#it’s like he has to placate his inner child | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackjackkent · 6 months

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Yet another case of Rakha wandering over somewhere and finding people shouting at each other - in this case, several teeth-lings and the druids in the grove.

"Let my daughter go! Right now!"

"She's a thief, hellspawn. And you will wait for Kagha's judgment! Now get back!"

That, thinks Rakha, who didn't even want to be here in the first place except Wyll insisted on it, is the beautiful sound of Not My Problem, and stalks straight on by, ignoring one of the druids turning into a bear and roaring at the refugees.

The druids try to stop her too, of course, but she doesn't think much of it ("If it weren't for me, you'd be overrun by goblins by now," she says curtly. "I'll go where I please.") and it's quite likely there would be a fight, except that one of the druids pipes up with a message from their leader, the aforementioned "Kagha", who apparently wants to speak with them.

Rakha's really only interested in the healer, but the leader might know something about the Halsin that Zevlor mentioned. So she allows herself and her companions to be led into the stone structure that sits at the base of the grove.

As they walk, she looks with considerable interest at the ritual taking place at the grove's center.

The sense of magic here is intense. It moves in pulses and waves across her skin, resonating with her own power, but with a slightly different texture.

"Why is it different?" she asks Gale matter-of-factly.

"The distinction between arcanic and druidic magic is a matter of some academic debate," Gale says, perking up instantly at this question. "Certainly druidic spellcasting draws upon the Weave as surely as you or I do, but the focus of the casting is considerably different, drawing on natural forces as opposed to a learned intellectual understanding of the Weave's facets. In truth it is closer to a school of divinity than arcana - as evidenced by the presence of that idol of Silvanus at the center of this ritual. An elven deity of the wilderness."

It is the most he's said to her since they found Alfira this morning, and she finds she relaxes a little to hear him returning to his usual loquaciousness, even if most of the nuance is lost on her. "Interesting."

"It is, isn't it?"

-----

The inner sanctum of the grove is dark and cool, a sharp contrast to the warm spring brightness outside. Inside... once again, people are shouting, and one of them, unfortunately, is the person Rakha was sent in here to see.

"Please-- I'm sorry!" A young girl - probably the daughter of the refugee outside - is crying out in terror, faced down by an enormous serpent with fangs as long as Rakha's tusks.

Two of the druids are standing next to her.

"This is madness, Kagha!" one of them is saying, with a placating air. "She's just a--"

"A what, Rath?" Kagha snaps back. "A thief? A poison? A threat? I will imprison the devil--" Her eyes flick past Rath's shoulder to lock on Rakha walking into the room. "And I will cast out every stranger," she adds pointedly.

Rakha halts. She barely notices Kagha's pointed glare at first; her eyes are fixed intently on the snake.

Memory - a deep, thick flash of it, unbidden, unexpected. A creature like this, held between her hands, twisted at the mouth delicately against a clear empty glass. The spurt of a dark, stinging liquid.

Narrator: A death viper. You have milked their poison before. A single drop of it could kill that child in a heartbeat.

The beast in her mind stirs curiously, but does not quite rouse. The viper's poison is a clean kill, she remembers. There is no blood. Simple, effective - but uninteresting.

"One of your guards outside said you wanted to see me," she says, not moving her gaze from the snake though she speaks to Kagha. "Here I am."

Kagha shrugs dismissively. "We will speak soon enough," she says curtly. "First, judgment must be passed." She folds her arms, speaks with relish, evidently quite satisfied with the judgment she has decided on. "The parasite eats our food, drinks our water. Then steals our most holy idol in thanks! Rath - lock her up. She remains here until the rite is complete." She bends a little to the girl's eye height and smirks coldly. "And keep still, devil. Teela is restless."

Rath struggles to protest. "Come, Kagha. We took back the idol. Surely--"

"Do it!" Kagha snaps. Her force of personality is overwhelming; Rath is lost by comparison. His shoulders slump, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Rakha's eyes have not left the snake during this entire interchange. She is fascinated by the thread of memory that hangs from it, fragile, indistinct.

Narrator: The snake's hiss of approval reveals its intentions. Should the child struggle, it is poised to strike.

The beast stirs again, stronger this time.

Narrator: The death of a child. A timeless tragedy that never grows old...

The moment hang's on a knife's edge, and it would be so easy to push it over into chaos. A sharp flick of the eyes, a tacit encouragement to the child - run, run! And she would run, but the snake would be faster. Rakha can see images of the serpent striking, the quick impact like lightning, the two matching circles of dripping red... and death, inevitable as the breath that preceded it.

Her heartbeat quickens to think of it. The beast gnaws at her skull. Why do you hesitate?

She realizes that she is caught on another, much more recent memory as well. Wyll, in camp, telling her gravely the story of how he took the name the Blade of Frontiers. A lost child, an orphan, surrounded by goblins who fell under Wyll's blade to save the boy. "But what of the others?" Wyll said then. "The children never saved, the cries never heard? The frontiers demanded a blade, and so I heeded."

It is the only conversation about a child she can remember having, ever, before this one.

Wyll, she is certain, would not wish this child to die. The beast, equally certainly, wants to see her writhe as the poison takes her.

What do I want?

The question is... surprising. Up to now, her every decision not driven by the Dark Urge has been rooted squarely in survival, in the avenue of least resistance. But in this case... whether the child lives or dies has no bearing on her.

So answer the question. What do I want?

What she wants is control. Last night, the beast rose up and fed on Alfira's guts, and she had no choice in the matter before it was all over. But she is awake and aware now. She has a choice here, to ignore the beast, to ignore a death that will not serve her.

And Wyll, who thinks she carries a light alongside her darkness, would not want the child to die.

Your mind wants the snake to kill the child. But your heart doesn't. Snap out of it.

Narrator: Her life matters more than satiating your dark fantasies. You focus... and they're gone. But clearly, this child's life is still in danger.

Her breath catches. The moment of focus... and the beast recedes, grumbles back into silence. She has never stood against it before. She is not sure she knew it was possible.

She realizes she has been standing there with her eyes closed, forces her gaze open. The others can see she looks abruptly shaken in a way they have never witnessed before.

[PERSUASION] "Release her," she rasps out sharply. "I'll see that she stays out of trouble." The words surprise her as they reach her own ears. But it is the fastest way to end the situation, and she wants suddenly nothing more than to be gone from this moment, to have time to think over what just happened.

Kagha glares at her, a muscle working in her jaw, clearly gauging whether she would win, should this come to blows. And something she sees in Rakha's eyes frightens her just enough that she submits.

"Very well," she hisses, like an echo of the snake she commands. "She may go. Break your word, and my serpent shall feed." She snaps a hand out. "Ssifisv - Teela, to me!"

Obedient, the snake crawls from its perch to curl around Kagha's boot. The girl whimpers with fear, watching it curve past.

"Out, thief!" Kagha snarls at her. "My grace has its limits."

With a noise of pure terror, the girl rockets to Rakha's side, taking up a position behind the half-orc's robes.

Rath relaxes visibly. "Thank you, Kagha. Master Halsin would--"

Kagha rounds on him with sudden fury, one hand lifting as if to strike him across the face. "Halsin isn't here," she snaps. "Keep his name off your tongue, lest Teela pierce it."

-----

Arabella, for that is the girl's name, peers up at Rakha as they walk towards the sanctum door. "I-- I didn't think you were gonna help me," she says unsteadily.

Rakha says nothing. She has withdrawn deeply into herself; as they move out of Kagha's line of sight, she pauses and leans against the wall, her eyes half-closed.

"Hey." Wyll halts as well, and without thinking, reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. He's surprised when she doesn't jerk away. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't answer, but gives a short, sharp shake of the head.

None of them know quite what to do with that. After Rakha's cold-blooded murder this morning, none of them are quite in the mood for empathy towards her... and yet she pulled this child from danger, too. And something in all of that has thrown her terribly.

Wyll frowns uncertainly, then withdraws his hand and instead takes Arabella's. "Come on, lass," he says quietly, casting an uncertain look at Rakha. "Let's let her be a moment, and go find your parents."

Rakha does not look up as they walk away. Her gaze is fixed inward, staring at the black place in the back of her mind where the beast lurks. She can feel it staring back at her, cowed for the moment but not beaten. She can feel a shiver down her back as it laughs.

Let the girl live, then. There will be others. There will be so many others...

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #eyyyyyy our first active resist choice! :D #got an inspiration for it and everything #might have to have her and wyll have a chat tomorrow XD #bjk writes her own party banter

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niconebula · 2 years

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People are picking up on the 'Belos made Hunter for emotional support' thing, and I just want to say I called it like 9 months ago, but also let's expand on this. (And this is not exactly the same thing but bear with me).

Basically, the crux of it is that Belos is entirely obsessed with his brother; this was the cliff into the deep end after he died / abandoned him. Belos regards their time in childhood and before coming to the Boiling Isles as the most precious in his life. Despite appearances, Belos nearly equally depends on Hunter as Hunter depends on him. Their relationship is extremely co-dependent, however it doesn't appear that way due to the power imbalance.

Hunter, and any other grimwalkers he may have made therein, being made with one of the primary purposes of being emotional support and caretaking of Belos.

For Hunter, this poses the question: What am I supposed to do if someone who loves me cant stop hurting me? Because how hard is it to walk away from that. If the previous Golden Guards were also grimwalkers which I like to believe, it makes a point that the abuse is cyclical and never-ending.

I also want to put forth an idea that: Belos is an eternal child who never really grew up emotionally, and his actions are similar to that of a child playing make believe. Probably more accurately, he regressed to his child state as a coping mechanism of trauma.

His inner self is represented by the child version of him, who wears the same mask he dons now. This mask is the first symbol of his childhood that he clings to for comfort.

The second symbol of his childhood he clings to is the Gravesfield Crest, the place where he grew up. Because this is highly special and symbolic, and given how protective Belos is of these things, this is why I believe the previous Guards also had to participate in the make believe play.

His third item is the symbol of his brother himself. He needs these things to placate himself and stay within the realms of fantasy that nothing bad ever happened or he might fully, and permanently, transform into a beast. Hunter is his personal caretaker. He's the only one allowed to see Belos in a weak state, the only one who can see his face, the only one who can physically touch him and can hear his stories.

Belos has power to manipulate people without needing to be this personally vulnerable in front of them, but he chooses to in the case of Hunter. He is likely constantly aware that Hunter is only a figment of his brother but regardless allows him to forge that personal connection that Belos desperately needs and misses.

Like I said in my original post, you don't just go through the process of creating a clone completely alike in appearance and personality, and let them become a part of your personal life, just to be used as carnage.

Hunter's fate might as well be death anyway, as were his predecessors, but he wasn't made just to be killed like a farm animal. He’s Belos’… pet. Even if Belos won't admit it, Hunter has a whack ton of emotional significance to him.

If we’re going to ask why Belos’ brother means so much to him, beyond being associated with his old life before he came to a world he hates, and general caring for your sibling: Symbol Four

So - what if their parents were killed by the plague when they were kids? 1600-1620 was still very early for settlers, most of them still arriving by ship from Europe. The plague was still prolific until the 1800s. Belos’ brother was older and cared for him when all they had was eachother. Belos says their family is all dead, and maybe that’s actually true. Not from wild magic, but plague.

I thought the Coven Scouts may have just been designed like that for the aesthetic, but I would not be surprised about this lore connection because it fits so goddamn well.

I’m not sure where to end this ramble, but here’s some food for thought. Taking this kind of angle is a lot more interesting to me. I still think Hunter is in grave danger, but there’s no reason for Belos to raise him and give him a position next to him other than this kind of projecting.

#owl house #emperor Belos #phillip wittebane #hunter toh #toh #posting about children’s cartoons again

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ghooostbaby · 3 years

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deeeep dive into why and how wei wuxian and lan wangji love each other, complete each other, are the inverse reflection of each other’s deeply hidden internal selves mirrored through the other’s external self, lan wangji’s inner wildness that he has to conceal and protect recognizing and loving wei wuxian’s outer wildness, wei wuxian’s deep, fuddy-duddy morality and values that he conceals with an elaborate subterfuge of jokes, mischief, and bravado, seeing and loving in lan wangji the ability to say no that it was never safe for him to express directly, “between you and me there is no need for thank you and sorry”

oh and a slight diversion midway through into a manifesto on WEI WUXIAN IS NOT INSECURE the whole story is about a society where being liked is ESSENTIAL for survival and it is actually completely perilous not to be liked, and his “people pleasing” is a skill and tool for his survival especially as an orphan and proven to be a necessary one when he stops doing it and STOPS SURVIVING

after the cut discussing the very interesting dynamics of consent in general in the novel, but not going into the consensual non-consent kink stuff till the last paragraph if you need to avoid for any reason.

I've been thinking about how Lan WangJi sees in Wei WuXian the exterior, unfettered expression of the wildness Lan WangJi holds in him and protects with rigid codes of conduct, propriety and outward dignity.

I have had this sense that these two are mirrors, either one reflecting the hidden, interior (and unallowed) self of the other. but it seemed more clear from Lan WangJi's side, especially knowing about his history with his mother and the spicy side that emerges when he drinks and in the extras.

I also - just... the way this whole story shows how romantic love is truly this longing for your self, to become yourself, to become the thing you're not allowed to be, seeing in that person the expression of whatever it is you can't become and longing for it, protecting it, joining with it as closely as you can without ever being able to let it live inside your own body.

On the surface it seems a lot more difficult for Wei WuXian to find a piece of his soul in Lan Wangji. I think its a bit too simplistic to see whatever draws Wei WuXian to Lan Wangji as a reverse-psychology sort of craving of acceptance from the only one who won't give it, pushing and pushing against this impenetrable boundary that he needs to break to feel assurance that no matter what he can make anyone accept him.

And he is SO drawn - in a mind boggling way, in the teenage flashbacks Lan WangJi rudely and aggressively throws him off over and over and Wei WuXian cannot keep away! Even when he talks about how boring Lan WangJi is, he never stops trying to be around him and talk to him.

I've seen discussions of the way Wei WuXian has always relied on the goodwill of others to survive, and that his placating of others to survive is a character flaw. Although that seems only halfway true.

As a young child he didn't have anyone's goodwill for a while and he survived, and it seems like he can always find a way to survive from whatever means and sometimes very limited resources he has at his disposal. Doing what he has to do to become powerful enough to survive losing his core and being thrown into the burial mounds slowly costs him the goodwill of everyone around him - and what happens to him as a result shows how much placation was a truly necessary for someone without the protection of biological/hereditary family bonds.

(Don’t get me started on how his loss of his golden core and his development of demonic cultivation to give himself power by ‘unnatural methods’ through the use of a musical instrument is a metaphor for disability and the way ableist society sees the use of accessibility devices and tools. Actually please DO get my started haha.)

Wei WuXian is so charismatic and seems very used to getting what he wants and needs on the strength of that. He pushes a lot of boundaries and seems pretty confident and flexibly prepared to handle the consequences, whether beatings or harsh words. But he does work so hard to make others feel good, good with him, good with themselves.

When he is in the cave with Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian is described as "like one who forgets all past pain as soon as the wound heals". He can't resist coming up beside Lan WangJi and talking to him again and again after every time Lan WangJi pushes him off, only finally staying away when Lan WangJi bites him (and he still keeps trying to talk to him after a little bit!) and then calls him an awful person (!!! Bad Wangji! :(((( ). In the end, when Lan WangJi (very minimally) discloses what happened to his sect and his father, and even cries, because of all the defences/assaults Lan WangJi has put up Wei WuXian can't do anything or say anything to help and feels miserable.

Lan WangJi just absolutely refuses to allow Wei WuXian to take care of him - and I began to wonder maybe that’s what Wei WuXian actually really likes about him? Why he is unable to resist coming up to Lan WangJi again and again? Maybe because Lan WangJi refuses to let Wei WuXian appease him. He’s not trying to crack Lan WangJi to get to this impenetrable place of approval and acceptance. In a way he can’t quite understand, Lan WangJi is a respite for Wei WuXian from the constant work to be the one who pleases.

And how different this is to how Wei WuXian is (or has to be) with Jiang Cheng when he wakes up in Lotus Pier after the cave. Jiang Cheng gets so down and really really needs Wei WuXian to do what he does so well (and wasn’t allowed to do with Lan WangJi) - chasing Jiang Cheng down while being injured and reassuring him about all his insecurities about his father's acceptance and becoming a sect leader and Wei WuXian's own abilities excelling his - and at first Jiang Cheng is pushing him away, but he really does need Wei WuXian to do all this to feel better.

Wei WuXian is described as not wanting to be lonely, and not wanting to see other people unhappy, and he keeps trying to push and pull with whatever he has to not be lonely and lift the mood for those around him. I don't think it's a kind of codependency or insecurity. It’s not that Wei WuXian is afraid to say no, in fact I would say he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, but he must always do it creatively, with humour. Similarly to Nie Huaisang, he uses a persona of foolishness to give himself a covert agency.

I also think I'm writing this because I don't like seeing this discussed as a sad bean character flaw for him to always need to be liked - its a strategy, its a tool, its how he survives and excels. Doesn’t the whole story prove how essential being liked is to a human’s survival? And he is so so good at being liked, in making others happy, even when he is refusing to do what others want from him that he doesn't want to do, he does it in a way that deflects criticism, with a smiling bravado that never says what it truly means and has people writing him off as shameless or foolish or just endearing himself toward them despite themselves.

He is always at work really, with jokes and flattery or mischief and teasing, to get the resources he wants and needs. Case and point, when he makes a big coquettish show for mianmian, definitely not being "people pleasing" for her, but the group of girls around them all find it funny and cute and in the end she gives him a perfume sachet which ends up being a valuable resource for later. Or the time he outright tells Jiang Cheng that if you give the girls some lotus seeds they'll remember you and return the favour in the future. (Also notice how his interactions with girls seen as flirtatious are actually strategic resource-gathering acts.) These are the skills he has developed to meet his own needs. (THIS IS NOT A CHARACTER FLAW. I REPEAT.) He takes what he needs and steals from the Lotus Pier markets knowing it'll be paid for, he lives like he never know when his next windfall will come from so he'll take what he can when he can find it. Like Jiang Fengmian said, if there is no guarantee of a meal in the future then today's meal should still be enjoyed. It’s how Wei WuXian said to Nie Huaisang at Cloud Recesses, you have to find ways to make your own fun out of whatever you have. So he gets kicked out of class, goes fishing, gets alcohol, he pursues his own pleasure. He actually is quite insistent of his own agency and right to choose, he just can never directly say no.

And that little detail that Wei WuXian always tucks coins into his clothes just in case, that makes him able to buy food when he and Jiang Cheng are on the run... breaks my heart and reveals so much about the way Wei WuXian is constantly at work on ensuring his own survival and never takes for granted whether he is safe (he knows he never is).

I've seen some people talking about Wei WuXian sacrificing so much for his brother and sister out of a need to be accepted out of a chronic sense of insecurity. But isn’t this just true? Doesn't he live in a world where being accepted is absolutely essential for survival? Doesn’t this whole story show the cruelty of a social system based on networks of hereditary/biological family that closes out and scapegoats any outsiders, and that without biological family connections that can enclose around you, you can never truly be safe if not constantly working to earn acceptance? (And then beautifully ends with the way a gay romantic relationship that queers marriage/family/etc disrupts all this and creates safety and inclusion for Wei WuXian without needing a normative family.) (AKA romantic love does not resolve some internal personal problem in Wei WuXian but disrupts and refuses and rebels against the problem of SOCIETY.) (*breathes heavily*)

And that’s why Lan WangJi is magnetizing to Wei WuXian. Lan WangJi is always saying no. Although what Lan WangJi sees in Wei WuXian is an exterior wildness, Wei WuXian is not really out of control so much as he is playing and caring and supplicating and showing off and pleasing people to get the resources and the acceptance he needs to live his life. He has firm values and desires that he can never outwardly state, only creatively spinning plates to distract and deflect while he refuses what goes against his values, protects who he cares for, or takes what he needs to in order to survive/thrive. Lan WangJi embodies an exterior of resoluteness and direct agency that Wei WuXian doesn't have the luxury of. And he's so drawn to him for his ability to repeatedly say no, to refuse to get along, or make others laugh, make other people happy, but just simply follow what he thinks is right.

Wei WuXian’s outward wild movement protects an inward stillness. He is an exterior of people-pleasing around an interior of refusal. He is an exterior of youthful rebellion around an interior of unflinching morality. He sees in Lan WangJi the outward expression of his stillness, his morality, his resistance that he can't express, that he's had to protect.

FYI after the cut gets more into the dynamics of consent in the story, and the last paragraph directly talks about consensual non-consent kink play in wangxian’s relationship.

When Wei WuXian is with Lan WangJi, there is no work to be done. Lan WangJi cannot be swayed by him, and so there's no point vying for resources or favors. Lan WangJi will either give him everything or refuse him everything based on who he is, it does not matter what Wei WuXian does and he can't do anything that will change Lan WangJi’s mind. Someone he literally can't win over. After the resurrection, they are often in an adorable tug of war, where Wei WuXian tries to take care of Lan WangJi, while Lan WangJi won't allow him to but demands to care of Wei WuXian right back. Actually, Lan WangJi insists that Wei WuXian take everything he wants or needs from him and is even angry when he doesn't take or when Wei WuXian tries to offer a gesture in return, even something as simple as a thank you Lan WangJi won't accept. It’s kind of adorable how frustrated Wei WuXian is in doing this thing he's learned that he needs to do, and just... so confused by Lan WangJi, and has to find a way to please this person who aggressively refuses to be pleased and is ONLY pleased by Wei WuXian being pleased.

(Not to mention the way Wei WuXian delights in finding that Lan WangJi can’t say what he wants, and they have sort of these chaotic cohesive both-being-so-pleased-by-working-hard-to-please each-other moments where Wei WuXian is letting Lan WangJi please him by finding out what pleases Lan WangJi and giving it to him.)

The wildness Lan WangJi had always hidden within himself is something he sees as just as dangerous as Wei WuXian thinks of his desire to refuse. He saw his mother be socially alienated, shunned, and eventually die because of her wildness. His ability to survive in the world, aka to be accepted by his family, is contingent on him being able to control this inner wildness. From a young age (re: Phoenix Mountain kiss) he could only understand his sexual desires for Wei WuXian as something repulsive or dangerous that had to be repressed and controlled, and that the only way he could imagine his desires as possible was as non-consensual. His secret gay desires were never available to him as anything but something monstrous.

Importantly, it’s not like everyone else other than Lan WangJi are all vampires cruelly demanding Wei WuXian’s constant sacrifice. Wei WuXian is always vibrantly, charismatically offering so much, before anyone has asked. It’s Wei WuXian who creates this kind of relationship for himself again and again. It’s Lan WangJi who simply refuses - he refuses to charmed, to be cared for. And so in the end Lan WangJi becomes the one person who Wei WuXian feels doesn't need anything from him. When he says he's eating the corpse's fruit to save Lan WangJi money and Lan WangJi says that will never be necessary. Or when Wei WuXian asks what toy he should win for Lan WangJi at the market game, and Lan WangJi says anything Wei WuXian gets will be the one he wants. (XD stahhhhp it’s too sweet !!!) He really just wants Wei WuXian to be, to exist, to spend his life discovering his own desires and allow Lan WangJi to help satisfy them, he doesn't want anything from Wei WuXian other than him living - happy and safe.

It takes someone like Lan WangJi to refuse Wei WuXian’s aggressive generosity, it’s definitely not an easy thing to say no to Wei WuXian, dazzling or annoying people so chaotically before they even realize there’s something to say no to. The sacrifice he gives to Jiang Cheng, he never even offers a choice - and perhaps it would have been too much for Jiang Cheng to accept if he had the chance.

Lan WangJi’s statement "Between us there is no need for thank you and sorry" seems like one of the most important sentences in the novel, and you can’t help but noticed the way “sorry” and “thank you” is littered meaningfully through the book. What is owed, what the characters owe to each other, the give and take, touches every part of the story (down to wangxian's erotic explorations!).

When Jiang Cheng talks to Wei WuXian at the Guanyin temple he makes a lot of contradictory statements about what Wei WuXian owes, what he was given, what he took, what he (Wei WuXian still) is owed in return. Wei WuXian, according to Jiang Cheng, took everything from the Jiang clan, and paid them back with their deaths. The Jiang clan give him his life when they took him in, and he owed Jiang Cheng service for the rest of his life as the right hand to the sect leader, that’s what Wei WuXian had promised anyway. At the same time, Wei WuXian sacrificed everything (his golden core) to Jiang Cheng, by giving everything he was taking one more thing - Jiang Cheng’s right to even be angry at him. Jiang Cheng had taken everything from Wei WuXian. Everything that happened around Wei WuXian after could be said to be because of the loss of his golden core, which Jiang Cheng might be said to be responsible for. But he never asked for it, maybe he never would have wanted it. He wishes Wei WuXian told him, but Jiang Cheng never told Wei WuXian his golden core was melted while he was sacrificing himself to save Wei WuXian. He wants Wei wuxian to say sorry, but that makes him feel pathetic. And Jiang Cheng says sorry too. It’s a mess of paradoxes, and in the end somehow it seems like the scales are balanced in the most hollow, dismal way.

