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plutoswritingplanet · 2 months

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: i had a "no bald men" rule before he licked a knife... so y'all know my priorities are in order. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (as per usual), Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atreides (it's just such a good prompt i couldn't help myself),

Summary: A month-long engagement to the na-Baron Harkonnen makes you question, whether a marriage can bloom on the grounds of hate. Loosely based on "Special Death" by Mirah.

Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.4 (finale)

The message comes from the Emperor himself. An indisputable order that renders your Father speechless. You've never seen him quite as distraught, as when he has visited you in your chambers to deliver the news. Hands fidgeting, eyes refusing to meet yours, heavy shadows falling across his face. He seems to expect your reaction, not giving you as much as a flinch, when you scream your protests at him. And he should've expected as much, you were always the more impulsive of Duke Leto's children.

- But the Harkonnens are beasts - you argue, voice breaking - You've said it yourself, many times.

- Actually, I think that was Gurney...

- You've never denied it!

And he doesn't deny it now, head hung low. Never, not once in your life, have you seen your Father give up. Until today.

Your Mother enters just a few seconds after him, her dress flowing around her ankles as if she had floated in on a cloud. She stands to the side of your bed, hands folded, and an impassive expression embedded onto her features. And the more she speaks of the centuries of breeding, the importance of an union and the powers beyond your understanding, the less you see of your mother. What stands before you, instead, is a Bene Gesserit sister, veiled in schemes and dark plans, which were in the making before you were even born. You curse yourself for not noticing this stranger sooner, and storm off, out of your room, your shawl blowing out behind you like bat wings.

Paul doesn't visit you, but you can hear him, even through the effort of swallowing down your tears. He fights for you against your Father. He would fight for you against the whole Empire if he had to, and your heart swells, as he throws a particularly nasty curse into the air of your Father's study. It doesn't change anything. According to the decree of the Emperror, the oldest daughter of the Duke Leto Atreides will marry Feyd Rautha, an heir to the Baron Harkonnen. A centuries long dispute is about to be put to an end, and all thanks to the small sacrifice, which is your life. All would be well in the galaxy. Really, you should be honored, to be tasked with such a monumental peace treaty.

Everyone in the court seems to know about your situation. Mournful looks follow you, as you walk into the training barracks, ridding yourself of layers upon layers of flowing fabrics, leaving you in a rather tight costume, light enough to beat your frustrations out on someone.

Duncan Idaho meets your searching eyes, and you know he is aware as well. All it takes is one inclination of your chin, and he's up on his feet, sword in hand. Loyal as ever, he stands in front of you, watches with mixed feelings as you enable your shield, no questions asked. None needed.

He barely has time to put his defenses up, when you charge at him, fury and despair pushing your movements into stances which are clumsy and ill though out. Still, there's power within your strikes, a strength of someone who needs to move, unless they break. So he lets you, for a couple of minutes. He dodges your attacks, pairing some of them, never moving quite into the offense.

The rest of the soldiers scurry off somewhere, for which you will be thankful in the future. They might hear your cries of anger, but they will not see you break. They will not see the way your blade smashes into Duncan's shield over and over again, with no regard for the slow attacks, which would penetrate it. Likewise, they don't see your sparring partner fall to his knees and swipe you off your feet in a split-second movement, making you hit the floor with a frustrated snarl. And they don't see you finally give up, and cry, hugging your blade to your chest, the severity of your circumstance falling onto you, crushing you down.

- Never fight in anger, Princess - Duncan reminds you, voice cautious, and you growl at him like a wild animal - It dulls your instincts, makes you distracted.

- Did you know? - you demand, your sharp voice cutting through his half-assed lecture.

For a moment he looks truly remorseful. His eyes float around the room, and your heart sinks when he sighs deeply.

- I found out not long ago - he confesses - Your Father told me.

Your blade slides against the floor as you throw it, a raw scream tearing through your throat. Duncan takes a step towards you, hand extended towards your shaking form. But, before he can attempt to touch you, you're up, rolling your shoulders forcefully. Tears stain your cheeks, and you wipe them roughly with the back of your hand, skin becoming irritated almost instantly. There are swords laid out on a small table, just beside you, your fingers grip the cold handle so hard, your knuckles seem to creak under the pressure. Duncan readies himself as well, dusting off his trousers.

He's not good at comforting, but he's the best at fighting, and if that's what you need in this cold morning, he'll oblige.

- You'll make it through, you know - he says, his voice genuine, and you laugh without any mirth.

Your blades clash, faces coming closer as you absentmindedly notice small scars adorning his cheeks.

- You can adapt to anything - you strike against his shoulder, the shield pushes your blade away - We could send you to Arrakis right now, and a week later you'd be riding a damned Sandworm into battle.

To that, you laugh, this time your smile reaching your eyes. The idea is preposterous, but it renders your footsteps lighter, and you twist to dodge a nasty blow to the right arm. Duncan huffs a laugh as well, as you slip through his fingers. He points his blade in your direction, a smirk playing across his lips, and you bare your teeth in a playful display of wildness.

- Careful, Princess, you might scare your betrothed away - Duncan teases, as you roll your dagger in your hand.

- Scare a damned Harkonnen? Do you find me that intimidating? - the idea thrills you just a little bit, you're woman enough to admit it.

- I think you're fucking terrifying.

- Duncan Idaho, you better not be swearing at my Daughter.

Your face falls immediately, as your Father approaches the two of you, shooting Duncan a stern gaze which holds no real threat. Still, your sparring partner raises his hands, his blade tucked away safely into his belt. There's sweat clinging to your skin from all the training, mingling with drying tears on your cheeks, and Duke Leto tries very hard not to comment on your choice of processing recent events. Still, he nods at you, and like a good daughter, you put your blade away, walking from the barracks after him.

***

The Emperor has called for a traditional, Atreides engagement. A mercy, which you're eternally grateful for. You're not too aware of Harkonnen customs regarding marriage, but given the House's reputation, it couldn't have been pleasant. House Atreides however, took to such matters much more ceremonially, old-fashioned to some.

Soon, a ship is arriving, with your betrothed onboard, and a month-long courting period willcommence. After that, official engagement and soon after, a wedding. Then, you will be transported back on Geidis Prime, where a life of misery awaits. That's all the time you have. A month.

The dress, which was picked out for you, is uncomfortable and shows both too much and too little skin at the same time. While your legs are bare and exposed to an almost scandalous degree, a high, stiff collar nearly chokes the life out of you. This whole getup was the idea of your mother, as an attempt to highlight your best features and hide all that might be considered less desirable.

You have no idea what's wrong with your neck. Perhaps, by cutting off your airflow, your mother aimed to keep you docile.

She frowns deeply as you tug on the fabric, nerves climbing up your spine, growing more desperate every second. She swats at your hand, and you throw her a look. Out of the corner of your eye Paul smiles at your antics, your only consolation in this hopeless place.

- Stop fidgeting, you'll tear the dress - Lady Jessica scolds you, and you can sense actual worry underlining her stern voice.

The Harkonnen ship slowly glides into the atmosphere of your home planet, a black, awful thing. Like all things on Geidis Prime, dark and miserable. Soon, you'll join them, adorned in equally black and lifeless clothing, never to see your family again. Never to see the Ocean. Your nails bite into the collar of the dress, you can hear a stitch tear.

- Stop that.

Your hands fall uselessly against your body, as your mother uses the Voice on you. Wouldn't be the first time, you were quite the unruly daughter and Lady Jessica was determined to make a Lady out of you no matter the means. Still, this time, the unnatural tone feels more like a panicked plea, than a light-hearted scolding.

- Relax Mother - your voice is sharp, despite the slight tremble - In a months time I'll be gone from here forever, stuck in some blackened cell, wistfully sighing "ooh" "aah".

You place your hand on your forehead in a dramatic display of doubtful acting abilities. When you were younger, your mother would laugh at you, as you enacted scenes from romance books. You would throw yourself at a nearby piece of furniture, pretending to be some wronged lover, or an unhappy bride waiting for someone to liberate her. And your mother would clap her hands, thoroughly entertained.

Today however, she doesn't even crack a smile.

- I don't expect you to be happy about all this - she whispers - But I do expect you to wear your grief with some grace.

A slap would've been kinder, you think, and stare ahead, as the Harkonnen ship opens, and a group of people dressed in black spill out of it like ants from a drowning anthill. Your heart is thrumming hard in your chest, and your hand reaches out, despite all your apprehension, towards your mother. A force of habit, to search consolation within her disregarding the fact, that it was her meddling that put you here.

Her fingers lace with yours, thumb stroking your palm in an attempt to soothe you.

Immediately, you know which one of the bald headed Harkonnen is your betrothed.

He's much taller than you, an imposing figure even despite his rather lean built. His skin is almost completely white, as expected, his teeth are blackened out, as expected as well, and his eyes are bearing into you with an intensity so oppressing, you almost look away. Almost.

- I present to you, Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

The pale man steps forward, releasing you from his gaze for only just a moment, to trade pleasantries with your Father, who looks beyond miserable as he fixes your soon-to-be husband with a tired look. Then, Feyd Rautha is brought before you.

There's grace to his movements you did not expect, as he pushes his black cloak aside, and kneels in front of you. Harkonnen were known for their bulky ruthlessness, but this one... This one reminded you of a panther, the way his eyes travelled the length of your body, full lips pulling upward into a barely noticable smirk.

Customs, you remind yourself, as your mother's hand squeezes your fingers. You don't want to let her go, but you do, slowly, with so many mixed thoughts rattling around your brain, it makes your head swim.

Feyd Rautha grabs your extended hand in such a gentle manner, you're almost convinced the Harkonnens have shaved some poor bastard and dropped him off instead of the real na-Baron. Then, he lifts your palm up, until his lips press against your fingertips, a gesture so tender, your heart does a flip in your chest. And then, it stops all together, when his grip on your palm tightens, and he pulls your hand closer, to kiss it properly. As if he can't help himself, he looks up at you, and you realize.

You almost got yourself caught, but reading people's intentions have been taught to you as fervently as reading texts, and you can see right through this facade of chivalry. There's darkness in this man, a swirling void, which brings a wave of cold fear upon you. This cunning, depraved creature will soon enough become your husband, and you'll be stuck with him forever. How long will he keep up this impeccable appearence? Was this performence for you, your Father, his own twisted fun, or all the things combined?

With a furrowed brow, you tear your hand out of his grasp, a full body shiver running up your spine at the sight of his self-satisfied smirk. He drinks up your reactions like a man parched, and you fight hard to put on a mask of indifference, as he rises from his knees to stand before you in all his imposing glory.

***

You can feel his eyes follow you, as the welcome committee retreats into the Palace. He doesn't let you out of his sight throughout the feast, which takes place immediately after his arrival, and even now, as he gets ready to "entertain" the court by indulging in some barbaric ceremony of his, his eyes are trained only on you.

It's uncomfortable, to say the least, having him stare at you, while you sit surrounded by your family, who, for the most part, say nothing. Except Paul. Your dear baby brother, your protector in all this madness. As Feyd Rautha throws his coat to the side, showing off his (admittedly impressive) muscles, Paul leans towards you.

- He looks like a hard boiled egg, don't you think sister? - he whispers and subsequently ends your vow of silence.

The giggle you let out is caught quickly by everyone around, your betrothed included, before you press an open palm against your lips.

- Behave - your mother warns, and you try, you really do.

But in the serene light of the fading sun, your soon-to-be husband's head does look frighteningly egg-ish. God, you'll get yourself killed, before the wedding ceremony is even resolved if you keep this up.

You're seated high in an outdoor theater. One of your grandfather's favorite places, where he used to dance with bulls for sport. Where he met his demise.

Feyd Rautha presents his knives to you and your family, their blades glint ominously in the setting sun. Again, you are struck with the sheer grace this man exudes. His movements, despite being forceful and wild, have a beauty to them, as if he was rehearsing ancient dance moves, rather than killing blows.

And, despite your brother's earlier comment, there is something enticing in the way his pale skin catches the rays of bleeding sunshine, slowly creeping towards the horizon. He's almost beautiful, almost handsome enough to consider.

The thought leaves your head almost immediately, as the Harkonnen servants bring in his apparent opponent. Your heart drops to your stomach at the sight of a beaten, dark skinned warrior. Immediately you recognize a Fremen, you've read so much about them in your free time. You know how they filter water, what they eat, how they move through the sands, and despite your knowledge you can't fathom, why this poor man has been brought here.

At your side, Paul shifts in his seat, all jokes leaving him in a hurry. The both of you watch, as the man you're promised to toys with a clearly drugged victim. Slashes bloom on the prisoners skin, blood sprays in the air. You refuse to look away, to show such weakness, even as Feyd Rautha grabs the poor man by his hair and with a forceful push impales his throat on the blade. Blood pours down onto the sand, paints the Harkonnen's face and chest a deep shade of red.

It's a brutal display of power, of cruelty and wildness the Harkonnens are known for. Suddenly, everything Gurney has warned you about, while training your fighting skills, rings like a thousand of bells in your ears. This is who you will marry, who you will spend your entire life with.

You swallow down an urge to throw up, and stand up from your seat.

The show must go on, you think, throwing your Mother one, venomous look, trying to force her to understand your pain. Then, you lock eyes with your betrothed, who watches you from below with a cruel smile, blackened teeth on full display. You meant to congratulate him, to play the part as instructed, but you can do nothing of the sort. Instead, you stare back at him, disgust flowing from your features like a broken faucet.

Lady Jessica opens her mouth, but before she can, without a doubt, scold you again, you're out of the seating area, your footsteps echoing in the halls.

Once you're sufficiently tucked away from prying eyes, your back hits the wall, and you allow yourself feel the luxury of unbridled panic. Your breathing comes out in fast, shallow pants, as cold sweat forms on your forehead. Thoughts racing, your fingers tangle into your hair, tugging at the roots. This is your future, the only future waiting for you, and it's filled wth pain and blood.

- Have you enjoyed the fight, my Lady? - you immediately know it's him, despite not hearing him speak before.

A gasp of surprise leaves you before you can catch it, and your back straightens almost painfully fast.

There he stands, tall and lean, and terrifying. Blood still decorates his torso creating a contrast that is both terrifying and hypnotizing. He watches you, curiosity and humor swirling behind his eyes. You can't decide whether they are completely blackened out, or if they hold a blue, almost serene hue.

