#if not just for the heavy association with one of the brightest times in my life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosaren2498 · 1 year

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Sweet Dream or Beautiful Nightmare

WARNINGS/TAGS: Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!!! SMUT, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Vaginal Sex, Possessive!Dream, Possessive!Reader, Violent Reader (Not Towards Dream), Hair-Pulling Kink (?), Creampie, Rescue Fic, Violence (Unsure If It's Graphic, Please Be Safe), They Are Just So Unhinged Guys, Slight Angst (Dream Being Left Alone With His Thoughts Is Rarely Good), Blood, Rough Sex, Nightmare!Reader, Dream Totally Has A Compentancy Kink, As Well As A Damsel In Distress Kink, Claws, Fangs

Someone please inform me if I missed anything in the tags, I'm trying to hard but I've never been good at tagging

Part 7 of the 'It Isn't Abduction If You're Willing' series

I've had this finished (as well as at least two others) for a while (at least a month.) I've had no motivation to transfer any of them, so I apologize for the delay. This is the longest one I have written (I believe) as it's 35 pages on my notes. Hope you enjoy it!

Title is from 'Sweet Dreams' by Beyonce which is basically the song I associate with Dream the most right now. If you haven't heard it, listen to it

---

The day had started just like any other.

Like nearly every morning, you woke in Dream's arms, your head resting on his chest, your body aching pleasantly from the previous night's activities. Dream pressed a loving kiss to your forehead, but you lifted your head with a soft whine, pouting. He chuckled and gave you a proper kiss, slow but deep, tongues tangling lazily; your favorite way to wake up, if you were being honest with yourself. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and you gave him the brightest smile you were capable of so soon after waking; the awe in his eyes made you feel cherished.

You both lounged in bed for as long as possible, enjoying the closeness, the tactile sensation of someone's body pressed against yours, Dream's body. You shared more than a few lazy, hot, messy kisses, and a little heavy petting, but not much more; you were both mostly just content to bask in each other's presence. When you finally extracted yourself from his arms, albeit very reluctantly, you made your way to the bathroom he had created just for you. Most people wouldn't like a dark-colored bathroom but seeing the black, purple, and blue colors never failed to make you think of Dream; you loved it for that alone.

You kept the lights dim when you flipped them - bright light often hurt your eyes and gave you headaches, though they also reminded you of your time imprisoned - as you approached the shower. Said shower was big enough to hold at least three people comfortably, though the massive bath half-sunk into the floor across from it could hold five people. Maybe you would take a bath later; for now, you turned the shower on, letting the water get hot before stepping under the spray. You shuddered at the heat of it as the water rolled down your body, relaxing your sore and aching muscles; Dream always left you sore in the best ways.

As you began washing your body, you traced the bruises and hickeys that you could see, smiling at the sight of them. Most people seemed to have an issue with being marked; you had never understood why. For you, the bruises and hickeys were reminders that you were wanted; that you were loved. The fact that Dream enjoyed leaving them thrilled you.

You didn't jump when arms wrapped around your waist from behind, merely sighing contentedly and leaning back in Dream's embrace. You stood there together for a quiet moment - as neither of you had any need to speak - before he grabbed his shampoo. He began to massage it into your hair, nails lightly scratching your scalp as he did, causing a happy hum to leave you. Once the shampoo was rinsed away, he lathered your hair in conditioner and left it to sit for a bit. You took the opportunity to turn around, shifting the both of you around until he was under the spray. When his hair was sufficiently wet, you grabbed your own shampoo; you both did so love smelling like each other. He ducked his head just a bit and you smiled, returning the gentle care he had easily offered. When his conditioner was in, he rinsed yours out and then you began to gently wash his body, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses everywhere you could reach.

When you were both completely clean, you kissed him. Dream tugged you closer by your waist with a pleased noise, wrapping his arms around you again. The kiss quickly grew heated and you whimpered into his mouth when one of his hands slipped between your legs. He slid his finger along your slit and you pulled away from his mouth just enough to pant, fighting the urge to rock your hips. He slipped a finger into you and you moaned softly, your eyes fluttering. You bit your lip as you rocked against his finger in little motions, unable to help it; when he added a second one, your knees nearly buckled at the lick of pleasure up your spine, but his arm around your waist kept you upright. He shifted, crowding you against the water-warmed tile and you moaned his name as he began steadily fucking you with his fingers.

"Always so wet for me, little dreamling."

Your breath hitched and you whimpered.

"Only for you."

His possessive growl had you shuddering and clenching around his fingers. He added a third, and you couldn't contain your breathless cry of pleasure when he curled them inside you. His fingers were long, like an artist's, which allowed him to easily rub against that spot inside you that had you seeing stars; or maybe that was just his eyes.

"Yes." The word came out almost as a growl. "You are mine, and only mine, forever."

Your body began trembling as your orgasm rushed towards you embarrassingly quick, high-pitched whimpers and moans filling the room.

"Yes, yes, yes! Yes, I'm yours. Always yours, only yours." You gasped for breath, whining as he curled his fingers again; your mouth was quickly getting away from you. "My Dream, my North Star. I belong to you in a way I have never belonged to anyone. I swear that I will never belong to anyone else ever again; just you."

Your voice was beginning to tremble with the effort it took to speak around your pleasure. You allowed your head to fall back against the tile, looking up at him, at your North Star. His eyes were wild with a possessiveness that would scare - and had scared - anyone else, but not you. You would never be afraid of how much he felt, you reveled in it, for you felt the same. "I am yours, as you are mine. No other shall get to see you like this. No other will get to feel your fingers inside them like this. No other will have your heart as I do." You placed your hand over where his heart was, the heart he didn't need, but manifested just your you.

Dream kissed you until you were dizzy with it, your head spinning with pleasure. When he pulled back, his free hand left your waist and slid up your body, resting at the base of your throat, fingers against your rapid pulse; he didn't squeeze, but you still shuddered, another high-pitched noise slipping from your mouth. He brought his lips to your ear, his voice a deep rasp. "No one will ever see your beauty as you cum, trembling, and shaking, and crying. None but me." He gave a vicious twist of his fingers, rubbing cruelly against that special spot, and the coil in your belly exploded. You rose his fingers through your orgasm until you were a panting, shaking, and trembling mess just like he wanted. When he finally removed his fingers, he immediately sucked them into his mouth, cleaning them off; you whimpered at the sight and he flashed you a smirk.

"Menace." Your voice was still shaky, but you couldn't bring yourself to mind. Not when he kissed you again, and certainly not when he dragged one of your legs up and around his waist, rocking his hips just enough to rub his cock against you.

"I would have you again, fill you like I know you enjoy, if you would but allow it."

You shuddered and nodded rapidly, using the leg now around his waist to pull him even closer; you couldn't have given less of a fuck about the fact that you had just gotten clean. "Yes, yes, always. I could never deny you anything, my love, least of all your pleasure."

His deep groan had yet another shudder racing down your spine, then he was pushing into you in one smooth stroke, burying his cock to the hilt. Your back arched off the tiles as you moaned loudly, pressing your chest against his. His hand left the base of your throat, sliding back down your body to grip your waist again to keep you upright; he rolled his hips in slow thrusts, punching moans and whimpers out of you each time he sank in to the hilt.

You panted into each other's mouths, sharing breath as your eyes locked; you couldn't look away from the sheer intensity in his eyes; you didn't want to look away. You slid one of your hands into his wet, silky hair and tugged, crying out when he groaned deep in his chest and gave a particularly harsh thrust; oh, you wouldn't last much longer. You threaded your other hand into his hair and then tugged with both hands. You enjoyed the growl that slipped out of his mouth almost as much as the way his thrusts turned rough, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin echoing against the tile' the slick slide of your bodies was downright obscene. Your sounds were quickly turning breathy.

"Dream, my Dream, please. Cum inside me, fill me up. Need it, Dream. Need to feel your spend coat me from the inside, like a claim, need to feel it dripping out of me because there's so much of it that I couldn't possibly hold it all inside. Please, I'm so close."

A dark, guttural noise slipped from his mouth, causing a shiver to race down your spine and you to clench around him. You felt his cock twitch heavily inside you before feeling the sudden rush of hot liquid and a desperate cry left you as your orgasm swept you away. Dream didn't stop, fucking both of you through your orgasms until all that was left were little aftershocks that had you clenching erratically around his cock. You could feel his cool breath against the heated skin of your neck as he panted, causing you to shiver as you tried to get your own gasping breaths under control. When he finally, slowly, pulled his cock out, you felt a gush of liquid down your thighs that had a high-pitched whimper tumbling from your mouth. He smirked before kissing you, delving his tongue into your mouth to taste you; you kissed back eagerly.

"I'm going to feel that all day."

Something that could only be called a purr rumbled through his chest, and his smirk turned outright wicked. "Good. I want you to spend the whole day thinking of me. And when we're no longer busy, regardless of where you are, I am going to find you and fill you again and again. When you're full to the brim, I will put a plug in you so that not a single drop escapes. You will sleep with my seed buried as deep into you as possible and come the next morning, I will add more."

You whined, squirming at the thought, pupils dilating. "Promise?"

He kissed you passionately, harshly, sucking on your tongue before pulling back. "I swear."

---

After cleaning up, again, you went your separate ways for now. Dream had Kingly duties, dreams and nightmares to create, and you had promised to help Lucienne in the library; a ton of new books had appeared and they needed sorting. It was several hours before you saw him again, though it had felt like an eternity - as being away from him always did - and you accepted his greeting kiss with relief. Unfortunately, for both of you, he was not quite done with being a king for the day - there were a few particular books he needed to check - but you simply sent him to his throne room with the promise of getting the books for him; you absolutely loved doing anything you could for him. Once gathered, you made your way to the throne room, to him, humming a song from the Waking World under your breath.

You pushed open the doors and made your way to the base of the stairs. Dream was perched on the fifth step, robe spilled out around him; you couldn't help but admire the veritable night sky you could see inside. You would never get over the fact that he sat on the stairs that led to his throne, rather than the throne itself when he didn't have to be political; it was both adorable and sweet. You handed him the books, getting a chaste kiss as a thank you. You turned and began making your way back to the doors of the library, freezing mid-step at the abrupt feeling of wrongness that flooded your awareness like ice. You heard a sharp intake of breath and a small thud as pain and panic, feelings that did not belong to you, thrashed in your head. You whipped around to see the books on the floor and Dream hunched over, the edges of his form blurring.

"Not... again."

You were confused for only a second, crying out for him as you quickly realized what was happening. No, no, not again! Don't do this to him again!! He was gone before you could close the distance, and as you felt that precious bond between you go completely silent, you s c r e a m e d.

---

Dream awoke feeling dizzy. He'd fought the pull of the summoning spell with all his power, but it had dug into his very core, hooked him like a fish and he was powerless to stop it. He couldn't feel his power, and his chest - and the back of his head - felt empty in a way he'd never experienced; as if something he'd never noticed was there was suddenly gone. It wasn't the emptiness of being disconnected from the Dreaming, nor the collective unconscious; he was intimately familiar with the feeling of that after a century, and that feeling had already settled in his gut. No, this was a hollow feeling, an emptiness that was like he'd been cut off from something else. Something potentially more important, something vital that he truly hadn't even known was there; it left him feeling bereft.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the cursed golden binding circle; he suddenly wished he had found the grimoire before and had burned it. The second thing he saw were the three people standing just outside it, staring at him; the one standing slightly in front of the others was eying him gleefully, while the other two were studying him warily. A quick glance around revealed a mostly bare room; it was clear that he was in yet another basement.

Once they realized he was awake, he learned their names - Mark, Tristan, and Ryan - and that they had found the grimoire, deciding to summon Death like Burgess had tried to before them. It seemed Burgess had never explained that the summoning spell had never caught Death; it figured he wouldn't admit to his own mistakes. However, they seemed to know even less than Burgess had about what they were doing, or even who he was. Unfortunately for him, as long as the binding circle remained intact, there was little he could do. He refused to answer their questions or demands, giving them the same silence he had given Burgess. Eventually, they grew bored and irritated and left the room; they left no guards behind to watch him and he was, thankfully still fully clothed; he would have already used his sand to escape, but he knew it wouldn't work with the binding circle intact; he couldn't use his sand without access to his power. He shifted in the circle to get more comfortable, settling in to wait. He would not need to wait long; surely you would come for him.

---

Time passed excruciatingly slowly. His new captors came down frequently, demanding the same gifts that Burgess had demanded of him, but he merely glared silently at them whenever any of them showed; while Mark and Tristan were clearly shaken by his rage, Ryan was not to be deterred and refused to let the other two leave. He, once more, could do nothing but think. The more time that passed, the less certain he was that you would come; why would you? He had taken you from your home realm, against your will, and had claimed you as his without a thought as to whether it was what you wanted; he knew it was wrong and yet he had still done it. Surely you were happy that he was gone.

His captors were getting more angry with his silence now; or rather, Ryan was as Mark and Tristan seemed to only get more and more freaked out; he couldn't deny he felt a bit of pride at that. Ryan shouted at him, cried that he had captured him by the laws of magic and that Dream owed them boons now; that Ryan owned him. It made him furious, made him feel sick, but still, there was nothing he could do.

He was unsure how much time had passed when he suddenly heard the flutter of wings; his captors were not in the room at the moment and he'd lost track of how long it'd been since he'd last seen them. His head snapped up and his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw Matthew creeping closer to the edge of the circle.

"Don't worry, Boss, help's on the way. We'll get you out."

Dream barely registered the words, too panicked by Matthew's appearance; he could only see Jessamy's determination to free him, see her blood splattered on the glass sphere that had kept him imprisoned.

"You have to leave." It isn't safe, he didn't say. They will kill you, he thought.

Matthew cawed in protest. "I'm not leaving you alone down here! They're right outside the house, and I'll keep out of sight, but I'm not leaving you."

He watched as Matthew flew around the edge of the circle until he was at the back of it, hidden from the view of the doorway by Dream's body; who were the they that Matthew spoke of?

Less than a minute later, the very foundations of the house shook. His captors spilled into the room, two - Mark and Tristan - gripping guns in shaking hands while the third, the leader Ryan, held a knife tightly in his hand. Matthew kept still, and silent, behind Dream as Ryan stalked over to the circle, scowling; Dream could have laughed at the attempt to intimidate him.

Before Ryan could speak, the house shook again and the door to the room was practically blown off its hinges; Ryan spun around to face the door as the other two raised their guns; they looked like they were going to piss themselves any second except for Ryan. Shadows were spilling into the room from the open doorway, shadows much like Dream's own, but these swirled with deep blues and purples that he'd never seen in his own before; a veritable galaxy of color amongst the black. Then, a voice rang out, echoing with power.

"Release him."

It was a voice he recognized, and he would've sobbed in relief at hearing it if he weren't more than a little confused.

Ryan snarled. "We have captured it by the laws of magic; it's ours!"

A growl reverberated so loudly, so strongly, in the room that Dream felt it in his chest. He caught the sound of two other growls, quieter but no less furious; one more animalistic while the other more human.

"He does not belong to you. Release him or you will meet an end so cruel, the devil will weep."

He shuddered at the barely contained fury and possessiveness in his Queen's voice. When none of his captors made a move to free him, the shadows in the room - still with those strange and beautiful colors - began to form a familiar shape. Directly out of the shadows stepped his Queen, but you looked... different.

Shadows dripped from your form, and your hair moved and shifted in the air, defying gravity like you were underwater; there were swirling blue and purple inch-long claws tipping your fingers. The breath in his throat, the breath he didn't need, hitched when he saw how your eyes glowed with the white-hot fury of a thousand stars. Was this what he looked like when he was angry? He'd never seen anything more stunning.

He choked on a panicked shout when two gunshots rang out, but it took him a moment to realize the cries that followed were not from you. The two captors that had been wielding guns were now on the floor clutching at their respective calves, which were spilling crimson blood onto the floor; the shots had come from the doorway, still cloaked in your shadows. He watched, startled, as Ryan stalked forward, surely stupid rather than brave. Dream heard the sound of a blade slicing through air and then Ryan grunted in pain; a very familiar knife was sticking out of his right thigh.

Dream settled back to watch in awe as you advanced on the human now kneeling on the floor; Ryan pulled the knife out with another grunt and tossed it to the ground, giving you a pathetic snarl that cut off quickly when you wrapped a hand around his throat. Dream felt heat slowly creeping up his neck and spreading across his face as he watched, heavy-lidded, as you lifted Ryan clear off the ground, as you defended him. No one, save for Hob in 1789, had ever defended him before: it was just as heady a feeling now as it had been then.

You allowed a dark growl to fall from your lips as you held the stupid human by his throat, baring a mouthful of fangs rather than human teeth. "You dared to take what is mine. Dared to steal my King right in front of me." You dragged a claw down the human's cheek, and Dream couldn't repress his pleasurable shudder as blood welled up from the ragged cut. "Death is too kind for the likes of you. Your friends, oh they will die, but you... your mind will be trapped in our realm, hunted by our nightmares, by me, and you will be torn to shreds over and over again until your body, here, gives out. Then, and only then, will you finally know peace. We will make Hell feel like Heaven."

Your shadows rushed out, enveloping the man that began screaming as soon as they tuched him, before he abruptly went limp in your grasp; you dropped him without care, turning to the other two. They immediately burst into pleas for mercy but you merely ignored them, advancing on the closest one. You dug your claws in and tore at his flesh; his scream had Dream shuddering again as he watched you tear and rip both of the remaining humans o shreds; there was little left of them but broken bones, blood, and strips of flesh. When they were dead, you turned to him, giving him a quick once-over before picking up the discarded, familiar, knife and holding it out behind you.

"I believe this is yours."

Dream tilted his had at you before, through the still-shadowed doorway, Corinthian stepped into the room, immediately followed by Hob: your shadows had kept them hidden from view, kept them safe. Oh, he loved you so much.

Corinthian silently took the knife, cleaned the blood off, and put it back in his holster; both he and Hob looked almost as murderous as you did. Your voice rang out again.

"We cannot break the biding circle; you'll have to."

Hob didn't hesitate to step forward, dropping to his knees and ripping his jacket off to use it to scrub at the paint on the floor; the material gave way quickly enough and Dream gasped sharply as his power flooded through him once more. What nearly made him cry out was the bond - the bond he hadn't even realized you had - bursting open in his chest and the back of his head, your feelings filling him; a protective fury, the likes of which he had never felt before, whirled through him, quickly followed by desperation and a relief that nearly choked him. Then, he was in your arms, your hands - still ripped in those beautiful claws and dripping with blood - caressing his face oh so gently.

"Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" Your hands trailed over his body, gentle as a feather, checking for any wounds.

He could resist no longer and dragged you bodily into a fierce kiss. He shoved his tongue into your mouth, curling it around one of your fangs with a deep, vibrating groan. When he pulled back, he was panting. "You are... magnificent."

You practically purred at the praise even as you jerked your head towards Hob and Corinthian. "You should thank them. Corinthian kept me from tearing the entire world down while trying to find you, and Hob managed to track the grimoire down; it's how we found you. I was beside myself the second you vanished; I'm sorry it took so long."

Dream shushed you softly, pulling you into his embrace with a shuddering sigh. He looked over your shoulder at his dearest friend and his little nightmare. "Thank you both; I will not forget this."

Hob smiled and nodded once. "No need to thank me, my friend."

Corinthian, however, seemed startled. He suddenly shrugged, affecting a look of indifference. "Couldn't exactly have her ripping all the realms apart."

Dream smiled at his masterpiece. "Still... thank you."

Corinthian visibly hesitated before nodding once with a quick jerk of his head. "You're welcome, my Lord."

You nuzzled his chest, voice soft when you spoke. "Home?"

Dream tightened his arms around you. "Yes. Home."

---

Less than half an hour later, having gotten Hob home safe, and sent Corinthian and Matthew off to do their jobs, you and Dream were finally back in your chambers. A week. He'd been missing for a week, and though it technically wasn't a long time, it was far too long for you. It was taking every ounce of self-control you still had to not pounce on him; you'd missed him more than you'd ever be able to explain but you figured he'd likely need some time. You were just about to make a move towards the bathroom in order to wash the blood off you when Dream pounced on you, pushing you onto the bed and crawling over you like a predator; it sent a pleasurable shiver rolling down your spine.

"Do you have any idea how stunning you look right now? I hadn't even realized we were bound, let alone that you could wield my power with such ease."

You moaned as he devoured your mouth in a desperate kiss, shoving your tongue into his mouth to finally taste him. You clung to him, keeping his body pressed tightly against yours even as your clothes vanished into sand. He pressed you back into the bed, eyes like the black void of distant space from side-to-side, twin stars shining where the pupils would be. You automatically spread your legs wide for him and he settled between them like it was where he belonged.

"You're absolutely gorgeous. Covered in the blood of those who would have done me harm, wielding my power like you were born for it.... Breathtaking. My sweet dreamling, my beautiful nightmare."

You shuddered and whined, power no longer echoing in your voice, though you still had claws, your hair was still wilder than ever, and your eyes still shined like his. "Please, I can't wait; I need to feel you."

Thankfully, he didn't make you wait any longer, plundering your mouth as he buried his cock as deep inside you as possible. Your back arched at the sudden burn of the stretch, but you only moaned desperately. You clung tighter to him, smearing still-drying blood along his skin as he started an almost punishing rhythm; it was clear that any control he had was long gone. You traced a path along his skin with your too-long-to-be-human tongue, following the trail of blood you had left behind, licking him clean and causing him to growl. His hand threaded through your hair and he pulled your head back sharply, muffling your loud moan as he shoved his own not-quite-human tongue into your mouth, chasing the iron tang of the blood.

You rolled your hips in time with his, meeting him thrust for thrust, the slap of skin-on-skin contact loud in the room; fuck, you had missed him so much. You sucked on his tongue and smirked when he abruptly pulled back with an absolutely wild look in his eyes. He growled deep in his chest, his free hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise; you hoped it would. The hand still in your hair yanked your head further back - far enough that your back arched with it = and latched onto your neck, biting and sucking marks almost viciously into your skin as he fucked into your harder. You dug your newly-acquired claws into his back, dragging them down and ripping an absolutely filthy growl from his mouth that caused you to shudder; you whined high in your throat at the sharp scrape of fangs that you knew he didn't have seconds before, clenching around his cock; you kind of hoped he'd bite you, hard enough to draw blood.

You could feel the pressure in the air as his power rose, could taste the slight humanness of him that usually lingered vanish completely when he kissed you again; you let the power resting inside you rise to meet his, intertwining in the air like silver ribbons. You rocked your hips into his, both of you chasing your pleasure, gasping and moaning into each other's mouths due to how rough and desperate you both were.

You keened at a particularly deep thrust, pulling away from his sinful mouth to speak. "I'm so close." Your voice was hoarse and breathless, but you continued nonetheless. "Please, can I cum? Please let me cum, my Dream, my North Star, please."

Dream gave a deep groan, snapping his hips harder into the cradle of your thighs, causing your back to arch again. "So good for me, asking permission. Yes, yes my love, cum for me."

You didn't need anything more than his permission, that coil in your belly, which had been tightening, snapping abruptly as soon as the words left his lips. You gasped his name as your orgasm crashed into you, sweeping you away in a tidalwave of pure bliss. You whimpered when Dream's hips stuttered once, twice, and then he buried his cock deep inside you, head thrown back with a silent cry as he came. You clung to each other in the aftermath, hands roaming each other's bodies as if reacquainting yourselves, gentling each other. You pressed your mouth to his in a loving kiss and he sighed blissfully into the kiss. Without pulling out, he carefully rolled you both onto your sides, holding you as close as possible. As most of your more inhuman features finally faded, until only the stars in your eyes remained, you traced random shapes over his heart before giving his chest a small kiss. You met his curious gaze and allowed that power to bleed into your voice once more.