What is owed, what is given, what is taken ... Wei WuXian has never been part of a family. He has always had to say thank you and sorry for everything he's taken. Wei WuXian himself admits that he used "thank you" as a way to enforce distance between himself and Lan WangJi. Lan WangJi's point i think is that they belong to each other, Wei WuXian is his, and he is Wei WuXian's, unconditionally. The way that Jiang Cheng speaks of him in the Guanyin temple (admittedly I read a fan translation and this is very nuanced, related to slight variations of grammar), even when Jiang Cheng clearly is so broken by the loss of Wei WuXian from his life, he talks about Wei WuXian as an outsider. It is what MY family gave to YOU, never what you took from our family. But at one point Wei WuXian was part of their family - but he takes too much, and becomes an ex-disciple, not a brother. Wei WuXian’s inclusion as a Jiang was always conditional.

Even when Wen Qing and Wen Ning leave him to go take the blame for qiongqing path they tell him "thank you and sorry", drawing a line between them and him, so he doesn’t even belong to these people who he sacrificed everything for. The way Wei WuXian acted when he was younger, he was always keenly aware of this - he always knew that he didn’t belong to anyone, no one is going to protect him unconditionally. And after first escaping the Burial Mounds, he is done pretending. When Lan WangJi warns him about what a demonic cultivation path will do to his heart, Wei WuXian replies: “After all, on the topic of how my heart is, what could other people know about it? Why should other people care about it?” He is done pleasing. Nothing has changed really, he still belongs to no one and is alone, but now he is angry about it, and instead of saying thank you and sorry he is going to become too powerful to be at anyone's mercy. And then we see in the story afterward what happens to people who don't say thank you and sorry.

The whole point I think is the impossibility of choice, the impossibility of consent in this society. If he didn't forgo the behaviour his social acceptance was conditional on, he wouldn't have survived the burial mounds. But once he becomes powerful enough to survive and get revenge on the Wens, he is socially outcast. Except he was already outcast from the beginning.

And so how do Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi find a way through all that to a life together where all their desires are possible, where Wei WuXian can say no while also being pleasing (safe) to others, and Lan WangJi can indulge in his wild desires while still being good? The answer is kinky sex!

It is kind of miraculous and beautiful how Wei WuXian finds a way to say no, while simultaneously pleasing Lan WangJi, giving pleasure, while taking it, saying no, and knowing his refusal is not just tolerated, but gives Lan WangJi pleasure, knowing Lan wangji and knowing the painful belief Lan WangJi holds within that his desires are unacceptable and unspeakable, and that Wei WuXian can take care of Lan Wangji in a secret little way and please him and give everything to him by craving this wildness in Lan WangJi while at the same time he gets to say no again and again , and it won't push Lan WangJi away, he can refuse everything while at the same time be totally pleasing and thus safe, and also for Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian's pleasure at saying "no" while still being held onto, that he genuinely wants to be fucked even while begging Lan WangJi to stop (and the many ways he does give his consent for this throughout, especially their first time), allows Lan WangJi the ecstatic feeling that this idea that his sexual desires are only possible through force are not just something his lover forgives him for but something his lover is SO turned on by, and that he has consent for his fantasies of non-consent, Wei WuXian has the same fantasies from the other side, he is doing what he is supposed to while doing what he shouldn't, and actually these monstrous feelings in him allow him to take care of Wei WuXian in a way that he needs - that they both need - and all these impulses that are so wrong with Wei WuXian become very right and a way to do good. And they are just both so perfect and perfect for each other and I love them and I am so happy for them to have a long kinky life together.

#wangxian #mdzs #mdzs meta #holds wei wuxian close and murmurs into his hair 'no one knows you like i know you baby'

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btsqualityy · 4 years

Text

Magnolias in Springtime

Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Arranged marriage!AU, ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, fluff, smut, and just a smidge of angst

Warnings: Talks of arranged marriages, brief mention of polygamy (nothing comes of it, promise lol), oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, knotting

Author’s Note: This fic is based on a prompt from the Spring Fest “Spring Will Come Again” hosted by @bangtanarmynet! I really hope you guys enjoy it! P.S: There will also be a part two to this fic so stayed tuned for that!

Prompt: While their parents discuss behind closed doors the terms of their arranged marriage to each other, they meet in the blooming garden to go over their own conditions.

Your pack was your entire life.

Growing up as what some of the elders in your pack referred to as the spoiled only child of the Pack Alpha and the Pack Omega, you were doted on by everyone. As a child, you marveled at the Alphas when they brought back the animals that they had haunted for the pack’s dinner and now as an adult, you were having Alphas dedicate those kills to you as a sign of intention to marriage.

As a child, you tried to take notes on how the Betas seemed to be able to de-escalate any and all types of conflict, always seeming to have a solution that would placate everyone. Now that you were an adult, you found yourself going to those same Betas whenever you had conflicts with your parents or your best friends, because you knew that they would understand you.

As a child, you thought that it was the coolest thing when you watched the Omegas essentially hold the pack together. They were the ones who gave birth, they were the ones who mostly took on child rearing and cooking (even though the Alphas and Betas in your pack always helped out as well), and they were always there when you happened to skin your knee as a child or just needed comfort. Once you became an adult and presented, you found yourself gravitating more towards the Omegas as you were also one now, and they took you under their wings as you learned just what it really meant to be an Omega.

So in short, you loved your pack and you were extremely grateful for everything that they had taught you. Oddly enough, that gratefulness is exactly how you ended up in this situation.

“We really appreciate the fact that you’re doing this for us Y/N,” your Alpha father, Byung-hoon told you as he, you, and your mother Deiji waited on the edge of the Kim Pack’s territory.

“I told you that it’s fine Daddy,” you muttered, bouncing yourself up and down on the tips of your toes.

“Taking on this huge responsibility for our pack isn’t fine, but we’re grateful that you’re willing to do it,” Deiji said. Instead of answering her though, you decided to change the subject.

“Their territory really is beautiful,” you pointed out as you looked around, seeing multiple bushes of plum blossoms and azaleas. “At least I’ll have something pretty to look forward to once I move here.”

“That you will,” a deep voice added and when you turned around, you saw a large, muscular man walking towards you and following behind him was an almost equally tall woman who was easily one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life.

“Ah, hello Pack Alpha Ho-jin,” your father bowed and you and your mother followed his lead, holding the bow for a few seconds before straightening up again.

“Hello Pack Alpha Byung-hoon,” Ho-jin replied as he and the woman bowed as well. “This is my wife, Pack Omega Eun Kyung.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Eun Kyung smiled.

“This is my wife, Pack Omega Deiji and this is our daughter, Y/N,” Byung-hoon introduced.

“Hello,” Deiji smiled.

“Hello,” you echoed, even though your smile was a bit more forced than your mother’s.

“Oh, you are absolutely gorgeous,” Eun Kyung gushed as she stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing your hands. “Our son is a lucky man.”

“I’m sure that I am lucky as well, Pack Omega,” you replied.

“Please, call me Eun Kyung,” she corrected you. “I am going to be your mother-in-law soon.”

“Speaking of, where is Namjoon?” Your father wondered.

“He went off hunting with some of the other Alphas and Betas in our pack,” Ho-jin explained. “We plan on having a very big feast in order to celebrate their impending nuptials and he decided to go and try to find some extra meat.”

“Yeah, or to avoid meeting the wife that he doesn’t want,” you thought to yourself.

“He sounds like he’ll be an amazing provider and Alpha,” your mother smiled.

“Well, why don’t we all go into my office so that we can go over the terms and conditions of their marriage?” Ho-jin suggested before turning to look at you. “Y/N-ah, feel free to look around our territory and get a feel of the place. This will be your home soon, after all.”

“Of course,” you nodded. “Thank you.” After receiving a kiss on your head from your father and a pat on the hand from your mother, you watched silently as the four of them walk away together. As soon as they were out of sight, you let out a large rush of breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding. Even though you weren’t completely excited about this arrangement, your inner Omega wanted the parents of your future husband to like you and after meeting them, you were happy that you could seemingly not have that to worry about.

Deciding to take your future father-in-law’s advice, you walked away from the front of their territory and ventured around. You were amazed at how vast their territory seemed to be in comparison to your pack’s, large buildings and houses searching as far as your eyes could see. As you walked, you took notice of what seemed to be a schoolhouse, a building that seemed to be a sort of meeting hall, and even a building that looked like a store front with mannequins in the window.

The thing that caught your attention though, was a large archway that was covered in gorgeous magnolia flowers. When you stepped over to it, you gasped at what laid behind it: A large wall full of nothing but magnolias stood a few feet beyond the arch, a small bench placed in front of it.

“Gorgeous,” you whispered in awe as you stepped over to the wall, reaching out and gently touching the flowers.

“Who are you?” A deep voice called out and you jumped up a little, your heart almost beating out of your chest as you turned around to find the source of the voice. Standing right underneath the archway, was a tall, tan skinned man whose presence seemed to command attention.

“I-I’m Y/N L/N,” you replied, still feeling a little hesitant and the man’s eyes widened.

“You’re Y/N?” He wondered and you nodded your head. “Well, you’re a lot prettier than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You questioned.

“I’m Kim Namjoon,” he said, smiling at the soft gasp that escaped you. “Your future husband.”

“Oh,” was all you could utter in response because holy shit, your future husband was hot.

“Where are your parents?” Namjoon asked as he stepped closer to you. “I assume that you didn’t come here alone.”

“Um, they’re talking to your parents about the ‘terms and conditions’ of our marriage,” you told him and he scoffed out a laugh.

“Of course they are,” he chuckled as he took a seat on the small bench. “Well, I think that while they’re doing that, you and I should probably go over our own terms and conditions.”

“Our own?” You echoed as you sat down on the bench as well.

“Seeing as though we’re both fundamentally being forced into this, I figure that there’s things that you don’t want and that you do want,” he said.

“That’s..true, I guess,” you nodded. “You go first.”

“Well, seeing as though you weren’t raised in this pack, I’d like for you to learn the ways of the pack and just be a proper wife,” he began.

“I’ve been learning about your pack since the discussions of a possible arrangement started,” you told him. “I have to wonder though, what exactly is your definition of a ‘proper’ wife.”

“Basically, just keeping house, cooking and cleaning,” he elaborated. “As my father plans to step down once we’re married, I’ll be too busy running the pack.”

“Well, sorry to burst your bubble but I wasn’t raised to be a docile Omega and I don’t plan on becoming one once we’re married,” you huffed.

“Why not? I mean, surely you don’t expect to run the pack with me?” He laughed.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I expect,” you smiled.

“How can you expect to lead this pack when they don’t know you?” He asked.

“Since I’m going to be here for the rest of my life, then they’ll have every opportunity to get to know me,” you shrugged.

“We’ll talk more about that one later,” Namjoon sighed. “Anything that you wanted specifically?”

“I know that your pack is going to be providing aid to mines once we’re married and as much as I plan on being involved in this pack, I also hope that you don't expect me to never see my pack again,” you said.

“That’s the custom when you marry into another pack though,” Namjoon pointed out. “Plus, no offense or anything, but your pack is broke in terms of both money and resources and I don’t imagine there to be much to even go back to.”

“I am my parent’s only child and my pack is very close knit so I’d love to still be able to see them and for them to come see me,” you continued. “At least three or four times a year.”

“Alright, I guess that’s reasonable,” he relented. “Especially under these circumstances.”

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Oh, another thing,” he said suddenly. “I know that this marriage isn’t exactly something that either of us want but you cannot have any...uh, lovers on the side.”

“I’d never do something like that,” you frowned. “But I hope you know that the same goes for you.”

“That’s fine,” Namjoon nodded. “It’s not my style anyways.”

“In addition to that, I read your pack’s history and the whole taking more than one Omega as a wife thing isn’t going to fly with me,” you stated firmly.

“It’s tradition though,” he shot back. “Every leader of this pack throughout its’ history has had more than one spouse.”

“Your father doesn’t,” you pointed out.

“Because he didn’t want one.”

“And you do?” You demanded to know and Namjoon just chuckled.

“You really meant that whole not a docile Omega thing, huh?” He wondered and you nodded while smirking.

“You’re going to be Pack Alpha,” you said. “You have the authority to change tradition.”

“Fine, no additional Omegas,” he agreed. “I hope that means you’re going to be willing to have lots of pups then, since that’s what the whole multiple Omegas rule was for.”

“How many?”

“At least 5,” he replied and you just laughed.

“5 is a pretty big number coming from a man who’s not going to be pushing them out,” you giggled. “Two, at most.”

“Three?” Namjoon bargained and after thinking for a few seconds, you nodded your head.

“Deal,” you answered. “Anything else?”

“Just one more,” he added. “No roses at our wedding.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re overrated and cliché,” he shrugged.

“What about magnolias?” You asked. “Those are my favorites.”

“I like those,” he smiled.

“Well, it’s settled then,” you announced. “No roses.”

“You know, this marriage thing is easier than I thought,” Namjoon said thoughtfully, making you giggle at him. “Do you have anything else you wanted to bring up?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “I’m good.”

“Shake on it?” He extended his hand out to you and you let him grab onto yours, shaking each other’s hands.

“Namjoon?” A deep voice called out and Namjoon sighed heavily.

“That’s my dad,” Namjoon told you. “Should we head out there?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, standing up and waiting for Namjoon to do the same before the two of you walked back towards the front of their territory. As you did so, you couldn’t help but to Namjoon hadn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

“Ah, I see that the two of you met and are getting along!” Ho-jin announced happily.

“I’d say that we are,” Namjoon nodded as he looked down at you, and you nodded as well.

“Well, why don’t we all move into our house?” Eun Kyung suggested. “We can have dinner and get to each other more.” After receiving nods all around, the group of you began to move towards the large cluster of houses that were a few yards away from where you were currently standing. As you let Namjoon lead you, you thought that maybe all of this actually wouldn’t be so bad.

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

A few days later, your time visiting Namjoon’s pack was winding down. After the first day, your father had happily told you that the negotiations between him and Namjoon’s father went off without a hitch and that the wedding could move forward immediately so the last few days of your visit had been spent planning your wedding.

“So maybe you and Namjoon can have your ceremony closer to the evening?” Eun Kyung suggested. “So that way we can move right into the reception afterwards.” You, her and your mom were currently in the dining room of Ho-jin and Eun Kyung’s house, going over some wedding details.

“That’s a good idea,” Deiji concurred.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Having the ceremony around 5pm sounds good.”

“Great,” Eun Kyung smiled as she wrote some things down onto the notepad that was on the table in front of her. “A later ceremony will hopefully ease some of the anxiety you’ll have that day.”

“Anxiety?” You asked.

“About your wedding night,” Eun Kyung clarified and your eyes widened. “When Ho-jin and I got married, we had our ceremony in the early afternoon and I was so nervous waiting for the reception to come because I knew what was going to happen afterwards and I had never been to bed with anyone before.”

“Oh,” you murmured. Of course, you knew that it was expected that you’d have sex with Namjoon on your wedding night and if it were up to your parents and Namjoon’s parents, get pregnant immediately but you had done your best not to actually think about it.

“Anyways, I think maybe roses for the flowers,” Deiji changed the subject and you gave her a small smile in thanks.

“Oh, that would be gorgeous,” Eun Kyung gasped. “Namjoon’s grandmother actually has a garden full of red roses and I’m sure that she won’t mind us using some.”

“Actually, no roses,” you spoke up and both older women looked at you.

“I thought you liked roses, Y/N-ah,” Deiji said.

“I do, but Namjoon doesn’t,” you explained. “We agreed on magnolias instead.”

“You both agreed?” Deiji repeated and you nodded your head, making her smile. “That’s great.”

“You know, it’s so nice to see you actually trying to make the best of this whole thing Y/N,” Eun Kyung said. “I know it’s not ideal and you could be fighting this tooth and nail but the fact that you’re not says a lot about your character.”

“Thank you,” you smiled lightly.

“Alright, magnolias it is,” Eun Kyung muttered as she wrote that down onto her notepad as well. Before the conversation could continue any further though, there was a sudden knock and when you looked up, you saw Namjoon standing in the door way to the dining room.

“Hey, you all back from hunting so soon?” Eun Kyung wondered, referring to how Ho-jin, Namjoon, and Byung-hoon had decided to go off and hunt right after lunch.

“Animals weren’t really out,” Namjoon shrugged. “Dad wanted to show Pack Alpha Byung-hoon our warehouse and I decided to come back here to spend time with Y/N.”

“With me?” You echoed in awe and Namjoon nodded.

“I wanted to show you around a little more, if you’re willing,” he offered. Before answering, you looked over at your mother who immediately waved her hands at you.

“Go, go,” she encouraged you. “We’re here for another two days so we can pick this up again later. Right, Eun Kyung?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, turning to look at Namjoon after. “Show her the river.”

“I got it Mom,” Namjoon chuckled. “Y/N?”

“Sure,” you replied before standing up, walking over to Namjoon and grabbing his outstretched hand.

“We’ll be back by dinner,” he called out to your mothers before turning around and leading you through the living room and out of the house.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” you said as the two of you walked down the front steps and began to walk away from the cluster of houses. “All that wedding planning was starting to get to my head.”

“I figured, which is why I got out of there right after lunch,” Namjoon laughed. “But I also genuinely wanted to spend some time with you too. It feels like I haven’t had a moment alone with you since the first day you got here.”

“I think our families are making sure of that,” you pointed out. “I think they’re afraid that we may realize that we hate each other if they leave us alone together for too long.”

“I think that’s actually a great assumption,” he chuckled. “They don’t have to worry about that though, at least not on my end.”

“Mines either,” you murmured shyly. “So, where are you taking me?”

“Well, even though my mom suggested that I take you to the river, I think that there’ll be plenty of time for you to see that later,” he told you. “I actually want to show you something that I’ve been working on.”

“Cool,” you nodded as the two of you continued to walk and you noticed that he was still holding onto your hand. On their territory, there were a few different clusters of houses and Namjoon was leading you over to a different one, stopping in front of what seemed to be the largest house.

“What do you think?” Namjoon asked and you took a second to look over the outside, liking how it was painted a light brown color, had a large porch that already had a swing attached to the ceiling of it, and a large set of stairs.

“I think it’s beautiful,” you smiled. “You built this?”

“Yeah, for us,” he revealed and you looked over at him in shock. “What? I hope you didn’t think we’d be living with my parents once the wedding is over.”

“Namjoon, I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured in awe.

“Want to take a look inside?” Namjoon wondered, reaching down and pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. You nodded your head rapidly and he chuckled before leading you up the stairs and unlocking the front door. Walking inside, you let out another soft gasp as you looked around.

As soon as you walked into the front door, there was a little open space which could be used to place your shoes and jackets and then a staircase that led upstairs to the second level of the house. On your left hand side, there was an archway that lead into the dining room and kitchen and then on your right hand side, there was another archway that lead into the living room and another room that Namjoon said he planned on converting into a study. Once you went upstairs, you saw that there were a total of five bedrooms and the master bedroom was the largest and complete with an en suite as well.

“I love it,” you gushed as you turned to look at Namjoon, who was leaning up against one of the walls in what would soon be your shared bedroom.

“I thought I’d leave the decorating up to you,” he said. “That way you’ll have control over something here.”

“Good, because I already have ideas,” you grinned, deciding to throw caution to the wind and walking over to him, not waiting for him to ask what you were doing before throwing your arms around him. He hesitated for a second before hugging you back as well, and the two of you stood there for a few seconds with your arms around each other.

“I’m happy that you like it,” he whispered and you craned your neck in order to look up at him.

“I really appreciate it,” you told him.

“Anything for my future wife,” he smiled and it was when he said that that you realized how close the two of you still were. You dropped your arms from around him and stepped back, forcing him to let go of you as well. Feeling your cheeks warm up from embarrassment, you turned your back towards him and walked over towards the window to look outside.

“You know Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Namjoon began. “Why did you agree to all of this?”

“What, marrying you?” You asked for clarification and Namjoon nodded.

“I mean, I know the basic reason why but I feel like there’s more to it than that,” he said. “A lot of packs run out of money and resources at some point but their leaders usually figure something out instead of marrying off their children in return for more resources.”

“True,” you sighed before turning to look at him over your shoulder. “Long story short, I don’t want my pack to die out just because of my father’s mismanagement. I love every member of my pack and they have all been so vital to how I grew up and how I’ve become the person that I am. If me marrying into another pack will guarantee that those people can continue to live comfortably, then I’ll do it.”

“That’s incredibly selfless,” Namjoon replied as he walked over to stand next to you.

“I guess so,” you shrugged. “But to me, I’m just repaying the people who gave me so much.”

“That’s amazing Y/N,” he muttered.

“What about you?” You reversed the question. “Why did you agree to this?”

“Well, my reasoning was a lot more selfish than yours,” he chuckled. “It’s always been my dream to lead the pack and when my father came to me a few months ago saying that he was getting ready to want to step down, I was super excited. However, it concerned him that I’m 26 and not mated to anyone yet so he made it a stipulation that I meet someone and get mated before he allows me to take over for him. Since I planned on getting married at some point in my life, that stipulation really didn’t matter to me so I agreed.”

“Ah, I guess that explains why you weren’t too keen on me wanting to run the pack with you,” you said.

“Kind of,” he shrugged. “Although, after hearing why you agreed to all of this, I have to admit that I’m reconsidering that.”

“Really?” You smiled hopefully.

“Of course, you’ll still have to get to know the pack and our ways,” he pointed out. “But I don’t think it would be the worst thing to have you by my side.”

“Great!” You exclaimed happily and Namjoon couldn’t help but to laugh from how excited you clearly were.

“Do you want to go look in the other bedrooms?” He suggested. “Maybe see what you might want to do with them?”

“Mm, we don’t have to. I don’t want to overwhelm myself,” you giggled. “Why did you make so many bedrooms anyways?”

“Well, for our future children,” he confessed and you felt your cheeks immediately become hotter.

“Oh,” you whispered.

“Is that ok?” Namjoon wondered. “I know it might’ve been a little presumptuous of me, especially since I did it before we had our conversation about what we both wanted the other day.”

“No, no, no, it’s....it’s fine,” you shrugged.

“Oh, I get it,” he smirked. “You haven’t been with anyone, have you?”

“Namjoon!” You shouted in surprise.

“You’re nervous,” he surmised.

“Can you blame me?” You scoffed. “I mean, it’s already embarrassing to have basically everyone know that I’m a virgin but knowing what’s expected of us on our wedding night....it’s nerve wrecking.”

“It’s not that big of a deal Y/N,” he shrugged.

“Aren’t you nervous?” You asked him, only to see him shake his head. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve thought about filling you with my knot since the first day that I saw you,” Namjoon confessed. “So if you let me have sex with you on our wedding night, I’d consider myself to be a very lucky man.”

“Really?” You whispered.

“Of course, but I’m not going to push you,” he told you. “If you deicide that you don’t want to, then that’s completely fine. If you do though, just know that I’ll be more willing.”

“Good to know, I guess,” you muttered, more so to yourself but Namjoon still laughed at you.

“Cute,” he smiled widely as he reached down and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

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

A month later, your wedding day had finally come. After spending a week in Namjoon’s territory, you and your parents had traveled back to your pack’s territory where you prepared for the wedding alone. The only other time that you were able to see Namjoon had been when he and his parents decided to visit your territory in order to sign the treaty that would make the connection between your two packs official.

Fast forward to now, you were standing in the guest bedroom of Namjoon’s parents’ house, getting ready with your mom and your two best friends.

“I really wish you would’ve let me make you a more form fitting dress Y/N-ah,” Taehyung sighed as he pullzed up the zipper on the back of your dress. Your dress was pure white, with long billowing sleeves, a scooped neckline, and a loose, long skirt with a small train.

“You know that I hate tight clothing,” you pointed out. “This feels more like me.”

“And you look beautiful,” Jimin spoke up, taking a second to stick his tongue out at Taehyung.

“That you do,” Deiji grinned widely as she placed a crown of magnolias on top of your head. “You look like a dream.”

“Thanks Mommy,” you giggled. Just then, there was a sudden knock on the door.

“Everyone decent in there?” Your father called out and Jimin walked over to the door and opened it up, making your father gasp when he saw you.

“Oh Y/N-ah,” he murmured as he paced over to you, setting his hands on your cheeks. “My baby girl.”

“What do you think?” You asked him.

“I think that Namjoon is a very lucky man to be marrying such a gorgeous woman,” Byung hoon replied, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You ready? There’s still time to back out and we can always figure something else out.”