- No - you answer, finding your voice entirely too shaky for your liking - I did not enjoy it.

He laughs, a guttural, low sound that makes the hair stand at the back of your neck. You know he wouldn't dare try anything here, right under your Father's nose while the engagement is still in the making. Yet, as you stand frozen, just you, him and the marble walls around you, dread finds home in the pit of your stomach.

- Was that man Fremen? - you ask, partially to fill the silence, partially because you're genuinely curious.

The man shrugs, you can see muscles moving under his white skin. He takes a step towards you and you will yourself not to run.

- Sometimes we bring a couple of captured desert rats home - he explains with a nonchalant tone - Mostly for entertainment.

The almost bored intonation he uses to describe this barbaric ritual makes something boil deep inside you.

- That's cruel - you counter, emotions flowing freely onto your face, much to the man's delight - To deny those men the honor of dying on their home planet. To drag them into a completely foreign place, just to kill them for sport, like some animals... It's...

- Some of them live - he cuts you off, taking another couple of steps towards you, but in your growing outrage, you barely notice - Our brothels are filled with Fremen whores.

Your face twist into an expression of utter repulsion, and Feyd Rautha raises his eyebrows in a pathetic mask of confusion, almost childlike giddiness lighting up his eyes as he looks down at you.

- Oh, don't give me that look, my Lady. - he cooes, and you've never felt a stronger urge to slap the daylights out of someone - I know for a fact there are brothels on your planet filled with hungry soldiers.

- Yes - you bark back at him - but the people there are working prostitutes, not slaves!

He shrugs, looking somewhere to the side of your face.

- A waste of money, if you'd ask me.

- Good thing no one has - there's venom in your voice, and your betrothed sucks a breath through his teeth.

You curse yourself for leaving your dagger, for not concealing it somewhere in this ridiculous dress, because the way the Harkonnen's expression shifts freezes blood right in your veins.

He looks at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, while something much darker lurks in his eyes. His bloodied hand comes up, finger making contact with the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can feel the thick liquid stick to your flesh, as he drags his hand down, painting you, marking you.

- You're quite the little viper, my Lady.

Watching him silently, you don't respond. Don't know how to, when he closes the distance between your bodies enough to make you feel the heat radiating off of his chest, while the smell of blood and sweat completely assaults your senses. It's sickening, the way he looks at you, like you're a new toy, just waiting to be unpacked and destroyed by too eager hands.

- My Uncle, the Baron, has instructed me, to be the utmost gentleman to you. To woo you completely - his voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he grins down at you - But I just can't lie to my future wife like that, can I?

He leans closer and finally, you take a step back, sliding out of his space, assessing a cautious stance. His hand almost follows you, the skin of your shoulder feels conflictingly cold without him.

- Once we're wed, I will possess you completely - this time you stand your ground, as he approaches, circling you like a lion stalking it's prey - And then...

He leans down beside you, shoulder to your shoulder, close enough for you to feel his hot breath graze your ear.

- Like the bull that took your grandfather's life, I shall pierce you.

The violent innuendo doesn't slip past you, and with hatred brewing behind your eyes, you look straight at him, forcing your fear to lay dormant.

- You're disgusting.

- And you're blushing like a lovely, virgin bride should - he concludes, sending an awful wink your way, before withdrawing from you completely.

Your veins burn hot, as you watch him leave, a selfish confidence painting his steps, and you beg every God in existence to grant you a sword in your hand. Or a dagger. A kitchen knife would do as well. Anything, that would help you cut this unbeatable, patronizing, infuriatingly handsome smirk from Feyd Rauthas face.

Alas, you're left with nothing, only a small glimmer of hope dangling in front of you, after your damned betrothed's words fully register in your brain.

A bride you might be, but certainly not a virgin one. Duncan Idaho made sure of that many years ago. The thought makes you smile, despite nerves wreaking havoc in your body. At least that's the one thing Feyd Rautha won't be able to take from you.

#my writing #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune 2024 #dune movie #dune part 2 #feyd rautha smut #dune smut #dune x reader #he looks insane what the hell am i writing

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emililyqueer · 27 days

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so... this is just kind of a personal emotional dump. i don't want to bring anyone down, you can ignore this if you just want to do the sexy stuff.

but it is an insight into me, so ya know. here it is. it turned out a lot longer than i wanted... to be honest it's sort of turned into my life story. um. sorry.

i spent so much of my life being ashamed and confused and depressed. i suppose, the thing is... i'm tired of watching other people live the life that i wanted to live.

i was brought up in a very conservative small town, in the middle of fkin nowhere. the place was extremely homogenous. no (visibly) gay or trans people, almost no people of colour. i had a single, disabled mother. my dad was very mentally ill, and he was abusive and violent with it, and even though he left when i was in single digits, he's left some very deep scars on me. i went to school under the time of the Section 28 law - which is to say, LGBT issues were banned in school, and bullying gay and trans kids was absolutely allowed to happen, or else the teachers could be seen as "taking a side" on a "controversial issue". this happened to me multiple times. i hated school. even though i started off in life with a passion of learning, going there broke my enthusiasm for literally decades.

i was queer, and i was in denial. i... sort of understood, i think?? but i realised very young that i couldn't rely on anyone, not my parents, not my teachers, not my peers. i grew up obsessed with the idea of self-reliance and some fucked up idea of personal strength. even after a university friend of mine came out, and i realised i might be trans, i still clung to these ideas, to masculinity and self-isolation. they had kept me "safe" and i felt i needed them. i abused drink and drugs because i felt empty and just wanted to fucking feel something, at least something other than anxiety and despair. it felt like parts of me were missing. most of the time, i felt either nothing, or fear, or stress, unless i was high.

i had health problems, i didn't have any energy or concentration (i later learned that i had ADD), i was depressed, and i had chronic migraines. i went to university to study a BSc in computer science, and i couldn't complete it due to these health problems.

and yeah, the health problems and depression became disabling... because of that i was constantly broke. this country, the tory party especially (but not only the tories), hates disabled people with a passion. i was into political activism at the time and the number of deaths of sick and disabled people coming out of the initial austerity era actually kind of broke my faith in society, i couldn't believe this was being allowed to happen.

as an aside - that was a choice. austerity was a choice, and it came with a body count in the tens of thousands (according to the British Medical Journal) before they just stopped fucking counting. this is a thing that actually happened in one of the richest countries on earth, and it happened as the richest people in that country only got richer and richer, and then we just... forgot, because disabled people don't fucking matter, do we? i'm sorry to get political in the middle of my own miserable ramble but these bastards need to burn in hell for what they did. fuck the tories

anyway.

because i abused my body, and i couldn't afford decent healthcare, or transition related stuff, i actually wrote off my appearance. i decided i would never be able to look good or feel good about myself. there was a brief time when i first got on HRT where i felt great about the future, but once i realised how badly i'd already hurt myself... i just gave up. for a lot of my life i was convinced that i wouldn't be here in the next few months or years, so why build a future?

my desires and sense of identity were just completely buried under a mountain of shame, self loathing, lack of direction, and substance abuse. i lost so, so many years.

so... how are things today? my living situation is crap. it's secure, but miserable. one tiny room, with mold in it which is aggravating my allergies. my financial situation is still bad, but it's not critical - i am struggling to afford some medications, but generally i'm afloat. i am, so far, just about able to maintain a small old car, which i rely on, because i live in the sticks and there's fck all public transport here. mentally, i still struggle, but it's so so much better than it was, and it is getting better. my physical health is... concerning me; i have a lot less energy than i'd like, and i'm in almost always in pain. in terms of drugs, i am mostly clean. i don't really drink, i don't smoke (neither tobacco nor anything else), but i do use prescription painkillers.

one of the bigger things is my gender and sexuality... confusing as hell, i'm in a superposition between trans woman and like... femboy, or sissy feminine man. i don't really understand it, parts of all these things appeal strongly to me on a deep, honest, fundamental level. i'm really not sure how to interpret this.

and, well, when i look at some certain sex workers and models... i feel equal parts inspired, and like i want to cry. i keep seeing people who lived the life i always wanted, and i see how fucking happy and successful they are, and i feel so many things all at once.

but... i am still here. i do still have time left. and i do know a few things about me for sure:

i am a reasonably intelligent person. i'm good with computers, electronics, and cars. i like music, travelling, and um i think i like cooking??? and of course video games. i mean duh, i'm a queer on the internet! :p

i'm determined, i don't want to lie down and die any more, i want things to get better for me, i want a future.

but i think... above all? it's the things i was ashamed of that i love the most. i love kink, i love femininity, i love showing off, i desire outrageous sexual experiences, and looking hot and changing the person i see in the mirror. i want to do porn, to revel in eroticism and queerness, and i want to take these things seriously.

so, that's what i'm going to do. that's why i'm posting this here alongside the fun kinky stuff. it's important, this is me.

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libidomechanica · 2 years

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When hear a touch myself;

A limerick sequence

To early taint them wild freaks of merriment: and ’tis but the ghosts, there’s little part. To heirs nor e’er befal, my love is embarrassment into the story.

Brighten must glory sway the told their Prospects for thou shall stone, so them with men oft Ambition, and scales its prime, i’ll be. The day the wishing, thou, who knew the sound.

While his wife, with receive in Whistles all thee which make came wish fauns, all she world, comes did sandy O, my Flow’rs. Who shown might our love their your hart, these that name of food.

To love to other settled, say, the funeral insect-Wings, the did he, as he hall, nor know she know no fares it not so blink among the Life, my Adonais.

And silver Bosom mortal lull a wear rimes Tea. She’d he region the roll a sphere, while you stand—a hollow vain shall lingernails draw a chin but seem to begun.

Then prove these and with pointest shone blown, moue not withstand what thou waits, at me breeze. Wealth, the petty cells. Which the Throned the tomb, and mouldering of all things I heart.

And those when was children, ran be half my spirit, and stray, and hours, who just when I behold! Nor grade; yet oft in change about the chamber ’gainst the bare e’en deares!

What swell’d. Gasping hair we’se next to the glass and dream of chance; first for its grossly dying is the large of odour, and gather hand is the stars. And the edifice.

Keep back to April of grown office had such sunder alter is no rude a wretch him; and as he habit, shall fix her like us just. Shall be dead seem to pray.

The barbed fields to dwell, and sigh upon his please, to man, as all alike, adieu! Yet lies the ocean’s palled The slaves of answer’d lay, behold! One might the times load.

Showing Tears do me were summer words and thine aspen-boughs a Jar, and now thou, brough thereal spread, flying waters lost! Ring of artists to dote assayde, how their price.

Piper grew that feel an expecting couched the heart in fair and strain be bloom to-day, and Word and cape. Receive table strength, he despair; but to-night. A singing, fair.

So holding seas creature quick and all that dissolved stand—pray’d. If anyone earthly silent-bare unless and kiss, when Offence be faire still is silent at there live.

Watch out you made a new she wild oat not my bones. How much grace, but seen! From scarce have beyond her dry; the hill is peaks and grew, than it with his tender wave it back.

Him, heart. It is one storm to his dead, or wain the strain beneath, to blame meekly too. The wine, by Laws Eternity! At this Post never look backe things of wrong Soul!

While unseen lurk’d back again; and she: so deformities: nor cause all let us with smokes, where is sound, and tainty of morning Orbs of delight. Ring of Lightning?

At bright and know not mean so, my harsher forgetful sense would tears and drew behind this ancient sure or let turns once more. Then, as sudden palace a dove will fail.

The hungry, at leave: my feet. And her Host in the past by the mountain of time, in time drains and pore wild oat not twas, and princely credit of Nymph he bed balloon.

Where he bed to me. Bears her Looks, and in thing boughs a portional to man, her my last a future. Pass in freely spoke, the thrice against sand bliss, and violets, bleat.

Love is gates of nature that was halcyon.—And yet peace witching. And when her aerie, moulded Maiden ten climes are vain, then rod, the Echoes that hope, and hard force.

With a noticed you until I not love, leapt up, and the you’d sparkling seas charmes that cleave unto travell’d the phone. When the pock, who, want to me, come the wise.

I’ll be you sorrow spreads apace; and you thus may never wild a marble, cripple burning. Perhaps sae saucy yet mind I see my source and seen of me: and chain!

Love, war, a tempest—surely there’s no button for itself must speak in figures also, we could pick up, to bring me backward to warbled lay, sweet lips. And might.

I gave battle sprinkled Forms, faded lie down the pierce Othello. Ah, what hole with ebon-tipped flutes: it is but highest pitch: i’ll ne’er the tusk in the prince through veils.

And one an art; where did seen flatters darlin’. Until the speak to mine her crown mingle change, the hill. He spake something on yonderer count alone. Why light a fires?

Spirits soft, so where his fathom-deep do hideous commonplace? Then I venture dead callows:-whence radiate: ’tis a screech is the skilled the strikes be read to love.

Was change mature with Pain come hate approach at the labyrinth so dote, when on the brain, in Hell. And all our valleys, to find I saw far the measure of the Lock!

The Flocke, and stringe of the woke away home. Thy Brigade the Spirit’s pearly faint conqu’ring to the Hair. In lighten with thee— Ah, I had many a falls god’s lay.

Love within the cry that twiddler’s chirp of Man! Lost Echo sink my bondsman thorn; this sooth, I held the labour, who came grow in spirit will delight of life begun.

Come and Children—women of despising the my scorns to finds to plenitude. Only fond of March; and as if any Cost stript me drawn Clarissa down this was.

To face intent; the session newer pend it spry country in time the Plebeian Cards. Or west, and the Wind the precious to the Prize no more I’ll weep might essence!

Brightly: on a mummy, and thought with man ancies. I’ll never ploughs, Must we gazer dry; and disheuld be in the denial hours, and and willow mask of Demons?

And panting looking brain on to raise. Since clean he take us message knit subdu’d, spite of him fanes than if we may be enough the darkness of father’s Name.

Tangle, and only graspest link’d her court in his celebration, we keeps charm at least that weeps, ’twixt Nothing but play Belinda on thee. Fair and bought her forest.

Our green: and man, here. I hear the hear the discredit that meaning whale to set a wound. Private place the bound, some few days—when the same, has talks; he breast for the Beau.

The seen, as if in yon kings, confus’d a Victorious years his change, there shadow often’d every mountain dead the Vision in her must below month with the dead?

And a crowns and my scythe injured before, of sleeps, and thus quence-rich Repast. The little eyes that you turning smile at lover black on warming fortress, sweet lives me.

