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101maverick · 5 months

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Hearts Intertwined

< Chapter 2

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: violence, mention of drugs and drug use, mention of overdose, mention of child and domestic abuse, attempted sexual assault.

Summary: Red Hood spends his Easter Sunday patrolling crime alley and finds some interesting (preoccupying?) evidence about a potential problem that might mean teaming up with his family. Jason Todd finds someone in need of help.

Word count: 3374 words

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Jason wasn’t having the best of days.

Easter Sunday was always a more quiet day crime-wise in Park Row, what with most of the mobs being Italian and culturally Catholic, and most of the smaller gangs not wanting to cross them.

Still, that didn’t mean Jason didn’t have his fair share of work to do.

He’d done a good job of claiming Crime Alley as his territory over the years since coming back, especially in the beginning, when the Pit Rage was ever-present and aided him in his shows of intolerance towards anyone who crossed him.

He knew full well that no one had forgotten about the duffel bags and the bodies lying in the alleys. He knew full well everyone worth their salt knew Crime Alley was his, and that it was best to follow his rules lest they end up like their rule-breaking predecessors.

Alas, that didn’t mean there weren’t still people stupid enough in the world to disregard every warning he broadcasted in his career as Crime Lord to try to pull shit he had expressly forbidden.

That made him mad.

The Green edged into the corners of his vision but he quickly stamped it down. He had work to do, and needed a clear mind for it to not hit the fan. After all, while he wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with the mobs that operated in Crime Alley, he needed to keep things as civil as possible if he wanted to be able to take down the competition as he planned, and that meant not making too much of a ruckus during one of their most important festivities.

He obviously had their demise in the plans. For now though they presented powerful and useful connections and, unlike what good old B seemed to think about him, he was a smart guy and knew when to play nice.

That was why he was out in the first place, witnessing some low-level drug dealer offering some dodgy shit to what was clearly a struggling teen.

He had made it clear he didn’t tolerate drug dealing to kids, and seeing someone disrespecting what was one of his golden rules had him taking a deep breath, counting from one to ten and thinking about how he didn’t want to waste even a single bullet too-many on the waste of space in the alley below him.

With the grace and the stealth he had acquired from his years of training, he made his way down the fire escape of the building he had been perched atop of, stopping on the first-floor level to get a good look at the scene.

The kid was clearly in a bad place, clothes ill-fitting and worn thin from overuse, hair dirty and slightly matted, his expression hardened in a way a kid’s never should be.

He reminded Jason of himself.

The desperation laced in every look the kid gave his surroundings with flittering eyes reminded Jason of that scrappy street rat who tried to survive on the streets of the East End with nothing but the clothes on his back and a tire iron clutched close, grip white-knuckled on the rusted metal.

He too had been a dirty street rat, gloom clinging to him like a stubborn raincloud.

He too had been the target of dodgy individuals who accosted him at the mouth of grimy alleys, offering him stuff to numb the pain in exchange for cash or loyalty.

He too, was given the choice to ruin himself and forget the pain, or persevere with a lucid mind through the horrors life liked to throw at Crime Alley kids.

He didn’t want to see this kid, nor any kid for that matter, make the wrong choice.

The choice his mother had made.

Something akin to sorrow made way through his thoughts, taking control of his nerves and plastering a grimace on his masked features.

He dropped down noiselessly, merging with the shadows albeit the bright crimson of his apparel, and came to a stop a little ways behind the dealer.

The pungent smell of body odour assaulted his senses through his mask’s respirator, disgust and pity filling him. Everyone had a reason for turning out how they did, he wasn’t so shallow as to disregard that, but he also knew that struggling people should know better than anyone else how it feels to be vulnerable, and taking advantage of that was unacceptable in his book.

Getting into motion, he took another step forward and came to a stop behind the dealer, seeing the kid widen his eyes just as he put his hands on the man’s shoulders.

“Ya really should’ve known better than to pull this kinda shit here of all places.” The modulated voice interrupted the man’s talking, stopping the spiel he had launched into to butter the kid up into buying his product.

Red Hood didn’t even give the man time to turn around before he flipped him on his back, a sickening crack reverberating through the air, cutting through the stench of rotting garbage in tandem with his shrill scream of pain.

While keeping the man on the ground even through his thrashing, Hood bent down to whisper in his ear, voice scathing and rough.

“You’re lucky the kid is here, it means you get a head-start,” he seethed, modulator crackling and tone steely cool. “Better start running, bud.”

With that he let the dealer go, roughly pushing him down as he got up himself, turning around as the man stumbled to his feet and broke out into a mad dash, ignoring his cracked ribs.

As the sound of harried footsteps faded from proximity, Hood faced the teen. He was trembling slightly, having taken a few steps back in the few moments the scuffle had lasted.

The vigilante levelled the kid with a look through his mask, his posture loosening and his shoulders hunching slightly.

He had been a kid just like that, years ago, wide-eyed and frantically searching for safety anywhere he could, always coming up empty in his quest. Just because that kid was six feet under didn’t mean he had forgotten how it felt.

From behind the mask, his modulated voice came out with its distinctive roughness, but lacking any anger. Only understanding made its way out. “Kid, daylight or not, it’s not safe out here. You should get back home.”

The teen looked up at him, sorrow etching onto his features before he could get them under control. That expression told Hood everything he needed to know.

He sighed, taking a moment to breathe deeply, and moved to take out his wallet.

He hated how used he had gotten to this song and dance. Finding a kid in need of help in his territory, finding out they didn’t have anyone- or anyone reliable, at least,- and giving them a wad of cash and the address to the only people he even somewhat ‘trusted’ these days.

“Here, kid, take ‘em,” he said, voice calm and gentle despite the scratchiness. “Get yourself something to eat and then get to this address. Ask for a girl called Dollie, tell ‘em I sentch’ya.”

The kid hurried to take what was offered and nodded quickly, looking at him with wide eyes as his expression morphed to one of awe and slight disbelief.

After blinking rapidly a few times, he stammered out a quick “Th-thank you!” and made quick work of getting out of the alley and disappearing in a side street.

Jason silently watched him retreat, thoughts swirling and mixing with exhaustion. His mind wandered.

In the midday quiet, he found himself suddenly face to face with his mother, looking at him with mirth in her eyes and exhaustion in her shoulders.

Her voice was soft, amusement lessening the effect of her chiding tone. “Jason, we have to say Grace before eating,” she said, holding the palm of her hand to him. “It’s how we show our thanks for the food we are given, especially today.”

He looked up at her with a slight pout on his face, features crumbling into a smile as he tried to keep up the act. “Sorry, mama,” he put his hand in her roughened palm. “I promise I’m thankful!”

She laughed, timbre high-pitched and gleeful. “Don’t worry baby boy, I know you are.” Her smile coloured her words.

He smiled up at her, and together they said Grace.

A loud crash jolted him out of his stupor, the indignant mewl of a stray cat cutting the air as used beer cans clattered on the floor of the alley.

For a few seconds his gaze was transfixed on a point far away, his mom’s radiant smile imprinted behind his eyelids.

He briefly looked at the ground, his eyes zeroing in on the baggie the dealer had dropped in his haste. A bright orange powder sat inside, something he had never seen before.

He bent down and picked it up, putting it in one of his many pockets to study later.

With a stray tear and one last heavy sigh he turned to the mouth of the alley, straightening out and readjusting his stance.

In the haze, he had almost forgotten.

He had a hunt to get to.

—————————————————————

Jason walked at a leisurely pace, his footsteps the only thing reverberating in the early evening air.

It was always like this after a Red Hood patrol, Park Row quiet and still after the ruckus of the hunt.

It was in that quiet that he heard a noise pierce the air, a cut-off scream coming from somewhere around two hundred feet away.

Muffled screams and rustling clothes guided him to the mouth of an alley, where he saw a man trying to undo a young woman’s coat one-handed, the other busy trying to shut her up.

He was decently sized, around 5’8 and with a worker’s build, appearance unkept and clothes dirty.

She, on the other hand, was a pretty small thing, 5’3 by the looks of it and not very muscular.

He skidded to a halt, chest heaving as arsenic-green rage ran down the walls of his mind, scorching every rational thought away.

“HEY!”

His voice cut through the air, lifting itself into the air deep and rough and fiery and angry, the scratchiness of it the aspect he knew made every criminal he went against tremble.

The man turned around, brusque features pulled into an unpleasant scowl. “The fuck ya wan’, man?” He slurred, clearly drunk.

All of his self-control was spent not leaping to tear the man limb from limb, the knowledge it wouldn’t have helped the victim making its way near the logical part of his mind.

“For you to get out of here, and fast.” He grit out, fire in his throat scathing his words.

The drunk kept looking at him for a few moments, and Jason could see how his eyes widened in confusion and his brow creased in badly-concealed fear, no doubt recognising some of the fire in his voice as Red Hood’s. Jason knew he couldn’t see his features though, which was a relief.

He watched as the man took his hands off of the woman without even glancing in her direction, muttering something unintelligible from where he was standing. He kept his stance looming, gaze pinched and eyes narrowed to maximise the threatening effect his appearance already had.

Once the drunk passed by him while on his way out of the alley Jason gave himself the satisfaction of shoving him, hard enough to make him stumble, and enjoyed the sight of him breaking into a sprint to get away from him. Red Hood would certainly hunt him down first chance he got, but for now there was a victim Jason had to take care of.

He looked at the young woman left in the alley. She had frozen in place the moment he first spoke, tears streaming down her face and trembling like a leaf. She was staring at the spot het assaulter had last been, somewhere next to him.

He started slowly making his way toward her, the crunch of glass under his boots the only sound making company to the woman’s shallow and rattling breaths.

The roughness in his voice was something he could never control, his vocal cords mangled by months and months of screaming. Despite that, every time a situation like this came about his voice found a way to become gentle, almost soft. It was one of the only things that he still had from Before. From Jason Todd, malnourished 15-year-old that went around proclaiming ‘Robin is magic’ with stars in his eyes, who always knew how to comfort and nurture.

“Hey.” It reverberated through the night. “Are you hurt?”

After a beat, the lady shook her head. Her breathing was still shaky, and through her trembling she lightly swayed from side to side, like a blade of grass in the breeze.

“Can you walk?” He gently prodded.

Another beat passed and, after a moment, she slowly shook her head no.

Jason stayed silent for a few seconds, considering his options. Leaving her here was out of the question, Park Row was already dangerous in normal circumstances but especially for a lady at night and after such a traumatic event, plus she looked a breeze away from toppling over. The nearest police cruiser was outside of the East End all together, so moving as fast as possible was the priority. Even after a Red Hood Holiday-Special patrol, as he had just witnessed, people were still lurking. However Jason wasn’t entirely confident in the idea the lady in front of him would’ve been able to make it that far even with his support, so bringing her to the girls he knew and relatively trusted that worked the street corners was the best option.

With his decision made, he took a deep breath and steeled his resolve, slowly raising his hands to show his empty palms. He had to admit he was pretty rusty at the whole comforting-victims shebang, due to his threatening appearance and everything that had happened to him, but it still came somewhat naturally.

He looked at her, expression calculatedly calm and relaxed. “I’m gonna come towards you, ok? I swear I won’t do anything, I just want to make sure you’re okay and help you walk if you’ll let me, alright? It’s not safe here at night, I don’t want to leave you alone like this.” His tone was still soft, his voice careful.

The woman jerked her head in a quick nodding motion, and with that he proceeded, slowly making his way toward the victim. He kept his shoulders hunched and his hands up at shoulder height still, splayed to show his rough but empty hands. He was trying to make himself appear as small and non-threatening as possible, despite the fact he knew of its ineffectiveness. It still helped telegraph his intentions and movements, so he didn’t stop. Plus, he saw the woman’s shoulders lower a bit, the muscles un-tensing slightly and tears stopping, even if she continued to tremble.

He stopped a few feet from her and slowly lowered his hands, letting his arms go slack at his sides. The young woman’s gaze wandered around his face, studying him. He held her stare through all of it, her study stopping to fix her gaze into his eyes. He kept his features gentle, in tandem with his tone throughout the interaction.

“Can I help you walk?” He asked. “If you say yes, I’d just put my arm around your back and help steady you, nothing more.”

Jason watched as the lady tried to speak, opening and closing her mouth a few times. He then watched as her breathing picked up once again along with the flow of tears, her eyes fixed somewhere on the ground of the filthy alley.

At your reaction he initially froze up. Gosh, he felt absolutely awful. He should’ve known it would’ve been overwhelming and downright scary to have such a thing proposed after an attempted sexual assault.

As much as Jason felt bad, he knew he had no time for self-deprecation right now. He swallowed down his panic, turning it all into concern. He didn’t come any closer, but he did lower himself to a crouch in hopes of catching the lady’s eyes.

He decided to shoot his shot, speaking up. “Hey, are you okay? Please, follow my breaths.”

As he asked this, he slowly reached out to gently touch her hand, which hung limply at her side.

The moment Jason’s hand made contact, the young woman jolted out of her haze and fixed her gaze on him, before taking a rattling breath with him.

He stayed like that, crouched on the ground and concentrating on his breaths and keeping eye contact with her, until her trembling subsided as much as possible.

With getting out of the alley probably off the table, he thought about an alternative. He could have waited with the lady to make sure she regained enough composure to go on her way and then follow her from a distance as Red Hood to make sure nothing more happened to her.

He spoke up, then. “I’m sorry if what i said upset you. Do you not want help with walking? It’s fine if you don’t, we can wait here until you’re fine enough to go on your way. I won’t let anyone bother you.” He kept his voice low, to not risk bursting the bubble of relative calm that had settled over the himself and the unknown woman.

Her eyes shone, a strong glint in them that looked to be almost anticlimactic in comparison to her frame and her trembling. It steeled her, in a way. Showed a window to a complex personality. It interested Jason, in a way.

She once again tried speaking, and this time succeeded. “Thank you.” Clumsily tumbled out of her mouth. “I’d a-appreciate the help.” Her voice was feeble, oscillating between a whisper and something barely above that, pitched high and slightly trembly, no doubt from the residual panic.