"I will never allow anyone to hurt you, and I will never allow you to be taken from me; I would slaughter any who dare attempt either. I will never allow anyone to take me from you, nor will I allow anyone to get in between us. And if something happened, something like this, I would fight to get you back, or fight until I was returned to you. I would fight with teeth or fangs, nails or claws, with every last breath in my body, and I would not rest until we were safe in each other's arms again. I will always come for you, and I will always come back to you, because you are mine, and I am yours."

You felt more than heard his breath hitch as he tried to pull you even closer, despite no space actually existing between you. He took a shuddering breath, and then spoke.

"I swear to never doubt your love, and to always love you in return. I will never allow harm to come to you, and I will punish all who attempt to do so. I will never allow myself to be taken from you, nor allow you to be taken from me. And if we are separated, I will not know peace until we are reunited once more. I will protect and love you as fiercely as you would protect and love me. For you are mine, as I am yours."

Both of your oaths rang with power, and you felt them twine around you, settling into your skin with a shudder.

"I love you."

"As I love you."

You shared another loving and gentle kisss, then settled, allowing your bodies to relax for the first time in a week. You were more than content to simply hold each other once more, everything else could wait; right now, you needed to hold, and be held by, him.

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus x you #the sandman fanfic #the corinthian #hob gadling #matthew the raven #rescue fic

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omentranslates · 2 months

Text

Owari no Seraph volume 32 author's afterword english fan translation

Howdy, the long awaited afterword is here. I say as if my volume didn't arrive literally 2 hrs ago. Anyways, thanks for working with me.

Also I included the volume comments this time XP and I translated the back promotional page too just bc I haven't seen anyone else post it yet?? But I don't pay super close attention to the teasers usually so don't come for me if it's just the same text as the last few.

"Afterword

Wow, this is it, the climax! Writing it gets as lonely as it is fun, and it's as fun as it gets lonely, among other things! To everyone who's followed along this long, I'm truly grateful.

From here on out, I'm going to have a new editor. Owari no Seraph has thus far been blessed with nothing but the best and brightest in editors, all full of motivation. From Hosono-san (the sharpest blade in Shueisha) to Kosuge-san (the industry's top Nice Guy) to Kasai-san (who played it straight but turned out to be a total weirdo). And now, exploding onto the scene to take the baton from those three absolute characters, and his name issssss.......Okuyama-saaaaaannnn!!!!!

Now, this new guy in charge is truly amazing, he's got enough motivation to take me aback! He goes, "Kagami-san! We could have the whole world!! Nono, the whole universe!!! From now on just leave it all to meeeeee!!!! There's no doubt we'll do great things together, so just leave it all to me okayyyyyy!!!!" He's been yelling like that since we first met. He brought so much of that heat to the venue we were going to have our first meeting over dinner at and we ended up getting chased out and banned from coming back! It ended up being a whole incident, we really started off with a bang.....is what I'd like to put here, but I'm actually working on this afterword before that aforementioned meeting so I decided to just write my heart. The truth is that we actually haven't met yet! (Say what?)

Everyone, look forward to the next volume, where I tell you all how our introductions went! The one I'm writing now will actually probably pass through my new editor Okuyama-san's hands before we do meet, so I'm kinda scared about how that's gonna go, I'm like shaking (lol). But I'll definitely have a story to tell for next afterword! So on that note, I hope to see you all here again next volume, for those who just wanted to be done reading before it gets deep, I'll say goodbye to you here. I'll see you all next volume!!!!!

So, then, about myself recently. I put to rest some things that have been bothering me as a creator for sooo many years. Yayyyyy!! Wondering how I'm going to live and who I should become. As I'm facing up my works, and also my experiences as a person, as I'm experiencing the lives and deaths of those precious to me, what does it make of me? My characters grow up, am I working hard enough to keep up with them? I suddenly feel like I'm approaching my answers. And wow, what a ride it's been. What a ride being a creator is.

There was a time I was writing so many projects, but I've been rather spending my days studying since encountering those worrisome thoughts. But I've finished my studies and at long last arrived at just being thankful. It took a lot out of me to get here. And having Owari no Seraph publishing monthly, I think it was something that really managed to keep me as a creative grounded through it all. Writing is what I love most of all, I've been able to realize that it's who I am. For that, I am truly grateful to everyone. Yamamoto-san, Furuya-san, every one of my readers, to those in charge here and my editorial staff and everyone else who associates with me and every member of my family, I'm deeply thankful for the one of a kind, precious ties that bring us together in this world.

Which is all to say, I've returned to my extremely prolific writing habits, so I'll be glad if you all read what I've got to say!!!

Huh, I guess that wasn't too heavy afterall. Anyways, everyone, I'll see you next volume! Oh, and the finale of "Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu" is also happening after six long years. If any of you have ever read it, I hope you enjoy that too!

So then, see you in volume 33!!!!

Kagami Takaya"

Kagami Sensei's volume comment: "I'm writing so much! Back to the drafts!"

Yamamoto Sensei's volume comment: "We've reached volume 32. Yuuichirou and Mikaela, the Shinoa Squad, Ferid and Crowley, a lot of different stories have really taken off. I hope you're all excited!"

Promo page in the back (text only):

"On the move to make their own dreams come true...

All of these different stories speeding up towards the final battle!?"

The next volume is planned for October 2024

#owari no seraph #english translation #yeah so. please enjoy sensei writing fanfiction about his editors lmao

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somuchyoudontknow · 1 year

Text

PR Relationships

by Admin June 1, 2022 0 comment

We talk a lot in the fandom about PR relationships and stunts, but what are they? Well, read on for a little explanation.

PR stands for public relations. Celebrities employ PR teams to manage their image and how they are viewed by the world. Think of them as storytellers who make sure we see and hear the things that fit the narrative management wants to present. Some of the tales they tell are plausible enough for the general public to believe, but often live pretty far from the truth.

PR relationships, also known as showmances or fauxmances, are created when someone needs to be in the public eye to promote a project – like an album or a movie/TV show – or to dispel rumors that don’t fit the chosen “story” (like…one’s sexuality, perhaps?). Having a famous couple in a relationship gets them in the news and, in turn, whatever project they are working on gets press. But we know most of the time, “it’s all lies.” This type of marketing tool has been around as long as the entertainment industry itself. Even in the early days of film, stars were linked together in the press to get the whispers started in beauty shops and bars. Studios and management companies sometimes went as far as holding actual weddings to quell what they considered unsavory rumors (look up “lavender marriages” if you want some eye-opening bedtime reading).

A stunt is something a celebrity does to get their name in the press. Their teams may fake an engagement, a pregnancy, a lawsuit, or any number of things that get attention and create buzz. Sound familiar? PR relationships are also considered stunts. These stunts are meticulously created in boardrooms and executive offices and involve strict contracts that can detail the length of the “relationship”, the goal both parties want to achieve, and may even go as far as specifying the number of public kisses a couple must undertake. Regardless of how extensive the stunt is, there is always money involved. Heavy penalties and possible lawsuits result from one or both parties not fulfilling their end of the deal. And rigid non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) prevent those involved from ever discussing or disputing the details involved, even years down the road.

So, how do you spot a stunt? An article written in 2020 by Andrea Taylor for Celeb Magazine provides a great guide (paraphrased here, but the whole article is linked below if you’d like to read further).

Do the celebs have a movie or album in the works or one that was just released?

Do you see quotes from “insiders” or “sources” when they’re mentioned in the media?

Is one of the celebs trying to divert some negative press?

Are there copious amounts of paparazzi pictures of the couple together (or apart) to keep them in the news?

If you answered yes to more than one of these questions, do yourself a favor and look into it a little further.

In future issues, we’ll delve a little deeper into the stunts that involve Larry. So, stay tuned!

Links:

Celeb Magazine article https://writer.celebmagazine.com/romance-or-showmance-hollywood-rumored-pr-relationships/

Some light reading on lavender marriages

(Bonus) A Tumblr post that gave great info

#Pr stunts #pr relationships #chris evans pr

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railingsofsorrow · 1 year

Text

300+ followers celebration

•°. *࿐。o○☆ 𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗠𝗬 o○☆ ′࿐•°.。

A/N: i still can't believe I'm at 300 followers, thank you so much guys!! this give me so much motivation to keep writing. this blog has been my little relief from my busy college days. now, I'm creating this little celebration so you can fill up my ask box with requests <3

❝ we've traveled the seas, we've ridden the stars we've seen everything from saturn to mars... ⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱

[ GUIDELINES & RULES ]

― i will not write: smut; age play; zoophilia or any topics related. and you must pick characters just from the list below.

🪐pick a character (special spots to go stargazing)

— can be reader insert, character x character or no pairing.

🪐pick a length (travel through a galaxy)

🪐pick a trope (visit a planet)

🪐pick a dialogue prompt

🪐specify if you want canon, canon divergence, au, soft or heavy angst, etc, or if I can go with the flow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. SPECIALS SPOTS TO GO STARGAZING ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

🪐pick a character

the beach ― “stupid things have good outcomes all the time”

jj maybank

kiara carrera

pope hayward

sarah cameron

john b routledge

cleo (does anyone know her last name???)

the forbidden forest ― “I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good”

remus lupin

sirius black

james potter

peter pettigrew

regulus black

pandora lovegood

lily evans

marlene mckinnon

the fbi headquarters ― “wheels up in thirty”

spencer reid

emily prentiss

jennifer jareau

the mystic grill ― “i was feeling epic”

stefan salvatore

caroline forbes

bonnie bennett

the compound ― “always and forever”

klaus mikaelson

kol mikaelson

rebekah mikaelson

freya mikaelson

the empire state building ― “with great power comes great responsibility”

andrew!peter parker

tom!peter parker

♦

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. TRAVEL THROUGH A GALAXY ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

🪐pick a length

milky way

the Milky Way is made up of approximately 100 billion stars. the concentration of stars in a band adds to the evidence that it is a spiral galaxy and the amount of dust and the dominant colors of the light match those we find in other typical spiral galaxies. ↬ drabble = 100 words

andromeda galaxy

Andromeda, also known as Messier 31 (M31), is a spiral galaxy located about 2.5 million light years away. It has a past involving collisions and accretion of other galaxies. ↬ blurb = 200 + words

alcyoneus

the Alcyoneus galaxy — named after the son of Ouranos, the Greek primordial god of the sky — was discovered about 3 billion light-years. It is considered the largest galaxy discovered and it also provides insights about the cosmic web. ↬ oneshot = 400 + words

♦

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. VISIT A PLANET ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

🪐pick a trope (you can either choose one or mix two or more tropes)

friends to lovers

platonic

fake dating

enemies to lovers

second chance at love

grumpy x sunshine

star-crossed lovers

love confessions

♦

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. STARE AT A CONSTELLATION ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

🪐pick a dialogue prompt

alpha canis majoris ( angst )

[1] [2]

also known as "canis major", it represents the bigger dog following orion, the hunter in greek mythology. home to the brightest star in the sky, sirius, as well as to several notable deep sky objects.

lupus ( fluff )

[1]

"the wolf" lies in the southern hemisphere, between centaurus and scorpius. lupus contains two stars with known planets and no messier objects. the brightest star in the constellation is men, alpha lupi, with an apparent magnitude of 2.30.

lyra ( hurt/comfort )

[1] [2]

the constellation is associated with the myth of the greek musician and poet orpheus. lyra lies in the northern sky and represents the lyre, a musical instrument with strings used in antiquity and later times. contains six formally named stars: aladfar, sheliak, sulafat, vega, xihe, and chasoň.

leo ( touch-starved )

[1]

one of the easiest to spot over earth, the leo constellation is the 12th largest of all the constellations and can be found by looking for the head of the lion, or the "sickle," starting at the regulus (alpha leonis) star.

vulpecula ( platonic )

[1]

its name means “the little fox” in latin. the constellation was depicted as a fox holding a goose in its jaws. the stars were later separated to form two constellations, anser and vulpecula, and then merged back together into the present-day vulpecula constellation.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ready to stargaze?

⋰ ⋱ ⋰ ⋱

...as much as it seems like you own my heart it's astronomy, we're two worlds apart. ❞

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penny-anna · 2 years

Note

Hijinks are good don’t get me wrong, but I too deeply enjoy some angst!

ok u are asking me to expose my current guilty pleasure here!! let's see what i got:

inhibition

Batman gets hit by a Poison Ivy special. Jason is unfortunately caught in the crossfire.

CW: this one has some very heavy themes around sexual assault, but no actual assault occurs - read the warnings on the fic.

cuddle pollen is a new concept for me!! im into it. author has a bunch of cuddle pollen fics but in terms of h/c this was the stand out for me.

The Worst Kind of Crush

Civilians came first.

It was one of the foundational truths of being a superhero. Their job was to save civilians regardless of the personal cost. Each of them knew and understood the risks associated with the cape when they put it on.

Still, rules got fuzzy when one woke up underneath a building.

Or the one where a building explodes and Tim is trapped under the rubble

u like h/c. here's some excellent h/c.

answers we're not wise enough to see (i love you freely)

It’s very nearly perfect, and so much more than Damian ever hoped for himself. But it’s not enough to distract him from the fact that there is still one of his siblings whose mark he does not- and apparently, will never, carry, and the pain of rejection threatens to overwhelm the relief he feels at being so easily accepted by Father and his family.

Because for all that his brightest mark so far- brighter even than Father’s- is very clearly displayed on Richard's neck, there is no corresponding cerulean blue mark on Damian’s nose.

In a world where your first touch on a soulmate leaves a mark that shows how much you love them, Damian struggles to understand why Richard apparently does not love him back.

platonic soulmate AUs are also a new one on me!! im also very into it!! the only actual batfamily comic i've read is steph brown's run as batgirl and i realised reading this that i am very invested in Dick & Damian's relationship actually and gjfkglhfjkghf. loved this.

Inbox

When Jason Todd died, Bruce Wayne had a hard time letting go or dealing with any reminders of his son.

When Jason Todd came back, what he needed to know was how much he had mattered. Fortunately, these things overlapped.

Or, the story in which Jason listens to some voicemails for a dead boy— the boy who was him.

remember how i was joking around abt jason getting messages bruce left for him while he was 'dead'. here is that concept but like Serious. im still getting over a semi-recent major bereavement at present and this caused me physical pain (compliment)

I Wanna Shoop, Baby

Talking over Bruce's attempts to desperately stop the unwanted laughter, Dick said, "I don't really understand what my soulmark means. It doesn't have any hints about their identity, so I just memorized the words instead."

Bruce fought for control and took a deep, sobering breath. “Whoever your soulmate is, I can’t decide whether I hate them already or need you to meet them.”

“Need me to meet them?”

Bruce chuckled—he chuckled—and said, “Dick. I have a feeling the two of you are going to be a particularly troublesome pair of best friends.”

& finally, some hijinks!! not strictly batfamily (it's birdflash) but batman and robin are both there so w/e. very entertaining. absolutely edge of my seat all the way through waiting to find out wtf dick's soulmark was. it did not disappoint.

and that's all i got for now!! hope there's something here you'll enjoy :)

#batfam #batfamily

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husbandohunter · 3 years

Note

Dottore with short drabble “You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

Something angsty pls? Thank you!

Tainted Glass [Dottore x Reader/Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: Can you escape the prison you made?

(A twisted Cinderella story. The girl was covered in cinders because she was fatally addicted to drowning in flames.)

Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, violence, death

(A/n): To be honest anon, I didn’t know what the word ‘drabble’ means until I googled it. I uh...hope you don’t mind the length :>

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

You fell back against the cold hard floor with your arms bent and head turned sideways. The stinging pain spreads across your cheek. It burns. But your mind was still trying to register what had just came into fruition.

Why?

The thought was so foreign somehow as if you could hardly believe he was doing this. But then the scene plays in your head again. You froze, your gaze enlarged and clueless while staring at the pale ground as it slowly begins to darken in the seeping movement of his menacing, haunting shadow.

"Insolent woman, you wretch!" He spat in a disgusted tone, "How dare you speak to me in such demanding manner? Have I already told you, only talk when you have something important to say?"

You didn't respond, rather you merely let the strands fall in front of your vision as you gingerly pressed your hand against the place where he hit you.

I…don't quite understand…

Dottore glowers down at your hunched form. He was never a man known for the virtue of patience. This man, the one who calls him your husband, you learned a long time ago to not meet his eyes as they would signal a hint of dominance amidst his authority, especially during moments like these. You came to feel his eyes instead, they were usually intense and full of wrath, sometimes crazed and curious while looking at his finest creations. He always loved experimenting in his labratory. After all, it was the only thing that could truly make the madman smile.

What is it that I'm missing? Where did I go wrong?

And you would do anything to obtain at least a fraction of the love he had left in his heart.

He marches onward with heavy footsteps, paying no mind to your well-being, "Tch get out of my sight. I don't have the time to entertain with anymore these theatrics."

At the sound of him leaving you darted your attention towards him, "Wait, come back. Come back, " you plea softly, "Hector…" But he ignores your call. The back of your fiance disappears behind the door and slams it with a resounding thud. He was gone. You couldn't save him.

"No," As a result, you burried your face into your palms and cried.

“I'm sorry.”

…

What is love?

Being raised in one of the most prestigious bloodlines of Fontaine, a life filled with riches since your parents were well known scholars throughout Teyvat, they provided you and your family with everything you needed. From exquisite dishes to priceless jewelry, yet even among those riches you never did find an answer to your question. They were tangibles and short-lasting, eventually leaving you with nothing until the glass of your heart was filled empty. They seemed to have cared more about their fortune along with the brightest child of their family line, your brother, a male heir, someone who fulfilled their expectations where you couldn't do so. And because he was able to give them what they wanted, he was loved.

I see, love is conditional.

Realizing that you possessed no talent to achieve what your brother had accomplished, you came to accept that you were undeserving of their love. Love was for the smart. Love was for the gifted. Love was for everything you are not. There was no place for your kind and thus you locked yourself up in your bedroom chambers along with your fragile heart where no one would try to find you, picking up the books upon the shelves and getting lost in their fantasies.

They told you many beautiful things about the world and many reasons why it was so tragic. Because they weren't real. The story begins with a princess who was a kind-hearted soul, deprived from the care of her evil stepmother and dreams of marrying a prince from a land far far away. They often end on a happily ever after with the princes finding her one true love. You've never seen anything like it. Where two people, despite the struggles they went through, loved each other unconditionally.

Unconditional love only exists in dreams.

Or so you thought to believe.

One day a man marched right at the doorsteps of your mansion. He was a student coming all the way from Sumeru Academia and had high hopes of building a business partnership with your father. The man was declined of course, you watched from the garden bushes as he was sent off back into his carriage. He stops abruptly and turns his head ajar to catch your figure, his inquisitive eyes were both striking and sharp. Like thorns of a rose that was ready to prick anyone who dares to come close. Even so, they made a very lasting impression.

Red eyes.

It was the first time that someone had looked your way.

Couple of months later, the government had arranged a grand ball where all nobles would gather and commit to building their social circle. Useless events. There was no reason for you to engage. While your parents were occupied with the latest gossips and your brother surrounded by fathers who were eager to marry their daughters to him, you snuck outside to the balcony and hid away from the crowd. Quiet at last. And as things should be. The moon was your only friend because she was just like you; half empty. Maybe that was why you still had a glimmer of hope for the other half to be filled.

Part white, you inquired, pristine and untainted. From far away it looked similar to snow.

"My, how pleasantly surprising."

While the other part was stained with black cinders.

You glanced over your shoulder to see a man leaning against the pillar. His mint coloured bangs were slicked back in a trendy fashion, complimenting the white suit he adorned himself with. The golden chains hanging around his ebony boots dangled and clanged with each step he took forward until the light finally reveals his face.

"You seem familiar," you say while squinting your eyes, "Are you the person my father rejected back in February?"

He quirks one brow and you were afraid if you had offended him. But before you could utter an apology, the man splits his lips into a toothy grin and bursts out into a maniac-like laughter. He was completely insane, you thought to yourself. Though he paid no mind to your discomfort and continued to dwell in his amusement, "Hahaha straightforward, I like it! So what if I am? Is it a requirement to be a noble for me to simply have a chat?"

"And if I may ask why?"

"Hmmm, why?" The man reaches for the balcony and presses his back there. He threw his head backward before drilling his ruby gaze into yours, "I too am not fond of annoying crowds. Those snobbish fools thinking they're above everyone else just because they have a couple of mora when that is all they are worth. It's almost too hilarious for my own good."

You could tell there was disdain in his tone. Mainly towards your father who were one of the many unkind nobles of Fontaine and was only liked because of his success. Gripping your hands upon the stone railings, you looked down at the distant trees below while the wind rustled them apart, "I can't deny that," you say dissapointedly, "It's common for nobles not to associate with lower classes as it could potentially ruin their image. Though I may not have been there but I'm sure you had much to offer in terms of your brilliance, erm, Mister…?"

"Hector," Hector placed a palm on his chest with a polite bow following suit, "Hector Dufour-Lapointé. It is a pleasure to make you an acquaintance Lady (Y/n)."

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" Hector smirks lazily as he danced around you, "I saw you before hiding behind the rose bushes back in your estate. Quite curious why you didn't attempt to say hello."

He even remembers that too. You fiddled with the fabric of your dress, "My apologies. I'm not use to socializing so much."

“Is that so? I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he complimented while shrugging, "This is much more entertaining than hanging in that insufferably crowded room, it was an unexpected occurence to meet you here of all places. However, I must say time can fly if I'm able to enjoy myself."

You shifted away from his stare, "You flatter me. We've only been talking for a few minutes."

"I have yet to realize it then" Hector's cheerfulness remains at stance despite your gloomy response. He leans forward like a curious child and tosses you a question, "Then allow me to ask, what brings you out here Lady (Y/n)? I don't see any reason when your family are such highly respected people of Fontaine."

"I'm not like them!" You retort instantly, causing the man to glance at you with skepticism, "I mean, I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. That's just how it is. They already have Clement after all…"

Why am I telling him this?

"Ah your brother I assume. Yes so I've heard much about his genius mind. There were a few instances where he and I collaborated at Sumeru Academia," Hector speaks as if regarding to his unpleasant memories, "Although he never said anything about having a sister."

"We're not that close. And I'm not very fond of him," you confessed bluntly.

"Neither am I," Hector agreed with a scowl, "He claims his position using the knowledge derived from history books but never tries to think beyond the norm. That ignorant mindset of his will surely be his downfall one day."

"Ignorance can lead to anyone's downfall. If they turn a blind eye to the truth, so much can be taken from them," you paused shortly from rambling too much, "That's what I read in books at least."

"As expected of your lineage," he sighs whimsically, "Such avid readers."

"Well my family prefers documents and research. I've gone through them too but I will always love reading fiction."

"Ha! Seems you really are trying to be different from the rest of your family."

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, you had already forgotten about the cold breeze despite your dress being less than ideal for the outdoors. The man, although he can be a little to blathering at times, was more than what seemed to be on the surface. At first you thought of him as someone here to take advantage of your relations to your father but he seemed so sincere when listening to your stories, so eager while expressing his thoughts and even made you laugh a couple of times. You didn't realize that the clock had already struck twelve as the guests were preparing to leave but you just weren't ready to do the same.

"Until next time (Y/n)," he takes your fingers and pressed a kiss on top of them, though you were more struck by how he addressed you without honorifics, "I look forward to speaking with you again."