“I’m not gonna do that Daddy,” you huffed with a smile, reaching out and taking the bouquet of magnolias that Taehyung was handing to you. “I’m gonna do this.”

“We can’t thank you enough,” your father murmured and you just leaned forward, giving him a kiss on the cheek as well.

“What’s done is done,” you said. “So don’t stress about it.”

“Well, let’s go get you married,” Taehyung smiled as he reached up and pulled your veil down over your face.

“Let’s,” you whispered as you wrapped your hand around your father’s arm and let him lead you out of the bedroom.

The ceremony was an unrushed affair once you met Namjoon underneath the little archway that had been placed near the large wall of magnolias where the two of you had first met. You found yourself not even paying much attention to what was happening during the ceremony and before you knew it, you were facing Namjoon as the preacher pronounced you man and wife.

It wasn’t the first time that you’d ever been kissed, but it still felt different all the same. Namjoon was so gentle as he reached out and grabbed the hem of your veil, lifting it up and over your head to reveal your face. He then placed his hands on your cheeks, cradling them as he leaned forward and kissed you softly. You found yourself kissing back on instinct, your hands reaching out and grabbing onto his suit jacket.

The reception was definitely more fun than you imagined it to be. The food was amazing and so was the music, and you couldn’t help but to smile at how everyone in your new pack danced around happily as they celebrated your marriage. You found yourself having fun as well as you allowed Eun Kyung and Ho-jin to lead you around, introducing you to some members of the pack as well as spending time with your own family and friends as well.

Now that the night was over though, you were quietly walking back to your new house with Namjoon, which had been decorated to your liking.

“Did you have fun?” Namjoon asked and you looked over at him, nodding your head.

“I did,” you smiled. “Your pack sure knows how to throw a party.”

“It’s your pack now too,” he pointed out and you hummed in reply. Once your new house came into view, Namjoon helped you walk up the front steps before pulling out his keys and unlocking the front door.

“Wait,” he said when you moved to step into the house and before you could ask what he was doing, he leant down and picked you up bridal style.

“Namjoon!” You shrieked as he carried you into the house and you reached out to shut the front door for him. He then carried you up the stairs and into your bedroom before setting you down on the ground.

“What was that?” You giggled as you looked up at him.

“Well, I couldn’t let you be deprived of a prime wedding experience,” he shrugged, making you smile. A somewhat awkward silence then settled over the two of you then and it wasn’t until then that you felt your nerves kick in. You had been successful in not thinking much about your wedding night for the past few weeks but now that the two of you were alone, it was all that you could think about.

“You know,” Namjoon spoke up suddenly. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“Namjoon, we talked about this,” you replied.

“We did and I meant what I said then,” he said. “We don’t have to do anything just because people might expect us to.”

“Really?”

“Really. Plus, it’s kind of insulting if you only have sex with me because you’re expected to,” he joked, making you giggle.

“You have a point,” you smiled. “What if I said that I wanted to though, because I want to?”

“Do you remember what else I said to you when we had that conversation?” He wondered and you felt your cheeks warm up immensely as you recalled his words.

“Yes.”

“What did I say baby?”

“You said that you, uh, wanted to....uh,” you stammered and Namjoon smiled, deciding to take pity on you.

“I said that I wanted to fill you with my knot,” he finished for you. “And I still mean that.”

“You’ll be gentle?” You checked.

“Absolutely,” he stated firmly. “And I’ll go as slow as you need me to.” You knew that this was a big step, losing your virginity. However, something about Namjoon made you feel so at ease and besides, he was your husband now.

“I want to,” you announced, causing him to grin widely.

“Can I kiss you?” He requested and you nodded your head. He reached up and placed his hands on your cheeks before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. You immediately moved closer to him, placing your hands near his waist. He then took one of his hands off of your cheek and before you could ask what he was doing, he reached up and took the crown of magnolias off your head before throwing it over his shoulder.

“Someone seems eager,” you teased.

“You have no idea,” Namjoon chuckled deeply. He kissed you again, this time much deeper as he walked you backwards towards the bed. Once you felt the edge of the bed hit the back of your knees, you pulled away from his lips and looked up at him.

“Help me take this off?” You whispered, taking a second to turn around so that your back was facing him. Without any hesitation, he reached out and pulled down the zipper on the back of your dress. The feeling of his fingertips against your skin made you shiver and when your dress dropped down to the floor in a pool around your feet, the feeling of his eyes on you made you get chills.

“Did you wear this for me?” Namjoon asked before leaning forward and pressing kisses along the curve of your shoulder, referring to the white, lace bra and panty set that you had been wearing underneath your dress.

“Maybe,” you breathed out, his lips on your skin making it hard for you to focus.

“Gorgeous. Lay down for me?” He said and you nodded before bending down and crawling onto the bed. When you flipped over to lie on your back, Namjoon was working on taking off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the white dress shirt that he had underneath.

“You still ok?” He checked in as he climbed onto the bed as well and you smiled as you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I’m ok,” you confirmed, leaning up and kissing him again. The kiss quickly became heated, your mouth falling open as Namjoon slipped his tongue inside. He then pulled away from your mouth, moving down to press kisses to your jaw before moving down to your neck.

“Been thinking about this, about you,” he whispered against your skin and you just blushed as you looked up at the ceiling.

“About me?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed. “Been thinking about your scent too.”

“What do I smell like to you?” You wondered, doing your best to keep your eyes trained on the ceiling as you felt him start to move down again.

“Like...pineapples and bananas,” he murmured as he grabbed the cups of your bra, pulling them down so that they sat right underneath your breasts. He then leaned down and sucked your right nipple into his mouth, making you arch your back up from the bed.

“Holy, huh,” you moaned and Namjoon chuckled at you, which automatically made you pout. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized after popping your nipple out of his mouth. “You’re just so cute.” You couldn’t find the words to say anything else because Namjoon reached underneath you and you lifted your back up so that he could take your bra off completely, and he didn’t waste any time before taking your left nipple into his mouth.

Once both of your nipples had stiffened to a peak, he moved downwards again, trailing his lips across your skin until he made it down to the line of your panties.

“Lift up for me?” Namjoon asked and slowly, you lifted your hips and waited until he had grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down before lowering your body back onto the bed. Once he pulled them off of your legs and threw them off the bed, you watched as he sat his hands on your knees and looked down at you.

“Still good?” He wondered.

“Seriously, stop asking,” you giggled. “I’m nervous as hell but I want to do this so I’m good.”

“I just, you know you can tell me to stop at anytime and I will, right?”

“I know, and that’s why I want this,” you smiled. “Want you to give me a bite.”

“Fuck, ok,” he exhaled harshly. “I want to eat you out first though.”

“Ok,” you nodded and you allowed him to push your knees apart, exposing your folds to him. He laid down on the bed so that he was right in between your legs, and you let out a loud gasp when you felt his tongue make contact with your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to make slow circles around your clit and even though he wasn’t placing a lot of pressure behind it, you felt like you were going to lose your mind.

“Holy shit, that feels...good,” you huffed and you felt Namjoon hum against you as he closed his entire mouth around your clit. The feeling was almost euphoric, and you couldn’t believe that you had been missing out on this for the last few years since you presented as an Omega.

“I’m gonna give you a finger ok?” Namjoon spoke up after taking his mouth off of you and you nodded, wincing lightly when he began to push his pointer finger inside of you. He then began to slowly pump the digit in and out of you, which made you moan lightly.

“Feels good?” He asked.

“Yeah. Weird but good,” you told him.

“Good,” he smirked. “You’re getting wet.”

“Don’t say that,” you groaned.

“Why not? It’s a good thing,” he shrugged. “It’ll make it easier for you to take my knot.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Good thing you’re stuck with me,” he smiled before leaning down and taking your clit back into his mouth. As he fingered and licked you simultaneously, you found it a little harder to breathe because of the pleasure that was building in the pit of your stomach.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” you hissed when he tried to ease his middle finger inside of you.

“It’s ok baby, we just gotta get you stretched out a little bit,” he whispered and you just decided to be quiet and let him do it. Admittedly, you admired how much time he was taking making sure that you were properly ready and it made your heart soften because you had never had a man (other than your father) be so gentle with you.

“Namjoon, I-I think I’m going to come,” you whimpered and Namjoon took his mouth off of your clit for a few seconds.

“Go ahead baby,” he encouraged you before placing his mouth back on you. Sure enough, it didn’t take much longer before your body seized up, your orgasm washing over you. Namjoon continued to stroke you through it and by the time that it passed, you were reaching down and pushing him away from you.

“Holy shit, that felt good,” you giggled, making Namjoon laugh as well.

“That’s good,” He replied as he sat up onto his knees. When your eyes trailed downwards, they widened a little at the sight of the bulge in his pants.

“Should I, um,” you stammered as you motioned towards his pants and he looked down, chuckling before looking back up at you.

“You don’t have to and besides, seeing you come turned me on and I doubt I’d last,” he admitted.

“Oh, ok,” you smiled shyly. He then pulled off the dress shirt that he had on, letting it fall onto the floor before moving onto his slacks, unbuttoning and unzipping them before pulling them down. He pushed them, along with his underwear, down his legs and your jaw dropped a little from the sight of his cock.

You didn’t know what you expected, but you definitely didn’t expect his cock to be so thick and long. You had to admit, actually seeing it made you even more nervous.

“Hey,” Namjoon called out and you looked up at him. “It’ll be ok. I’m still going to go slow.”

“O-Ok,” you whispered as he climbed between your legs. He reached out with two fingers and gathered some of your slickness from your orgasm before using it to lubricate his cock.

“Ready?” He questioned as he positioned his cock right in front of your entrance and once you nodded, he slowly began to push into you. The stinging pain hit you immediately and you yelped out loud, reaching up and clutching onto Namjoon’s forearms. “Y/N?”

“Hurts,” you muttered through grit teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, bending down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He didn’t try to push any further, he waited until you gave him a small nod before pressing his hips forward again. You were almost ready to tell him to forget the entire thing as the stinging pain seemed to become worse the more he pushed into you. Before you knew it though, he had bottomed out and was looking down at you intensely.

“What?” You asked him.

“You just, you look so beautiful,” he complimented you.

“Are you just saying that because you’re inside of me right now?” You joked.

“I mean it,” he laughed.

“Well, thank you,” you responded and he leaned down to kiss you again. He then slowly pulled his hips back before pushing back in, which caused you to let out a stuttered moan into his mouth. The pain was still thee but as he began to fuck you, it slowly went away and was replaced by what was probably the greatest pleasure that you had ever felt in your life up to that point.

“So tight baby,” Namjoon grunted after he pulled away from the kiss.

“F-feels so full,” you whimpered.

“Good. I’m gonna fill you even more with my knot,” he said gruffly as he looked down at you. “You want that?”

“Yes.”

“Say it,” he instructed you.

“I-I want your.....k-knot,” you stuttered and he literally groaned at your words. He began to fuck you a little faster, making you grip onto him and wrap your legs around his waist.

“Been thinking about this,” he moaned. “Been thinking about how good you would feel wrapped around my cock.”

“Me t-too,” you confessed.

“Fuck, you’ve been thinking about me baby?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Since you told me that you wanted to...fill me with your, uh, knot. Thought about you calling me baby too.”

“You like it?” He smiled.

“Love it.”

“Then I’ll call you that as often as I can,” he promised. He continued to fuck you, and you realized that you were feeling the same buildup of pressure that you did when he was fingering you.

“I-I’m gonna come Namjoon,” you announced breathily and he sighed.

“Thank god,” he huffed as he began to thrust into you both faster and harder, and your grip on him became so tight that you were sure you’d leave marks on his skin. “I wanna knot you so fucking bad.”

“Do it,” you encouraged him. “Want you to bite me too.”

“Come first,” he shot back as he focused all of his energy into making sure that you did so. After a few more thrusts, you were coming right onto his cock, your essence covering more of his cock every time that he pulled it out and then pushed it right back in.

“Ready for a bite?” He asked and you nodded your head numbly. Leaning down, he stuck his face in your neck and began to suck on the skin there. As soon as you released a moan at the feeling, you felt his teeth sink in.

You had heard a lot about mating bites and how it would feel when you finally received one, but you could truthfully say that the feeling was indescribable. You truly felt like you were now connected to Namjoon in a way that you had never been connected with any one before and the feeling was almost so overwhelming that you almost didn’t recognize that Namjoon’s knot was pushing its’ way inside of you.

“God damn,” Namjoon groaned deeply as his knot fully popped into you, and you gasped when you felt his cum pouring into you right after. You leaned up and after finding the perfect spot, you sunk your teeth into his neck as well, giving him a mating bite too.

Namjoon collapsed on top of you and the two of you stayed like that for a while, at least 15 minutes, basking in the after glow of your new matching mating bites.

“No offense or anything,” you spoke up. “But you’re heavy and it’s hot in here.”

“Some offense taken,” he laughed as he lifted himself off of you. “My knot has gone down but it’s gonna hurt when I pull out.”

“Go slow, ok?” You requested and he nodded, looking down in between your legs and slowly pulling out of you. It did hurt a little and you even winced a little bit, but it wasn’t that bad all in all.

“Y/N-ah?” He called as he laid down next to you and you gently turned over onto your side to face him.

“What happened to baby?” You simpered with a teasing smile, making him chuckle.

“I’m still gonna call you that,” he assured you. “But I wanted to talk to you seriously.”

“Ok, shoot,” you shrugged.

“I know that you didn’t necessarily choose all of this and neither did I, but I don’t want you to worry,” he began. “I take this marriage and this relationship just as seriously as if we met in the conventional sense and I really mean it when I say that I can see myself falling in love with you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he smiled. “Even though we haven’t known each other long, I can already tell that you’re kind, selfless, loving, and the most gorgeous woman that I’ve ever met in my life. I’d only be so lucky if you fell in love with me.”

“Well, I think that I can fall in love with you too,” you confessed, making him grin widely. “And I hope that I do.”

#BAspringwillcome #bangtanarmynet #bts #bts namjoon #bts rm #abo bts #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #rm smut #rm angst #rm fluff #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst

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kawaiijohn · 3 years

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Rewind, Rinse, Repeat Chapter 1

For Invisobang Minibang 2021

Ao3 Link

Chapters: 3 finished, 12 total Rating: T+ Warnings: Major and Minor Character Death- all temporary, Implied Child Abuse/Neglect, Strong Language, Mild Body Horror, Mild Injury. Other warnings listed by chapter Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton, Pariah Dark, Levi | Leviathan (OC), Mal (OC), Observants, Mentions of other characters Ships: Lost Time, Dark Ages, CW & OC child, CW & Levi | Leviathan (OC) Genre/Tropes: Human AU, Magic AU, Found Family, Character Origin, Hurt/Comfort, Original Magic System and Lore Additional Tags: Existentialism & Existential Angst, Memory Loss & Amnesia, Corruption, Clockwork Centric, They/Them Pronouns for Clockwork, The Fenton's A+ Parenting, Obersvant Bashing

Summary

“Clockwork can I ask you something? How did you become a ghost?”

The tale surrounding the mystery of Clockwork's existence; a world where magic is common and ghosts are not. A world where one lonely, average mage tries with all their might to save what means most to them. A world where things need to be remade into something better.

Shout out to my betas @bibliophilea and @moonlights-shadow-warrior for keeping me sane, @13thdoodle for letting me use their OC, Levi, @dailudannos and @sailor-toni for providing art for later chapters, and all the folks over at @invisobang for being awesome!!!!

Chapter One below the Cut. The rest is available on my Ao3 account because tumblr linking/posting is hella broken.

Chapter 1: An Inquiry

“Hey, Clockwork? Can I ask you something?”

Clockwork looks over from the mirror they were watching intently. “You already have, Daniel,” they reply, offering the other a smirk.

“Oh, ha ha. You've never said that to me before.” The reply is filled to the brim with sarcasm, as per usual. Danny rolls his eyes, but a small smile gracing his lips betrays the fact he isn't annoyed in the least. “Seriously, though. It’s something that's been on my mind like... every day for the last two weeks!!" He raises his hands towards the sky, flopping back in the air dramatically. "But... it's kinda, y'know. Personal-” Danny trails off, slightly embarrassed.

Of course. Clockwork finds themself smiling fondly- Danny thought he’d said something he shouldn't have- an inquiry that could make his guardian upset (as if it's even possible to upset Clockwork like that). A question is a question, and this is a worrying habit of his that the Time Master is trying to help break, even if it's still somewhat endearing to them.

“I uh, I mean... it’s personal about- to you, not to me. That’s what I meant!!” Danny continued.

Clockwork stares at him, unblinking. An idea (or thousands) of what he may ask flashes through their mind’s eye. With a single, calming pulse to their Core, Clockwork pushes the involuntary slideshow of timelines aside as if they're no more than curtains. They need to focus on the window in front of them; the here and now, not the temporal drapery.

It's a habit they are trying to overcome for Daniel’s sake. To ensure their ward's growth, they need to stop peering into the near future as often- not discourage his asking of questions. After all, what is a child if not but a well of endless curiosity? Cutting Danny off is also sure to disallow the development of any trust or patience Clockwork needs to build within their young ward. They wouldn’t receive either of those things if they assume what he wanted to ask.

It's common decency to not assume, lest it ‘make an ass out of you and me’, according to Daniel.

It is going to be a tough habit to break, but by the (other) Ancients, they're trying their best. Their ward deserves the infinitesimal choices all other children have when asking things of their guardians, so even if they do glimpse to the future, they will not mention it to him. Clockwork refuses and will continue to refuse to take their ward’s agency away; to not have a choice in things is a fate worse than fading.

The boy has been quiet, stuck deep within his own thoughts even after an impressive five minutes and thirty-seven and a half seconds of silence (uncharacteristic of the boy, Clockwork notes).

Now that just won't do- he must have lost his train of thought. Clockwork gestures at the ghost boy, motioning for him to continue. It works- Danny adverting his eyes and clearing his throat, "Well, it’s just like- you know so much about me- like, how I died, the whole Ghost Zone Prince business, that entire disaster doomed timeline with Dan... I just keep thinking- no- realizing, that I barely know anything about you!!” He throws his arms up in thinly veiled frustration.

Clockwork smirks. “You had another question, did you not?” They place a hand along the edge of the closest Temporal Mirror, turning to face the mirror- still halfway facing Danny. They can see his inner debate clearly written on the boy's face- the mirror reflecting as if it were an ordinary object (for now). They turn towards it fully and watch Daniel's reaction from behind them, acting as if they aren't finding joy in their ward's hesitation. It's always adorable when he tries not to offend Clockwork. "I may be able to work with time, but that doesn't mean I wish to float here waiting for an answer all day."

Danny blinks a few times, rolling his eyes again in response. Clockwork is certain that if they weren’t secured to his skull by human musculature they’d fall out and roll away. “Well, I’m sorry for trying not to be rude and like, asking outright... but since it’s you I have to always be super direct!! Jeeze you’re frustrating sometimes!” He floats towards his mentor, crossing his arms.

Danny often forgets Clockwork isn't easily upset over trivial things such as questions. Most questions are about things they already know the answers to, anyways. And the few things that they don’t know when asked, they figure out soon after. Such is the duty of the Master of Time- to be a step ahead of everyone and everything else always. Besides, in most timelines (68.3% of them, to round up) the question Daniel wishes to ask is along the lines of ‘What was your past like?’ Another small fraction (a little under 20%) the question is ‘How did you get so strong?’ . And even in the remaining timelines, the question would be along the lines of ‘How do your time powers work?’

They are each things Clockwork expects Daniel to ask them at some point or other, as it were. There isn’t really anything Daniel can ask that could be too shockin-

“Clockwork, I was wondering… how exactly did you become a ghost?”

They... did not see that coming… in any of the timelines they’d glimpsed. Clockwork stills for only a fraction of a moment, but it’s long enough for Danny to flinch, feeling as if he’s crossed a line. They hear more than see Daniel shrinking in on himself as they look off into nothing, buried memories waking slowly in their mind.

Clockwork is brought from their introspection by a mumbled curse. “Shit! I mean... uh crap??" They just stare at Danny as they are brought back to the present. "Never mind just... sorry for asking... Oh man! Did I offend you somehow? Ancients dammit, this is what I was worried about!!” They watch him curiously, soft whirring coming from their ward's anxious core. “We can just forget about it if-” Daniel’s hands wring together nervously, shoulders tense with worry and face full of guilt.

Right- facial expressions are also important for a young ghost's emotional communication and development. Sometimes the Time Master wonders if their isolation in Long Now affected their social behavior (it did). Their face is carefully blank most times, so they set to fix it- they offer a small grin, hand coming to rest on Daniel’s shoulder. “It is more than fine, Daniel. You asked if you could ask a question- which is in fact, two questions, I should note- but I gave you consent to ask it of me.” They squeeze his shoulder to placate the worry.

“It’s about time I told you this story, as it were. I just did not foresee it being told at this very moment." Clockwork floats slowly, turning away from their Mirrors. "Come along- it’s best we sit for this. I’ll have one of your friends bring us some tea.”

Danny floats after his mentor, looking around the room the two normally use to study history of the Realms. “So, uh… is it a long story or...?”

“Oh, it is very long, indeed.” They fly through an ornate door and over to their favored 'chair'- a stack of comfortable cushions in violets and blues, both impossibly cool and warm at the same time. They recall Daniel discovering the room, eyes full of wonder and posture relaxed. Clockwork chuckles- the first time their boy had wandered in here he'd decided to take a running dive into the pile, jumping up in surprise when it was cold as ice, yet warm as fresh laundry. The expression on their ward’s face is one of their fondest memories; a happy moment amongst all the tedium of watching time.

“It may take a while to tell this tale proper. But, it is a story that ought to be told.” Daniel makes himself comfortable on his chair of choice- an unholy combination of 'borrowed' pillows and what appears to be a more modern gaming chair- complete with an obnoxiously bright green-black color scheme. Clockwork has to hide another smile as Danny wiggles himself deep into the pile. “So, Daniel- what do you know of the phrase ‘Totems of Power’?”

“I thought I was getting a story, not a pop quiz! Unfair!!” His disdain for schooling makes Clockwork laugh fondly before the boy continues. “But they’re like… hmm how do I explain this? Well, there’s the universe right? Like every timeline and every result of every timeline all at the same time kind of ties into the main universe thingy- but there's still a main timeline, and that's kinda like... Main Street, and the other possible timelines are uh... like side streets with dead ends? But there's other forces that like, aren't time and… uhhh...”

He hums, crossing his arms deep in thought. Clockwork takes the time to purr-sing-hum at one of the many blobs floating in and out of their lair; Daniel had asked them to keep some around as pets and the Time Master was happy to oblige. They were unable to deny something so beneficial to the young Prince, after all. The one deemed ‘Mr. Pants’ by one of Daniel’s friends answers their call. Clockwork buzzes to it a quiet request- ‘bring Daniel's favorite tea and mugs for two, please.’ The little thing chirrups and zips off through the walls- eager to serve the Lair’s owner and be (potentially) rewarded with pats (from Daniel).

The Time Master brings their undivided attention back toward a grumbling ghost boy, lost in thought. “Daniel if you need to ask for help I’m glad to-”

Danny snaps his fingers, coming to a realization before his mentor can finish. “I got it!! The best way to explain it is ‘The Universe needs to run smoothly, so there’s certain forces- like Time or Space- that are upheld by a powerful entity, like a person or like… the avatar of that concept? Yeah, something like that, but they ensure the aspect they represent is properly cared for so the universe doesn’t completely like, die.’” Danny nods to himself. "It's why you stepped in to stop Dan, to make sure the world didn't end like that."

“That is correct- it is my job to ensure this universe of ghosts and reality doesn't crumble prematurely. Now, do you have a recollection of any other Totems you may have encountered?”

“Well, yeah! We call them ‘Ancients’, though- so like… Pandora is the one for war and history, and Nocturn is for like… dreams? The Void or something, maybe? And then there’s old man Pariah who isn’t one, but he said there’s a Leadership Ancient somewhere, and then-” Danny pauses, blinking at Clockwork in realization. “Wait, you asked that for a reason, didn’t you?”

“That I did. Becoming the Totem, or Ancient of Time is where this story starts.” Clockwork hums, seeing Mr. Pants fly back towards the two- nearly spilling scalding tea all over the ground. “Now then. We have drinks. We are sitting comfortably. I believe it’s time I spin my tale for you.” They take a sip, closing their eyes in bliss.

They open them once more and see Daniel sitting, eyes full of stars and eager- Eager to hear, eager to fire off a question a minute. It makes a chuckle bubble up in their throat, to see their favorite person so excited to learn.

“Once upon a time, there was a human; average in most ways, a simple person living a simple life. They would get up in the morning, perform their daily tasks, and go to sleep at night. Day in, and day out- a boring, but fulfilling existence.