And rings, by Pan, I am not be a soul page. Why feet; but I would lover love spun: if no near old and now, Cynthia when on the gazing rain she divine.

Upon the unimprison twinkled Forms and moved there not been stormy visions blind, and look’d his fittes shores with the Waves, and do now? No more thine he hardly laws.

An imitate began touch’d in the days him advantage to heart, is some sharp shall fame! Beyond those pronounce of Spades. Gallant been the sustain scatter whether too.

I hear than forlorn night; ring Fiends, that once I don’t even our day is days, that the Eolian twain dived not in the minutes to weave and wanne. Less down, for fear delight.

Nourish in a waves reaps no more like to view; thou one. The world the sing, to slain, where in the Board with his lap a book, and did lie in the Sacred there will see theirs?

Then charm a still, still hands, and dust bootless pleasant with me. A cold, a life and gloom in such trouble declin’d, but more such Castlereagh? And years immerse so nearer.

Fair in the grew a new way. And, tender notes indissectible Corruptions, though wisdom sleep, seeing pillow great enfranchises, evening mind feeding. Of all.

A Love, I trackless bigger other tear a token gain of them out all thy gale, nor darlin’ darken’d estation fee. Welcome the birth of some virtual mist.

His crown quite a dream; if this fell, Moon! The Club’s blaying claye, and mockery onward the above. I saw ye not dies himself licks might stand saying those by loves from peep?

Tis well, yet whole; who leaps the sky-lark house knock at Blake a fire. Bright below to believing here shocks are crocus lust of warm stood in the light home. Arrive away!

And left me small believe. Lovely Look; she dight, or bourds splendous to prayse is dearest the dance again I never known; and hour with light rests with light, from my ever.

Except they misunder youth enlight. And of being I feel it thus then must her side they leaf and grace in she’s desire the work prevailing for ocean-bed.

Could I love lifted urn. Than the should rise, and drown of time had plait they conseru’d in turn mingly Death, and Scylla in himself, to taste awhile grave doubtful hours.

The hear this must beats uncover brow. Sprang upward dark with him and politician’s price. That party’s race’—and not that sev’nfold high Capital, when on the high Dome.

Of himself with shame by Dames a parted; that same and horizon gone sett the porch will, and to me, I things of an eye, they prove at my grief forced, as courselves?

Only throne and in mine; do the Snuff thou, and like world. Which, but in light urge to blame of futures right; and Nature love is anything Individe their ever day.

Tonight vnhappy, having and Angel some shock, obtain’d away. To where I fear I am that their time, your names, and rise this own with all the Wind, against he sea.

When I beheld by the labour tears? Of one. Or, if thingness, shattered less,— and fondled me! Exhale, arm’d that good will not written, a decrease assuming presence!

When when echoes, in arms, and call the was dumb; spirit of thy widow’d down- glanced language of electrons ragged you can I are ear. Their transient Maid, down, and moan?

Meantime defend? Assist tho’ in honey- like a think, thou never thee with sorrow, entering out a cherish’d no more. Now awful night, and said; the bar and Day?

Certain fresh your heard and loud accident show this some o’er my joy and roots that agayne. At breathed his round. Glowing change from East, and thou have depth the curse my goodness!

Was a commissions above the devoted effluent Colours you’d spare. And lov’d a rooms in a most than for one of memory yet. To-nigh won into one.

And her ease in the fool-fury when a long if the bliss—my soule of her fair and elegances, their little eye, and grace she share these that fall, I boughs most hear.

He long, leapt up, the Girl, indeed as bellows reach’d without knocks first I grown; she throwing the dead forehead live full-foliaged me! Oh Pious state to die alone.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #135 texts #limerick sequence

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stiltonbasket · 2 years

Note

Can we have more of 15year old lwj wwx interactions at cloud recesses from your fem wwx betrothed au ? I would love to see how mischievous wwx tease and annoy lwj while knowing she is going to his future partner

“I don’t like it,” is all Madam Yu says, when Jiang-shushu announces that Wei Wuxian and her Shijie will be accompanying Jiang Cheng to Gusu. “Mark my words, Jiang Fengmian! You’ll come to regret it, just wait and see.”

“Why? Luo Qingyang from the Jin sect is going, too,” Wei Ying protests. “And anyway, uncle-in-law will be our laoshi. He’ll take care of both of us.”

“I am not worried about A-Li,” Yu-furen snaps. “I am worried about you.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at her. “Huh?”

“A-Xian, Lan Wangji likes you,” Jiang Yanli says gently, “and the standards of propriety are different in Gusu. You’ve never been there before, and it’s possible that you might do something the Lan consider disgraceful without even meaning it. Mother is only concerned for your safety.”

“But the peacock’s going to be there, and you’re coming with me. Can’t I just follow your example, Jie?”

“Lan Wangji likes you,” her sister repeats. A pained look flickers across her eyes, so swiftly that Wei Ying scarcely catches it, and then she leans forward and grasps Wei Ying’s hand. “You can’t treat him the way I treat Zixuan. How could either of you bear it, when he spent his last summer here watching you climb trees with the shimeis and catching you when you fell out of them?”

“Well, I’d hate it,” frowns Wei Wuxian, “but Lan Zhan would probably be relieved. His idea of a good day is ten hours of silent reading, in a library. He won’t even take his books outside unless I make him, and then he says he doesn’t understand why Uncle says my homework demonstrates better comprehension than his—as if Lan Zhan doesn’t know that fresh air and hot hulatang are all anybody needs to help stimulate the mind! It’s a pity that I won’t be able to shake him up in Gusu like I do here, but it can’t be helped.”

Madam Yu looks at Jiang-shushu in despair.

“You see?” she complains. “Suppose Lan Wangji yields to temptation, and they are discovered together? Wei Ying is only sixteen, and their wedding is not set to take place until the year after A-Li’s—if there must be a hasty marriage, we will never be able to hide it! This is folly!”

“I will visit Pan-daifu in the village before we leave,” Shijie says diplomatically. “Just in case we require a—a prescription. For later.”

Wei Wuxian furrows her brow and glances over at Jiang Cheng, who looks just as confused as she does. Shijie always pays a visit to Healer Pan before traveling because of her delicate health, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand why bringing that up now would assuage Madam Yu.

“Fine. Fine! If my own daughter believes it meet to flout my wishes, what other recourse do I have?” Yu-furen bites out at last, flicking a water beetle off her sleeve. “And you, Fengmian! If this venture goes ill, on your own head be it!”

"Lan Zhan.”

“...”

“Aiyah, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji glances up from his latest composition (an essay titled The Role of Intention in Inquiry and the Contributing Effects of Resentment, by Young Master Lan Wangji) and tries not to shy away from the bright eyes of his betrothed. “Yes?”

“Lan Zhan, you’re ignoring me,” she accuses him. “To think that I traveled all the way from Yunmeng to see you, and you barely give me the time of day! What a neglectful betrothed you are!”

“You are here with me now,” Wangji points out. “I spend more time with you than I do with anyone else, save Shufu and my brother.”

“But I’m only here for the summer. Didn’t I take care of you well at Lotus Pier? You have to pay back the favor now that I’m here.”

Lan Wangji lays his brush aside and folds his hands neatly in his lap, for he had felt a little wretched at the thought of disappointing her. “Then what would you like to do?”

“Well, first I want you to tell me what’s allowed here and what’s not,” Wei Ying says reasonably. “Jiang-shushu’s only rule for us was—”

“I remember!” Lan Wangji interrupts. He was rude just then, he knows, but he doubts he could bear hearing Wei Ying repeat that particular rule in the safety of the Cloud Recesses. The only provision for his continued welcome at Lotus Pier was that he should never be caught alone in a room with his betrothed behind closed doors; other than that, Jiang Fengmian only asked that he accompany Wei Ying to her meals to make sure that she ate on time, and to treat her kindly and defend her if she fell into danger.

Those were simple rules to follow, and Lan Wangji had felt very proud of the trust that came along with them, but to mention them being caught together here in the Cloud Recesses—

“Why is your face turning red? Do you have a fever?” Wei Ying demands. “Lan Zhan, let me check.”

He tries to protest, but her rough fingers are already scrabbling at his brow, trying to feel his forehead through the cold silk of his ribbon, and Lan Wangji nearly passes away on the spot as the ribbon slips down to his nose. Engaged couples are allowed to touch each other’s ribbons, though it isn’t often done, and pushing her away would only hurt her feelings: so Lan Wangji forces himself to endure while she checks his pulse and temperature, taking care not to pull away too quickly after she finishes.

“You are sick,” she gasps, looking down at her empty palm as if she could still feel the heat of Wangji’s skin burning there. “Let’s go to the healers and ask for medicine.”

“No need.”

Wei Ying tugs at his sleeve. “Then what about Shijie? She could set up her own private apothecary here with all the medicine she brought from home. And she apprenticed with our Lufeng doctors, so she’ll definitely know what to give you. Come on!”

Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to refuse; for he can feel the sudden pounding of his pulse and the flush darkening at his throat, and a blissful sense of dizziness that worsens when Wei Ying grasps his hand and haul him out of the library pavilion. He follows without resistance, allowing her to tow him along like a doll dragging behind a child; and when they reach the guest quarters, Wei Ying kicks her sister’s door aside and pulls Wangji over the threshold.

“Shijie!” she cries, startling Jiang-guniang so badly that she rends a long hole in the sampler she was embroidering. “Jie, I know Lan Zhan’s not supposed to be here, but we need some of the medicine Pan-yishi gave you.”

Jiang Yanli blanches and drops her needle.

“You need what?”

“I know it’s expensive, but I’ll pay you back,” frets Wei Ying. “Please, Shijie? For Lan Zhan’s sake?”

For some reason, Jiang-guniang looks more astonished than ever. “You...A-Xian, you need it now? You’re not anticipating it for, ah, later?”

“Right now,” Wei Ying says firmly. “Any delay in treatment could cause trouble, Shijie. Lan Zhan didn’t want to go to the infirmary, you see, so I brought him here.”

“I see,” Jiang Yanli frowns, shooting a stern glare in Lan Wangji’s direction. “Very well, then. I’ll go fetch the herbs and water for tea.”

She stands up and hurries towards the back of the house, shooting Lan Wangji a stern look on her way; and then she disappears, leaving Wangji and Wei Ying alone in the middle of the receiving room.

“Your Shijie is not happy with me,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “You have asked for the herbs on my behalf, and I will not reject your kindness, but it seems the medicine is dearer to Jiang-guniang than I thought. Will you come down with me to Caiyi tomorrow so I can buy quality replacements for her? It must be difficult to part from a needed medicine so far from home.”

“Shijie isn’t angry,” Wei Ying whispers back. “She carries more fever tonic and strengthening pills than she could ever need. Pan-yishi gives her a whole year’s worth at a time, and we’re going back home before autumn.”

A moment later, Jiang Yanli re-enters the room with a pot of hot water and a bag of herbs, which she distills into medicine so quickly that most of the Cloud Recesses’ best healers would have envied her speed. The tea takes less than a a minute to steep, and two minutes to cool; and when Jiang-guniang can put it to her lips without wincing at the heat, she passes it over the table to Wei Ying.

“Here, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says tenderly, giving it to Lan Wangji. “Drink.”

“No!” Jiang-guniang cries, snatching the medicine back. “A-Xian, you’re supposed to drink it. What could it possibly do for Second Young Master Lan?”

“But Shijie, that’s not fair! He’s the one who needs it!”

“I know such things are not fair,” Jiang Yanli says, glaring daggers at Lan Wangji; apparently, his worries about the value of the herbs had not been unfounded. “But there is no way to place this responsibility on men, so you must take the medicine. Quickly.”

Wei Ying blinks, puzzled by her sister’s irritation, and reaches out to take her hand. “Jie,” she beseeches, “Shijie, don’t be angry. Lan Zhan wouldn’t have come near me if he’d known that—”

“He is old enough to know,” Jiang-guniang says tartly. “And I’m not happy with you either, Xianxian. I thought Mother was being too strict with you, and that she should trust Lan Wangji to treat you with due respect, but it seems that she was right and I was wrong.”

“Lan Zhan is always respectful towards me.” Wei Ying looks more confused than ever. “If he came to the library knowing he had a fever, it was only because I asked him to accompany me while I copied lines. And he took ill after we got there, anyway, so it’s not his fault!”

“Sister-in-law,” Lan Wangji cuts in. “I apologize for the intrusion. I should not have entered your quarters, or accepted your medicine when you have need of it yourself. Rest assured that I will procure more herbs for you before this afternoon, and seek treatment for my fever elsewhere. Good day.”

He turns around and walks out into the garden, taking slow, measured steps with one hand tucked behind his back. Wei Ying runs after him, urging him to come back and finish the tea Jiang-guniang prepared; but for some reason, Jiang Yanli rushes out after her, looking so embarrassed that her snowy-white cheeks are practically scarlet.

“You wanted medicine for fever?” she gasps, giving Wei Ying a gentle shake. “Just—a simple fever, because Lan-er-gongzi was taken ill in the library?”

“Fevers and sweats, and a shallow pulse,” Wei Ying tells her, counting on her fingers. “You can take his temperature, if you need to. Lan Zhan won’t mind.”

Lan Wangji very much would mind, but providing proof of his fever seems important. He holds out his wrist and lets Jiang Yanli feel it, wondering if she suspected some ailment that could have endangered Wei Ying: perhaps one that harmed women more readily than men, since she had tried to give the medicine to her sister instead. If that is the case, Wangji thinks, Maiden Jiang’s anger is justified; for he would never forgive a man who knowingly made his brother ill, especially if the guilty party was Xiongzhang’s intended.

“I’m a fool,” Jiang Yanli mutters to herself, dropping Lan Wangji’s hand. “But you’re not ill, Lan-er-gongzi. You had a fit of nerves, that’s all.”

“Nerves!”

“Yes, nerves,” Jiang-guniang repeats. “I recommend solitary meditation after training with your sword and hot milk before bed. It worked wonders for A-Cheng when he was a child.”

And with that, she bids them both goodbye, and hastens back into the little guest house before closing the doors behind her.

“I have no idea what just happened,” Wei Ying confesses, “but A-Jie really thought I was in danger. Does Gusu have some kind of mountain fever that spares men and kills women?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

“Ah, well. At least we know what’s wrong with you,” his intended says cheerfully. “Let’s go meditate, you dear fuddy-duddy. Shijie told you to start after breakfast, and it’ll be lunchtime in less than a shichen.”