A warm smile graces your lips as you cursty, "Likewise Hector. Thank you for listening to me. I know I must have taken a long time."

Hector sneered but you already learned that it was simply his way of expressing amusement, "Hardly. I was thoroughly entertained."

When your parents found out about your meeting with him, they made it clear that you would never see him again. Hector Dufour-Lapointé is what he calls himself but the real name behind this man was Hector Valliere who came from a village hidden in the west of Fontaine. Rumours said that he was chased out of his hometown by an angry mob, claiming him to be a madman conducting unethical experiments on humans. Shortly after his arrival in Sumeru, he abandoned his past identity and replaced it with a new one in order to enter the academy under legal supervision. Associating with a man of a suspicious reputation would only cause harm to your family's name. Though you could barely care much about their reputation. There was nothing for you to benefit from it.

Few weeks have passed and you evetually gave up on the thought of hearing from Hector. They were only fleeting moments, nothing more. Your routine would stay the same as you kept on plucking more books off the shelves, killing whatever time you had. However the activities you used to enjoy somehow lost it's flair and there would be a slight pain in your chest whenever you turn to a page with the princess as she is surrounded by her friends. What exactly changed? Your family still treated you the same. Did you suddenly grow bored from doing the same thing everyday? Why is it that you feel much more lonelier despite being alone for so long? It was hard to tell in a singular perspective. If only there was someone here to give you some insights on things you couldn't see…

A silver bird lands by your front window and you nearly fell out of your chair as it flapped their wings violently. A machine?! They dropped what seems to be an envelope within the thick bushes before taking off and buzzing into the evening sky. You switched off the lock and lifted the glass within a single movement, snatching the piece of paper so that the wind wouldn't blow it away. Hastily you opened it. Both curious and cautious of why would anyone send you mail in such a discreet approach.

Chère Mademoiselle (Y/n),

I can only imagine the shock of your expression once reading this letter. I'm only writing to you since I assume that your father had already told you those nasty rumours about my past. No matter. I trust that you have a good head on your shoulders to not prejudge people using such miniscule details. I wish to speak with you again. Unless you have other plans staying in that stuffy room of yours, meet me behind the clock tower at 11:00 p.m. Don't be late.

Bien à vous,

"It really is him!" The happiness spreads all across your features as you clutched the letter to your chest. For some reason, your heart wouldn't stop racing. It was a simple yet thoughful action on his part but despite how short his greeting was, every word held the weight of a thousand sparks, "I…I can't stop smiling."

And without hesitation, you prepared to leave. No one noticed your absence.

-------

It was only halfway where you realized that Hector didn't give many details redgarding why he planned this sudden event. You caught sight of him standing under the roofs with his hands hidden behind his back. He had on his signature lopsided grin, brows uneven as he glanced at you casually.

"How very punctual, were you so eager that you couldn't wait?" He teases.

"I was surprised when your bird knocked upon my window," you inform, "Is it something urgent?"

"Not at all. I merely wanted to catch up with old times," Hector tilts forward to emphasize his suggestion, "Care to indulge me for a bit?"

You crossed your arms, "Then what is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

"Hmm?" He hums, "You mean this?"

"Ah!"

Roses. A bouquet of bright red flowers were presented to you, nicely wrapped in fabric. In the language of Fontaine, recieving them could mean multiple of things and you couldn't help but feel hesitant despite his thoughtful gesture, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Is it so wrong for me to be a gentleman? I thought it would be best to prepare you a gift after you put all that effort to come out in such a late hour," Hector mused to himself, "Especially when you had to make sure no prying eyes would catch us."

You let out a small laugh before accepting the bouquet, "I wouldn't go as far to say that."

"Oh?" Although it was hard to see, Hector managed to catch a glimpse of your flushed cheeks hidden behind the flowers. A darken smirk climbs onto his face at the inviting thought of what it could mean, "Tell me more."

The whole night you both spent walking around the empty plaza with only the stars as your guide. They paved a silver path reflected in the horizon above, free flowing like one of the many watercolour paintings hung in your chambers, uncertain where they may lead but you followed them regardless. If it weren't for Hector's inivtation you might have never known about the parts of your city due to the restricted lifestyle you lived. He listened to every one of them. The stories you had to tell when there was no one for you to talk to and the complaints about your brother whenever he wanted to snitch on your actions just to get the praise out of your father. You expressed your frustrations when speaking about your incompetences, joy after reading a good fairytale book written by your favourite author, there was so much to say that you were worried if Hector soon grew tired from them.

"Go on. I'm listening."

And your heart flutters again. Suddenly everything felt so light with each step you took, it was as if you walked across the stars in the sky rather than the heavy pavement of the ground you called your home. But even if happiness was a bliss, it tormented you. Because companionship made you realize how poor your were all along. That you had everything yet you had nothing, slowly withering away like the roses you held in your hand. Convinced that your existence was worth nothing more than nothing itself. Doomed to be dismissed and forgotten. Rotting away...Hector stays by your side as you cried softly into the night.

From a distance the bell rings and echoes just like the time before during Fontaine's grand ball. Hector shows you a secret route so that no one could find you.

"Will you write to me again?"

The request was so innocent, purely from genuine intentions and devoided of anything he had in mind. Hector would always laugh in these situations when things have gone unexpectedly yet pleasingly his way but held back knowing that it would be foolish to waste such a priceless opportunity. And so he gave you his smile, one full of secrets where you had mistakened it as a promise, "Of course my dear."

Every night you could no longer fall asleep since he had occupied your thoughts completely. Sometimes you'd dream of him and their tales would unfold similarly to the ones you have read. It gone to the point where the maids would have to wake you up during late afternoons due to the dramatic change in your sleep schedule. Though, you didn't care what they did to you. As long as no one found out about your secret rendezvous.

You never thought that there'd be a day where you would voluntarily give up reading your beloved fairytales. They were now replaced by a stash of his letters that have been accumulated over the past few months. You read them each day, pacing back and forth within the walls of your room, whispering his sentences as if he were the one saying them to you. He made you feel special. You were addicted to this feeling. Eventually you managed to memorize his words by heart.

The pages of your diary were filled with notes. Like your very own fairytale carved into reality. From the rose petal, now dried, to the hairpin he snatched from a distracted merchant and a single strand of his hair you found within your cloak after a warm embrace, all of these items, a remnant of the man you loved were taped up in these pages. Sometimes you could even feel his prescence because it was all you needed. It didn't matter if Clement threw insults about how worthless your existence was, your parents could lock you in this prison if they wanted to but they shall never take away Hector from you. Never. You swear it. He was your whole world and the prince who saved you from a life made of aching emptiness. You would do anything to keep him by your side. Anything to gain his affection.

Anything.

"I had a feeling that you were the culprit dear sister."

Your arms stutters as they clutched tightly on the scrolls you took off from the shelves. The light crept into the room like arms reaching out to clutch around your ankles, warning you for trespassing. You turned around dreadfully to see Clement pressing his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms folded and a wicked expression aimed at your pitiful state.

"Why…Why are you still awake?" You say in disbelief, "I thought everyone was asleep."

"Please. Not only are you shameless but hypocritical as well. You truly are a dissapointment to our family."

"Wait," taking a step forward, you stopped him before he makes his exit, "I'll put them back. Just don't tell father about this."

But like your parents, your brother was unkind. Clement doubles over and hugs his torso, cackling through his teeth, "Is that how it is?" He swipes his arm up and you see a parchment paper held between his fingers.

"No!"

"Ma chérie (Y/n). I must say all this tenacious effort of sneaking in my letters to your window is becoming more and more tiresome. But of course, you are an exception. I want the scrolls you've mentioned the other day at my lair tomorrow evening. Make sure no one discovers this. I'm counting on you. Cordialement! Hector."

"No…" you whispered, feeling the weight of the world fall upon your shoulders as it shattered apart. Hector. If possible, you hoped that the pieces could just crush you right then and there. Your knees felt weak and a fright takes over but despite your turmoil, Clement didn't show a shred of sympathy.

"So this is why you've been acting odd lately. Pathetic," he flaps the paper tauntingly in his grasp, "I can't decide if I should be impressed or baffled by your actions. A secret romance with a criminal and the bloodline of Fontaine's most respected government associates? Even though you've hit rock bottom, you still decided to dig deeper."

"Clement you don't understand!" Stumbling upon your footsteps, you desperately tried to convey your predicament even if it meant feeding his ego, "Hector is not the man you think. He was shunned by the people of his hometown, treating him as if he were nothing. They…They ignored him! All this time he needed someone to recognize his brilliance, someone to understand." Shakily, you brought your tensed arms to your chest and screamed a silent whisper, "Someone to listen but no one did. He must have felt so alone…"

Clement flinches when you suddenly clutched onto his biceps. When he looked into your eyes, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Hector is counting on me. I'm the only one who can save him. No one else. He needs me Clement, he needs me!"

"Tch."

An ear-splitting scream of his hand against your face echoes across the room. It knocked you out of your stance and you bumped into the table, grunting while the scrolls to tumbled to the floor.

"Crazy woman, I'm embarassed to be related to you!"

While you were still trying to regain your balance, your brother had already ran off. It wouldn't be long before he alerted your parents, the clock ticking away like sand until the final hour leaves you with nothing but an empty glass.

"No," despair swallows the strength away from your legs and you crawled towards where he used to stand, "Don't take him away from me…I need him…"

I can't live without him.

Tears begin to form by the corners of your eyes as you clenched your teeth. This was no time to cry. Balling your fists, you sprinted out of the room, pushing whatever stood in your way as if you were running for your life.

And if you considered everything else, it wasn't that far from the truth.

-------

"Hector! Hector are you there?" After arriving upon his house, you began knocking on his door aggressively. The lock clicks and you were greeted by an evidently annoyed man gnawing his teeth together.

"Tsk. There better be a good reason-"

"They're coming for us! We have to go. Now. Before it's too late. My father is probably already waking and making arrangements for you to-"

"Enough, I can't even catch what you're saying," He pinches the bridge of his nose while you were still stuck in a frenzy state. He takes a step back and opens the door wider, gesturing for you to come inside, "Get in already. I have a feeling that this will be a long night."

Hector observes intently at the words you tell him.

Not out of concern but akin to the way he watches the insects react when he exposes them to a different environment.

He was a scientist after all. A madman in which you deliberately fell in love with, so much to the point that he was able to feel pity for once. How you trusted him wholeheartedly with all of your vulnerabilities, emotions and secrets like handing him your parts just so he could put you back together again. Tinkering was always one of his favourite hobbies and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the thought of you being completely wrapped around his finger.

Perhaps that was the reason why he loved you. Because he didn't love you. He loved you in parts.

"It was only a matter of time," Hector sighs. He sneaks his grasp into yours, knowing how much it affects you and puts on an invisible mask of deciet, "I already knew this day would happen long before anyone could have predicted it."

"You did?" With worried eyes you gazed at him, "What shall we do then?"

Knowing he hit the target, his lips begin to curl up towards his ears, showing his sharp white teeth that shone against the dim-litted room. Hector asks, "Do you love me?"

A silly question. You didn't hesitate to answer, "Of course I do. I've said it many times."

"Prove it to me," Forcing his forehead against yours, Hector commands in a dangerously low tone, "Kill your brother and only then you can truly be mine."

Your brain sutters, trying to absorb what he had just said. Kill? As in to take a life? It sounded wrong. But...was it wrong if the life belonged to someone who ruined yours?

Dumbfoundedly, you glanced into the bloody orbs of your lover, his black pupils thinning into knives while burning in the hellfire of his true colours. Hector runs a hand from the scalp of your hair, down to your cheek before gingerly sliding his fingers at your jawline. He pulled you close and whispered into your ear.

"Are you scared?"

Ah, this wasn't about your feelings. This was about him and your future and there could be no future you without him by your side.

You let your eyelids drop and leaned into his touch, "I could never be scared of you Hector. Whether it is within my power or not, I will make sure no one gets in our way. I swear it."

"Good," he continues to have you feed on his affection, "I knew I could count on you."

-----------

The news of your brother's death filled every headline Fontain had to offer. He was driven off a cliff while making a trip towards Sumeru. No one survived. The remains were so crushed to the point that authorities had trouble identifying their bodies. The only explanation they could come up with by observing the leftover tracks was that the horse must have gone out of control and ended up dragging the carriage along with it.

Ha. Serves him right.

Food poisoning. The vial Hector made was very effective. You made sure to bury it away from your mansion.

With no other choice, you became your family's next heir. Hector notifies you that he would be away for several months to solidify a unique connection with a man hailing from Snezhnaya. You didn't think he would arrive at your doorsteps with so much authority. Fatui soldiers followed from behind as the staff paved a way for them to enter. Your father was clearly displeased by his outrageous approach but he knew he was in no place to deny.

"Upon the agreement between Fontaine and Snezhnaya, Lady (Y/n) will become Harbinger Il Dottore's wife," the Duke announces, "This news will be publicly announced at the end of October."

Dottore? Is that what he calls himself?

As if claiming his victory, Dottore shoots your father a devilish smile. You could feel the dining table shake when he kept pressing his fist against the smooth surface, begrudingly congratulating you both for the new engagement. Your mother bursted into tears.

Was it worth it?

You watched both of your parents mourn silently in their own manner. Perfectly knowing that you were the main cause. But you weren't able to feel any sadness because in the end, you now had everything you've ever wanted.

The inheritance.

Their attention.

But most of all, him.

And when you were convinced that this was your happily ever after, that fairytales were not just beautiful lies for the sake of comfort, you didn't realize you were already living a life made of beautiful lies conjured by your own mind for the sake of your own comfort.

"You're nothing without me."

Dried and calloused hands squeezed around your throat as you flailed your legs against the soft fabric of the carpet floor. He encases you in a straddling position, enjoying the sight of your tortured and clenched face. Hector…no, Dottore hated it when you disobeyed him. He despised it when his creations don't work the way he wanted them to and he had no use for things that are broken.

"G-hka--k..-"

"How many times do I have to remind you to not use my birthname. Do those ears of you even function properly? Or must I fix them myself?"

You gasped for air when he relaxed his grip. Vision a blur, you coughed a few times before he pulls your arm so that you lay flushed against his chest.

"Don't forget who saved you dear (Y/n). Because of me you were able to escape that miserable life you've despised for years. I expect the utmost gratitude on your part at all times, it is only fair that I punish you for not meeting my requirements, don't you agree?" Dottore lifts his hand up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your head to stare at your eyes, "After all, there is no one else in this world who can put up with you…but me."

His words were poison in which you drank like a woman starved. It made you feel numb to the pain the more you drowned in their alluring scent, the taste was sweet, a remedy for the bitterness of reality where the man of your dreams was nothing but a cruel monster. You came to believe that the reason why he treated you so harshly was because he was scared of losing you. You were caught in the trap of what seemed to be love and devotion when truly, you were just a toy to be used at a means end. He breaks you and he puts you back together, over and over again, filling in between the cracks formed in your glass heart with the phrases you loved to hear. Just like how he filled the other holes of your life where no one else did. You called it kindness. He saw it as entertainment.

Most people pay attention to the flower's beauty but they never acknowledge the thorns hidden beneath it's blossom. That is why they bleed. They get hurt. Though, you didn't mind shedding blood if it was for his sake.

Because you would do anything for him.

You would do anything to bring back the memories of Hector Dufour-Lapointé and save him from the Harbinger that ruined his life. Your life. It wasn't his fault. You knew you could change him to what he was before because you were in love with him, that he might still in there. Somewhere.

Right?

…

Please come back.

Time continues to flow like the tears of your dying heart despite yearning for it to turn at the past. Dottore already left the room a long time ago but you didn't. Raising your head away from your hands, you peered at the door in front of you, begging desperately through a chanting record of despondence.

Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.

Images, they slipped through your fingers, slowly becoming more distant until your mind began to see them as illusions. Dreams. Things that were not real. Telling you that your life was a lie.

"Come back to me…Hector."

Because the man you loved was withering in your memories and you couldn't do anything to save him.

A dry croak robbed you of your breath as you turned to look in the mirror.

Worthless. You were always worthless, it was what your parents told you since birth. It was what you became when he wasn't at your side because without him, your existence was worthless. You lied for him, you stole for him you, took a life for him. You destroyed yourself for him to point that it was hard to believe you were even looking at yourself.

Worthless. It's who I am.

And despite it all, you couldn't obtain his love.

(Crack).

Worthless things don’t deserved to be loved.

(Crack. Crack).

But what if it’s because I’m worthless, that he won’t love me back?

(Crack).

Your eyes jolted open, causing you to gasp sharply. When the sweet lies dispersed in your head and cleansed you of deceit, everything started to make sene. You came to realize why your wish was impossible all along.

Dottore...no, Hector, the reason wasn't because he didn't return your feelings. Neither was it due to the fact that he hurt you through his actions. Nor when he made you cry or scream for help before feeding you with more lies, thinking he would never hurt you again. It was none of those things.

It was because the man you loved this whole time was someone who could love no one but himself.

"Ha...haha," sucking in your breath, a sinister laugh escapes your mouth, "Hahahahahahaha.....!"

Everything was worthless.

You grabbed a nearby hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, watching yourself shatter into a million pieces.

There was only one thing left to do.

------

"Ugh, where is it?!"

It was late into the night where every staff had gone to sleep. The Harbinger fumbles with his keys while standing at the door of his basement as he was too busy proceeding with his research rather than considering the thought of rest. Usually he acted upon them on his own will, performing various experiments for enjoyment. However, ever since the Snezhnayan court had requested him to look into the ancient arts of alchemy, Dottore was forced to carry it out before the deadline approached. Otherwise his position as Harbinger would be revoked.

"What a bunch of self-centered blockheads. Can't they understand that it take quality time to get quality results?"

Most of his important documents were stored on the otherside. Half of it came from his father-in-law's library. He had you to thank for that.

"Ah finally," he mutters, though still dissatisfied, "I should have a word with my butler for misplacing them."

Dottore shoves the key into the lock but instead of twisting the knob he noticed something strange. It was old and had yet to be fixed but somehow he didn't have any trouble adjusting his wrist. Then he saw there were a set of freshly made fingerprints upon the smooth metallic surface. However, the only person awake at this time would be him-

An intruder!

Dottore drops everything to the ground and yanks the door open. He skittered down the stone stairs while cursing under his breath. Using the delusion gifted by the Tsaritsa, the Harbinger activated his lazer-like pillars as he took advantage of their glow to light up the unlit room.

"What in the abyss...?!"

Except it wasn't dark.

"All of these scrolls, I recognize them," without sparing a single glance, you spoke nostalgically towards the bookshelves, "It brings me so much memories..."

Dottore clenches his teeth together as his eyes shone an angry red, you were holding a torch dangerously close to his hard-earned collection, "What do you think you're doing?!" He fumed, "Put that out, AT ONCE! Don't make me repeat myself!

"They're precious to you aren't they?" You finally shifted to face him, "More than me."

"What has gotten into you?" He was about to hurl at you until he saw your torch lowering, causing him to retreat. You were strangely noncholant and he couldn't help the feeling of disturbance. Accepting that he didn't have the upperhand, Dottore decided to use a different approach, "(Y/n)."

The sound of your name falls from his lips. You faltered.

"I'm sorry for what I have done. I know I was dishonourable to you, as your husband and lover, and that you didn't deserve to see me so aggressive. You have every right to express your anger, my dear. I was in the wrong."

It was only a mask. You knew it well. But seeing him with softened eyes and a tone so comforting, made you desperately wanting to run into his arms so he could wipe away your sorrows just like once upon a time. To live happily ever after.

Hector.

Dottore runs his fingers through his hairstrands in frustration and sighs, "However the Tsarista needed me to do something very important and I can't seem to fulfill her request no matter how hard I try. It angers me. If I don't finish this, there would be no place for us to stay."

"Hector..." you sniffled quietly. He looks so much like him right now.

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you?" He consoles, yet his weapons still remain, "I only intended to make you happy and there's nothing I won't do to achieve that. How about I show-"

"Enough."

Dottore froze upon your sudden command. He didn't sense a hint of subjugation and it seemed that you had perfect control of your emotions. How very inquisitive. Did you grow immune to the style of his voice? In such a short period of time? The facade he had on was now replaced with a growling animal-like expression. You looked at him dissapointedly. His Harbinger self returned. Hector was no more.

"Ha, you're the same as always. Even before the time you became a Harbinger. The same man that I fell in love with but it is me who will never be the same again," For a moment you averted your gaze as if trying hard to swallow your own words, "Remember when we first met at the balcony? That I told you my favourite books to read are fiction? I knew they weren't real but deep down, I wanted to believe in them anyways. And you know what? They did come true, to some degree..."

As the memories come flashing back, he defenselessly watches your expression contort from sadness to a calm contemplation and finally, enraged disgust, "But you only ever brought me pain and I'm sick of it!"

Swaying the torch to the side, Dottore flinches forward but he didn't dare to come close when your current state was unpredictable to him, "I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME," you wail, I just wanted to be loved, bringing a clawed hand against your forehead and trembling upon contact, "It's all that I ask for..."

Dottore narrowed his brows. Perhaps he may have gotten too far.

"But I know it's impossible. The world is a cruel place and there's no point in trying anymore. That is why I'm going to set us free."

"...What do you mean?"

You shut your eyes closed and tossed the flaming torch to the ground. A horrified expression takes over his features. It didn't take long for the fire to begin spreading amongst the room.

"NO!" Dottore yelled powerfully, he frantically darts his gaze at all directions as they continued to flicker and blend into his precious documents. You stood still and watched him grab the ones that were intact, savouring the most he could but they slip out of his arms every time he moved. Dottore glances behind him to see a rising cage of hellfire. Then he turns to you.

" 'Til death do us part!" you laughed maniacally.

The madman looked back with angry dismay, "You're out of your mind!"

Abandoning whatever he held in his hand, Dottore spins around towards the staircase. He covers his face with his sleeve and did whatever he could to prevent the fire from touching him. However, he accidentally stumbled on his footsteps and something fell off the heights, knocking him in the face. He grunts painfully.

"That will leave a scar," you smile while he clutches at his injury, "I can break you too.”

Just like how you broke me.

Knowing that you've managed to leave a mark of your existence on him in someway, you peacefully watched your lover wobble between the hell you created. But the hell you knew was not made of scorching heat and thundering flames. Hell was empty. Hell was a void. This feeling was far too gentle to be considered hell. If he can't return your love, then at least let these caging arms bask you in the warmth you’ve always desired.

Lifting your head, you looked towards the ceiling and closed your eyes.

Ah, this cannot be death.

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lightblueterracota · 3 years

Text

Tenderness, Undescribed

hermitcraft grian x mumbo jumbo. i don’t have a fully established and intricate universe for this storyline, but basically it’s their hermitcraft characters and grian also has wings :^)

another note is this is in no way shipping the irl people, this is absolutely only for their fictional characters! please don’t ship real people and/or harass the actual people behind these characters :)

There’s a certain tenderness to Mumbo that Grian finds fascinating.

For his long legs, clumsy mobility, and dark eyes above a bold mustache, Mumbo is not often associated with the word tender. More often than not, other Hermits know him for being the friendly neighborhood Redstoner that often finds himself in disasterous, life-threatening situations, often needing to call for other Hermits to dive in and save him last second. His general obtuse nature and lack of direction make him seem like a friendly yet out of control aircraft helicoper with styrofoam blades.

But there’s no denying that Mumbo is a genius as well. Almost on par with Doc, Grian would say that Mumbo is one of the brightest people he knows, despite his daftness. Even if he gets his Redstone wiring mixed up terribly sometimes, there’s a brilliance beneath that mustache that shines through everytime Mumbo eagerly invites Grian to his base to show him another massive and impressive machine.