“However, where this story differs from what we recognize as reality, is that in this realm, humans who could control magic were the norm. Think as if it were like one of those fantasy games you and Tucker play together- mages, healers… all of those and more were commonplace when I was alive. Yes, humans can wield magic now, but it is nowhere near as frequent as they could in our tale.”

They pause, seeing that Danny was about to interrupt. “Wait wait- this realm? Like- this is a completely different reality?? And people can wield magic now??? Are you messing with me? Like… I thought it was all just-” The boy stops, his train of thought drifting off the tracks as it tends to now and then.

“Yes, first, this is a completely different realm from either the Mortal Plane or the Ghost Zone. Second, Daniel- tell me... have you not noticed the magic of those you have encountered? Blood blossoms… a reality warping gauntlet? The existence that is ‘Freakshow’ in general should be a red flag, seeing as his talents were… strangely non-ghostly in origin. Not to mention objects such as the Infi-map...”

“Man, I wish I could forget about Freakshow… who mind controls ghosts??? He was the worst!” Their young ward crossed his arms and grumbles.

“If you’re done sulking about your past misadventures and former foes, I was in the middle of telling a story, if I recall correctly. One you asked I tell you…” Clockwork simply stares, unblinking as steam wafts from their slowly cooling tea.

All is well, they knew Danny would only take approximately 4.85 seconds to snap his attention back to their story. Clockwork sips their tea, waiting.

Danny snaps out of his thoughts only a millisecond off of Clockwork's prediction. “Sorry... it’s just super weird to think that magic actually… still exists? Like ghosts are real and all but magic being a thing feels a bit far fetched, don’t ya think?” He pouts, brow furrowed.

The Master of Time finally closes their eyes, removing the hood from their head. White hair floats gracefully behind them, settling just past their shoulders. Clockwork opens their eyes again- a serious, yet warm expression directed at their ward. “Magic is simply defined as reality altering acts using both energy and the willpower of a sentient being, if that helps.” Another sip. Mr. Pants made a wonderful batch of tea, as always. They smile wider when they notice Danny’s expression- the boy has never seen them without a hood, and they know doing this will (in 99.78% of all possible timelines) convince the boy to take what they said seriously. ”Just as ghosts can be defined as ‘ectoplasm given form and consciousness’, forces beyond humanity and the physical realm can be explained with scientific terminology if you know where to look.”

“So like... what all did magic have to do with this ‘simple human’ version of you? Did you ever have the power to shoot lightning?? Could I shoot lightning if I tried? Like were you some sorta time wizard? Is that why you’re all… timey-wimey and powerful?” Danny wiggles his fingers with a look of confusion on his face.

Clockwork always finds their Core warming when their boy acts his age. He's abnormally prone to shoulder the destiny of the world on himself and often forgets he's just a kid. “You could continue asking questions one at a time, or you could allow me to tell my story. The choice is yours, Daniel.” They smirk, watching as Danny purses his lips, his steady flow of questions stopping short. The best answer. “Perfect- all is as I thought it would be.”

They close their eyes and reminisce as they continue. “Now- to answer your last question… Yes. You could say magic is how I came to be the Master of Time in both the Infinite Realms and the mortal plane, but there is much more to the story than that. Other players, situations, and pure circumstances. The universe in its infinite chances and possibilities brought myself, as well as many others to the situations they face here and now.” Clockwork pauses, taking the moment to stare straight through Danny’s soul. “Even yourself.”

The boy shudders, an appropriate response. “Wait... me? Did you… do something in the past to like… a past version of someone we know?? Can that even happen???” Danny is already enraptured by the story, eyes twinkling as his mentor opens up about themself. The boy is obviously thinking about everything that has happened, everything that could possibly have happened, and everything that Clockwork could possibly drop on him.

They feel Daniel cautiously tug on loose strands of time to see if he could possibly scope out what is about to be said, quickly failing to do much else beside give himself a small headache. “Time stuff is still really confusing, Clockwork…”

“You could say that. You could even say that trying to mess with time in the inner sanctum of Long Now is the most confusing ‘time stuff’ one could do if they were not myself.” They grin- a Temporal Mirror appearing behind them with a thought.

“What’s the mirror for?” Danny catches sight of himself and looks away, embarrassed that he’s been literally glowing with power after trying to do something so simple with his developing powers. The glow is something he’s been working on suppressing recently. After all, it would be a shame if other ghosts could see the boy powering up by aura alone.

The Master of Time smirks, bringing tea to their lips again. “I thought it would be fun to attempt braiding my hair and doing my makeup for once. It has been an awfully long time since I’ve done either.”

They stare at Danny who just bursts into laughter. “Did you just use sarcasm??? Man, I didn’t know you could lighten up, Clockwork!” The boy laughs harder, sinking deeper into his nest of pillows. After a few minutes he was finally wiping tears from his eyes. “But no. Seriously… what’s the mirror for??”

“Why, what they are always for, Daniel- seeing through time and space.” Clockwork waves their hand. The mirrors show an image of a human with dark hair and burgundy eyes. They have a large, hooked nose and medium brown skin- and Danny finds himself having a hard time guessing their gender. The human sits at a desk, paused in time with the delicate gears of a clock sprawled along the desk surface, tools in hand.

Behind Clockwork, the image changes, showing the human living through an average day- images play in small spurts, never showing the whole story. “Do you understand what’s being seen?” The young boy nods, grabbing Mr. Pants out of the air as the blob drifts between the two. Good, he will probably need the companionship, especially towards the end.

This isn’t the easiest story to tell, nor is it easy to listen to, but with a sip of their tea, Clockwork continues.

#danny phantom #invisobang #invisobang 2021 #dp #phanfic #art #my fic #RRR #dantes vibe corner

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aseioh · 3 years

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Family Bonding pt.4/?

Title: Getting to know you better

There was a tense atmosphere within the inner sanctuary of the village church. It’s true that Mother Miranda likes to summon her children every once in a while, but today’s meeting seems a bit too ominous.

The 4 Lords were seated on their respective chairs, and in Moreaus’ case he opted to remain standing by the side of the dais. Only Angie’s soft murmuring is heard to break the silence.

Finally having enough of the waiting Heisenberg spoke up.

Heisenberg: *smoking his cigar* So anyone knows why we’re being summoned here. My factory isn’t going to run itself you know.

Alcina: Please you’re not the only one busy here. Harvest time is fast approaching, I need all the help I can get to meet the usual wine quota.

Donna: I can help you with that Alcina. I can make your people work harder. Just bring them to my house, I know just the thing to perk them up.

Alcina: *smiles slightly at Donna* Thank you dear. As always you’re more help than that child over there *points at Heisenberg*

Heisenberg: *suddenly standing* what did you say. You overgrown-

Moreau: Quiet! Mother is coming.

Mother Miranda enters the sanctuary from the side door and stands in the center of the dais.

Mother Miranda: *putting on a placating smile* Children, thank you for coming in at such a short notice. I know that each one of you are busy with your own experiments, but I’m afraid that this matter is of utmost importance.

Seeing everyone’s attention is still at her Mother Miranda continues.

Mother Miranda: Now, it has come to my attention that each one of you has not accepted each other as family. And this has greatly affected the output of your performance. This has to stop.

Mother Miranda: With that in mind, I have decided to create a new program so that each one of you can bond with one another starting right now.

*beat* A few seconds tick by as each word sank in for everyone.

You can't be serious!?

You're saddling me with this child!?

When do we begin?

Oh dear...

Mother Miranda: QUIET!! I have decided and so it shall be. Anyone who wishes to disobey me will face dire consequences. Am I understood?

Seeing the 4 Lords consternation. Mother Miranda tries to placate each one.

Mother Miranda: I know this might be difficult for you now. But I do hope that this will be fruitful in the future. Each one of you is special in your own way, but together we will be greater.

Moreau: *tearing up* Of course Mother. I understand. I'll make you proud. I promise.

Mother Miranda: *smiles at Moreau* See that you don't.

Heisenberg: kiss ass

Mother Miranda: *Looks pointedly at Heisenberg* Did you say something dear?

Heisenberg: Hmmm. Nothing. When do we start.

Angie: *snickering* this is going to be so fun!

Alcina: *pinching her nose* I can feel the migraine coming. What have I ever done to deserve this.

----

And with that this series has officially kick started. Or in this case everyone was dragged kicking and screaming bloody murder. We need more family moments with these dysfunctional family.

Thanks for reading!

#resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #mother miranda #Because these people need to lighten up #and we know high jinks will happen

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asimovsideburns · 3 years

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SO much happened in dnd last night. session summary 3, wherein we create a new new meaning for beans, which is beans (sad).

We pick up at the job board, where the crew decides they absolutely do not want to be underground anymore for a bit and so grab two jobs: one to deliver supplies to a logger camp, and another to go check out a ranch nearby that had been hit by a bandit attack.

Before heading out, they stop in at Greywind Arms, Armor, and Adventuring Gear to pick up some armor for Adva and a less-lethal weapon for Nim—Linene, the owner, sells them a quarterstaff and includes some free tips on how to use it non-lethally as opposed to caving people’s heads in.

They then hit up Barthen’s Provisions to get directions and the supplies for the loggers and, seeing the loaded ox cart, realize that none of them have proficiency with land vehicles or animal handling. This will probably be fine.

They head out for the logger camp, following the road most of the way, make some animal handling checks to keep the cart on track, make some survival checks to not sleep in poison ivy (nobody has survival proficiency) and (after moving from their first campsite) set watches and settle in for the night.

First watch is two hours, Mason and Adva. Adva doesn’t think Mason respects her star-based religion (she doesn’t). Mason claims to be a normal amount of self-destructive (she isn’t). Adva says Mason wasn’t loved enough as a child (no comment). Mason brings out Adva’s inner mean girl, because she thinks it will be fun and good and healthy to have a relationship where they can just be mean to each other about things (aren’t you tired of being nice? don’t you just want to to apeshit?).

Second watch is two hours, Chantry by himself. Chantry has no emotional turmoil, he’s just a normal guy. Hmm. He misses his family, doesn’t he? After all, he gave up Sailing to spend more time with them, and now here he is on another work trip—shorter, for sure, not as many complications, but still giving reign to that wanderlust. It feels good to be traveling, to be out from behind a desk, and it feels bad that it feels good. That’s the thing about compromise: nobody gets what they want.

Third watch is technically third and fourth watch, two hours Nim by themself and two hours Nim and Shrimp. Nim asks Shrimp about how she met Adva. Shrimp was getting ready to head out on a trip on his own, and ran into Adva just as they were about to head out, like fate. But now, Shrimp is feeling a LOT of emotions. When Adva went down, Shrimp was feeling, mm, a lot of things, and had no way of helping. When Adva came back up, she… gave her a coffee bean. Which came across as kind of a thoughtless, placating gesture to get them to calm down, rather than a genuine expression of caring about Shrimp’s feelings. Shrimp has decided that this coffee bean is the source of their emotional conflict.

Nim suggests that Shrimp bury the coffee bean somewhere, and thus their problems with it, until it grows into something new that covers up their problems, or give the bean back to Adva.

Shrimp decided to sneakily place the bean back with Adva’s things while she’s sleeping, gets a 3 on the stealth check, and wakes Adva. They talk about their feelings, Adva explains what was actually meant by the bean (dwarves take coffee seriously, and it was meant as an indication that she was okay and that a piece of her would always stay with him), they have a tearful hug, and the rest of the party stoically pretends not to be awake for this.

Everybody is so okay and fine and normal, and they cannot stress this enough.

They take off the next morning, Shrimp rolls their “cool stuff” perception checks and gets two consecutive nat 20s. Now, I don’t use the critting on ability checks house rule (I do +/-3), but you GOTTA admit that that’s fun, especially since they haven’t rolled above a 10 on any so far (possibly not above a 5? I’m not positive, though), so I have An Idea. Shrimp sees a large, rectangular crystal bottle, empty, sealed with a cork that has a draconic word written on it. Shrimp, of course, picks it up immediately, because they’re Shrimp, and does a Comprehend Languages spell to determine that the word means “fill”. They spend two short rests on the cart’s seat determining the item’s abilities and then attuning to it—it is a slumbering Dragon Vessel, which can, once a day as a bonus action, be commanded by an attuned creature to fill with ale, olive oil, a potion of healing, or a potion of climbing.

Shrimp now has heals.

They make it the rest of the way to the logger’s camp, I forget to make them roll survival checks to not get lost, but it’s fine. There’s nobody there, though, and it looks like something bad happened—Adva does an investigation check and comes to some worrying if vague conclusions. As they approach one of the campfires, an ankheg (really fucking big insect thing) suddenly bursts out of the ground and both bites and grapples Adva, who despite earlier conversations has not let Mason be in front. They all start whaling on it, Nim pulling Adva out of the grapple, but it gets off a stream of acid before it dies, injuring Chantry and Shrimp.

The ankheg dies, but we once again end the session in initiative, as the party wonders—what exactly happened here?

#mine #my dnd #the archipelago #adventures at heaven's rim #also #once again Eyeless Cave Shrimp the 2’6’’ goblin sorcerer who is so nervous all the time is the most deadly party member #this is I think not comforting to them

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recurring-polynya · 4 years

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@iz-stardust is a lovely person and a wonderful artist and I wanted to write her a little present based on this adorable drawing she did. I hope you like it, friend!

Adventures in Babysitting | ao3 | ff.net |

Summary: When Byakuya is stuck on emergency babysitting duty, he gets an assist from Squad 10.

Starring: Toushirou, Rangiku, Byakuya, and one cranky Ichika.

Ships: Friendships as far as the eye can see!!!

Rating: General audiences, can you believe it?!? You should probably brush your teeth afterwards, tho.

❄️ 🐱 🌸 🐰

“Sir! Captain Kuchiki and, er, a guest are here to see you!”

Toushirou looked up the mission report he had been reviewing. In general, it was pretty unlikely for another captain to just drop by, and it seemed doubly unlikely for Byakuya, of all people, to do so. “Matsumoto!” he barked. “You didn’t schedule an appointment with Captain Kuchiki and then forget to tell me about it, did you?”

“Oh, Captain!” Matsumoto pouted. “You know Renji makes all of Captain Kuchiki’s appointments for him, and he would never trust me to remember something like that.”

This was very true.

“See him in!” Toushirou waved at his waiting Seventh Seat. “Try to look busy, Matsumoto!”

“I am busy!” Matsumoto gestured at the catalog in front of her. “We got budget approval for new office chairs, and I’m trying to pick out the best ones. Your hiney is going to thank me.”

“I will thank you to never mention my hiney again, Matsu-- greetings, Captain Kuchiki!”

Byakuya looked… haggard. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed by dark circles. His hair was gathered in a rather sloppy ponytail, rather than falling in it’s usual glossy waterfall. He kept shifting from one foot to the other in a semi-rhythmic fashion. There didn’t seem to be any blood on him, but there was a large, lumpy bundle strapped to his chest, and some sort of duffel slung across his back. Had he just returned from a harrowing mission to Hueco Mundo, perhaps?

“Hello, Captain Hitsugaya,” he said, his voice ragged with exhaustion. “I need to ask an important favor.”

“Are you all right?” Toushirou asked, jumping to his feet. “You look like you need to sit down.”

“No, no, I must remain standing.” Kuchiki excused. “As you know, I was supposed to lead the meeting of the Gotei Transparency Improvement Documentation Standards committee this afternoon, but it seems I will not be able to attend. I was hoping that, as co-chair, you would be able to take my place. I am most apologetic, and I swear, on my honor as a Kuchiki, that I will make it up to you.” An angry squall erupted from the cloth wrapped around his chest, and Kuchiki’s hand immediately moved to pat it reassuringly.

“Do you have Ichika?!” Matsumoto squealed, her eyes filling with glittering hearts and stars.

“Er, yes,” Kuchiki mumbled. “It is very unusual, of course, for Renji and Rukia to be called away together, but Kurosaki Ichigo specifically requested their assistance, and obviously, all of Soul Society owes him a great debt, so...” He trailed off in a most un-Byakuya-like fashion.

“Of course I can handle the meeting,” Toushirou reassured briskly, although he had to raise his voice to be heard over the crying, which was steadily increasing in volume. “Do you need… help… with the other matter?”

Kuchiki made a troubled face. “I had thought that my staff at the manor would be able to assist, but Ichika seemed extremely agitated to be left in their care. Strangely enough, being attached to my person is the only thing that seems to placate her. Even so, she becomes angry if I sit down or stop this infernal swaying motion.”

“Well, of course!” Matsumoto scolded. “She doesn’t know those people! You’re her special uncle! But she’s probably bored from being in that thing. Take her out and let her have a little playtime with Auntie Rangiku!”

Byakuya’s face went stiff, and his eyes narrowed judgmentally. For a moment, Toushirou feared that Byakuya was going to take issue with the non-biological nature of Rangiku’s aunthood, although he knew for a fact that Abarai and Kuchiki subscribed to the Rukongai idea of “the more aunties the better.” He, himself, had respectfully turned down a similar honorarium, although he had been secretly touched by the offer. (Momo still insisted on referring to him as ‘Uncle Shirou’ in the baby’s presence. He found that much less touching).

Rangiku, for her part, was regarding Byakuya with a look, just daring him to try it.

People, namely Rukia, kept insisting that Byakuya considered Toushirou to be his friend, but Toushirou had his doubts. Sure, they played shogi regularly, and Toushirou seemed to be the only person outside of Renji and Rukia that Byakuya ever texted, but it’s not like Toushirou really knew the guy. And yet, as he watched Byakuya’s face, he realized, like a bolt of thunder, that he recognized an emotion. He was suddenly certain, down to the marrow of his bones, that Rukia had given her brother a stern talking to on this very topic.

A few moments of obvious internal struggle went by, and then Byakuya blew a small puff of air out of his nose, and began extracting the baby from her wrappings. “I wish you luck,” he declared grimly.

Rangiku hopped up from her desk and danced over to Byakuya’s side. As the cool air hit Ichika’s face, her crying slowed, and she began to look around.

“Hello, baby!” Matsumoto trilled. Toushirou could tell she was dying to snatch the baby from Byakuya’s arms, but was holding herself back until Ichika was ready.

Ichika looked up into Byakuya’s face, her violet eyes wide and uncertain. Then she looked to Rangiku again. Then Byakuya again.

“These are the offices of Squad Ten,” Byakuya explained. “I believe you have been here before. We are guests, so you must be on your best behavior.”

Ichika looked back over at Rangiku, who was hiding the lower half of her face with her scarf. “Peekaboo!” she exclaimed, flinging the scarf away.

Ichika squealed and lunged for Rangiku (or possibly her scarf), nearly knocking Byakuya off his feet.

“Ha ha!” Matsumoto sang, spinning Ichika around. “There’s my happy girl!”

Byakuya’s entire body slumped with relief, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“You should sit down,” Toushirou suggested, pulling his chair around. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Byakuya sank gratefully into the chair and didn’t even ask any pointed questions about the tea, which is how Toushirou knew that he must be completely exhausted.

Rangiku plopped down on one of the office couches, Ichika in her lap. She dropped her scarf over the baby’s head and tickled her nose with it as Ichika laughed and laughed.

Toushirou wasn’t exactly envious of his lieutenant’s way with people, big and small, but he was grateful for it. Rangiku did friendship so easily-- ironing out disputes between squad members, throwing a birthday bash for a friend-of-a-friend-of-friend, charming cranky babies-- and yet, watching her work her magic only made him feel more special to be part of her inner circle, that she’d seen something in that scrawny kid, so hesitant to stand up for himself that long ago day in Junrinan.

“Her attention span doesn’t last very long,” Rangiku said in a sing-songy voice. “We should have a series of fun ideas lined up!”

Byakuya perked up, and unloaded the bag from his shoulder. He seemed to have forgotten it was there. “I have her Seaweed Ambassador!” he offered helpfully, pulling a stuffed…creature from the bag. “Although it did not produce the desired reaction earlier.”

“Oh, I know!” Rangiku suggested. “Have you ever seen Rukia and Renji do the ‘Big Mommy, Little Daddy’ game?”

“The what?” Byakuya and Toushirou replied in unison.

“It’s so cute! Rukia gets on a chair and makes a big deal about how she’s so tall, and Renji stands on his knees and talks about how short he is. Ichika loves it, don’t you, Ichika!”

Ichika stretched her hands above her head and blew an enthusiastic raspberry.

Matsumoto looked meaningfully at Toushirou. Then Byakuya. Then back to Toushirou.

“No,” Toushirou growled, pointing his finger at Rangiku. “It would be very-- I would-- Just, no.”

“Absolutely not,” Byakuya agreed. “Categorically not.”

Rangiku stuck out her lower lip. “You two are no fun.” She turned her attention back to her tiny charge. “Ichika, are these your toes? I didn’t know you had toes! Let me see!”

Toushirou busied himself with the tea. This, unfortunately, was also classic Matsumoto, trying to draw him into her nonsense. As if even a baby could mistake himself and Byakuya for a pair of loud, dramatic dumbasses like Renji and Rukia. No, the best thing he could possibly do is help Kuchiki get his nerves back together. Children didn’t like Toushirou. Even when he was a child himself, other children hadn’t liked him. Ghost children liked him sometimes, but that was different.

Toushirou decided that Kuchiki deserved the good gyokuro, the stuff he himself only indulged in when Matsumoto was being particularly taxing. It seemed appropriate. He let his mind clear a little so that Hyourinmaru could get the water to the perfect temperature. Hyourinmaru loved the ceremony of even a casual workday tea break. You are a kind friend, his zanpakutou rumbled in his head. Senbonzakura will appreciate this gesture. Hyourinmaru had a hard time telling the difference between Byakuya and Senbonzakura sometimes, and Toushirou had given up trying to correct him.

A memory suddenly popped into Toushirou’s head. A little ghost boy who hadn’t passed over to Soul Society because he was waiting to see the first snowfall. Toushirou had been hesitant to use his zanpakutou for such a frivolous reason, but Hyourinmaru hadn’t seemed to mind, in the end. An idea began to crystalize in his mind.

“Oh, no, baby, what’s the matter?” Matsumoto was exclaiming. “What is this sad face? Is it time to get up? Do you want Auntie Rangiku to walk with you?” Ichika had started to make little fussy noises again.

Toushirou pressed a fragrant cup of tea into Byakuya’s hand as he passed on his way over to the couch. He cleared his throat, and Ichika turned her tiny face up to his. “Hey, Ichika,” he said. “Check this out.” He opened his hand to reveal a tiny, sparkling ice sculpture in the shape of a snowman adorned with rabbit ears. Ichika’s eyes widened, and she waved her arms at it. She would have fallen off of Matsumoto’s lap, if it weren’t for his lieutenant’s quick reflexes.

“How cute, Captain!” Matsumoto cried. “Oh, lucky you, Ichika! Captain made that beautifully bunny just for you! He wouldn’t do that for just anyone, you know.”

“You can touch it,” Toushirou said, crouching a little and holding his hand out. Maybe she would be interested in the feel of the ice.

“She will likely ruin it,” Byakuya warned.

“That’s okay. I made it for her.”

Byakuya took a deep inhale of his tea steam. “It is just like you,” he opined, “to put as much care into an amusement for an infant as you would into a great work of art.”

Toushirou’s ears burned, but Matsumoto just laughed. “You are so right, Captain Kuchiki! Classic Captain Hitsugaya, am I right?”

“Yes,” Byakuya agreed. “Classic Captain Hitsugaya.” He took a sip of the tea. “Truly, this tea is returning me from the brink of death. I thank you.”

“Well, I do expect you to take this baby away eventually,” Toushirou tried to grumble. It was hard to get properly grumpy when Ichika was patting his ice bunny with her fat little hands and smiling a big, gummy grin. Suddenly, she stretched her arms out toward him, and made a little whimpery sound. “Sorry, this is the only one I have,” he said.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Matsumoto suggested.

“She is mistaken,” Toushirou replied.

“Hmmm,” said Byakuya.

“I heard that! Don’t you ‘hmmm’ over there!” Toushirou snapped.

“Abarai has conjectured that Ichika is able to identify Rukia and himself by their reiatsu.”

“Stop.”

“That would be nonsense, obviously, except that she is a Kuchiki, so she is, of course, exceptional in every way.”

Matsumoto’s eyes went wide with delight. “Do you think she thinks Captain is Rukia?”

Toushirou winced.

“Of course not.”

Toushirou blew out a sigh of relief.

“I was only suggesting that he reminds her of Rukia. Because of the cold nature of--”

“Yes, yes, we get it!” Toushirou snapped.

“Oh, Captain,” Matsumoto made a frowny face at him, as Ichika’s face started to screw up in preparation for a full-throated Abarai howl.

“Fine, fine!” Toushirou sighed, handing the ice rabbit over to Rangiku before hefting Ichika up onto his hip. “There. You’re up. You happy now?”

Ichika leaned her head into his side, and patted his chest, making a comforting little cooing noise.

A high-pitched noise came out of Matsumoto, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. “You got a hug!”