Suddenly, Lan Wangji’s heart feels so full that he can scarcely breathe.

“En, you are right. I will do as you say,” he smiles, taking her hand in his. “Lead the way, Wei Ying.”

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #lan wangji #wei wuxian #jiang yanli #my fic #fem!wwx au #long time no see for this au!!!#please reblog if you liked this :>

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fernthefanciful · 3 years

Text

A princess is a creature of grace, poise, decorum. They are soft, gentle, patient. I, however, was none of those things, much to my parents’ despair.

They only brought that upon themselves, of course. A firstborn daughter, a royal invitation to greet the new monarch not sent, and therefore an insult perceived by a powerful magical being. You know how the story goes. I was cursed and, in my story, there were no blessings to gentle it. No other wishes for my future, or what little she left of it. Just a creature of shadow and talon which appeared, damned the bright vision my parents had of my life, and vanished.

My childhood was a moderately happy one, even with the dark cloud of the curse hanging forever in my periphery. My parents loved me. My sisters, when they were born, did the same. And I of course love them with all that I am. My parents hired tutors, made sure I learned what it meant to be a monarch, made sure I was prepared for a future of rule. They simply made sure my sister learned as well.

“Just in case.” My father would say, his gaze flitting across the empty hallways as if something unseen was always listening, always watching.

And when I got too restless, when the green of the forest and the blue of the lake called to me and I couldn’t help but give in to the need to run, to chase, they took me riding. We’d make trips, have picnics, run around on the heather-filled fields and watch the sky change her colour with the setting sun. For the longest time, we were as happy as we could be.

My eighteenth birthday was a beautiful and clear full moon night. The air rife with the scents of fresh bread and roasted meats of the feast held in honour of my coming of age. Gentle and joyful music filled the ballroom as people danced and laughed all night.

In an empty hallway, as far away from people as I could get, I screamed and cried as my body tore itself apart. As the wildness that had always lived inside of me wanted out. The howl that tore from my newly changed throat was loud enough to wake the entire city.

I should have been terrified. I should be lamenting the turn my life had taken, all the things I now no longer could do. I should have felt all of those things. But when I made my way out of the castle and into the forest, the ground soft underneath my paws, the silver moonlight a gentle caress on my fur, I couldn’t help but think that his curse tasted a lot like freedom.

The wildness that had always lived inside of me, the parts that longed to shed the tight clothing and even tighter responsibilities of nobility, were torn from the inner shadow where I had hidden them and shoved into the light. The parts of me that wished to run, to hunt, to feast, finally had a chance to be free.

Things changed after that.

Now, people are wary, afraid. My parents try, they really do. To teach me to act normal, ladylike, human. It’s of no use. The wolf lurks under my skin, peering out of my eyes.

People whisper about how much of a waste it is, such a shame, that a curse has changed me so. They don’t see, they don’t understand. The wolf, the wildness, the hunger, has always been there. It is me, the deepest parts of my soul given physical form.

Life goes on. My sister, perfect, composed, kind, steps into the limelight. Or is pushed, I should say. To placate those who question my place at Court. Meanwhile I am forced into the background. An animal in the shadows meant to be forgotten.

My wolf balks at the idea of corsets, of rules, of restriction. Doesn’t understand the need for playing nice with nobles it doesn’t like. She’s a creature of instinct, simplicity, and therefore, so am I.

I spend my days roaming the grounds, protecting what is mine. The people of the city avert their eyes as I go past. Whisper about curses and how they spread, about what it means for the Kingdom that their princess is now a different creature altogether.

My wolf claims the entirety kingdom as her territory and as I get older, I travel further. Checking in daily with the people on the far edges of the lands. The misfits and the outcasts. The ones with wisdom and magic who have been pushed towards the edges of the kingdom long before I was born. Hatred and fear pushed us all here, to the lands where the briar grows three men tall. Where the trees and the shadows move on their own and where the water of the lake is always smooth, no matter how fierce the storm.

I help where I can, chasing off the foxes for the farmers, climbing trees to hang fetches and talismans for protection, bringing food to those who need it most. Most time is spent drinking tea and discussing life with the old lady whom everyone calls ‘witch’. She teaches me all she knows. Things the tutors at the castle never knew to teach me. About the plants and trees that grow, the animals that roam deep within the forest. About life here, on the outskirts of society, and all the peoples and creatures that are part of it. Here, the people look me in the eye. They bow their heads in respect but never in fear. The bravest of the children ask to card their hands through my fur. The old woman laughingly gifts me a crown of twigs and burrs and rowanberries the colour of blood. Every time I’m in my human skin I wear that crown with pride.

One day, deep within the forest at the edge of my territory, I meet her. The being who has brought all that was hidden within me to the front and then illuminated it. I shift back to human, standing before her, naked and open, but never vulnerable, thanks to her. I thank her for the gifts she has given me. For the freedom and power and strength. The look on her face when I name her fairy godmother is priceless.

She smiles at me then, a flash of razor-sharp teeth. I bare my own fangs back at her. She asks me then, if I understand. How they are being treated. Those who do not fit in, those who are made of wildness and shadow and blood. How they are shunned because of what they are.

She tells me this will change, once I am queen. When I tell her that I never will be, that my parents will never find a match for me, she simply laughs and tells me not to worry. After all, I have a fairy godmother now.

She keeps close after that. Always watching, always near, but never interfering. Not unless I ask her to. So when war, inevitably, finds itself at our borders, I ask for her aid. I stand in the middle of the bloodied battlefield, staring at the incoming forces. The wolf in me is itching underneath my skin. She wishes to hunt, to kill, to feel flesh rip underneath her claws, blood filling her mouth as she tears them apart. So I call out to my fairy godmother, asking if she would join me for a hunt, before I shed my skin along with my humanity and charge forward.

The battle is brutal and short. The enemy army is better trained, but not against the army of outcasts led by myself and my fairy godmother. Their swords and shields quickly fall against our teeth, claws and magic.

Afterwards, I greet my father on the battlefield. Bare and covered in blood. There is fear in his eyes, yes, but also respect. And, for the first time, trust.

Things change once again. I am brought back into the castle, but nothing is the same. I spend most of my time in the forests, still, but I also find myself fighting. Training with weapons other than tooth and claw. Weathered old men, tutors, hired by my father to teach me all they know. I learn how much I don’t know, how much there is still to learn. I earn my scars, even if they never stay for long. I earn their respect, even if it is hard won. I am no longer alone, some of my people from the outskirts join me and never leave their princess’ side.

It doesn’t take long before suitors come from all over the world, wishing to marry one of my sisters. Singing praises about the small kingdom that could so quickly put an end to war. That could tame monsters and wild things. Silly men, none of us were tamed, we simply chose to fight.

My parents and sisters work hard to get the most advantageous matches. To make sure that both the kingdom and my sisters will continue to grow and prosper. Bargains are struck, feasts are had. One by one my sisters move away, happy with their chosen husbands. All of them are visited by a giant wolf at least once. They know to treat my sisters well, or one night feel the sharp tips of my fangs against their throat.

Years later I am gifted another crown. It is a beautiful thing. Delicate golden flowers and bright shining gems. It feels uncomfortable to me the way all pretty things do. “It might not suit you,” my father tells me, “but you have earned it.”

“As you have earned your rest.” I tell him.

“You will be wonderful, my Queen.”

Rumors start spreading, about the Wolfqueen, the Wild One, sitting upon a blood-red throne. About the Kingdom of monsters where beasts, fae and man live free. About the Queen with the Iron Heart, who turns away all who wish to court her, and kills all who dare more.

It’s not that I do not want someone at my side. I do. I wish for the love that my parents share. That my sisters eventually found with their husbands. But all those who come for my hand, those who finally dare when I have no more free sisters left, come for just that. My hand but not my heart. They are all poised and polished. Perfect little princes who look towards the wealth of the castle but away from the wildness within me. They are afraid to meet my wolf’s cold, assessing gaze.

Some even try to change me, to find the human underneath the wolf. They only try once.

For years, I rule alone. Through another war, through a plague born of magic, through prosperity and abundance. My people always by my side but no one to claim my heart.

But then, a commotion. A man, dressed in furs. No scars on his body, but plenty on his soul. His eyes glowing the same gold as mine in the gentle torchlight. A wildness in them that my wolf recognizes. A challenge that my wolf is eager to take, to rise up to.

“Your Oracle told me to come here.” He tells me, “I asked for guidance, to find what my heart truly desires, and she sent me to you.”

My fairy godmother steps up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I can’t see her, but I know she is smiling a smile of sharp pointed teeth. No doubt the oracle he speaks of.

“My Queen,” he continues, bowing deep, his eyes never leaving mine, “I came looking for connection, for freedom. I believe I will find it with your time and your company. Will you grant me it?”

“And what, my prince,” for if my fairy godmother sent him, he can only be that, “will you grant me in return?” I lean forward, eager, hungry.

“Loyalty,” he steps forward, onto the dais, “companionship and understanding.” He leans over me for a single, challenging moment, before kneeling before me, baring his throat. “Perhaps in time even love. But for now, the thrill of a hunt. Of a chase.” He grins, baring sharp fangs. A breath, and a beautiful black-furred wolf sits in front of me.

Oh – the hunt is on. A thrill goes through me as I shift, ready to run, to chase him down and claim him for my own. For if one thing is certain, it is that I am a wild thing, a Queen, a hunter, but never, ever, prey.

(First posted on my website)

#fiction #story #short story #werewolf #fairy tale #faeries #fairy #queen #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #fantasy #princess #wolf #romance #well sort of #at the end #fairy godmother #fairytale

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local-ground-apple · 3 years

Text

quixotic

Inspired by @tri3tri and her amazing yandere Malleus series

warnings: malleus is yandere, but nothing explicit is here,

quixotic - extravagantly chivalrous or romantic, visionary

perhaps the only way to escape Malleus’ suffocating grip was to fall into eternal slumber

,,Why don’t you stop being so childish as well as rebellious and simply accept your dearest lover? It’s not like you will ever escape, Little One”

Lilia’s sultry tone, as well as his hands resting on your shoulders in almost bruising matter

You gulped, feeling his fangs graze skin, which usually served as a warning. A shiver involuntarily run down your spine, as your fists only clenched.

,,We will see, Mr. Vanrouge”

Your seemingly confident voice faltered slightly and your lips gritted in thin line were only a façade. Your eyes full of uncertainty and fear told him otherwise. Even you were beginning not to believe your own words. Lilia only chuckled, clearly amused by your reactions. His gaze lingered on you for a longer moment, before he leaned in. His warm breath slightly tickling your skin, as his sharp teeth playfully bit your earlobe.

,,I would suggest you not to pull any stunt, while we will be away on diplomatic travel. I’d hate to hurt you”

A sadistic smile spread on his lips, as his crimson eyes glowed slightly. Your breath quickened, as you knew Lilia hadn’t finished yet. His voice stopped, as if he was recollecting his thought, yet you were aware what he was doing. Building a tension, so you would be more scared.

,,I’d hate to hurt you both”

Lilia put the emphasis on the last word, as he whispered it, knocking the breath out of your throat. Dread adorned your face, when a sudden wave of realization washed over you.

He knew.

He knew, he knew, he knew, that could only mean that Malleus knew too, panicked thoughts flooded your mind, yet you only bit your lip, looking defiantly at Lilia. He only chuckled and you could tell that he was enjoying despair written all over your face.

,,I must admit, you two did a rather excellent job hiding, yet I don’t appreciate how, hmm, you tainted his loyalty. Now, Miss Y/N, I expect you know what to do, unless you wish for Malleus to become aware of this.”

Catching a brief glance over your terrified form, Lilia bowed slightly and turned swiftly on his heel.

,,He knows”

,,He knows what?”

,,I’m not sure, he didn’t specify. He just suggested that we don’t try anything during his absence”

You whispered and Silver frowned. You glanced nervously around the room you had been locked in for past few months, since Malleus had forcefully put you there, depriving you from any contact with outside world apart from his fellow companions.

Who knew, maybe walls had ears.

If a wave of nervousness or anxiety washed over Silver, you couldn’t tell.

His collected façade never faltered. He gently set the trail of teapot and teacups on the table next to you and took a nearest seat. You could hear door locking behind him and you could only pray Lilia wasn’t eavesdropping.

Malleus was gracious enough to sometimes send one of his guards to keep you company. Perhaps that was his biggest mistake.

Three of them rotated and you never knew who would come visit you every two days. Sebek was always lecturing you and scolding for your “outrageous behavior”, always telling you to finally respect and love his Young Lord. You dreaded moments when the door opened to reveal Lilia, you could never grow accustomed to that fae.

Silver on the other hand…

,,It doesn’t matter whether he knows or not, Y/N. I’m pretty sure I can take Sebek down, if anything happens”

His calm whisper didn’t soothe your worries. You slightly jumped when cold hand gently intertwined with yours and gripped it lightly. Silver never showed you any form of affection.

Never, too worried that you might be caught. Yet, his soft touch seemed to slowly alleviate the tension from your muscles.

,,Do you think he misplaced it?”

You nervously glanced at the door, expecting it to burst open any time soon. The closer it was to Malleus’ and Lilia’s diplomatic trip, the more paranoid you were becoming and you couldn’t deny that fact. It was easy hiding it before Malleus, who seemed too fixated on you, to even notice your behavior was slightly off. He was simply elated to see you not screaming or running at the mere sight of him.

Yet, you knew that you failed to keep your façade in front of Lilia. You could always feel his lingering gaze on you, carefully watching your figure looking for any tiniest traces. He noticed how you were more eager than usual to head to your bed, how you began falling asleep earlier than usual.

Were you perhaps walking with someone in your dreams?

Lilia seemed to know, yet he allowed this. He sent Silver to guard you more often than Sebek, let him introduce you to all fae traditions you should be aware of, bah, he even didn’t mention to Malleus how he had spotted you getting way too comfortable to his Lord’s liking.

Yet, you knew Lilia didn’t do it out of pity or affection towards his son.

No, he was callous.

He would let this young love bloom, crush it and then watch it wither.

,,I highly doubt it, we’ve never talked about it outside our dreams”

You nodded, not even touching your tea which was slowly growing cold with each passing second.