And when he talks about his Redstone -- he’s all over the place. Big gestures and waving arms, loud exclamations of excitement as he eaglerly jumps around and points out each piece of Redstone and its wiring, it’s hard for Grian to keep up sometimes. But there’s something oddly fond whenever Mumbo gets insanely proud of a build, and even if Grian doesn’t understand it 100%, he listens attentively anyway as Mumbo explains it to him.

It’s hilarious, sometimes. Mumbo’s fingers are big and clumsy sometimes, and he struggles with piecing together intricate Redstone wiring that require small pieces. When he’s impatient, sometimes he has to ask Grian’s sharp eagle-eyes to help him piece together a particularly tricky part of a machine, and Grian is more than happy to help.

All in all, while Grian is very fond of Mumbo, he’s not someone Grian would consider gentle and tender.

There was a moment though, when that changed.

It happened on one of Grian’s worst nights. Upon visiting a nearby village, he hadn’t realized that he had accidentally triggered a raid, and at that time he had no combat gear on him. As the mobs swarmed from the hillsides and Grian desperately tried to protect the villagers and herd them indoors, arrows and slashes of melee weapons cut across Grian’s body. Even when he decided to draw back, trying to make his escape by flying away, several arrows were shot into his wings, and he almost didn’t make it.

He was on low health and bleeding when he crash-landed into Mumbo’s base -- the only other person that was also active at that time of night. He had scared the crap out of the man, Mumbo jumping out of his focus on his Redstone as the winged individual crashed through his window, heavily injured and weak.

He was too faint to respond to Mumbo’s frightened, “Jesus, Grian, what happened?!” as he collapsed onto the floor, wings spread across the floorboards of Mumbo’s base. He blearily watched as the man jumped up, immediately rummaging through some storage for healing supplies.

“Your wings,” Mumbo had said, and there was some saddening awe in his voice. “Oh Grian, your wings. They must hurt so bad. Hold on a second.”

Grian didn’t want to think about it. He could feel blood dripping from his wings and could see a few scattered feathers that had fallen off in his crash-landing. His beautiful wings, ruined.

“Can you stand?” Mumbo asked, and Grian was about to protest, when Mumbo continued, saying, “Wait no, you probably can’t. Hold still. I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

Grian cringed, expecting to be hauled like a sack of potatoes and bracing for impact, but was shocked when he felt Mumbo’s gentle hold as the taller hoisted the winged man up, moving him to a nearby bed. Mumbo seemed to be very careful of not brushing his damaged and bleeding wings, gently shouldering Grian so that his limbs were comfortable and his wings had room.

The closeness of Mumbo’s body caught Grian off guard and he silently let Mumbo gently place him down onto the bed. Then Mumbo got to work, grabbing some healing supplies and bandages.

“I’m sorry,” Mumbo warned in advance as he disinfected his own hands, “but there’s a couple of arrowheads still in your wings. I need to take them out before I bandage you. This is going to hurt.”

Before Grian could react, a sharp, excruitating pain blossomed from his left wing as Mumbo carefully removed the sharp object, the scalding pain shooting up his spine. A pained yelp came escaped from Grian, only to be sizzled away by Mumbo’s gentle shushing as he immediately started applying pressure to the wound.

“Shh,” Mumbo said softly, disposing of the arrowhead and cleaning the area. “Shh, I know it hurts a lot. It’s okay. You’re alright, I got you.”

It wasn’t often Grian heard Mumbo speak in such a soft manner. Oddly enough, his words were comforting, settling over Grian’s tired bones like a blanket, and Grian forced himself to relax as Mumbo continued to softly speak some encouragements.

Whimpers of pain continued to come from Grian as Mumbo continued to clean him up, his normally clumsy and large hands now extremely gentle and intricate as he delicately plucked the damage out of Grian’s wings and applied healing salves to his wounds. As Mumbo gently worked through patching up Grian’s wings, he made sure to inspect the rest of Grian’s body carefully, checking for other signs of bleeding and wounds.

Once he was doing bandaging him, Mumbo told him, “Lean back, please.”

Grian obeyed, settling back carefully into the bed and watched as picked up a bottle of healing potion. Grian groaned in protest, not in any mood to digest anything, but Mumbo simply leaned forward to place two fingers underneath Grian’s chin and lifted, making Grian’s mouth aim upwards.

“I know you probably don’t want to drink anything right now, but this will make you feel much better, I promise,” Mumbo said gently as he held Grian’s face up firmly and lifted the cool glass edge of the bottle to his lips. “Please drink.”

A feeling of tenderness, undescribed, washed over Grian as he became acutely aware of Mumbo’s fingers underneath his chin, and the way his thumb barely brushed against his bottom lip.

Too weak to fight against the gentle push of Mumbo’s hands, Grian let Mumbo slowly feed the potion into his mouth, obediently swallowing the restorative liquid. Mumbo let out a pleased hum as he watched Grian consume the potion.

Once Mumbo made sure Grian drank every last drop, he softly released Grian’s chin, letting his face fell back softly.

There was a belated, blurry moment where Grian realized he enjoyed Mumbo’s warm touch on his face.

Falling back into the bed pillows, exhausted, Grian felt his eyes go heavy. It seemed that the healing potion Mumbo fed him had a drowsy side-effect, likely to encourage overnight healing. As sleepiness slowly ebbed over his brain, Grian watched as Mumbo cleaned up, the warm light from the nearby lantern seeming to frame Mumbo in an entirely new perspective.

Who knew Mumbo would have such good bedside manners as a doctor, Grian thought lazily.

“You can sleep here for tonight,” Mumbo said. “I wouldn’t want you flying around in the dark now anyway. Your wings will be okay, they just need some time to heal a bit.”

Oh. Yeah.

“My wings,” Grian whined softly. “They look so damaged...”

“No,” Mumbo cut in gently. “Your wings will be back to beautiful once you rest up for a bit. I promise. You’ll be back to flying in no time, don’t worry.”

“They’re so ugly now,” Grian lamented miserably.

“They don’t,” Mumbo insisted. “You look beautiful right now, Grian, I promise. Now go to sleep.”

Grian knew damn well he was in no good-looking shape. He could still feel the dirt on his face and the way his hair was still curled and messy from crashing. But he was too tired to open his mouth and argue against Mumbo, so Grian let his eyes shut, the last thought drfiting in his mind being:

He thinks I’m beautiful.

After that, Grian could only ever see the tender side to Mumbo.

After nursing him back to health, Grian had thanked him countless times, with Mumbo simply giving him a kind smile and insisting it was no problem. From then on, Grian could only ever see that gentleness in Mumbo, and remember the way he tended to his wounds and cleaned his wings and held his face that night. The kindness and way he had jumped up immediately to take care of Grian. The gentleness and how he soothed his pain.

So maybe to other Hermits, they know Mumbo as a clumsy, bumbling human being.

But to Grian, he knows him as someone tender, undescribed.

#hermitcraft shipping #hermitshipping #grian #mumbo jumbo #grian x mumbo jumbo #grumbo #fanfic

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morporkian-cryptid · 2 years

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WIP Intro: Hanafuda

Based on @writeblrfantasy 's template

THE STORY:

Jigen left the USA and his old life behind, to start over as a tattoo artist in Tokyo. The fact that his best friend has a secret identity as a thief, and his cute-florist-neighbour-who-he-definitely-doesn’t-have-a-crush on may have ties to the yakuza isn’t going to stop him from becoming an honest man. …Is it?

STATUS CHECK: work in progress, currently 52 pages and a bunch of drawings.

WORKING TITLE: Hanafuda

"Hanafuda", or flower cards, is a traditional japanese card deck, with cards depicting flowers, plants and a few animals referencing poetry classics. With gambling being illegal during the Edo era, hanafuda cards are historically associated with organized crime. The yakuza famously get their name from an unlucky hand in the game Oicho-Kabu : 8-9-3 aka ya-ku-sa.

Fun fact: before making video games, Nintendo was a hanafuda manufacturer!

The previous working title of this fic was “A fleur de peau”. It translates roughly to “at the flower of the skin” and means to be highly sensitive.

THE CHARACTERS:

Main cast:

Daisuke Jigen: former NYC-based hitman, now not-exactly-legal tattoo artist in Tokyo. He’s trying to settle into his new crime-free life and make friends like a normal person. Surely his tragic past isn’t going to come back and blow up in his face, right?

Goemon Ishikawa: former bodyguard for the yakuza, descendant of a long line of swordsmen, now an overly-dedicated florist. He keeps a magic katana in the back room of his shop. He may have a slight addiction to wagashi pastries.

Supporting cast:

Arsène Barnett: chaotic and fun-loving private detective, who often helps the police when they’re out of their depths, which is always. He hangs out with Inspector Zenigata a lot.

Lupin the Third: Barnett’s twin-brother-who-is totally-not-just-his-secret-identity. He’s a gentleman thief and claims to be the grandson of Arsène Lupin. He’s Jigen’s bff, and helped him settle down in Japan. Jigen helps him with his heists from time to time.

Fujiko Mine: serial widow, expert marriage scammer, Lupin’s occasional partner in crime, and one of Goemon’s best customers. She and Lupin are in a chaotic on-again-off-again relationship, and Jigen can’t stand her. She’s also Goemon’s ex.

Inspector Zenigata: Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s best and brightest. Assigned to the Lupin the Third case, he often asks detective Barnett for help to solve his twin brother’s crimes. Barnett finds it hilarious.

Extras:

Mafia goon 1, mafia goon 2 and mafia goon 3: try to threaten Jigen, get their asses handed to them by a florist with a sword.

MAIN GENRE: Romance ❤️

This story follows the evolution of Jigen and Goemon’s relationship, from reluctant neighbours through mutual pining idiots, all the way to an unconventional but happy couple. It’s gonna be chock-full of rom-com tropes, self-indulgent fluff, and soft pining gays <3

It's a slow-burn. And when I say slow, I mean holy shit you guys please open your eyes and realize that you've been pining for each other for the past hundred pages!!!

SECONDARY GENRE: Adventure/crime thriller ⚡

That’s for when shit hits the fan.

SETTING: Mejiro district, Tokyo

Goemon’s flower shop

Jigen’s tattoo parlour

Barnett & Co detective agency

Aki Coffee Shop

Various other locations

TROPES: -cracks knuckles-

there’s gonna be a heavy dose of mutual pining because there’s always mutual pining

hurt/comfort

slow realization of feelings, and the oh moment

decreasing use of honorific language to represent closeness

infodumping on traditional Japanese art forms (both from me and the characters)

flower language (misunderstandings of)

fake twins

hiding your unsavoury past from someone who is coincidentally also hiding his unsavoury past from you

“shit I’m still into my ex” (the ex in question is Fujiko so it’s understandable)

“getting a tattoo at my crush’s parlour is a good way to cope with my unrequited feelings for him, right?”

the love isn’t unrequited, they’re just both idiots.

STUFF THAT IS NIFTY (worldbuildy bits and things that don’t fit into the other categories) :

Irezumi is the traditional Japanese tattooing practice. Jigen has an incomplete full-back irezumi tattoo, representing a phoenix and chrysanthemums. You can see the design here, with explanations of the symbols’ meanings ^^

Later on, Goemon also gets a tattoo, with chrysanthemums and maple leaves. You can see it here, although the exact design is still being modified.

Besides his job as a florist, Goemon is also an ikebana instructor. Ikebana or flower arrangement is one of the three great Japanese arts, and it’s based on Buddhist tradition. Goemon also knows hanakotoba, the Japanese flower language, so most bouquets and flower arrangements in the fic will have a specific meaning.

Lupin can also read hanakotoba, but he claims he only knows European flower language.

Officially, Arsène Barnett and his twin brother are the grandsons of detective Jim Barnett (on their father’s side) and gentleman thief Arsène Lupin (on their mother’s side). Both grandfathers are actually the same person. Lupin III claims that he’s pissed his brother inherited their thief grandfather’s first name. (This was just an excuse to have Zenigata call Barnett “Arsène-kun”.)

After they become a couple, Jigen calls Goemon “hanata”. “Anata” is the equivalent of “darling”, and “hana” means “flower”. Goemon turns beet-red every time.

#fic : a fleur de peau #the hobbit writes #lupin iii #daisuke jigen #goemon ishikawa #lupin iii tattoo/florist au #lupin iii hanafuda au #fic : hanafuda

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riddlecrux · 3 years

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Light seen through the windows: an analysis of windows as a literary tool in Elriel relationship

I would love to preface this meta with my favorite disclaimer that everything that I will be discussing is based on what I have gathered from SJM writing. The quotes used in this post will serve as a starting point for further analysis. Additionally, I will be using things such as symbolism, metaphors, and literary device methods to build up my reasoning and beliefs. On another note, this, as usual, is strictly pro-Elriel meta. If they are not your cup of tea and you wish to comment, please be civil and bring arguments supported by the text.

So many of us like to gaze and stare through the windows daily. Looking at the world behind the glass often is considered a form of tranquility that we feel. Windows are essentially doors that lead us to whatever lies behind them - the last border between being in one place and then in another. It isn't then surprising that windows serve as symbols and metaphors in literature. From the start, whenever I read a passage about windows in ACOWAR I was reminded of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. You may ask why?

Emily Bronte used windows as symbolism in her work. They are very important for her characters and their personal arcs. They are symbols of barriers, misfortunes that characters face. Windows there are metaphors of various obstacles estranging Bronte's characters from achieving their hopes - realizing that the dreams they had will be not fulfilled. As I don't want to get spoilery with Wuthering Heights, I'm going to draw conclusions in a very neat manner. Bronte used windows as a connection to nightmares that one of the main characters was suffering from - it ties to the fact that in his nightmares he sees the person he had loved, haunting him. Because of the relationship with a said woman, the imagery of windows in this particular scene symbolizes death, an obstacle that stands between both of them. Throughout the book, we also get glimpses of how windows might be used as a metaphor for social classes and the contrast between them, and how Heathcliff and Catherine have to go about it. Along with the windows, doors are also used as a symbol of trapping someone in one place, obstructing them from achieving their dream or preventing them from reaching out to their loved one. Not to mention that during a very particular scene with Catherine, she wants the windows open - a symbolism of her wanting to feel free, to connect with something she knows, she longs for. This leads to the conclusion that windows in Bronte's novel are symbols of life and death, they are the in-between - a symbolic barrier.

On the other hand, windows in literature signalize something called "art of watching", and usually it is connected to a female protagonist that observes life, events through the window. Not to mention, the most famous association to windows such as "windows to the soul" - which, of course, is more metaphorical. It allows us, the audience, to connect with the character's inner feelings, struggles, as we are presented with the emotional aspect of said person. They are the bridge between the inside and outside. Windows are also a source of light, which we humans crave. Looking through the window one can absorb the light, which can resonate as a symbol of growth and change. Metaphorically we see the light from the window when we feel a need to light up the darkness inside us. They expose us, our inner feelings, and struggles.

When I read ACOWAR I have noticed that SJM decided to use windows, quite clearly, in the indication of two particular characters. Azriel and Elain. For the first time, when we met Elain again in the third book the window is a big issue.

"The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible."

We have a clear description of the sunlit room, curtains shoved to further underline the need for light.

"And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain."

In the brightest place in the room sits Elain, in front of the window. She is exposed to the sun, to sunlight and is absorbing that light - which is highlighted during this scene (which makes it important to note).

"Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white."

The sunlight exposes Elain, its harsh light makes her pale, almost translucent. Even Feyre realizes the graveness of this picture comparing this white hue to death. As you can see the chain of events in this scene played like that: sunlit room -> curtain swept away -> Elain sitting in front of the window -> sudden comparison to death.

"She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained."

Feyre deducts that the need for light on Elain's part is a desperate call to brighten the darkness inside her - which perfectly aligns with the metaphorical usage of windows. Elain basks in light in a helpless cry for help. The very dark void that appeared within her after being Made eats her away. It sucks her immortal life away - the one which she yet didn't get used to. On the other hand, we as readers are presented with the fact that Elain is trapped. In this Fae life, in this room, in this situation in which she grieves for her past and many what-ifs.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion. “Everyone keeps saying that.” Her thumb brushed the ring on her finger. “But it doesn’t fix anything, does it?”

Sitting in front of the window - a sunny one to be precise, which symbolizes life, growth, and change, Elain is presented in a contrast to her surroundings. To show that visible barrier that her person has to overcome. She realizes that her dreams are meant to be unfulfilled, that they are unreachable.

"My stiff, limping steps, at least, had eased into a smoother gait by the time I found Elain in the family library. Still staring at the window, but she was out of her room."

The next time we see Elain she is out of her room - her "cage", but even though she left the boundaries of her entrapment she still chooses to linger around the windows. As Feyre notices, Elain gazes through the window - we are obstructed from Elain's POV and it's hard to imagine what she could be thinking about. Yet the symbolic manner of using the window as some sort of mirror, a passage that happens throughout the series, allows me to think that the metaphorical usage of windows, in this case, isn't a far-fetched idea.

"Elain didn’t turn. She was wearing a pale pink gown that did little to complement her sallow skin, her brown-gold hair hanging in loose, heavy ringlets down her thin back."

SJM uses this sentence to highlight that it isn't just a quick glance out of the window - in fact, it is constant staring through it. It is important for us as readers to note that this thing, window gazing, is an occupation that lasts for long periods of time. It isn't something trivial, it is something that showcases the importance of said windows in Elain's journey.

“What are you looking at?” I asked Elain, keeping my voice soft. Casual. Her face was wan, her lips bloodless. But they moved—barely—as she said, “I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

Feyre decides to ask Elain who is still gazing through the window. Her answer is very ominous and holds a great deal of importance, but also underlines the fact that she is drawn to the window. Not to mention that what she is seeing is the sea - another vastly discussed symbol. In this situation, I believe that the interpretation can lay in a more psychological aspect of the matter rather than a literary one. In the works of very well-known psychiatrist Carl Jung the sea "symbolizes the personal and the collective unconscious in dream interpretation". So from his notes there comes this annotation that caught my attention, "The sea is a favourite place for the birth of visions."

Elain is a seer who constantly gazes through a window which symbolizes the in-between, life and death. These two are connected to one another and SJM used many things to further develop Elain's character as a powerful figure.

"Elain only turned toward the sunny windows again, the light dancing in her hair."

After the whole conversation Elain doesn't move from her spot, quite the contrary she returns to her previous activity. Gazing through the window. Once again we are reminded about the sun and light - which signalizes that Elain tries to undergo through the process of rebirth, but also tries to break free from the unhappiness that came with lost dreams.

"Something in my chest cracked as Nesta’s eyes also went to the windows before Elain. To check, as I did, for whether they could be easily opened."

Here we have an instance of both sisters realizing that Elain spending so much time in front of windows can be dangerous, as in her attempting to jump from them. Once again, the symbolism of death.

"More steps—no doubt closer to where Elain stood at the window."

Elain is still beside the window when Lucien tries to talk to her. Even alone she seeks the place next to the window to stare.

"But sunlight on gold caught his eye—and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window."

Elain is still by the window, for the whole scene she is there not moving an inch from it. Furthermore, the word "vigil" is also an interesting choice. There are different meanings of it, but I find these ones very telling and suitable for this instance: a period of sleeplessness; insomnia, a watch kept, or the period of this and a devotional watching, or keeping awake, during the customary hours of sleep. We can speculate about what happened to Elain while she was in the Cauldron, what made her so withdrawn from life and so desperate for the light. I want to believe that we as readers will get our answers in the next book since Elain being a seer with unknown powers makes her a perfect target for Koschei with which she has already had connections.

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly.

Again, during the whole conversation, she doesn't move away from her spot next to the window. Windows for her, start to become a symbolism of change and rebirth - the things she probably wished while being confined to her room.

Elain only stared out the window, unaware—or uncaring.

We have another mention about staring - which further highlights how important windows are as a literary tool for Elain's character. She seeks light, she wants to overcome this barrier that was thrown at her the moment she was Made. She, perhaps, watched through the window to observe the life which was stripped away from her and turned her into this immortal being. Or, maybe she just desperately wanted to brighten up the darkness that gathered inside her because of that whole situation. Another important thing to note is that this scene is a first moment alone with Lucien - her mate, which should have been very painful for her. The conversation also held a lot of weight, yet she valiantly stood by the window as if somewhere behind it she could find an answer.

“So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. What if”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden —“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

Here we have an instance of "art of watching" in which Feyre observes Azriel and Elain through the window. By watching them she comes to the conclusion that both of them are better suited and actually can comfort each other in comfortable silence. The window here is used as a barrier to showcase parallels of two couples: happily mated Feysand and unhappily in love with other people Elriel.

"But I looked to Azriel, currently leaning against the wall beside the floor-to-ceiling window, shadows fluttering around him."

And here we are start with Azriel and windows (also in ACOWAR). He is another character that has an extraordinary connection to windows. He is often mentioned next to them and somehow parallels Elain's behavior - staring through windows, being near them.

"I blinked, realizing I’d been lost in the bond, but found Azriel still by the window, (...)."

As we can see Azriel lingers next to the window without moving away from it - as the scene progresses we know that the conversation lasts a good ounce of time, yet Azriel stands in his place by the window.

"Azriel didn’t so much as turn from his vigil at the window, though I could have sworn his wings tucked in a bit tighter."

The same wording, the same imagery. Both used for Elain and Azriel. Both of them keeping vigils at the windows, staring through them as if they could find an answer through them.

"The main room of the guardhouse was stuffy and cramped, more so with all of us in there, and though I offered Elain a seat by the sealed window, she remained standing—at the front of our company. Staring at the shut iron door."

This scene is when Elain is about to confront her lover - Greysen. It is underlined that she rejected her usual spot, which is by the window, and preferred to face the door. She was trapped, she knew that a very important discussion will take a place here. She chose to look at the door rather than at the window, which in this matter could symbolize hope for a change - she stared at the door which metaphorically means transition or imprisonment.

"(...) close to Elain’s side as she and my sister silently kept against the wall by the intact bay of windows."

Another instance of Elain and her being content with being next to the windows.

"I’d seen Elain staring out the window earlier—watching Graysen leave with his men without so much as a look back at her."

"Art of Watching", but also the window's symbolism of dreams that were unfulfilled. At that moment, we can assume, that Elain realized that her dreams concerning human life and her future with Greysen would only be unattainable dreams/hopes.

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.

At the end of ACOWAR, we have this powerful moment, in which Elain gazing out of the window sees sunny streets = life. A chance of rebirth, which also beautifully overlaps with the fact that she proposed building a garden! The in-between that she balanced on while gazing through the window for so many times turned from death and misfortunes into life and hopes of the future.

ACOFAS

"Elain politely refused, taking up a spot in one of the wooden chairs set in the bay of windows. Also typical."

From Rhysand's point of view, we can deduct that even they are aware of the fact that Elain and windows are something notable. It is a place where she feels comfortable and probably spends a lot of time.

"Beyond the windows, darkness had indeed fallen. The longest night of the year. I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it."

In previous quotes, we could gather information about how Elain craved the light and how desperate she was to lighten up her person. Here, we can see that she also started to embrace the darkness. She is again by the window, observing the darkness as if no one else was around her. And of course, the one person who goes towards her at that moment is Azriel, a personification of darkness in the books.

Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “I’ve never stayed in this room.” His midnight voice filled the space.