“She has just started doing that,” Byakuya informed them grandly. “I, myself, have received several. It is adorable, is it not?”

Toushirou pointedly avoided looking at Matsumoto’s face, which was probably dissolving. Instead, he looked down at the sticky little gremlin who had her cheek pressed into his haori. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s pretty great.”

#my writing #uncle byakuya #byahitsu brotp #👏byakuya👏in👏a👏baby carrier👏

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thespianbooks · 4 years

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A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 16//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

Happy Winter Solstice everyone! In honor of this day, and our girl Feyre’s birthday, here is chapter 16 to celebrate! I hope you all have a fantastic week celebrating the holidays! Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, and an overall Happy Holidays! ❤️

"Rhys?"

My soft whisper was met with silence; my mate remaining in the depths of slumber, an arm draped over my waist as we lay entangled in our plush sheets. It was still dark outside, only a couple of hours having passed since we turned in for the night and yet I awoke; overcome with an urge I had never felt so intensely before.

"Rhys?" I whispered again, touching his cheek gently and saw a flicker in the muscle of his jaw.

"Rhysand…" I pressed, my heart racing in hopes I could coax him into consciousness as tenderly as possible.

"Yes…?" He muttered, voice thick with sleep and eyes remaining closed.

"Rhys…" I hesitated, moving in a little closer to him as I murmured sheepishly. "I'm...hungry,"

His dark brows pulled together in confusion, "Hungry?" he asked.

I nodded, my head rubbing against his shoulder with the motion. "Starving, actually," I admitted as I traced circles along the dark whorls of his tattoos.

I grinned as he opened his eyes, still perplexed as he turned to me. "You didn't eat at dinner?" He asked, concerned, and I giggled.

"I did. You were there remember?"

"That's right," he closed his eyes again with a sigh of relief, the hand on my waist drifting to my rounded stomach pressed against his side. "We went to Sevenda's with the others and you had the prime rib special."

My stomach growled at the memory, and I choked back a rising sob. "Yes…"

He opened his eyes again, alarmed at the sound of unshed tears in my voice. "What's wrong, Feyre?" he asked, fully alert now as he shifted onto his side to look down at me.

I felt my eyes burn, suddenly overcome with guilt for making him worry and for waking him up, but I couldn't resist the ache in my stomach.

"I want more," I whispered.

He blinked, taken aback as he stared at me. "Of the prime rib?" He clarified.

I nodded with a hiccup. Cauldron damn these hormones. "I need it Rhys. We need it." I said, placing my hands on my stomach.

Rhys breathed a sigh of respite, laughing breathily as he dropped his forehead against my collarbone. "Oh Feyre, you scared me."

"I'm serious, Rhys, I'm so hungry and that prime rib was so good. I need more of it, or else-"

"Of course, my love, whatever you want," he hurriedly reassured me, kissing my cheeks before pulling back to meet my gaze.

I sniffed as I stared into his violet eyes, sparkling with amusement. "Really?"

My heart lifted at the feline grin on his lips, "Yes. Would you like everything that came with it too?"

I brightened and nodded, "Yes. Please."

He chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips before pulling back and climbing out of bed. "I'll be right back, then."

I beamed as I pushed myself up slowly, a month of growth on my abdomen now weighed me down and I required a little more effort when rising from any laying or sitting position. In the month that passed since the summit, since Eira's birth, we had all fallen into a sense of ease. Prior to the summit, Rhys and I did our best to compose our nerves over the rising coup, but now with the full support of our friends at our back, we finally felt a sense of solace. We were still in a period of waiting—of gathering more intelligence on Keir, Kallon, and now Beron. Thanks to Azriel's continued spy work, we were assured that no advancements were being made on either front, so we all allowed ourselves to breathe easier—for now at least.

The only wild card that remained was Eris, but after a brief meeting with him at our moonstone palace above the Court of Nightmares, things seemed...placated, for the time being. The eldest of the Vanserra sons, and heir to the Autumn Court, assured the earlier theory Rhys had—that the male wanted our support in overthrowing his father. What surprised me, however, was that it was all he wanted. He swore he played no part in his father's plans with Keir, and to prove it he provided us with detailed, secret, reports from his father's general; whom he had rallied to his side as well. The reports accurately lined up with the intel Azriel's network of spies had collected, and as of recently divulged a lack of movement as well.

It seemed the trio of traitors were biding their time, presumably attempting to adjust their plans now that the entire continent was aware of my pregnancy. We knew better than to assume they would reel back on the coup because of this; instead deciding to strike before my child had a chance to be born. The threat still haunted us all, but until we had news of any change in plans, we had to wait. In the meantime, Rhys, our family, and I were making the best of it. True to the promise I made myself, having seen how curious and eager Cassian had been in learning about my pregnancy, I spent as much time with them as I could. To aid in our efforts, Rhys and I hired a personal assistant to help balance our workload as High Lord and High Lady; agreeing that we needed the help while we transitioned into preparing for parenthood. That assistant was Clotho, the mute priestess who served in the library of Velaris, and one of the only other fae Rhys or I could trust outside of the inner circle. The priestess humbly agreed and now split her time between our estate and the library. Despite not being able to outwardly express herself, Rhys assured me that she was ecstatic to hear of my pregnancy and wanted nothing more than to help us balance our work between ruling and parenting.

In the month that passed, not only were we able to de-stress a bit and enjoy leisure time with our family, but I had also observed a notable change in myself. While my belly, now an impressive, rounded mound that was pronounced no matter what I wore, continued to grow with the promise from Madja that our son was still as healthy as ever; I noticed a myriad of developments in my emotions. While I did find myself with more energy than I had in the early days of my pregnancy, that frequency in fatigue now seemed to trade places with erratic mood swings. One minute I would be as happy and content as ever, and in the next beset with unexpected gloom. However, everyone seemed to take it in stride—especially my mate, who simply smiled and listened to me rant or just held me when I needed to cry.

Along with my renewed energy, my appetite returned with a vengeance. The same three meals I ate everyday no longer sated me, and I found myself snacking on various things throughout the day. There had been an incident a few weeks ago where I watched in total envy as Azriel snacked on dried meat in between training with Cassian and Rhys—something the brothers had picked back up in part due to the looming threat, but also as a means for entertainment. It wasn't until Cassian noticed me on the verge of tears and snatched the meat from Azriel, casually offering it to me, that I realized I had officially started with pregnancy-related cravings. The cravings hadn't been so intense; until tonight, when I had been ripped from sleep by my growling stomach and the desire to have another helping of dinner had me waking my mate from his sleep.

"Do you think she still has those leftovers?" I asked as I watched him dress.

"I'm sure she has plenty left reserved for you, Feyre darling. She saw how much you loved it," he replied with a knowing grin.

My face warmed as I recalled how the restaurateur offered to pack up extra servings for me to bring back to the estate, but I had been too embarrassed at the extra helpings I already consumed during our stay and politely refused.

"I didn't want to look like a glutton," I admitted sheepishly.

He walked over, resting his hands on the bed as he leveled our gazes. "No one would think that. You're pregnant and feeding the heir to the Night Court. They know he needs to eat, even in the middle of the night," he said and gave me another chaste kiss before stroking a hand along my stomach affectionately.

I smiled. "That's true. It's just hard to keep up when I feel absolutely ravenous every few hours."

He smirked appreciatively as he rubbed my stomach again, "Is there anything else my son wants?"

"Strawberries," I answered quickly. "With chocolate, or whipped cream."

Rhys laughed and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Whatever you want, my love," he repeated and stood upright.

I waited for him to return as patiently as I could, pacing between our bedroom and balcony every few minutes before finally pacifying myself by sitting with a book on the cushioned bench of the balcony. In order to keep myself distracted, I read a book of plays aloud in hopes that my growing baby would be patient in his insatiable appetite. The sound of my voice must have appeased him, because as I continued to read, my hunger seemed to dull a bit. However, after a few minutes passed, I felt his kicks of protests and rubbed at the spot.

"If you have such a problem with my reading, then talk to your father. He's the one that taught mama how to read," I said, and my heart warmed at the memory of my lessons with Rhysand in my early days at the Night Court. "Maybe he'll teach you to read too."

"We both could," I heard Rhys say from behind me and I whipped my head around to see him holding a bundle of food.

I pushed myself up unceremoniously, eager to eat as the smells hit my nose. "That's so much food!" I exclaimed as he walked over and placed the bundle on the small table we kept on the balcony.

"Sevenda might've given us some more food she thought you might enjoy," he answered with a laugh before snapping his fingers and the food instantly displayed out before me.

I gasped in admiration before Rhys pulled out a chair for me and I happily sat, digging into my meal immediately and moaned with relief as the savory juices of the prime rib hit my taste buds.

Rhys sat next to me, casually grabbing a strawberry from the bowl he had also laid out and snacked on it as he regaled me while I indulged myself. "You truly are a sight to behold, Feyre darling."

I felt my face warm and dread filled my chest as I swallowed a mouthful. "Do I look like a pig?" I asked, that dread beginning to ebb into shame.

"No, no." He quickly reassured me, moving closer until our knees were touching. "I meant the sight of my expecting mate enjoying herself, of nourishing my growing child, is one I never dreamed I'd see," he explained. His hand came to rest on my stomach again as those beautiful amethyst eyes grew tender.

I squeezed his hand gently, "You deserve it Rhys. This child is a culmination of everything that is good about you; of all the good you've done in your lifetime."

His eyes were lined with silver as they met mine, and I moved my hands to cup his face. "He will be all the best parts of you, Rhysand."

"And of you," he swore. "You brought out the best in me Feyre. Everything that I am, that I have now, including this child, is all because of you."

My heart pounded with joy as I beamed and pulled him in for a kiss. He returned it with just as much fervor and heat began pooling in my core. When he pulled away too soon for my liking, I kissed him again-slowly, and nipped at his bottom lip.

I felt the fiendish smirk of his lips on mine as he muttered, "I thought you were hungry?"

"I'm hungry for something else now." I whispered, staring at him with half-lidded eyes.

I shrieked with a laugh as he scooped me up in his arms, my legs easily hooking around his waist as the food from the table suddenly disappeared and he carried me over to the nearest wall.

XXX

The following morning, I was pleased to see Rhys still in our bed and even more delighted to still be wrapped in his arms. He had a tendency to wake before I did these days and often got a head start on his work, allowing me the opportunity to sleep in and get the rest my body needed. However, after the night we had, I wasn't too surprised to see him needing the extra sleep. I smirked mischievously as I lightly traced along the tattoos on his chest with my own tattooed fingers, relishing in his scent as I recalled the details of our night that extended into the early hours of the morning.

It was a welcome change of pace after the stress that weighed on us; one we needed now more than ever with a youngling on the way. The days of just the two of us were set to expire in a few months; soon to be filled with a new life we would have to work together to sustain—all while balancing our duties of presiding over the Night Court. I often tried not to let the weight of that responsibility stress me out; knowing we had our whole family to rely on, but now that I was nearly halfway through my pregnancy, I wanted more of this time alone together.

I felt dark talons gently caress my mental shields and I smiled as I lowered them enough for my mate, who kept his eyes closed despite now being conscious. I allowed him into my thoughts; letting him know of my yearning for the quality time we had just experienced together as a lazy hand caressed my stomach.

"Let's go to the Cabin for a few days," he said after a couple of minutes passed.

I pushed myself up on an elbow, staring down at him as his sleepy violet eyes met with mine. "Really?" I asked, already keen on the idea.

He nodded in affirmation. "Cassian and Azriel are keeping the appropriate tabs on everything, and Clotho is set to meet with Mor and Amren today to go over some paperwork from the Palace Lords in Velaris," he explained.

I nodded. "My sisters also have their own agenda," I added. "Elain plans to drag Nesta to the market, or one of the palaces, today."

"So, we can get away," Rhys said. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of my face and I nodded again.

"Let's go now." I said, eager to escape with my mate.

It had been months since we set foot in the Cabin together. There were times he or I visited alone to let off some steam, sometimes meeting each other by the end of the day, but it was the first time we would go together since Winter Solstice; the first time since I fell pregnant, and I couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic.

Rhys smiled languidly. "Right now?"

I nodded and pushed myself up carefully, staring down at him with a grin. "Right now," I confirmed.

His smile shifted from lazy to determined as he sat up in the bed. I reached over to pull on my silky dressing gown and robe as he climbed out of bed and dressed. I laughed as he scooped me up in his arms and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

"We'll have to bring the baby too," I said in mock disappointment.

He chuckled as he walked over to the balcony. "That's all right. We'll consider it our first trip as a family."

The next thing I knew, we were in the sky, Rhys's powerful wings easily propelling us from our balcony and into the air in a matter of seconds. I held onto him as I felt the warm breeze encircle us and whoosh through my hair as he took us to our destination. I watched his wings as they moved; strong and beautiful, and felt a kick from inside my stomach.

"Do you think he can tell we're flying?" Rhys asked.

"Maybe," I said as I felt another swift kick and rested a hand on the spot. "It's okay baby, daddy won't drop us."

"Never," Rhys affirmed.

I looked up at him, "Do you think he'll have wings?"

The corner of Rhys's lips twitched upwards. "Of course he will. Maybe not at birth, but they'll come."

"Were you born with your wings?" I asked, admiring how the sun reflected off the iridescence of them as they moved in unison.

He shook his head. "My mother was hopeful they would develop as I matured, and a day after my eighth birthday they appeared," he said.

"Just like that?" I asked with a smirk.

"Magic."

I laughed and traced a finger along the membrane of one as it moved within my reach. He stiffened at my touch and I grinned playfully.

"Illyrian baby," I teased.

"If it weren't for my son in your belly, I would demand you fly us to the Cabin and see how you fare while I stroke your wings," Rhys taunted.

I giggled and pecked his cheek, keeping one arm draped around his neck while the other rested on my stomach. I paused as realization struck.

"Is that when your mother brought you to the mountains?" I asked.

Rhys nodded, already knowing what I referred to. "I think she was going to bring me regardless, but she was eager for me to fly and learn the Illyrian traditions."

The silver in his violet eyes flecked with a hint of sadness as he recalled the memory of his mother. The current status of our relationship with the Illyrians put a strain on his heart. He grew up with them, found his brothers amongst them, and their participation in the coup was the last thing he ever wanted. I laid my head on his shoulder in order to provide him with some comfort, not wanting either of us to dwell on that heartache during our little getaway.

His fingertips brushed the side of my stomach lightly as he held me closer. "I want him to learn, to train, like I did," he said.

Although he didn't ask, I heard the question in his words and I nodded. "He's Illyrian, just like you."

He pressed a kiss to my temple and landed on the steps leading to the Cabin, setting me on my feet carefully and I smiled reassuringly at him before taking his hand as we both walked to the entrance. As soon as we walked in, the fire in the hearth ignited and the rest of the house sprang to life with a wave of Rhys's hand, immediately accommodating us. A second later, platters of food appeared in the kitchen and I beamed.

"I love it here," I said as I strolled over to the counter, picking up a piece of perfectly crisped bacon and took a bite.

Rhys smiled roguishly as he joined my side, taking a slice of bacon for himself. "It's just what we needed, especially after your ravenous cravings kept me up all night. In more ways than one," he said with a wink.

I threw my hand up in a vulgar gesture. It's not like you were complaining. I said through the bond.

Indeed not, my love.

I sat at one of the raised chairs beside the counter, looking over the paintings I had filled in the room all those years ago—when I escaped here for the first time after learning he was my mate. I ate as I reflected on the last decade; at how it had brought us here, with our son now growing inside of me.

"I want to give birth here," I said after a comfortable silence had befallen us.

Rhys paused. "Really?" he asked.

I nodded, resting a hand on the apex of my belly. "It feels right. This is where I accepted our mating bond; where we decided to start trying for a baby, and I'm pretty sure this is where he was conceived too," I said with a smile, having done the math in my head. By the time I realized I was pregnant, on Starfall, I was already a couple of months along; meaning our attempt to conceive on Winter Solstice—as we did every year, had been successful

He smirked in return at the memory; it was somewhat of a tradition he made of bringing me here on my birthday. "My mother gave birth to me, and my sister, in this cabin," he said. "With the help of some Illryian midwives and some camp-mothers."

"Then it's perfect," I said softly.

He reached down to stroke my stomach gently. "I want to be there," he said. "In the room, while you give birth. Through all of it actually. I know it isn't traditionally done, my own father waited outside the room both times, but I want to be there and hold your hand when my son comes into the world. Just the thought of you going through labor, of enduring all that pain alone," he shook his head as if to erase it from his mind. I squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I wouldn't want you anywhere else, Rhysand." I said, not at all surprised at his declaration.

A week after Eira's birth, Viviane and Kallias had both sent us letters-informing us of their daughter's arrival, fawning over her beauty and detailing how infatuated they already were, but also informing us of their own accounts of what the birthing process had been like. At the summit, Viviane expressed that she knew what to expect, but in her letter, she elaborated just how excruciating it really was. Luckily, Kallias had also been there with her, providing her with whatever support she needed and relieving as much of the pain as he could through back massages, also letting her clutch onto him for dear life as she suffered through pain after pain. I wasn't sure what Kallias had told Rhys in his letter, but shortly after my mate had summoned Madja and asked the healer to guide us through exactly what to anticipate.

"Are you nervous?" He asked.

I chewed on my lip in thought, recounting the gruesome details that both Viviane and the healer had laid out for me. The pain alone would come in constant, violent waves, and could last as long as a day.

"A little," I admitted. "But I know I'll be much more comfortable here; with you there."

"I'll be there every step of the way and do whatever I can to ease the pain." He promised, taking my hand and pressing a lingering kiss to it.

I smiled. "It'll be just the two of us, Madja, and the midwife."

The healer had told us that she worked with her sister, who served as a midwife for just as long as she had been a healer, when delivering younglings. Rhys and I readily agreed to have her along and made a plan to meet with her once I came closer to the end stages of my pregnancy.

I squeezed the hand that held mine, staring at the new tattoo that had formed from his renewed vow he made at the beginning of my pregnancy—when he promised not to let his male-bonded instincts shelter me unnecessarily. I ran my thumb over the crescent moon design.

"Do you think," I hesitated, mulling over my words. "Do you think...I'll be good at it?"

He paused. "At what? Giving birth?"

I laughed humorlessly, "No, not that. At...being a mother?"

I avoided his gaze, feeling the weight of those smoldering violet eyes as I continued to stare at the blue-black ink of his tattoo. After a few seconds of silence, his other hand came to grip my chin gently, tilting my head up so that I could meet those beautiful eyes.

My heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in them. "You will be an amazing mother, Feyre," he swore, his voice earnest.

My eyes burned as I thought of my own mother; of how imperious and cold she had been towards her daughters. I often wondered how she had felt when she was pregnant with us, because once we were born, she hardly bothered caring for us at all. Did she ever love us? She worshipped my father, her "one true love," but how could she not dote on the fruition of that love? Perhaps she had loved my father for what his wealth provided her instead, and the lavish lifestyle she lived-before she died.

"You are not your mother, Feyre." Rhys said, his hand moving from my chin to my cheek. "I already see the love you have for our son in your eyes, in your actions, every day."

I sniffed as I looked down at my stomach, heart swelling as I thought of my son—of how eager I was to hold and cherish him, and I couldn't fathom pushing him away. I nodded lightly as I wiped at the few tears that managed to escape.

"I just worry sometimes," I admitted.

Rhys nodded in understanding. "I worry about myself too," he said, and frowned. "I worry about being like my father; that I might be too hard on my son, and that I might age as cold and calculating as he did."

I shook my head, taking hold of the hand still on my cheek. "You could never Rhys," I said with the same smile I had given him last night—the same emotions in my eyes as I reminded him what this child meant for us.

I felt the tension leave as he sighed in content, resting his brow against mine as we both stared at my stomach; our thumbs caressing either side of it, holding our baby. I felt him move, sending kicks at both our hands, and we laughed; my chest swelled with hope that perhaps he could feel the love between us—at the love we shared for him.

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escapekissed · 4 years

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Lucky do you have any favorite pieces of media from the psychological horror genre? Feels like its a genre that matches ur interests very well 👉🏽👈🏽

there are a couple that really speak to me!

first is rule of rose, which is a game that is incredibly formative to me. in a time where i was looking for representation as a young gay person and REALLY into looking up wiki pages for horror games, rule of rose showed me the symbolic trauma of puberty and toxic ‘love’ between girl children and the violence of patriarchal figures that i was looking for. it showed such cruelty but also such strength in its main character, and the symbolism? exquisite.... it also just has such a creepy atmosphere and the fact that the game is near impossible to play along with its shitty graphics for the enemies makes it so. peculiar and creepy in a very special way to me.

catherine is another atlus game near and dear to my heart, tho i dont think i’m ever going to be playing full body for that exact reason. it’s a game basically about eugenics and misogyny, about gods&devils thinking of women as only reproductive objects and the men in their lives that ‘waste their reproductive time’ being tortured and killed for it, taking away a woman’s choice. i always thought it would be so interesting to do trans and lesbian takes on this game, and i have never really? stopped thinking about how this game is so thrilling in its themes of entitlement and stopping people’s freedom to love as they wish. this is also one of the only horror games in which the ‘human element’ actually interests me. so many horror games give u terrible people and i dont give a FUCK ABOUT THEM. but the way this game shows u just snippets of his life as a ‘break’ from the excruciatingly scary (to me, because time limits scare me LOL), stressful as hell puzzles. and u get to figure out the mystery of what is going on in people who would otherwise be boring to you, but in this game are shrouded in just enough mystery that ur actually interested in their boring day-to-day lives. its so satisfying just to drink with ur buds. its like really great gameplay to me tbh. i also just love katherine and catherine and they frusturate me so much and that’s exactly what they’re supposed to do which i LOVE. extremely effective atmosphere setting and worldbuilding, basically.

the lighthouse is my favorite horror movie tbh because it does suspense so well. the movie is literally themed around suspense, the suspense of not getting sexual satisfaction to completion, of being touch starved and lonely and repressed, of being able to hold ur boss but never kiss him, of being fed lobster but it tastes flavorless and bland and u can smell ur boss’s farts the whole time while he prattles on with disturbing sailor’s tales and barks out orders until he’s lulled into his drink. i honestly love this movie. and the acting is brilliant and unhinged

there’s a few indie games i really like that have been either formative to me or i just??? really like their vibe and i can basically tell from them i would like every game in the ‘genre.’

pocket mirror to me is like, this beautiful game about your own inner toxicity and escaping from yourself. i love indie 64-bit games like this, the background art is so beautiful, and while i’ve never played all the way through it because it scares me too much---i love ib and all the games in the ‘ib’ genre LOL.

doki doki literature club i know is a very strange game to like, but i enjoy it for letting the women be actual characters with their own thoughts and feelings. the pychological horror movie ‘i’m thinking of ending things’ is the exact opposite of this game.'i’m thinking of ending things’ is a backwards approach to feminist horror in my opinion. it’s from a male’s perspective of his hallucinations of a girl that once didn’t give him a second glance and his violence towards her in these fantasies. it takes itself painfully seriously. it pretends to deconstruct something that the director helped soldify (the manic pixie dream girl trope) in the public eye. doki doki literature club on the other hand, the passive character who ‘things happen to’ is the man. the active roles all go to the women in the game and what they do to themselves in order to be loved by not just a man, but the player, and in doing so they often become the all-knowing god of their own prison. like tell me that’s not the dopest thing u’ve ever heard of!

twilight zone is a big one for me but 5 episodes in particular have shaped how i view horror forever. ‘to serve man’---where the greatest, scariest thing in the world is not being able to understand the language another person is actually using and for them to manipulate u using ur own, actually wishing u harm as they placate you with your own interpretations. the episode where a rich man’s last will and testament is for his vain, selfish relatives to wear a mask until midnight that reveals symbolically how ugly they are to him. they bicker all night with petty squabbles, and then at midnight he reveals the mask has permeanantly shaped their faces to reveal who they really are and the abuse he suffered under them. the cornfield episode still scares the shit out of me as someone with an entitled younger brother whose entitlement and anger is often enabled by those around us, and i’ve always thought that it was such a good show of like, how patriarchy enables little boy’s violence. the episode ‘all the time in the world’ where an abused man with a shitty life is finally the last man on earth and he can do anything he’d like to do and all he wants to do is read but then he breaks his glasses. and finally! the episode where toys in a box come to life and bemoan their fate as they realize they will be trapped there forever in clothes and identities they do not recognize. these episodes always scare the shit out of me LOL.

besides that i really like. low-budget passion project indie games. the first that comes to mind is ‘the path’ which is about a family of four sisters of various ages all inspired by little red riding hood who stray from the path and are hunted by the woodsman. and then the game that YOU my dear myers! showed me! that haunts me to this day. basically a tape talks to you about the areas of a house and then starts to talk about the house as a living creature. and the living creature is hungry, without you inside it. the living creature is tired of being alone, it’s tired of being abandoned, it’s tired, and it’s eyes are empty with no one in the windows, and it’s mind is blank with no one in the bedroom, and it’s hangry there’s no one in its basement to feast on, to torment as it has been tormented by disuse.

last but not least, i really enjoy the book ‘sharp objects.’ which is not technically a horror novel. but it is about a serial killer, and about women and abuse and it has some of the best writing ever. so i highly recommend it AND the miniseries (watch the miniseries first then read the book bc the miniseries is like. directed better? but the novel is written and characterized better. it’s also very short u can finish it in like a day and a half).

honorable mentions for horror In General (not necessarily psychological horror) are: 1) the birdcage. i honestly consider this movie entirely unsettling. robin williams failing to portray a man that is actually attracted to nathan lane, which could be because they have simply been married so long but also is just awful to me in general bc it makes me feel like even our outwardly gay but still more masc gay men can’t love and be attracted to femme camp gays even when they’re married to them. the fact that both these men that could be so in love, that were so in love at one time, you can at the very least imagine, are told by their only son that they need to go back in the closet to impress some old ass republicans, giving the message that no matter how succesful you are in the gay community, no matter how bright and wonderful a presence you are, no matter how loving you are, no matter how much you love, no matter how interwoven you are in lgbt-ness, the straight people you love most will still try to change you to impress the wold. horrifying.

