he was outside your room, glaring at his nephew. "Why are you so freaked out? This ain't the first time you've seen my devil form."

"But still..why in the middle of the night?! Thought we had company."

"...just go back to bed, kid."

"Don't call me kid!"

#devil may cry x reader #dmc x reader #dmc 4 x reader #child reader #dante x reader #dmc dante x reader

254 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moments of physical contact can occasionally forge long-term telepathic bonds between cultivators. These bonds are usually based on positive emotions like familial or romantic love, or deep feelings of friendship, but the emotions don’t necessarily have to be positive to forge a bond. Wei Wuxian is very upset to find out that punching Jin Zixuan in the face apparently counts as a sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moment of physical contact.

on ao3

Wei Wuxian had been obsessed with the idea of a resonant bond ever since he first learned about it.

Sure, it was a rarity. It was easier for a cultivator to find a friend, a lover, or even a soulmate than it was for them to create a resonant bond, which required not merely liking or understanding or even love but rather a single moment in time in which two cultivators were on exactly the same wavelength.

Their cultivation strength, their frame of mind, the state of their bodies, the exact way in which they touched – in that one moment, everything would be exactly the same, and the Heavens would forget for that brief moment to see the two as separate, like two separate raindrops merging into one before the moment passed, some difference introduced, and they were broken apart into separate beings again. Yet even after they separated, they would irrevocably retain some aspects of the other, a connection that generally manifested, it was said, as a mental bond that could not be broken, a tie that would keep them bound together no matter the distance.

Such a thing could not be worked towards, only hoped for; it was a matter of luck.

Wei Wuxian had never wanted anything more in his life.

The thought of never being alone again – it enticed him, it excited him. Jiang Cheng could wrinkle his nose in distaste at the idea that he might not be alone in his mind anymore, that someone would see all the stupid or terrible things he sometimes thought, but to Wei Wuxian that was the best part: that someone would see you and know you and you would see and know them, too. To have someone to accompany you through the best and worst moments of your life, always at your side…

To never fear abandonment, to never need to worry about someone going out only for a little and then never coming back.

It would be amazing.

That was what Wei Wuxian thought.

Well, that was what he thought right up until he punched Jin Zixuan in the face for insulting his shijie, his whole heart burning at the unfairness of adults who didn’t understand, at other boys who didn’t appreciate what they had, at everything all around them and at his own weakness in not being able to do more, and something just –

Clicked.

“Hey, wake up! Wake up! Are you all right?”

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, only to be assaulted with what felt like double vision. Above him were Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, hovering and looking anxious, and from the corner of his eye he could see Lan Wangji, who he so enjoyed teasing, was sweeping over to them with a grim expression – and yet at the same time he thought he could perceive different faces above him as well.

Three young men and two women, all looking down at him with smiles like sharks, ready to devour. Each one of them draped in the gold they lusted to take from his hands –

What the fuck? Wei Wuxian thought groggily. How did I end up on the ground?

Good question. I didn’t think I got punched that hard.

Wait, Wei Wuxian thought. Hold up, I got punched? I didn’t even see the peacock lift his fists!

…Wei Wuxian? Is that – you?

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide when he realized he hadn’t said any of that out loud, that to judge from Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s chatter they hadn’t heard either him nor the other voice. Which meant that the voice had to be...in his head. Is this – this is a resonant bond. We formed a resonant bond!

Shit, Jin Zixuan thought, because it was Jin Zixuan, wasn’t it? Shit, shit, shit. Please don’t say anything about this to anyone!

What? Why?

Please!

Wei Wuxian hadn’t even known that the peacock knew that word.

Fine, he said, feeling generous on account of the whole bond business. I won’t tell. For now.

“Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asked, looking worriedly fretful. “Are you all right? You haven’t said anything.”

“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his head and trying to think of a lie to explain why he fell over like that. “I think the peacock must’ve had a talisman or a defensive weapon or something. Whatever it is, I’m fine now.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re all right,” Jiang Cheng said, looking deeply relieved. And then, a moment later – “Because I’m going to kill you - !”

There wasn’t too much time to talk after that. Wei Wuxian was sentenced to kneeling, and then his Uncle Jiang arrived and Sect Leader Jin arrived – oh no, oh no, oh no, I fucked up, Jin Zixuan thought hopelessly, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a bit of the same – and the next thing Wei Wuxian knew, the engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli was broken and he was being sent to pack up his things, to be taken home at once.

Jin Zixuan was swept away by his father, too.

“A pity about the engagement,” Sect Leader Jin remarked idly as they walked together. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have said such a thing. Your mother will be disappointed.”

Wei Wuxian could feel the way that that jabbed at Jin Zixuan’s heart like a stab with a sword.

“Still, it’s no harm,” the man continued, indifferently ignoring the impact his words had had on his son. “One could even call it a gain! You won’t be burdened down with that shrew’s daughter anymore.”

That what?!

Tune out of this conversation, please, Jin Zixuan said, his thoughts dull and sluggish and resigned. It’s going to get worse from here on out.

It did.

Sect Leader Jin commented at some great length about his views on Madame Yu’s many faults – her temper, her strength, her nosiness, her thought that she was worth anything other than a pair of legs and an inheritance – and contrasted it with some salacious comments on her positive traits – mostly the legs, with a few comments on the upper half as well – and then he started speculating about Jiang Yanli, too, in a way that made Wei Wuxian’s blood boil.

It’s not about her, Jin Zixuan told him, his voice a little desperate in a familiar way – he was used to having to defend his father, and just as obviously didn’t want to. He’s building up a defense.

What?

For my mother. She’ll be angry at him for agreeing to break the engagement, so he’ll say that it was my idea, say all this stuff, and then she’ll be angry at me for believing it, instead, even though I don’t. This isn’t what I wanted at all.

Wei Wuxian frowned. You wanted to marry my shijie? You sure didn’t show it!

No, I just didn’t want to marry anybody, Jin Zixuan said, and…okay, fine, that was a pretty respectable position. Wei Wuxian didn’t particularly want to marry anyone yet, either. I just got angry when everyone was talking about how it was a done deal, that’s all. Just one more thing that got picked for me.

Wei Wuxian had heard Jiang Cheng complain about similar enough things – how much of his life was selected in advance, how much was organized for the benefit of his sect rather than his own interests, how little choice he got. How even if he’d been as good as Wei Wuxian, or even better, he still wouldn’t have been able to go out and hunt pheasants all day the way Wei Wuxian did.

He refused to feel sympathy. Well, you shouldn’t have taken it out on my shijie!

Probably not. Jin Zixuan was silent for a moment. It probably doesn’t help, but I’m sorry for my rudeness.

Wei Wuxian hated it when people were reasonable. It made it so much harder to stay angry at them.

Are you going to tell me why I can’t tell people about this bond yet? he asked. You’d better have a good reason, I had to put up with an entire scolding from Jiang Cheng because I didn’t have a good excuse!

Later tonight. I promise.

That night, Wei Wuxian excused himself early and hid himself in his room on the boat. He knew that he was giving both Uncle Jiang and Jiang Cheng the impression that he was feeling deeply guilty about having broken the engagement, thereby making them feel bad about it, which he didn’t intend, but he really wanted to hear the reason. If it wasn’t good enough, he’d really break Jin Zixuan’s nose this time!

It really is a good reason!

Well, then? If it’s so good, don’t keep me in suspense!

Jin Zixuan sighed. Wei Wuxian felt it like an exhalation on his cheek, as if Jin Zixuan were right there beside him. You know how a resonant bond is supposed to be equal?

What do you mean ‘supposed to be’? Wei Wuxian asked, and felt something cold in his belly.

There are forbidden techniques, ancient ones, that are designed to manipulate a resonant bond into an unequal state. To make one side the master and the other the slave.

That’s disgusting!

If we told anyone, my father would find a way to get one, Jin Zixuan said, and he wasn’t guessing. His voice was utterly certain. There’s very little money can’t buy, and he wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of having a spy in the very heart of the Jiang clan.

Well, then just don’t tell him!

Just like I didn’t tell him about what I said about your shijie?

Wei Wuxian got tripped up by that. It was true, Jin Zixuan hadn’t said a word about what had happened, and yet his father had already known every last detail. How..?

One of my ‘friends’ told him, of course. Probably more than one, actually – I wouldn’t be surprised if they all passed it along. It’s what he pays them for.

He pays for your friends to spy on you?!

I already told you that there’s little money can’t buy. Why not friends?

I wouldn’t be friends with people who accepted money to spy on me. Why do you?

If it’s not this set, it’ll be another, and it’s all the same. If they won’t be bought, then I can’t be friends with them…anyway, I’ve gotten used to these ones.

All of them? Wei Wuxian asked. Even Mianmian? She didn’t seem the type…

Her name is Luo Qingyang, and yes. Her parents are sick and my father’s paying for the treatment; if she doesn’t tell him everything, he’ll cut off funds…she told me about it, though. Said that if there was ever a time that I wanted her to ‘forget’ to report something, she could do that. That’s more than most would do, and probably about as much as anyone can expect –

Have you ever had a friend that wasn’t bought? Wei Wuxian asked. I mean…ever?

Jin Zixuan was silent.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Well, I guess you have me now, Wei Wuxian thought, with only a tiny amount of self-pity for the stupidity of agreeing to be friends with Jin Zixuan. Still, if he’d survived his efforts at being Lan Wangji’s friend, he could survive anything. No one’s going to buy me!

But –

Nope! No take-backs! We have a resonant bond, peacock. You think I’m going to waste a gift from the Heavens like this just because it’s with you? You’ve got another thing coming!

…can you at least stop calling me a peacock?!

Madame Yu made her displeasure clear enough when Wei Wuxian returned, ordering him to kneel all night and do every available chore and things like that, but Wei Wuxian didn’t take it to heart – he never did, really.

Like Jiang Cheng, Madame Yu’s bark was worse than her bite: for all that she hissed and spat and punished him with kneeling or holding up weights, she’d never denied him resources, kept him back from training, or even denied him the spot of head disciple to promote another less qualified in his place, which she very well might have if she were a bit pettier.

So he didn’t take it personally, even if Jin Zixuan seemed indignant on his behalf – you were defending her daughter! You’d think she’d give you some leeway for that, at least! – and at any rate it was better than Jin Zixuan’s slow meandering way home, with his father disappearing every night into a brothel or the bedroom of some innkeeper’s daughter or something like that.

It was better than Jin Zixuan’s mother’s reaction, too, which was to scream and shout and say vicious nasty things, to smash plates and vases against the walls right over his head, and then to pull him into her arms and make him promise over and over again that he would never betray her.

I think I suffered more in terms of physical exertion, but you get full points for all the emotional devastation, Wei Wuxian said after Jin Zixuan returned to hide in his bedroom. Does she do that a lot?

All the time, Jin Zixuan said. All the fucking time.

After a moment, he added, guiltily, It’s only that she loves me –

Ugh, don’t even start with that, Wei Wuxian said. Complaining about awful parent-related trauma is boring, I get enough of it from Jiang Cheng. Help me figure out what I should do tomorrow: flying kites, swimming, or hunting pheasants? Oh, or fishing!

…seriously? Do you spend any time cultivating?

Oh, come on. It’s my first day back!

That just means you have more you need to catch up on!

Your shijie is really nice.

I told you!

You didn’t! You just hit me!

Wei Wuxian loved having a resonant bond.

Sure, it wasn’t with someone useful like Jiang Cheng or even wonderful like Lan Wangji – I can hear you, you know – but it was kind of nice to have someone to complain to when it would be awkward to put it onto Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli.

The other half being Jin Zixuan was also not as bad as he had first thought it would be. Sure, he was just as spoiled, arrogant, vain, and deeply cynical about human nature as Wei Wuxian had thought – I can still hear you! – but he was also an awkward introvert with no social skills and an over-active guilt complex – fuck you too, Wei Wuxian – and, in the sum total of things, surprisingly tolerable. Thanks? I think?

It’d certainly made the indoctrination camp more tolerable, even if it did mean having two people talking in his ear about how he needed to think more about the consequences of his actions and how it might reflect on his sect, and certainly having Jin Zixuan confirming that the other disciples had made it out of the cave and were moving at full speed to try to get help made the days he was waiting with Lan Wangji a lot less stressful, and their ensuing rescue a lot easier.

But sometimes –

This is a terrible idea! You can’t do it!

You don’t get a say! Wei Wuxian snarled. This is my decision.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said. A moment later, quieter: Is this because I couldn’t make it to you in time to help?

Wei Wuxian swallowed, feeling his eyes burn. The Wen attack was a surprise to everyone, he said. Even if you were able to convince your father to let you go help with everyone you had, it wouldn’t – you wouldn’t have made it in time to do anything.