Azriel went straight to the window. And not an ordinary one, but the one through which you can see the garden. Life and light. I know many were theorizing if what kept Azriel so occupied by the window was Elain, but I would love to put some of my thoughts in this discourse. Yes, I do think that what caught his attention, or who caught his attention was Elain. However, Elain at that moment represents life and light - the things that are associated with windows. And if you spin it around you have Azriel=darkness, death staring at Elain=light, life. The in-between, the very initial symbolism of window in literature. Not to mention that in this scene we have Azriel watching the light and next we have Elain observing darkness.

“No,” Azriel said, not turning from the window.

Azriel remained at the window. “Will Nesta stay here if she comes?

“I’d still be surprised if they remember once the storm clears,” Azriel said, turning from the garden window at last.

We have a whole scene in which it is so heavily implied that Azriel was constantly staring through the window, not even bothering to move away from it. We also have another highlighted thing which is the fact that it was a garden window.

There was a tiny box left on the table by the window—a box that Mor lifted, squinted at the name tag, and said, “Az, this one’s for you.”

A small thing, yet a very sweet one. The fact that even his present was placed close to the window, which starts to become an Elriel thing.

ACOSF

"She’d barely slept for fear of Elain walking off this veranda, or leaning too far out of one of the countless windows, or simply throwing herself down those ten thousand stairs."

We have a reminder that during her stay at House of Wind, Elain was a symbol of death. She carried it on her while being associated with windows that were used as a source of light that helped her heal.

"Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court."

Even when she visits Nesta, she takes the place by the windows. It is something that is strictly connected to her. As if the windows were part of her now.

Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”

Light, sun, life = Elain.

“You’ve got good coloring, I mean,” Elain clarified, striding from the windows to cross the room. She stopped a few feet away. As if holding herself back from the embrace she might have given.

SJM still used the passages to underline the passage of time that Elain spent standing next to the window. It is a place in which she feels good and perhaps safe.

"They’d sat in them, before this fire, so many times that it was an unspoken rule that Azriel’s was the one on the left, closer to the window, and Cassian’s the one to the right, closer to the door."

We also get the information that Azriel always was the closest to the window - which is an odd thing to add without a deeper meaning. As if to further build up that connection between him and Elain - that both of them are aware of the fact that they are also the symbolism of the allegory of windows. I believe that SJM really researched that light and darkness trope, with which she built and she is still building up Elriel. The windows are just another tiny nugget that further envelopes both of them as one. Because while Elain transformed from death to life, she still welcomed darkness and embraced it - and Azriel opened to the life and light, seeking it. As I said, windows are a literary tool, which perhaps wasn't the main idea in the SJM text, but the amount of parallels between both of them and even the same wording applied to different scenes tells me that it's yet another connection between them.

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel meta #azriel x elain #elain and azriel #pro elain #pro azriel

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Sea Salt: One

Summary: As a noblewoman from a small (and nefarious) kingdom in the Stepstones and quiet Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Elia Martell, she is accustomed to being looked through rather than looked at. The only exceptions to this rule are Prince Oberyn and Lord Willas Tyrell but they are often far from the dark shadows of the Red Keep or Dragonstone. She finds comfort in her quiet friendship with the princess and the delight of the darling royal children. But as Prince Rhaegar places a wreath of blue roses in the lap of Lady Lyanna Stark and rebellion starts to rage, she knows she will have to live up to her reputation. But luckily, she seems to have two allies lurking in the shadows.

Pairing(s): Eventual Willas Tyrell/F!Reader/Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

Word Count: 10.2k (these are all going to be monster chapters. I apologize)

Rating for this chapter: T for a bit of violence. but not much. my over-use of italics and my love for ASOIAF lore. If you have any questions or need clarifications, please just ask! I’m playing fast and loose with a bit of it, and a few ages, too. But I’m always happy to answer any questions you have!

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

Chapter One: The Salt of the Tears

Or you can read on Ao3!

For all its supposed charms and storied history, Westeros had very few redeeming qualities. Most of the noblemen Y/N was forced to associate with during her time in the kingdom were filled with intolerable hubris and a lack of humor. They also liked to joke about her ‘little kingdom’ in the Stepstones as being inferior and nefarious—it would have been better if they could actually choose what they wanted to call her home. It seemed to be impossible to be both inferior and nefarious. And everything was so…bland this side of the Narrow Sea. She was used to Skilliga where people could trace their ancestries to Yi-Ti, the Summer Isles, the Bone Mountains, and beyond, all of them proud and varied. All of them fleeing the constrictions of their old lands and finding freedom in the islands and the homes they dug into the rock. They were proud to defend themselves in any way that was necessary and gained riches and notoriety with their famed corsairs. And, finally, the clothes were itchy and constricting and the food was largely unseasoned.

But there were a few bright spots in her time in the Seven Kingdoms. Mostly, it was Princess Elia Martell. Her nearest and dearest friend. Accepting the position had not truly been her decision anyway. She had been woken up by her uncle Hammond, the king of their little kingdom, nearly four years ago with him tossing a heavy scroll at her head.

“Tywin Lannister is offering to open up trade with Westeros again if you behave yourself at Court and marry some lord they choose. I’ve had your things packed. You leave at sunup.”

And Y/N knew that she was serving her kingdom by becoming a faceless peon for some pompous princess and then, perhaps, a broodmare for some strange man—but that did not mean she was going to be happy about it. In fact, she had been fully prepared to be the worst lady’s maid the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen…until Princess Elia.

Elia with her quick wit and soft smiles.

Elia with her musical laughter and unfailing loyalty.

Elia. The best friend she had never dreamed of ever gaining.

They would spend hours together in either her rooms or Elia’s chambers at Dragonstone, speaking of their lives before the Targaryens, laughing about the charades of courtly life, and dreaming about their futures.

“What type of queen will you be?” Y/N asked with a tease as they passed a jug of sweet grape juice between them. Rhaegar was out…somewhere, probably pondering some ancient prophecy that didn’t make any sense, and Y/N was happy to not have to pretend to care about anything that came out between his thin lips. “Quiet and mysterious?”

Elia laughed and shook her head. “I have had my fill of being quiet, I think. No. I do not want to be a quiet queen.”

“No? Then you may be the boisterous queen, always telling Tywin Lannister than his ideas are preposterous and he is not the true king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Elia shushed her, fighting another bout of giggles and reached for the jug but knocked one of the numerous pillows from the bed, revealing a small blade atop the blankets. “Another one?” Elia asked with a huff. She handed the blade over with a frown. “Honestly, dear heart, you seem to think that everyone means you harm.”

Y/N took it and carefully hid it away in another place with a shrug of her shoulder. “I have met only three people who I would trust to not stab me through the heart when I’ve turned my back. It is better to be prepared than to be caught unaware.”

“Please tell me that you do not still keep half a dozen blades on your person when we go to court or the market.”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, good-”

“It is now a perfect dozen.”

Elia walloped her with a pillow, fighting another laugh. “You are a menace.”

“I am your most trusted confidante in this wretched city,” Y/N retorted, knocking the pillow away with a smirk. “You need better friends.”

Elia shook her head, still smiling. “You are enough trouble for several lifetimes, dear heart. You and Oberyn will be the cause of all my grey hair before Rhaenys reaches her fifth nameday, I am sure of it.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of the Dornish prince’s name. It had been too long since she had seen him. While he had been somewhat sent into exile after the suspicious death of Lord Yronwood, the youngest Martell had hopped across the Narrow Sea to become a sellsword for a moment after growing bored at the Citadel and visiting his sister at Dragonstone where he had met Y/N and she had somehow endeared herself to him. “He will be joining you for the tourney at Harrenhal, yes?”

The princess nodded. “It will be good to see him. I always hated knowing he was off in Essos.” Elia sighed before she glanced at Y/N. “And I’ve received word that Lord Willas will also be in attendance.”

“Do not.”

“Do not what?” Elia repeated, leaning closer to her friend with a conspiratorial smile. “I simply mentioned his name.”

“You know exactly what you are doing!” Y/N growled, knowing it would only mean Elia had won—as she always did.

Willas was the firstborn of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, and Lady Alerie Hightower. He’d been an only child for most of his life, his mother having trouble carrying to term several times before little Garlan was born over a decade later. And Y/N was very fond of Willas, just as he seemed fond of her. He was happy to make her laugh when he was at court, seeking her out when he should have been speaking with Rhaegar and gaining the crown prince’s favor for The Reach (not that it was necessary) or attending some vapid luncheon with other noblemen.

“He is a good man. And you deserve a good man.” Elia patted her shoulder, soft smile on her face.

“He is the heir to Highgarden-”

“Mama?” A quiet voice at the door had them turning to see little Rhaenys, rubbing her teary eyes. Her kitten, little Balerion, was sitting dutifully at his princess’ feet and quickly kept pace on his little legs when she walked into the room.

“Come here, sunshine,” Elia said, opening her arms toward her daughter and carefully scooping her up onto the bed. She gently pushed Rhaenys’ hair away from her damp cheeks and kissed her forehead. “Tell me what is wrong, my love.”

“Another nightmare?” Y/N asked. Balerion meowed until she bent down and helped him onto the bed where he quickly curled into a ball in the princesses’ laps.

Rhaenys nodded, a few more tears trailing down her cheeks. “It was scary, mama. A big dog came in and…” she hiccupped and Y/N felt her chest squeeze at the little girl’s pain.

Elia hummed and patiently waited for Rhaenys to finish telling her what she had seen in her dream. While the massive dog her mind had conjured scared her, it was the manticore that crawled from beneath her father’s bed that truly frightened her. Its vicious tail going straight for her throat over and over again until she woke up with little Balerion pawing at her nightgown, trying to stop her cries. “It is just a dream, sunshine. You are safe here. I will not let anything hurt you.”

Rhaenys sniffled and nodded but continued to hold her mother tight. “I know, mama. You and Lady Y/N will protect me.”

Y/N reached out and curled the lone strand of silver hair that Rhaenys had around her finger. “Of course we will, princess. Our world needs its Sunshine.”

The little princess finally turned her head out of her mother’s chest and smiled at Y/N, tears still gathering at the sides of her eyes. “I’m your sunshine, too?”

“You are,” Y/N said with a smile, gently tugging at silver strand before letting it curl back around her ear. “You are my sunshine, your mother’s sunshine, your grandmother’s sunshine, uncle Oberyn-”

“And father?” Rhaenys asked. “Am I his sunshine, too?”

“Of course,” Elia said and then kissed Rhaenys’ hair again. “Your father loves you very much.”

The three spoke in hushed tones for a little longer—just long enough for the little princess to fall asleep in her mother’s arms. Elia was careful as she slid off Y/N’s featherbed and kept her daughter in her grasp.

“I suppose it is time for us all to retire.”

Y/N nodded and offered to help put Rhaenys back to bed but was waved off by Elia, as she knew she would be. Elia was always fond of the little, quiet moments she stole with her daughter. Away from the pretenses of courtly life and the expectations of her husband’s father. This was Elia at her brightest, her strongest. When it was just her and her sunshine.

Y/N often wondered if she’d ever have moments like that—moments of soft reprieve from the trials of courtly life, either here in Westeros or back home in Skilliga, near the Stepstones in the Narrow Sea. She also wondered if Rhaegar would ever pull his head out of his ass and realize that Elia was his wife and not some thoughtless vase he could ignore and only pick up out of necessity. She wondered what the future held. For everyone.

But, whatever it did, she hoped it treated Elia well. It was what the princess deserved.

Y/N gently rubbed Elia’s back with a frown. It was the third time this morning that they had to have the wheelhouse stop so the princess could empty her rolling stomach. She quickly handed Elia a bit of juice and a damp cloth as she stood tall again with a wince.

“It was like this with Rhaenys,” Elia murmured, a hand cradling her stomach. The maester had confirmed she was with child again, the day before they set off toward Harrenhal for this stupid tourney. "You remember, don't you?"

Y/N did. And she worried then, too. But the Maester had also found that this would be Elia’s last pregnancy. Her body would not be able to handle another. And Rhaegar had only nodded once before turning and excusing himself from Elia’s chambers to play his stupid harp, looking out his chamber windows with a familiar (and consistently grating) pensive look on his face.

“The dragon must have three heads,” was all Y/N heard him say when she was eavesdropping on the conversation the husband and wife shared later that night. He was obsessed with some sort of prophecy. It was as if he didn’t care that his wife was of fragile health and pregnant with his child.

Y/N hated him.

Hated the stupid, silver-haired prince.

“We can stop for the day,” Y/N said. “It is not as if the tourney will be held up by your absence. You need your rest.”

Elia shook her head and told the wheelhouse driver to continue on and the large caravan started to move again. “The sooner we arrive, the sooner I can rest. You know I do not sleep well on the road.”

Rhaenys, the little sun, had slept through most of the travel, curled up on the velvet pillows on the other side of the wheelhouse, barely aware of any goings-on aside from when they stopped for the night or meals. And that was the way Elia preferred it, sheltering her daughter from courtly life and its trappings.

Elia reached out and patted her hand with a small smile. “It is worth it, dear heart.” She leaned back and shut her eyes for a moment. “I know when I hold this babe in my arms, all of this will seem like a distant memory. All of it…all of this is worth it.”

Y/N was not convinced. But she nodded anyway. “Tell me, do you think Ser Arthur will beat Rhaegar this time?”

Elia laughed.

The tourney was the largest the Seven Kingdoms had seen in generations. Ten days filled with jousting, melees, archery, axe-throwing, and horse racing. And feasting. Every night ended with a feast in Harrenhal’s great room, filled with piles of food and jugs of expensive wine and ale.

It was exhausting. And much too far from a substantial body of water for her to feel truly comfortable. She needed the sea, the water. Thankfully, Rhaenys also found the tourney lacking and was happy to accompany Y/N to the edge of the lake known as the God’s Eye and they enjoyed the chilled water and allowed the hungry fish to nibble at their ankles.

Y/N had grown up watching horse races, bet on boat races around the islands of Skilliga, and even participated in a few events herself. This tourney was…boring. Excessively so. Elia, more than once, had to nudge her to keep her from dozing in their box. Thankfully, the company was good.

Arthur Dayne was a kind man, a fine knight, a member of the fabled Kingsguard and Sword of the Morning. Y/N was sure they would sing songs of his deeds long after his soul had left. And he had the honor of knowing he was the crown prince’s dearest friend. (Y/N did not think this was an honor but did not voice that to the kind knight and tried not to hold it against him.)

But Y/N saw how his eyes softened whenever Elia would appear. His easy smile was near-permanent whenever she would whisper into his ear with some joke or story. He was in love. A soft, gentle love with a bedrock foundation. It was so different than the lukewarm platitudes Rhaegar dealt her within the confines of their marriage.

Maybe in a different life, Elia and Arthur could have lived a happy life in Dorne together. Far away from the Mad King’s machinations and paranoid delusions and Rhaegar’s apathy. But now, in this life, Arthur had to be content to simply stand at her back in their royal box when he was not participating in the tourney—right now he was readying for his turn in the melee and Elia had wished him luck before he departed.

Ser Lewyn, Elia’s uncle and knight of the Kingsguard, was another knight assigned to their box and they knew they could speak freely in his presence. He was a man of quick wit and fiercely protective of his niece and her baby. He was one of the few people who knew of Elia’s second pregnancy and was quick to have a servant fetch her something to eat or drink if needed. “And you are as lovely, as always, Lady Y/N,” Lewyn would say with a wink. He was such a flirt—but it was always in good humor. She knew him to have a lover in King’s Landing to whom he was devoted.

For the moment, Elia and Y/N were alone in their box, unguarded. She knew that anyone would be foolish to try anything but it still set her on edge when she noticed the fabric at the back start to sway with someone coming up. Her hand slowly slipped toward one of the small blades she kept in her boot but then she recognized the man slipping into the box. It was Oberyn—three days late and smirking. He winked at Y/N and pressed a finger to his lips before he snuck up on Elia and roared with laughter when she nearly leapt from her seat when his hands clapped over her shoulders. “You brute!” She yelled as she smacked his arm. “I have told you a thousand times to cease your sneaking!” But she laughed on the last word, betraying her happiness to see her younger brother.

Oberyn was just as dashing as he had always been, just as confident. And just as unattainable. He was more than a handful of years older than her and as much as his reputation preceded him, was very picky on whom he lathed attention.

She was too young for him. He has said so himself not a year ago at their last meeting when Y/N had all but thrown herself at him, too into her cups to stop herself.

“You have so much life ahead of you. I would not dare think I was worthy of usurping your time when you have the world at your feet.”

It was a gentle rejection, but a rejection all the same. He was a good man, leagues far and away from the men who would jump at a chance to bed a young highborn girl or take her to wife. But that did not mean her heart did not clench every time he smiled at her or whispered a joke in her ear at the expense of the tourney knights or an unrepentant letch of a lord who caught his eye between jousts. He told them of his adventures with the Second Sons and how he founded his own sellsword company, too, after he grew tired of the politics within the Sons’ hierarchy while Elia and Y/N told him of the ‘excitement’ of the tourney and the actual excitement of the appearance and disappearance of the Knight of the Laughing Tree just the day past. King Aerys, raging and paranoid, had even sent Rhaegar to find the mystery knight and unmask him but the dragon prince came up emptyhanded.

“And I see little Lord Willas is here,” Oberyn said, dipping his head just so to indicate the box opposite them, across the jousting grounds. Willas was sitting at his father’s side, the shining wood of his cane visible even from a distance as it leaned against the seat beside him.

It was only Y/N’s third day in the kingdom when she attended the tourney when the accident happened. She knew Willas to be too young to truly be participating, he was only a few years older than Y/N, but Lord Mace Tyrell had pushed him. When Oberyn met him on the field, it was an accident. A tragic accident. Willas’ leg was crushed beneath his horse and Oberyn had been mortified, sending the Dornish healers he’d brought with him to the tourney to care for the young lord.

But the damage had been done.

Willa’s leg was in constant need of a brace and he walked with a cane. The Tyrells blamed Oberyn for crippling their heir. Well, most of them did. Willas bore no ill-will toward Oberyn and was often seeking him out when they were both present. “I am not sure if it is to spite his father or to truly try to mend the divisions between Dorne and The Reach all on his own.”

“I believe he seeks out your attentions because he enjoys you as much I do, my prince. Willas is not the sort to have ulterior motives when it comes to his companions or friends. If he did, I assume he would tolerate our dear Rhaegar’s presence a bit more,” Y/N mused as she half-heartedly clapped for the nameless, faceless victor of that round. She had stopped paying attention ages ago.

Oberyn huffed at that and turned to look at Willas and he caught the lord’s eye.

Willas raised his hand in greeting, a soft smile on his face—until Mace grabbed his wrist and all but shoved his son’s hand back down.

Y/N did not stop the laugh that bubbled out of her throat, even as Elia nudged her.

“He does blush such a pretty pink,” Oberyn mused, earning himself a nudge from Elia, too. “Do you think he will finally ask you to dance tonight, little shark?” He winked with the well-worn nickname, stemming from her house’s sigil of a large, white shark.

Y/N quickly turned in her seat to stare at Elia who looked away, a sly smile on her face. “Please tell me you did not speak to your brother about Willas.”

“I have no idea what you are insinuating, dear heart.”

“Willas is a good man, little shark. But you will have to contend with his family if you finally allow him to court you.” Oberyn patted her knee. “You will need every bit of your Skilligan strength to stop yourself from killing them.”

“Hush, Oberyn. They are not all terrible.”

“You, dear sister, are the soon-to-be Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms. It would be improper to think of you as anything other than the Realm’s Sun.” Oberyn smiled as Elia rolled her eyes. “I am the man who crippled their heir.”

“Willas does not believe it was your fault. We just need for Mace Tyrell to die and Dorne and The Reach will once again be fair weather allies. Olenna and Alerie are much more agreeable.”

“I could help,” Lewyn said as he stepped back into the box, carrying a sleeping Rhaenys. The two had slipped away from the festivities when the little princess complained of a headache and her great-uncle had been happy to shepherd her away for some rest in the shade and a bit of juice. Elia easily took her daughter into her arms and let her continue to sleep against her chest.

“A kind offer, uncle. But Oberyn is simply continuing to be the most dramatic of Martells.”

Lewyn reached forward and bopped his nephew on the head with a smirk. “I know.”

The day gave way to night and they were once again shuffled off to the Great Hall of Harrenhal for the night’s feast and dancing. Ashara Dayne, Arthur’s sister and another companion to Elia, joined them at their table, looking a little flustered as her pretty purple eyes kept jumping toward a table near the door where a small grouping of Northmen were seated.

“Which one has caught your eye?” Y/N whispered to her, trying to figure out which solemn-faced man captured her attention. Ashara was a romantic, always singing love songs to Rhaenys before her afternoon naps. She was kind-hearted and sweet, if not a little shy. Y/N enjoyed her company and how she cared for Elia. That was all that truly mattered anyway.

“The quiet one,” Ashara murmured.

“They are all quiet,” Elia said in return, also trying to figure out which one Ashara was speaking about. “Except for that she-wolf. She seems fond of making noise. I heard she thoroughly beat a handful of men for attacking that little Crannogman.”

“And then the Knight of the Laughing Tree beat them again at the joust,” Y/N muttered, thinking aloud. “Curious.” She turned to Elia. “Tell me, was the she-wolf in her box when that knight took his turns at the joust?”

Elia looked at her with a frown. “What are you implying, dear heart?”

“I do not know,” Y/N said with a shrug but then her eyes narrowed on one of the Starks at the table and poked Ashara. “That one? With the dour expression?”

“He is not dour.” It was nearly a pout. “He is just…quiet.”

Elia hummed and nodded. “Hm. Yes. The Quiet Wolf. I believe his name is Eddard. His brothers call him Ned. Is that right?”

Ashara’s cheeks bloomed with color and she looked away. “Yes, his name is Ned.”

Elia and Y/N teased their friend a little longer before the night’s festivities started and the people splintered off for dancing or singing or drinking contests—Robert Baratheon was the current champion of that impromptu tourney. Elia wanted to listen to music and had Y/N and Ashara move with her to one of the smaller chambers where they could hear someone plucking at a harp’s strings.

What they saw when they arrived was not entirely welcome.

Rhaegar was sitting on a bench, his familiar harp across his lap, and the she-wolf beside him with tears in her eyes as he sang a sad song they had all heard hundreds of times. (It was not as if he could write songs himself.) The young girl was clearly besotted with the prince.

“Princess,” Ashara murmured, turning toward Elia, trying to shield her from the sight. “I do believe Arthur is in the next room over. You promised him a dance, did you not?”

Y/N watched Elia straighten her shoulders and press a practiced smile to her face. “Yes, I believe I did. I could definitely benefit from a bit of revelry anyway.”

And one dance turned into two and then three as Arthur coaxed smiles from Elia that had Y/N releasing a breath she did not know she was holding.

She could kill Rhaegar, should kill him. She didn’t care if she was sent to the Black Cells for the rest of her life or if her head wound up on a spike—if it meant Elia was free. Free to love her babies without reproach for not looking Valyrian. Free to love whom she pleased (probably Arthur). Free to laugh and smile and dance. Free.

That was all Y/N wanted for her friend.

She watched the quiet wolf’s brother, Brandon she thought his name was, approach Ashara and point out Eddard who seemed to be trying to hide behind his tankard of ale with a vibrant blush on his cheeks. Ashara quickly made sure that Y/N was fine on her own before letting the elder Stark wave his brother over and they slowly, adorably started to dance. She watched from for a while and then spotted Elia now dancing with Lewyn with a sleepy Rhaenys balanced on her hip, too.

A quiet, rhythmic tapping of wood against stone caught her attention over the din of the music and she turned to see Willas stepping to stand at her side, a small smile on his face. “My lady,” he said with a tip of his head.

“My lord,” she replied with a smile of her own and a small curtsey. “It is good to see you again. Dragonstone and King’s Landing are far less agreeable since you were called back to Highgarden.”