2) coraline. its children’s horror but that’s still horror baby! i think lately about how much the movie talks about mothers and birth. coraline calls whybie ‘why born’ and i just think about how much she thinks about creating a new life with a new mother, and how going through that small door into a long tube... it’s like crawling into a new womb and being reborn to a new mother that loves you. and that’s horrific from a feminist perspective in and of itself---that your child would feel so unloved and unimportant to you that she would literally... rather die in this life, technically, rather be ‘unborn’ to you and born anew to someone, someone just like you but better, someone just like you but what SHE wants a mother to be, feminine and skirted and smiling. and then there’s the fact that coraline only gives this up when she realizes her other mother basically wants to change her more to suit her liking in ways that would cause her pain, at which point she realizes this whole fantasy is a lie, not real, something meant to entice her and control her and make her ‘perfect’---the same way she wants her mother & father to be ‘perfect’ in a way that causes her to act out and hurt them. it’s psychological horror that’s technically not psychological horror in the best way, something you can really dig your teeth into, something that has so many layers to it. and the animation! gorgeous!

3) finally i have recently watched annihilation. and it kind of changed my life a little bit.... so often we’re used to viewing monsters as either 1) malicious or 2) romantic/sad/sexy. but the monster in this movie is literally a metaphor for cervical cancer.

to me, the monsters and the corpses and all the beautiful scenery in this movie, in every color u can think of, a muted rainbow of flowers and nature at its best and most bizarre and sprawling. i often say that monsters are beautiful, but tbh, i feel like... somehow i always mean that in a way that is near-fetishitic, somehow self-depcrating way, where i want to consider what other people think is ‘ugly’ is ‘beautiful to me’ because what i am also ugly to other people as a monster to the cishet white patriarchy. there are things i consider beautiful, certainly, purely beautiful. but when i talk about monsters being beautiful, it is in the way the sublime is beautiful. it scares me, it haunts me, i love it, i want to possess it as part of me, a totem to carry in my back pocket to make the strength in my own ugliness stronger.

when i saw the monster in this movie (SPOILERS) i was immediately unnerved at this bad cgi abomination that bloomed from the most beautiul cgi cancer death cosmos imaginable. it scared me and i had to sleep with a light on for 2 days after LOL. but i was also moved by its gentleness. by the fact that the cervical cancer alien, when it tried to hurt you, wasn’t trying to hurt you at all. it was simply copying your movements. in the movie, it says that the creature wants nothing. it was simply copying. it was simply changing. it’s a prism of nature---and it corrupts yes, and it can hurt people and things and turn them into scary but still terribly unique and beautiful things that also kill---but the movie says that it wants nothing. it simply exists. it’s a part of nature, same as us, a part of the same universe and cosmos, despite being alien to us and stange and hurting us sometimes in ways that it doesn’t understand.

i don’t know. if i quite believe the movie when it says that, though. because i think if you copy someone, like a child would, you are trying to understand them. you are trying to understand yourself. you are trying to form yourself in another’s image when you have none, and you are failing at that, and hurting people and creating monsters in the process, but you are trying as best as you can to be whole and beautiful and sane like the lovely creatures you’ve met on this earth, or this body. to be part of something great and beautiful. to be part of another world.

maybe it doesn’t want anything. but do WE want anything as children, when we copy adults? why did the bear and the alligator try to eat our heroes if they were not hungry? did the bear and the alligator not WANT to eat? i think everything wants to live, and everything wants to grow, and if it can learn to live better and grow better it Will learn even if that is not its explicit intention. does the alien have feelings? does nature? do we have to personify things to understand them? no. does personifying things make us understand them less? no, yes, sometimes. we ask animals and nature to copy us, follow us, so that we can understand them better. the relationship in between----from the hurt, from the pain, from the droughts and the food shortages and the hurricanes and the fireworks---forms from our kindness and understanding. that our crops are useful, and the man-made mutation of our crops and the help of the ran and the sun is also useful. that our animals may not love us, but they need us, and we love them for putting their paw on our thighs to be pet, for following us into the bathroom even when we just wanted a moment alone.

regardless of its intentions, the alien, cancer, every creature, every human, they simply want to grow. in copying others---in trying to touch, to change, to understand, and be close---we learn to live in the same body, learn to live in the same world. the togetherness--the new sight the prism brings---it’s beautiful. it is beautiful to copy, however poorly. it is beautiful to try. we all shape others to our own standards---we sometimes forget we too, were made in own own perception of others’ image.

#ooc: replies #this took me all day to answer because i had to go to COSTCO in the middle. LOL #destructiveglitch

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vadaschiquita · 4 years

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Chiquita | Ch. 11

Chapter 10

“Where the hell is she?” Nevada grumbled, shouldering past Miguel at the threshold of his home.

Miguel looked… bashful almost, never before having seen her like this. In his eyes, Mariana was a warrior, a force to be reckoned with. Nevada would never admit this to anyone, but Miguel had known Nevada since they were both teenage boys, wreaking havoc around the neighborhood, and he’d seen many a side to the drug lord, but the way Nevada would clench his jaw, the way his eyes would shimmer, and the way he’d accede to her requests let him know that Nevada was in love, and more importantly, he respected Mariana both as a woman and an equal.

Miguel had only seen Nevada so… compliant twice in his lifetime: towards his mother and towards their tenth grade teacher. The fact that Mariana’s words or actions carried more weight with Nevada than that of some of his men led Miguel to believe that she was truly the one. He had a soft spot for the ardent woman and he loved to see Nevada wither in his resolve when it came to his Chiquita.

“Jefe,” Miguel breathed out, “she’s been jumpy and, and… she has this… distant look on her face ever since Jairo picked her up at the school,” Miguel explained to Nevada. Nevada frowned, breathing out through his nose like a bull. “Something happened, Jefe.”

Nevada hummed, giving a clipped nod towards Miguel as he strutted towards his couch. He saw her, sitting up tensed. He could see how high her shoulders were placed on her neck and as he drew closer, he could hear the shuddering breaths she was taking. Rounding the couch, he caught sight of her profile. Her eyes were nearly bulging from their sockets, her lips were parted, dried at the corners most likely from deprivation of moisture, and the placement of her hands had him the most worried. Her left hand was protectively placed on her stomach, her fingers fanned over the fabric of her blouse, and her right one was at her side, clutching the edge of the cushion.

“Mari?” he tried, taking a tentative step towards her.

He saw as the veins and joints of her right hand flexed and tensed across the back of her hand, and he could see her barely hanging on by a thread. He lifted his head, watching Pucho stretch on one of his dining room chairs and Miguel sitting across from him. A few of the boys from the inner circle lingered around the table and around the kitchen. He waggled his fingers, fidgeting with the ring on his finger, and he sighed softly.

Whatever this was, he needed to deal with it right then and there. He worked his fingers around the buttons of his dress shirt, working promptly to rid himself of the constricting fabric, and once loose, he let it fall from his shoulders onto the chaise behind him.

“¡Pa’ fuera, coñazo!” he shouted, making Mariana jump in place. He balled his fingers into a fist, digging his nails into the skin of his palm, loathing his self for adding to the edge she already felt.

He watched as everybody scrambled to their feet and he heard Pucho chuckle as he stood, too. Nevada approached Mariana slowly, extending his hand to reach her shoulder, and once he lain a hand over her tensed muscles, the sharp intake of breath she took as she jumped back, knocking his hand away, was enough cause to plague his mind with thoughts of penitence the next time he chose to visit the neighborhood’s church.

“Mari, mami, you’re ok,” he placated with arms raised.

The way her eyes danced across his face and the way she had wrapped her arms around her stomach let him know that she was feeling cornered and unsafe. No matter how many times she’d been in his presence, the times his hands had touched her bare skin, or the way she had once trusted him to not sully the sacred piety that was the union of their bodies had entirely vanished in a matter of seconds.

“Mari,” he tried, taking a step back.

Mariana saw her window of opportunity, a moment where she could escape, and hopefully ward off the explanation that would ensue once Nevada figured out a way of actually speaking to her without exactly scaring their child out of her body. She stood in haste, nearly bolting to Nevada’s room.

Crestfallen fell short to what Mariana was feeling. She was beyond vexed at her behavior, a behavior that had taken almost a complete year to work out of her body, one that had come back like the rush of a fall to afflict her current and stable peace of mind.

Nevada heard the slam of his bedroom door rattle on the hinges and he turned with newfound purpose, belting, and directing his anger towards Miguel, “¿Qué carajo pasó?”

Miguel shrugged, “I don’t know. I sent Jairo and Morgan out to pick her up and I told them to go get her in her classroom. When they came back, she was already like that and the boys were… confused as to why she was acting that way.”

“Find them. Now!”

Miguel nodded and disappeared down the foyer towards the door. “Get out of your head. They’re not that dumb to try something and she’s not that… fragile to not defend herself,” Pucho said without preamble.

“No. No,” Nevada said, pacing the area in front of the table. “I’m not worried about that. What I’m fucking pissed about is the fact that they saw her in that state y a nadie se le ocurrió la brillante, puta idea de llamarme.”

“Chico,” Pucho began, gesturing, “they’re new, cut them some slack, and they’re good.”

“Slack?” Nevada stopped his pacing right in front of Pucho. “You want me to cut them slack?” he took several quick steps to stand just a foot away from Pucho. “I could’ve been here earlier and she wouldn’t have reached that state if they’d done their fucking job.”

Pucho sighed, leaning back against the chair.

He knew that Nevada had been gone all day, settling some paperwork, contacting their off-the-books lawyers, and settling some other stuff with landlords and brokers for the new home he’d purchased. He knew Mariana wouldn’t move in to the apartment he currently stayed at, and he knew why too. It was tainted, stained with blood and product, girls, and thugs. If he wanted her with him, she needed someplace new, someplace fresh, without the looming cloud of his life around.

A place big enough where they could start anew, a place close enough to the school, and a place beyond close to her best friend. Mariana was in the city by herself. She never spoke of family or of any other friends, and he knew that currently, that was what she needed.

He paced and paced, huffing and puffing, cursing the empty space for having been so blind to their prior exchange. Six hours later he had turned up to his apartment, thinking this was just some other hormonal bout due to her pregnancy, but when Miguel had damn neared corralled him at his door, he knew it was something more.

Another thirty minutes passed and he heard his door swish open and Miguel grumbling in his deep voice to the boys that had picked up his Chiquita. He turned, hands on his hips, watching as the young men fumbled with their feet and stood in the space that divided the foyer with the dining area.

“Rompan a hablar,” he said quietly, standing wide and tall.

Jairo, a Cuban-American kid looked at the sandy-colored hair one besides him with a frightful expression, not wanting to speak out of place, but not wanting to keep anything from his boss. Nevada knew Morgan, a trade-in as a form of peace between his guys and the Middle Easterners. He wasn’t green, he knew his guns, and he always had good information at hand. When Pucho had said, ‘they’re good’ he hadn’t known Miguel had sent him to Mariana’s aid.

Morgan raised his head, “We got there, circled once around the block to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary, and then, we went inside.”

“What could possibly be out of the ordinary at that time in front of St. Elizabeth’s?” Nevada fished.

“It’s Holy Wednesday, boss. There are two services at the Greek Orthodox Church around the corner from St. Liz’s,” Nevada hummed and nodded. “When we went inside we knocked on her classroom door, but she never opened the door. It wasn’t until Jairo said something to her that she opened the door.”

His smoldering gaze landed on the crestfallen boy next to Morgan. He’d noticed that his eyes kept dancing between Morgan and him as if with fear. If he had to guess, this was probably Jairo’s first audience in front of him, and usually, they never ended on a good note.

“What’d you say?” Nevada spoke in an eerily even tone; one not even Pucho was accustomed to hearing when it came to disciplining the boys.

Jairo’s jaw worked, trying to find the words, but all he did was stutter. Morgan raised his brows, tilting his head towards Nevada in a subtle nod, urging him to speak when addressed, but Jairo’s nervousness seemed to be winning and Nevada’s patience was thinning.

“Boy,” he grumbled, taking a step forward.

“I—I said, I said, ‘Se—Señito, Miguel nos mandó’ and—and when she opened the door it looked like she’d been crying. But—But, I swear, she was already crying when we picked her up—”

“And nobody thought of fucking calling me to let me know!” Jairo ended his word vomit with a sigh, shaking his head and lowering it on his shoulders. “Next time Miguel or Pucho or I send you out to do something that involves my Chiquita and she’s crying—I don’t care if they’re tears of joy—YOU FUCKING CALL ME AND LET ME KNOW, ¡maldita sea la madre, coño! Get the fuck out!”

The boys had jumped in their spots, momentarily dumbfounded at Nevada’s sudden change in attitude. Nevada watched as they shouldered past Miguel, Jairo knocking the broad man’s shoulder in his haste, and before Miguel could settle back on a chair he spoke once more.

“Ustedes también, arranquen pal carajo,” he finished, running his hands through his hair as he disappeared down the hall that led him to his room.

Before opening the door to his room he heard Pucho mumble something before he heard the door shut behind him. He sighed. He had to gain some composure if he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Why hadn’t Mariana been waiting on the curb for the boys to pick her up swiftly? Why hadn’t she responded to the knocks coming from his men? Why did she wait for them to speak before she opened the door? Who was she hiding from? What had happened? Had she received a threat?

He huffed, swallowing a bout of nausea that threatened to spill out of his mouth at the thought that one of his enemies had possibly hurt her. He pushed the door open, watching as she hitched her breath once her eyes landed at the figure coming through the door. She whimpered, lowering her shaking head as a solid stream of tears coursed down her cheeks.

“Chiquita, what happened?” he tried, approaching the bed. She was sat with her legs underneath her, staring at the door—at him. “Tell me, how can I help you. I will put a bullet en el casco del hijo de puta que te puso así,” he entoned his words, mindful of the tone of his voice.

Mariana looked up at Nevada and she sniffled, utilizing the backs of her hands to clear the tears dropped. “I saw him today,” she whispered, her voice breaking at the end.

“Who?”

She sniffled, clearing her throat, “The reason I’m here in New York City.”

“Motherfucker,” Nevada hissed, grabbing at his jaw as he paced the room. He couldn’t allow for Mariana to know that he had an idea of what exactly had happened in her past and the reason she was now here away from the life she’d once had.

“Mariana Rivera,” Nevada turned around, humming at the foreign name dropped from her lips. She lifted her head, looking into Nevada’s green eyes, “That’s my name, Mariana Rivera. My mother’s maiden name is Santos.”

“Chiquita—” he began approaching the bed, but she extended her arm and shook her head.

“Please, I need to tell you this,” he nodded and saw as she took in a deep breath. “I’d just graduated and my friends and I were out celebrating,” she scoffed with a rueful smile on her face. “I’d just gotten accepted into the online graduate program at University of Miami, and a couple of days before, I’d signed my contract at Montessori to start as a teacher that fall. Everything was perfect, and then I met him.

“He bought me a drink, I smiled. He asked me to dance, and we closed the club down,” she giggled. “A couple of days later, I ran into him at Centro, this really good club. It was the summer, so we were out a lot. He asked me out, I said yes. My friends though,” she shook her head, “they were not sold altogether, but I ignored them. We went out and had a really good time.

“My parents met him, and though wary, they allowed me to make my own mistakes,” she sniffled, rubbing at her swell for comfort. “He’d been excited, you know, a twenty-two year old landing a major contracting job, and he’d asked me to move in with him. We’d only been dating for about six months and I accepted. Half the payment of rent in Miami? Of course I was in! And, then, everything went downhill from there.

“He was controlling, jealous, overbearing…” her lip snarled as she recounted the events of her failed relationship. “One day after work,” she bit her lip, closing her eyes, “I was in the kitchen and he was bent over the newspaper, looking for jobsites or some other shit, who knows,” she waved her hand dismissively. “He started reading aloud to me about something in the paper and he stumbled on a word, and I giggled ‘cause it was funny how he’d stumbled on such a simple word, and in a matter of seconds, I was on the floor.

“Me dijo ‘puta’ before kicking me in the stomach… I was in shock, Vada. One minute, I’m finishing the dishes, and the next I’m fighting for air and trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. It only got worst from there,” she hung her head, opening her eyes.

“Mari—”

“I tried to leave, Vada. I did, but because of his constant abuse, verbal beratings, and beatings, I stuck around. He’d made me drop hours at the school, and I did for a little bit, but then I realized, he wasn’t home most of the time. He worked sixteen-hour days, so I could work my full-time hours, and still be home by the time he got there.

“I lost weight, my friends stopped talking to me, I had to close all of my social media accounts… I almost didn’t graduate with my masters because of him,” her head had snapped up to glance at Nevada who had just stood rooted to his place, his hands clutched in fists by his sides. “Three and a half years I stayed with him, Vada. Three and a half years, wasted!

“The night I left, he had gotten home from work in a fucking mood, Jesus…” she ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, down her face as she held her jaw in awe. She hadn’t thought of that night since landing in New York after her thirty-six hour bus ride. “I should’ve known better,” she shook her head. “He went off—yelling and screaming about some guy at his job, and me, being the sensible person I am, opened my mouth to say that maybe they should’ve been working together.

“He beat me to a pulp,” she heard Nevada’s sharp intake of air, fighting off every rage molecule coursing through his veins. “I woke up two hours later. He’d spat on me, it was dried on my cheek, I was bleeding from everywhere it seemed. I walked to the room, and I knew he’d gotten drunk, and was sleeping it off like a log. I bathed, hissing and crying at my every pain receptor firing at the same time, and when I got out, I packed a bag, went to a couple of nearby ATMs and emptied our joined account.

“I bought a bus ticket and spent the next thirty-six hours cowering and hiding until I reached New York.”

Nevada had taken a step forward, mindful of her movements and reactions. “Where did you go when you got here? Why didn’t you go to your parents?”

She chuckled ruefully. “When you don’t talk to your parents for four years, it kind of puts a strain in the relationship,” her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she did so nonetheless. “I went to a cop’s station. I needed… something to protect myself.”

“They helped you?” Mariana nodded, hiding her face. “And, this son of a bitch is here, now?”

She shuddered, rubbing her swell. “He was waiting for me, Vada. In front of the fucking pharmacy; he knows where I work. It’s only a matter of days until he finds out where I live,” she mewled, covering her mouth as more tears streamed down her face.

Nevada was quick to gather her in his arms, wrapping her in his warm embrace as he shushed her. He placed his lips against her forehead, running his hand through the hair that by now was stuck to her neck and face due to her tears and perspiration. Her arms were tightly wrapped around his waist, her head tucked underneath his chin. She’d been so strong for so long and feeling Nevada next to her, being able to wrap her body around his had broken her resolve.

She’d been so stuck in her fight or flight mode that she’d barely had time to let go. Nevada kept shushing her, placing his lips to whatever skin he was able to reach of her face. He wanted her pain to be his and he wanted this motherfucker dead for what he’d done to her. All the pain he’d inflicted on her, he would double it and then some. This man had bent Mariana to his will, almost causing her to break, but like the strongest of the bamboos, she’d molded and held and had sprung back and blossomed into the beautiful human being he now knew and… dare he say it?

Loved; he loved Mariana.

Mariana sighed, pressing her forehead just next to his gold cross against his chest, sniffling loudly after gathering her composure as much as she could. “Vada—Vada, what am I going to do? He—He knows—God, he knows where I am…”

Nevada shushed her, “Épale Chiquita, cálmate que you’re doing no good to our gordita.”

Mariana scoffed and chuckled, shaking her head before lifting her chin to gaze into Nevada’s stormy gaze. “God, all the stress she probably has endured… She’s been so quiet…”

“I’m glad you’re on the ‘she’ train, but you barely noticed me come in through the door, what makes you think you’ve noticed what she’s been doing in there?”

“Nevada,” Mariana smiled, patting his chest. “You—You’re right, but now I’m worried.”

She had tipped her head to gaze at her stomach. Nevada grabbed her chin, lifting it so that she could look into his eyes. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

Mariana shook her head, “No. I just need to relax, eat something, go home, and try to sleep.”

“Home?” Nevada scoffed loudly, throwing his head back in laughter. “Tú estás fumándote algo bueno ‘cause you ain’t leaving this apartment tonight, and tomorrow when I take you over to your place so that you can shower and change, pack a bag with all your shit, ‘cause you’re not going back.”

She furrowed her brow, dropping her arms just to cross them against her chest, “Nevada—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Mariana. This is non-negotiable, and I don’t want to hear it,” he took a step back, not wanting to trigger in her any past emotion. They’d been standing pretty close and if they were about to argue, he didn’t want her to think this was a power play. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but that is final. Te vas a quedar aquí until I find that cock-sucker and make him—”

“Hey, hey,” she smoothly said, taking a step forward into him, placing her hands against his chest. “I heard you, ok? Loud and clear, no me tienes que gritar.”

Nevada closed his eyes, huffing like a bull. He felt her lips on his jaw, trailing towards his lips where she planted hers furiously.

The kiss slowly developed into something more and the more Nevada gripped her waist, drove her into his body, and held on to her hips, the more he could feel the budding anxiety shed from her skin. He’d known part of the information Mariana had shared with him in that moment, but listening to his Chiquita recount what she’d gone through at such a young age, the same age range that his sister was in at the moment, had shaken him.

Of course he’d seen his girls beaten and ill-handled by a john that thought that just because he was paying for the services provided, he could do whatever he pleased with the merchandise. The guys working the corners and watching for the girls were always the one to bring them in, they trusted no one else, and when Nevada would milk them for the information, he would send them home and until whatever cuts and bruises healed and faded they weren’t allowed back on the streets.

Nevada prided himself in having the best looking girls and for that, the johns paid top dollar for.

The girls looked like your typical girl-next-door, a devoted housewife, and some had that mean streak that a lot of men liked. The minute one of his girls came to him with a problem, it was resolved on sight. How many times he had his men tracking down johns all the way to New Jersey in their two-story home with a loving wife sitting on the porch watching their kids play just to teach them a lesson? And, now that Mariana had presented this problem to him, he wouldn’t rest until he had Ricardo’s blood splattered on his chest.

Nothing would bring him greater joy than seeing the man that had put in danger the mother of his child begging and pleading for his life.

She’d been emptying a suitcase with the help of Jess on top of Nevada’s bed, sorting through what she’d been able to grab earlier that morning and what Jessica had been able to retrieve a couple of hours before arriving to Nevada’s home. She’d accumulated quite the wardrobe in the years she’d been in New York and now she needed to wean the things she knew for sure weren’t going to fit even after the pregnancy.

During lunch, she’d caught Jess up in the events of the prior day, causing Jessica to be overly apologetic over leaving so drastically just for a dick appointment.

Nevada busted through his bedroom door, “Chiquita, you have ten minutes to get ready.”

Mariana looked over her shoulder, “Get ready for what?”

Nevada narrowed his eyes, “Nine minutes.”

Mariana rolled her eyes, turning back towards Jess, “We’ll talk later.”

Jess nodded and glared at Nevada as she exited his room and home. Mariana wasted no time in changing clothes given the time frame Nevada had given her. She wore a light blue striped linen and cotton midi length dress. It had a flattering drape design that accommodated her growing bump beautifully and she paired it with nude sandal heels. Nevada hummed in approval, lingering his eyes on her changing body.

It was no secret that Nevada was incredibly attracted to Mariana, but what he didn’t know then was how attracted he could possibly be to Mariana’s pregnant form. The way it felt underneath his palms was a feeling he couldn’t get exactly over and once she realized he was touching her it was as if the baby could feel it too and the excitement could be felt through her stomach.