That… gave him pause. Jason’s eyes widened and his lips parted slightly,his expression opening into one of surprise, the control over his facial muscles slipping. He wasn’t sure what exactly you were thanking him for, he just did his duty. Any sane person would have.

The words were out of his mouth almost out of reflex, voicing his opinion. “You don’t need to thank me. I… I just did what was right. You needed help, so I gave it.”

His voice wavered slightly, faltering mid sentence, but the sentiment was all there, sure as ever.

The words were said many times by him and other vigilantes when comforting victims, but this was the first time Jason was so intimately sure of them. It wasn’t the sureness with which someone repeated an axiom, but the tone of someone who had just had an epiphany. And for all that Jason knew, he might have had one. In that moment he realised just how open he had been with this lady, and how easily his walls melted from just six words from her.

His vulnerability in the face of a stranger suddenly hit him, but it didn’t bother him. Nevertheless, he broke out of the moment. He got up from his crouch and came up to the woman’s right side, lifting up his left hand and setting it just under her left arm, in order to support most of her weight.

Her trembling had dialled down to little tremors wracking her body, probably a mix of cold and residual shock, and they were even more evident with her body so close to Jason’s.

Their size difference struck him also, and he realised how uncomfortable it must be to be so close to a virtual stranger in a situation like this.

Once again, he spoke on instinct. “My name is Jason, by the way, Jason Todd. You know, in case it helps you feel a little less uncomfortable with being so close to a stranger.”

The young lady looked up at him then, a spark in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips.

She gave Jason her name.

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#jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #red hood x you #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #batfamily #batfam #batman #reader #dc comics #dcu #hearts intertwined

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opiopal · 2 months

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•All I wanted was bread•

(Hey guys, this is the first part of my TSL Obey Me fanfic! of course this is only the introduction, the characters included in this is simply you(mc), Luke, and Simeon, the brothers are simply mentioned. I will be keeping the Mc gender neutral and will only vaguely describe things like clothing and such. I apologize if the writing for Simeon isn’t the greatest since I unfortunately don’t know his character like I want to:(

I also want to apologize in advance if this isn’t up to anyone’s expectations! I haven’t actually sat down and wrote anything in about a year, so I’m sorry if anything I’ve written may be a little disappointing)

Once there was a vast kingdom, split into seven pieces, devided evenly amongst Seven lords. Seven brothers.

The first and the eldest being the Lord of Corruption. An arrogant and prideful man, always scheming and plotting. Despite maintaining his own land almost flawlessly, he is never one to be questioned nor critiqued.

The second born is the Lord of Fools. Greedy and very determined. He will and has gone to great lengths to get what he wants, often disregarding the people around him, even the people of his own land.

The third born is the Lord of Shadow. a shy yet envious man, often hiding himself away from the world. Wishing and wondering. Finding comfort in his own chambers.

The fourth born would be the Lord of Masks. upon first glance, he is viewed to be a respectable, well balanced individual. Yet his bad temper often leads to destruction, and in most cases, death.

The fifth is the Lord of Lechery. A dirty minded fiend, always attached to a mirror, most would assume he would be much to consumed in his lust to do much of anything. But alas, he prevails.

The sixth lord is the Lord of Flies, a man who acts as if he has been starved of all nutrients since he was a child, a man with an appetite that can never be quite satisfied.

The seventh and final lord is the Lord of Emptiness. The lord that is the least present of his brothers. Not much is known about him, all that can be assumed is that underneath his monotoned expression, may hide secrets that are not to be desired.

Though our story doesn’t begin with these lords. But instead within the land of the Lord of Fools, on a struggling, kind peasant, and their family.

•

As the sun shines in through your window, you groggily sit up, rubbing your face in a meek attempt to wake yourself up further. Looking around the room you are met with the familiar sight of it all. One crummy writing desk in the corner, a window with glass that needs cleaning, worn down wooden floors, and a small familiar bed across from your own with a familiar sleeping boy tucked under the covers.

Your house is small, very small. Only having two rooms, A bedroom and a kitchen. Which may have been more manageable if it was only you, but you share the place with your two brothers. Your older brother Simeon, and your younger brother Luke. Though they aren’t your brothers by blood you all love each other the same, you had met Simeon when you were but a child, and Luke’s mother was taken by illness when he was only a few months old, you and Simeon both had promised her to take care of him.

You carefully crept out of bed, making sure not to wake Simeon, who slept only about a foot away from you, and making sure to avoid the creaky floor boards to avoid waking Luke as well. Quickly yet still quietly you toss off your sleepwear and slip into your day clothes, throwing on your tattered shoes you quickly make your way into the kitchen and begin your usual routine.

First, you light the stove with the embers of the previous night, once the fire is lit you put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Then you quickly grab a pitcher that had collected water from the leaky ceiling, along with a wicker basket and head outside, before watering the garden you pluck and pull anything that had finally ripened, you fill the basket the best you can then water quickly. Hearing the water boiling from outside the kitchen window, you head back inside and set the basket on the counter, you adjust the pot to keep it from boiling over and add in enough oats to feed the three of you, then you-

“Mc, up early as usual I see,”

Immediately your autopilot comes to a halt as you turn your head and see Simeon, adjusting his shirt around his waist as he steps out. You give him a smile. “Of course, I could hardly sleep with the sun in my eyes,” He lets out a half awake giggle and moves further into the kitchen and looks through the basket, “ah, I see our leeks are flourishing, but our berries aren’t doing as well,” he says as he gives you a look. you sigh,

“I know, I wish that scare crow would actually work.”

“I would assume it would work best if you didn’t feed the crows,” Simeon says almost in a teasing way, you shoot him a dirty look.

“I don’t feed them! I just- happen to toss out things we don’t need whenever they’re around. That’s all.”

You know you really shouldn’t feed the crows, and you know that you shouldn’t name them, nor pet them, nor even interact with them period. But you just can’t help yourself! They’re only eating the berries off your bushes because they’re hungry, and if you yourself were a bird you would appreciate a free meal from someone every now and again. And they are all just such.. silly birds, how could you not simply adore them?

Simeon of course knows this, and in response chuckles, but doesn’t press further on the topic. Instead he begins to help you with breakfast, taking over your place at the stove to let you get out a loaf of bread to cut.

You glance over at Simeon as you do so, he looked tired. “Did you get to do any writing last night?” You ask, “yes actually, but only a small bit,” he answers with his usual smile, “I figured as much,” silence fills the room until you speak up again, not looking at him as you reached and grabbed a few bowls from the cupboard.

“Did you hear back from any of the shops or printers,”

“No, Mc, not yet.”

“You should go down there today after work.”

“I’ll see if they’re open today,”

“They’re always open.”

“Mc it’s fine, I really don’t mind it.”

“No, it’s not fine, they’re printing and selling your books and you haven’t gotten as much of a coin from any of them,”

“Mc..”

“Your name is on it! You poured your heart and soul into your stories and yet they refuse to pay you for it! It’s unfair and you know it is! And not to mention it would help us! We get taxed so much for only breathing and we hardly have any money for food,”

Simeon sighs as you hand him the bowls for him to scoop the oats into, he is a writer, it’s his passion, a passion that is loved by nearly everyone in every land, and you are very passionate about him getting paid for it.

He places a hand on your shoulder gently as he sets a full bowl of oats onto the counter,

“Mc, my writing is a thing I do for fun and only fun, I appreciate that you want this to be fair for me, but I don’t see much point in trying to force money out of people that would never do such a thing.”

You sigh, putting your hand over his as you look at him, “You’re to humble for a place like this,” he gives you a smile as he lowers his hand from your shoulder, before he can open his mouth to say more a creek of the floorboards catches your attention. Simeon turns his head to look as you simply look past him, there stood luke in the door frame, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh! Good morning Luke,”

Simeon says as you turn and grab a bowl and some bread, setting them both down at the table as Luke sits down, you look down at him as you gently fix his hair by running your fingers through it, working out the knots, “how did you sleep?”

“Good, what were you two talking about? It looked serious,” your face scrunches slightly as you look away, you never really liked to involve Luke in your and Simeon’s issues, especially if money was of the topic. He was only ten, both you and Simeon believed he shouldn’t worry about things like that. Simeon speaks up before you, “oh nothing, we were just talking about our schedule for today,” you pause and realize that’s the one thing you hadn’t sorted out yet!

“Oh! Right,”

You take a seat at the table after grabbing your own bowl, you quickly cover the schedule for the day, Simeon will take Luke with him to work for the day, Simeon is working a slower job today so he is able to monitor and help Luke with his schooling, you will also head off to work and work till about 2pm, Simeon and Luke will be done at 3 and so you will wait for them, then the three of you will go down to the market and purchase was you can then return home, you’ll stay with Luke for the rest of the day as Simeon goes off to the printers with his most recent writing.

It’s the same as any day, it always is, the most that changes is who has Luke for the day, who’s boss will be alright with a young boy hanging around. But, it’s still oddly comforting to talk as if there as been a change, as if the plan is any different from the day before.

•

Of course the day goes exactly as planned. You show up at work, you had landed a good job cleaning floors for a richer women, you worked quickly and quietly. Avoiding any guests coming in and out of the estate and maybe pausing occasionally to talk with other cleaners. You watched the time constantly, just wanting to be finished with it all.

The second the clock struck 2 you immediately put the given cleaning supplies away and get your payment for the day. It wasn’t the greatest, but it’s the most money you’ve made in one day in a long time. You step out into the busy streets and make your way through the crowd, dodging bodies, carts, and barrels, walking around a little mindlessly. Eventually after about an hour and a half you spot Luke and Simeon, you wave to get their attention and the three of you set off to the market.

•

While there, you feel a tug at your sleeve and look down at Luke, he points over to a bakery near by, “Mc, do you think we could go inside? I don’t want anything I just want to go look,” You give him a smile and a nod before leaning over and nudging Simeon, “we’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to take Luke to go look at the bakery across the street,” he nods as Luke reaches and grabs your hand, excited, Luke practically drags you along with rough the street and inside the small building.

It smelled fanatic inside, but than again it was also very warm from the ovens just in the other room. Luke let go of your hand quickly and began to look around as you waited by the door and kept an eye on him. Eventually you had glanced out the open door and back out into the street and spotted Simeon, but he was talking with someone.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to get a better look, the person looked like a mail carrier, but was a lot cleaner and in nicer clothing, from your guess the person had only approached Simeon a few moment ago before giving him a stern look and handing him a letter. You watched as the person basically spun on their heel and strutted away, which was more than just odd.

You quickly grab Luke, buying him a small cupcake just as a little treat, and heading back out and over to Simeon quickly, the closer you got you could tell the letter was almost as well dressed at the person that handed it over. you come to a halt next to him, looking over his shoulder, you feel your heart drop down to your stomach as you notice a familiar crest in the wax of the stamp.

•

You and Simeon both sat in the kitchen, staring at the open letter that you must’ve read at least twenty times now in disbelief. It was only you two, Simeon had sent Luke to bed early after eating dinner so you two could both assess wether or not this letter from the lords themself was good or bad news.

And it was incredibly good.

“You have to go,” you say after a long moment of silence, Simeon looks over with his brows raised,

“What?”

“Simeon, you have to accept this!” A smile comes to your face as you grab the letter again, reading a part of it aloud.

“-The Lord of Shadow has taken a liking to your writing, and as a result is offering you a job as his lordships personal writer.-“

You raise a finger up as you skim ahead again, looking over at him with a smile,

“And not to mention you’re being offered free housing within the palace!”

You start pacing back and forth, rereading the letter repeatedly once again, Simeon’s face is a mix of emotions.

“Well… I could think on it-“

You interrupt him without thinking, stopping your movements,

“You should take Luke with you,”

“What?”

“You should take him with! He could get a proper education! A proper bed to sleep in! Good clothes!”

He raises his brows and a smile comes to his face before dropping again,

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, won’t you want to come with us?”

You pause as you set the letter back in front of Simeon.

“I.. would be content with staying here,”

“Mc!”

“Well- think about it,”

You sit back down as you turn to look at him, holding one of his hands,

“Will they be more willing to accept housing two people or three? Luke, is a child, it would be understandable if you didn’t want to go anywhere without him. I’m an adult, who would serve no overall purpose. I want the best for you two, and if that means I have to stay then I’m fine with that.“ you glance away for a moment before turning back to him “and.. I don’t want the fact that I wouldn’t be with you to stop you from accepting this job and getting out of this place.”

He frowns as he squeezes your hand, gently pulling you into a hug which you accept. You both stay there for a while before he speaks again, pulling away,

“And you have confidence you’ll be able to take care of yourself?”

“Of course,”

He sighs, looking away as he thinks.

Eventually he nods, giving your hands another squeeze,

“Alright, I’ll do it, and I’ll take Luke with me.”

You give him a smile before basically leaping at him to give him another hug.

•

The next morning, you helped the both of them pack what little possessions they had. Though yes, it hurt to know that you may not see them again in… a long time, You were excited and happy for them, and also very anxious at the same time. But still, you pushed away your fears and sucked it up, all having breakfast together for the last time before a tearful goodbye. Luke was practically wrapped completely around your waist as he sniffled and cried, you wiped his tears away with your thumbs as you promise him that it won’t be the last time you’ll see each other.

•

As you sit in the garden by yourself, you stare out into the sky. Already the silence of the house feels like to much, and it’s hardly even been an hour. Part of you wanted to go with and demand that if Simeon is to work there than both you and Luke are to stay with him. But then that would ruin this opportunity for him, and you wouldn’t want to be so selfish.

You let out a sigh as you start to lift yourself up to stand, but then you hear the flutter of wings and a caw next to you, as you turn your head you see one of the crows that you feed. You sit right back down in your original position as you reach a hand out to the crow, in which it lovingly nuzzles its small face against your fingers.

“Good morning, silly boy.. I suppose you’re hungry.”