Willas smiled, tucking his chin a bit. “I would prefer to be at your side, even if it is in that snake pit.” Y/N patted the seat beside her but he shook his head and held out a hand toward her. She didn’t comment on how his fingers shook. “I cannot dance, not truly, anyway. But I would be honored if you allowed me the honor of spending the next song with you.”

The smile that crept across her face could not be stopped and she quickly placed her hand in his and stood as the last beats of the song started. They took their position toward the edge of the floor, trying to keep to themselves as the next song started. And it was true, they could not truly dance. His leg could not accommodate the stomps and hard turns the song called for—but it was okay, because she had not taken the time to memorize the steps anyway. Instead, they swayed in time with the beat, taking an occasional turn to step to the side, ignoring how some onlookers clicked their tongues or whispered behind their hands about how ridiculous they might look.

“Tell me, how is Highgarden?”

“It is just as lovely as I have said before. My father is insisting on building a new aviary for my next nameday.”

“I assume this is because you mentioned once that you wanted to take up hawking? Hm?” She asked with another grin.

“He wants, so desperately, for me to be some sort of great man. Fit for song and legend. I think I will only continue to disappoint him.”

Y/N stopped her uneven swaying and simply squeezed his hands. “You are not a disappointment, Willas. You are the most intelligent man I have met and you are a capable man—capable of ruling HIghgharden in a way worthy of song. You do not need to be a warrior for that. I do believe that the world needs more smart, kind men. Like you.”

Willas sighed and shook his head. “You are too kind, my lady. But I do doubt that my father will be convinced of your reasoning.”

“Well, perhaps it is better that you are your grandmother’s favorite instead of your father’s. Your mind can and should be your greatest asset, Willas. It is one of the things I admire most about you.”

He finally looked up at her, another shy smile on his lips. “You admire me?”

“Of course. How could I not?”

His pale cheeks flooded with color and he nearly stumbled on the next step but quickly righted himself but stopped moving, holding her hands just a bit tighter. “My lady, I… Y/N…I was hoping if you would give me the honor of-”

Y/N nearly fell as someone collided with her back and Willas’s cane slapped to the floor in a clatter, gaining too much attention for Willas to continue.

Y/N turned to see some Northern lord—Roose Bolton, if she remembered correctly—sneering at her and Willas.

“Careful, my lady.” His voice was low and deep and might have been soothing to listen to if his pallid and angular face did not betray the complete lack of soul beneath his skin. She had only one other interaction with him and it had been on the tourney fields just before the first joust and he had been sneering with a few of his bannermen about how the Dornish knights must be tiny men with how small their horses seemed. (Of course, the Dornish Sand Steeds were smaller, but they were also faster and more durable than the horses these Northern lords were so fond of and could outlast them for days. Y/N had laughed heartily when Roose had been unseated by a Dornish knight not yet past his five-and-ten nameday.)

Willas huffed as Roose walked away and shook his head. “I will never understand that man. But if he was half as handsome as he was clever, the Realm would be in peril. I do not trust him.”

“I cannot say I enjoy his presence either.” She brushed away her discomfort and turned back to Willas, trying to press a smile onto her lips. “But what were you saying?”

Willas opened his mouth and was quickly interrupted again by Ashara, who did look apologetic to her credit, tugging at her sleeve. “Princess Elia requires our presence, my lady.”

She turned back to see Willas sigh before he nodded once. Before Y/N could excuse herself, he grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I will find you again, my lady. Please enjoy the rest of your night.”

Y/N squeezed his hand before letting it drop back down to her side. She wished him well with her heart a little heavier in her chest, and let Ashara lead her back toward Elia who was standing with Lewyn and Oberyn and clutching a sleeping Rhaenys to her chest. But that was not what bothered her. No. It was the tears in Elia’s eyes and how Oberyn seemed ready to run his sword through anyone who looked at him incorrectly. “What is it? What has happened?”

Oberyn turned to her, teeth bared in a snarl. “The Mad King has once again let his thoughts be known that Rhaenys is too Dornish for his tastes.”

“She woke from a nightmare and I took her to her mother,” Lewyn explained. His large hand was pressing against Rhaenys’ back and Elia’s hands, a warm grounding force. “His Grace was nearby and little Rhaenys waved at him—she knows him as her grandfather.”

“Of course she does. Rhaenys’ heart is much too big.”

“And he turned his lip up at her and called her a…” Elia sniffled and held her daughter tighter. “A burnt leaf on the Targaryen tree. He said the only reason he knew she was his son’s daughter was the bit of silver hair she had.”

“How cruel!” Y/N exclaimed before turning to Lewyn. “Tell me no one heard him. Tell me that king of yours did not say this in front of anyone but you.”

And Lewyn’s answering silence was heartbreaking. He only continued to hold Elia and Rhaenys a little closer, a shallow consolation.

“The room was filled with people. Even the prince was there—he said nothing to stop his father’s tirade. Against his own daughter!” Oberyn was raging.

“Did Rhaenys know what he was saying?”

Elia shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. “No. She only thinks the best in people, my little sunshine. She was happy to be called a leaf.”

Y/N sighed and stepped forward to wipe the tear from her friend’s cheek and press a kiss to the sleeping child’s head. “The old man’s time is coming. I promise you that.”

“Y/N!” Ashara hissed. “You cannot say such things.”

“I will say such things when he says such things. Damn my uncle’s trade agreement. Damn it all. I will kill a king. I will do it.”

“No, no, dear heart. I cannot ask that of you—nor you, Oberyn,” Elia said, watery eyes cutting toward her brother. “I need you both at my side to handle whatever comes next.”

What came next, however, was Rhaegar winning the jousting tourney, with Elia’s favor hanging on the handle of his lance. There was a stupid tradition of the victor crowning a woman the ‘Queen of Love and Beauty’ and giving them a crown of blue roses. Y/N expected for Rhaegar to place the small bunch of flowers on Elia’s lap and be done with it.

But no.

The silver-haired prat rode right by his wife and laid the wreath in the lap of the she-wolf, Lyanna Stark.

All the smiles died.

Elia grasped Y/N’s wrist as she moved to stand, keeping her seated. “Your anger is appreciated. But I would not have more eyes on me for my husband’s indiscretions.”

It did nothing to quell the rage she felt burning in her throat. But she could be quiet. “I have Sweetsleep in my bag.”

“Y/N,” Elia snorted and shook her head. “No.”

“You’re right. Tears of Lys would be a better suit for his crimes against you.”

Elia finally uncurled her fingers only to tangle them with her friend’s as she managed a small smile. “You make me smile. Even when my heart is full of sorrow.”

Y/N’s kissed her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You deserve to smile, Princess. I will gladly play the fool if it makes you happy.”

Elia nodded and patted her hand. “I know, dear heart. I know it very well. But I…” the words died on her tongue as she turned to look around the box and found it lacking… “Oberyn.”

But Oberyn was already gone.

“Find him,” Elia whispered in a rush. “Before he does something rash. Stop him.”

Y/N instantly shot to her feet and darted out of the box in search of the Dornish prince. Luckily, it did not take long for her to find him, he was only a few paces away with his spear in hand.

She reached out and grabbed Oberyn’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “You cannot, my prince.”

“He has dishonored my sister in front of the entire kingdom. You cannot think to stop me from taking vengeance.”

“Elia said no. Would you hurt her further? You would be caught and executed and she and little Rhaenys would be as well. You know the Mad King’s wrath knows no bounds.”

Oberyn’s shoulders slumped but his teeth remained bared. “You are both too kind.”

“I offered to put Tears of Lys in his wine. I am not kind. But I would not make Elia suffer more than she already has.” She paused and watched Oberyn nod, appeased—for now. “Come, let us try to make our princess smile, hm?” Oberyn was breathing hard and Y/N pressed her hands against his chest, trying to help him breathe a little easier. “Calm—for now, at least, my prince. Breathe with me.”

He nodded and pulled in a few deep breaths through his nose and his grip on his spear loosened just a fraction. Oberyn leaned forward and brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Despite what you think of yourself, you are gentle hearted, little shark.”

“I know I am the worst sort of woman to have at your sister’s side, apparently. Always ready to murder if it would make her smile. Hardly well-mannered, too.”

“On the contrary, little shark. You are the best friend I could ever hope for her to have.”

The road back to Dragonstone was quiet, thankfully. Rhaegar had ridden ahead of their wheelhouse, not looking at his wife for longer than a few moments and kissed Rhaenys on her head before he set off.

It was for the best, probably. Y/N was not sure she could have stopped herself from murdering him if the opportunity presented itself—and it was always so easy for ‘bandits’ to attack a travelling party.

Oberyn was only able to accompany them so far before he had to divert his path—he had been called back to the sellsword he founded to deal with a contract dispute.

“I do not have to go,” Y/N heard him whisper to Elia the night before he left. “I can stay with you, Rhaenys, the baby. I can stay at your side.”

“I will be fine, Oberyn. I can handle this.”

“I know you can. But I don’t want you to do it on your own.”

“I’m not on my own.”

The wheelhouse hit a bump and Y/N made sure the sleeping princess on her lap didn’t jostle too much. It seemed that Rhaenys could sleep through almost anything. Even if her dreams were becoming increasingly erratic. The last night of the tourney, just a handful of hours after her father crowned a woman who was not her mother, Rhaenys had woken up in tears, babbling about dragons and fire and clouds of snow that never stopped. Elia had hummed her old lullaby until her daughter fell asleep again and it broke Y/N’s heart.

The two women she loved most in the world were hurting and there was nothing she could do about it.

“You’re good with her,” Elia said, a hand over her stomach. “And she adores you.”

Y/N smiled and curled her finger around the errant strand of silver again. “I adore her. I can only hope that if I ever have children, they are half as well behaved as her. She is wonderful, Elia. Your little sunshine.”

Elia smiled and drummed her fingers against her stomach. “I can only hope that this one is less troublesome as they come into the world.”

“I will be with you every step of the way.”

“I know, dear heart.”

And Y/N silently said a prayer to her gods—and then said another to the Seven that Elia was fond of, too—hoping for the best. Wishing for good health for Elia and her babe.

But her prayers were not answered.

Elia’s sickness continued and lingered as her pregnancy progressed and then King Aerys demanded Elia give birth within the ‘safe haven’ of the Red Keep in King’s Landing. He did not care that travel was not advisable in her condition. He did not care that Rhaenys was not sleeping well lately.

The Mad King cared for nothing and no one aside from himself. It was glaringly apparent.

It was just another reason for Y/N to hate these stupid Seven Kingdoms. She missed Skilliga. She missed how she could hear the ocean from every room in her family’s home, a massive, sprawling fortress carved into the steep rock face of the fractured islands—just like every other castle and fortress in their kingdom. She missed how clean the air was in her kingdom—smelling sea salt and fog. King’s Landing smelled of piss and moldy bread. Dragonstone was not home, not really, but it was far better than the city—and she feared far less for her friend there than she did at the capitol.

But she kept her mouth shut and held Elia’s hand as little Aegon came screaming into the world with a few strands of silver hair already crowning his head. But Elia was even more delicate after the birth, frequently needing to rest and seeking the guiding hand of healers who supplied her with calming teas and cooling balms. Y/N felt the exhaustion and relief rolling off her friend in waves as Aerys proudly presented his grandson to court, proclaiming him the heir to the stupid pointy chair. All of this made no sense to Y/N. Rhaenys was born first—did it truly matter that she was a girl? Women were set to inherit just as much as men in Skilliga—it simply mattered who was born first.

Oberyn had proudly told her that it was the same custom in Dorne—but the other six kingdoms in Westeros did not follow those rules.

And while the court celebrated the birth of another heir, Rhaegar took it upon himself to remind his wife that, “the dragon must have three heads,” before he kissed Elia’s brow and set off toward the vast library—again.

Arthur, however, hovered between dutifully following his prince and friend and staying at Elia’s side. The rigidity in her posture let those who knew her best know she was close to tears even though her smile had not moved from her face as she watched Queen Rhaella happily parade her grandson around the throne room, letting her ladies maids ooh-and-ahh over the new prince.

“Go, Arthur,” Elia eventually murmured. “I know he needs you.”

The famed knight’s shoulders dropped just a fraction before he bowed the slightest bit, excusing himself and walked away.

But Y/N was not done, feeling something bubbling her gut as she watched him near the door and she slipped away and pulled him to a stop.

“My lady?” Arthur said, eyebrows scrunched together as he looked at her hand on his arm.

“Ser Arthur, if you love her, as I know you do, protect her. Do right by her, by her beautiful children. Try to make Rhaegar see reason. See that his wife is good and gentle and all he needs.”

Arthur, proud, sweet Arthur, nearly crumpled at that and he nodded—just once—before turning and walking away.

“What did you say to him?”

Y/N turned at the sound of the small voice to see Prince Viserys looking up at her with hard, lilac-colored eyes. It must have been a miracle for him to escape the ever-present Septa and guard at his side—Aerys and Rhaella seemed to be hellbent on protecting their second son from some unseen threat. “I told him to make sure your brother stays out of trouble, princeling.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t think that matters. Your mother will be looking for you.”

His thin lips pulled into an even thinner line but he nodded and walked away.

Apparently the Targaryen family was filled with presumptuous little pigeons. Truly, the only ones Y/N truly liked were Rhaenys (who was more of a Martell anyway) and Rhaella (whom she rarely saw as she was constantly nursing healing bruises and cuts from her husband’s ‘attentions’.) And she was sure Aegon would take after his mother too, making him another one of the few the Seven Kingdoms did not deserve. But Y/N pushed that thought out of her mind as she discovered Elia, still cradling Aegon, weeping in her chambers that night. A bit of parchment was set beside her on her undone featherbed and Y/N hurriedly tried to stop her tears, to know why her dearest friend was crying, but Elia only pointed a finger at the parchment and silently told Y/N to read it.

The seal of a snarling wolf was stamped on it with a wax seal and she could already feel herself growing angry.

The missive was short. But it said enough. It was from the she-wolf, Lyanna Stark. She was responding to the raven Rhaegar must have sent earlier—stating that she would meet him in the Riverlands in just a few moons’ time and that she was excited to be at his side, and away from her oaf of a betrothed, Robert Baratheon.

Y/N crumpled the note and threw it into the roaring hearth.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Elia sniffled and shook her head. “You cannot. I will not have my babies grow up without a father.”

“And I cannot have him shame you so. You deserve more than this pompous little lizard can give you—crown prince or not.”

Aegon fussed in his mother’s arms but quieted as Elia pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Rhaegar told me that he must have three. The prophecy he’s been obsessed with since he was a boy demands it, he believes. Something about the prince who was promised.” Aegon’s little hand reached up toward his mother and Elia caught it, letting his fingers wrap around her as she kissed his thumb with a watery smile. “The wolf girl—she will sate Rhaegar’s need for a third baby.”

“This prophecy he believes in is madness,” she hissed. “I will not allow him to treat you like this-”

“It is done, dear heart. He has made his decision.”

“Have you made yours?”

“What choice do I have?” Elia asked with a mirthless laugh. “He is the crown prince and I am-”

“A princess of Dorne. Mother of his two children.”

Elia waved her hand and looked down at her son. “All I want in this world is for my children to be happy.” She sighed, shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. “It is not the wolf girl’s fault. Rhaegar can be very persuasive. I hold no ill will toward her.”

“And toward Rhaegar?”

Elia’s beautiful eyes cut to her before falling down to her lap. She did not answer.

“The offer still stands for me to kill him, you know.”

“I know, dear heart. And I thank you for it. But I need you by my side. I know the times ahead will be turbulent. The Realm has not had a king with more than one queen since Maegor the Cruel.”

“He means to marry her?” Y/N hissed. The anger she felt bubbling grew hotter as Elia nodded and wiped at her cheeks.

“We shall both be his queens, I suppose.” Elia paused and sniffled once more. “I could love the child she bears Rhaegar as my own.”

And that took the wind from Y/N’s sails in an instant. Plans for a slow murder evaporate and she crossed the room to sit at Elia’s side, her hands coming up to rest on her friend’s shoulders, mindful of the babe in her arms. “Your heart was always too big,” Y/N said. “And I shall be at your side until the end of my days.”

Dragonstone was a welcome reprieve from King’s Landing. She could truly smell the sea again, leeching a bit of the tension from her shoulders. It was even more of a respite when Rhaegar left (again). He had been playing his stupid harp and looking even more melancholy than usual before he kissed Rhaenys and Aegon on their little heads and bit Elia farewell.

Y/N knew what he was setting off to do—the little She-Wolf waited for him.

And she also knew that Arthur had finally confessed his repressed feelings for Elia and had gently kissed her under rising sun before he was called away by an unsuspecting and unknowing Rhaegar who waited for his trusted friend at the gates of the castle. She had spied it from her chamber window and had not told Elia what she had witnessed, only noting that she was fond of smiling that day. The smiles continued as Elia received ravens from Oberyn and Willas, filled with words of congratulations for her new babe and well wishes for her and her growing family. “And Oberyn wants you to know that you are not allowed to be Aegon’s favorite as you are Rhaenys’—he has deemed it selfish and he will challenge you to a duel if it seems that Aegon prefers your company to his when he visits next.” Elia laughed and showed her the slip of parchment with Oberyn’s flourishing handwriting.

“And Willas wishes for me to give you his best, and hopes that you remember your dance at the tourney as fondly as he does.” Y/N tried to pull the parchment from Elia’s fingers but it was jerked away at the last moment as Elia laughed. “Oh no, dear heart. I am going to keep this to read when you have babies of your own our dear little Willas!”

But the smiles would not last.

It started as whispers than grew to a scream. Lyanna Stark had disappeared with Rhaegar Targaryen. Was she kidnapped? Had she gone willingly? Elia had tried to dissuade the Stormlands from taking up arms against the crown, led by a ‘hurt’ Robert Baratheon, but Y/N surmised that the ravens the princess had sent had gone unheeded. The Baratheons wanted blood and they would have it.

And that meant that the paranoia of the Mad King was now proving prophetic.

Aerys had killed two Starks and wanted the heads of the others who were leading the Northern infantry toward the Trident. He wanted Jon Arryn to send him the head of his former ward, Robert Baratheon as a show of loyalty.

Arryn refused.

War raged.

Aerys called Elia back to the capitol.

“He is only doing this to make sure Dorne stays loyal,” Elia whispered to Y/N as they lay together in Elia’s bed as a storm raged outside. “But House Martell keeps its promises—there is no need for threats. No need to keep me and my babies as hostages.”

Tears slipped down Elia’s cheeks and Y/N gently wiped them away. “I will protect you, Elia. I promise you that.”

The sail of the ship was emblazoned with the sigil of House Redwyne—Willas’ grandmother’s house. The stupid burgundy grapes on blue cloth had never been a more beautiful or welcome sight.

Willas.

Her dear, sweet Willas had heeded her call. And now it was time for Y/N keep her loved ones safe. She had a sleeping Rhaenys (and tiny Balerion) in her arms and Elia had a fussing Aegon in hers as they slipped from Elia’s rooms and took the servants’ stairs down to the courtyard and toward the seldom-used docks on the north side of the fortress as thunder rolled overhead with a coming storm. The stone steps had weathered away and the wooden ladder down to the dock had been washed away ages ago. Y/N had to hand Rhaenys to her mother for a moment before she jumped down to the dock and took the sleeping girl back into her arms.

The Redwyne ship was nearly there. Their sails had been pulled down, letting them look like unmarked and unnoticeable trade ships.

“Princess Elia?” A voice boomed in the dark.

Elia looked back toward the castle and then down at Aegon, her grip tightening. Rhaenys stirred in Y/N’s arms and opened her eyes, little brow furrowing at the commotion around her. Y/N carefully set her down on the dock, holding her hand tightly before turning back to Elia.

“You can make it, Elia. Just jump. I will catch you!”

Another shout of her name had Elia looking backward.

“Elia!” She hissed. “We must go!” It would only be a matter of time before someone discovered the three bodies Y/N had dropped to clear the way for the little family. They never saw her or her hidden blades coming in the dark.

But Elia was frozen and the shouts of her name grew louder. Slowly, so slowly, Elia’s head turned and with a flash of lightning, Y/N saw what she was looking at: a fleet of ships blazoned with the three-headed Targaryen sigil headed toward the eastern dock.

They had come.

Elia turned, still clutching Aegon to her chest. She kissed him once more before pressing him down into Y/N’s arms. “Go. Go now before they catch you. Protect my babies.”

“We can make it! Elia, please-”

“Mama!” Rhaenys cried. “Mama!”

“Go, my sunshine. Remember, I will always love you.”

Y/N looked out to see the ships were docked and a small army had come to take Elia and her children away to King’s Landing.

“Princess Elia, you have been commanded by King Aerys to present yourself and your children in court immediately.”

She had to go.

Her choice had been made.

The Redwyne sailors were accommodating to the two crying babes and frazzled, foreign woman on their decks as they sailed toward Skilliga. They made sure they were settled in the captain’s quarters and left them with a bit of water and berries before mentioning that, “Lord Willas hopes you will write to him when we arrive at Skilliga.”

The captain had the good grace to look a bit ashamed before excusing himself.

“Where’s Mama?” Rhaenys asked as she snuggled down into the well-worn blankets of the small bed.

“She is…visiting your grandfather.” The words were bitter on her tongue and she pulled the blankets a little higher to Rhaenys’ chin and kissed her hair. “Get some sleep, sunshine.”

“What about Aegon?” Rhaenys asked, eyes fighting to close.

“I will make sure he gets some sleep, too.”

Content with that answer, Rhaenys nodded and finally let her eyes fully close. And after checking on the little prince, tucked away in a bassinet made of a half barrel and a mound of blankets—a far cry from the golden crib he had at Dragonstone, she let herself cry.

Rhaenys was fond of how her voice echoed in the halls of her temporary home. She would laugh and sing and talk and just listen to it echo as little Balerion circled between her feet. And that gave Y/N a small bit of joy, to know that Rhaenys was still able to smile—even if she asked for her mother every time she work and every time she was tucked into bed. Even if the little princess still screamed with terrible dreams filled with fire and ice almost every night.

Aegon was a happy baby, content to be in Y/N’s arms and babble at the dolphins and sharks he could see from the fortress’ windows.

It was good to be home. Truly, it was. The sound of the sea and the scent of its salt were a balm to her fraying nerves but it was lacking something now—lacking Elia.

Every night, Y/N would pray to each and every god and goddess she could think of to keep Elia safe. To let her come back to her babies. To live the life she wanted to when this rebellion was over.

Every night.

But, again, her prayers were unanswered.

Hammond slipped into her room before the sun rose nearly a year since their escape from Dragonstone and gently woke her by rubbing at her shoulder, like he had done thousands of times before. He had been her father, her only parent, since her parents died of a simple sickness when she was twelve. And now, it seemed, it fell to him to be that parent again.

“I have to tell you something, Y/N. I am so sorry.”

The words rang in her head, echoing over and over again as he continued to tell her what had happened in Westeros. News had reached their little kingdom that Aerys was dead. Rhaegar had been beaten and killed at the Trident. Robert was King. And Elia had been murdered.

“A-are you certain?” She asked, the words strangling the breath from her lungs. “Surely it cannot be-”

“They said the Lannister men presented her body to Robert, rolled in a red curtain.”

A sob wrenched its way out of her throat as she crumpled back into her blankets. Gone. She was gone.

Her uncle let her cry for a moment, sitting on the edge of her bed like a stalwart guard until she caught her breath.