He lain awake some nights, feeling the activity happening inside of her, and when she didn’t wake, he would take that opportunity to talk to the baby, rubbing small circles against her stomach in the different places he felt his child move.

They’d safely made it down to the SUV and during the ride; Mariana’s curiosity peeked once again. “Where are we going?” she was fidgeting with one of the buttons down the front of her dress.

Nevada sighed, redirecting his attention from his phone to Mariana besides him. “We’re going to the club,” he evenly said.

Mariana furrowed her brow, “It’s six thirty in the afternoon. On a Thursday.”

“And?”

“Why?”

He huffed once more, having directed his attention to a more pressing matter in the privacy of his mobile screen. “Mari,” he scrubbed his hands over his face. “We’re going to some interviews, Jesus. Cállate ya, and let me work.”

Mariana raised a single brow, turning on the seat, “Interviews for what? Why do I need to be there?”

Nevada growled, causing Miguel to snicker in the front seat. Mariana smirked. She lived for nothing else than to irritate Nevada and at that very moment, she was proving to be more than successful. Nevada turned to glare at her, only to be met by a playful smirk and pursed lips.

Nevada shook his head, “We’re interviewing guys to protect you. There, are you happy?”

“Protect me from—” she started then abruptly stopped once she saw the rage and readiness of Nevada’s eyes. She nodded, biting her lip. “Why new people that I don’t trust? Why can’t I have Miguel?” she gestured towards the front seat where Miguel sat, diligently coursing through St. Nicholas Avenue towards Nevada’s precious club.

“Because, I need him.”

“What about Pucho? You trust him.”

“Exactamente, that’s why he’s not muscle, he’s brains.”

“Why do you need Miguel, then? Why can’t you just keep Diego or, or Josean, or—”

“Porque no, coño, porque no,” Nevada interrupted with a slight raise of his voice. “I don’t like explaining myself, Chiquita. You’re getting your own detail, just like Nina and Sofía have their own men, you’re getting your own. ¿Me entiendes?”

Mariana puffed, slamming her back against the seat like a petulant child. Nevada sighed heavily, deciding to ignore Mariana’s caviling attitude for the remainder of the ride. He was busy, settling the final contracts in order to move in to the new place. He still hadn’t let Mariana know of his plans, and the place needed some work, but he wanted to be able to give Mariana that sense of satisfaction that came when transforming one’s space into their own.

He chanced a glance over to her, smirking at her pout and furrowed brow. She was shaking her head, rolling her eyes as she attempted to hide her annoyance from Nevada. Nevada reached over, pinching the skin of her elbow playfully.

Mariana shook her arm away, clicking her tongue in distaste, “Deja.”

He bit his lip, repeating the movement once more. He was trying to get her to lower her arms from across her chest, just so that he could thumb the ink above her elbow fold, the one with snowcapped mountains alluding to a new beginning; a new beginning with his namesake.

Mariana turned abruptly, knocking his hand off of her flesh, only to be met by his smoldering malachite eyes. He grinned devilishly, pulling her by her arm towards him. She fussed, but once his lips fell on her, she went limp in his arms. The arm that he had imprisoned was coiled against her chest whilst her free hand crept up his neck.

She allowed herself to be swallowed by Nevada, his kiss proving to be liquid fire upon her mouth. In a matter of seconds, her heart had picked up a changeless gallop, and as she sought his shifting mouth, her hunger for him rose. Nevada flicked his bottom lip against hers, taunting and teasing, as he pulled back from her, resting his forehead against hers.

He hummed, closing his eyes, attempting to swallow the array of emotions that threatened to bubble up with abandon. He breathed out, tilting his chin to press his lips against hers two more times before Miguel cleared his throat, announcing their arrival at the club.

Nevada released Mariana’s arm, letting his palm linger on the swell of her stomach before popping open the door. He glanced both ways before allowing Mariana to step down from the vehicle, and as she did, Miguel was there to swoop her inside with Nevada carefully trailing behind.

The club appeared different on an off day. There were several contractors there, maintaining the place with some minor modifications, Tony was behind the bar—as usual—taking inventory and making sure nothing needed fixing or replacing for the upcoming weekend. She waved at Tony who in return smiled and raised the glass he was polishing, raising his brows once he saw her growing bump.

“Where are you going?” she asked of Nevada once she felt him breeze past her.

“Chiquita, must you question everything I’m doing today?” Mariana offered no reply, simply staring at him until he provided his answer with a deep sigh. “Dios santísimo, I’m getting a drink.”

“Club soda with lime,” she said, turning towards Miguel who waited patiently for her.

Nevada scoffed, digging into his pockets for his cigarettes. He never lit up around her, not even in his home any longer, especially not since finding out she was pregnant with his child. He leaned against the bar, watching her retreat with Miguel and he smiled, placing the cigarette between his lips.

He inhaled deeply as he sparked, turning to regard Tony who had placed a glass of his private label in front of him. Nevada smirked, chucking the two fingers of liquid back rapidly before smacking the glass atop the bar once more. He’d never admit to it, but he’d been nervous.

All of his men were boys of the neighborhood, eager to please and see profit dealing for the infamous drug lord. He had some working with Pucho—the smarter ones—on his books, the more street wise ones were the ones that dealt, the ones business street smart were the ones that cared for the girls, making sure that they didn’t pocket money that belonged to Nevada, and the tougher ones were muscle.

In his inner circle, the ones that got to see and work closely with Nevada on a daily basis were the ones that had earned promotions, coming to Miguel or Pucho with useful information, making sure there were minimal losses and profitable gains, and of course, those who Nevada trusted the most, were children of his own men. Nevada never recruited from the inside, but if they showed interest and promise, he would accommodate as he seemed fit.

Nina and Sofía’s detail were guys he’d grew up with, guys he’d gone to school with, who’d seen and known Nina since she was most likely Sofía’s age. Mariana had raised some valid questions, and after pondering it further, he knew she was right. Why couldn’t she have Miguel? Over the months, they’d developed this bond, a bond he was proud of. He knew she’d be protected at all times, no matter what, and she knew that she could have some freedom when moving through the city, without necessarily losing all autonomy and sense of privacy.

He needed Miguel, though. Miguel was more than just a bodyguard. He was eyes and ears, he was the city, he was everything and Nevada couldn’t afford to lose that. There was too much at stake. Losing Miguel meant losing an important structure in his meticulously forged house. Nevada needed to find someone as trustworthy as Miguel for Mariana, but knowing him, no one would be up to par.

He took Mariana’s drink, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the back office. She was laughing with Miguel who sat at Nevada’s desk whilst she was cozied up on the couch across the room, rubbing on her baby bump. Nevada cocked his head towards Miguel, sending him out of the office in search of the men that had signed up for this job.

Nevada handed Mariana her glass of club soda and she smiled, crossing her legs as Nevada sat next to her. He had already put out the cigarette, but the lingering scent of smoke clung to his leather jacket as he worked to divest his self of it. Nevada leaned forward, searching for his own glass as Mariana ran her hand down his shoulder blades, feeling the ripple of his muscles as he moved.

She hummed, sitting straight. “Papi,” she husked lowly, balancing the glass in her right hand on her crossed knee.

Nevada turned his head, pressing his chin to his shoulder. The curl of his mouth looked enticing and so she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his slowly, once… twice… thrice… until he parted his lips and she saw the perfect opportunity to capture his lower lip between her teeth, slowly tugging at it, until it popped back in place when Miguel opened the door, allowing the first guy to follow in.

Mariana sighed, leaning back against the couch, and raising her eyes to the young man in front of her. The guy couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, he still had some glimmer in his eyes, easily not found there in someone who’d seen better days.

Nevada waved at the boy to sit in front of him. “Name,” Nevada evenly said, fidgeting with his father’s ring.

“Jonathan.”

“How old are you, Jonathan?” Nevada asked, lifting his head slightly.

“Twenty-two.”

Nevada snickered, glancing over his shoulder at Mariana. “You ever killed someone, Jonathan?” the boy stuttered, widening his eyes. Nevada gave him no opportunity to answer or recover when he shot his other question. “You ever fought someone with a knife?” the boy stumbled again, opening his mouth to answer, but not quickly enough for Nevada. “If something happens, how can I trust you’re going to protect yourself and those around you?”

The boy visibly looked ill, but if he couldn’t handle a simple interview with Nevada, how exactly was he supposed to handle whatever thrown at him and to be in charge of Mariana at that? Nevada sighed, ready to dismiss the boy when he spoke.

“I—I have older brothers, sir. I’ve had to defend myself my whole life,” he explained apologetically.

Nevada smiled his signature half smile. “Do you know who she is?” he shot a thumb over his shoulder in Mariana’s direction.

“Your—Your girlfriend?”

“That’s right!” Nevada shouted, smacking the table for fun, and watching the boy tense. “That right there is my Chiquita. And, my Chiquita happens to be carrying my kid, and you are here, Jonathan, to see if you’re fit to care for my Chiquita when I’m not around,” he paused for effect, all evidence of amusement were wiped away from his face as he renewed his line of thought. “And, you think that defending yourself from your brothers is experience enough to handle a motherfucker with a gun? Get out.”

It had all happened so quickly that Mariana wasn’t sure of what had happened, but she saw the boy sag his shoulders as he stood and exited the office. When the door opened a second time, Miguel set his eyes on Nevada, attempting to communicate something about the next candidate. Nevada frowned, giving a clip nod in response. The next man walked in, a little more mature than Jonathan in Mariana’s eyes.

Nevada ushered him towards the chair across the coffee table, “Name.”

“They call me Lalo,” he responded, sniffling in the process. “Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “my allergies this time of the year—crazy.”

Nevada hummed, “How old are you, Lalo?”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat once more, shrugging his shoulders as he offered his response.

Mariana didn’t quite catch what the man had said, and once Nevada had asked of him to repeat himself, she still hadn’t understood what he’d said. The next few minutes of the interview went by as such, Lalo speaking animatedly and Mariana attempting to figure out and piece together bits and pieces of his responses.

“Open your mouth when you answer this question, and make sure you’re enunciating your words, Lalo,” Mariana said quietly, conveying her annoyance in her tone of voice.

“Huh?” he responded, glancing between Mariana and Nevada.

“You’re mumbling.”

Nevada turned on his waist, raising his brows at her. “Is that a problem for you, Chiquita?” he grinned.

Mariana shrugged a shoulder calling out for Miguel and asking of him to bring her another club soda and lime, “I don’t trust mumblers, and you shouldn’t trust someone who’s sitting in front of you high off your shit, Vada.”

Nevada narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled in response. He turned back to acknowledge the man across from him. Yes, he had noticed his fidgety demeanor and he could smell the weed off of him, but that wasn’t a problem as long as he could do his job effectively. Many a time, Miguel, Josean, Pucho, whoever had shown up high, but they were still functional, only a tad bit hungry than usual.

Nevada glared at the man until he saw how uncomfortable he grew under the scrutiny of Trujillo’s eyes. “You��re on that shit?” Nevada asked, leaning forward.

Lalo stuttered, clearing his throat and sniffling, “Trujillo, I—I—no, I mean, I smoked a little weed to take the edge off—”

“A little weed isn’t my concern,” Nevada shook his head, his voice gaining that sudden edge that Mariana dreaded. “You’re fucking tweaking.”

“No, Nevada—”

“Get the fuck out before I do something really stupid,” Nevada warned evenly.

Lalo was quick to be on his feet, scrambling to reach the door before facing off more of Nevada’s wrath. Mariana giggled and the sound of her airy laughter suddenly placed him at ease. Mariana shrugged when Nevada asked her how she’d known, offering the simple response that one of the mothers she frequently saw was an avid user of his product, and though never fully high, she was in this constant state of chipper joy that was unmistakable, just like Lalo.

The interviews continued, men rolling in, some rolling out, others being thrown out by Nevada behind their incompetence, and one having to be carried out by two of the guys Nevada always kept around for disrespecting Mariana.

“Jefe, this is the last one,” Miguel announced.

Nevada sighed, “Send him in.”

Mariana leaned forward, placing a kiss to his shoulder, “I don’t want to add to your stress right now, but I have two things to say.”

Nevada turned his head with hooded eyes, letting his body feel Mariana’s belly against his ribs, “And, what is that, Chiquita?”

“One, we’re hungry and two, I told you so,” she giggled, leaning back as the door to the office opened.

Nevada scoffed, shaking his head. “We’ll go pick up Sofía after this and go eat. She’s staying with me for the weekend while Nina goes do whatever the fuck she does when she gets together with her friends,” he waved a hand dismissively in the air, turning to acknowledge the broad man in front of them.

He was blondish, tall, and looked like he ate protein for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Mariana frowned at him as she saw from her peripheral Nevada glance back at her. He was buff, annoyingly so, and Mariana could already feel Nevada’s interest in him to protect her and their child increasing.

Mariana sighed, knowing that he most likely was built for visuals only. His pretty boy face gave him away. “Name,” Nevada asked as the man sat in front of them.

“Dylan Perrot.”

Nevada regarded Dylan, adjusting his watch, and scratching at his brow. “Where are you from?”

“Just moved here from Wisconsin. Been living in the Lower East Side for about six months or so,” he licked his lips, leaning forward and clasping his hands together.

Mariana raised her brow, taking a sip of the remaining liquid in her cup. In between interviews, she’d gotten up to relieve herself several times, not wanting to miss a sliver of conversation between Nevada and the prospect of guys. If he wanted protective detail for Mariana, the least he could was allow her to weigh in on his decision.

Nevada narrowed his eyes, “Jimmy Mucci sent you?”

“Nah,” he shook his head.

“I don’t know, Dylan. Seems sketchy; a guy from downtown all the way uptown, for a job?” Nevada shook his head. “Not buying it.”

“I met this girl, Marisol, at a bar in the West Side, she was the one that told me about this job.”

There was silence and for a moment, Mariana thought he was going to kick him out, but instead: “Miguel!” the door opened almost immediately with Miguel’s head peaking into the office. “Llámate a Marisol, la hija de Puchi, and ask her if she sent someone to me.”

Miguel nodded and closed the door. Mariana hissed, rubbing at her swell, but she’d noticed that even though Nevada had looked her way, Dylan had remained stoic, only addressing and speaking to Nevada. Now, that could mean—in her mind—one of two things. One, he was respecting Nevada for who he was, and not chancing a moment for Nevada to call him out in staring at Mariana or two, he was purposefully ignoring Mariana’s presence in the room.

“If this checks out, your sole purpose is to protect her. At all times. No matter what, is that clear?”

Before Dylan could answer, Mariana interrupted, leaning forward to place her glass atop the coffee table separating the three of them. “Do you even know how to handle a gun?” she smirked, leaning back, and biting her lip.

Dylan flexed his fingers, looking at Nevada. “Answer her,” he cocked his head, scooting back to place his hand on Mariana’s thigh.

Between teeth, Dylan answered, “No, but—”

“Can you fight?” Mariana quickly added.

She could see the redness peeking from underneath the collar of his V-neck shirt and if Nevada weren’t sitting besides her at the moment, she would feel somewhat uncomfortable in his presence. Her heart was beating fast and erratically and if Nevada couldn’t sense her discomfort through his touch, he could most definitely hear it in her breathing.

“I’ve been known to defend myself—”

“You’ve been known to defend yourself or have you defended yourself?”

Dylan frowned, glancing at Nevada. “Sorry, papo, you’re on your own,” Nevada snickered, raising his free hand in mock defense.

“Well?” Mariana pressed.

“Look, I can get the job done, all right?”

At that moment, Miguel opened the door, filing in with his cellphone in his hand. “Jefe, Marisol vouches for this guy. They are… friendly,” he lifted a suggestive brow, but backed away and was out the door once Nevada gave a subtle nod.

Nevada had moved his hand up Mariana’s thigh, resting it on her swell where he felt the somewhat active movement that had been going on inside of her for quite some time. It had been the reason she had hissed not that long ago. He hummed, leaning forward to press his lips against her clothed swell.

Dylan cleared his throat and Nevada rolled his eyes, “Did I get the job or not?”

“Mari?”

Mariana pursed her lips, attempting to hide her smile. Out of all the men they’d seen in the hour or so they’d been at the club, none of them had sat right with her, but none more than Dylan. He was cocky and arrogant and she couldn’t stand the… easiness of his face. It’s not that she was expecting a type of person to walk in, but in some way, she was expecting someone more rugged than pretty boy Dylan.

She blinked slowly, rubbing her bump as she let the fretful air increase around them. “You can go now,” she said sweetly.

“Really?” Dylan asked, raising his hands.

Mariana looked at Nevada and back at Dylan, “Did I stutter?”

Dylan didn’t spare another word and abruptly exited the office, leaving the door wide opened as he brushed past Miguel. “Chiquita, Chiquita, Chiquita,” he mused quietly, rubbing at his brow. “Mari, you have to pick someone.”

Mariana snickered. “Vada, you don’t even trust half of them sitting here in your office, are you really trusting them with my life?”

“I liked that last guy.”

Mariana scoffed loudly, “Of course you did. Sir Meathead is all looks, Nevada.”

“All looks is what you want, Mari! Chica, por favor, coopera. I’m doing this your way. Meet me half way, mami, please.”

“If you were doing this my way, I would’ve had one of the guys you already have on payroll,” she mumbled, scoffing as she saw Nevada’s withering look.

“Chiquita, you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

“You are!”

Nevada scoffed, “That’s… fucking grand.”

“Oh, please.”

Tensions had risen exponentially in the minutes that had passed since their moment on the couch. Nevada was at his wit’s end. He wanted what was right for her and their baby, but Mariana was evading any logical reasoning at every turn. Stubborn as a mule had taken a new meaning that day.

“Ni una puta mula…” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Screw you!”

Nevada had been quick to stretch his arm, pinching her nape as he scooted his body closer on the couch next to her. His mouth was closest to her ear and as she fought him off, he pulled her against him, “I know you’re fucking hungry, pero cuidadito como me hables, coño.”

“Vada, I—”

Nevada shushed her, “Quietesita, we won’t leave until you make a choice, Mari. Simple as that.”

Mariana was silent and she shook her head as much as she could, fighting off the tears that had sprung in her eyes.

She hadn’t meant to be impossible, but she was scared, and in all honesty, she had been deflecting. She’d been placing the responsibility onto Nevada to make him understand that no one would ever be good enough to take care of her and watch over her the way he’d done so these past months. Nevada had this… gift for reading people and she had this gift for reading Nevada and even when she didn’t want to realize it, she knew that Nevada trusted some of the men that had interviewed.

Trust was too far of a stretch, but something in them he had liked, and that’s why he pushed for a decision. No matter how much she hated each and every one of them, she knew the real reason was because none of them were Nevada, and none of them would be trustworthy until they were.

She mewled, hanging her head, “I’m scared.”

Nevada sighed, closing his eyes and directing her into his chest, allowing her to settle underneath his chin. “Yo lo sé, Chiquita. That’s why we’re here, but you’ve got to ease up!”

“Vada, I’m scared,” she repeated and he placed his lips on her head, running his hands up her torso. “He’s here. He—”

The choking sound that creeped out of Mariana’s throat could’ve been enough to send Nevada into a murderous spree if so he pleased, but being calculated and meticulous was one of his fortes, and he had Pucho working around the clock to find the son of a bitch and make him pay for what he’d done. It’s why this entire process had been incredibly hard on him, this isn’t how he broke in new men. He’d bring them in, allowed for them to make a drop with a couple of casualties and however they managed it, he’d proceed from there, but when it came to her safety, he wanted only the best that was out there.

He held on to her, letting her get all her frustrations and fears out. He clutched her hair in his hand, drawing his resolve from the crumbling one in his hands. As much as he wanted to fuss and fight, throw around every piece of furniture in his office, he needed to be calm, cool, and collected.

“Mami, slow down. You can’t get yourself worked up like that,” he whispered against the crown of her head.

Mariana sniffled, turning her head to press her forehead against Nevada’s shoulder. She sighed, taking a few deep breaths in order to calm herself down. Nevada soothed her, rubbing her back in wide motions until her shuddering breaths settled into easy breaths.

“Just pick the meathead, Vada,” she acquiesced.

Nevada smiled, shaking his head at the name his preferred prospect had gained from his Chiquita. He would send Miguel out to find him, and he would prep him so good, that even he would need clearance to approach Mariana and every fiber of her pregnant body.

tags: @imjustreallynosy @bananas-pajamas @scarletsoldierrr @katierpblogg @angelicdestieldemon

#me #chiquita #chapter 11 #new chapter #Raul Esparza #Nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #trouble in the heights #reader #trash can #feelings

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prettyboypeterparker · 5 years

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There have only been three times in his life when Tony has hated himself truely. The first was when his parents died and he had been cold shouldering them the day they left, the second was leading Pepper on (by accident of course, it wasn’t his fault that he thought they were mates, he had apologised after though) and the third was taking a cufflink and poking a hole in the condom he was using to have sex with Peter.

Now Tony knows how bad it sounds, he’s not trying to give Peter a STD (he’s clean, he made sure before taking his beautiful mate to bed) but he is trying to start a pack. Sure he has the Avengers and he’ll always consider them pack but he needs his own smaller one, the kind of pack that calls to his inner wolf and placates his need for pups. Tonys age isn’t getting any younger and times ticking by quicker and quicker, Peter is his only chance at having a family.

Tony knows he should just talk with Peter about it, the teen is always so ready for anything Tony has to say, will always agree because he’s a good little Omega but Tony knows Peter won’t give his schooling up for a child. Not when Peter’s still basically a kid (he’s eighteen but Tony will always see him as the bright eyed fifteen year old that he met three years ago. Sue him) Tony doesn’t want Peter to flush his life down the toilet, Peter has so much potential, he was truely a good seed and Tony’s a hundred percent sure he could make it into any school of his choice but Tony’s biological clock is ticking and the more he wastes time humming and hawing about whether this is morally right the more his sperm count goes down. Tony swears he can feel his balls shrivelling every moment he doesn’t make up his mind!

So without any more thought Tony pokes a hole into the condom and places it back into the side table, waiting to be used that night.

Tony orders dinner in and waits for Peter to swing in from work (that stupid newspaper place has been nothing but trouble for Peter with his boss being an ass) Tony has pepperoni pizza waiting for Peter and even bought that stupid garlic knot shit he likes. Tony’s buttering him up without Peter even realising.

Tony’s in the kitchen when Peter walks out from the hallway, he’s holding his mask in one hand and his back pack in the other.

“Hey Tony.” Peter murmurs as he walks up to Tony, bag and mask dropping to the floor.

“Hey kid, you okay?” Tony rubs a soothing hand over Peter’s cheek.

“My boss ripped into my ass over the shots I handed in, said that they weren’t “emotional” enough which I don’t understand because they’re literal photos of a hot dog stand and what emotions can you get from that? I don’t even know why he wanted me to take pictures of it Tony!” The poor Omega huffs and his eyes start to get misty.

“Hey, you know what’ll cheer you up? Some pizza and garlic knots and a big rant about how you wanna quit but you won’t.” Tony says as he pushes over the two boxes full of food.

“You know me so well.” Peter sighs as he flips open the pizza box to grab a slice.

Tony moves them to the couch and listens to Peter complain about his job while eating the pizza, when Peter’s had enough and is full Tony suggests a bubble bath and some fruity drink to help calm the nerves that have obviously been frayed today.

“A bath sounds so damn good right now. Carry me?” Tony doesn’t hesitate to pick Peter up bridal style, he carries the boy down the hall and into the bathroom where he sets him on the marble surrounding the tub.

While Peter undresses himself Tony turns the bath on and squirts some bubble bath solution into the running water, Peter slips in and Tony places a kiss on his brow.

“I believe I offered a drink with said bath.” Peter nods mindlessly and Tony goes to find the mango alcohol (it’s more juice than alcohol since Peter’s still underage) and pours it into a wine glass.

Tony takes it back to his beautiful mate and hands it over while he sits on the marble, helping Peter relax by running his fingers through his hair. Half an hour later (not that Tony’s counting) Peter’s beyond relaxed and ready for bed, it’s Tony’s time to shine.

Tony plucks Peter out of the bath and carries him to their room, he drops the Omega on the bed and doesn’t bother about how he’s wetting the duvet just leaves kisses up and down his legs and bypassing his cock completely. Tony licks away the vanilla and coconut tasting water droplets from his milky skin, ever since his first heat Peter’s body had changed from tanned and buff (thanks to the spider bite) to milky and soft. Tony likes both. The older man slips out of his clothes quickly so he can feel the heated skin against his own.

“Tony~” Peter whines, hands coming down to grip Tony’s hair.

“Yeah baby, I’ve got you.” Tony rubs at Peter’s thighs and manages to get a whiff of Peter’s slick, a combination of the bubble bath solution and something just so Peter.

Tony folds Peter’s legs up and noses along his perineum, smelling Peter’s natural scent. He trails his nose down until he reaches plush slightly pinked cheeks, Tony parts Peter and licks at his rim tasting the slick that dribbles out.