After his father had refused, Jin Zixuan had snuck out of Jinlin Tower through what he’d thought was a secret passage and tried to go anyway, only to be caught and dragged back. Wei Wuxian appreciated the effort, even if it didn’t make a difference in the end.

When they were on the run from the Wen sect, after, Jin Zixuan had encouraged Wei Wuxian to head to Lanling, swearing that he wouldn’t allow anyone to turn them over to the Wen sect, but they hadn’t gotten that far.

And now…

It’s my choice, Wei Wuxian said. You don’t get a say.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said again, but his voice was softer. Fine. But I’m here for you.

Wei Wuxian smiled, just a little bit, and told to Wen Qing to start.

I’m going to murder my father, Jin Zixuan said, conversationally. And then go to the hell reserved for patricides and be reborn as a chicken right before slaughter.

For shame, Wei Wuxian said. Not even a lamb or a goat?

No, I want to be able to bite someone and mean it, and chickens are better at that than goats.

Wei Wuxian giggled, a little hysterically. It’s fine, he said, looking around the Burial Mounds. It’s fine that he won’t let you come to my rescue immediately. Not like I’m going anywhere.

He’d thought – they’d both thought – that the resonant bond would break or maybe transfer to Jiang Cheng along with Wei Wuxian’s golden core, but it hadn’t.

Wei Wuxian had been depressingly grateful for it, for the by now familiar Lanling cadence of Jin Zixuan in his head. It made the horrible quiet empty of the Burial Mounds a little more tolerable, a little less awful.

Anyway, he said briskly, shaking off his terror at being here alone but for the voice in his head. I have an idea…

I feel like if I knew Chifeng-zun looked like that I would’ve made befriending Nie Huaisang more of a priority when I was younger.

I know, right? Wei Wuxian thought back. Just…wow.

A moment later, he added, a little irritably, I thought you were into my shijie again?

I am! I’m allowed to have eyes, okay?

Not if you’re surnamed Jin you aren’t.

Fuck you.

Nope. And Chifeng-zun isn’t going to, either.

He could feel Jin Zixuan rolling his eyes. I don’t even want him to, I was really just looking. Anyway, how’s Lan Wangji doing?

Lan Zhan? He’s – well, he’s always bothering me about going back to Gusu with him, talking about how my demonic cultivation is dangerous to me, but oh, you should have seen him when he joins us to fight..! You can forgive anything, really, just to watch him move – Wei Wuxian paused. Wait, why are you asking?

No reason.

Jin Zixuan! You tell me this instant -

Jin Zixuan was locking Wei Wuxian out of his head again.

It was a technique they’d worked on developing together – with some assistance from Wei Wuxian’s brilliance and Jin Zixuan’s ability to find and purchase extremely rare reference texts, whether on resonant bonds or just more generally, including when Wei Wuxian had needed some help figuring out some things about demonic cultivation while trapped on the Burial Mounds – as it had become moderately urgent following Jin Zixuan’s first spring dream involving Jiang Yanli, and even more so once he’d decided that he really did want to marry her, actually, if she’d be willing to have him.

There were some things Wei Wuxian did not need to know about his shijie.

Still, it was unusual for him to block him during the day. One might even call it suspicious.

I’m sorry, Jin Zixuan said abruptly. It had to be done, and you weren’t going to do it.

Huh? What are you talking about…?

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouted, and Wei Wuxian turned, surprised. His shidi’s eyes were red as if he’d been crying, and he ran up and pulled him into his arms. “Wei Wuxian…!”

“What?” he asked, puzzled. “What’s this about…?”

“How could you?!” Jiang Cheng demanded, weeping into his neck. “You should have told me – you had no right to – to give me – Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian’s back went stiff. You didn’t!

It was the truth or you getting kicked out of your sect! He needed to know!

Fuck you! It wasn’t your choice to make!

I’m not going to stand by and let you get schemed against, Jin Zixuan said. Certainly not by my own father. I won’t!

I’m going to make you pay for this, Wei Wuxian said darkly, then looked down at Jiang Cheng in his arms. And possibly thank you for it. But I’m definitely going to make you pay!

This may sound weird, Jin Zixuan said. But I think I’m being poisoned.

Based on what I know about Lanling Jin sect and its politics, it’s not weird at all, Wei Wuxian said instinctively, then frowned. Are you serious? It’s not just baby fatigue or something?

That’s what I thought at first, too. But now I’m not so sure. He was silent for a moment. I don’t want to sound like my mother, but…

You think it’s Lianfeng-zun? I’m not saying he doesn’t have the most motive for it, but do you really think..? He seems so nice.

He is, most of the time. Jin Zixuan sighed. Maybe I really am just tired.

Wei Wuxian didn’t think so. He’d had a half-dozen years of listening to the backstabbing, vicious world of Jinlin Tower under his belt by now – had fought bitterly in the war only to fight even more bitterly for something like the right to attend his own shijie’s wedding, something that ought to have been his by right – had nearly suffered an ambush when he tried to attend Jin Ling’s first month party, with Jin Zixun attacking him and Wen Ning going unexpectedly crazy and Jin Zixuan rushing over as fast as he could to make them all stop. If he hadn’t already known about Jin Zixuan not knowing about this, if he hadn’t felt something go wrong and thrown himself in between them without thinking, Jin Zixuan might’ve died there and then on the Qiongqi path.

If Jin Zixuan thought he was being poisoned, he was probably being poisoned.

I’ll come visit you and look into it, Wei Wuxian said. We can pretend that I’m there to visit shijie.

They’d long ago confessed the truth to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, of course. For some reason, neither had looked all that surprised.

With your reputation, even if you figured something out, who’d believe you? Jin Zixuan asked. Ask Hanguang-jun if he’ll come, his reputation will bear up.

Lan Zhan? Sure! I’m always happy to work with him. But you know, he’s been ignoring me recently…I don’t know why…

Tell him about the resonant bond.

What? I thought we were still keeping it a secret.

Tell him. He doesn’t tell anyone anything.

Good point, I guess. You think that’ll help him stop ignoring me?

Yes.

Wei Wuxian generally trusted Jin Zixuan’s reading of people, now that he was mature enough not to let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. All right, I will. Can you tell me why?

You’ll find out when you tell him.

Unhelpful.

Noted and ignored.

Fuck you.

Yeah, you too. See you soon.

Jin Zixuan?

Yeah?

Thank you for my love life, but also, FUCK YOU.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #resonant bond #this one is set in the untamed but only barely #lesbianjinzixuan

526 notes · View notes

ffhytecbr · 5 years

Text

In Bruce’s defense, anyone who blames him for putting his children in the line of fire does not like…get his children.

Bruce adopting and training these kids is absolutely the only thing standing between them and even EARLIER deaths than the ones in canon that they all basically just…refuse to let stick.

Like, these are six incredibly determined little dumbasses.

Dick Grayson: breaks out of juvie and runs around rooftops tracking down the mob boss that ordered his parents killed in order to ruthlessly avenge them when he’s EIGHT.

Jason Todd: at age twelve, is caught stealing the tires off the goddamn BATMOBILE and upon being caught, his first instinct is NOT flight, its HIT THE GODDAMN BATMAN WITH HIS TIRE IRON.

Tim Drake: as early as age ten, spends his free time running around Gotham’s rooftops and back alleys stalking Batman and Robin with his clunky camera and absolutely no prior experience or training in either acrobatics or surviving Gotham’s back alleys.

Cassandra Cain: Upon learning Lady Shiva is her mother, ignores Batman yelling CASSANDRA NO and tracks down the most lethal and feared woman on the planet and bullies her into training her further, with Shiva going okay but then we gotta battle to the death and Cassandra going sure, makes sense, when do we start.

Damian Wayne: Early in life, is ordered to hunt and fight a bunch of dragon-type creatures. Adopts one as his pet. Finally meets his father, who does not trust him. Steals the Batmobile. Is fired from Robin and forbidden to leave the Manor for his protection while there’s a hit on his life. Calls himself Redbird and resumes Robin duties, citing that he was only forbidden from leaving as ROBIN, specifically. Is sent home during an attack on the city by a zombie army. Turns around and wades into the zombie army on his own. Etc, etc.

Duke Thomas: At age ten, the Riddler shuts down all the power in Gotham and says he’ll only restore it if bested with a riddle. Duke hears this and decides, this is a job for…Duke Thomas. Around age fifteen, he’s put in the foster system after his parents are affected by the Joker’s mind-altering gas during an attack, hears that some of the Joker’s victims have been found wandering around the sewer system that’s noted for being home to like….a cannibalistic crocodile villain, among other things, thinks well, guess I gotta go personally cover every inch of Gotham’s sewers on my own, by foot. Accidentally stumbles across a plot to bomb all of Gotham and decides, this is a job for…Duke Thomas. Etc, etc.

In summation, the Batkids’ shared family trait is Absolute Dumbassery and a Willful Disregard for Self-Preservation, and no, they do not accept constructive criticism. Bruce’s training them all as his partners was 40% fatalism, 60% Hail Mary.

He actually tried getting Dick to choose colors for his costume that would actually blend into the shadows, and eight year old Dick went nah, I’m gonna stick with bright red, yellow and green, thanks though.

He actually tried teaching Jason Todd how to prioritize speed and evasion against bigger opponents, and 5′4″ Jason Todd went nah, I’m just gonna punch ‘em, thanks though.

He actually tried sending Tim home when Tim first showed up, and Tim went nah, I’m just not gonna do that, thanks though.

He actually tried getting Cassandra to be more careful and selective about inserting herself into every single dangerous situation she came across, and Cass went, sorry, lost my phone when I weaponized it against the bad guys and also I’m in Hong Kong right now about to face off with my killer mom, see ya when I get back, bye.

He actually tried benching Damian repeatedly, and Damian went, LOL. No.

He actually tried stressing to Duke the importance of leaving dangerous situations to the professionals, and Duke kept showing up at every dangerous situation in Gotham and being like oh hey, so weird we keep running into each other.

Every time another adult hero clucks at Bruce disapprovingly and says he really should’ve kept his kids out of the hero life, Bruce’s eye twitches and he grinds out: “Oh gee. If only I’d thought of that.”

#batfam

29K notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 5 years

Text

In Bruce’s defense, anyone who blames him for putting his children in the line of fire does not like...get his children.

Bruce adopting and training these kids is absolutely the only thing standing between them and even EARLIER deaths than the ones in canon that they all basically just...refuse to let stick.

Like, these are six incredibly determined little dumbasses.

Dick Grayson: breaks out of juvie and runs around rooftops tracking down the mob boss that ordered his parents killed in order to ruthlessly avenge them when he’s EIGHT.

Jason Todd: at age twelve, is caught stealing the tires off the goddamn BATMOBILE and upon being caught, his first instinct is NOT flight, its HIT THE GODDAMN BATMAN WITH HIS TIRE IRON.

Duke Thomas: At age ten, the Riddler shuts down all the power in Gotham and says he’ll only restore it if bested with a riddle. Duke hears this and decides, this is a job for...Duke Thomas. Around age fifteen, he’s put in the foster system after his parents are affected by the Joker’s mind-altering gas during an attack, hears that some of the Joker’s victims have been found wandering around the sewer system that’s noted for being home to like....a cannibalistic crocodile villain, among other things, thinks well, guess I gotta go personally cover every inch of Gotham’s sewers on my own, by foot. Accidentally stumbles across a plot to bomb all of Gotham and decides, this is a job for...Duke Thomas. Etc, etc.

He actually tried teaching Jason Todd how to prioritize speed and evasion against bigger opponents, and 5′4″ Jason Todd went nah, I’m just gonna punch ‘em, thanks though.

He actually tried sending Tim home when Tim first showed up, and Tim went nah, I’m just not gonna do that, thanks though.

He actually tried benching Damian repeatedly, and Damian went, LOL. No.

29K notes · View notes

barnesandco · 3 years

Text

Little Hands (IV)

Series Masterlist

Communication is key.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 2248. Square filled: “Sung to Sleep”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Hydra Evilness, More Sad Child, Parental Anxieties. Brief mentions of war, sickness, death, grief.

A/N: I know 2.2k words isn’t objectively a lot but boy did this feel like it. I hope every word is worth it and that you enjoy! Lmk what you think!!! Also I won’t even lie, the idea of Steve’s kids is 100% from one of my favorite comfort fics, family means no one gets left behind or forgotten, by the genius, the wonderful cosmicocean. IT’S SO SOFT. Pls read it.

You’re stunned when Bucky tells you what’s going on. The idea that his daughter (?) was made in a lab like some kind of experiment, and that the man who led said experiment now wants her back like she is his property, his weapon, is too horrid to consider for very long. Weaponizing an innocent child. Hydra.