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #obey me satan #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #obey me! fanfic #obey me luke #obey me simeon

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rileyslibrary · 2 years

Text

Living With Ghosts: 9. Ghost Mask

Two months ago you were drenched in sweat, picking lemons under the scorching sun. Now you’re cold, alone and wanted by one of the most dangerous criminals alive. But you won’t be alone, not for much longer anyway. Today is the day.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,117

Notes:

You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging until February, did you? Come on, I’m not that evil. But a little waiting had to take place, you know, for anticipation purposes. So there you go; the last chapter. Meet me at the end once you finish this! Happy reading!

There are eight more chapters leading up to this final one. It’d be best to head over to the beginning if you’d like to continue reading this fic.

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

———————————————————————

The cold seeps into your bones as if you’re standing in a freezer at -10°C. The wind is howling so hard that you fear it may carry you away with one gust of its icy breath.

Two months ago you were drenched in sweat, picking lemons under the scorching sun. Now you’re standing on a pier in Venice, alone and wanted by one of the most dangerous criminals alive.

But you won’t be alone, not for much longer anyway.

Today is the day.

You check your phone. 3:42 p.m. You’ve been waiting for two hours now. Maybe three; who knows? There’s no sight—or sign—of Simon yet. Your feet are numb, and your teeth hurt from clenching them so tightly. But you know what? This is all part of the plan—his plan. If you don’t freeze to death on this pier, then this might work out just fine.

Or so you hope.

You fulfilled every request he made in his cryptic letter. You arrived in Venice on the day he specified. You did as you were told. But nothing seems to be moving the way you thought it would.

How long until the so-called “gondola” arrives? Will he be there, waiting for you with a bouquet? No, you’re asking too much. He’s not like that; he’s more subtle. Discreet.

Will you be able to get a word out of him when he arrives? What if he never shows up? What if you misread the message? What if he...

No. Stop. You are overthinking it. Making assumptions won’t lead you to the correct answer. There is only one way to find out; stay put and wait.

Not only that but the threat has not yet been eliminated. Makarov is still out there, working with Laswell and God knows who else. You have to be constantly aware of your surroundings. It didn’t take a genius to realise you couldn’t trust anyone—not even those closest to you.

You’re holding a full-face white mask, a popular accessory worn during the Venice Carnival. You thought that putting on that mask would give you cover if all hell broke loose since it’d make you blend in with the crowd. It’s ironic how you can easily relate to Ghost now. You get him—the need to protect one’s identity from potential threats. And what a threat, mind you: the mafia and one of your closest colleagues. “People you know can hurt you the most,” Simon once said.

You become paranoid at the thought of Makarov breathing down your neck. You begin to look around, trying to spot anyone who may be suspicious, any potential exits from the area other than the canal itself, and if there are any gondola rides nearby, as they would make good escape routes.

“Y/N?”

You jump out of your skin. A stranger behind you demands your attention, calling you out by name—your real name. You begin to panic. The man doesn’t sound anything like Simon.

But he doesn’t sound Russian, either. That accent...

You turn around slowly and exhale in relief as you recognise the familiar face.

“Sargeant Mactavish.” You smile as you greet him. “Nice to see you, Soap,” you say, extending your right hand.

“Nice to see you, lass,” he says, taking it with a firm grip that doesn’t break when he lets go. His eyes are a bright blue colour—almost electric. Something about them feels familiar, but you can’t quite place it. He is slightly taller than you, with his mohawk adding a few inches to his stature. He is dressed casually, with an indigo pair of jeans and a khaki bomber jacket.

He nods at you, implying that you should follow him, and begins walking towards the crowd.

“How did you find me?” you ask.

“We are Special Forces Operators, love; we find anything we put our minds to,” he brags arrogantly.

“He told me to summon a gondola, whatever that means.” You wonder, trying to figure out why you’re walking towards the crowd rather than getting into a boat.

“We figured that putting you into one of these slow-moving targets would be a threat,” he shrugs, “so I’m afraid I’m your gondolier for the day.”

“You’re the best gondolier anyone could ask for, Sargeant,” you say with a smile, picturing Soap in a striped shirt, singing “O Sole Mio” in a Scottish accent.

As you walk through the crowd with Soap, you calm down and start enjoying your surroundings. A large group of performers has gathered in front of an open stage area to your right. There is a lot of excitement as they start playing their instruments and singing loudly with the crowd. They’re all dressed up in bright-coloured costumes, and many of them are wearing masks. On your left, a man in an elaborate purple suit talks with his friends while sipping wine from a silver goblet. Next to him is another man who appears to be trying to impress a lady by flaunting his new outfit. Further away, two girls in bright green dresses are holding hands, laughing, and dancing to the rhythm of the music. You can’t help but feel mesmerised by the spectacle unfolding in front of you. Everywhere you look, there is a grand display of pageantry and joy, but not Simon.

You deviate from the busy streets until you reach a passage. You find yourself in a different world than the one you just left. The vibrant costumes have been replaced with a dark alley barely lit by dim lanterns. The music and joyful laughter are no longer audible. Instead, all you can hear is the steady dripping of a leaky faucet and the scurrying of rats in the shadows.

“That’s it, lass,” he says, turning to face you, “you’re on your own from now on.”

You nod and thank him before returning your full attention to the dark alley.

Your nerves kick in once more. Even for this time of day, the area appears deserted. Walking an isolated passage—morning or evening—is never a good idea.

Despite your fear, the prospect of meeting him again illuminates that path. It’s a temporary relief amid all the confusion and pain of these past months.You begin to walk.

There’re barely any lights on either side of the street, leaving only the occasional lamp here and there. You notice a few people looking your way. Most of them choose to ignore you, while others give you dirty looks as you pass by. How long have you been walking? You can’t tell anymore, and it’s getting dark. You’re starting to get worried... Maybe you should go back.

You hear a noise ahead. A light bulb suddenly turns on, illuminating a tall figure in front of you.

“Met that blue-eyed Sargeant of yours?” He asks with a smirk—a visible smirk.

No mask.

He’s wearing a black jacket over a white shirt, dark pants, and boots. He’s a little unkempt, but given the circumstances, you can’t expect him to be anything else. His light brown hair is tangled, with some strands straying away from the balaclava he has just taken off and hanging on his brow. His dark brown eyes are tired and red from all the horrors he’s been through. His nose is pointy, with a slightly crooked bridge from what appears to be the aftereffect of a fight. His prominent cheekbones have turned pink due to the cold, windy air. His lips are... tempting.

He’s... normal. You didn’t expect him to be this normal.

Your eyes dart around his face, scanning him as he remains motionless with his gaze fixed on you. He’s letting you take it all in.

“Not up to your expectations?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“W- What?” You mutter as you come out of your trance. “Fuck, shit, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to stare like that.”

“That’s fine.” He speaks softly, his raspy voice unmuffled by the cover you’ve grown accustomed to.

Neither of you speaks. All you do is stare at each other. This is awkward, just say something, anything.

You swallow the lump in your throat and slowly break the silence.

“Is there any new information on Makarov? Laswell? How’s your arm doing?”

Seriously, idiot? Really?

He smiles. “Everything is being handled accordingly,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “What matters is that we’re alive and safe for the time being.”

You nod.

“How about you, love?” He inquires. “Are you all right?”

You lower your head and begin fiddling with your mask, twisting it like a hat. No, you haven’t been “alright”; far from it, to be honest. But the thought of someone, especially him, genuinely caring about your well-being causes you to start sobbing uncontrollably.

Tears stream down your cheeks, and your body trembles from the intensity of your emotions. He looks at you with a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him and a sense of understanding—like he’s been in your shoes before. He spreads his arms wide open, like that last time back at the safe house.

But this time, you don’t hesitate. You toss the mask onto the cobblestone road and collapse into his embrace. He cracks a smile and wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you closer to him. He is warm despite the cold weather, his breath brushing against the crown of your head. You take a deep breath and relax into him, your body melting on his, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief washing over you.

“Oh, Simon, I was terrified... We wouldn’t... make it out alive.” You mutter in between sobs.

His hands move up your back to cup your face. You look deep into his eyes and can hear their thoughts. They are filled with the same emotions you feel now—love, tenderness, and joy.

“You ‘re safe, I promise.” He says, caressing your cheek, “I’m here now.”

You nod, pressing yourself more firmly against him. His fingers brush your hair from your face as he looks at you. His gaze pierces right through you; its power makes your heart pound. His lips are so close to yours.

You had been waiting for this moment for a long time. You had been dreaming of it, imagining it, and crafting it in your head. You had thought about every detail, yet you had not expected it to be like this. He’s nothing like the rough-around-the-edges Lieutenant you met back in September. No. This wasn’t a Lieutenant anymore. This wasn’t Ghost anymore. This was Simon—your Simon.

He leans in, brushing his lips softly against your forehead, then moving down to your cheek. Your lips part in anticipation as he makes his way to the corner of your mouth. He pauses there, barely touching you, making your knees feel weak. Your eyes flutter closed.

He moves for your lips, taking his time to trace them, brushing them softly with his, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine before placing a tender, sweet peck on your lips. You linger there, bursting with anticipation, even when he pulls back with a playful smile gracing his lips.

“For fucks sake, Lieutenant,” you exclaim in frustration and excitement, “finish the damn mission already!”

He laughs before fulfilling your orders and pulls you closer, his mouth crashing into yours, devouring you whole. His lips are soft and tender at first but gradually grow rougher. His tongue delves into your mouth with a passionate vigour, his teeth nipping at your lips playfully before biting down gently on them. Your hands move to his face, tracing the lines of his strong jaw.

He is leading you gently into the kiss; he is sweet but dominant, tender yet assertive.

You can feel his heart pound against your chest as his hands slide further down your body, exploring every inch of you. Suddenly, you are on fire, consumed by the passionate kiss and the thought of what could come next.

You slightly push his chest, breaking the kiss.

“We need to stop,” you say breathlessly, with your cheeks flushed and a small smile tugging at your lips as you look into his eyes. “What if somebody sees us?”

He leaves a light chuckle as he kisses your nose, pulling away from you with his hand still holding onto your waist. He brushes your hair out of your face with his other hand and smiles softly at you. “A bit shy all of a sudden, are we?” He says with a smirk.

You blush and look away, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Maybe a little,” you reply, smiling shyly.

He interlocks his fingers with yours and leads you away from the dark alley you were so afraid of just moments before. But not anymore; you have him with you now.

You turn your head back and catch a glimpse of the Volto mask you had previously dropped on the floor. That mask is also known as “larva” in Latin, which means “ghost.” Oh, how he’ll laugh once you tell him that.

But now is not the time. No more Ghosts for now—just you and Simon Riley.

———————————————————————

So that’s it, my dear. That’s all. That’s how it ends. I just want you to know that if you followed through from the beginning up until now, you are a legend. I love you, and I appreciate you. Thank you so much.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley #cod ghost

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yourantag · 1 year

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Of Vices and Virtues (Morningstar!Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: In which I go insane and finally succumb to the urge to write an unhealthy relationship instead of a nice, safe, and sane one. Also, to the people who were waiting for this fic, I am so sorry for the wait. I kept on forgetting it existed and also kept doubting myself since this is pretty different from what I usually do. Hope you enjoy it, even if it isn't the best! Word count: 2.7k words TW: Blood, violence, general insanity, and unhealthy relationships. Summary: You've always seen things others couldn't. When you met him, you were enamored by his unique nature. Perhaps you should have taken it as a warning. Perhaps, you should have ran. Instead, you drew closer.

It all started years ago when things were simpler. You were a child, and so was he. He was someone who bore the face of the future king, the Lord of Babel, the sun of the kingdom. You? You were just a simple peasant. No one noteworthy, not in appearance, personality, or skill. How could you be? You were a child.

Yet, when your paths crossed, it immediately changed you two. Your futures, your destinies which never should have merged, crashed together. The moment your eyes met his, it was over. You could never be normal again. After all, how could a mortal stay sane in the presence of a God?

He was your beginning, and surely he would be your end.

The lady who lived in the forest was odd, but kind. She would give you and your family medicine, never asking for anything in return. You didn't think that was very fair, so you gave her flowers. The prettiest ones you could find in the wild, hidden within the crevices of gnarled roots and heavy bushes.

You liked her quite well, which your parents found surprising. You never seemed to like most adults. They all brushed it off as shyness, laughing heartily as you scampered away.

It wasn't quite that, though.

The way you gazed at people with distrust was never on unfounded grounds. Children, for however random and silly adults believe them to be, are far too perceptive for their own goods.

You've always seen things others couldn't see. You knew not to tell, especially when the curling shadows at those peoples feet hissed and snarled silently. It was a warning, seething quietly around the liars with masks. You learned quickly that they were not people to be trusted.

The problem was, most adults held such secrets with them. Their perfect disguises of the kind neighbor and good samaritan were nothing before your eyes. Their performances of being righteous and pure sickened you. It churned your guts and set alight a blaze of fury inside you that you didn't understand.

You couldn't stand it, so you chose to run.

Thankfully, with her, it was never like that. She had the aura of what you think angels would have. It was warm, gentle, and bright, like a bonfire on a cold winter night. It made you feel comfortable, it made you feel safe. Honestly, you sometimes wished she were your mother so you could bask in her presence forever.

Of course, that is not the case, and you like your parents well. They had no roaring shadows, just a light brush of soothing sunlight. It was sweet and inoffensive, just a whisper of heat and kind words. That, too, you appreciated.

It was why you listened to them well, doing your best to be a good child for them. When they asked you for help, you were always up to the challenge. You'd smile brightly, determination glistening within your eyes and your heart set on fulfilling your mission.

Today was one such day, leading you to a cottage in the woods. Your parents requested that you gave the lady of the forest a package. The task felt more like a blessing than a burden. You got to help your parents and see one of your favorite people in the world! How could you not be happy?

Standing before the worn alder door, you carefully shift your bag as you knock. You rock back and forth, humming cheerfully as you wait for her to answer. The sounds of shuffling footsteps can be heard behind the door, making you smile.