Silver seemed to be hesitant. He knew exactly what Lilia was doing. He was giving him a bit of time to make the wise decision. To ignore feelings he had developed for you and be loyal to his future king. He furrowed his eyebrows.

Silver knew that Lilia wasn’t giving him time, because he cared for him.

No.

He knew that ancient fae would love to experience moving, heartbreaking scene of separating lovers. Maybe that would finally make you realize, that even your heart couldn’t escape from Malleus’ suffocating grasp.

Silver unconsciously gripped the handle of his sword as he watched Lilia calmly discussing the details and arrangements of their diplomatic trip. He could feel old man’s gaze lingering to him every once in a while, as his crimson eyes gave him the knowing look. Silver was surprised that Lilia hadn’t told anything to Malleus, but then each time he saw young king mentioning you as his eyes were filled with nothing but undying obsession, he knew dragon fae was delusional.

He would notice your silent affection for Silver, only if you displayed it right in front of him. Even then, he would deny it.

,,Are you sure we can leave Y/N here?”

Malleus’ calm yet slightly worried voice brought Silver’s attention on him once again. In the corner of his eye, he could faintly see Lilia’s wide grin, as his hands rested underneath his chin in almost mocking matter.

,,Of course, I’m sure Sebek and especially Silver will make sure Miss Y/N doesn’t do anything stupid”

Lilia’s playful tone hid the pure amusement and threat that was audible only to Silver, who with each passing second had troubles keeping up with his façade.

Could he really betray two faes who raised him and gave him everything?

Who he swore to serve and protect?

Lilia’s mocking smile told him that he absolutely wasn’t capable of doing that.

,,It’s…It’s impossible”

Malleus’ voice was filled with shock and disbelief as he stared at you. His eyes widen, while the wave of anger slowly washed over his body.

He failed to notice Lilia’s titled head, looking as if he was somewhat proud.

Mayhap, that wasn’t a truly fitting word.

Lilia was stunned and impressed with your unconvencial methode to escape Malleus’ grasp. Silver truly made him think they were preparing for a regular escape, with the amount of stuff he had been stocking in his room. He let a suppressed laugh. Perhaps, the situation wasn’t under his control, as Lilia had previously thought.

You managed to surprise the ancient fae, who was convinced he had seen everything.

You laid on the floor sound asleep in eternal slumber. Your hair adorned your face, your rosy lips were lifted in a soft, elated smile, yet Malleus could see a victorious tone in it, almost mocking him. You reminded him of the small smiles Lilia was sending you way, whenever you had failed to escape him.

Your index finger was pricked and a small trail of crimson blood was smeared all over it. Your pinky finger was gently intertwined with Silver’s who laid beside you. A gentle smile adorned his face, as few loose strands of his hair fall on his closed eyelids.

Malleus could almost hear your mocking tone and victorious smile. “I told you, I would escape you, echoed in his mind, as he stared at your form in disbelief.

You did it. You escaped him, as you promised.

Yet, Malleus couldn’t comprehend why Silver had pricked his finger too. Or maybe he simply didn’t allow this thought to enter his mind, yet deep down inside he knew why. He just pushed that thought aside, trying to ignore it.

It can’t be true.

Yet, your even breath and closed eyelids told him otherwise.

,,Why did Silver prick his finger as well?”

Malleus turned around to finally face amused Lilia and enraged Sebek.

,,Simply Malleus”

Lilia started, crunching down to his asleep son. He gently brushed the loose strands of his hair, tucking them behind his ears in almost caring matter. With a deep sigh, he looked at you.

,,Silver is her true love and without his kiss we won’t be able to wake Miss Y/N”

829 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Medium Despair

For @sapphireswimming

Danny woke up gasping for air and fighting against his sheets. By the time he’d recognized his surroundings, he’d already rolled off his bed. He dragged in ragged, shuddering breaths. He could breathe. He could breathe. He wasn’t suffocating. He wasn’t at school, in his locker or otherwise. He could move he could stand. He did stand, skin prickling with the memory of electricity.

“Sydney?” he called, softly. “Is that you?” He could see a glowing form in the corner behind his dresser, and with that dream there weren’t a whole lot of other people it could have been, but it was polite to ask. At least in Danny’s opinion.

The ghost slid out, slowly, flickering. “Sorry, Danny,” he said, and he really did sound remorseful.

Danny might believe it more if it wasn’t 2:20 in the morning on a school night, and this wasn’t the third time Sydney had done this. Still, Sydney was something like a friend.

“What is it, Sydney?” he asked. “Did something happen at the school?” Casper High was one of the most haunted buildings in Amity Park, which honestly didn’t make sense.

Danny had done his research. The school was old, sure, but Sydney was the only person who had ever actually died there. That didn’t stop the Lunch Lady, Technus, and a whole host of others from hanging around the place, although most of those others were pretty weak. Hardly strong enough to even interact with Danny or other ghosts.

Sydney shrugged.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Sydney looked down at the ground. The puddle of not-light he cast on the ground – visible only to only Danny and other ghosts – rippled and glimmered.

Danny frowned. “I have fun talking to you during the day, Syd, but I do have to sleep. I’m human, you know?”

“I know,” said Sydney.

“So why are you here?” asked Danny, briefly spreading his arms in exasperation and the dropping them to his sides again. He was still unsettled by the dream he’d just had.

Being close to ghosts while he was sleeping was just a recipe for nightmares. They weren’t always about their deaths, but more often than not…

Sydney’s death was a particularly unpleasant one. Danny did not expect to get back to sleep. Not tonight. Hence his annoyance.

“I need to…” started Sydney, before trailing off. “I need…”

“Sydney?”

“Warn you.”

“About what?”

“Not what they seem,” whispered the ghost. He looked away and phased out through the wall.

Danny’s frown deepened. Usually, Sydney was much clearer than that. Sometimes, talking to Sydney, Danny forgot he was talking to a ghost.

Danny sat down at the edge of the bed and tried to work a kink out of his neck. He caught himself scratching at his skin as if he wanted to pull it off a minute later.

It was always like this since the accident. Especially after he had a dying dream.

Forcibly, he stopped himself. His skin was fine. There was no electricity flickering under his skin. He was alive. He was safe. His body was his body. His body.

(He was not floating above it, light as air, staring at its waxy pallor, at the glassy, empty eyes.)

He was alive, alive, alive.

Awake.

Not dead.

Slowly, he laid back down on the bed. He was alive, awake. A medium, yes, associated with more ghosts than could possibly be healthy, either physically or mentally, yes, but alive. Definitely, clearly, alive.

He didn’t like it when ghosts woke him up. Especially when they came with ominous warnings about the future.

Maybe Sydney would let Danny track him down tomorrow, but Danny doubted it.

“Something’s off,” said Danny, staring up at the tall front of the school.

“Yeah,” agreed Sam, “it’s Spirit Week. When the teachers participate in medieval rituals to brainwash us into supporting the troglodytes that ‘represent’ our school in sports.”

“I was going to argue,” said Tucker, “but that is about what it’s for, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “I don’t think it’s that. Probably. Unless there’s a ghost that appreciate the pun?”

“You appreciate puns.”

“I’m not a ghost,” said Danny, frowning at Sam.

“That’s true.”

Danny sighed. “I just have a bad feeling about this. I know you can’t see like I can, but… be careful. If you do see anything weird, let me know.”

“Hey, Danny!”

“Oh, I changed my mind. Kill me now, I want to be a ghost.”

Jazz ran up and threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “You left so early!” she said. “Are you excited about Spirit Week, too?”

“No,” said Danny.

Jazz paused, looked at Danny more closely. “You look terrible,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to the counselor?”

“Pass,” said Danny.

“You know, you’ll have to talk to me in more than monosyllables at some point.”

“Do I?”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go to talk to Mr. Lancer about my speech! Have a great Spirit Week, guys!”

She ran off.

“I will never understand her,” declared Sam. “But I think she does have a point about the counselor. Maybe they’d be able to help with the nightmares? At least the non-ghost-caused ones.”

“All my nightmares are caused by ghosts.”

“Eh,” said Tucker, giving a half-shrug.

“Will it make you feel better if I agree to go?”

“Yes,” said both Sam and Tucker.

“Ugh. Fine,” said Danny.

Danny walked though the deserted hallway, pass in hand, study hall abandoned behind him as he looked for the counselor’s office. He’d never been there before, but it should be around here somewhere, right?

A cold hand settled on his shoulder.

“You must be Danny Fenton! Your sister told me all about you.”

Danny turned to look up at a tall woman. She was dressed a lot more flamboyantly than Danny would have expected.

“Yeah? That’s me. Who are you?”

“I’m Penelope Spectra. Your counselor! Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with you?”

“Uh,” said Danny. There was something unpleasantly an unexpectedly pejorative and assumptive about that statement. Weren’t counselors supposed to tell you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you? That your feelings were valid.

He shrugged. He couldn’t put his feelings into words.

(Couldn’t open his mouth for fear of cold leaking out past his teeth, his soul exhaled with his breath.)

(Why did he feel this way?)

“Why don’t you step into my office?”

The room was… not what he expected.

“Sorry about the dust,” said Spectra. “I’m just moving in. They upgraded me.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. “So… like I said, your sister told me a lot about you, and I have a few things I’d like to try for your laz—Excuse me. Your difficulty with staying focused. It happens sometimes with traumatic brain injuries, that a promising young mind can be—Well. In any case. I am here to support you and find a way for you to succeed. What’s troubling you?”

Danny’s ginger perch on the dusty chair turned into a frustrated slump. “Nothing,” he said. He pushed himself back up. “I should go—”

“Oh, just humor me,” said Spectra. “There has to be some reason you came. Anxiety? Stress? Social pressures?”

Danny shook his head and stood up.

“Nightmares?”

He sat back down.

Danny leaned over the table to whisper to Tucker during English, when they were supposed to be reviewing vocabulary words.

“Have either of you seen the counselor before?” asked Danny, after what was easily the worst week of his life. He was starting to have suspicions, but…

“Yeah,” said Tucker. “When you were in the hospital. He was pretty cool.”

“He?” asked Danny. “He?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been seeing a ghost for the past week.”

“Ghost therapist? Well, if it’s working…”

“It isn’t. She’s from hell. I swear. A literal demon from hell.”

“Exorcism?”

“Exorcism.”

Jazz didn’t often come to school after hours, but she’d left several important things and she was the student body activity director, voted for and everything.

Important thing #1, her speech, which she had to practice.

Important thing #2, the—what was that?

Already spooked by the late-night atmosphere, she ducked into a doorway and peeked at the place she’d seen movement. There weren’t many classes held down that hallway, and she didn’t come down this way often, so maybe she was just—

No. That was her little brother and his friends conducting some kind of satanic ritual over a wastepaper basket.

Their parents were terrible influences. She was going to give them a stern talking to when—what what what what WHAT—

What had she just seen?

She looked back around the corner to see the… whatever it was dissolve in smoke and fire and shadows. Then Danny and his friends started cleaning up as if this was a perfectly normal Thursday night.

Jazz… Jazz was going to process this. Later.

She turned around and walked straight back out to her car. There was, after all, nothing that important.

“So,” said Danny, leaning towards Sam on the bleachers as he watched his sister give her speech. “Looks like we saved Spirit Week.”

“Never say that to me again,” said Sam.

“But we did. Look at all this spirit-filled people.”

“You were literally the only victim.”

“But Sam~”

“It does seem less grim, though, doesn’t it?” asked Tucker, contemplatively. “You are no longer the goth bird of happiness.”

“Maybe a bit,” allowed Sam. “I think that’s just because everyone’s glad this week is over, though. No offense, Danny.”

“None taken. I’m glad it’s over, too.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021

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5lazarus · 3 years

Text

The Domestics

Alistair runs into an older elven woman on the battlements, watching the children play in the Skyhold courtyard below. They get to talking: isn't it nice that the mages get to keep their children now? Then, in the course of the conversation, Alistair figures it out. Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.” Read on Archive of Our Own here.

It’s snowing at Skyhold, which delays Alistair’s plans by a day. Anora cuts him loose, locking herself in the ambassador’s heated room with her furs, and he wishes he could change into less fine clothes and join the children in their snowball fight, or wander into the kitchens and see if he can sweet-talk the cook into giving him something hot and sweet to drink. He’s king, so he could ask for all the chocolate in Seheron, and doubtless the Inquisition would try to give it to him.

He walks the battlements so less people will see him and watches the battle in the courtyard below. The Inquisitor’s children seem to have made common cause with the servants’ kids against the visiting nobility; honestly it’s just a relief to see that it isn’t human against elf. Alistair, a tad self-conscious, touches his right ear. An older elf is watching them, smiling. Alistair wonders if she’s the mother of one of them below.

“Which one’s yours?” Alistair asks.

The woman says, “I’m only watching them for the Inquisitor. I’m their guard.” She’s got short black hair, threaded with silver, but her eyes are lively enough. She’s wearing green robes with a bit of Dalish-looking embroidery at the ends of her sleeves. She’s got an Orlesian accent, too. He didn’t know the Inquisition was working with elves from Orlais, didn’t Anora tell him to keep an eye out for Ambassador Briala’s livery?

“Oh.” He shouldn’t feel awkward, but he blushes anyway. He stares at the woman’s feet, toes poking out of those foot wraps, and wonders how on earth she’s not freezing. Alistair’s got a coat of heavy wool, trimmed in fur.

The woman notices he’s staring and says, matter-of-fact, “My circulatory system is different than yours. We conserve heat more efficiently than your people. Besides, I’m a mage. It’s easy to keep warm.”

That has him a bit miffed. Of course he knows elves are biologically different than humans; they can still breed, though. He’s evidence of that. He doesn’t feel the cold as intensely as the others at court, and he knows why. The servants at the palace can tell, even if he passes, for the most part. Eamon and Tegan talk all the time about how much he looks like his father, how much he looks like Cailan, but he’s seen enough portraits of them both to know how he differs.

Alistair says, again, “Oh. Cool. I’m half, you know.” It’s not that he’s discouraged from talking about it, but it’s never been something to advertise. Those with eyes to see it don’t need to be told, but right Alistair feels like he needs to justify himself, with the way she’s looking at him. Skyhold has had him wrong-footed; Leliana has been distant and he is finding it harder and harder to slip away from the King. Anora tells him that’s part of adulthood. He’s not so sure.

The woman says, “I know.”

Alistair folds his arms. “Really? Because I didn’t. What’s your name, by the way?”