Bucky gave you the broad strokes of the investigation – currently running on little more than educated guesses based on the meagre intel they have – and has let you know that he has had to recuse himself from the case, due to his… personal connection. That leaves him somewhere he finds awkward, to say the least.

It's evident in the way the corners of his lips turn down, how he is constantly rubbing the pads of his fingers against the coarse scratch of denim, while he watches Ana watch Zoya, Steve’s 17-year-old daughter, working on a tablet. Zoya tucks a strand of hair behind her hijab, then continues to draw up a storyboard, narrating the events to the younger girl. Steve had apparently forgotten the lunch his kids had made him at home, so Zoya had brought it in, and decided to stay the day.

Ana’s quiet, attentive for the most part, listening with her full capabilities, but her eyes flit away from the screen every now and then to look at you and Bucky, as if to reassure herself that you’re still there.

Besides that, there aren’t all that many distractions present for an already precocious child. Most of the team has dispersed for the investigation, with the exception of Peter, who is sat at a table in the corner making intentionally fruitless efforts at teaching Morgan chess, while she giggles and tries to stack the pieces like Jenga blocks instead.

However, Bucky’s restlessness is infectious, and you think he needs to get it under check before it grows any further. That’s why you stand, saying, “Could we go for a little walk, Bucky?”

He nods, man of few words that he is, and leads the way. You’re sure he knows that you formulated it like a request for his benefit, but he doesn’t mention it. It’s just as well – that he knows you like that, and knows when to accept the proverbial hand being offered.

Bucky takes you to a corner of the roof that you’d mistake for a community garden if you didn’t know any better. The Avengers seem to have green thumbs, or at least, a significant portion of them do. They’re good with plants, and possessive about them, too. Autumn ferns grow outside the circle they seem to have been planted in – with a sign shouting Wanda! – to invade the territory of a vegetable garden labelled Bruce (accompanied by a Hulkish, green thumbs up presumably not drawn by the man himself).

Meticulously maintained daylilies and columbines, in vivid reds and vibrant purples, litter the edges of the path that has been carved through this little paradise, and the birdhouses between them stake the claim of the owner more effectively than a neon sign screaming Sam Wilson. Bucky’s told you about his abilities, how they veer into the decidedly supernatural but Sam insists are only the residue of a childhood with homing pigeons.

Nothing here looks like Bucky’s, though. He seems to be taking it in, perhaps thinking about his own little paradise back in the city, and how he’s chosen to keep it distant from that of his teammates. That worries you. He worries you.

And this, the situation with Anastasia, becoming a father, it’s terrifying. Hell, if it scares you this much, how is he feeling? You ask him as much.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He laughs, softly, disbelievingly, no malice in his scoff, only fear. Only the sound of a voice saturated with consternation and total, complete anxiety. “Would you be?” He asks back.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Bucky evades the questions, turning first one way on the path, and then the other, approaching the edge clear of shrubbery and blooms alike, resting his palms on the top of the wall.

“I can’t be a father.”

The solemnity in his tone allows no room for negotiations, but then, neither do the facts. “You are,” you reply, somewhat hesitantly, because the technicalities of how Ana came to be are still a little blurry to you. She’s far from a normal child, and not quite a clone, either. She is of Bucky, though. His, in any way that counts.

“That little girl was created in a Hydra lab as a super soldier to serve the cause,” he says, shaking his head vigorously as the cause repulses him even more than it does you. “And who knows what else she was put through before SHIELD fell and Orlov got her out, and it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t ask for it to happen but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t happened. They used me to make a super soldier from scratch, and now I’m supposed to raise her? It’s not that simple. I’m not Steve. I can’t…”

Being honest, you feel you’re pretty far out of your depth here. But you’ve promised him your help, and you’ll do your best.

“You don’t have to. There are other options.” You’re sure you’re overstepping. Perhaps this gentle companionship has not yet reached the point where you can give advice on parenting. But if you don’t, who will? Steve, whose answers don’t enter the gray territory Bucky’s mind is residing in right now, who parents like he was born for it?

Steve chose fatherhood. Bucky has been nailed to it like it’s a new cross to bear, heavier than all the previous ones put together.

His gaze roams the grounds that stretch as far as you can see. You’re both far away from home right now, far outside your comfort zones.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess, sweetheart. It’s not right. You have things to do, and I shouldn’t have—”

“Bucky, I’ve been staring at the same four sentences of dialogue for the past month. I literally could not have been happier to get out of the house. Even if I do wish it was under better circumstances,” you say fervently. You’re here because he needs you. Because Ana needs you. It’s nice to be needed.

“That’s one way to put it,” he smiles, and you’re glad to see it.

“Not to mention, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except whoever your team is looking for,” you insist. “And Ana’s a sweet girl. A little quiet, but Baba says I was, too.”

This, Bucky thinks about. You wonder if he was a quiet child, too. “What’s he like?”

“Hmm?” The reverie snaps like a rubber band.

“Your father?” Bucky asks, shyly, his eyes meeting yours, letting you know exactly why he’s asking.

You look up at the clouds, think back to Boston, to time shared between the library and the park. A childhood with books, lunch breaks under a desk in an office at MIT, stealing his glasses and running away with them, rubbing at his stubbly beard like he was a housecat. Inside jokes with your father and rolled eyes with your mother. Laughter and tears, laughter with tears.

After a long while, trying and failing to summarize your father, you say, “A jokester. The most sarcastic person I know. But still kind of neurotic, to be honest. The kind of parent that makes you show up at the airport a full four hours before your flight.” It’s grossly insufficient. For a writer, you’re not very good with words. You suppose it’s not the words that are the problem; it’s the lifetime they have to encompass. “What about yours?”

Bucky sighs. “Soldier. He’s one thing I don’t feel bad for not remembering because it wasn’t Hydra that wiped those memories. He just died when I was really small. Survived the Great War only to be killed by TB a few years later at home.”

“I’m sorry.” You avert your eyes. Grief feels private, even decades later, even in the smallest doses.

He shakes his head, smiles fondly, up at the sky, too, like you did. Only, he’s smiling at it, like he’s thinking of someone beyond the clouds. “Don’t be. Was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t allowed to hurt anymore.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“I sound like my therapist.”

At this, the two of you look at each other and burst into laughter. It feels forbidden, as though the severity of the situation condemns joy. That isn’t fair, you think. The situation is that of a child, and nobody needs laughter more than kids do. Food for the soul.

When the echo of your exhilarations falls, Bucky grows serious once more. “They have them for kids, now, too, right?” He asks, referring to therapists. “Do you think Anastasia should see one? She’s not exactly… normal, you know?”

“Maybe.” It’s a difficult question, but a good indicator of how Bucky is growing to feel about Ana. “You’d make a good dad, if you wanted to be one, Bucky,” you say, and mean it. It’s plain as day that he cares about her.

“I can’t even remember my own.”

“Parental instincts are intuitive, not genetic,” you tell him.

“You been reading handbooks?” He teases.

“You’d be surprised by how much you learn from the rabbit holes you fall down while researching books,” you deadpan.

“Can any of that research get the nightmares out of my head? I think it might scare a kid.”

The self-deprecation hurts, but your response is honest, heartfelt. “She likes you already.”

“She won’t if she thinks I’ve run away,” he answers, straightening up. He might be trying to evade the conversation, but you’ll let him, for now. He’s gotten some fresh air, had some time to clear his thoughts, or sort them, at least. And so you return, to the little girl who has a tighter grip on both of you than you even realize.

------

Ana grows unsettled as night darkens the sky. It could be the ruckus she isn’t quite used to. It could be the toy fire truck Tony has been altering with his utensils to increase its noise output, much to Morgan’s amusement. It could be the actual parrot perched on Sam’s shoulder.

Whatever the cause, she hasn’t succumbed to it enough to make a seat out of the fridge again. She’s sitting in her seat, between Bucky and yourself, eating the hummus Bruce and Wanda have made. Nat discusses sniper scopes with Clint, Peter tries to get away with eating the side of vegetables on Jordan’s plate without Steve noticing, and Bucky eats silently, eyes almost constantly on Anastasia, who takes it all in while her knee bounces up and down with an ever-increasing speed, much like her father’s.

You excuse yourselves soon after dessert, after Morgan has fallen asleep against Jordan’s arm on the couch, and Steve and Tony’s friendly debate is starting to develop the edge it tends to when they’ve been bantering for too long.

Bucky sets up on the sectional in his room, and leaves the ridiculously large double bed to you and Anastasia. It’s been a strange, strange day, and one can only hope that tomorrow brings some ease, a balm for the prickly, fiery ache that has settled over the man you care so much about.

------

When you wake, it’s because of singing. For half a moment, you think you’re in a dream, but as your eyes adjust to the blanket of dark, you see the shadow on the sofa nearby. Only, it’s bigger than just Bucky. Anastasia is sitting on his lap, her head cushioned against his chest. Scrambling for your glasses, and turning on the lamp on the bedside table, you notice that there are trails of drying tears on her little cheeks, and she’s still shaking with the aftershocks of whatever scare she must’ve had during the night.

Not for the first time, you curse your deep sleep that meant you didn’t wake with Ana, but watch in wonder as Bucky sings.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing Papa's going to buy you a diamond ring

Ana’s eyes begin to close, but she fights the sleep. Bucky doesn’t let her. He lies down, easing her down beside himself, singing all the while.

And if that diamond ring turns brass Papa's going to buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke Papa's going to buy you a billy goat

His voice fills the room, low though it may be, and he curls himself around Ana.

And if that billy goat won't pull Papa's going to buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull turn over Papa's going to buy you a dog named Rover

She succumbs to the lull of his tone, his song, his promises, sighs a little sigh, lets the last, little hiccup leave her body.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark Papa's going to buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town

Bucky lifts his hand from where it was stroking the hair at her temple, and lays his arm over his daughter. They’re safe, for now. Together.

#SSB2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #dad!bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfic

129 notes · View notes

just-someone-who-likes-to-write · 3 years

Text

Prince Nuada x Angel!Reader (P.3)

(Requested by @blackwoodwinter : Hello! Could i request a story of reader x prince nuada, where the reader is naturally born human with powers & mutations that make her look like an angel. She also works in the BPRD alongside Red and Abe and when she first meets Nuada he mistakes her for a mythical creature, initially not liking her of betraying mythical creatures for humans, but she clearfies she is technically human and shows him little by little there is still good in humanity.)

Warning: None I guess.

Word Count: 2,888

Part1 Part2

It has been weeks since the resurrection incident, (Y/n) had recovered and has rejoined the investigation for the Gargoyle. During the said investigation, Nuada has been keeping an eye on the little human angel, which surprised some because he always showed nothing but disgust towards her and now he will not leave her side unless she expressed wanting to be alone. Of course, he was subtle about it, only those who knew him well enough noticed such actions. Hellboy didn't like the sudden interest the elf prince had in (Y/n), Abraham was between being hopeful that Nuada accepted her as a friend and worried that he was up to something, Liz and Nuala on the other hand had a pretty good picture on what was possibly happening but said nothing only acted when Hellboy needed someone to hold him back or poor Abraham who needed reassurance that everything is fine.

However, unlike what the girls were thinking, Nuada wasn't staying close to (Y/n) because he had feelings for her, but rather was intrigued by her and wanting to know what else she is able to do.

"Can you fly with them?" He asked one day when he caught her stretching her wings, his eyes mesmerized by the feathers that shone against the light.

"Uh… Yeah." She replied a bit startled since she thought she was alone.

"How high can you go?" He took a few steps forward to get a better look at (Y/n)'s wings.

"Well, the highest I went like… 60 story building." You answered self-consciously. Nuada raised a brow of bewilderment.

"Only 60 story?" He repeated confused. "Forgive my bluntness, but I believed you could go higher since your wings look strong."

"I might be." You said with a shrug.

"Might be?"

"Well, I never really went any higher than 60 stories." You looked around to make sure they were alone before whispering. "I'm actually scared to go higher."

"Why is that?" Asked Nuada in bewilderment.

"I'm just afraid that something might go wrong." You answered. "What if I went too high that I can't breathe anymore and lose consciousness and fall to my death, what if my wings got tired and cramped and caused me to fall to my death, or what if I got high enough that-"

"Bunch of human hunters would mistake you for a bird and shot you down to your death?" Said Nuada with a smirk finding (Y/n)'s imagination amusing.

"No, that would be a silly thought." She retorted before continuing. "I was going to say, that I would accidentally be pulled into a plane's engine without me being able to prevent it.

Nuada looked at her with wide eyes of amazement before bursting into laughter.

"Why are you laughing!?" (Y/n) exclaimed with a bright red face, Nuada continued laughing.