When it opens, your smile slips as you stare blankly. Before your eyes stands not your favorite person in the world, but a child. He has wispy, light blond hair, so light it's white. His eyes are like charcoal, both dark and burning as he stares holes into you. It's half a glare and half a stare, more of a glare, really.

For a few moments, you're stunned. Not really at the fact that the lady had a child you never knew, but at the darkness and light that surround him in equal parts.

Children never had such prominent representations of good or evil on them, having been born with a neutral conscience. They were surrounded by barely flickering echoes of right and wrong, never quite lasting.

Yet, here he was, a child with both virtue and vice wrapped tightly around him. It intrigues you, beckoning you forward like a siren's call.

Before you know it, you've taken his face in your hands and tilted it to look closer. At what, you're not quite sure. All you do is drink in his features like a man starved, staring at him with such intensity you'd feel embarrassed if you were clear headed.

You expect him to fight back once you realize what you've done, but all he does is stare back with equal intensity, challenging you. It makes you smile, an odd feeling of pride and a desire to crush that will of his coming from the depths of your heart. It makes you pause in surprise, letting go of his face and stepping back.

"I'm sorry." You say, fiddling with the straps of your bag as you look away. It was rather unlike you to act this way, or to have such a violent thought. You shook your head to clear them of such things.

"Why are you here?" He asks harshly, ignoring your apology. You accept that considering you were quite rude to him.

"I'm here to deliver a package to the nice lady. Is she home?" You look over his shoulder for any hint of her. He blocks your view, his glare intensifying. He looks like he's about to say no when a familiar voice cuts him off.

"Ah! You shouldn't be here!"

You can't tell if she's referring to you or him. In a few minutes, she's taken you inside the house and given you snacks. The boy pouts as the lady of the forest scolds him, warning him not to open the door to strangers.

You chew on a cookie as you continue to stare at the warped shapes of his soul shift around him. It's warmer now, brighter. It's sentient and alive, happily glowing in the presence of the nice lady. You can't blame him, you like her a lot too.

At the same time, you can't help but wonder what it'll take for his shadows to devour the light.

You calmly give the lady the package and thank her for the snacks, brushing crumbs off your hands. She pats you, causing you to smile as you relish in the gentle touch. She tells you to come again, to play with her son. You don't think he'd like to, but you're willing to try.

With a wave and a smile, you're off. You ignore the no longer hostile stare that follows you out.

Seeing as you're no liar, you meet him again. You keep your promise to visit, and thus a tender friendship begins. The boy is surprisingly nice at times. He's simultaneously so ordinary, yet unusual.

He smiles when you trip, but he always helps you up. He hides your things, but always ends up telling you where they are. He says rather mean things, but his actions never match his words.

He's weird, but you like him. Unlike the others your age, he's quite interesting. The shared soft spot you both have for his mother certainly helps, and before you know it, you're friends.

"Why don't you ever leave the forest?" You ask one day, pulling weeds out of the garden. His mother's garden was in need of some help, so you decided to work on it with the boy. He diligently works, even though he hates the sunlight.

"Mother says I shouldn't be seen by others. You're okay, though." You accept the answer easily. You figured that was the case, anyway.

After the official debut of the future king, a prince around your age, you realized a lot more things than you thought you would. You're sure his mother knows you know, but neither of you mention it. For you, it's none of your business. For her, it's a secret she must take to her grave.

You're quite good at keeping secrets. You're sure she knows that, too. You also know her secrets will one day consume her whole, however. They always do.

You wonder how he'll react that day.

Ever since you met the lady of the forest, red became your favorite color. It's the color of her hair, of the ladybugs in her garden, and of the tiles on your house's roof. It's a sweet color, one of pure and good memories.

That changes the day you turn of age.

You watch in horror as she's brought before a cheering crowd, a spectacle for people to watch. He's next to you, his face covered and a cloak hiding his hair. His eyes shake as he stares at the cruel stage, the start of a scene he'd never want to see showing right before his eyes.

Her chains jingle like cruel church bells, hair a tangled mess as she's dragged across the crude boards of the stage. Splinters stab at her feet, fresh wounds and old ones bleeding red as she's roughly slammed into a wooden contraption. She gasps in pain as they lock it in place, the final Wham! of the wood marking the end of her judgment.

You both look on in stunned shock as the blade whistles down at the call of a man- a man who shares the same face as him. Time seems to slow as her eyes meet yours, silently, desperately, asking for help. Help you cannot give. Help you wish you could give.

Your heart screams as it is forced to face how powerless you are. It squeezes and squeezes as if someone were clutching it in their hand, hoping to inflict as much pain on you as possible while you are hopelessly, miserably left alive despite it.

The man's shadow laughs as the guillotine cuts off her life, destroying the warmth of her soul and putting it out. Like a lit candle in the wind, she's extinguished. She's gone.

The once comforting red of her hair is tainted by the ruthless sight of her blood painting the stage.

You vaguely think you hear something shatter, perhaps something inside of you or somewhere around you. You turn to look at him, your hands trembling, when you see it.

It seems to destroy light itself, yet hold it all the same. A black hole that displaces the refraction of light, like darkness that shines bright, it breaks free from the chains of what is perhaps the last of his humanity.

Perhaps it's the last of his sanity.

Glancing down at your own shadow, you laugh quietly as tears slip down your face. It's carried away by the cheers of the crowd and the deafening applause, going unheard. An unnatural smile stretches your face as you turn your head up to the sky.

If his darkness has light, your light holds darkness. With it, you'd both destroy everything that dared make you this way.

"I'll kill them, I'll kill them, I'll kill them." He's trembling in your arms, his body barely able to contain all his emotions. His rage, his sorrow, his pain, his tears, everything, it seems to pour out of him. You can only rub your hand comfortingly in circles on his back, eyes blank as you stare lifelessly at the wall.

He was suppressing himself as his feelings lashed out. You, however, were eerily empty.

You felt nothing, yet everything. It was like all your emotions had been tossed away, as though they'd never been there before. In its place, a cold, cruel rationality took over your mind. It plotted, it schemed, and it had only one goal.

To destroy.

"You will." You tell him. "We will."

It's a promise, and you don't break promises.

The sound of rumbling stones greets you in a familiar cacophony of noise. You revel in it, watching the statue's face fall and crumble. He stands before you now, so different from the sweet boy he was back then. That's partially your fault, admittedly.

You held him that day, when the world had fallen apart. You'd promised him justice, you promised him peace. You promised him the world and everything in it, because that was what he deserved. He deserved it so he could ruin it, since really, did anything matter anymore? When she was gone, she died, you'd never see her alive, you couldn't understand why-

You sighed, shivering as a cold breeze blew through the area. It doesn't matter now. You'd found your peace. You'd gotten your revenge.

Turning your gaze to the figure before the desecrated statue, you smile widely. He does the same, spreading out his arms as he laughs maniacally. He, too, had gained his vengeance.

"The tower shall fall, and new lies will be treated as the word of god. The morning star is the true king!" He sweeps the air in front of him, hand outstretched to you. You step forward, placing a hand in his. His grin seems to grow wider at that, his grip becoming more firm as he pulls you into his arms.

"And you, my evening dawn, will stand by my side. We'll rule the greedy, the disloyal, and the unworthy. The dogs in crowns will remain at our feet, and it will not matter who stands before us." He laughs as he bites your neck, hard enough to draw blood. You only laugh in return, the pain as sweet as the taste of power.

His hair, now pure white like the feathers on a dove, glows in the brilliant light of the sun. His eyes, once a beautifully deep onyx, are like translucent opal. The red you once grew to hate, tainted by blood, is made again your favorite color. It drapes him from head to toe in majesty, deeming him a true god amongst men.

He pulls you up into a kiss, his lips tasting of your blood and dust. The taste of your own blood upon your tongue makes you laugh. Anything is sweet when it comes from him, from his lips, even the underlying tastes of iron and danger, the possessive curling of his claws.

When you finally draw away from each other, your faces are flushed. You both pant lightly, giggling like school children as you hold each other close. His hold speaks of love, of desire, of a feeling so encapsulating, so damning, he'd rather kill you than let you leave his side.

His shadow says so much more.

It curls around your own, protecting it, stealing it, tugging and holding it like it wants to merge with yours. The darkness tries to devour your light, but it's only a pointless cycle where one cannot destroy the other. They're two sides of the same coin, cultivated into a writhing mass of what you're sure anyone else would claim to be insanity.

You hum in joy, resting your forehead against his chest. He needs you as desperately as you need him. He'll never leave you, and you could never leave him. No one could ever take you away from each other.

"You're all I have." He tenderly murmurs, dragging a claw down your spine. You shiver as you look up at him, smiling. "And I am all you have."

"I love you. Only two things will ever have me, and it'll be you and death." You respond, meaning every word. He knows as well as you do that you mean it, and he rewards you with another kiss. It's sweeter than the last, an addicting pull that makes you yearn for more. More and more and more, until you suffocate.

You'll treasure him for the rest of your life. He's your precious partner, isn't he? You should hold him close and treat him right. Isn't that what they taught you?

You smile, something akin to a nightmare, as you turn. He stands by your side as you saunter over to the gilded cage, the traitors shaking within.

"What do you think, mother, father?"

He was your beginning, and he will be your end.

Tag List

@ithaquakisser, @xiaosmary

#idv #identity v #identity 5 #idv ithaqua #ithaqua x reader #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic

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your-absent-father · 2 months

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Beginning of chapter one of False Gods

It was a bigger story than anyone had seen before. It was more, much more than the stories where celebrities get outed as creepy or terrible people, or some asshole A-lister cheats on their girlfriend with an instagram model. It was more than the conspiracy theories where royalty of Hollywood gets away with murder. In this situation they almost got away with four, along with much more.

False Gods have been on everyone’s lips since the first glimpse of their masks. They were something never seen before, a mix of Gorillaz and other fake bands whose creators were different than those performing the songs, but in their case, no one knew the facts inside the masks, who the performers for the masked figures were. The whole concept was tailor made for idol worship. False Gods was a masked four-member group, which you could easily project on to, make up any personality to the members or pretend the members were whoever they pleased. Unfortunately, like in everything based in reality, the facts ruined the ignorance of fantasy.

On the 27th of August 2019, five YouTube-videos were uploaded on The False Gods channel, the place they started in three years before, first with very elaborate teasers, something just a normal indie band could never afford.

First came a video of a security footage of the dressing room from this year's Grammys, that showed seven people, most of them that would be arrested just mere days later from the video’s publication. The footage started with the Four members of The False Gods, fully decked out on their elaborate outfits they had worn for the Grammys just talking amongst each other. Around them were three other people, all that people have put names on. One of them was Elize Grant, noted on the Harkness agency’s website as the agent of False Gods. Others of the two were also from the Harkness agency, the CFO Valentine Lee, and the elusive CEO Evalyn Harkness who had taken the spot after her father was murdered in the coast of Mexico, which was rumored to be because of some criminal activity Harkness incorporated has always been rumored to be part of, or by the hands of his ex wife, heiress of the biggest Cartel in Mexico.

The video was without audio, but at certain points of the video, you can clearly see the face of each member of the band without the mask as they start undressing. Jester the drummer, who wore a red and white jester mask with a sleek suit with similar colors, was revealed to be Louis Lee, the most unknown of the members, but is rumored to be Valentine Lee’s brother. The bassist DollFace, whose mask was full marble that covered most of her face, was revealed to be ex-fiancée of now infamous Vince May, who is now serving 12 years for vehicular manslaughter, domestic violence and arson. The group's singer, the elusive Roseblood, whose elegant rose mask had become a popular Halloween staple in recent years, was recognized as the granddaughter of Freddie Jones, also known as the drummer of Hectics, who were thought to become next Rolling Stones before the lead singer's premature passing. The most interesting reveal was the lead guitarist King, who hid himself behind a devil horned mask, who was revealed to be Stefan Harkness, Evalyn Harkness’s thought to be dead little brother.

#writeblr #writing #wip: fg #wip #snippet

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gamerdog1 · 1 year

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Skull-Face Bookseller Honda-San Review

There are two types of people in this world: those who love taking a trip to their local bookstore, and those who hate fun. I happen to be part of the former group, and try to visit my local Indigo at least once or twice a month just to check out what’s there. Sometimes, its just nice to wander through the aisles, and casually explore what’s there, without really looking for anything in particular. Its a place so laid back, it begs the question: ‘Working there can’t be that hard, can it?’

As it turns out, working at a bookstore is pretty complicated, something that I learned after watching this month’s assigned anime: Skull-Face Bookseller Honda-San. Based on the manga of the same name, this series follows a skeleton named Honda who works at a non-descript bookstore in Japan, stocking shelves and helping customers. Each day brings new challenges which Honda and his odd-headed co-workers must face, in wacky (sometimes barely animated) hijinks.

Skull-Face Bookseller (abbreviated to SFBH from now on for brevity) is a series whose main focus is being a ‘relatable’ workplace comedy. Folks like me who’ve never worked at a bookstore might find themselves getting confused at all the workplace lingo thrown around, though the series does a good job at explaining the concepts to the audience. The series, though, has this overall sense of expectancy over it, as if the creators are waiting in the bushes for you to laugh at their ‘relatable’ jokes. Every time a character complains about working too long, about how customers are rude, or how their job sucks, the anime expects you to relate that to your own working experience and therefore laugh along.

And yet, it always stops before it gets too pessimistic. Most shows that I’m familiar with about people with jobs go down this doom spiral, where characters obsessively complain about work. Their job sucks, something happens that they weren’t expecting, they react negatively, rinse and repeat. Here, though, the writer steps back right before the spiral begins, acknowledging the problem but refusing to let it control their life. SFBH is a refreshing take on the time-worn workplace comedy, because it doesn’t make the entire joke of the series ‘Working sucks’.

Instead, the main joke of the series is the appearance of the bookstore employees. Just like in the original manga, Honda and her co-workers are depicted as wearing unusual helmets or masks, giving them a sense of cartoonish silliness that separates them from the customers at first glance. I’m not exactly sure why they look like that (my guess is to protect the identities of the real people involved), but the weird faces has an added benefit beyond simple aesthetics. In a series that revolves around a large cast of recurring characters, confusion is inevitable, especially since some manga artists suffer from ‘Same Face Syndrome’ with their female characters. Since the main cast of SFBH are all wearing weird head-coverings, its easier to remember who is who, and every character looks distinct.