“But there is some strange news, too. It seems the Lannister men thought they needed to prove the Targaryens were dead. Two little bodies were presented to the Usurper too. They claimed they were little Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“What? What? I-”

“Only you, it seems, knew that Elia had come to the capitol alone. They must’ve killed a poor kitchen maid’s children, thinking they were the prince and princess.” His roughened hand gently wiped at her cheeks. “I sent you to that wretched kingdom in hopes that we could strengthen our alliance, grow our fortunes. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

And Y/N could only cry.

It was only a handful of moons later that a servant came into Y/N’s rooms and announced that a strange man had demanded Y/N meet him on the small island off the shore of her family’s fortress, the only island outsiders could land on safely.

Y/N knew it was stupid to go. Knew it was stupid to kiss Rhaenys and Aegon on the crowns of their head as a nurse Y/N had hired watched them. Knew it was stupid to take the small boat she had carved when she was only eight out to the island by herself. But she did it anyway. She needed it.

On the little island, a small patch of tall, green grass surrounded by soft sand and sharp rock, stood a man she thought had died.

Arthur was standing there, his white KIngsguard cloak long gone and the armor missing as he held a small bundle in his grasp. And he was bleeding. Bleeding bleeding bleeding. But he trudged forward and pressed the small bundle into her arms and then he nearly collapsed to his knees at her feet.

“It is finished.”

She looked down at the bundle and gasped. A baby—there was another baby.

“What? Arthur? What is this? Who?”

“Rhaegar wanted to name him Vaemond. But Lady Lyanna…she kept calling the babe Jon before she even brought him into this wretched world.”

This was Lyanna’s baby. The baby Elia said she would love as her own. And so now, she must, too. Y/N huffed and the babe in her arms squirmed, full lips pulled into a pout. “Then Jon he will be.” Rhaegar had done enough damage to his children. “Where is Lyanna?”

“Dead. The childbed took her.” The words were punched out of him and his unfocused eyes looked at the babe in her arms. “You’ll care for him, won’t you? He’s innocent in all of this.”

“So was Elia. So are Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“So it is true then?” The hopeful gleam in his eye made her chest lurch. “You have her children? They’re safe? I thought it was just rumor that Elia had been alone when she arrived in King’s Landing. I thought she would never leave her babies…”

“She only left them to keep them safe. And, for now, they are safe.”

Arthur was quiet as Y/N looked down at the baby in her arms. Jon’s pudgy little arms reached out toward her and she adjusted her hold to let him wrap his hand around one of her fingers. And she was lost. He was a precious little one. Another babe for her to care for.

Arthur suddenly fell to his knees and Y/N hurried to try to keep him upright while still keeping little Jon comfortable. But Arthur pushed her hands away, leaving blood on her skin from where he had touched her so briefly. “Will she forgive me? When I see her…will she forgive me for helping her husband in this stupid fight for prophecy?” His purple eyes filled with tears and they slipped down his dirty cheeks.

Y/N did not need to ask who he was asking about. She knew. “Elia forgave you the moment it happened.”

Arthur nodded and hung his head. He was finished. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Rest, Arthur. You have earned it.” She placed her hand against his head, the closest she could be to him in the moment and, in the next few breaths, he was gone. His body slumped to the soft grass.

Y/N sighed and held Jon a little closer. Another one…another person she had considered a friend had been taken and she was alone again. And, she promised herself then. This would be the last time she cried. This would be the last time she lost someone.

This would be the last time.

AND ANOTHER BANNER BY MY BABY MARS @thesadvampire

A/N: Please let me know what you think. This is a bit of a slower burn so I hope you guys don’t lose interest. :) thanks for reading!

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #willas tyrell x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #oberyn martell #willas tyrell

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scented-morker · 3 years

Text

h o t e l k e y

1.6k words chenle x fem!reader fluff, humour, suggestive based off of the song “hotel key” by old dominion (ik ik a country song gross)

“it makes her think of me, and that night we left our hearts on our sleeves and our clothes all over the floor”

You find yourself releasing yet another deep sigh as your father beckons you from across the ballroom, but you still put in your brightest smile as you make your way through the heavy throng of people, preparing to be introduced to yet another business associate who's name you'll forget way before the end of the night.

"This is my daughter, Y/N"

He was already gesturing and introducing you by the time you made it to the place next to him, and you accepted the hand of the older man standing in front of you.

"Oh she's grown very well, such a pretty girl"

"You aren't the only one to think so, she was recently crowned Queen of the Seoul Pageant, you're looking at a future Miss Korea"

You tried to keep yourself from cringing as your father blatantly boasted about you, hoping the other man would pretend not to notice.

He didn't, instead he did something even worse.

"Oh that's great, my son is about the same age, he just performed his third concert at the Golden Hall of Vienna"

You could see your father controlling his face as to not appear impressed, but when the other man turned around to find his son, you got the pointed look you knew meant 'be better than whatever his child is'.

The man turns back around and you pretend to pay attention while he introduces his son who isn't there yet, the exact same thing your father did.

At the end of his sentence a boy your age approaches, and it might be the first time you've actually been interested in something going on all night.

Because my goodness, he is gorgeous.

"Chenle, this is Mr.Y/L/N"

He shakes your fathers hand and you can't spot a single thing he does that is less than perfect.

"I was just telling him about your concert a few weeks ago"

There's a flicker of something in his eyes and you think maybe he feels the same thing as you, though he quickly recovers into the golden boy he's expected to be.

"Oh I hope you weren't bragging, it wasn't anything that special"

"Now don't be so humble Mr.Chenle, that is very impressive"

You laid on the charm you knew your father wanted, and his short nod of confirmation validated your thoughts.

It seemed that Chenle hadn't noticed you until the words left your mouth, and his eyes seemed to shine when he did.

"You are very beautiful Miss.L/N"

"She's going to be Miss Korea"

You made sure only Chenle could see your small eye roll as your fathers launched into another round of 'my-child-is-better-than-yours".

"How about I get the lovely lady a drink?"

Both of your fathers seem thrilled by the idea, and you weren't going to pass on an opportunity to get away, so you politely nodded and let him lead you away.

"You are an angel, thank you for saving me from that conversation"

He laughed at your immediate character switch, "I hope you weren't there for too long before I got there to save you".

"Doesn't even matter, as long as we're safe now"

He laughed at your dramatic phrasing, walking straight past the bar and towards the front door.

"You wanna get out of here"

"I thought you'd never ask"

He pulled you along with him out the doors, getting his car from the valet and driving out onto the main road.

You inhaled the scent of lemon and new car while you fiddled with the radio, Chenle tapping his fingers on the arm rest while he spoke out loud about ideas of where you could go.

By the time you pull up to some random fancy hotel, you're both laughing to the point of stomach pain, and you don't know why but you had never felt so comfortable with someone so quickly.

"Hello I'd like an executive suite"

You zoned out while he spoke to the woman at the counter, and was only pulled back in when he wrapped his arms around you and yanked you towards his body.

You looked up with wide eyes, but a quick scan of the scene told you what was going on, and your eyes narrowed at where the female worker had her hand still hovering over Chenle's chest, obviously having just been removed from an attempt at flirting. The current contact you had with the boy and the two pairs of eyes on you told you that he had used you as a cover, and he had obviously said something, something they were both waiting for you to respond to.

"I'm pregnant"

They both looked at you, the woman's eyes wide with horror, Chenle's wide with bewilderment, probably at why that was your panicked response.

You looked up to meet his eyes and you both immediately broke into loud laughs, Chenle swiping the key cards from the counter as you both ran towards the first hallway, his hand holding yours the entire way.

When you finally stepped out of the elevator and made it to your suite, there were tears dried on your face from laughing so hard, and Chenle was still teasing you.

"I'm pregnant," his words were once again cut off by his laughter and you smacked his chest as you inserted the card into the door and yanked it open, throwing yourself onto the bed while he came in still laughing.

He tossed himself next to you, turning onto his side and propping his chin on his hand to looks at your face.

"I told her that we had just gotten married and needed a room" he wiggled his eyebrows as you laughed, mirroring his actions as you turned to look at him in the same manner.

"Well I said I was pregnant, so at least she won't get the wrong idea about what we're doing up here"

"Oh yeah? What do you think she's thinking?"

His voice gets softer and he leans in towards your face, to the point where your lips are only centimeters away.

"You know"

"No I don't think I do?"

"The devils tango. The sideways salsa. The no pants dance. Hanky panky"

He had lost it by the first euphemism, but you kept going, although making him laugh that hard while being so close proved to be a bad idea, and you felt his head hit yours before you had the chance to move away.

"I was going to kiss you but after that I don't think I want to"

He barely got the words out between his laughs and you acted offended, although disappointment was the real emotion you were feeling.

"Why? Because I'm too funny?"

"Yeah, uh-huh that's totally it"

He had finished his laughing fit and was able to speak clearly, a smile on his face while he rolled his eyes, continuing his path back to your lips.

You were barely a millimeter apart when your phone started ringing, both of your groans echoing throughout the room while you blindly reached for the device.

"Where are you? I cant find you and Chenle's father seems to not be able to locate him either. You better be making smart decisions. I'll let you go this time but we've got another party next week and you will be there the entire time"

Your fathers voice was loud through the phone, and you were sure Chenle heard every word.

"Ugh" you let out an angry groan as the voicemail finished, throwing the device somewhere across the room.

"Why do they always do this?"

Chenle got a similar text from his father, and now both of you were mad, knees touching as you sat angrily on the hotel bed.

"What do you think they'd do if we just ran away?"

He looked at you in amusement, not a single ounce of surprise in his gaze.

"I've thought about it, leave the city"

"Maybe the country" you added, and chenle let out a melodic laugh, content to sit in some random hotel with you and talk about running away together.

But that wasn't what you wanted right now.

Right now the thought on both of your minds was to make you fathers mad.

“You better kiss me before we get interrupted again”

You don’t have to tell him twice, within a second his lips are crashing into yours, tongues clashing and hands grabbing at whatever they can reach, both of you trying to contain your smiles at the feeling of freedom.

When you woke up the next day the alarm on the side table read 3:00 and a laugh left you mouth as you woke up the boy next to you.

“Chenle we were supposed to check out three hours ago”

His eyes widen but he joins in your laughter anyway, both rushing around the room to locate your belongings.

The same check in lady at the desk from yesterday glares at you as you run through the halls, and since you paid yesterday you thankfully don’t have to speak to her, Chenle just throwing the key card down on the front desk and running with you in his arms towards his car.

He was too busy dismissing calls from his father and screaming along with the radio to notice the way you slipped the other key card into your small purse.

“we both know we can’t open the door no more, but she kept the hotel key”

#nct dream fluff #nct dream oneshots #nct dream scenarios #chenle #chenle x reader #chenle scenarios #chenle fluff #chenle suggestive #chenle oneshots #nct chenle #nct chenle scenario

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gale-gentlepenguin · 3 years

Text

ML Analysis: Alya Cesaire: Best friend or Plot Puppet?

Thank you to @cakercanart for commissioning this analysis.

For this we will be discussing Alya Cesaire

This is a LONG POST, so I am posting a read more. I would love to hear your thoughts on this analysis. Do you agree? Do you disagree? Did you want to include something? Let me know.

I think in order to organize this post I will be splitting it up as follows.

How to write a best friend.

Alya Cesaire the Best Friend

Alya Cesaire the Plot device

Canon vs Salt

Final thoughts

So lets get to it

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How to write a best friend.

In fiction, the best friend is best known as the main characters's closest non-romantic associate and confidante in the story. This role is very important when the show, book, game or other type of media needs a character to help express the main character’s motives and actions. Now writing a best friend always ends up coming off as trope heavy and this makes a character come off as less real and more of as a plot device. For a best friend character to be a good best friend character they must follow 3 important rules. First, they must have their own rules. Second, Give and Take, friendship is a two way street. Lastly, they must be more than just the company they keep.

The Best friend must have their own rules. Now this is important because you need to establish what this character values. What does this character think is most important? Do they believe Loyalty is more important than honesty? Do they think stealing is wrong under all circumstances? It is important that we as a viewer understand what makes the best friend tick, we need to already have an idea of where they are going to go with something before the main character goes to talk to them. In a way, they. are more rigid than the main character, since we spend less time with them, we need to have their character more realized than the main character. Now this does not mean a character can't change over time, but there needs to be a solid reason on WHY the character’s opinion on something flipped, it needs to be something clear, like having them learn a lesson on screen. Think of the Best friend’s rules as Pillar in solid ground, they need to be strong and apparent so the Main character knows what side they are standing on in a situation.

Friendship is a two-way street. This is something that needs to be apparent in the relationship between the best friend and the main character. Do they spend time together, are they able to hold conversations outside of the main character’s problem of the day? What has the main character done for them lately? Does the MC value their friendship? Are there rough patches? The relationship itself is important to the dynamic as the best friend, and really is it a friendship if only one person benefits?

The Best friend character needs to be more then just the best friend character to the protagonist. The BFF needs to have a life outside of that bubble, like real people, they need to have other priorities at times, but they will do what they can to help. If this character suddenly stopped being friends with main Protagonist, will this character be able to develop outside of that. They need to be something a kin to a friend you could have in real life. Do you know someone that could match this person? Do you feel that they could exist?

These 3 are the main guidelines in writing convincing best friends and are crucial in establishing the best friend as something more then just ‘Plot device number 1. This criteria will be what we use as a gauge to measure Alya Cesaire. Now we move to the next section.

____________________________________________________________________

Alya Cesaire the Best Friend

Alya Cesaire is the canonical best friend of Marinette Dupain Cheng. She is also the person that runs the Ladyblog, the source for all things Ladybug related. She is a headstrong, confident, can do gal that will do anything to get the scoop. She is Loyal and wants what’s best for her BFF. But the question is, based on the characteristics, how does Alya fair?

The best friend has their own rules. Alya cesaire believes in loyalty, good triumphing over evil, and the truth. As a fan of super heroes it would make sense that she would have a more paragon approach towards things. In that regard, Alya is rigid, but she is willing to bend the rules if it helps her get the truth. To be honest, Alya is a loyal friend, does seek the truth, and believes good should always triumph over evil, but the problem is that she is not consistent on what she values more. Depending on the episode’s need, Alya would be gunho, loyal BFF to the max, like in Befana, Startrain, Origins, but then other times, she puts having evidence and truth over her own best friend’s take, Like in Chameleon, Oni-chan, and Volpina. Its a bit of a mixed bag with her, though I do say that her loyalty and support of Marinette is more of her more common traits. But this constant shift on what she values more is concerning.

Friendship is a two way street. This is where I find Alya does shine brightest. Her relationship with Marinette is very consistent. The two hang out, talk, and enjoy each other’s company. Both have helped the other when needed, and they take time to listen to each other. Sapotis, Stormy weather and Ladybug are the best examples. I will say that Marinette and Alya do not have a one note friendship, Marinette and Alya do talk about things outside of Marionette��s relationship status, Alya and Marinette do debate about things, even going so far as to even tease and joke with the other. In terms of friendship being a two way street, Alya and Marinette have a pretty good friendship going.

Alya as her own character is a bit more solid then one would anticipate based on all the salt surrounding her. She does have a strong character, she has her own relationships, her own actions outside of Marinette. She does have a boyfriend, does have hobbies that don't always involve Marinette. Alya is more then willing to put her needs into view. She has a unique dynamic with her family, she has a developing relationship with her boy friend. She even is friendly to someone Marinette is not the biggest fan of, and still maintains her friendship with Marinette in spite of it. Alya could exist without being Marinette’s Best friend, but it is good that they are friends.

Overall, Alya has a very good dynamic with Marinette and has her own character outside of that friendship, her main flaw is that with inconsistent writing her standing as ‘The pillar’ is not very effective, she can appear to be at the whim of the writers at times because of this inconsistency. But to determine if she is really more Plot device then Person, we head to the next section

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Alya Cesaire the Plot device

The Concept of a Plot device is simply a literary device (a character, an outside force, etc) that helps move the plot along in some way shape or form. The problem with Best friend character’s is that if they aren't the ones with the super powers, they are often put into the position of being the plot progression button in one of two tropes, the Plot voucher or the Quest giver. The plot voucher is the character that gives the lesson or solution early on and tells the MC that they should do something and often its what the character needs to do in order to solve the problem. Think Chekov’s gun. The Quest giver is the character that states what the character needs to do, often propelling the character into the situation. whether intentionally or not. Alya cesaire is often criticized as being a plot device since she is often the one pushing marinette to do things. Now to be fair, characters in the show can still be their own character while being used as a plot device, but the problem occurs when Plot is prioritized over the character. In order to judge if a character is more of a plot device, I have come up with 3 solid criteria. In order for a character to be more plot device than character they must achieve all three of the following, contradict their own morals on more than one occasion, Formulaic role writing, and P.R.E.G.O. These three criteria are crucial in judging one’s character.

To start off, contradictions in character. What this means is that the plot of an episode will do something that will make a character do something that would go against the core attributes of a character without explanation. Like having a vegetarian character eating meat. Now there are times when writers make a mistake and if it happens once then it is more like a mistake and not a constant trend. An example of Alya having a contradiction in character would be in Chameleon. (This is where a lot of the salt started so this is understandable), where Alya tells Marinette that she would need proof on her accusations. Now this is a case where additional dialogue would have made this NOT a contradiction. If Alya showed self awareness, like if she said, “I have learned my lesson about making accusations without solid proof.” That would have probably been fine and also a good moment of character development. But the expression (without that addition) comes off without context. Alya does show another moment of hypocrisy in Oni-chan, when she tells Marinette to ignore Lila when she was talking with Adrien, but at the end of the episode then questions why Marinette isn't spying on them. Now in the context of the episode, its to show how Marinette learns a lesson, but in this case (which I find as MORE egregious than Chameleon) this makes Alya look like a massive hypocrite. There are a few other times in season 3 where Alya has shown a few bits of hypocrisy which makes me say that Alya has matched this first criteria.

Formulaic role writing is a criteria that is less on the character of Alya, but on the show’s treatment of Alya. So to explain Formulaic role writing is where a character is put in a show to always do a specific thing for a character or for the plot. This is very common in episodic shows, like how in the original Power rangers, Zordon is the one that calls the rangers to fight a monster, he is basically the ‘Alert system’. In Alya’s case she is often regulated to 2 specific parts, Wingwoman and Lore finder. In her role as wing woman, she is basically trying to help Marinette out with Adrien, in whatever way she can. This results in plot progression and getting Marinette from point A to Point B. The second role is Lore finder, she is the one that goes searching to find out stuff regarding the heroes, because its for her blog. Now Alya has shown times when she is not in either of these roles, such as in Anaisi, heroes day, Stormy weather 2.0, Timetagger, just to name a few. It has Alya living her own life and existing outside of these roles. This helps because these examples are not in the character contradictions category, which helps us evaluate that Alya does not completely conform to this trait.

The final criteria is P.R.E.G,O or better known as Plot Relevant Exposition Given Only. What this means is that a character is only given lines that help further the plot, character development of the MC, help solve a problem, or cause a problem. P.R.E.G.O is the epitome of finding out how one-dimensional a character is. If you can fit all of the dialogue into a category covered in P.R.E.G.O, then it is simple to determine if a character is simply a plot device for the author’s to utilize. To put it simply Alya does break out of the P.R.E.G.O model as she does develop as her own character and has moments where she is doing her own thing. Both in canon, and on the Instagram. Alya has a boyfriend, a strong relationship with her sisters, her own goals and hobbies, and even her own insecurities. Alya as a character, while not correctly utilized is not fitting of this criteria.

Overall, Alya is more then simply a plot device, but she has been used on occasion to further the plot in ways that would contradict her character. The writing for her can be vastly improved and while she does have her flaws, should not be dismissed as simply a mouth piece for the shows plot.

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Canon vs Salt

Alya cesaire is often found to be one of the few characters (ever since season 3) to be heavily criticized and bashed by a chunk of the fandom. Now with how the fandom reacted to her, I was curious on what brought such unfettered hate onto her. It was sort of surprising to see how far the fandom went with not liking her. So after careful analysis, I managed to isolate the two main reasons on why she is so polarizing to the fandom. These reasons are, poor Writing and projection.

The writing on Alya has been inconsistent at times and in early season 3, with episodes such as Chameleon, Oni-chan, Oblivio, and Reflekdoll. The salt for her really started to rise. The most common assertion by the salters is that Alya is completely inattentive to other people’s needs and will prioritize her own desires above all else. Like in Oblivio, when Alya posted the photo of Ladybug and Chat noir kissing when Ladybug stormed off after seeing it. Now in the context, it seems rude, and it kind of is. Sure Ladybug didn't tell Alya not to put it on the blog, and she wasn't even mad at alya who took the photo, so the argument could be that alya would have not posted it if Ladybug told her not to. But it is still something alya should have asked before posting. Not that all journalists and reporters ask for permission before posting things, its common curtousy. So in this regard, criticism towards Alya is warranted if one wants discuss terms of improvement. However, in alya salt, she is often depicted as someone that would throw marinette under the bus and dismiss her, that is something Alya has yet to do and would likely never do. Alya has disagreed with marinette at times, but she has never (while in control) insulted or dismissed her friend. The salt/bashing of Alya’s character in that regard is inaccurate and is not warranted.

Projection is the action of placing issues onto another that are not applicable to one’s character. This is where all of the bashing of Alya’s character comes from. Alya is often projected as being one of Lila’s main enablers and the one that makes marinette feel awful. Alya is often portrayed as one of the worst people in salty au’s because she is the one closest to marinette. Her ‘Betrayal’ makes the pain Marinette feels much worse. Alya is being used by salters to place their own issues of broken friendships from the past onto her. From the few au’s and fics I have read with Alya salt, the betrayal that alya often does seems far more personal when described, as if the author was pulling from personal experience. Alya, according to the salt community, has become the perfect character to project the agony of betrayal because of the massive salt that has been piled on from chameleon onward.

In conclusion, Alya is critiqued because of poor writing from the show, and is bashed because of fan projection. Alya is a character with faults and suffers from poor writing but she is not deserving of the unabashed hatred she has received.

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Final Thoughts

Alya Cesaire is a character that could use some better writing and could use some better establishment on her traits, but she is still good on her own merits and I conclude that she is more than a tool of the plot, she is a multifaceted character that will hopefully improve in season 4.

#ML analysis #miraculous ladybug #Alya cesaire #Alya critique #ml salt #ml fandom salt #alya salt

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icharchivist · 3 years

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A3 x Sleeping at Last

I have a fondness for the musician Sleeping at Last and i decided to have fun associating at least one of his song per A3 Characters. Under the cut are songs as well as some highlight lyrics to justify my choice. Some of them i feel more strongly than others so anyone with a comment is welcomed as well.

Thus here i go:

& Spotify playlist of all those songs in order if you want to go through it

Mankai Company : North

We will call this place our home, The dirt in which our roots may grow. Though the storms will push and pull, We will call this place our home. We’ll tell our stories on these walls. Every year, measure how tall. And just like a work of art, We’ll tell our stories on these walls. Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind. Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide. Settle our bones like wood over time, over time. Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.

Spring Troupe: From The Ground Up

It took me 27 years to wrap my head around this- To brush the ashes off of everything i love. Where courage was contagious, confidence was key. Right as rain, soft as snow, It grows and grows and grows, Our home sweet home.

We'll try to document this light, With cameras to our eyes, In an effort to remember What being mended feels like.

We're home sweet home.

Sakuya Sakuma : The Projectionist

When I was young I fell in love with story, With the eleventh hour, with the blaze of glory.

When hands are tied and clocks are ticking An audience convinced, we're leaning in, holding our breath again Just when we thought the game was over The music lifts and our dying soldier lives And we breathe a sigh of relief The theater lights dim and all goes quiet. In the darkest of rooms, light shines the brightest.