Nuada agreed to keep her secret on the condition of allowing him to help her get over her fear, which she reluctantly agreed to. When the weather was clear they would go outside where she would try and fly a bit higher, she would get scared after a few meters away from what she was used to but with practice, she is getting used to it. Of course, flying isn't the only thing he was teaching her. In the training room, he would teach her hand in hand combat and that she should not just depend on her wings. One day she came forward and asked him to teach her how to fight with weapons specifically with sword…that she already has.

"Tell me again how did you obtain such a weapon." Said Nuada as he stared at the sword in her hands that he dared not to touch, for even if it was naked to the human eyes he could sense the holy aura around it.

"It was found centuries by humans who passed it from one generation to the other, then from and organization to the other until it was settling beneath the Vatican vault." She explained. "I remember that we needed further information about a monster we were after, and such information can only be found in the Vatican. It was one of my first missions outside the country, Professor Broom is the one who insisted to take me along with them in hopes that by seeing me 'An Angel' that they would be a bit lenient on us, of course, Hellboy was forbidden to go along with us, so it was just me, the professor and a few protection agents…. I remember that while the professor was looking into the documents I felt a pull towards a locked room that to this day I still don’t know how did I get into without alarming anyone, all I remember is one moment I was standing on one side watching the professor work and then suddenly I was holding the sword in my hand while Vatican security was pointing a gun at me to let the sword go."

Nuada watched her closely as she told the story, her eyes shone slightly as she stared down at her sword.

"And what convinced them to let you keep it?" Asked Nuada pulling her out of her thoughts.

"It was the Pope." She continued. "He said that the sword found its owner. I still don't understand. Of course, there were a lot who objected on letting me keep the word, but the Pope's words were final."

"Does anyone know where the sword came from?"

"They don't know exactly where, each one just said a different story." She sheathed her sword back to her side. "But the one I follow was the one Professor broom told me, That millenniums ago, in the war between Lucifer and god, that an Angel must have lost their weapon causing it to fall on earth…. I'm still skeptical about it but I think the story sounds really cool!"

Nuada just stayed silenced and nodded at her.

Everything was going well for Nuada. Manning trusted him more which allowed him more freedom to even walk outside the building unsupervised, He got to know Abraham more for his sister's sake, and even his relationship with Red become of a friendly rivalry rather than pure trust and distrust, and even humans around him started to become less tense around him, going as far as greeting him in the halls when they saw him or ask him about her day. Everything was going well…until Manning called for an emergency meeting that everyone including the paranormal agents had to be present in it.

"His name is Hugo." Said Abraham as he presented the few blurry pictures they were able to catch on the digital screen.

The moment he uttered the name Nuada could feel his blood grow cold and his heartbeat slightly rise with nervousness. He did his best not to show it. He would be lying to say that he didn't expect to hear about the gargoyle again, but part of him still hoped that the beast would follow his advice and disappear for a few centuries before striking again. The prince tried to ignore the bang of guilt he felt when remembering his first encounter with Hugo and how he let him go. His eyes looked to (Y/n) who was concentrating on whatever Abraham was saying with a serious look in her eyes while her hand rests on her sword, ready to fight. Aside from guilt now he also felt ashamed because he deceived her. The Elven prince stared back into the screen trying to mask his true feeling with a nonchalant stare.

"We found the Gargoyle Coven and asked them about if any one of their members went rouge and they confirmed that Hugo was one of them, that he spent centuries complaining about the humans and even refusing to protect them from harm when they saw them in danger." A few murmurs were filling the room but were quieted down as he continued. "They cast him out of the coven after he not only witnessed the death of an innocent human family but helped the culprit escape."

"How horrible." Said Nuala with a sorrowful look. "What kind of creature would allow such a thing."

Nuada averted his eyes with shame from his sister, looking down at his weapon which he refused to raise against the gargoyle. He was now part of such a crime because he too let the beast flee undetected.

"Listen, we still don't know what is his weakness since every book we had said that gargoyles are invisible…" Said Red earning everyone's attention. "Except against one thing and its sunlight, when it touches them they turn to stone, it still doesn't mean they are dead, they just become immobile until nightfall. So our best option is to find him, tie him down until sunrise, and when he turns to stone we break him to pieces!"

When he said the last part he slammed his stone fist against the table breaking it.

"…Oops…" He said as he took a step back.

"You know Red.." Called (Y/n). "I was really admiring your plan, that you finally said something that didn't involve shooting something down, but then you go and do this."

Her remark made the people in the room laugh or giggle, except Nuada who was trying to figure out what to do and how. Because if they did manage to catch the beast he will blurb out that he had helped him escape, which will lose him to lose everything he has now. Respect, Trust, and loyalty. The humans would probably lock him back with no hope of a second chance, his sister would look at him with disgust… and (Y/n) would never want to be near him again.

No, he needed to do something and fast.

---

"What is troubling you brother?" Asked Nuala as she entered his room.

"Nothing is troubling me." He lied skillfully.

He was in the middle of preparing for leaving with the others to look for the gargoyle. They had been informed of a large group of humans going missing around a specific area in the city so they planned to make different search parties each one lead by either Hellboy, Abraham, (Y/n), or him. His plan however was simple, slowly separate from the human group, search for a possible lead to Hugo, when he finds the Gargoyle he will convince him to leave the city. Nuala's eyes narrowed at her brother, who still has his back to her.

"I sensed how agitated you were during the meeting." She said with her arms crossed. Nuada paused for a moment before continuing his work.

"It was just the fact that I have to work with humans." He lied swiftly but Nuala didn't believe him.

"Brother…" She called timidly, he just hummed in response. "Did you do something you shouldn't have done?"

Nuala came forward to place her hand on her brother's shoulder in hopes of learning what he was hiding, but Nuada dodged her hand, which fell in mid-air. His sister froze when she saw the harsh glare he gave her.

"You are my sister, and I love you dearly… But…" He growled. "If you tried to read my mind again without permission, I'm afraid I won't be so kind."

He then turns around to leave his stunned sister in his room, her eyes wide because Nuada rarely becomes angry with her, but also because his action reminded her of when they were little, he would avoid her like the plague whenever he does something he shouldn't, like stealing pastry goods or breaking something valuable, but they were adults now and for Nuada avoiding her touch let alone give her such a glare means that whatever he was hiding was big, which makes her very worried.

"What are you doing Brother." She said to no one in the empty room.

---

Nuada was wearing a cloak to blend easily with the shadows whenever a human was about to see him. From the device, in his ear, Nuada could hear the human agents talking among themselves whether it was a casual conversation or just stating what they were seeing as suspicious, only rarely did they talk to him, and when they do it is only to ask him if he is seeing anything. He had enough when he saw that in a couple of hours they will have to go back, so Nuada told the humans that he was going to search from the buildings surface to have a better look at the dark sky to catch the Gargoyle if he was by chance flying over them. they trusted him and just told him to inform him if he saw anything so they can inform the other groups and come to help him. Nuada shook the bit of guilt he felt at the blind trust that these humans have given him, and continued jumping form a building to the other, when he deemed himself far enough he used the fire escape to go back down and go somewhere a bit more open for the Gargoyle to fly in freely. Nuada had seen how big Hugo was, not to mention the length of his wings, knowing that he would need an open place to be able to continue his kidnapping easily, Nuada had led the humans to an area that was closed, to keep them away and safe.

He was walking on the side of the road looking up to the sky and keeping his senses sharp, to any movement near him. He kept walking until he reached a park. He was outside by the high iron fences, his eyes glanced to the lack of green graces, how the ground was filled with brown spots, most of the trees were dead or dying, even the children's ground was dirty and broken. A small bush of yellow flowers caught his attention, the flowers were growing on the small space between the iron fence bars, and they were slightly beaking out in the sidewalk. He didn't know why but he wanted to at least feel the small petals of the flowers, he knelt and reached for them but before his fingertips could someone called for him.

"Don't pick the flower!" A small voice of a little girl who was running towards him.

Nuada quickly took a step back and he tugged his hood down to assure that his face wasn't visible, but he still could see the little girl who was kneeling down to inspect the flowers. She then looked up to him.

"I'm sorry for scaring your mister." Her tiny voice said politely. He just nodded in response to show that it was alright.

Nuada watched as the little girl pulled out a worn-out plastic bottle which was filled with water. She opened the cap and proceeded to pour an amount that was obviously too much for the flower to absorb, but she did know that. When the bottle was half empty she stopped, and gave a satisfied nod at her work before closing the bottle again.

"There used to be a lot of flowers, but after last summer almost all of them died because no one was there to take care of them…" The little girl explained. "So I decided that do it myself!"

She gave Nuada, who was staring at her with interest, a big proud smile at what she just said. The prince couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips.

"What is your name little one?" He asked gently.

"My name is Sophie."

"Well, Sophie, I must say that what you are doing is admirable." He said sincerely. The girl titled her head.

"What does that mean?" she asked confused. He chuckled at her nativity.

"It means good." he explained as simply as he could. "What you are doing is very good."

The girl's eyes widened in realization before giggling, delighted to being praised by a stranger. He was still curious about something.

"Why are you watering them at night?" He asked.

"Oh, My mom grounded me today and I couldn't go and water them, so I sneaked out." She said as if she was caught doing something wrong… which she was.

"It is dangerous to go into the night this late you need to return home now." Nuada said in a soft yet stern manner. The Girl's smile dropped, replaced by a sad frown.

"B...But my flowers…"

"Your flowers can survive till morning and I am sure if you told your mother she will understand." He said. "But sneaking out late at night with no one knowing your location, now go home now, it's dangerous."

The little girl looked as if she was going to say something but refrained from doing so and she turned and ran away. Nuada as well turned on his heel to continue his search for the Gargoyle. However, Nuada failed to notice how the little girl stopped her track after she thought she was far enough from him, and when she saw him turn in a corner and disappear the little girl returned back to the park to tend to the rest of her flowers, disobeying the stranger's orders, believing that she will be safe enough to water a few more flowers.

Unaware of the glowing red eyes that are watching her from afar.

---

I hope all of you enjoyed this part and will look forward for more.

Reminder Requests are closed.

#prince nuada x reader #nuada x reader #hellboy the golden army #hellboy 2 the golden army

229 notes · View notes

hawkeykirsah · 3 years

Text

Revelations

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31326755

“Satine never said Mandalorians couldn’t wear armor! Where do people get these ridiculous ideas?” Obi-Wan threw up his hands.

“The Duchess,” Jango replied, barely holding back the contempt in his voice, “makes no secret of her disdain for anyone that does.”

“Her not liking it doesn’t equate to people not being allowed to do so!” came the sharp reply.

“The New Mandalorians also won’t allow us our weapons.”

Obi-Wan thumped his head against the pillow with an annoyed groan. “Jango, please. Have you ever listened to what Satine says? I mean truly listened to her words, not what Death Watch twists them to?”

Jango bristled at that. He would never listen to what those dar’manda shabuire said. Obi-Wan continued, undeterred, “Not once has she said that weapons are forbidden. Lethal weapons are prohibited in the city of Sundari unless you have proof of exemption. That does not mean giving up your weapons altogether! Force, she carries a deactivator! Her guards carry energy pikes and armor, in case you haven’t noticed. I carry my lightsaber! She doesn’t want people resorting to violence when there are other options. And she wants Mandalore to be able to define itself by something other than armor and weapons—arts and crafts, for example—but she hasn’t forbidden either.”

“Are you saying armor and weapon smiths aren’t craftsmen?”

“No,” Obi-Wan stated firmly. “But they aren’t the only valid form of craftsmanship. Take glassblowers, cabinetmakers, potters, painters, masons, just to name a few. She is asking that you remember that a people need more than just warriors. Focusing solely on the martial aspects is unsustainable.”

Jango frowned, mulling over the younger man’s words. Now that he thought about it, Obi-Wan was right. But there was another detail niggling him.

“You always call her by her first name.”

“Well, of course I call Satine by her first name unless I’m in a more formal setting,” Obi-Wan scoffed, shooting Jango a disappointed look. Had he missed something? Kriff, he must have. Why else would Obi-Wan level such a look at him?

Obi-Wan rolled to his stomach, resting his chin on his hands, his hair shining reddish-gold in the light, “I thought you had made the connection by now.”

Jango seldom felt out of his depth but in this instance he had no idea what the Jedi was playing at. He blinked, thoroughly confused, and shook his head.

“Do you want me to tell you or would you rather figure it out yourself?”

“Kriffing hells, Obi-Wan,” Jango said, narrowly avoiding rolling his eyes. He was in no mood for guessing games. “Just tell me already.”

“Satine is my sister.”

What? Jango blinked again. He must have misheard. There was no way—but there is, a quiet voice in his head spoke up. It was true, he had noticed the similarity between Obi-Wan and the younger Kryze sister but had always ignored it. For one thing, his name was Kenobi, not Kryze. Then again, perhaps he was adopted. Jango’s own name was Fett after all, and not Mereel.