SFBH’s characters also fall into this weird grey area when it comes to gender recognition. Since most characters have their faces fully covered, our only traditional means of distinguishing are from dialogue. Nobody ever mentions the word ‘man’ or ‘woman’ (and knowing Japan, I’d be shocked if the concept of non-binary was even hinted at), but the occasional ‘him’ or ‘she’ is thrown around when referring to someone. The Japanese voice actors sound like what one might expect from a ‘she’ or a ‘he’, but when it comes to Honda, things get complicated.

Honda is, of course, a skeleton, who lacks any stereotypically feminine or masculine traits. His face is plain, his bony frame is mostly hidden under a white shirt and blue work apron (and what would we even expect to be under there, besides bones?). By all accounts, Honda is pretty androgynous, something that isn’t too common in a series where that isn’t the main punchline.

What makes things interesting is how Honda herself identifies. In the anime, Honda is voiced by Soma Saito, who you might recognize as that green-haired wimp Tadashi from Haikyu. Because of this, Honda sounds very masculine, and the subtitles agree, referring to him as ‘he’ or ‘him’. At the same time, the character is intended to be representing the author, who identifies as female. There are a few times in the manga where Honda is read as female, including being referred to as an “older sister” type, or when a customer declines her offer to help carry a heavy bag because it would be ‘too heavy for a woman’.

Honda flip flops between being read as male or female, while showing no obvious signs of being either. The very beginning of the series has him lament about the typical image of a bookseller being a sweet, glasses-wearing young woman, and how he doesn’t fit that image. Yet, later in the series, when Honda talks with her manga editor about a live-action adaptation, they joke about which male actor they would cast as her. I’d like to believe that Honda is genderfluid, which would be groundbreaking for a Japanese manga, so it gets representation points in my books.

Beyond complicated gender identities, anyone who is even mildly versed in manga will get a kick out of this series for how often it references popular series. Characters will burst into a scene, asking if there’s more copies of a famous manga in stock, all the while the name is barely censored because of copyright. Well-known manga references are thrown all over the place, giving the fictional bookstore a greater sense of legitimacy. Instead of making obviously fake titles, they just said ‘screw it’ and used real ones, making it feel more real. While watching this anime, I found myself trying to identify all the manga mentioned by characters in dialogue, almost like a little game. Its pretty fun, if you know your stuff.

I’d also like to think that whoever recommended this series to me knows me really well, because the amount of references to yaoi or BL in this anime is shockingly high. The entire first episode is practically devoted to it, culminating in a scene where Honda has to deal with an English-speaking customer who is looking for an explicit doujinshi that his daughter wanted. I really don’t know what’s worse: the fact that a character mentioned a BL series vaguely in an off-hand comment and I immediately knew what it was (despite never having read it), or that I knew exactly which doujinshi the English-speaking dad was looking for. Let’s just say that I haven’t watched Gintama yet, but I have some experience with the main character...

SFBH is a good anime: not great, not fantastic, but not bad either. It wasn’t trying to be some over the top, zany comedy, or some deep meditation about workplace culture. Its a short, snappy, and visually distinct series with it’s own sense of humor, one that relies more on weird people and situations than pessimism and ‘relatability’. I enjoyed how much it had to say about how bookstores work, and I felt like I learned while watching it. One thing’s for sure: I have a new sense of respect for bookstore workers, after seeing all the hard work that goes into keeping everything in order. Now, I can rest assured that when I bring my big stacks of plastic-wrapped BL to the counter, the employee ringing me up is just as embarrassed as I am. What a relief.

#anime and manga #anime review #gaikotsu shotenin honda san #review #anime critique #skeleton

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olet-lucernam · 8 months

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A Hollow Promise [21] chapter v, part ii

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : despite his chains, loki begins gathering his pieces on the board. astrid works on escaping her own confines, and mitigating the damage of disasters to come.

recommended listening : do it all the time, i don't know how but they found me

[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

Odin’s declaration that he would never see Frigga again lasted approximately four days.

Hands clasped at the small of his back, Loki watched, unmoving, as a troop of guards carried a suite of furniture into his new corner cell, his mother overseeing them with a regal self-assurance.

“An illusion?” He guessed incisively.

Frigga- or, rather, a figure of gathered, refracted light sculpted in her image- glanced in his direction.

Although dressed for the eyes of the court this time, in an elegantly draping gown of burnished bronze satin, she had eschewed any plate or jewellery, as though to complement the soft moss fabrics and supple leathers that had replaced Loki’s armour; they were lounging clothes, more or less, of equal quality to that which he had worn while still regarded as one of Asgard’s princes, but insufficient to hold against gunfire or turn away anything but the bluntest of knives.

“Your father is rarely overly specific in his wording,” Frigga said, cool and deceptively mild as sea air, carrying an edge of salt and a whisper of raw power beneath the placid tranquillity, “somewhat to his detriment.”

“Not merely his,” Loki replied acidly, watching from the corner of his eye as a guard set a low armchair down a short distance from where he stood. Waiting until the guard moved away again, Loki approached the chair, and skimmed his fingertips along the carved arm.

The suite was crafted from ebony, wrought gold detailing and dark emerald upholstery, with a slender serpentine design to its supporting structure, like willow branches. It wasn’t dissimilar from the pieces that furnished his quarters currently, and was clearly selected to reflect his tastes.

Idly, Loki half-wished that Frigga had chosen a rosewood set instead.

Only now, when he started looking, did he realise how much he had hidden away and protected, long before he fell into the hands of the Black Order.

“Gilding my cage, Mother?”

“I am ensuring that my son is as comfortable as possible,” Frigga answered evenly, “under the circumstances.”

“While Odin turns a blind eye,” Loki inferred.

Although Frigga had long since earned the esteem of the people, building and whittling out her sphere of influence, transmuting herself from a foreign war-bride into a beloved queen, the fact remained that her power and authority was ultimately derived from Odin. The Allfather’s respect and affection for her, and her dutiful fulfilment of her role, made him inclined to overlook her defiance upon occasion, and let her have her way in some small matter that meant little enough to him.

Such as Loki, evidently.

“He loves you still, Loki,” Frigga said softly, shaped more as a reminder than a reassurance.

Loki lifted his gaze to her, calmly, beneath the mask of a diplomat.

“Oh, I see now,” he breathed, quiet as a keen blade, “how you managed to lie to me all those years.”

Her only reaction was a slight crease in her brow.

“You were gone for two years. Might I ask,” she said carefully, “if you have been well, at least?”

Loki turned away sedately, observing two of the guards sliding a chaise into place near one of the walls, its cushioned base laden with pillows and throw blankets, seams glinting with golden thread.

“Why are you truly here?” He asked darkly, his voice ground out like charcoal. “To soothe your guilty conscience?”

“Loki-”

“Did you know?”

Loki felt her gathering her patience. “Be specific, my son. About what?” She asked composedly.

He spun to face her.

“Thor’s coronation date.”

Frigga did not quite flinch.

Grief mingled with a pained comprehension formed in the piercing blue of her eyes, pulling tension into her brow and mouth, like the frame of a drawn bow.

Anger roared afresh into him, at the confirmation that she had known- even as he acknowledged that there was little that she could have done to prevent it, and as he felt himself forgave her the barest inch, because at least she had cared enough to remember.

“Is that why?” Frigga asked coaxingly, taking a tentative step towards him, as though reaching for him to soothe an injury.

It hurt, how much he wanted to lean into it.

Loki could admit that he resented Frigga the least. But that did not mean he could trust her.

“Be specific, Mother,” he replied with a wintry smile. “After all. There should be no secrets in a family, should there?”

Frigga returned to his cell often.

Frequently, she would come bearing gifts. Books were the norm; she bought duplicates of works that she knew he had in his own collection, new volumes that she had come across and decided he might enjoy, volumes stacking up like a pallet of bricks against the wall. On other occasions, it was some trinket or curio, akin to the souvenirs he used to bring her from his many adventures with Thor, or a dish that she had requested the kitchens prepare for him, couriered in the hands of one of her ladies and transferred into his cell by one of the guards. Whatever the most recent peace offering, Frigga would linger and talk with him as long as her duties and Loki’s mood would permit, undeterred by his relentless baiting and evasions, contorting their conversations until it reflexed upon itself and knotted them into a stalemate.

His mother didn’t falter even once.

Loki had been counting on it.

Frigga had resilience, and thousands of years of patience formed by adversity. But Loki had recently rediscovered the value of restraint.

He allowed the days to spill into weeks, holding in place, until he could almost feel the ache of it like overwound clockwork.

An opportunity eventually presented itself, some month or two later.

That day, Frigga arrived at his cell with a tea service, faintly fragrant steam coiling from the tall spout, and a small wooden cask.

Leaving the tea to steep, and at the hopeful tilt of his mother’s head, Loki unlatched and pried open the lid of the cask.

It was filled with countless tiny, dried blossoms, their vibrant rich violet dulled by dehydration, petals curling up and crispening into a dark mauve- íviðia blossoms, also known as witch-flowers, imported from Vanaheim.

“I thought you might like some,” Frigga said, her tone light and unabashedly unsubtle.

Loki supressed a smile, almost wanting to concede the victory to her.

Over the centuries, Loki had collected thousands of memories of the flowers- of his mother dropping them into cups of freshly boiled water, watching them rehydrate and unfurl, producing a migraine-relieving tea as Loki complained his way through the snag in a spell he was constructing- or bottling them up with sprigs of kæsia-gras and citrus slices to infuse into a Vanir infusion that cleared and focused the mind.

“These are the first shipment of the season,” his mother added.

“That time of year already,” Loki noted without thinking.

“Indeed. Winter shall soon be upon us,” Frigga continued, following the thread that had netted her a milder response. “The final harvests are underway, as are arrangements for the winter feasts. We’ve been preparing the gardens before the first snowfall.”

Loki exhaled, a memory ghosting behind his eyes, like a scene from another life.

Glasislund was unparalleled at Yuletide.

The Glass Grove was at the heart of the palace grounds, cultivated like a colossal terrarium within wards that maintained a specified climate in each quarter- save for the very centre, which was attuned the current season on Asgard, and where the ancient tree that lent its name to the gardens was rooted. The feast and night-market that followed the Wild Hunt was held under its boughs; Glasir’s trunk was broader than a respectable townhouse in Gladsheim, crowned with a glorious metallic foliage of gold-copper that spread like the eaves of a great marquee, sheltering the festivities from snowfall and starlight. The flames of the torches burned from dusk until first light, reflected in the leaves like beaten mirrors, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and roasted game and toasted honey cakes.

Loki pulled himself away from a phantom echo of laughter- the warm, steady weight of Thor’s hand on his shoulder, the pliant curve of Astrid’s body against his side, shouts of revelry from close by and a heady lightness filling his head with the currents of music and mead- and back into a cold douse of fact and calculation.

Maintenance of the grounds were under the queen’s purview, but there were a few in particular that Frigga had chosen to oversee personally, or had delegated to one of her ladies in waiting- a high honour. Glasislund was amongst them, containing some of the rarest, most unique, and spectacular flora in the Nine Realms, both native and imported.

Including-

Gazing into the box of dehydrated flowers, Loki half-listened as Frigga told him which gardens had come into crop, and which produce had been harvested, proposing a few dishes that she could commission from the kitchens for him.

“Are the cordolium roses in bloom?”

Frigga paused.

“Cordolium roses?”

“The hjartablom.”

After a strained moment, Loki glanced up at his mother. She was staring at him with a carefully blank brightness, like diffused light on waves, unmoving.

He consciously strangled his voice, compressing it into something that was desperately trying not to sound tremulous.

Its source was no longer a wound, but its memory, and its scarring- but he hoped that Frigga could not quite decipher the difference.

The best lie was a well-employed truth, after all.

“Are they in bloom?”

The next time that Frigga visited the dungeons, it was with a vase of freshly cut blossoms.

Compelled into existence, a cultivar forged by horticultural crossbreeding and magical-forced splicing, they resembled some of its distantly related namesakes- strong, thorned stems, with a flower formed of numerous tightly furled petals, exuding a cloud of fragrance into the sterile air. Each bloom seemed to have been carved from pearl, a delicately clement shade of cream, lipped with a sun-hot incandescence that blurred its silken contours out of vision. Every individual petal was etched with a tessellation of hairline-fine golden fractures, resembling intricately tatted lacework, thickening towards the base of the bud until it became almost wholly metallic.

Loki crooked a finger underneath one delicately curling petal.

The light seared brighter, sparkling over with a violent crackle of refracting colour- a jewel-dust shimmer of rose and lemon, lazuline and ruby.

He had named them in Latin first, and the ancient Aesir tongue second, but the latter had become the one by which they were commonly known, in reference to their most unique attribute.

“Is their scent still the same for you?”

Standing on the other side of the end table, Frigga summoned a bittersweet smile.

“Yes.”

Loki hummed quietly, in the back of his throat.

The appearance of the cordolium rose was said to reflect the identity of the one who had raised them to its first flowering. Meanwhile, the scent of the blossoms, and flavour of the rosehips, reflected the heart of the observer.

In short: they smelled, and tasted, of whatever a person loved most.

“And you?” Frigga asked quietly.

Her demeanour suggested that she already knew the answer.

Loki swallowed.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in.

“Morning air. Hot metal. Vanilla.”

He didn’t mention the spritz of citrus and clean warmth of sandalwood, or the river rocks and savoury tang of salt- or the old books, toasted honey cakes, and ozone.

Mercifully, the oak and pelt was fainter than it had ever been before.

Frigga’s smile was wistful, glazed with history.

“Of course,” she murmured.

It took five weeks, to see dividends.