We’re leaving, we’re leaving our shadows behind us now. We’re leaving, we’re leaving it all behind for now. But even dust was made to settle And if we’re made of dust, then what makes us any different? I guess we give what we’ve been given: A family tree so very good at giving up When we’ve had enough. Though truth is heavier than fiction, Gravity lifts as the projectionist rolls tape. And it makes us brave again

Masumi Usui : Venus

At first I thought you were a constellation. I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation: You’re as beautiful as endless, You’re the universe I’m helpless in. An astronomer at my best When I throw away the measurements.

I was a billion little pieces 'til you pulled me into focus. Astronomy in reverse, It was me who was discovered.

Tsuzuru Minagi : Page 28

Have you read the script? Could you picture it? ... is it worth the risk?

Here in the second act I'm living in repair. Strange how the heart adapts when its pieces disappear. And there, on page 28, I'm so tired of drying glue, I begin my grand attempt at building something new. Though I tend to write the epiphany more immediately, I guess I'm trusting that there's such a thing as elegance in dissonance. God, I'm skeptical of pulling scenes. Was it something that I said? was it something that I did? Please don't get me wrong - I still need your help As history repeats itself Here in the aftermath, I'm pulling at the seams. Strange how the heart adapts in the absence of routine. And there, on page 29, I find “new” and make it mine. But I can't help casting shadows on all I leave behind. Maybe I could afford to change a bit... Even let go of the reigns? Every torn out page was worth the risk Now that the stakes have been raised. So here in the final draft, I've given all I have. Strange how the heart expands in the absence of a plan. There's nothing left on the page, but I'm okay with that, For I found my resolution Was designed for stronger hands.

or Body

There's magic in our bones, A north star in our soul That remembers our way home. There's magic in our bones. No, I don't have a script for this. But I know the right words exist Somewhere, And I just need more time. I know, I know, I'm asking for the moon, But I must listen to intuition Believe me, I only want what's right.

Itaru Chigasaki : Pluto

I woke up from the same dream: Falling backwards, falling backwards ’Til it turned me inside out. Now I live a waking life Of looking backwards, looking backwards; A model citizen of doubt. Until one day I had enough Of this exercise of trust. I leaned in and let it hurt, And let my body feel the dirt. When I break pattern, I break ground. I rebuild when I break down. I wake up more awake than I’ve ever been before. Still I’m pinned under the weight Of what I believed would keep me safe. So show me where my armor ends, Show me where my skin begins. Like a final puzzle piece It all makes perfect sense to me… The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity. The heaviness that I hold in my heart’s been crushing me.

Or East

I set out to rule the world With only a paper shield and a wooden sword. No mountain dare stand in my way, Even the oceans tremble in my wake. The tide is brave, but always retreats. Even the sand, it cowers under my feet. My kingdom towers above it all, While I sleep safe and sound in my cardboard walls. Now I bear little resemblance to the king I once was. I bear little resemblance to the king I could become. Maybe paper is paper, maybe kids will be kids- Lord, I want to remember how to feel like I did. So I draw my sword with the morning sun, I summon the moon as soon as the day is done. The clouds march on, on my command. Even the rain, it falls according to plan. The trees bow down and give their leaves. I humbly accept their offerings of peace. The years wore on and changed my heart, The leading role for a smaller part.

Citron : Noble Aim

Chances are we are the same, against the odds, against the grain We lean, like gardens toward light but we wait, Like evening for night, Don't we? Chances are we are alike, against what better judgement writes We ache, like children for love For a purpose worthy of such a noble aim as love.

Chances are we bruise the same; a family tree desperate for rain. A thirst only deserts know best. a hurt so at home in our chests. Call it stubbornness or bravery, To let our branches continue to reach, With such a noble aim, With such a noble aim as love. Every broken branch and loosened leaf that we've grown to ignore, Is now a part of something greater than before. Every nest that rests upon our limbs, Seeking shelter from the storms, Is a purpose worth being broken for.

Chances are we are the same, against the odds, against the grain We lean, like gardens toward light, We reach with all of our might For such a noble aim as love

Chikage Utsuki : Neptune

Pitch black, pale blue, It was a stained glass Variation of the truth, And I felt empty handed. You let me set sail with cheap wood. So I patched up every leak that I could, 'Til the blame grew too heavy.

Stitch by stitch I tear apart, If brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster child prodigy Thread by thread I come apart If brokenness is a work of art, Surely this must be my masterpiece

I'm only honest when it rains If I time it right, the thunder breaks, when I open my mouth I wanna tell you but I don't know how

I'm only honest when it rains An open book, with a torn out page, and my inks run out I want to love you but i don’t know how...

Or South

Some truths, over time, can learn to play nice. Some truths are sharper than knives. Some truths we only see in the corners of our eyes. Some truths we wish we could hide. Some truths can save us, Some take our lives. Some truths are fire and some truths are ice. No matter what category you fit into, Truth’s got its sight set on you. If truth is north, then I am true south. I can’t figure it out- God knows. Always looking up 'Til my eyes give up. That’s how I lost touch of who I am and who I was.

Summer Troupe : Joy

The clumsy start of adolescence, The glue that mends our broken remnants, An overwhelming sense of reverence, It's a glimpse of light in a mine of gold. A silver lining spilling over, The rumor of buried treasure, The starting line of an adventure, It's a glimpse of light in a mine of gold. It's an afterglow, it's an echo Still ringing out in spite of me. It's the faint outline of the divine In the hiding place of my periphery. So I let go and in this moment, I can breathe. I can breathe. The countless stars we're sleeping under, It's the brightest sparks that we remember. When our eyes are closed, we still see embers, A glimpse of light in a mine of gold. It's a glimpse of light in a mine of gold.

Tenma Sumeragi : Three

Maybe I've done enough, and your golden child grew up Maybe this trophy isn't real love, And with or without it I'm good enough Maybe I've done enough, Finally catching up For the first time I see an image of my brokeness Utterly worthy of love

And I finally see myself, Through the eyes of no one else. It's so exhausting on this silver screen Where I play the role of anyone but me. I finally see myself, Unabridged and overwhelmed, A mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell, But I'm slowly learning how to break this spell. And I finally see myself. Now I only want what's real, to let my heart feel what it feels. Gold, silver or bronze hold no value here, Where work and rest are equally revered. I only want what's real, I set aside the highlight reel, And leave my greatest failures on display with an asterisk; Worthy of love anyway.

Yuki Rurikawa : Hope

There is hope in our eyes when we truly see each other Like the light of countless stars We are not afraid of the dark 'Cause there is hope in our hearts And every single beat, we feel it To the ends of the earth, our echo carries on We are sacred, we are strong, We are beautiful, we belong Please hear our unheard song There is hope in our voice when we listen to each other Barriers disappeared with every story told We are sacred, we are strong, We are beautiful, we belong Please hear our unheard song There is hope in our eyes, When we truly see each other We raise our flag, lift our voice This is our moment, We are sacred, we are strong This is our moment, We are beautiful, we belong This is our moment, We are worthy, we are true This is our moment, There are no borders from this view Please help us raise our flag There is hope in our eyes when we truly see each other

Muku Sakisaka : Daughter

I want to see your happily ever after, That you know in your heart that you matter, That you are royalty. This is your kingdom, This is your crown, This is your story. This is your moment, Don’t look down.

You’re ready. born ready, And all you gotta do is put one foot in front of you. Our ceiling is your floor, And all you gotta do is put one foot in front of you. If only you knew

Misumi Ikaruga : Seven

How nice it'd be if we could try everything? I'm serious, let's make a list and just begin What about danger? So what, what about risk? Let's climb the mountain before we cross that bridge! 'Cause I'm restless, For whatever comes next

How wonderful to see a smile on your face It costs farewell tears for a welcome-home parade A secret handshake between me and my one life: I'll find the silver lining no matter what the price 'Cause I'm hungry, For whatever comes next Let me tell you another secret of the trade- It feels like sinking when I'm standing in one place So I look to the future and I book another flight When everything feels heavy, I've learned to travel light But I want to be here, Truly be here To watch the ones that I love bloom And I want to make room To love them through and through and through And through the slow and barren seasons too

I feel hope deep in my bones... And tomorrow will be beautiful.

Kazunari Miyoshi : Nine

Who am I to say what any of this means? I have been sleepwalking since I was fourteen Now as I write my song, I retrace my steps Honestly, it's easier to let myself forget

Still, I check my vital signs, Choked up, I realize I've been less than half myself for more than half my life

It looks like empathy to understand all sides But I'm just trying to find myself through someone else's eyes So show me what to do to restart this heart of mine How do I forgive myself for losing so much time?

A little at a time I feel more alive I let the scale tip and feel all of it It's uncomfortable but right We were born to try, to see each other through To know and love ourselves and others well Is the most difficult and meaningful work we'll ever do

Kumon Hyodo : Intermission

I'm so tired but I can't sleep. My mind is full but I can't speak. Among the dust of the hard-to-reach, I'm stuck Right here, somewhere between side a and side b. I could call it compromise, or just an intermission. Some kind of consolation prize for the race I never finished. I want to turn these tired gears. I want to feel the follow-through, Some kind of equilibrium... Something to set my watch to.

I'm here, somewhere between victory and a white flag. Caught in this purgatory dream, I'm stuck. But I want to set the record straight, I want to retrace my every step. If I could just rewind all the tapes, Then maybe I'd find my loose thread. Call it a compromise, or just an intermission. Some kind of consolation prize, so close, but never finished. I want to turn these tired gears. I want to feel the follow-through, Some kind of equilibrium... Something to set my watch to.

Pluto works for him too

Autumn Troupe : The Sea of Atlas

We once felt safe, like no cure was needed. Our vocabularies had no room for “defeated,” But we grew up quick and became connoisseurs of it. There's a fine line, a fine line in between Our progress and our instability. We can't help ourselves but hunt for more. A design flaw? or the olive branch that proves the shore- The catalyst we've waited for.

Banri Settsu : One

Hold on for a minute, 'Cause I believe that we can fix this over time That every imperfection is a lie, Or at least an interruption Now hold on, let me finish, No, I'm not saying perfect exists in this life But we'll only know for certain if we try

The list goes on forever of all the ways I could be better in my mind As if I could earn God's favor given time Or at least congratulations Now I have learned my lesson The price of this so-called perfection is everything I spend my whole life searching desperately To find out grace requires nothing of me I... I wanna sing a song worth singing I'll write an anthem worth repeating I... I wanna feel the transformation A melody of reformation I hold it all more loosely, and yet somehow much more dearly 'Cause I spend my whole life searching desperately To find out that grace requires nothing Grace requires nothing of me

Juza Hyodo : Taste

I am alive, I am awake. I am aware of what light tastes like. The curtains drawn, the table's set, I wanna be, I wanna be, at my best.

I'm on my knees and only scratch the surface.

Out of the woods, out of the dark. I’m well aware of the shadows in my heart. I wanna feel, tectonic shifts; I wanna be, I wanna be, astonished. I wanna be astonished. So I propose a toast: To fists unraveling, to glass unshattering. To breaking all the rules, to breaking bread again. We’re swallowing light, we’re swallowing our pride. We’re raising our glass, ’til we’re fixed from the inside. 'Til we're fixed from the inside. We're nothing less than a work in progress. Sacred text on Post-It notes. We only speak of a world in pieces. Let's make a map of what matters most: Where every fracture is a running river. Leading us back to our golden coast.

OR Mercury

No one can unring this bell Unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new God knows, I am dissonance Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune

I know the further I go The harder I try, only keeps my eyes closed And somehow I’ve fallen in love With this middle ground at the cost of my soul Yet I know, if I stepped aside Released the controls, you would open my eyes That somehow, all of this mess Is just my attempt to know the worth of my life

Made of precious metals, precious metal inside

Taichi Nanao: Sadness

It feels like falling, It feels like rain, Like losing my balance, Again and again It once was so easy, Breathe in, breathe out But at the foot of this mountain I only see clouds

I feel out of focus, or at least indisposed As this strange weather pattern inside me takes hold Each brave step forward I take three steps behind It's mind over matter, Matter over mind

Slowly, then all at once, A single loose thread And it all comes undone

Where there is light a shadow appears The cause and effect when life interferes The same rule applies to goodness and grief For in our great sorrow We learn what joy means

I don't want to fight, I don't want to fight it But I will learn to fight, I will learn to fight 'Til this pendulum finds equilibrium

Slowly, then all at once, The dark clouds depart And the damage is done, So pardon the dust While this all settles in, With a broken heart Transformation begins

or Bright and Early

The sun comes pouring in. Filling glasses up with diamonds, Stirring where I've been But it's all trigger and effect. Dominoes at their best. In the end I'm told, It taught me everything I know. That the wreckage left behind, will somehow make me grow.

In the end I'm told It taught me everything I know. But when the fire took our home, I lost part of my soul. From the ground up I'll keep building houses into homes. 'cause if trust is ribbon, Then patience ties it in a perfect bow.

Omi Fushimi : Aperture

Happiness is somewhere I have been before- A blurry photograph that I have since ignored. I'll carefully adjust the aperture once more, Until I set the record straight. I'll brush aside the dim, make room for the bright. I'll be an editor, no, a curator of light. I'll let my better angels always set me right, Until I even out the score. Until I even out the score. God, it has been quite a year- I've lived a little bit and I've died a little more. I know that I've asked it before, But please let the scale tip here in my favor. What was once the sweetest melody I've heard Is now a memory reduced to little words. I'll tune the orchestra and play the overture, Until I pinpoint every note. Give me the heart of an archeologist, That I may dig until I prove that I exist. A subterranean cathedral in my midst, Where echos come to rest.

Sakyo Furuichi : Touch

When will I feel this as vivid as it truly is, Fall in love in a single touch, and fall apart when it hurts too much? Can we skip past near-death clichés Where my heart restarts, as my life replays? All I want is to flip a switch Before something breaks that cannot be fixed.

Invisible machinery, These moving parts inside of me Well, they’ve been shutting down for quite some time, Leaving only rust behind. Well I know, I know - the sirens sound Just before the walls come down. Pain is a well-intentioned weatherman Predicting God as best he can, But God I want to feel again, Oh God I want to feel again.

Rain or shine, I don’t feel a thing, just some information upon my skin. I miss the subtle aches when the weather changed, The barometric pressure we always blamed. All I want is to flip a switch Before something breaks that cannot be fixed. Down my arms, a thousand satellites Suddenly discover signs of life.

Azami Izumida : Anger

Like wildfire, it starts in my chest The silence grows louder, ringing out in my head

I feel the Earth shaking under my feet I feel the pressure building until I can't breathe And it takes everything

And it all spills out, reckless but honest words leave my mouth Like kerosene on a flame of doubt, I couldn't make it right

Alarms will sound, but it's too late for holy water now Sooner or later the fire dies down, I'll open up my eyes

And I'll try and find the image of God In mountains made of ash and clouds of smoke It's fight or flight, buried in my mind, It's fight or flight It keeps my mind cold

But I feel it break, With just one misstep down a fire escape And suddenly I'm someone that prays, a last minute man of faith But I'll leave behind miles and miles of jagged lines Upon the surface of the Divine, I wish I could set them straight

Say

they impose the endless fight to always be perfect it seems they have been chosen to be above the rest

but the contradiction stands between these perfect lives and the words that they've misread there was no reading say all the things that you really want to say the truest of forms will show finally you'll find your soul

Bonus: Sakyo & Azami: Uneven Odds

I once knew your father well He fought tears as he spoke of your mother’s health I guess a part of him just couldn’t return Forgiveness is a lesson he cursed you to learn As your guardian I was instructed well To make sense of God’s love in these fires of hell No I don’t expect you to understand Just to live what little life your broken heart can Maybe your light is a seed And the darkness the dirt In spite of the uneven odds Beauty lifts from the earth As the years move on these questions take shape Are you getting stronger or is time shifting weight? No one expects you to understand Just to live what little life your mended heart can You’ll always remember the moment God took her away For the weight of the world was placed on your shoulders that day You’re much too young now so I write these words down, “Darkness exists to make light truly count.”

& Heirloom

You try your hardest to leave the past alone. This crooked posture is all you’ve ever known. It is the consequence of living in between The weight of family and the pull of gravity. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than what I’ve become. Long before you were born there was light Hidden deep in these young, unfamiliar eyes. A million choices, though little on their own, Become the heirloom of the heaviness you’ve known. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than what I’ve become,

You pressed rewind for the thousandth time When the tapes wore through. So you memorized those unscripted lines, Desperate for some kind of clue:

When the scale tipped, when you inherited, A fight that you were born to lose. It’s not your fault, No, it’s not your fault, I put this heavy heart in you.

You remind me of who I could have been, Had I been stronger and braver way back then. A million choices, though little on their own, Became the heirloom of the heaviness we’ve known. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than the wars you’ve won. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than what I’ve become.

Winter Troupe : Homesick

Our resignation only comes on beaten paths When the world was flat we dreamt of its edges If love's elastic, then were we born to test it's reach? Is it buried treasure or just a single puzzle piece? It's poison ivy beneath our brave and trusting feet All revelations come to us in recovery Cry wolf, cry mercy, Cry the name of the one you were raised to believe Cry heart, cry yourself to sleep, Cry a storm of tears if it helps you breathe It helps you, if it helps you breathe

Or Hourglass

We're taking turns at shattering apart. At least we're taking turns. How did we get so good at dismantling these hearts? How did we ever get so good? We dress our best to receive their sympathy. At our worst, we dress our best? “time heals all” According to these greeting cards. Oh how we'd rather time resets. If we could turn the hourglass, we would. If we could move a grain of sand, we would. If we could find our way back, we would.

Tsumugi Tsukioka : Clockwork

There is glass between our touch, phantom limbs of former love... and the truth is that I am so terrified that the callous is deeper than the surface of our skin. and it takes us twice as long, it takes us twice as long to heal. we'll lift up the ground to see the system of roots beneath. gears turn, endlessly, to bring the world back to life like clockwork, when it dies. the cadence of beating hearts, the click of its moving parts grows louder and louder from this restless earth... future gardens wait patiently below and somehow we smell them blossom through the snow.

still unsatisfied, we chase what we're denied. as generations wait, we can't resist the taste of possibility. gears turn, endlessly, to bring us back to life again. like clockwork, we begin.

Tasuku Takato : Porcelain

The door broke when you slammed it shut, and the cracks kept reaching long after you left. through the floorboards, branching towards the hall, like vines that never rest... climbing like fire through the walls. a single spark that claims the whole forest - I know, I know... it's all for the best. but honestly, I would rather be safe from a distance than here... when I fell to my knees to sew the damage shut, I couldn't believe... a bright, staggering light came flooding into me from out of the seams. so I reached deeper in and pulled my whole world wide open, and for each broken mile, a billion miracles happen at once in everything... in everything. but I'm safe from a distance, right here. everything I love was made of porcelain, ready to break. but the bright, staggering light, it anxiously waits inside. like nesting dolls, the secret hides. and like every birth, it was a necessary pain... I know, I know... it's all worth the wait, worth the weight.

or Accidental Lights

On your mark, get set... A million miles past the finish line My heels lift at this imaginary starting line. The trigger slips; My heart was racing well before it's time. Time's running out, it's always running out on me, As the road up ahead disappears. Though it's all been said, and this empty dictionary is all that's left, I'll try to change the world in a single word. My hands are shaking, ready or not. Invisible ink well it's all I've got. So I'll concentrate and pick from these barren trees. Time's running out, it's always running out on me, And every road I discover disappears under my feet - Some call it reckless, some call it breathing. Have i said too much or not enough? Is it overkill or is it giving up, To measure out the distance of an echo's reach? If it's all broken mirrors and a chance roll of the dice, Then I'll risk everything for a glimpse of accidental light. Time's running out, it's always running out on me, And every road I've discovered disappears under my feet - Some call it reckless, I call it breathing.

Hisoka Mikage : Smell

Is this the part when the brain scans show where memories reside? Some ambiguous shape in me suddenly producing light Triggered like a tripwire, every time I breathe it in Isn't it strange that a Lilac tree is what unlocks where I've been? Like a time machine rebuilds the past, our memories return Like remembering the ashes before we burn

It finishes against my will, the light goes out, my heart goes still And just like that, I believe in ghosts

Time and space are at my back, Performing disappearing acts Now I can escape the smell of smoke Research says that the only way to keep memories intact Is to lock 'em away and close the doors to countless years of past I guess that explains why the strangest things can conjure up the past And forgotten time will find its long way back

It doesn't matter, I just know I need more Cause I feel like I've been sleeping through the better part of this Laying dormant through an endless winter that doesn't even exist

It's gravity in an hourglass, responsible for the avalanche And the loudest silence that I've ever heard Memory clear as a bell, A story that I will try to tell Maybe this time without words

Homare Arisugawa : Four

Maybe I'm hiding behind metaphor Maybe my heart needs to break to be sure One day I'll wear it all on my sleeve The insignificant with the sacred unique But I've fallen in love with a ghost I lost my balance when I needed it most And this blurry photograph is proof Of what I'm not sure but it feels like truth I'm stuck swimming in shadows down here It's been forever since I came up for air Flashlight in hand determined to find Authenticity only poetry could even begin to try to describe

What if we already are who we've been dying to become In certain light I can plainly see a reflection of magnificence Hidden in you, Maybe even in me

or Son

Show me Who I am and who I could be Initiate the heart within me 'til it opens properly

Slow down Start again from the beginning I can't keep my head from spinning out of control Is this what being vulnerable feels like? And I will try, try, try to breathe 'til it turns to muscle memory I'm only steady on my knees One day I'll stand on my own two feet And I'll run the risk Of being intimate with brokenness Through this magnifying glass I see a thousand finger prints On the surfaces of who I am

Azuma Yukishiro : Two

Tell me, is something wrong? If something's wrong, you can count on me You know I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat It's okay if you can't find the words, Let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders

I know exactly how the rule goes Put my mask on first No, I don't want to talk about myself Tell me where it hurts I just want to build you up, build you up 'Til you're good as new And maybe one day, I will get around To fixing myself, too I don't even know where to start Already tired of trying to recall when it all fell apart I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well I just want to learn how, somehow to be loved myself

Or Six

What would it feel like to put this baggage down? If I'm being honest I'm not sure I'd know how I want to take shelter but I'm ready, ready to fight And somewhere in the middle I feel a little paralyzed But maybe I'm stronger than I realize I wanna believe - No, I choose to believe That I was made to become a sanctuary Fear won't go away but I can keep it at bay And these invisible walls just might keep us safe With a vigilant heart, I'll push into the dark And I'll learn to breathe deep and make peace with the stars Is that courage or faith to show up every day? To trust that there will be light, Always waiting behind even the darkest of nights

Guy : Mind

First, the ground rules get established: Memory is historically inaccurate. But repetition, repetition sings 'Til finally the melody is sacred, rooted, unchanged.

It overwhelms the nervous system, This fearful constant state of comparison. In our grey matter, all grey matters. An embarrassment of riches in our heads, We gravitate to black or white instead. We were designed to send mixed signals, One image made up of different pixels All subject to interpretation. 'Til binary systems, binary systems run And the vibrancy of everything becomes zeros and ones.

Patterns form and feel important, It's the first brush stroke of a self-portrait.

#'i'll slap relevent lyrics' *slaps 90% of the lyrics for some*#anyway i am posting it before i'm starting to doubt my picks but yeah #some i feel stronger about than others #aNYWAY #ichatalks about a3 #ichablogging music #a3 #a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!

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