Obi-Wan said nothing as these thoughts raced through Jango’s mind, his expression one of mild humor.

“Are you adopted as well?” Jango blurted out.

“Yes, by the Jedi,” Obi-Wan replied.

Jango let out an annoyed huff. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it, Kenobi,” he ground out, stressing the name.

A smile twitched on Obi-Wan’s face. The bloody bastard was enjoying himself. Before Jango could feel too put upon, he moved, placing a kiss on Jango’s lips.

“I am the third of four siblings. Considering the animosity between Mandalorians and Jedi, my mother wished my heritage to remain undisclosed,” Obi-Wan began explaining softly, carding his fingers through Jango’s hair. “Kenobi was my mother’s family name. Either way, the name Kenobi is a credit a dozen on Stewjon whereas Kryze was, is, firmly tied to Mandalore and its problems.” He paused. “As you may know, my father always supported Jaster, even if they had minor disagreements. But a Force-sensitive child? He wasn’t sure how that would have been taken by the Haat mando'ade. You must admit, most Mandalorians think of Jedi as sorcerers, and not in a good way. So when my talents became too apparent my mother brought me to the temple during one of our visits to Coruscant.”

Jango winced. He knew too well what Obi-Wan was talking about. If you asked a random Mandalorian about the Jedi, the answer would rarely be favorable. He was also guilty of it, especially after the clusterfuck that had been Galidraan. Looking back, his own actions had exacerbated the situation. And now? Of all the people he could fall in love with it had to be a Jedi and, apparently, a Kryze. The ka’ra were clearly laughing at him.

“I didn’t return to Mandalore until the civil war. My master and I were the envoys that were sent after Satine asked the Republic for aid,” after our parents were assassinated, Obi-Wan doesn’t say but Jango fills it in anyway. “Yes, I grew up on Coruscant but just as our Togruta Jedi speak Shili alongside Basic, and our Twi’lek Jedi speak Ryl, I speak Mando’a.” Obi-Wan sighed. “One can have more than one family, you know? Mine are the Jedi, first and foremost, but also my clan on Kalevala and Stewjon.”

He stopped talking, the small crease between his eyebrows deepening the way it always did when Obi-Wan was thinking. Jango found it far too endearing. The silence stretched between them until Obi-Wan went on quietly, “Satine loves Mandalore just as much as you do. She wants it to thrive and for the violence to end. I’m not asking you to agree with everything Satine says but I am asking you not to twist the words in her mouth. Can you do that for me, Jango Fett?”

Jango swallowed. Could he? For Obi-Wan, yes. If he could accept that Obi-Wan was a Jedi and love him then him being Satine’s brother wouldn’t stop Jango, either.

“I think,” he began carefully, “I can manage to tolerate her.”

He was rewarded with a blinding smile lighting up Obi-Wan’s eyes. “That’s all I ask.”

Jango couldn’t help but smile back. Then, “But what about your other sister?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Feel free to kick Bo-Katan’s ass when you see her. I know I will. Death Watch, seriously.” He shook his head, his fingers trailing slowly down Jango’s chest, “But right now I really don’t want to think about my sisters anymore.”

Jango’s breath hitched. Yes, there were definitely better ways to spend the morning before they both had to return to their duties.

#obi-wan kenobi #jango fett #satine kryze #bo-katan kryze #jangobi #star wars fanfic #canon divergent au #my writing #hawk writes #Revelations #not beta read

82 notes · View notes

teawaffles · 3 years

Text

Forbidden Games: Chapter 5

At William’s question, Alan beckoned to another of his accomplices. That man took an item from his breast pocket and handed it to Alan.

“This is the game we’ll be playing today.”

In his hands was a revolver.

With the appearance of this dangerous weapon, the two men understood the contents of the game in a flash.

“Russian roulette, indeed.”

“Quite right. I believe you had spoken to one of the club members about this a short while ago. For what it’s worth, I was the one who learned about this game and introduced it to the club.”

Sherlock turned a deaf ear to Alan’s careless self-praise, instead staring at the gun in his hands.

“A Peacemaker……? No, it’s a little different. A modified version?” [1]

Alan hummed in approval. “Bravo. This is a modified Colt Single Action Army, made specially to order. The cylinder opens to the side. The type popular in the hall is but a toy which uses rubber bullets, but—— this one uses the real deal.”

“In other words, you’re asking us to wager our lives.”

“Indeed. Defeat means death.”

“I see.”

Even in the face of the word ‘death’, the two men remained unshaken. Alan, finding their lack of reaction dull, continued his explanation.

“The process goes as follows: first, open the cylinder and load a bullet.”

He mimed the action with the revolver in his hand, and closed the cylinder.

“After closing the cylinder, give it a spin.”

He then used his open palm to strike the cylinder, causing it to spin vigorously. It made a pleasant sound as it rotated, then gradually came to a stop.

“And there you have it. By the way, this gun has a maximum capacity of six bullets. Do you understand what that means?”

He seemed a little unskilled in handling guns, but his actions thus far lacked any trace of doubt. Both William and Sherlock nodded in silence.

“Excellent. Now, I wish to take both of you on, so I’ll be adding another player to my team to make this a two-versus-two match. The game will end either when a player is shot, or when one side surrenders without firing a bullet.”

Alan chose the man who had handed him the gun earlier. The other accomplices solemnly placed chairs around the table, and six bullets on the table itself.

Sherlock walked up to a chair.

“So you’re saying that each side is going to take turns firing the gun on themselves. Then let’s get on with deciding the order.”

“Please wait just a moment.”

Alan raised a hand to cut Sherlock off.

“That would be no different from ordinary Russian roulette. Hence I’m going to add just one more rule, to make this a little more thrilling for everyone.”

The duo listened on in silence.

“The rule is as follows: the next person to fire the gun has to load at least one more bullet into it.”

“At least one more……”

William immediately understood what that meant.

In other words, if the first player loads in one bullet, then the next player will have to use a roulette with two or more bullets. In the round after that, the gun must contain at least three bullets. Therefore, the last player would naturally be at a disadvantage.

“With these rules, the game will be settled early on,” William pointed out.

Alan shrugged.

“Well then, what will you do? Will you proceed? If you pull out at this stage, it will be considered your loss by default, and I’ll be happy to give you both a concession on your forfeit, you know.”

With the revolver in one hand, he made a clownish gesture as he pressed the two men for an answer. If they finally chickened out and begged him to call off the game, he would get a windfall. And even if they didn’t take up his offer, just watching the colour of their faces drain from fear would be enough to sate his desires.

However, as for the duo——.

“Let’s proceed.”

“Fine by me.”

Without hesitation, they accepted the match.

Although he’d half-predicted this scenario, Alan still grit his teeth.

“……That courage is definitely something I wish to emulate. But let’s get on with it right away. The sequence of players is just as Mr Holmes mentioned: both teams will take turns firing on themselves. ……Well, since my team was the one to suggest this game, let’s have your team start off.”

“Playing fair now won’t earn you any gratitude. ……Liam, what’ll we do?”

“…………”

For a few seconds, William sank deep into thought.

Many things raced through his mind: the opponent’s words and movements up to this point, an analysis of Alan’s personality, how the game would unfold, and the possible situations they could find themselves in after the game ended. The predictions branched out far and wide, and he considered each of them with no omissions, selecting the actions that they would have to take—— and finally arriving at a decision.

“Mr Holmes.”

He called out to Sherlock beside him.

The detective looked into William’s eyes. They were pure crimson, of a shade reminiscent of fresh blood. Despite the fact that they were allies, a chill ran down his back, and Sherlock felt as if his entire body was being wrapped in strings.

“…………”

Strangely enough, there was no need for words or gestures. Just by meeting his gaze, Sherlock sensed that William had devised a way out of this situation.

For the sake of his game, Alan had put up an elaborate facade of this scale. It stood to reason that the game itself would also contain some kind of trick. Although Sherlock more or less had an idea about it, William had already seen through the trick, and struck upon a plan to take advantage of it.

In that case, it was time to put the plan into action.

Sherlock gave him a nod, and resolved to pay attention to William’s every movement from now on.

Seeing the other man’s response, William dropped his gaze.

The preparations were complete. All that was left was to demonstrate that his solution was correct.

——It was time to show them a real plot.

A mathematics professor, as well as the heart of the “Lord of Crime”, spoken of with fear by the citizens of Great Britain —— William James Moriarty had set up a plan to manipulate all, including his ally Sherlock.

“I wish to go first…… Would that be alright?” he suggested, in a convincingly apologetic manner.

Playing along with William’s change in attitude, Sherlock deliberately adopted a frustrated tone as he replied.

“…… So you’re leaving me the worse spot. Guess it can’t be helped.”

He sat on the chair in front of him with a thud. Taking reference from his position, the other three men chose their seats at the table as well.

The sequence of players was: William, Alan, Sherlock, and Alan’s accomplice.

However, the sequence would not rotate until the fourth person was reached.

That was what Alan and his accomplices expected, and what William and Sherlock were sure of.

As the first player, William was handed the gun. He opened the cylinder. It looked well-used, with small scratches at four locations on the body and one location on the cylinder.

Having ascertained the state of the gun, he’d proceeded to take a bullet from the table and load it in, when Alan spoke up.

“By the way, it would obviously be against the rules to point the gun at anyone but yourself. I would caution you not to try anything untoward.”

Having heard his advice, William looked around the room and found Alan’s accomplices all turned towards himself, with small-scale guns at the ready. To go this far to maintain this unilateral pretence of a game…… William was, from the bottom of his heart, speechless.

Back to the game. He slowly aimed the revolver at his own temple, then intentionally took a few deep breaths, before pulling the trigger.

——A click.

William put the gun down with a long, thin exhale.

“Although there is only a one-sixth chance of death in the first round…… you have great courage, my opponent.”

As Alan showered him in praise, William handed over the gun and replied.

“However, it will be at least two-sixths in the next round. That is to say, at least a third of a chance that death will come for you.”

“Indeed, I am fully aware of that.”

Alan took the revolver and loaded his portion of bullets. There were two, which meant he would be firing a gun with three bullets in it.

“Hey, by doing that your chances will become one in two, you know.”

Sherlock looked at him with a puzzled expression. If Alan managed to survive this, Sherlock would be facing off with at least four bullets. The risk would be too great.

“Well then……”

Alan put the gun barrel to his head, and placed his finger on the trigger.

Sherlock held his breath as he looked on.

There was a dry click.

“Safe, it seems.”

Alan muttered in glee, having easily surmounted a one-in-two probability of death. Sherlock clenched his fists.

“Seriously?”

He looked aghast, the exact opposite of his conduct before the match. Alan revised his opinion of the two, especially that of Sherlock.

——As he’d suspected, their attitude up to now was just a bluff.

All humans would lose their composure when faced with their imminent death. That was true for detectives as well. Having decided that, Alan quietly placed the gun before Sherlock.

“It’s your turn next, Mr Holmes,” he said with a provocative smile.

Sherlock stared at the gun before him, with three bullets in it.

William, who was seated across him, tapped his index finger against the wooden surface as he spoke gravely.

“Mr Holmes, please don’t do anything rash. Allow me to advance a proposition. Two chambers— don’t fill them.”

After his strangely roundabout speech, William pressed his finger against the table.

“……Is that right. So that’s what you think, Liam,” Sherlock replied after a curious pause.

Alan was ready to burst out laughing from the look on their faces. These two seemed to be downright nervous. It was precisely this disoriented attitude which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had revealed their true characters.

“……Dammit.”

Alan’s plan had gone wrong. Sherlock spluttered out a single swear word, then began to tremble all over.

“Aah, that’s just great. Then I’ll do the same,” he spat.

With excessive violence, Sherlock loaded two more bullets into the revolver. Watching the detective ignore William’s advice, Alan cautiously tried to explain the high risk of his outburst.

“Are you absolutely sure? With that, your chances are now five in six. It would be odd for you not to get shot. To tell you the truth, we do not want anyone to die. As such, if you were to stay your hand and admit defeat——”

“Shut up. I won’t surrender at any cost.”

However, no matter how Alan tried to persuade him, Sherlock showed no sign of stopping.

“Are you crazy, Sherlock Holmes……”

Alan unwittingly let out a word of sincere amazement.

Indeed, if he managed to come out alive, the next player would be left with a fully loaded revolver. At that point, the duo’s victory would be secured. The chances of that happening were one in six. It was not exactly impossible.

However, any normal person would flinch from the five-in-six chance of death. Perhaps not, if one had nothing to lose, but this man had already built a reputation and gained the public’s trust as a detective. Having known the fear of loss, Sherlock’s choice was not one Alan could easily accept.