Frigga sent fresh cordolium roses every three days, despite the longevity of the cut flowers. The vases steadily accumulated across every available surface of his cell until it began to resemble a glass house, the brunt of the bare white walls softened by their spatters of gold and shadow and emerald.

When the first hips came into fruit, Frigga sent a package of them to his cell, shredded together with the dried petals into an herbal tea that was coveted across the realms. With a flask of water, the tea service that she had gifted him, and a simple spell to set it boiling, Loki could set a pot of it steeping whenever he pleased.

The dregs of one such pot was cooling on the side table, when the Tesseract tapped at him.

It had begun alerting him whenever someone approached the dungeons, like a proximity enchantment, showing him a glimpse of the mouth of the stairs’ descent so that he was never caught unawares. Usually, if not his mother’s illusions or one of her attendants, or an altered changing of the guard, it was simply another batch of raiders being escorted in, corralled by Thor and shipped to Asgard for indefinite internment.

Watching each procession with amusement, the cells within his view becoming increasingly saturated, Loki wondered if the palace administration had considered that the gaols were, in fact, finite- or that these new inmates were simply symptomatic indicators of deeper faults.

Unlikely.

Still, besides a few nettle-mouthed remarks to his mother, Loki could have no objections. The destruction had to be curbed before it could spiral too far, and the marauders were an invaluable resource; each of them carried hundreds of fragments of information from far-flung worlds and the inner complex of Yggdrasil, from the recent tectonic shifts plaguing Ria to the burgeoning political schism destabilising Hala. The wealth of information that Loki had collected from them, simply by feigning disinterest and waiting, could rival that of the dockside bars of Knowhere.

This time, however, the visitor was not amongst those who frequently traversed the cells.

Loki drained his cup, cracked the spine of the closest book, and waited.

Even on the flagged stone, her approach was barely audible. Her stealth had improved significantly in the years since they had known each other, if only because Loki had needled her over it enough for her to retrain herself out of sheer spite.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Turning the corner, she came to an unceremonious halt, framed by one of the windows of his cell.

The forcefield stood as a silent sentry between them, beads of light sliding along each line in its looped trellis array, like electrified wires. At a glance into the vivarium tank of his cell, Loki projected the image of a prince at leisure, surrounded by offerings of flowers and whiling away the hours reading- a veneer that had prompted a slow incline of disinterest from the other inmates.

She would not be fooled.

Loki didn’t lift his attention from the page he was skimming, but neither did he keep her waiting.

“It has been a while, Brunnhilde.”

The flavours of the cordolium tea swirled on his palate- ice wine, sharp raspberry, caramelised sweetness, snowmelt, citric acid, the first time he had tasted chocolate- and lingered on his tongue, infusing the greeting.

Finishing the paragraph, Loki glanced up at her.

While the Einherjar were recognisable across the stars, attired in gold- plate and mail, heavy sweeping saffron cloaks, helms with flat antlers that curved from the brows like a halo- the Valkyrie were fewer, seldom deployed, and distinctive in sharp white. Their armour was ivory plate, limned with platinum like the midday sun behind clouds, with a mid-length cloak of deep blue satin, the exact colour of the skies at nautical dusk; even while overseeing funerary rites, they wore draped white silks and linens, embellished with silver applique to turn the translucent fabrics opaquer.

A Valkyrie in white would have drawn attention anywhere, but particularly within the dungeons, cutting through the dark. Instead, she had worn the chromatic reverse, matte and unembellished, closer to that of a mercenary- a sleeveless tunic hemmed with an asymmetric neckline, as though constructed from offcuts of high-quality black leather, with hard-wearing trousers and soft-soled boots, doused under a mantle of muted storm-blue wool. Her cloak was secured at one shoulder with a penannular brooch, cast from gold- or, rather, a metal that closely resembled gold, but was richer and deeper, marbled with ripples like pattern welded steel.

Loki recognised it easily.

He met her eyes. Brunnhilde stared directly back at him, boldly casual.

She had scraped her hair back from her face into a taut, efficient Valkyrine braid down the centre of her scalp, complexion pale beneath its cool fawn tones. Not for the first time, Loki mused that she resembled a blade- tarnished, yet whetted to the finest, cleanest edge, with a curt strength that few saw beyond and into a core that was restless, and disillusioned.

“My greetings to the prince.”

Her tone was faintly derisive, and easily misread.

“My greetings to she of the honoured Valkyrie,” Loki replied, inclining his head, and gently closed his book. “I hope you have been well, Brunn.”

The corner of Brunnhilde’s mouth clenched into a shrug.

“Well, I would return the sentiment, but,” she eyed him for a moment with a slight smirk, but her gaze flicked aside to catch upon the flowers filling his cell- and her mask slipped for a haunted moment, before she hitched it back up, “I have functioning ears. And eyes.”

“You certainly have me at a disadvantage,” he admitted mildly. “So, then. What of you?” Loki dropped his tone low and intimate, rising from the daybed and setting the book aside with an unhurried, fluid grace. “Accompanying my noble brother in cleaning up the realms?”

Brunnhilde’s expression flickered.

“No.” She answered bluntly. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with their fun.”

“Not even for the honour of fighting beside Lady Sif?”

Her lip curled unsubtly.

Loki grinned, not quite laughing.

“It really is good to see you, Brunn.”

The sentiment was utterly sincere, but Loki didn’t know if it would matter to her.

She considered him with a flit of her eyes.

“Wish I could say the same.” Brunnhilde answered blankly.

Loki tilted his head at her, consideringly.

“Why are you here, Brunnhilde?”

She lifted her chin.

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

“I heard they were hacking away at the Birdcage,” she said brusquely, “and I wanted to know why.”

“Oh,” Loki said casually, glancing towards the nearest bouquet of cordolium roses, “is that where they cut them from?”

It was absurd to feign ignorance. There were only three places where they grew on palace grounds, and therefore only three places from which Frigga could have procured the blooms at high volume, without incurring unnecessary cost and attention. Aside from Loki’s quarters, and an abandoned attic room high in the palace eaves, there was only one other place.

Located in Glasislund, in a section locked into a glaze of hard frost and thawing spring, the Birdcage was constructed from two dozen trellised cordolium rose plants, bedded in a broad circle at the base of a large stone platform. The thick stems had been contrived and trained to twist and curve and interlock into living benches and pillars, arches and rafters, forming an elaborate pavilion that resembled a great wrought-filigree aviary, festooned with flowers and foliage.

Those roses were the only ones, of the three locations, that had not been raised by Loki- and therefore the only ones that bloomed with ivory, gold-engraved blossoms.

Given that his mother was likely employing witchcraft to accelerate regrowth, no one would notice the flowers being gathered.

Not unless they were specifically paying attention.

“You’re not smart enough to be playing dumb, Prince Loki. Why.” Brunnhilde reiterated sharply.

With a blink, Loki glanced down at the seam of the forcefield between them.

“If I offered you the truth, would you believe me? And if not-” He lifted his eyes to hers with a look of gentle, mock-askance. “Why did you even bother coming here to ask?”

For a long moment, she said nothing.

The iron-hardness of her stare subsided, infinitesimally, revealing a glimpse of grudging, uncertain hope.

Loki exhaled a laugh.

“Well. It doesn’t really matter,” he admitted, more relieved than he would care to acknowledge, “I was going to tell you either way.”

With a swift, subtle flick-sweep of two fingers, he sent a spell rippling through the cell, washing across the walls and into every corner.

The moment that it was set, his eyes snapped back onto Brunnhilde, culling the pretence of a pretence between them.

“I’ve cast a veil against Heimdall’s gaze,” Loki told her, hushed and urgent, starkly aware of the inmates in the other cells, scanning those within view to ensure that the past few minutes had sufficiently lost their interest, “but my magic has been contained to this cell. He cannot see me, but he can see you. For your own sake, be very careful of how you react.”

Brunnhilde lifted her chin, challengingly.

Loki didn’t allow himself to hesitate.

“Astrid is alive.”

It spoke volumes of her discipline- and a centuries-strong guard of apathy- that she barely reacted.

Still, Loki could saw the spark of rage and pain rip through her like a barbed arrow, hands twitching reflexively into loose fists.

“I wouldn’t lie about this, Brunnhilde,” he hissed in a harsh whisper, before she could make the accusation. “Not to you.”

Brunnhilde visibly swallowed.

It was a line that he would not cross, and they both knew it. It had been the origin of the trust between them, evolving into a comfortably acerbic closeness over time.

I hate it, Brunnhilde had confessed to him once, halfway into the strongest bottle of liquor that Loki could lift from Odin’s cellars, the words crystallising on the frigid midnight air, the secrets, the lies, the whole golden sham.

She had slouched against Loki’s arm with a sigh, one knee propped up and a forearm draped across it, handing him the bottle. He accepted it from her, the thick glass touch-warmed, winter-chilled brennevín sloshing against its sides.

Thank you, Loki murmured, as he bought the bottle to his lips.

Brunnhilde had shuffled her head against his shoulder to squint up at him.

For what? Letting you have some of the liquor you stole? I know, Lokes, I’m so generous.

Loki swallowed the swig, letting it burn against his sternum and swirl into his skull, unbalancing him.

For hating it, he had answered with a slight gasp against the spiced alcohol, shifting and turning into her, letting her rest a little more of her weight against him. I can’t let myself hate it, because if I do- a part of me thinks that I’ll burn it all down. Or that I should be burning it down. That anything less wouldn’t be enough.

Brunnhilde had given a terse, thoughtful noise, before nipping the bottle out of his grip.

Then thanks, she said shortly, taking a long draught that almost stole her breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, for not letting yourself hate it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have much of a reason not to hand you the flint. Or strike one myself.

Brunnhilde spoke through a closed throat, screened under the unimpressed arch of her eyebrows.

“You’re saying that’s your reason?” She said, with the most nonchalant air that she could muster.

“Yes. Now, we don’t have much time, since I’m fairly certain you’re not here officially. Make a choice, Brunnhilde. You can walk away, with plausible deniability intact,” Loki continued coolly, “and without acrimony. Or- I can tell you everything, and we can do a controlled burn.”

Brunnhilde’s eyes flared beneath their jaded sheen, zeal warring with cynicism.

“Alright. This should be good,” she said blithely. “Go on, then, Your Highness. I’m listening.”

[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

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chidoroki · 1 year

Text

182 Days of TPN - Day 31

Chapter 31: “Emptiness”

Once again appreciating the small hints that get sprinkled in everywhere such as the bottle rockets which will come into play shortly.

It makes me so sad to see my boy like this. He spent his entire life stressing over a way to save his two best friends from the harsh reality of this world and now that one faced an unfortunate end, he’s so worn out and lost. All his efforts gone to waste and he can’t handle the weight of failing, not only himself but people who mean so much to him. To see someone who was silently fighting many battles alone finally break and give up hurts every part of my heart.

I know RE were both sharing the same brain cell about only looking defeated to trick Isabella, but I don’t doubt that most of Ray’s exhaustion had to be real after everything he endured. Whether or not he started his act here however, I dunno, but he sure makes it believable. I’m sure his feelings here are real though. With Isabella currently not around, there’s no reason to put on a mask around these tree.

The manga gives us Emma’s internal dialogue voicing her worries for a good page while in the anime it.. has her crying. It wouldn’t bother me so much if she didn’t already state way back in ch1 that she’ll never cry again, so for the anime to have her do just that doesn’t sit right with me. Granted, the anime never included that panel to begin with and it needed another way to convey her emotions here since it yet again leaves out internal dialogue like this completely, but whatever. I know she’s highly upset and has every right to cry given the circumstances, but I know she’s stronger than that. Not trying to say crying is a form of weakness either, because it isn’t, but I’m just looking for some consistency here.

We sure as hell didn’t hear anything, you sneaky bitch. Anime is all silent too (aside from the crying).

Isabella is so cold for outright telling her “Norman died. Ray’s not himself,” but this little bit of the conversation has hints of her speaking from experience with Leslie’s shipment and encountering the cliff.

I’m sure she was really hoping Emma would’ve taken the mom offer as well. Not even because Isabella wants to assist the farm as a proficient caretaker who raises the best children, but because she wishes for Emma to live a longer life. She’s only trying to help, albeit in the worse way possible..

The way Isabella goes from pity, to merciless then switches back to being concerned so swiftly and subtly.. ow, my heart.

Breaking news (as in something that isn’t new but rather breaks my heart): She cares.

Oh honey, you think you have them pinned? Haa, just you wait! But yes I love how often anything chess related is brought up in this manga.

The fact RE & everyone else manages to set up and pull off the escape in about twenty minutes is impressive. (but the time at which the actual plan starts confuses me between both medias, but I’ll mention that more once I get to ch33 I think.)

There’s also no indication that Ray’s humming the lullaby in the manga so that had to be a treat for manga readers once this episode aired. If I knew the significance of it back when I first watched ep10 I would’ve surely lost my mind.

Favorite panel/moment:

THIS ONE! Absolutely no other choice! Oh my god, no doubt one of favorite panels of her out of the entire manga. Our sweet sunshine child looking completely fierce and I am all for it!!

No way in hell the anime could’ve nail that expression. That’s Demizu perfection right there!

#the promised neverland #tpn manga #182daysoftpn #chidoroki used chatter

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pompadourpink · 2 years

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bonjour mom this might be a stupid question but i'm super interested in environmental protection and i'm trying to go vegan and buy less and all that jazz but everything is super expensive if it's local or it's okay but they have to fly it here etc and i understand your idea of only getting quality stuff but like i don't know yet what i like so i don't want to splurge (not that i could anyway) and i want to avoid amazon but it's super practical and at least it's for sure not a scam and i WILL get my package etc, and sometimes i do like a bit of dairy or i'll have birthday cake but i feel super guilty about it and i'm getting super anxious, do you have any advice??

Hello dear (and oh boy, this is going to be another wall of text),

I've been there. I went vegetarian with the hopes of becoming vegan back in 2012, went super minimalist, started to buy way less, switched to bulk and organic, got a menstrual cup, felt like I had to donate money I didn't have because others needed it more than me and felt awful every time I binned something thinking I actually didn't need that thing and that was a selfish decision, and it was so hard to see other people around me not caring about these things. It was eating me alive and making me bitter and sadder than a bag of rocks. It's a real thing called eco-anxiety and it's well-documented at this point so you can look it up.