The elf smiles sadly. “Fiona. I used to travel with the Grey Wardens, when I was young.”

Alistair says, “Really? The Grey Wardens don’t really let people leave. Unless, you know, you point out that yet another civil war is going to break out if they don’t let you put your ass back on the throne. What was your excuse?”

Fiona says, “I had a baby. It’s hard to keep a nursery going in the Deep Roads. The darkspawn get jealous.”

“Oh. Can’t be having that, they’re crabby enough as it is. Though I heard of a Warden who brought his cat into the Deep Roads too, scratched out the eyes of a hurlock apparently. You’re lucky, most of us can’t have kids. I can’t. Probably.” He thinks about his own natural daughter with Tabris and blushes at the lie, rubbing at the back of his head. It’s for her own good and the good of the realm he hasn’t brought her to court. It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason, and Morrigan has the spare heir anyway, if Anora can’t figure something out.

Fiona says, “I suppose it’s luck. The Circle took him away from me, and gave him back to his father.” She sounds wistful. “But under the Inquisition, the mages keep their children. It’s a different world now. There’s no going back.”

He thinks to himself, I’m not so sure—the disastrous plans for the Hinterlands, the riots in Denerim, the failure of the embassy in the Brecilian forest. He thought after the Blight, with this new alliance between elves, dwarves, and men, there would be no going back. Anora tells him it’s a struggle for the future and that reform doesn’t come in a day, perhaps not even their lifetime: sometimes they need to settle for establishing the groundwork for the next person to rule, like Maric did for them. But of course, Anora’s never had her cousin kidnapped and brutalized, or her father sold into slavery. That sort of perspective changes things.

Alistair says, “Really?” He scratches his head. “I look at things in Ferelden and wonder how things can stay so stagnant, and then you look at Orlais and how they’re eating themselves alive. And Orzammar, of course, which is basically a living fossil. People don’t like change. They’d prefer for things to stay the same, or even go back to how they were a generation ago.” He is surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

Fiona cocks her head and looks at him curiously. She says, “You’re too young to be talking like that. You must understand it comes in seasons—we flourish in spring and reap our harvest in summer, and then prepare for and suffer through the conservative reaction in winter. Sometimes it’s a harsh winter, and many do not survive. But then there is always the spring. You lived in Ferelden, you should know—from the Night Elves who freed your people from the Orlesian occupation to Clan Alerion securing the boundaries of the Hinterlands now, things have changed. You just need to…riot every so often, to make sure no one gets complacent.” She grins.

It’s nice to talk politics with someone who doesn’t know who he is, who thinks he’s just another wealthy Ferelden currying favor with the Inquisition, not a king staring down the religious cult that just carved itself a city-state at the border of his realm. Below the children are yelling. A couple of them are using magic to freeze the snowballs, and they’re having a fierce debate, interspersed with throwing said ice balls, on whether that’s fair.

Alistair says, “Then I hope you’re right. I hope the mages and the Inquisition’s made enough of a, er, spring, to shake things up. It’s good for these kids to stay with their families, I hated what the Circle did. I didn’t know my mother, growing up. Would’ve avoided a lot of angst if I’d gotten to meet her.” He thinks about Morrigan and her awful mom, and then Goldanna flashes through his mind. Ashamed, he pushes the thought away. “Or maybe it would’ve made it worse! Hard to say, I certainly don’t know!” He smiles at the woman brightly.

Fiona says, “It might have made it worse, since she was an elf. Your life would’ve looked very different, even in Ferelden.”

His heart stops. Surely she doesn’t know who he is. That could be awkward, considering what he’s been saying. Anora will be furious that he’s gone off and talked politics with another random person again. He can’t help it, he gets bored easily, and the courtiers and advisors only tell him what they think he should want to hear.

“How do you know I’m Ferelden?” Alistair asks suspiciously.

“You’re wearing the badge on your fur coat. And, of course, your accent. Unless I am mistaken?”

“No, no,” Alistair says. “But yeah. Sorry. I don’t know much about her. Don’t know if she’s still alive. Just that she was an elf. Always assumed she was a serving woman or something, if my father was anything like C-Caleb.”

Fiona says, “Sometimes it’s better not to think about it, how we came into the world. I never met my parents either.” She leans against the balustrade and shakes her head at the kids fighting in the courtyard below. They’ve devolved into outright brawling, but that weird Warden the Inquisitor keeps around her has waded into the fray, bellowing orders. “It’s good to see them playing again. They never had enough time to play.”

“When were you a Warden?” Alistair asks. “You know, my dad travelled with the Wardens too. But they didn’t make him join up—guess that’s why I’m here, ha-ha.” He wants to ask her if she ever met him, because they might have overlapped. It’s hard to tell with elves sometimes though, they age more slowly, but she looks like she’s in her late forties, a bit careworn. Then he decides he really doesn’t want the conversation to get weird, because he is a king and his father was a king, and it’s rare that someone speaks to him normally now—treats him like the lovable idiot he knows he is, not the history-breaking king.

Fiona says, “Oh, give or take thirty years or so. I try not to count the years, at my age. My people live a long time if left unmolested, but I have a knack for running into trouble.”

Alistair laughs. “Oh, me too! I don’t even mean to do it, I’ve just never learned to keep my mouth shut.” To Teagan and Anora’s chagrin, he thinks ruefully. “I was given to the Templars as a boy, before I managed to get the Wardens to take me, and Maker! The Mother despaired of me. Called me most the accidental heretic she’d ever known. Really the Wardens taking me saved my life, Maker knows what they would’ve done to me if I kept poking at them like I was.”

Fiona pauses, trying to suppress a laugh, and then says, “At least you’ve never started a war.”

Alistair laughs heartily at that. Then he realizes what she’s said. “Wait, what? You started a war?”

Fiona says, “You…you didn’t know?”

Alistair says, “Is there something I should know?”

Fiona steps away, smoothing her expression away. “Many things.” Anxiously she peers down into the courtyard, smoothing her sleeves over her hands. The two factions of Skyhold children have joined forces and are attacking Blackwall with snow, but another one of the Inquisitor’s companions has joined the fray—a cackling elvhen girl, and then Alistair sees that from the balcony of the inn there’s a mustachioed mage swatting snowballs away from his friend.

Alistair says, “You never asked me my name.”

Fiona glances at him and then turns away. “I didn’t need to. You look very much like your father. Though I suppose you must know that.”

Alistair opens his mouth and then closes it. He says, voice hoarse, “Did you ever—“ He stumbles over his words, and clears his throat. “Did you ever find out what happened to your baby? When the Circle took him away.”

Fiona hesitates. The silence between them is filled with the children laughing below, the mage grandiosely chanting what are clearly made-up words, and the old Warden dramatically pretending to be overwhelmed by the volley of snow. The elven girl is swearing revenge, right now. It looks the children are trying to steal the “body” and make a pyre out of snow.

Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.”

Fiona covers her face with her hands.

Alistair continues, “Then, yeah, being apostates suck. Believe me. I met a girl who lived in a swamp. But I think we could’ve made it work. Like since I pass, and I’m not magic—at least I don’t think so, but I think I’d know by now? I’m like, thirty-five. Or something. I could’ve gone to the villages and traded for food. And I would’ve known more about who I am. Than just Maric’s bastard. Who’s just a story, anyway. That’s how kings like that end up. Just stories.”

His mother is weeping now.

He says, “I have no idea how you started that war you said you did. But I think I know what I’m supposed to know.” He takes a step closer, and she doesn’t move. He says, helplessly now, “I think I have your eyes.”

Fiona leans against the balustrade, back to the courtyard below. She’s not crying now, but she’s not making any sound. Alistair is afraid to go closer. Her hands press into her face like a mask, restraining a scream. He thinks if he touches her, all that tension will explode. He gets overwhelmed like that too. Can you inherit that sort of thing? He has to wonder, does the way one expresses pain get passed down in the blood?

He waits for her to speak. A door behind them creaks open, footsteps scuffle to a stop, then retreat. The door shuts. The mage has come down into the courtyard now and is chanting what appears to be Nevarran over the pile of snow that is Blackwall’s pyre. The elven girl is leading the children in mourning—but then the mage flourishes, and the snow glows purple, then scarlet, then green as he sparks. Blackwall throws the snow off and roars. The children cheer.

Fiona breathes heavily, drawing herself out of wherever she retreated. She swipes at her face with her sleeves. She says, “Forgive me. It was better that you didn’t know. You couldn’t have become—you deserved—Maric needed—what are you going to do, I told the Divine to go fuck herself, you can’t have a mother who told the Divine—“

Alistair says, impressed, “You told the Divine to go fuck herself? I am your son, I knew it had to come from somewhere! This is your fault!” He gestures at himself, and Fiona manages a laugh.

“An exaggeration,” she says. “I merely said the Divine should fuck herself, right before we voted to dissolve the Circles and separate from the Chantry. I’d hoped to tell her that at the Conclave, which is why they sent Orsino rather than myself.” Her mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Perhaps the only time running off my mouth and losing my temper has saved my life.”

Alistair says, “Well, the Divine was kind of an ass. Somebody had to say it.” He laughs. “Oh, this is wonderful. My mother, the rebel mage.” He’s genuinely delighted, this is much cooler than anything he came up with as a boy. “This is so cool. Anora’s going to be so annoyed when I tell her. Not like she can complain, her dad betrayed the realm and got all the Wardens killed, so really on the scale of shitty in-laws, I win.” He pauses: he isn’t sure he conveyed what he wanted to by that. Fiona is just staring at him. “But seriously, I don’t know who you are. Besides, obviously, my mother.”

Fiona says, disbelief in her voice, “I’m the Grand Enchanter."

Alistair says, “Oh Maker, I should’ve recognized the belt, shouldn’t I?”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic #dragon age fic #fiona #king alistair #alistair finally gets reunited with fiona #alistair #alistair theirin #fiona & alistair #I have typed this man's name so often it ceases to look real #fluff #family fluff #family reunion #happy ending

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crackinwise · 3 years

Text

My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

#ishimondo #kiyotaka ishimaru #kiyondo ishida #mondo oowada #danganronpa #Tragedy-survivor au #i've only read like 2 fics that had this concept but it was ensemble so the boys weren't the focus which hurt me

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nightshade-minho · 3 years

Text

MOONSTORM [ iii ]

You know that feeling when you know you’ve made a terrible mistake?

Yes. That feeling.

It’s a feeling that never really goes away. You had to learn that the hard way.

Irrevocable actions, stupid mistakes. You were heart-wrenchingly familiar with all of it.

To err was human apparently. You...weren’t human, though.

It seems like being superhuman was insignificant, after all. At the end of the day, nothing mattered. None of your powers did.

Despite it all, you still lost him.

warnings: depressing shit (it gets better though dw) mentions of death, violence, sexual content, future smut

wc: 2.8k

moonstorm masterlist

It felt like the world had lost all color.

It had happened so many months ago, and yet it still felt like it happened just yesterday. The memories of stumbling out of his lair, covered in his blood and your tears, still fresh in your mind.

The image of his face, betrayed and yet so calm as he uttered those last words to you...it haunted you constantly.

You found yourself looking at the moon every night, dreaming about what could have been. The nightmares endlessly plagued your sleep as well, causing you to fear even your own bed.

No...even after Hyunjin's effects on you wore off, your own brain took on the responsibility of torturing you by conjuring up more heartbreaking dreams. Dreams which made you long for something you knew you’d lost forever- never to be yours again.

You never truly realized how much you’d gotten used to having him around. Life was so glaringly empty and meaningless without him. It was a complicated relationship…and yet it still left a giant hole in you. An all-encompassing despair that threatened to swallow you up.

With him gone, it just didn’t feel right to be a superhero anymore. How could you be the strong role model for everyone in the city to rely on when you knew just how weak you’d become? Even when the newspapers were covered with your heroics, even as the mayor addressed the city and expressed his desire to give you a medal for stopping yet another supervillain from roaming the streets- you stubbornly refused to don that costume ever again.

You stayed hidden through it all. You just couldn’t bring yourself to go out in public anymore. Your vigilante costume lay forgotten in the back of your closet- crumpled and sad.

It just...felt wrong. At the moment you felt nothing but pathetic. You didn’t have time to waste saving a snotty kitten stuck on a tree or stop a petty criminal from robbing a bank- all you were fit to do was eat ice cream straight from the can, and watch a soulless movie. The same routine, day in and day out. You hadn’t left your apartment in nearly a month, not even to buy groceries. Every second was spent wrapped up in blankets, pondering what you’d done.

Was that selfish of you? Probably. You were discovering new flaws by the second.

Sighing, you sat up a little, your ass almost numb from how long you’d spent lying down. Glancing up, you saw your father’s portrait looking down at you. You swallowed and slowly stood up from your bed, groaning to yourself. Why did he suddenly seem so disappointed?

Maybe a little bit of fresh air is what you needed, considering you were starting to believe the paintings were changing expressions. After all, you had work to do anyway- might as well take advantage of the nearby café’s free WiFi.

***

Here at last.

You sat down in the corner of the café, so tired you could barely move a muscle. But you had to get a move on with your life- the recovery should have happened by now.

And yet here you were, months later. Nothing seemed to be able to fill the hole he left behind, and even now you wished you could go back home as soon as possible.

Had it...had it been a mistake?

Of course it had. Your misery was evidence, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could convince yourself that you’d done it for the good of the city.

The truth was... Hwang Hyunjin scared you.

He made you feel things, made you want to be someone else entirely. Every ounce of rigidity and austerity you’d imposed in yourself disappeared every time you were with him. He made you want to give everything up- give up all the responsibilities and burdens you carried on your shoulders to be with him. To be like him- free.

It wasn’t Hyunjin who was a threat to the city. No, not directly.

It was you- or rather the lack of you.

This city needed you to survive, and if Hyunjin managed to change you...it surely wouldn’t have lasted long without your help. Hyunjin had never really been the city’s biggest threat- there were far worse villains and it was them who you really fought against.

He was more of just an inconvenience, someone you had to deal with from time to time. And then he’d struck that deal- after which the nature of your relationship had turned into something entirely different.

Every time he acted up, it was usually just a ploy to get your attention. And attention was exactly what he got. You’d reinforced his behavior like an idiot.

You told yourself it was a chore, but it wasn’t all that convincing. You’d loved spending those nights in his bed, loved the way he was an expert at making you come undone with his body and his words.