——But his desperation had worked against him.

Yet on one hand, due to a certain reason, Alan knew for a fact that the gun wouldn’t fire. Moreover, he also realised that at this stage, his side had lost all hope of winning the game.

Right as his enemy had sunk into disappointment, Sherlock swiftly finished his preparations and pulled the trigger with all his might.

“…………”

The result was—— no shot.

The room became enveloped in silence. William remained quiet, while Alan was silenced from the frustration that his plan had failed.

“……So things like that do happen, huh.”

Amidst the jumble of everyone’s thoughts, the first person to speak was the very man who had surmounted a five-in-six chance of death.

At first, Sherlock appeared to be staring into space in sheer relief. Then he yelled at the fact that the game had ended with their victory.

“All right! With that, the next guy will have to use all six bullets! Since he would definitely get shot, it’s our win! We did it, Liam!”

He stood up from his seat in pure excitement and raised a fist to William across him. To that, William responded with a joyous smile.

Immediately after that, the gentlemen in the room began clapping in unison.

“Wonderful. Both of you possess a rare courage. I was thoroughly moved.”

Although he’d suffered defeat, Alan wore an indiscriminately cheerful expression as he heaped praise on the duo. While this aroused William’s suspicion, he followed Sherlock and rose from his seat.

“It’s our victory, so please proceed to release this young man——”

“——With that, let’s move on to the next game.”

Footnotes:

[1] The revolver looks something like this: Wikipedia

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

128 notes · View notes

therewasatale · 3 years

Text

higher price

On Ao3.

Summary: Commander Vetinari visits the assassins' guild, and only two people notice him.

There wasn’t even a single footstep, they had long since learned the consequences of any audible sound. Yet they made their way at least three times as careful as they would enter into Professor Stone’s class. No one wanted to disturb an assassin, deep in experimenting with alchemical ingredients an effort to make new weapons.

Their journey led to a small but neatly furnished room. It was one of the places where visitors to the guild hired an assassin to shorten the lives of certain people. It was a quiet and comfortable place, but whoever arranged it did their best to make the shadowy blackness of the place stylish, instead of shady.

With a small, gentle huff they put down the book on the round, black table.

Gray letters were embossed on the black cover. The pages were secured with a metal mechanism vaguely resembling ribs, making it possibly to easily replace them. The structure that held the book together twanged and clicked back into place. Each sheet was clear; no creases could be seen there. Every single page was written with outmost care.

"Are you sure we should do this, Haank?"

"We have 10 minutes before Gruencase comes back from his tea-break." Said Haank not looking up. "We just take a peek, and we'll put it back, as if nothing happened." He began to turn a page slowly.

"But they always say that curiosity-"

"Curiosity is one of the assassins' biggest weaknesses. Yes, I know, Sissy. They've really hammered that into our head, in the first two semesters."

"Poor, Abel. He just wanted to see what was inside that box." Said Sissy, and lowered her head with a sigh.

"They told us not to touch it, besides they managed to sew back his finger. And he wasn’t even expelled."

Sissy gave him a look, but she wasn’t able to read any reaction from Haank's face,

"Come on," he turned his attention back to the book, "we don't have much time. And you also care if Patrician really has the highest price on his head or not."

"I made a bet with Reshand. He gets two donuts from Fat Sally's if it's true."

Haank's hand stopped in the air reaching out to the next page and glanced at her.

"What? They put so much cream in them. With those new ones you can hardly eat one without making a mess of yourself."

"If you say so. But I don't think the Patrician has the highest price."

"Neither do I. Apparently, Reshand doesn’t agree with us." Sissy leaned closer.

The first one to be on one of the pages was Rincewind, then there was one for Nobby Nobs, Duckman. They found some open commissions about various nobleman too. They scanned the short descriptions for each name with curious eyes. They knew exactly what they were looking at, the latest contract fees. They were updated just two days ago.

"There it is." Haank began to read aloud. "Samuel, Lord Vimes. AM $ 850K."

"According to my parents, the Patrician is at least as good with traps as Miss Band."

"Many attempts have been made and the Assassins who accepted the commission so far all returned in one piece (albeit slightly singed, or painted yellow, and limping)." Haank slowly read and glanced at the man's picture. The picture could have been a copy of a portrait of the ruler of the city, guessed the assassin, the patrician famously hated portraits, and this disdain was visible on his face.

"Mom says he is not bad of a guy at all. The nobles don't like him, because they think he makes the fun of them."

"They are good at that in their own."

Sissy nodded her head to the side, then reached out and flipped the page and read the next name. "Commander Vetinari. First captain of the Night Watch, then he became the Commander of the City Watch. Many assassins have tried in both positions to inhume him, but so far, they all failed. Now only those who have attended postgraduate training can accept the assignment in the guild."

"AM $ 1.17M."

"And rising."

The students looked at each other.

"Well, he was an assassin." Said quietly Sissy. "But no one died because of his...rule."

They both knew about the Commander's unspoken law. It reached the ears of quite a few in the city.

He won't kill you, because even after learning everything from the assassin guild he chooses not to kill. However, because of his studies and experiences, he knows how and where to hurt you.

"Leaving the guild for becoming a copper." Haank looked thoughtfully at Vetinari's portrait, which looked up at him as if he could see through all his secrets. "But this price is a bit-"

"Low, yes. I would say so too." Said a voice from behind.

The book slammed shut, and a small chuckle was mixed in the echo.

"You two shouldn't have that book." Said Commander Vetinari glancing down to the two students. His hood hid most of his face in a shadow, but as the two of them glanced up at him, they could clearly saw his icy blue eyes.

"You-" Sissy swallowed, but her curiosity forced her to speak. "You shouldn't be here, sir."

"I shouldn't be in a lot of places. Let's not discuss the should and should nots, shall we?"

They glanced at each other again.

"It's forbidden to talk to you, sir."

"Oh really? Then maybe you two should put that book back in its place and forget about me. And in exchange I will forget about you two." Said Vetinari with a small hidden smile.

The assassin's students looked at him hesitantly.

"You only have one and a half minutes, better get going. Good luck, and don't let them catch you two."

Vetinari watched as the youngling got a hold of themselves and hurried out with the book. They left, but he could still hear a quiet 'I still won the bet.' before the two of them completely disappeared.

Maybe, the price on him was high, but he knew how hard he had to work for it.

And rising.

Well, yes, he really did a good job.

The Commander nodded softly with a small smile and moved on without anyone else noticing him.

#Discworld #discworld fanfiction #Lord Vetinari #havelock vetinari #vetinari #Commander Vetinari #reverseAU #copper

11 notes · View notes

nicolewoo · 3 years

Text

Yo, Jamie!!! It’s almost done.

Pairing: King Roman Reigns X Female reader

Warnings: None

My average day was a controlled chaos. Everyone wanted an audience with the king, and I had to know what issues were pressing, which nobles I could and couldn’t talk to, and a million other details. All of these things weighed on me daily. Now, with my mother and the church pressing me to take a bride, I’d reached a breaking point.

After I had yelled at a servant for no reason, Charles the Lord of Sussex and my most trusted advisor and friend, suggested we take a few hours to go riding this morning. He’d been right, too. A few hours away from the castle and the nobles was exactly what I needed.

We’d tried to slip out before the sun rose so we could avoid anyone, but as we prepared to leave the grounds, the Captain of the Guard saw us. Christopher was a tall lanky man with almost no hair anymore and an unfortunate habit of rubbing his face when he was nervous. Now, as he insisted that the king should not ride un-escorted, his hand brushed over his face repeatedly.

“Your highness, we have hundreds of nobles arriving this week. I’m afraid there will be more thieves in the forest. I’ve got plenty of guards on the road, but if you’ll be avoiding the road,” he eyed me suspiciously, knowing I never stayed on the road, “I insist you take a couple of guards.”

I begrudgingly agreed but told the guards to stay far back from us unless we encountered other people.

Charles and I enjoyed a very peaceful ride, stopping once for a cleansing swim in a river and to eat some bread and cheese Charles packed. “My friend, you’ve done me a great service today.” I said as I lounged shirtless on a patch of grass soaking in the sun.

Charles cocked his head a bit as if surprised to hear a compliment. “It’s my pleasure, sire. You needed a break.”

“I guess we should head back.” I admitted as I stood and finished getting dressed. Charles finished a minute before me and packed up the rest of the food. Once mounted on my horse, I hesitated to leave. “I wish I could do this every day, like we did when we were kids.”

Charles smiled at me. “You were never destined to a life of leisure, Your Highness. God chose you to be a wise and fair king who is building a greater country and a greater world.” He whistled to the guards I’d forgotten were even with us, and they mounted their horses to follow us. “Besides, you’d be miserable if you lived a quiet, boring life.” We both laughed.

Finding a slow trot, Charles and I continued talking, mostly about Charles’s sexual conquests. As a young, unmarried titled man, he had his choice of lovers in the court, and none of them ever kept his attention for more than a few months. Knowing I’d be married off one day in a probable political move, I’d chosen to be much less adventurous. I’d enjoyed the affections of a couple of women, but I never knew if it was because they liked me or the idea of becoming a queen. Now that I was king, I was too busy, too stressed, too careful. I noticed the ladies at court. There were a couple of fetching noble women, but none that sparked anything even close to passion.

I knew it was time to marry. I wanted to get married, but for love. Instead, women from around the world were invading my castle, and I was to meet every single one of them in a week-long quest to find a wife. Not only would my attendance be necessary at every meal and every social occasion, I was to meet each potential candidate in person and in private (with a chaperone), a task I was dreading. Meeting after meeting of women throwing themselves at my feet trying to become the next queen.

“Are you ok, highness?” Charles’s voice broke me out of my worry.

“Just thinking about this week.” I admitted to him.

Charles thought for a moment before talking. “I envy you. You’ll have your choice of women. If I were you, I’d bed whichever ones I wanted. You could have a wife and mistress by the end of the week.”

Of course, he was excited about the prospect of more women at court. “My friend, I believe you’re going to bed many of them this week.” I chuckled.

Charles laughed with me, “Not until Your Royal Highness has ruled them out as your future queen.”

“Well then, I’ve finally found the worth of being a king. I don’t have to accept your discarded women.” I stopped my horse at a river so both of us could drink. Charles pulled up besides us and jumped off his horse too.

Charles’s laugh rang out over the forest. “Would that be so bad?”

“Your prowess is well known, and I’ve seen ladies after you’ve spent an evening with them. I’d be afraid I’d disappoint.” I said.

Charles smiled shyly. “Sire, you know whomever you choose must be pure.”

I laughed now, “Are there any pure women anymore?”

“On my oath sire, I’ve tried to ensure there are no virgins in this country. That’s why we are importing new virgins from other countries to meet you.” Charles teased before becoming serious. “I have a great feeling about this week, sire. I honestly think you’ll meet a fetching young bride from some exotic country that needs an alliance with us and you’ll find some measure of joy in your marriage.”

“An alliance?” I looked down in disappointment and patted my mare on the neck reassuringly. “I’m afraid that’s all my marriage will be about.”

“I’m telling you sire,” Charles said as he bent low to fill his water skin, “I believe you will find someone who will give you a cordial marriage.”

“Cordial? I guess love is too much to hope for.” I hopped back on my horse.

Charles mounted his horse too and we began a slow trot through the woods. “That’s what the mistress is for.” I knew he was jesting, but the seriousness of the whole situation fell on me again as we rode.

Why was I forbidden to marry for love? Why was I born to be king? “Let’s speak of other things. Our ride was supposed to distract me.”

Charles was always quick to raise my spirits. “The delegation from the Arabian Peninsula is bringing you a dozen stallions when they arrive. It’s said their horses are the best.”

At my happy expression he continued. “As soon as they arrive, I’ll let you know. Maybe you can find a few free moments to go see them.”

That sounded great. “Thank you. Not just for letting me know when the horses arrive. Thank you for today. I needed this.” Charles gave me a respectful nod as his answer. I inhaled the forest air, trying to etch the memory of it into my mind to carry me through this busy week.

“Care to race, Your Highness?” Charles challenged. I didn’t answer but tapped my horse’s side to gallop full speed. I heard Charle’s call of “Not fair.” As I took the lead. He caught up quickly and we raced for a long while.

Realizing I was only hastening my journey back to the castle and my royal obligations, I slowed us down again and we rode in silence for a few short minutes before we heard the ping of metal hitting metal.

“Let the guards go first” Charles suggested.

Metal on metal usually meant swords, so I agreed. I motioned to the guards, and they rode ahead of us for a minute. As we neared the top of a hill, one of the guards motioned that it was safe. I looked ahead and saw a carriage with a wheel off on the King’s Road. “Let’s go help.” I said to the guards.