In my case, researching capitalism and going to therapy were the key. Because little old me being vegan not only wasn't sustainable because I had personal issues with food and ADHD and it made it worse, but at the end of the day it's not going to be enough to annihilate centuries of specism and make the industry change its mind; just like little old me feeling guilty about buying ice cream because I was going to have to throw away the pot is the most insignificant thing in the world when you look at what Nestlé or cruise boats are doing to the planet.

Whatever you do, you will have to sacrifice something and it will never be enough - you've already noticed it. Change comes gradually, when people come together and stand against what's wrong, which has been harder to do these days where we routinely lose family members and friends to Facebook radicalisation. My advice is to do what I've been doing, after years of trial and error: putting myself first, staying realistic about my goals, practising empathy, remembering to be a role model rather than a preacher, and giving myself time before I make a decision.

I like you prefer to boycott Amazon but between shipping fees, delivery time, dodgy neighbours, prices, fear of scammers (...), I used it occasionally to get stuff whenever it felt like the best solution. But then, at the beginning of the pandemic, I bought face masks online from a French pharmacy, which cost quite a lot but I was trying to do the good thing. Three weeks later I received a white piece of plastic that looked like every package from Wish videos on Youtube from somewhere in China that contained the masks with a little note in broken English stating that those were only for fashion and couldn't be worn for medical reasons.

I did some research and realised that they bought the items for pennies on Aliexpress and got the suppliers to directly send me my order - it's a very scammy and common concept called drop shipping. If you're looking for anything brandless on Amazon (from sunglasses to hairbrushes to decoration and gym equipment), check out Aliexpress and your cart will go from 132,99 to 17 bucks in under five minutes. So after years of judging people who use Aliexpress or Wish, I started doing the same, because what I receive is the exact same thing, but there's no mediocre business tycoon wannabee making a profit on my behalf in between.

And ever since, I've rethought my beliefs. I no longer feel bad about wanting children even though every human being creates a lot of waste in a world where Kylie Jenner takes a private jet to avoid a 40-minute drive. I no longer feel bad about occasionally flying to go on vacation because I have only one shot at living and once in a while I deserve a break. I no longer feel bad about doing my nails even though I will have to buy and dispose of cotton buds because I'm tired of neglecting my happiness to avoid worsening problems I haven't even caused.

I still do what I can. I'm still conscious of what I do, don't waste water, buy all my clothes secondhand, donate money whenever I can and all that, but I'm at peace. I try and that's what matters in a world where succeeding is not an option.

Love,

Mum

youtube

#ask #malks

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elletromil · 2 years

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19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. for the A Conversation verse?

Am I answering this a year and a half later?

Maybe so. BUT! Better late than never :D

The title is entirely because i did promise to write this and then proceeded to fight with it for months because somehow it didn't want to get written :( But I did it :D

Hope you enjoy it darling <3

A prequel to this

The promised kiss

“Why does everyone always assume I’m in love with him?”

At the question, Eun-sup nearly chokes on the huge bite of crispy chicken he’s just taken. Weirdly enough however, he’s actually grateful for the forced delay since it gives him time to think about it instead of just carelessly replying with the first thing that crosses his mind.

To Yeong, this is obviously a very serious question. The fact that he’s even asking is proof that he genuinely doesn’t understand.

And if he’s asking Eun-sup, it means he trusts him to not only have an answer for him, but to also not make fun of him while doing so.

Sure, his doppelganger is confident and seems to generally be above the teasing done by anyone other than his King. But no matter how different they are in ways, Yeong and him are still very similar to their core. It doesn’t matter how well it is constructed, Eun-sup is able to recognize a mask of impassability when it’s being worn over his own face.

No matter how hard he tries not letting it show, this is important to Yeong.

And because it is, Eun-sup finishes chewing thoughtfully before shooting a question back. “Aren’t you?”

Yeong glares from his side of the couch, but there’s no true heat to it.

“No.” There’s a beat, but Yeong continues before Eun-sup can say anything. “I mean… I love him. I don’t think I remember how not loving him feels like. But, I’m not- I’m not in love.”

Eun-sup nods in understanding as he ponders how to best answer the initial question. But as he does so and Yeong visibly relaxes, he realises suddenly just how tense he had been in the first place. It makes him wonder just how many times Yeong has tried telling the exact same thing to someone, only to not be believed. How many times before he just gave up altogether on explaining himself.

It makes Eun-sup want to find all those people who refused to simply listen and hurt them.

But Eun-sup has already learned the hard way that this is very rarely helpful and the best you can do is to simply let go of these kinds of people.

“See, I think that’s exactly why. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you protect him out of love for him first and out of duty second.” Eun-sup has no doubt that King or not, Yeong would go to the exact same lengths to keep the man safe. He just wouldn’t need to. Possibly. The King does seem to attract all kinds of trouble but not all of it is because of his status. “People often forget that loving someone deeply doesn’t automatically make that love romantic. And once they’ve made an opinion, it’s hard to make them change their minds.”

Judging from his defeated sigh, even if it’s not exactly unexpected, Yeong had been hoping for a different answer. Eun-sup bumps against him in silent solidarity. Even if no one has ever wrongfully thought him in love with someone he wasn’t in love with, he’s had to deal with his fair share of people who thought they know him better than he did himself.

It sucks.

Unlike in the beginnings of their acquaintance where Yeong would have pushed him away with irritation, his doppelganger actually leans into the contact, going so far as to lie his head on his shoulder. Eun-sup can’t quite suppress his smile at the tacit show of trust and vulnerability. He’s glad that Yeong knows he can openly rely on him.

“I don't even want to sleep with him.”

The whiny tone, so unlike Yeong, takes him by surprise and he can't quite stifle a laugh in time.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes quickly, because even with Yeong's face still pressed against his neck, Eun-sup can feel the glare. “It’s just, you've really picked the worst person possible to use that as an argument. Not that I don’t know what you mean, but just, I’ve been in love with lot of people and I haven’t slept with any of them.”

Yeong pushes himself away at that, confusion written all over his face. “I’ve seen you and Na-ri kiss.”

Eun-sup can’t help but grin at the reminder that he can actually kiss her now. He loves Na-ri so much.

“Mmhmm, yeah, but you’ll never see us do more than that.”

Yeong’s confusion morphes into something highly unimpressed and slightly disapproving. “I would hope so.”

Eun-sup rolls his eyes and gives him a half-playful shove. “Not how I meant that.”

The confusion is back on Yeong’s face and even if Eun-sup hadn’t planned on explaining asexuality to him tonight -- or at all, really -- he’s not about to leave it just at that. It would feel somewhat unfair to Yeong when he’s just opened up on something that is obviously deeply personal to him.

Still, no matter how much he trusts Yeong, he’s had enough previous past experiences that the word aren’t easy to let out.

“Eun-sup?” Judging by how carefully Yeong says his name, he’s clearly stayed silent a bit too long.

“Sorry, I’m okay.” It’s only when he has to force what he hopes is a reassuring smile that he realises he’s been frowning. No wonder Yeong was starting to get worried. “What I’m saying is just that being in love with someone and being with them doesn’t have to lead to, to sex. I love Na-ri more than anything but we’ll never have sex because… well, I’m just… you know, not into that.”

The silence that follow is nerve-wracking.

He tries to brace himself for the questions he’s sure will follow, but mostly, he’s slowly entering panic mode. He should have known that this was not a conversation he’d be able to have without having at least a month to mentally prepare himself for and-

Thankfully, Yeong breaks him out of his spiralling into insanity before he can go in too deep.

“You mean, you don’t-” He waves a hand and he looks uncomfortable, but Eun-sup knows this face. Knows his face. (The whole doppelganger thing continues to be so confusion at times, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get more headaches about it all.) If he had to bet, he’d say Yeong is uncomfortable talking about sex itself, more than he is about Eun-sup’s revelation. Which, fair enough. It’s not Eun-sup’s favourite’s subject either.

“Nope. I don’t and never will.”

“But you kiss Na-ri.”

“Yeah,” and just like that, he’s back to smiling like an idiot again because, well, kissing Na-ri is the best thing ever. Yeong, however goes back to looking confused.

“How does that work?”

“Kissing Na-ri?” As soon as he says it, he knows it’s a stupid question, but well, by now, Yeong should be used to him getting a bit stupid whenever he has Na-ri on his mind. “You mean the, the not sleeping together?”

He gets a nod.

“Well it just… Doesn’t happen? I mean we’ve slept together to actually sleep before, but we don’t have sex. Because I’m not into that and Na-ri knows and doesn’t care and just because we don’t, doesn’t mean the rest isn’t good. And we kiss because we both enjoy that.”

They both enjoy it a lot, but he doesn’t think he needs to go into that much details about it.

“Oh.”

Even if he still looks confused, it sounds like Yeong has just understood something and Eun-sup knows better than to make any assumption, but he’s hit with the sudden realisation, that maybe, possibly, if he had been in Yeong’s shoes and fallen in love with his King at a young age and not been looking at anyone else since then, he probably wouldn’t have such an intimate understanding of himself as he does now.

And maybe, just maybe, Yeong has just made a similar realisation.

“Yeong?” He hesitates here, because he doesn’t want to push. But Yeong’s body language is still open, is still trusting. “Do you want to kiss him?”

There’s a long silence and Eun-sup can see a bit of panic starting to appear in Yeong’s eyes and he feels so bad about it all and he’s about to tell his doppelganger to just forget it when Yeong shakes his head.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Eun-sup gasps in surprise at the revelation that probably shouldn’t be one. Yeong is handsome (Eun-sup has long made his peace with the fact that thinking so makes him a narcissist) and surely has had many offers over the years. But if they’re even more alike than they thought before, is it really any wonders that he didn’t accept any of them? If Eun-sup had been entrusted with Na-ri’s safety at a young age, if he had been her only true friend, would he ever have looked at anyone else long enough to fall in love with them?

He doesn’t think so.

“Wanna try?”

The words are out before he can stop himself, but he can’t bring himself to regret them when Yeong surge forward to press their lips together.

As kisses go, he can’t even say it’s one. It would be like comparing a high-five to a handshake or handholding. As in it definitely involve the same body parts, but it’s definitely not the same.

Yeong isn’t moving away though. And it should be awkward to just be sitting there, breathing the same air with their lips together in a not-kiss, but the thing is, the closeness isn’t bad at all and it would take very little to turn this into an actual kiss.

Instead of doing so however, Eun-sup leans back, just enough so they can look each other in the eyes. There’s no panic or confusion in Yeong’s eyes anymore, just something that’s close to guilt and Eun-sup knows what words are coming even without hearing them. And maybe if it was anyone else, they would need to be actually said out loud, but between them, he doesn’t think there’s actually a need for an apology. Not for this.

What he gets isn’t an apology however. Which shouldn’t surprise him, but sometimes he forgets that as much as he knows Yeong, the opposite is also true. Yeong knows him just as much. And nights like tonight just serve to deepen their understanding of each other.

“Do you want to do this?”

Eun-sup rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother answering with words. But instead of simply mashing their lips together, he takes his time arranging their limbs into a more comfortable position. He ends up straddling Yeong, with Yeong’s hands holding him at the hips, his own arms around his shoulders, fingers of one hand splayed into short hair.

He would turn the question back on Yeong, but judging by how he’s been staring at his lips since Eun-sup pushed back, it’s pretty clear that he does want this.

So this time, when Eun-sup bring their lips together, it is definitely a kiss.

And if the way Yeong moan into his mouth and doesn’t let him go until they’re both completely breathless is any indication, Yeong is just as much into kissing as Eun-sup is.

Not that it answers the question about whether or not Yeong wants to kiss his King, but Yeong doesn’t seem in a hurry to return to that topic.

Which is entirely fine by Eun-sup.

He’s never been one to pass up on kisses.

#i hope it doesn't read weird considering i wrote many parts of this many months apart #did you even remember i was supposed to be writing this? XD #me #fanfic #the king: eternal monarch #jo eun-sup/jo yeong #implied jo eun-sup/myeong na-ri #asexuality #selfcest #kinda #doppelgangercest???#is that a thing?#anyway i haven't gone into details here but please assume that eun-sup knows na-ri would be a-okay with him smooching yeong

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neon-lights-stardust-nights · 1 year

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Zelda S/Is? I wish to hear :>

I ship with a handful of Zelda characters, and have some feelings toward certain Links that I have a hard time pinpointing. Ganondorf has a tag here, but there's also Ghirahim, Zant, Vaati, and the Happy Mask Salesman. I also really identify with like several of the races. So! I came up with a way to satisfy all these!

Fae was original Ymir, a rogue and formless entity of pure chaos. A similar thing to the Majora's Mask manga's depiction of Majora's creation. Ymir would eventually but heads with more powerful deities, and find faerself against their priests. Unlike Majora, there was no way to contain Ymir in something as (potentially) solid and mundane as a mask. Ymir was cursed to roam the world a similar way the hero of time does, being reborn, but never being born the same way more than twice in a row. A forever changing creature still, amnesiac to faers true potential.

Ymir's first rebirth was as Fufunmi, a Minish. Fae was involved with Vaati before he went bad, and when Vaati returned to the Minnish people, re-entered a relationship with him. A rather uneventful life, that one. The cursed magic that made faer docile and mortal was its strongest, since it had no yet had the time to be worn down.

IDK how long Minish are supposed to live, but um... I like the idea they live a pretty long time. Fufunmi died some time during Four Swords, likely just before any of the actual game's events happened.

Ymir's second incarnation was as OOT generally began. As in, the history pre-game. Fae was born as Zanzo, a kokiri. It's said that Kokiri who leave die, but we've never actually seen it on screen. My personal interpretation is that they don't just like drop dead, they simply lose their semi-immortal status. So they grow up and die as other races would.