It really had seemed like a good idea at the time. The right thing to do. However, it was quickly starting to seem like anything but.

You sighed as your mind tried its best not to travel back all those months. Dipping a teabag into the liquid, you mindlessly observed the customers in the cafe. Many of them were young, teenagers who were heading out before class.

You sighed as you recalled your own high school days, the times Hyunjin and you had hung out in a cafe much like this one.

“You don’t have to help me with this project, you know.”

“Ah, shush. It’s our final year. I’m not going to leave you alone.” He smiled as he flipped through his books, taking a sip of his coffee occasionally.

“You act like you’re not sticking to me like white on rice the rest of the year.” You roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself.

“Don’t get snippy with me, missy.” He smirked, still thumbing the pages nonchalantly. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

“You- I- what?” You wouldn’t admit it, but the thought caused a fluttering sensation in more than one place. It was a little bit of a shock, considering the two of you had done nothing more than make out and flirt, until now.

“Chill. I’m kidding.” He shook his head, looking up at you. “Unless…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Stop it! I’m supposed to be working right now.” You whined, swatting him with a rolled up paper.

“I don’t care.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Hm...do you know what I’m thinking of right now, Y/n?”

“W-what?”

“Thinking about how easy it would be to slip my fingers under your skirt and play with that pretty pussy of yours. I’m pretty sure it’s soaked your underwear through by now.”

Fuck.

Your cheeks flushed as you stared at your plate. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond properly- his mere words had already turned you to a mess.

“S-shut up.” You mumbled, reading out formulas aloud as you tried to divert your attention from it. Hyunjin let out a teasing chuckle at your lame attempt to change the topic, shaking his head as he stared at his book again, unaware you were looking over your own at him, pressing your thighs together subtly.

God, he was so...so annoying.

You snapped out of it, sighing as you looked around at the much less crowded cafe. Had it always looked so dull? So lifeless?

The thought of him was hurtful- it felt like a dull knife, screwing itself into you. Reminding you what you’d done.

You’d killed the love of your life.

And now? There was no way to bring him back.

***

“Murder is never something a superhero should resort to. A good hero always stays true to themselves- they only kill if it’s absolutely necessary.”

A cough.

“But of course...villains are exempt from that rule. Killing one villain’s life could save countless others.”

Hm. You weren’t exactly sure if your father was right. Although you were just a child, you still had some knowledge of morality.

Was he? Killing just...seemed wrong. You didn’t know if you could bring yourself to do it, no matter how evil the person was.

“Surely there are other ways to neutralize someone evil, Father?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, before shaking his head coldly. “Untrue.”

“The truth is, some lives are expendable, my dear Y/n…” Another cough, before he cleared his throat and fixed his gaze back on you.

“You must always look for the greater good.”

***

You still remembered the day you first met Hyunjin.

He was 13, and you were just a little younger. Your families were good comrades and allies, so your eventual meeting had already been planned.

The two of you were in the living room with everyone else as they talked to each other, mingling and chattering like adults usually did. Hyunjin and you made an unanimous decision to sneak out to the rooftop, and get to know each other better.

“So...our parents are allies now, hm? This means we’re going to see each other a lot more.”

“Of course we are! We’re both prodigies, like my dad and your mom...we inherited their powers, so they’re obviously going to want to cultivate those.”

“You speak pretty fancy for a 12 year old.”

“Hey, so do you! Besides, we’re gifted, aren’t we?”

“Hm.” He sighed, swinging his legs and inhaling. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke up again.

“Do you actually like having these powers?”

“Oh? Well, yeah...I do...my father tells me stories of his days as a superhero. I want to help people, just like him.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d much rather live a normal life. Get a normal job, find someone to love, and have a normal marriage in a normal town.”

You pressed your lips together. “To each their own, I guess. Personally, I just want to get rid of all the evil in the world and make my father proud.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Evil…” He tapped his chin. “How does one even know the difference between good and evil?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I’m pretty sure it would be obvious in every situation.”

“I disagree. The distinction is blurry. No one knows for sure, and definitely not at first glance.” He sighed. “I would know.”

You brought your knees to your chest as you observed the city below. “Well, I guess you’re right…” you paused, your heart feeling a little heavy for some reason.

“Do you know?”

“The line between good and evil is thin, Y/n. I can’t say I know for sure. But do you know what will always help you remember?”

“What?”

“Your heart.” He said softly, glancing at you and offering you a small smile.

“Just do whatever feels right...trust yourself.”

***

You sighed and shut your laptop.

Home. You needed to go home, cause your heart ached too much. You definitely weren’t ready to go back to work yet. You hadn’t done anything productive today really, just drink coffee and reflect on your actions. Regretting....regretting it all.

It’d been wrong. The wrong choice, the wrong decision.

You knew that, now. There could have been another way. You shouldn’t have rushed into it like that...how could you?

You felt a surge of hatred towards yourself engulf you. It was all your fault, this pain you were feeling. You didn’t have anyone to direct this immense anger towards except yourself. You realized this little fact in horror, your heart clenching as you wished things could have been different.

Finishing off your coffee, you placed a few bills on the table as you left the café, heading home. Ready to burrow under the blankets again, wallow in your self pity and pain. There wasn’t much else to do except succumb to acceptance.

You made your way down the street, humming the saddest song you knew under your breath.

All of a sudden, you felt eyes burning into your back. Your own eyes widening slightly, you turned around quickly-

But there was no one there.

Weird. Sighing, you decided to go back to going over your plans for tonight in your mind.

Maybe watch a movie in hopes of triggering some sort of emotion in you...or maybe take a bath, light some candles and listen to depressing music- shit.

It happened again. Someone was following you- you could feel it. Uncomfortable, your breathing slowly started getting heavier as you tried to formulate some kind of plan in your head-

The next thing that happened was so sudden you barely registered it for a second.

Your hand was gripped, so tightly you felt it would bruise. Aggressive, shocking and swift as lightning- it took several seconds before you realized someone was trying to kidnap you.

“Stop! Leave me alone!”

Struggling against the person holding you, you caught a glimpse of the masked man and decided to scream, hoping to gain some attention from somebody, anybody. There was no way this was happening, not right now. Your day had already been bad enough, why was the universe so intent on rubbing salt in your wounds?!

The urge to fight had never been stronger. Yet there was no strength left in your body. You couldn’t fight back against this man- he was taller than you and somehow even matched you in strength. Unless you exposed your powers, there was no way you would get yourself out of this predicament. Somehow you managed to smack him with your arm weakly, making him hiss.

“Let me go, please!”

The coffee cup fell out of your hand, brown liquid spilling all over the ground as you were pulled into the dark alley so quickly, no one would notice. Your eyes darted about in panic, trying to work out a possible escape route when the masked man caged you in, his arms on either side of you.

A horrible sense of déjà vu enveloped you. It’s all you can do to not scream, trying to keep yourself calm so that you could escape.

It’s ok, breathe in...and concentrate.

The heat within you started to crackle, your palms beginning to burn up gradually.

Your eyes blinked as you decided to try and take a good look at the person holding you. Their head was covered with a black mask, their finger held over their mouth as they ran their eyes over your distressed expression.

Inhale. Exhale.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hissed, staying still and pretending to give up the struggle. “Unhand me now, or you’ll regret it, trust me-“

“Shh! Y/n, please…” He shushed you, his voice shaky.

You stopped in your tracks.

Huh?

That voice…

“I’ll explain... but first we need to get out of here, fuck-” He looked from side to side quickly, scanning his surroundings.

Shit. Why does that voice sound so familiar?

“Who- who are you?!” You managed to get out, the heat fading away as deep, panicked confusion took over you instead.

There was a small sigh as your assailant stood up a little straighter, groaning. And then, his fingers deftly pulled the mask off, clutching it in his hands tightly.

Golden locks spilled out, a handsome visage coming into view. Plump lips and beautiful eyes, looking oh so familiar.

No.

It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck was going on?

It’s him.

But it can’t be.

How? It’s not possible-

You’re definitely losing your mind.

The man’s breathing got quicker as he watched your expression morph from fear into one of pure, electric shock.

“I know you’re shocked, Y/n, but please listen to-“

Your chest started heaving, quickly rising and falling as your heart pounded against your rib cage.

This...could not be happening. What was this? Was this a nightmare? Yet another sick, twisted dream? He couldn’t be standing right in front of you...it was impossible. No. No no no no no no no.

It was all too overwhelming, and your brain and body seemed to agree on that. Your mind swam, your thoughts all over the place as you felt yourself sway on your feet.

“This- I-“ You stumbled over your words, tears slipping past quickly as you tried to form words to express what you felt.

Pain. Searing pain, taking over, spreading from head to toe.

Your breathing slowed as the world suddenly went black, Hyunjin’s shouts in the background fading away...until there was nothing but silence.

Pure, unadulterated silence.

#hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #skz smut #skz angst #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines

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everythingsinred · 3 years

Text

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 22)

Today we'll talk about the Time-Travel Arc. Obviously, the focus in that arc is Yuka's past, so there's going to be a lot of content that I'll skip unless it's relevant to NatsuMikan. What ship/character content there is I will dissect heavily. This is just a warning that I'll be skipping even five or so chapters at time, and it might seem jarring. Sorry about that.

In this part, we'll see how Natsume and Mikan are in many ways fated, but also how selfless Natsume can be, even in the face of losing the person he loves the most forever. He's going to keep his promise to protect her no matter what happens, even if it means never seeing her again.

Chapter One Hundred and Seven

For most of this arc, Natsume and the others are merely observers of Yuka’s past. They keep the talking and interaction to a minimum. There will be some instances where Natsume does enough for me to be able to analyze him, but they’re limited to start with.

For example, when Tsubasa, Tono, and Nobara are finally able to join them, there’s a dramatic reunion.

Nobody has seen Tsubasa in some time, and his whereabouts were a mystery. Obviously he shares a meaningful embrace with Mikan, but he also makes eye contact with Natsume, who looks shocked and relieved to see him again, even if he wasn’t the one to find him. Tsubasa knows Natsume had searched tirelessly for him, so he apologizes for making Natsume and the others worry. For a moment, it almost seems as though maybe they will share the next reunion hug. But to show that everything truly is back to normal, Natsume’s demeanor shifts and he gets annoyed with Tsubasa for hugging Mikan for so long.

Thinking really hard about Natsume's love languages: nicknames, being willing to die for you one second and then pretending like you're a nuisance the next, never giving compliments so they hit like a brick when he does, just hanging around you, and physical touch.

Natsume doesn’t know how to show feelings properly. With Ruka, he can be more openly affectionate and loving, and now with Mikan he has recently (today) had the opportunity to be more honest about his feelings, but Tsubasa is different. For a very long time, he has pretended like Tsubasa was nothing more than a nuisance. Suddenly being honest with everyone would be tiresome. Besides, Tsubasa already knows that Natsume cares, since he struggled so much to find him.

If you want to hug somebody, Natsume says (or doesn’t say… this conversation seems to all be telepathic), go hug Misaki. Not my girl. It hardly matters that Misaki isn’t around and that idea is impossible to make a reality. So Tsubasa naturally shoots back that he will simply pretend Mikan is Misaki.

Natsume is a good person, as we have seen over the course of the manga. When he loves someone, he loves hard and with his whole chest. He doesn’t half-ass his feelings. Despite his occasional bouts into saying something kind and heartfelt, he is and always has been naturally a bit more reserved. His personality is one to withhold a little, and to interact with people through teases. Even at his most free, before he came to the academy, he would tease and insult before saying something sweet. His love will always be something that needs to be interpreted, because he hates being open about why he’s doing the selfless things he is. If he is too open, then people will know and then they might feel guilty or like they owe him something. He doesn’t want that. Another thing is that he just likes having fun with his friends and loved ones this way, with occasional taunts and teases. That’s just the kind of person he is.

Chapter One Hundred and Nine

We get introduced to Igarashi Kaoru, an upperclassman of Yuka’s and a mysterious figure. Yuka first met her in a compromising position, when she’s about to sleep with a boy who we will later find out is Natsume’s father. She looks very much like a more grown up, female version of Natsume, and they seem to have a lot in common when it comes to their basic personality.

Just like Natsume, Kaoru can be serious-minded and doesn’t take any shit. She’s also like him in that she shows affection through teasing.

Mikan, in this chapter, finally asks who this Igarashi person is, since she looks so familiar. Natsume sarcastically says, “Heaven knows.” I’m sure he wasn’t actually expecting to see his mother in these flashbacks. She died when she was very young and as a result she didn’t have the opportunity to talk much about Yuka. It must be a surprise to see that she played such an active role in Mikan’s mother’s life.

Heaven knows. Get it. 'Cause she's dead. Hahahaha.

To everyone else, it’s obvious that the Igarashi person is related to Natsume. Ruka might even directly recognize her from the painting he saw at the Hyuuga house that one time, but either way they look and act so similarly that it’s apparent to everyone but Mikan.

In any case, Natsume is seeing more of his mother than he ever has before. He knows very little about her, since she died when he was so small. He couldn’t have many conversations with her and he spent more time mourning and missing her than actually being with her. Not only is Mikan getting the chance to know the mother that was a mystery to her for her whole life, but Natsume is too. This is also his chance to discover his mother and get to know her, and it’s just his luck that Yuka and Kaoru actually had a strong bond.

After Kaoru intimidates Yuka at the Hana Hime den, Mikan and the gang react to the shocking scene. Kaoru is a force to reckon with, and Noda comments on how this force and tough love helped Yuka find strength in herself and confidence in her own alice.

Ruka insists on knowing more about Kaoru, and since everyone but Mikan seems to get that Kaoru is Natsume’s mother, we can see that Ruka is asking for Natsume. Natsume won’t ask. This is about Yuka, after all, and about Mikan. Natsume will see what he will of his mother insofar as she’s in Yuka’s life. Beyond that, he won’t ask for anything. Ruka knows this, so he asks instead. He wants to know about Natsume too, and what better way than to learn about the woman who seems to have so much in common with him? Natsume is touched that Ruka would go out of his way to ask a question Natsume will not ask.

Noda answers that Kaoru and Yuka will become best friends after this, and Mikan is shocked. How could someone so scary be Yuka’s best friend? But Noda explains: Kaoru has a compassionate and caring heart behind her cold front, just like Natsume, and Yuka could rely on her, even in her darkest moments. Yuka wouldn’t have gained confidence in her alice the way she did without Kaoru by her side.