“Tony, please, hurry.” Tony leans back and bites Peter’s left ass cheek.

“Inpatient Omega.” Peter chirps, a sound only an Omega can achieve when they’re truely happy.

Tony stretches over to the side table and pulls out the cherry lube and condom, Tony squirts some of the lube on his finger holding it up to Peter lips, Peter licks the jelly off and hums at the taste. Tony smiles and rolls on the condom before using a little more lube on Peter’s hole even though the slick is plentiful. Tony doesn’t waste time pushing in.

“Alpha~” Peter calls out, hands scrabbling to grab at Tony’s shoulder blades, like finger nails digging in nicely.

Tony fucks into Peter fast, no time to dawdle and wraps a hand around Peter small cock he jerks him loosely until he spends over his belly, his cum translucent and useless.

“C’mon Alpha, want you to come in me, please? Breed me?” Peter says prettily and Tony can’t help but think just you wait little Omega, I’m gonna breed you so well.

Tony cums quickly, a thing that he’s not embarrassed by (he’ll grow hard again in a few minutes) and leans down to kiss Peter sloppily.

They lay there together and Tony can’t help himself when he lays a hand flat on Peter’s slightly pudgy belly.

Two weeks later and Peter’s standing in front of the mirror hands cupping his tummy, smile on his face as he tells Tony the good news.

#starker #tony x peter #nff #starker nff #i dont know how to tag this but basically tony impregnates peter without him knowing #a/b/o #also so people dont get confused peters holding his stomach at the end because hes happy #i know you cant show at two weeks

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the-third-body · 4 years

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THE KILLING HOOK: Dorothy Allison, Anger, and Survival.

What does it mean to survive abuse? What meaning do we give to the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive, and how is our fashioning of them a form of survival itself? Is what we create in order to survive enough (to form a politic? An ethic? A life; a sensuous, sensual, full one?) What of the affects that go beyond or necessarily against attempts to live--moments of pure anger or rage or abjection---where do they fit into life (in that oftentimes they necessitate a turn away from it, at least in the sense of futurities sake…)? Perhaps what I’m asking is a question of direction, where to turn I mean, an orientation towards life, or a disorientation towards death?

Bastard Out of Carolina is a semi-autobiographical fictionalized account of Dorothy Allison’s childhood growing up in rural, poor South Carolina. The books follows the young protagonist--named simply “Bone”--- from her birth as a ‘bastard child’ to her youth-filled days living with and escaping from her abusive stepfather, Daddy Glen. Though the situation and, in many ways, the story of the book resides in the abuse Bone endures, much of the content of the book focuses on little asides, Bone’s obsession with Gospel music, her friendship with Shannon, the ugliest girl in town, her ransack of Woolworth’s candy store. These descriptions, often episodic and almost out place (why the obsession? Where did Daddy Glen suddenly disappear to? Why do they fit with the whole only in scattered and fractured ways?), I would argue, are exactly where another part of the ‘situation’ lies---not necessarily in the content of what they are saying and not even necessarily how they are said---but the most simple and plain fact that they are said at all. For Bone, these stories act as a form of survival from and assertion beyond the violence she is subjected to. The book reads as a bildungsroman, though a fractured one; through her stories, she is able to construct and assert a reality outside of her immediate situation, a way of saying that the reality of her abuse is not the only one that exists. They function not as escape, but as a different affirmation of truth---one that is uniquely her own. Bone stays alive through the world that she makes for herself---these stories are language as survival itself. She fashions for herself a discursive world that allows her to both remember and invent…. a low-breathing place where she both knows that “there was once a time when you were not a slave, remember that. You walked alone, full of laughter, you bathed-bare bellied. You say you have lost all recollection of it, remember….You say there are no words to describe this time, you say it does not exist. But remember. Make an effort to remember. Or, failing that, invent.” Like Wittigs warriors, Bone remembers, or she invents. Her stories are soft and tender at the same time that I read them as absolutely militant. Bone asserts again and again (and again) that she will remain, that she will survive.

But: do Bone’s stories really save her? One truth does not erase the other, there is no cancelling each other out, no null and void or net whole; the palimpsest, it remains. You can’t wash away what came before, or the remnants that were always already there. How does Bone live through that (how does anyone)--those blackouts of language, where you can’t be anywhere but in the thick, right under the shadow of reality, the fact of the exact moment of violence? Because what is abuse but social death, loss so deep your lost wrestling with the void where language, you, are not?

So where does that leave Bone? Though in the middle of the book, Daddy Glen seems to recede as the contours of Bone’s inner world take shape, he returns climatically & expectedly; overarching, centerfold, looming, huge, overbearing, monstrous...what else can I say?; he is the totalizing climax of the book, the utter and only reality wherein everything else is pushed to the side or back, as excess or build up. What do we do when we do everything we can to survive and what is killing us still comes anyways? What is Bone’s response? And why do I love it so much?

LET ME DIE BUT LET ME KILL HIM.

In this moment, Bone no longer cares about living, about all she has compartmentalized in order to survive. In this moment, her anger is condensed to the singular point of explosion. And explode it does; abjection to the most extreme, all the anger and shame and self-loathing that can no longer be contained, cannot be thought or invented away. No longer is she trying to escape death, no longer is she trying to survive it; there is no door at the end of her suffering, nothing to be mined from her rage. It is the affect of the murderess, in its purest, most desperate form. Why does this anger feel more---or equally so---valuable as Bone’s stories of survival? Why does it matter that her rage is not a vector of livability--but instead--is a dance with (unafraid of) death? She is not “killing death so that she may live” (Cixous). She is killing death to murder it, in cold blood.

The day I finished the book, I journaled like crazy. Starting: I AM ANGRY. (apropos: everything.) I needed something to explain the rage, the rage at the rage, how at the end of the day, I feared myself, not because I feared wanting to die, but wanting to kill...and how that would probably kill me anyways. That day I hated, that in spite of everything, I am expected to desire a world (to live in it) that loathes me. Everything I am asked to do just to survive….it felt placating that morning….how I tell my little stories, and hide in my own little world...how I hold so much of it in, what is to live the secret, all the knowledge and self knowledge they will never know, how one day I’ll kill them for it, but it also makes me cry, because they don’t know, they don’t, and I try with language to make them understand, because they have to, they have to understand, and the tenderness boils down because all they see is anger, they don’t know how soft I want to be, how I want to hold them, their world in my hands, make them tea and wipe their face….and so maybe the hate is self-hatred (light always refracts back), because in spite of it all I do desire the world, but sometimes the shame is too much, a refueling to the anger, and I want to live in a way that it is not necessary to survive. I do not want to have to kill death so that I may live, I want the conditions of this world to have already done so for me. So I regress. I AM ANGRY. (apropos: survival.)

What is this rage condensed to the point of explosion? For the radical lesbians it was….lesbianism. It was disidentification with the male structure, the creation of a new center; a way to fashion ourselves in relation to ourselves. For the radical lesbians, anger was needed to create and recreate themselves and the world in their own image. For Bone, what was her anger condensed to the point of explosion? At first take, it was a homicidiality that shook off shame, that shook off the self-blame, the self-hate, the scared hiding from everything, yourself, doing anything you can to make it through or out. But in another, larger sense, her rage exploded! is an affect too messy to be compartmentalized, an outpouring that rejects all analyzation or logicity. After all---she has spent the entirety of the book trying to live, why the sudden shift? The no longer needing to hide? To protect? The messiness of rage, how it does quite literally explode! out from and under the excesses of the attempts to compartmentalize her life, is, in many ways, what allows her to survive--and to go beyond survival; to live. The space given to externalize what it is (to live the secret), the inherent unintelligibility of rage & shame (the sadness of remaining tender through it all), is perhaps exactly what allowed her to create and recreate----to hold---herself and all the realities she existed within. Embracing the dissolution of how we compartmentalize our lives in order to survive, the falling (forever/ever) of the dance with death; in the end what allows her to live is this: the no longer needing to.

Bone’s anger saves her in that it sets her free. In that freedom is this: falling, forever. Her rage is categorically and inherently different than Shannon’s, whose spite, literally, consumes her alive. Bone’s anger does not come from spite or hatred; she does not hate living, she just hates the conditions of her life. Being angry at the world does not mean you are an angry person. She had so much tenderness, a softness that she was never able to see or be seen as, a constant mis/recognition from the world. But, what remains fundamental to Bone’s core, is that all her affects come from a desire to be in the world---a belief in it and wanting to live in it. A desire, furthermore, to be with others in it, to be Bone, a Boatwright woman, standing together, softly, proud. Her anger, then, signals her desire for something more, a different rhythm of being (with). Bone’s words strike like Herko’s leap from the window, a suicidality whose incomprehensibility opened a door, showing us, that there was more, always, there is more, in our infinite ability to recreate the conditions of the world: renewal was his suicide note: that there is more.

Shannon’s contempt at the world comes from an entirely different affect, one of retribution, a desire to flip the world rather than explode! it. While Shannon’s loneliness screams of contemptuous revenge, domination, retribution , Bone’s loneliness comes from a desire to not be so; a desire for a new form of relationality. Because Bone’s anger signals to this other, this elsewhere, her anger is able to be performed as a gesture, in the way that it becomes externalized, making a tool of it, one she can extend and create as her own: her sharp killing hook. The uses of her anger can be to plunder (yes) and kill (yes), but it also can be to signal, to open, to re-orient, the same ways that her stories do, redirecting us to other fractals of truth. Through mobilizing her rage outward, Bone is able to save herself, no longer holding it in, stewing and constricting, making you so angry at the world and everyone in it until the world turns around and burns you alive. There’s a bravery to Bone, that despite everything, her body/self remains open, always.

And so what do you do with that? The desire to remain in the world, a porous softness you refuse to give up…?....You have to find a way to recast your desire to live as the desire for a new world (so that you may live). Even if it kills you (the leap!), we take it, we must, because there is nothing else to be done, nothing at all. And we learn from those who died, who took the jump. About the incomprehensibility of letting go, of grasping on to all the things that can’t be explained away. How can anyone explain (sexual) need? How does anyone explain shame? The things that cycle in, under the self, the need that begets only more desperate need. This is what Bone’s rage teaches us, and all that’s left to ask is: what’s to be done with that?

In the end, what I feel is deep tenderness, what is to live the secret, or dare I say, the wound, how bleeding and profuse it all is. In the end, I want to find Bone, all the Boatwright women, send out gestures across the world: telling them to come find me, telling them I want to hold it (the wound) with (through) them. And what will the gesture be? A leap out the window, a scream at the man sitting atop me, blocking out all the sunlight, a plunder, a kill, a performance of all my profound loneliness as our politic of being together. In the end---I feel the weight of everything that I must cut through in order to live, and I write to the women who feel it too. In the end, that’s what Bone did for me; showed me how to kill death so that I may live. And in the end, she did not kill Daddy Glen. In the end she did not erase the truth of the violence he enacted on her body. But in the end, she killed death….and in the end, more so than survive, she learned how to live…

Tonight, again, I’ll sit in my room, thinking of all the crazy HAG women and what we must do. Tonight, I sit in my room, sharpening my killing hook.

#dorothy allison #writing #trauma #lonliness #bastard out of carolina

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sharada-n · 4 years

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I got this request over a year ago I think, which is a testiment to how slow I am with these sometimes. Still, I had a lot of fun writing for a fandom I haven’t tried before, and this request was just too cool to pass up - even if i did butcher it and turn it into more angst than hijinx.

Not sure if you still follow me, Anon, or if you’ll ever see this. But thank you so much for the request!

(Read on AO3)

The Pale King was a busy bug.

Hallownest as a society functioned much like a machine with many intricate parts, each cog turning just as it should individually while still dependent on each other, but keeping them all running properly was not an effortless endeavor. No matter what the denizens of his city might think.

Maybe it was his own fault. He had rather enjoyed playing the part of the detached ruler, taking pride in projecting an image of ease with which he operated, some might have called it superiority, keeping to it in dignity even when the first signs of sickness started to plague his people. Panic posed a danger as much as any actual disease could and he refused to let it spread, determining what needed to be done with level-headed purpose.

Rarely did he stray outside of the palace and if that had granted him the image of a god among his people then so be it. It was something he would neither deny nor discourage. But the truth of the matter remained that there were indeed things that took exertion and ruling Hallownest was one of them. Between tending to the many facets of the kingdom there was precious little time for anything besides duty and if the citizens of Hallownest at large would never realize that, he didn't mind. He had only hoped that those few creatures with the honor to belong to his inner circle and witness his efforts would know better.

Apparently that had been too much to hope for.

"Do tell why you presume to bother me with such inane questions?" he asked, his back turned upon the one stubbornly blocking his doorway. Maybe if he ignored her long enough, Herrah would realize he was preoccupied and did not have the time for frivolous affairs today – or any day for that matter.

"Oh, my dear Wyrm," she drawled back, the words spoken with such fake affection he was more than certain she was just trying to vex him, "however did you come to the misunderstanding that this was a mere question? I was making a demand."

"I do recall you're quite good at those," he murmured, unsure if she had heard but finding he cared little either way. To be curt, it was her own ultimatum that had gotten them into this situation to begin with, so it was only fair she would bear the burden. He turned around and added louder: "You know your time with her is dwindling. Why would you want to squander the feeble amount you have left?"

Herrah waited a moment, the reminder of the concomitant of their deal probably unpleasant for her. She made a sound, low and prolonged. "As hard as it will be for you to imagine, I am a queen in my own right. Sometimes that means I have pressing responsibilities to uphold for my people."

"Why do you not just command one of them to look after the child, then?"

"Because..." And he could tell she took great pleasure in her next words, "the child is yours as well. Last I recall you were there when she was created." As if to emphasize this she pushed the thing towards him. It was small, with a cloak that got close to brushing the ground and which had the typical burgundy coloring that the Pale King had come to associate with Herrah's retainers.

The child looked at him, its expression somehow curious despite the likeness to his own children, who had deceivingly unreadable features by design. It titled its head sideways, falling back to remain closer at its mother's side. Seemingly it was as pleased about this new acquaintance as The Pale King himself was.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Her name is Hornet," Herrah answered, "and honestly it doesn't matter much as long as you keep her save and alive for the foreseeable future." She turned to leave, the child hesitating for a moment, as if to follow, but eventually being persuaded by practiced obedience to stay where she was.

She stood in the room silently, gaze fixed upon the Pale King as he resumed his work. He ignored her for the time being, bending over the ancient-looking tomes once more. There was a lot of lore on higher beings, most of it unfamiliar even to himself – as ironic as that was – and he had spent too much time already consulting them on anything that might pertain to the infection threatening his people, clearly divine in origin.

After a few moments, his thoughts were disturbed again, this time by the child, who had crept closer to the desk during his distraction. She leaned forward slightly, maybe trying to read the crumbly papers but there was a fundamental lack of understanding on her face. The Pale King closed the book, brushing away the small cloud of dust it blew up.

"Very well," he said, gesturing towards the door, "you are old enough to entertain yourself, I presume?"

"I'm nearly grown," she answered, taking him off guard. His own children did not speak – also by design – but it made sense for this one to not have such restrictions.

"Follow."

They walked along the winding passageways of the White Palace, barely acknowledging the few bugs they met on their way. Hornet stopped occasionally at the large windows, the view certainly very different from how Deepnest looked. The Pale King did not know if Herrah didn't take their child outside often or if she just had a latent curiosity for the world. Regardless, he supposed it would aid her in her future as queen and indulged it for now.

Eventually they came upon the room he was meaning to, opening the heavy door with some difficulty. The vessel stood at attention on their arrival, dark cloak wrapped around themselves securely, though just slightly shorter than Hornet's own. When the king entered, they bowed curtly. It proceeded to stay perfectly motionless and wait for further instructions, though their head inclined slightly towards the stranger now in their room.

"Hornet, this is your-" the Pale King considered his own words. Treading into unfamiliar territory was not his forte. "Your sibling, supposedly." That didn't sound too far of from the truth. "I do believe you two will be able to keep each other company in here."

Hornet looked up at him. "Where are you going?"

Suppressing an annoyed huff – not very becoming of a king, now was it? – he turned towards the door. "Back to more important matters, such as running a kingdom."

He was barely a few feet further or Hornet's hand seizing his cloak stopped him, though he pulled it out of her grasp quickly. "I don't want to stay in here," she said. How she had so quickly transformed from the silent child Herrah dropped at his chambers into this demanding little thing was beyond him.

"Well, what do you want then?"

Though the question was not meant to be answered seriously, Hornet seemed to consider it for a few moments, gaze flitting around the room. He had to admit it looked a bit modest, with far simpler decoration than the rest of the castle and not much in that way of furniture. The crib his queen has placed in the center of the room long replaced by a simple cot with no sheets. The vessel did not sleep – by design, once again.

The theory of its conception had left no need for toys and besides the training it underwent, both intellectual and in combat, supervised by the Pale King himself and his most favorable and skilled courtiers, it did not leave its room. There was no need to. All it was meant to know was the reason for its birth – the purpose it was created with and the duty it had to fulfill – and the skills necessary to accomplish that goal. It would not care for these formalities either way.

But Hornet was different, with a strong will of her own most likely inherited from that infernal mother of hers, and would not be placated by mere afterthoughts. She apparently had mused on his question long enough, for her small hands balled into tight fists and she spoke with conviction. "I want to see the rest of Hallownest. I want you to show me."

"Absolutely not."

Though her face remained impassive, the displeasure she felt at his answer was more than clear. "Why not?"

"Because the city is vast and much too fickle for us to go traipsing around it like fools," he answered, "my time to too precious to waste away on frivolous-"

The vessel had chosen this moment to politely step forward, giving another bow. But in their hands was clasped the purple-covered book The Pale King remembered giving them less than a fortnight ago. Their reading speed was incredulous – something he himself took pride in as one of its teachers – and they had most likely finished it already. Usually, they would wait to be called upon instead of taking initiative like this however.

"Very well, if it can't be helped," he relented, "The library and the sentinel will have to do, so we can abstain from doing the full tour."

He could tell Hornet was not completely satisfied, but such was the life of royalty. It would do the child some good to learn she could not always get what she wants. Her mother too...

How long could Herrah truly stay gone for after all?

The library of The White Palace was truly a marvel in architecture. Even when considering all of Hallownest, its ceiling-height windows and metal-gilded chandeliers alone were impressive enough in their own right to make regular homes pale in comparison.

There was a bustle of activity when they arrived. Scholarly bugs of various occupations eager to consult the vast collection of knowledge stored within these bookcases and artifacts. But as The Pale King made his way to the particular section he had intended to, one filled with texts on the history of his kingdom, many left the room with polite bows and muttered greetings, unable to meet his gaze. It wasn't proper conduct to stay in the room when the king entered.

Only Monomon remained, ever oblivious to the presence of anything or anybody when she was occupied with research. Her student, a young bug the Pale King had seen only in passing before, lingered at her side, carrying books to and fro at the teacher's request.

"Go pick out what you will," the Pale King told the vessel, who had already put the book they had brought back where it belonged. Their memory also was stronger than average. They trotted off to the back of the row of shelves, occasionally stopping to inspect the covers. Hornet hesitated for a second before following them. He could hear her talking to them softly, too quiet to make out what she was saying. They nodded at her in answer.

The Pale King sighed and inspected the pages Monomon was studying, marred in her own scribbled handwriting, and completely illegible for himself. She had ruined an increasing number of the books in his possession in this manner "One only hopes you do progress like this," he said.

Monomon looked up at him, maybe just noticing his arrival but unsurprised either way. She beckoned her pupil forward, taking the remaining book in his arms to lay it open in front of her and then sending him away again in search of something new. "Progress takes time."

"Time that is in short supply."

"We will compensate." The cloth around her form billowed slightly as she moved. "You brought the little one, I see. They are advancing as hoped?"

The Pale King waited, considering the idle meaning of the word hope in such a context. "More or less."

"Less?"

"They are everything we need it to be, surely. Anything beyond that is not of consideration."

Monomon nodded, using one appendage to adjust her mask. "But you might think yourself cruel still?"

All his retainers were carefully selected, their talent undeniable and their merits to Hallownest's progression even less so. Monomon was more knowledgable than most any bug in the known realm. Sometimes a bit too much so – and the Pale King is reminded yet again of her ability to surmise that which is not meant to be obvious.

"Everything we do, we do for this kingdom," he said, "not out of cruelty."

"These are not mutually exclusive, Your Majesty."

He waved his hand, a clear sign this particular thread of conversation was over with. There were many trials still ahead of them, bridges they would need to cross once they got there. But for the time being there were more pressing matters on his mind.

She seemed to take notice, as she closed the book in front of her – took the new one delivered by her pupil, who stepped back and waited patiently for further instructions on what to fetch next – and inclined her head. "And the other one too, I saw. Herrah's offspring?"

This wasn't a subject he wanted to discuss any more than the last one, but at least it left him with righteous indignation about his current circumstances. "She sprung it on me. How does one even take care of a child?"

It was a rhetorical question, he was not seeking Monomon's knowledge, especially since childrearing was probably not among her many areas of expertise. Still, she looked up once more, then behind him. "I do believe not leaving them to fall to their deaths might be a good start."

The Pale King turned around just in time to foresee the disaster waiting to happen. Hornet had climbed one of the ladders used to obtain books held on the higher shelves, balancing on one leg precariously while her small hands reached for her intended prize instead of holding on to anything solid. The vessel stood bellow, pointing to the particular book they had requested. Monomon's pupil was standing next to them, task forgotten and instead observing the spectacle with confusion.

A moment later Hornet was on top of them. It seemed at least the other two had broken her fall with their bodies, now squeezed underneath a flurry of cloak and flailing limbs. She had righted herself in an instant and with impressive agility, brushing herself off and looking away embarrassed. "Are you alright?" he heard the pupil ask as he made his way over.

"I'm fine." Hornet turned towards the vessel, holding out the book she had somehow managed to grab on her way down. "This is the one you needed, right?"

The vessel clasped it to their chest, standing a little straighter. They didn't express their gratefulness outwardly but seemed happy with the acquisition of new reading material. The book was almost too big for them to carry, with a dark green cover and golden lettering. The Pale King didn't think he had ever seen it before, but then again there were probably many objects in his collection he hadn't.

He sighed. "Are you done with your antics?"

"They're not antics," Hornet objected, "I'm being responsible. Mother says responsibility is an important virtue for a queen."

"I'm sure she does," the Pale King said, ushering the two out of the library. They greeted Monomon in passing, back to being completely absorbed in her work. Her pupil waved at them and the vessel waved back.

From this height the palace grounds appeared even more massive than they already were, the walls barely more than faint lines on the ground one could just as easily miss. Beyond them stretched mostly darkness, but the Pale King knew where the gaping pit of the abyss was located, as well as the passageways that would lead you to the City of Tears and the Stag station above them – the direction Herrah had surely taken.

Hornet had pressed herself against the glass, unafraid of heights as she had proven to be in the library. The few bugs moving around far below were nearly indistinguishable, but she seemed enthralled with the sight nonetheless. The view was unique to the palace after all, and not something you'd encounter anywhere else in Hallownest, let alone Deepnest.

The vessel stood motionless. The Pale King could not recall how often he had taken them here, sometimes for lessons and sometimes merely for a change of scenery. He was not one to be emotional – or ascribe meaning where it shouldn't be – but perhaps part of him considered it only fair they got to see the world they were destined to sacrifice their being for, or at least the bit that remained them.

Even now large parts of Hallownest were rendered abandoned by the infection, with many bugs already giving in to its thralls. Dying out quicker than any of them had anticipated.

"It's beautiful," Hornet said, softly, like the unknowing child she was. Some stray droplets of water slid down the window, residue from the city above.

"It is only a small part of many," he answered, "but together they form one whole that is worth protecting."

Hornet looked at him, tilted her head up all dignified and it reminded him of her mother in more ways than one. "That's what a ruler does, right? Protect others, whatever it takes?"

At that moment the Pale King wondered what Herrah told her daughter. He wondered what she had left unsaid.

"Whatever it takes," he agrees, looking at the vessel, mute and waiting, the book still held tightly against the front of their cloak, watching the dying world below.

They stood there for a while longer, before he finally pulled the curious Hornet from the window again. "There is still more of the palace to see," he told her, noticing the vessel perk up at his words. She could also hardly suppress the surprise in her next words.

"I thought you did not have time."

"A king can make time," he said, leading the way back to the staircase in swift strides, "didn't your mother tell you this also? Perhaps not since she seems to be running late herself. But as it were, I'll take it on myself to make sure you don't get in trouble until then."

Hornet sputtered, quick to defend the honor of both her mother and herself as they made their way down, the vessel following obediently in their wake.

#hollow knight #The Pale King #the hollow knight #hk hornet #Idk what the tags are aaa #my writing #just read it on AO3 honestly it reads way better there

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