Peter, a thin young guard with messy hair and a patchy beard answered. “Your Highness, I can take care of this.” He motioned to the younger guard next to him. “William can protect you on the way to the castle if you’d like.”

In that carriage was surely one of my potential brides coming to the castle to meet with me. Yes, I wanted to escape, but maybe I could sneak a peek. If she was fetching, it could go a long way to easing my fears. If she was unattractive, at least I’d be prepared for my meeting with her. I trotted closer to the guard and took in the whole scene in front of me.

Not only had the wheel fallen off; it was stuck under the now emptied carriage. The ladies in waiting and an elderly man I assumed was the driver were seated on a blanket off to the side while what seemed to be the lady of the carriage tried to lift the vehicle.

She’d managed to get a small log on a rock and was trying to pry the carriage up using her body weight. It wasn’t working, but from where I was standing, I got a full view of a truly amazing bottom swaying with her efforts. I was so amused, I pondered not offering her help just to see how she’d do.

Just as I was about to speak, she defiantly stuck her chin out and looked around my guards locking her eyes on me. “Must I ask for assistance or will it be offered?” She spit the words out like weapons.

She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, despite the dirt all over her and hair falling out of it’s restrains and trailing down her neck. Her dress was beautiful despite the oil and dirt covering it. It was wrecked though.

She dabbed at some sweat on her forehead with a ragged piece of cloth and ended up smearing dirt on her face.

Charles leaned forward a bit, “It will do you well to watch your tone in front of...”

I interrupted, “The Lord of Sussex.” I had stolen Charles’s title, and he gaped after me in confusion. I shot him a look that convinced him to keep quiet.

She seemed more contrite now. “My apologies, My Lord.” She curtsied a bit.

I smiled down at her. “Think nothing of it.” I looked at Charles now. “Mister Brandon, Shall we assist this damsel in distress?”

Charles smiled. “Yes your Lordship.” We dismounted and handed the reigns of our horses to the elderly driver.

We made short work of lifting and replacing the wheel. After a quick survey of the road, the guards found a missing bolt. With that in place, the carriage would be fine.

“Why have I not seen you in court?” I asked as I held the carriage still While Charles and the guards.

She exhaled haughtily “I’m afraid I’m not very welcome at court, nor do I care to go to court.”

I lifted my brow “And why is that my lady?” I tried to suppress a laugh. She was so direct, so plain-spoken, unlike most of the women at court. Court could probably do well to have some women with backbones like her. It would at least make court more interesting.

“I have an unfortunate habit of telling the truth.” I laughed hnow. Seeing that I was genuinely amused, Charles relaxed and laughed too.

“Well now, telling the truth is a virtue, even at court.” I smiled as Charles chuckled under his breath.

“My Lord, I’ve seen many things in court, but virtue isn’t one of them.”

I leveled her with my gaze. “Are you saying The King lacks virtue?”

I caught a brief glimpse of annoyance in her voice. “I said nothing of the kind!”

“Are you saying the courtiers are without virtue?” I asked.

She blanched when she realized that as a Lord, I could be a regular at the palace. “My apologies My Lord. No. I simply meant that matters of piety are not a priority to all who attend the court.”

I glanced over at Charles who was laughing under his breath at her stubbornness.” This is a fun game and one I didn’t want to end just yet.

“Well, gentle lady, would 2 non-virtuous gentlemen of The King’s Court offer their assistance to a lady in distress?” I asked as I gestured to her now repaired carriage.

“I tell you truly, sirs, that many in His Magesty’s Court would not assist, but to serve their own purposes.”

I walked a step closer to her in a show of power, but instead of looking away, she stared me straight in the eye defiantly. “And what, pray tell, do I have to gain from helping you today?”

“My Lord, I didn’t mean any offence to you or your friend.” She nodded to our party. “You have indeed done me a great favor today.”

Was she finally breaking? “And what have I asked in return?”

She smiled now. She was breathtaking when she smiled.

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire

10 notes · View notes

dreadfulsanity · 2 years

Text

The Inquisitor UNVEILED

Fenora Taralani Lavellan (Part 1)

The questions Fenora is answering today are from King of Antiva.

1. Who are they closest to? Name five people. Keeper Deshanna, Elion (childhood friend), The Iron Bull, Dorian, Cole. Honorary mention: Solas, at least she thought so for a while.

2. What is their favourite place in Thedas? The Emerald Graves. Sad and beautiful. She loves sad and beautiful things.

3. Least favourite place? The Hissing Wastes, the Western Approach and the Forbidden Oasis. What's with all the sand. Oh, and Halamshiral. Fake people with fake smiles behind fake masks.

4. What do they think of the Chantry? Burn it to the ground? It hurt her people more than once and writes them out of history (Ameridan, Canticle of Shartan). They can fuck off.

5. Where were they born? Free Marches, close to Markham, where her clan camped at the time.

6. What are their parents like? Did they know them? Her father was killed when she was very young, so she has only the stories her clan tells of him. Her mother is still alive and they write regularly.

7. Favourite cuisine? She isn't a picky eater. Just throw things that go well together into a pot and make a stew. Bonus if the hunters were successful and it has some fresh meat in it. And auntie Nanina's fresh baked bread to dip. Yummy.

8. What do they think of blood magic? It's a tool. She doesn't practice it herself though.

9. If they're a protagonist, what did their main party think of them? They think she's a competent mage (with an indomitable focus), always trying to do the right thing and stopping to help the little people. The Iron Bull is her protective brother, while Cole is her and Solas' adopted spirit child.

10. What is their love language? What makes them feel loved? Parallel play and info dumping. You know she loves you when she can't stop talking about a certain topic she's into at the moment.

11. What was the most stressful moment in their life? Falling out of the sky. Drinking from the Vir'abelasan and learning that Mythal is still around. Facing Coryphussy. Though she would do it all again if it would stop the pain in her heart.

12. Happiest moment in their life? There was a halla dying giving birth. She helped raising the fawn. This little furry oddball licking her face for the first time, or falling asleep on her lap. She always tries to remember him when life gets too much.

13. Do they enjoy collecting herbs and crafting weapons etc? Collecting herbs? Yes. Going into the forest to look for herbs and mushrooms is calming and allows her mind to go on wild adventures. Crafting armour and weapons? Not so much. Thankfully she has people for that.

14. Do they have any non-combative talents? She wouldn't call it a talent, but she likes to doodle into her sketch book. Sadly all she doodles at the moment are eggs.

15. What was their biggest personal struggle (not main quest related)? Coming into her magic and accepting that she had to put aside her small training bow to master it.

16. Do they have any exes? Well, NOW they do. There was this girl from another clan they crossed paths with. But that was more... experimenting and fooling around than anything serious. And there's Elion. The reason why she hesitates to go back to her clan, now that the Inquisition is disbanded. She is not looking forward to that conversation.

17. What would they think of Varric's stories? She loves them. She could listen to Varric spinning the most ridiculous tales for hours.

18. Do they know any other languages than trade tongue? Well... yes. Elven. And now ancient elven, I guess.

19. What do they think of the taste of health/stamina/lyrium potions? Health potions are just tea with magical properties. They are okay. Better than dying. Lyrium potions are disgusting. They taste bitter and metallic. Doesn't like those.

20. What are they terrible at? If cooking involves more than putting an animal on a pike and roast it over open fire, it will go wrong. Chances are the animal is burnt and without seasoning, but at least you have something in your stomach, right? And directions. Ask The Iron Bull. Seriously. He has a lot to say about that.

21. Is it easy to make them laugh? It was. Once upon a time aka BS (before Solas). Nowadays it's harder. Varric still tries and succeeds from time to time.

22. Have they ever tried roasted nug? How could you not try bacon? Yummy. Just don't tell Leliana she said that.

23. What was their reaction to the Breach opening? She did not remember. But once she saw it, she thought "Creators, that's a big hole!" and "Well, fuck..."

24. Would they like the other main OCs in your worldstate? She would be cautious about the queen-consort, Warden or not. But Hawke and her get along.

25. Would they give their life for something/someone? I think facing Coryphenis was proof enough that she would.

26. If they ride a mount, what type of mount is it? Does it have a name? Mahalla, the Pride of Arlathan (the dark hart).

27. If they had the choice, who would they appoint as Divine? NOT Vivienne. She put Leliana on the Sunburst Throne, because she offered the most change for the Chantry. We'll see how misguided that's going to turn out, won't we?

28. What was their reaction to the Kirkwall Chantry exploding? She felt sorry for the loss of lives. The building she didn't give a fig about.

29. Do they like camping? She is Dalish? Do they like camping... Seriously? Why do you think she's (not so) secretly sleeping behind the kitchen roof under the night sky? Yes, she cleaned the place up.

30. If they hosted a house party, what would it be like? A house party? Oh, you mean like sitting around a fire, making music, sharing stories and drinking? So... Dorian, The Iron Bull, Varric, Sera, the Chargers.

31. What culture are they most fascinated by? Besides the obvious (ancient elves) it's (strangely enough) Tevinter. Especially since meeting Dorian.

32. What song makes you instantly think of them? Dreaming with a Broken Heart by John Mayer

33. Bonus! Make a mood board. What four images are they asthetic?

#dragon age #lavellan #bioware #oc questions #inquisitor #dragon age inquisition #dragon age oc #solasmancer #fenora lavellan #dalish #inquisitor lavellan

2 notes · View notes

cruelfeline · 3 years

Note

(1) "[H]is needs, physical, emotional, and mental, must likewise be addressed and comfortably handled. I do not accept the idea of something being done specifically to 'punish' him..." Sure, I guess. Hordak should have medical care and mental heath care if needed. He shouldn't be physically hurt or put in jail, Entrapta can help him, etc. And he'll probably be in a lab most of the time anyways. Treating him with humanity will help him be a good person. (Insert swedish prison studies here).

I... ah... Well. Yes. It will.

Though. I guess, for me, treating him with humanity doesn’t have anything to do with helping him be a good person. It’s just a thing that I feel should happen. Whether it makes him a good person or not.

Ensuring that he is safe and comfortable and well isn’t something that I’d want to do in order to help him be a good person. It’s something I’d want to do to ensure that his safe and comfortable and well. For its own sake.

Like... to look at it from the opposite direction: I wouldn’t withhold care or comfort from him if he wasn’t being a good person. Y’know? Like... I wouldn’t deny him a comfortable sleep or medication that helps him feel well because he wasn’t hitting someone’s moral goals. If that makes sense?

(2) So that leaves this: How much freedom should he have? If there was an event where princesses could invite someone, like with princess prom, could Entrapta invite him? On one hand, all the bad stuff he did, his rebuilding/renovation sentence, and the fact that his presence might make people uncomfortable. But on the other hand, saying “you can’t sit with us” punishes Entrapta for something she didn't do. (Entrapta's war crimes and extenuating circumstances are an ask for another day).

I would venture to say he should have as much freedom as is safe for him to have. I suppose I don’t see the point in limiting it? He’s not dangerous. His motivation for taking over Etheria is literally dead and gone. I don’t see a point to imprisoning him.

As far as the specific scenario you mention (Princess Prom), well... remember that the Princess Prom seemed to have specific rules to encourage socialization and harmony in times of conflict (weapons and quarrels left at the door, so to speak). It’s very likely that enemies regularly met at the Princess Prom and were expected to treat one another with civility; I’d expect the same courtesy to be extended to Hordak.

And in terms of him making people uncomfortable... this is a difficult thing to address. On the one hand, yes: people will likely be afraid of him. And rightfully so, considering what he did. And people should not be forced to interact with him if they do not want to.

But on the other hand: such people are likely to be afraid of all of the clones, seeing as they all look the same. And sound roughly the same. And were part of a much more damaging war on Etheria.

Is it “fair” to segregate all clones, Hordak included, forever, to keep other people comfortable? Is Hordak to be kept out of society for the rest of his life, because people are afraid of him? Or should he be kept out of it until... well, when? When he reaches some arbitrary level of “penance performed?” If he finishes rebuilding Etheria, are people automatically going to not be afraid of him now? Yes? No? If they still are, does that mean that he still needs to be kept locked away?

One can go around in circles like this all day because there is no real answer. This is all entirely subjective. The level of segregation, of penance, of restriction, is entirely subjective. And that’s why I don’t really believe in it. I don’t believe in limiting freedom or inflicting suffering due to someone’s subjective opinion.

Rather, I try to ask how further harm can be minimized or prevented. And whether a restrictive measure is actually necessary to prevent said harm.

In terms of Hordak being restricted in some way: I don’t see a reason that he has to be locked away or forbidden from socializing. Do I think that he should be forced onto people? No. I don’t think anyone should be forced onto anyone else, former warlord or no. But I also don’t think that he should be sequestered away from the community that he is supposed to be working to join.