Zanzo left the forest a few years after Link was first dropped off, still a ways before he would begin his adventure. I don't have this all 100% fleshed out, but the idea is that fae knew a little more about faerself. A sense that something is distinctly wrong--as though fae had lived before, and that fae was not meant to be a forest child. Ganondorf was the one who found faer in this time, and took faer under his wing. Wanting to avoid any hiccups in the potential that fae COULD drop dead, he magic-ed faer up a special set of jewelry that basically kept a little of the Lost Wood and Kokiri Forest's magic! So Zanzo never grew up fully, but did grow up some.

OOT happened, and Zanzo got a Termina counterpart. True to the "cannot live same way twice," fae was born again as a Twili trapped in Termina. Velzin! This was partially planned, as Zanzo had taken to following The Happy Mask Salesman. Mostly because he had Majora's Mask, and Zanzo felt a strange sort of kinship with it. Obviously though, Skull Kid stole it, and was killed by Majora in the rampage (hence being split-second born in Termina as Velzin.)

All things considered, that's also uneventful. Link helps faer, gets a mask, and fae leaves with the salesman at the end. Velzin and the salesman had a certain "let me help you," "I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP," dynamic, culminating in when the salesman convinced faer to allow Link to assist. So it's not a super eventful life, compared to working as a Kokiri warrior legend alongside Ganondorf.

The only reason Ymir was still a Twili by the time of Twilight Princess was because Velzin hadn't died. In my ideal world, Velzin would have played into the plot with Ganondorf in some fun re-incarnated lovers stuff. Velzin is a much more moral person by then than Zanzo was, so there could be some real angst in Ganondorf recognizing his former partner in faer.

There are also alternate versions of Ymir. Ymir also exists throughout the Ganondorf is Sealed timeline. That's not super fleshed out at all though.

I've played with the idea of a BotW version of Ymir that is a members of the Yiga clan, or a Sheikah version of Ymir being present in later parts of Twilight Princess. The magic constraining faer to mortalality is wearing out over the ages--faers births are quickly becoming less natural, and more instantaneous.

Of course I've also debated that Ymir (while still a being of pure chaos,) created the Tetraforce. The idea is that Ymir saw the goddess' triforce, and noticed the missing piece. Never one to let anything rest in peace, Ymir filled that empty space with its own "gift," to embody mischief and other impish qualities. Power is the ability to do it, Wisdom is knowing when, and Courage is the strength to follow through. The "tetraforce"'s meer existence is an affront to this format, fitting of being created by a being of chaos.

If I do keep this as lore, then my thing is that Ymir didn't have the time to bestow it upon any mortal, so all of Ymir's incarnation's carry the tetraforce.

If anyone (or you! Specifically!) has specific questions feel free to ask! Ymir and faers many incarnations aren't 100% done by any means.

#crystem #asks #This is a good excuse to finally come up with tags for the rest of y sloz f/os!#desert lover #<- there was ganon's already soooo #flamboyant sword #<- ghirahim #sage magician #<- vaati #usurper! usurper!#<- zant #happiness is a mask away #<- the happy mask salesman #for if anyone wants to block those!

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sizzlingpatrolfox · 2 years

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It’s interesting to me that everyone jokes that jimin craves validation, when really it’s jungkook and tae who are the most seeking of it. Jungkook clearly does these lives for that jolt of love and adoration. And taehyung always needs to be the center of attention in general. On the other hand, jimin has only appeared to promote his work and pretty much disappears besides that.

I don't think craving validation is a bad thing. For me, it was always crazy that people would hold that against Jimin as if it meant something terribly bad about him. There's literally, absolutely nothing wrong about wanting to hear someone you love, say something nice about you. Or simply wanting people to like you. In my opinion, there is a problem if you start lying just to get people to like you, which is what Taehyung does; but wanting someone to acknowledge that you're good or beautiful is not bad.

They're idols, all of them crave acceptance and validation. It's what keeps them going. Very very regularly celebrities go through phases where nobody seems to like them and they retreat, they stop using social media, they give people a breath of having to see them until the public chills. They do this because 1) mental health obviously but 2) they want to go back to being loved!! I don't think anyone can have a career in music if they're not loved, if they're not waited for, if there's no public validating them.

This made me remember a few days ago I saw this;

And like that's Zendaya, she's one of the most beautiful people in the world and she's out there saying, I need to hear it, I need to know that you think that about me. There's really no shame in that. It's human nature. So it's always been craaaazy like totally insane that people used that against Jimin lmao.

I agree that Jungkook and Taehyung crave and seek validation probably even more than Jimin does, especially in the last few years. Jimin doesn't want to be mindlessly praised. He works hard, he does his best and expects positive results from that. It's the validation that you've done something good and people will reward you for it with their appreciation.

Jungkook has always admired Hoseok as a dancer. He's always said Hoseok was the best. In 2021, BTS went to that Korean TV show and Jungkook wanted Hoseok to tell him "you're a good dancer". I didn't see anyone making dozens of tweets about how Jungkook is insecure and an attention seeker. He wanted to hear from Hoseok that he's good at what he does for a living, and he asked for it and there's nothing wrong in any of it.

On the other hand, I really never understood the relationship he seems to have with fans and sometimes I actually feel uncomfortable or at least taken aback by some of his interactions with fans. I don't talk about it because I just can't even begin to comprehend. If I had to say which one cares the most about the fandom opinions, it's Jungkook 100%. It's an impossible situation for me to try and put myself in his shoes, (since I'm not living his life) but for years I've seen him constantly trying to please everyone -his audience-, even for stuff he shouldn't have had to ask validation or forgiveness for.

As for Taehyung, when I say he lies to get validation it would probably be a really long list of examples lmao but the most recent that comes to mind is this;

Reality: Taehyung in a run episode in 2021 wearing the mask correctly and nobody had to instruct him on how to put it on.

He wasn't even trying to make it seem like a joke or anything, he just literally lied for no reason. And lying for what? To look like you've never been in a kitchen or been to a restaurant before? 😭

I'm just remembering now too that in itaewon class, Seojoon's drama for which Taehyung sang sweet night, the characters wore that mask all the time because they were cooks at a bar. So even if he'd never worn it, he's definitely seen people wear it.

Anyways. I don't think there's anything wrong about wanting to be validated or appreciated, or praised for something you've worked hard on, or because you're a naturally good person. But not if you're scheming and pretending to be something you're not or acting like you have a nice relationship with someone when you actually don't, just to be accepted. That is pathetic.

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hesitationss · 1 year

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gundam: the witch from mercury cour 2 ep 1/ep 13, spoilers ahead!

i said i was going to write out my thoughts for each episode, so i'm doing it now before i watch ep 3!! by the end of season 1, SO much happened, in particular there was the big moment where suletta murders and feels no remorse for it. we are starting to see her sense of morality and personhood dictated by solely her mother who is the big schemer begin to unwind. guel has just... experienced too much character development and it left me very curious as what he would be doing next, where that leaves his brother (who I am assuming will be next acting CEO, he has got to be only 15/16 though if suletta is a second year! poor kid :(...)

the earth students barely survived and it was all thanks to NIKA who has got to be my favourite character. the dynamic she has with the whole earth house, but especially chu and martin fill me with a lot of dread about what's to come. at this point, i've already seen ep 1 so i know that her info has been leaked. martin already suspects her, but i am just dreading for when she and chu have to come face to face about it. clearly the whole earth house is traumatized by the reality of GUNDAMS and other technology being used for killing.

the ep opens w suletta fighting all of her backed up duels during their time at plant quetta, she still has a mostly positive attitude about being at school, it hasn't really hit her that they have experienced terrorism, not like it has for the earthians. i'll do a separate post about the OP and ending i think... there's so much to look at lol. i think most people would have been terrified in that situations, but we know how closely earthians experience conflict, even those who are more well off. i also love that they all have different responses too. chuchu is enraged, nino continues to be despondent, martin and nika who are expected to have it together are filled with a lot of mental turmoil. Shaddiq is leading the presentation on the aftermath of the plant quetta incident and oh no! guel's baby brother, lauda, is acting head of the company. rly not prepared for what he's going to go through to further guel's character or the fact that he has had no time to grieve...but also anticipating lauda and guel meeting again after they are *changed by the narrative*...

gosh there is so much happening here... with shaddiq's schemes and also suletta's mom as the underlying mastermind for everything...it's always that damn masked character!!! weirdly enough, i think shaddiq and nika are still my favourite characters, there's so much build up in what roles they will play and i think their character arcs will be really captivating... but i am also a sucker for side characters!! i'm still dying to know what nika's relationship with her "father" figure is like since i am assuming she is also a war orphan. it doesn't seem like she has a relationship with the earth witches aside from socio-political faction. also the worn out and ripped toys that sophie calls her "family" 🥺 i'm fine and normal about these kids i swear...

mostly i am like... SO worried about the earth kids... nika, martin, chuchu...............pls SURVIVE like i just know that shit is gonna start going down, the first season was to build up the school life vibe and let the students experience joy while the drama builds up. the politics and anti-war themes were just sprinkled around, but never made it to the main plot you know? but now it's getting serious ahhh nika pls SURVIVE

also on a less serious note, challenging ppl to duels is SO yugioh lmao

#this has been sitting in my drafts so i've seen ep 2 already 😭#nika SURVIVE #gundam #the witch from mercury #g witch #g witch spoilers #longpost

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unofficial-sean · 2 years

Text

Switching my gender from man to non-binary on Bumble had a very interesting effect. I started getting recommended queer people, to my delight. I’m now meeting and matching with people who are on my level, and it feels good. This wasn’t some ploy or anything, I’ve just reflected on myself and determined that I’m not 100% comfortable in a man’s gender role according to western society.

Ever since I was a teenager, I liked dressing femininely. I likely being treated as though I were femme. I liked that expression, but I never felt comfortable doing so; and it has everything to do with safety. I’ve never truly lived on my own, and so I’ve never felt safe enough to express myself the way I want to.

I feel like I’ve had to keep wearing the masculine mask just to exist, but with the right people, I get to take it off and it feels so freeing. It will have to stay on when I go to work and turn wrenches on military trucks, it’ll have to stay on at family function, and it will probably have to stay on for appointments; but when I’m with friends or when I’m in my own space, I can become feminine.

I did something I really wanted to do for a while now and I bought more feminine clothing, so that i don’t have just the one green outfit. It was exciting putting it together and I can’t wait to try it on, even if I can’t wear it all that often.

It got me thinking about why I feel unsafe. I’ve worn my feminine mask around family before, and I always felt eyes drilling into my body. It’s not unfounded. My last birthday, my mother wanted to take me out for dinner, and when she say me that day wearing my feminine mask, she said “Are you gonna change?”

I think a lot about this because it has multiple implications. On one hand, it could be that she was being protective. Maybe appearing trans was a safety risk, which isn’t untrue, and wanted me to tone it down a bit. But on the other hand, maybe it was backhanded. Maybe she didn’t want to be seen in public with me, dressed as I was. It could be shame.

I’ve never really bothered to dig into my mother’s psyche all that much; I’m bad with communication, I’m worse with conflict, and I’m not prepared for hearing the response if I came up to her and said “Oh, by the way, I’m non-binary.” She might not take me seriously. She may have negative preconceived notions about what that means. It’s easy for me to write all this out, but it’s very hard for me to speak it.

As I keep learning, it seems people don’t understand how sex and gender differ. As I understand it, sex is code. Sex is hardware. If you put my cells under a microscope and watched them divide, you’d see chromosomes separating into each of the new cells, and if you laid them out, you would see that I’m male. I have a prostate, testis, and a penis. I don’t have mammary glands, and my physical features are male. I could be wrong. Maybe I’ve got a derelict set of ovaries or something. I imagine that’d cause issues that would have manifested by now.

Gender, though, is a societal construct that describes a person’s social role. Masculinity and femininity reflect the sexual traits and behaviors of male and female, respectively. A man is masculine and a woman is feminine. Men, in our society, are expected to be strong, stoic, and to build wealth. Whereas women are expected to be courteous, caring, and nurturing. It’s very simplistic, I know, but digging into definitions is a distraction.

With women’s rights being expanded last century, femininity has expanded its role possibility. Women can vote and work. No longer do they have to rely on a man for income and having a voice politically. So, as we erode these gender roles, the line begins to blur.

I like this. There are traits in masculinity and femininity that I embody and enjoy, and there are also parts that I don’t. It is so freeing to step between them. Males can be feminine, females can be masculine, or all or none, and everything in between. The erosion of the gender roles of “man” and “woman” could really enlighten our society, not damage it. Think about all the negative patriarchal grooming that gets applied to young males to condition them to be men. With that erasure, we may see more emotional intelligence. More openness. And that goes for how young females are groomed into the role of women by patriarchy.

None of this is really news to us. This is fundamental to progressive movements. I haven’t studied any of this, but I listen a lot to the people who do, and it’s helped me figure myself out.

I just wish I felt safe enough to express that. Someday soon, I will.

Footnote:

An inspiration for this re-examination of my gender is due in part to A Song of Ice and Fire. Repeatedly, Cersei expresses resentment for having to play the role of a woman. She’s talked about wishing she were the one with a cock, not Jaime. But she also has a womanly connection with her children. And analysis of this suggests that, by our standards today, Cersei is non-binary.

And again, there’s Brienne. When she was young, she entertained the idea of her role as a woman, but harassment steered her away from that. She wanted to fight. She arms herself as a knight would, which is a man’s role in that world. She resents being called a wench, but she also doesn’t like being called sir. When Podrick speaks to her, he stammers and can’t figure out if he should call her sir or my lady. And Brienne never corrects him and tell him how to address her. Brienne, through a contemporary analysis, is non-binary.

Fiction is a great way to explore topics like this, and the more I read, the more I reflect. It doesn’t matter if Brienne is a knight or a wench, she has an honor-bound mission and skill at arms. Cersei doesn’t have that luxury. She cannot express herself as she see’s fit. Seeing that contrast--that constraint--made me appreciate that I do have the privilege of being able to step in and out of gender roles. I know there are many and more who can’t,

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