(3) Also, should Hordak have to work constantly on the rebuilding/renovation, save for sleeping and medical leave? Or should he get to take breaks? It wouldn’t be fair for him to take a vacation while villages are still in ruins. Humans and Etherians need rest to have good mental health and be productive, but Hordak is a Prime clone, and the clones are probably designed to work without much rest. So would that be okay for him or no? Do you have any posts that explore this sort of thing?

Absolutely he should be allowed to take breaks. No question. None. For multiple reasons.

First: I do not view Hordak helping to rebuild Etheria as a punishment. And I feel that viewing it that way is... I’m not sure that “mistake” is the right word. Inaccuracy, perhaps? I’m not sure. Whatever one wishes to call it, the point is that Hordak fixing what he broke should not be considered a punishment. Any more than me cleaning up a vase I knocked over should be considered a punishment. It should be considered... well, “fixing what one broke.”

Etheria is Hordak’s home now. The Etherian community is his community. Helping repair the parts of it that he broke isn’t something that should make him suffer; it should be something that he does in order to be a contributing, responsible member of the community he belongs to. If he wishes to stay on Etheria, then it is only logical that he contributes to its successful functioning. Not because he has to “pay for what he’s done,” but because that’s what a responsible community member does.

Keeping him from having breaks or... I guess “enjoying himself” as he does this is, in my mind. an actual mistake.

Something that I always have at the forefront of my mind when considering these things, anon, is that Hordak is healing. Whatever damage he caused, whatever traumas he is responsible for, he is just as damaged and traumatized. He did what he did not out of greed or genuine malice but out of a form of emotional sickness. He did it out of a need to be loved and welcomed and wanted. He did it because he wanted to belong.

Denying him those things until he reaches a certain level of “punishment complete” is... well. In my opinion, it’s another form of what Prime was doing. Another form of “you’re not worthy of happiness or love until you’ve done XYZ.” And I don’t like that. I don’t like that because it disregards the fact that, though Hordak should strive to fix what he broke, he is still an individual who underwent a severe amount of trauma and needs time and support in order to heal. If he does not get that time and support, chances are he will be further harmed. Chances are, he won’t become that well-adjusted member of society. Chances are he will remain emotionally sick and bitter and self-loathing. And those are not chances that I think are worth taking in the name of chasing an arbitrary sense of “fairness.”

Second, though just as important: I take significant umbrage with the idea that it would be acceptable to work clones harder because they’re “designed to work without much rest.”

The clones were “designed” to be brainswashed slaves. They were “designed” to labor and glorify and sacrifice themselves for their god. That absolutely does not mean that they should be exploited as such. To do so would be vulgar.

The clones are people; they should be treated as such, not as the tools their slavemaster indoctrinated them into being. Now, if a clone wishes to work hard because he is comfortable doing so, then so be it. But he should not be expected to do so and be denied rest and relaxation because he was “designed” to go without. That... I’m not sure how to accurately convey how much such a concept disturbs me. A lot. It disturbs me a lot.

Horde clones were purpose-bred as livestock. This was horrific. It is not something that should be taken advantage of by their new Etherian neighbors.

And while I do see that you specify “medical leave” and thus may have taken this into account, I still wish to mention: it is generally understood in this portion of the fandom that, despite the show not really going into detail regarding it come season five, Hordak still suffers from his defect. He is still chronically ill. He is disabled. Demanding that he work at a certain level because he was technically “designed to” is ableist and cruel and can only contribute to his already-deep self-loathing. And this applies to any other clones who might be disabled and hiding it.

Finally: I do actually have a post addressing some of this! And as a bonus, it’s not just about Hordak. It includes Catra, too. It was written in response to some of the complaints I saw regarding both Catra and Hordak being forgiven “too easily.” Specifically, about Catra being so quickly invited into the group, if that means anything. It goes into my distaste at the concept of denying someone a sense of belonging until they achieve a certain level of “redemption.”

Here is that post. A quick warning: it’s a little sassy. I was annoyed when I wrote it. Should be read at one’s own risk, if one is uncomfortable with me being sassy.

I also have an older post about the importance of emotional support in the healing process. I feel like it’s also relevant, as it addresses things like providing companionship to people who may be considered as “not deserving it.”

Here is that post.

Let’s see... what else...

Oh! I also have this post about Hordak being forgiven without being redeemed.

And I think those are the most relevant.

Anyway, anon, I hope that this provided some sort of useful answers for you! If, at any point, I came off as too sassy, I apologize for it. It is not my intention to sound rude, but sometimes I don’t realize when I do. Especially when I write about things that stir emotion in me.

So! Thanks for the questions, anon. Have a lovely evening!

#hordak #horde clones #Anonymous

53 notes · View notes

hag-rambling-on · 3 years

Text

More about the schools in rewinxing Magix...

Let's see. First to said these three schools are at the end run by the Magic Realm Council, and it is best to think of them as a military academy or affiliated with a UNO-type para/military group.

They send their students on missions (the only thing that explains to me that the winx and the specialists go out so much and the adults leave them).

The first with supervision, the following with follow-up and then with reports it’s enough.

Average time of studies and graduation mark

Witches/wizards study at least 7 years or 9 because 7 is a magic number and 9 is three times 3. It does not have a final transformation but a series of spells and creation of minimal artifacts (such as Gloomix -now called Sheen Trinket-, the Vacuum -we will call it by their dub name Whisperian Bottles-, Convergence and the Grief Edge/Blade -actually takes form of random weapon- for graduation)

fairies/faes at leat 5 years. Both begin with coming of age when the creature's magic core has stabilized. There are many reconized fairy transformations. But in Alfea they ask for the Enchantix as a graduation mark transformation because a Guardian Fairy has to be willing to give everything for others. Many fairies of Alfea achieve their basic form in the first year and in the following a few others according to their affinities up to Enchantix. It is not normal to get the Enchantix in the 3rd year, although it is introduced in that year so that the fairies/faes can get mentalized.

Paladins and Specialists start at 14 years old and train for a minimum of 10 years. The first years can be skipped but you have to show that you have physical fitness, which is what they focus on. Because magic is tricky and the body is not. But sure, most royals train at home and go straight into the last courses. Their final exam is a circuit or mission that requires they to use a great deal of their knowledge learned over the years. It is very comprehensive and has individual and group parts.

Uniforms

Faes have uniforms with protection against falls and blows, also to facilitate the invocation of the wings. They are not gender specific, yes, there are skirts and pants, but you wear what you want.

Witches do not have a uniform, but on special occasions - when they confront other schools - they wear long black robes to identify themselves.

Specialists and Paladins uniforms they are very resistant, thermal insulating and have a dark-light type concealment function. Which is not black or white, but a range of dark and light colors to blend in in dark places or in deserts and tundras. Obtaining the energy for it depends on whether they are Specialists (technomagic) or Paladins (magical artifacts) it is for this energy that each person gets a different color. They also start with a full standard armor coating that tends to decrease according to the combat style of each fighter But it also helps training -because of the extra weight-. Paladins uniforms adds featherlike wings, specialists usually use animals or vehicles.

Schools buildings and location

All schools are located in Magix. An asteroid in a belt, in the remains of Planet Hike, from which it formed. It is a neutral location and home to the Magic Realm Council. Another place considered neutral is Lymphea.

Lake Rocaluce is where a great meteor was invoked and caused the fracture of the planet (and the end of a war, an interRealm war that Hika hosted, but that was long before even the Ancient Witches. The schools are placed around him in eternal memory it... Although... they no longer remember... Magix (the city) was founded by the weary survivors of this war and they too formed the Magic Realms Council, with their sede in the Fortress of Light that hangs above Lake Roccaluce.

---

Both Alfea and CT has been saturated with a lot of magic for a long time, this is why they are relatively alive. Although this is much more obvious in Cloud Tower (Alias Cloudy). The latter is alive to the point that some people become obsessed with school and not drop it, and suspend, suspend, and continue to fail.

Room customization is encouraged as a form of self-expression, specially in Alfea.

Cloud Tower is in dark colors so I already mentioned to welcome its residents without strident stimuli. On the contrary, Alfea has light and harmonic colors, vibrant without being garish, which call joy, warm, hope, cleanliness.

---

It doesn't seem practical to me for Fonterrosa to float in the air with a super powerful storm witch around. Rebuilt in the ground with a -I'm paranoid, I dare you to come in this time- f*ck you face but the staff.

Here the first months are "open rooms", that is, if you are not satisfied, you can change rooms and teams if you defend yourself well with the teachers. Being reasonable and knowing how to explain yourself is supposed to be part of the job and sometimes things don't work out, they get it (and all of the specialist sleep with their weapon near!!!)

---

LC or Lyceum is how they short call the Lymphea College for faes/ies, witches/wizards, specialists and Paladins. But within them, the Faction of Paladins is considered a n.p. So, if they talk about fairies/witches/specialists they would say they come from the Lyceum, but if they are Paladins, they come from The Faction [of the Lymphea College, affiliate to the Council, of Rocaluce, of Magix, of... etc. Jedi everywhere)]

Scholarships

Alfea, Cloud Tower and Fonterrosa are known as the elite of their kind, so they have few scholarships and are very rigorous. Or of course money money.

Forgoing a scholarship is frowned upon, although they are willing to give you a recommendation for the school of your choice. How was the case with Flora (she got a scholarship in CT but she didn’t accept it, either way they recommended her to Alfea and therefore she was able to enter, Miele did not have that opportunity for so she stays in Lymphea).

Musa got a full scholarship. Bloom's special case led to a partial scholarship, although no one told her, so she stayed until she got her family back, both studying and working as a waitress. Under normal circumstances she couldn't have allowed herself a course at Alfea on a single waitress's salary.

Riven has a partial scholarship only because his behavior fails to win him full scholarship, this actually improves when the series begins.

Paladins and Specialists

At first they were the same order but favoritism vs obstracism to people who could use magic devices or musr rely on technomagic ones separated them. Over time they have come together again and make times of exchange to favor collaboration and such.

Today the Paladins have taken a more peaceful approach and they usually work directly for the Magic Realms Council and the Specialists more combat oriented. that are not so "exquisite". I am not saying Specialists are mercenaries, but they not serve exclusively a single Jedi-wanna-be organization.

Timmy and Brandom could have been paladins. Timmy chose not to be so as not to fall into the nerdy stereotype that is only good for purely external help. Brandon for Sky obviously. We already mentioned that Nabu and Helia have witch origin.

Other schools and possible jobs

I think I mentioned it in another post, but the main output of these schools is Guardian, the formation of Kaleidoscopes, Covens and Squads, everything is oriented to that.

So, once finished here, you can work on many things with security and embassy being the most obvious and demanded from these schools.

But you can be a teacher, researcher, creator / repairer / tester of potions or magic items, animal caretaker, nurse, any version of work from the magic application ranger by example, firefighter, cleaner. Or you can jump to the normal university in a vip way. From here.

What do you can to learn

Some subjects/courses common to all schools (even though theoretically have studied it before). BTW They can go to other schools to receive extra courses: Good Manners/Etiquette, Flight, Cognitive analysis, History of Magix, Basic Survival, Firsts Aids, Basic Witchcraft, Basic Fairycraft, Basic Magical Zoology, Basic Zoology, Basic Herbology, Basic Magic Herbology, Magiphysics, Dance, Music, Art. Diplomacy.

Other examples but only to magic schools: Potionology, Magiphilosophy, History of Magic, Healing, Transfiguration (metamorphosis, metamorphosymbiosis, biotrasformation), Applied convergence, Summoning, Psychic arts (speciality *x* ie illusion, emotion, mind-reading), Divination, Basic Wild Magic, Elemental Magic (speciality *x*), Nature Magic, Art-applied magics (speciality *x*), Magical Zoology, Basic Craftsmanship Magic, Advanced Craftsmanship Magic, Astral Magic, Basic Forbidden Magic Knowledge. FORBIDDEN: Demonology, Necromancy, Sacrificial Magic among others.

Other examples but only to Specialists and Paladins (for paladins some are mandatory): Dragon wrangling, flying fighter crafts, Riding, Driving/navigation, Astronavigation, Beast/Animal Taming, Close quarter combat (sub speciality in weapon *x*), Long range combat, Cooperation, Mechanics, Technology, Hand-to-hand combat (sub speciality in *x*), Strategy, (numbers yes or no 101 and more), Advanced survival techniques, Close protection operative, Concealment operations, Unconventional weapons, Fighting Magic Basic-Advanced-Expert, Fighting Magic Users Basic-Advanced-Expert.

Paladins have more courses related to magic and the application and repair of magic items. And deep in others as diplomacy I guess.

#winx club #winx rewrite #rewinxing #rambling about winx #worldbuilding #alfea #cloud tower #fonterossa

51 notes · View notes