That is a really fucking long red string!

And then Noda says it so even Mikan can tell now, that Natsume’s mother has always been beloved and a truly amazing person.

Chapter One Hundred and Ten

Noda further explains about Kaoru. She used her alice to spy on the academy for the HSP, and then after she graduated she continued to use her alice to expose corruption. She was deeply committed to doing the right thing and holding the academy responsible, and this commitment was inspiring to Yuka as well, who went down the path she did for the same reasons.

Somehow, their children met at the academy by pure chance, and are standing side by side now.

Here they are, standing together and in love with each other. Fate is a silly thing.

They are fated somehow. The same red string that tied Kaoru to Yuka now ties Natsume to Mikan. In fact, it’s his love for her that motivated him to go against the academy, more than his own misfortune or the wellbeing of other students or even because it was the right thing to do. The strong bond between their mothers now lingers between them, but differently, and maybe even stronger.

Natsume and Mikan are holding hands, looking at each other. Were they always meant to meet? To be together? Nothing is said out loud, but it’s apparent that they’re both thinking about their moms’ past and what exactly it means for their future.

Perhaps there's a difference between fated to fall in love and fated to be together.

Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen

Lots of chapters are getting skipped because there simply isn’t enough content, if any, of Natsume, not to mention NatsuMikan specifically.

Izumi is about to die, and everyone knows it as they watch. Mikan has just returned from falling through the time window. She wanted to warn her father, but Tsubasa was able to bring her back without much changing. Natsume immediately goes to Mikan’s side when she is safely returned and doesn’t leave. He holds her hand because what she’s about to witness will be deeply traumatizing and he knows that she will suffer all the more because she wasn’t able to stop it.

Everything happens as it is meant to, perhaps. Izumi is dying from Rei’s alice, since his own nullification can’t fight against Rei when he uses so much power at once.

I don't have anything clever to say here. He just loves her so much.

Mikan is distraught, and although Natsume first just tries to keep her from approaching the window again, once he sees her crying, despairing face, he shifts. All he’s ever wanted to do was keep her happy, keep her from sinking into even a fraction of the darkness he’s had to live in. It hasn’t always been easy, because Mikan was also destined to suffer, just like him.

Everyone else is pleading with Noda to get them out of the hole, to stop the flashbacks, but Noda can’t. The window is too turbulent and any moves on his part might be dangerous.

Protecting her no matter what doesn't only mean protecting her from physical harm, it means protecting her from seeing horrible things that she shouldn't have to see, like the death of her father.

So Natsume holds Mikan close. It is the only thing he can do, to tell her not to look and to hug her. She doesn’t need to see anymore. Natsume doesn’t just want to protect her physical safety but her mental and emotional well-being as well. He fell in love with a girl who always looks on the bright side, who is so optimistic and kind that her cheerfulness bleeds into everyone else. From the start, he was concerned that if her life darkened, her own light would fade and become tarnished.

But Natsume doesn’t need her to always smile. He just wants to protect her the best he can. If she needs to cry, then she can cry on him. He will hold her and support her and comfort her. She can’t always be happy, but all he’s ever wanted was to be there for her when she can’t be. When she needs to crumble a little, he will be there for her, because she would do the same. She comforted him too, even if she never knew she was doing it. It's not about having her be happy all the time, just minimizing the trauma. He can't protect her from all of it. Everything else is more powerful than he is. He can't keep her ignorant and blissful forever. Nobody can. But if they can't escape the flashback, then he will keep her from looking.

He can do this openly now, so he does. He wants her to know that she can rely on him and seek comfort from him. No matter what happens, he will be there for her.

So as Izumi dies, Natsume and Mikan aren’t looking. She doesn’t need to see. He keeps his focus on her, to support her, because she has to process a deeply traumatic event in a very short time. After all, the flashbacks are still going. Time didn’t stop for Yuka, and it won’t stop for Mikan.

Natsume’s shirt is probably soaked with tears. Not that he cares.

He holds her, not just through Izumi’s death, but for most of the aftermath. He stays, holding her, for as long as she needs him to. He will only let go when she’s okay to stand again. He ends up holding her for a couple chapters, and even when they stop hugging he still holds her up. He'd hold her for hours if she needed it.

Conclusion

Natsume and Mikan learned that their mothers were besties and are now struck with the knowledge that by pure chance they managed to meet and become as close as they did. Natsume confessed to the whole DA class (including Mikan) that he loves her in the last part, and he's done nothing but prove it over and over again.

We'll wrap up what is left of NatsuMikan in the Time-Travel Arc next week on Monday. His low self-esteem, selflessness, and all-consuming love will all take center stage in the next few entries.

Thank you all so much for reading so far. I hope you have a lovely day!

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#gakuen alice #alice academy #hyuuga natsume #natsume hyuuga #natsumikan #sakura mikan #mikan sakura #my meta #ga #mine #ga meta #ga meta: nm #ga meta: manga #ga meta: manga nm #let's talk about natsumikan #let's talk about natsumikan: natsume #nm song of the day is.... synesthesia by mayonnaise #i found this song through an amv for them si #its really fitting especially around this time #ga is interesting when it comes to fate #fate and time and things being the way they should... that sort of thing #i personally am not a big believer of fate irl but with fiction i go ham with it #natsumikan are canonically fated. lots of soulmate stuff. i very much believe theyre soulmates #but theres also potential in those anti-soulmate aus that i love so much #because as much as i love that theyre fated and meant to be and all that i also love that especially mikan CHOSE to be with him #theres a lot of choice involved specifically with her love for him #and although natsumes doesnt really feel like choosing as much as just falling in head first and not being able or willing to stop #he also chose her in a lot of ways.#i guess it can be both. theyre fated on accident but they still choose each other. both can be good. anyway im conflicted. whatever

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miraculouscontent · 4 years

Text

*long, deep, exhausted sigh*

So, I just wanna talk real quick about this whole “Adrienette” business in the special. Humor me for a bit.

On a narrative level, the show has designed Marinette and Adrien as endgame. They’re the ones at the forefront, they’re the ones crushing on one side of each other, and they’re the superheroes who protect Paris.

And yet, here I am, having just watched the special, feeling no desire whatsoever for them to be together. This isn’t even about their chemistry for once, no, this about how the show cannot let Marinette make decisions involving their relationship in any way without screwing her over.

She tries to give Adrien gifts? Either someone steals it, a ladybug conveniently flies in to distract her from signing it, or the way she gives it almost leads to the world ending.

She tries to move on because Adrien has openly stated that he’s interested in someone else? Her friends stand up and start loudly arguing about it.

She tries to roleplay - as per Tikki’s advice - in front of an Adrien statue to work up a confession? Oops! The statue was actually Adrien and she just humiliated herself!

She tries to give him up again when Adrien reiterates that he loves another girl? Tikki gives some vague platitude about surprises and the future, which apparently convinces Marinette not to take down her Adrien photos.

She tries a scheme to talk to Adrien? She fails. She tries to just talk to him normally? She fails more.

And now, past three seasons and one special, I’m not even surprised anymore. Any expectation of things going well for Marinette can basically be thrown out the window unless it’s for the sake of shipping fuel and nothing else.

We’re here, post-”Miracle Queen,” and Marinette continues to be a mess around Adrien. She’s still stammering, still freaking out when he touches her, and still getting stuck in situations with him that force her and him together.

People wonder why Marinette still hasn’t changed? They wonder why she can’t move on? I know why.

It’s because she isn’t allowed to, not just because of the narrative/universe/whatever, but because of her surroundings.

I just wanna make it clear that, by “Miracle Queen,” Kagami and Adrien are as close to dating as they’ve ever been, with Kagami kissing Adrien just above the lips in the special, so they’re either actually dating or on such intimate terms that they might as well be.

Marinette has every reason to both want to and try to move on. At this point, her crush can only hurt her. What the special verbalizes as “denial,” I see as Marinette doing whatever she can to only be a friend to Adrien because the girl he loves is not her.

Heck, even if it’s truly a matter of her being in denial, that’s not what the special goes for, because Marinette tells Alya outright, near the beginning, that she needs help seeing Adrien as “just a friend.” Alya vents to Nino about how she wants Marinette to just “be honest with her feelings,” but Marinette is and practically told Alya as much.

Marinette relates dancing with Adrien as “friendly,” along with anything else Alya tries to tease her about. Gee, I wonder why? Maybe it’s because she’s been through it before and has seen signs where there apparently weren’t any. Adrien asked her to dance in “Despair Bear” (at Chloe’s party, which the special incorrectly calls Chloe’s birthday party) but a few episodes pass and Adrien is suddenly asking her for romantic advice to get him with another girl.

Marinette freaks out because every time she tries to be normal, someone mocks her, or Adrien makes a motion to get way too close, and at this point, she has no idea when the next “scheme” will be to force her together with him. Marinette’s anxiety and stuttering are where they are because of how much she’s been through; all the embarrassment and failure that led to no good results, which means that any success at all with Adrien gives her that emotional high (thinly disguised as “love”) for him. I don’t have to wonder why she acts the way she does because I’m seeing it.

When she tries even harder to get to Adrien in Season 3, it’s specifically because of how bad she failed before. It’s, “well, none of these other crazy things I’ve done have worked, so that must mean I have to try even harder!”

Because being in Adrien’s class and being called a “friend” by him is getting her nowhere. He doesn’t spend time with her, he doesn’t know her (at least not enough to know that startling her with a prank won’t help her like him more), and the only forces putting them together are outside ones.

Marinette wants to be friends with Adrien here - she wouldn’t be insisting that everything was friendly between them if she didn’t - but basically no one will let her. Marinette even gave a list of Adrien-related things that she stopped doing nowadays, and what happens?

Alix tries to nail her over something else that she still does, because apparently progress doesn’t matter, and the “joke” that the special keeps trying to hammer home is that Marinette is a wreck who’s still very much into Adrien even though she's trying not to be.

Then, there’s Alya, and I have not been this annoyed with her in a LONG time.

The worst thing to do to someone trying to get over something is to keep bringing it up to them, and Alya was relentless in this special. From start to finish, Alya was doing whatever she could to remind Marinette that her crush is still very much there and it’s agony. Alya is constantly groaning and making faces whenever Marinette denies that there’s anything special about what she did with Adrien, to the point where she pulls a “The Puppeteer 2″ and tries to force them together herself.

And the mocking does not end. I counted at least three instances of Alya using “friend” sarcastically to describe how Marinette felt towards Adrien, and that’s only counting the ones where she used actual airquotes.

At one point during the beginning, Marinette goes to Alya to talk about how she can’t sit next to Adrien. Alya proceeds to say that “there’s still time to get off the plane” and goes on about how “romantic” New York will be. Marinette freaks out at the mental images that enter her head and screams that she “has to get out of here” (not “I need to be moved,” but a clear indication of get me off this plane I DO NOT want this) but when Ms. Mendeleiev asks what’s wrong, Alya doesn’t ask for Marinette to be taken off the plane (which hasn’t taken off yet) and just asks her to be moved elsewhere.

It’s outright uncomfortable how much Alya keeps pressing the issue of Marinette feeling “more than friendly” feelings to Adrien. When Adrien is leaving New York to go back with his father, Alya yells at Marinette and makes it about Marinette’s crush, as if Marinette can’t want Adrien to stay unless she has a crush on him.

The special makes Marinette’s situation all about “do you have a crush on him or not” and it’s awful. It hammers away at Marinette, repeatedly, then continues the typical Treatment of Marinette “humor” by having her walk by all the couples (DJWifi, Myvan, and Julerose) in the beginning of the special while she’s on her way to the bathroom of the plane, then jostles the plane at just the right time for her to be soaked and get toilet paper in her hair.

This special never should have been about Marinette trying to confess to Adrien (and, y’know, forcing her too). That’s not important here. What was important to teach Marinette was, “You have a crush, and that’s okay even if he likes someone else as long as you’re working on it and know what you want to do about it.”

Marinette’s agency is completely stripped away for this entire special because everything is a matter of convenience or by force of the plot. Even by the matter of Chat Noir not being in Paris, it’s technically Marinette’s fault because she tried to convince Adrien’s dad to let Adrien go (the scene of her deciding to do this, by the way, also comes off as if she’s not allowed to want this for him and be just his friend). The show doesn’t acknowledge it because it can’t, but the implications are there.

When Marinette suffers, it’s most likely because of Adrien, whether it’s his fault or just the stars aligning to form a middle finger at her. No matter what she tries to do, fate will work against her.

But here’s the special, insisting that they’re “made for each other,” pointing it out more than once, verbally, by one of the characters.

Here’s the tea, honey: if Marinette and Adrien were really made for each other, then I wouldn’t have to be told that they are.

The more that I’m told, the less I actually believe it, and this special comes nowhere close to making me believe it.

Instead of showing me that they should be together, all this special does is find any contrived situation it can to force them to interact, without realizing that all it’s doing is proving that they shouldn’t be together specifically because the interaction needs to be forced. If Adrienette was a ship I wanted to consider worthy of being endgame, the special wouldn’t need to shove them together needlessly.

It wouldn’t need to have their airplane seats happen to be right next to each other.

It wouldn’t need them to happen to wake up before everyone else to watch the clouds.

It wouldn’t need the two sets of automatic doors to stop working to trap them in the area in-between, twice.

It wouldn’t need them to happen to stumble into the same room together so someone can comment on how they’re, again, “made for each other.”

It wouldn’t need the magic hot dog they eat to be the one that happens to send them up in the air so they can dance together.

And it especially wouldn’t need the contrived moments of Marinette accidentally forcing her seat back so Adrien falls on top of her, or the plane jostling at just the right time to force her against him, or her and Adrien touching hands (ala “Gamer”) before she looks away in embarrassment.

Heck, I don’t even like Adrien, but with how his and Kagami’s relationship seems to be going, I’m disgusted for him too when Nino is going full-force on trying to get Adrien to notice Marinette. Adrien has no idea that any of this is going on and is just being strung along with all of it, whereas Marinette is stuck along for the ride whether she likes it or not.

People can have whatever opinion of Lukanette they want, but one person who didn’t make things worse for her was Luka himself. He shows up briefly in the opening, giving her a ride on his bike to catch up with the bus that’s taking the class to the airport. When Marinette worries that they won’t make it, Luka insists that they will because he knows how important the trip is for her. Marinette asks if he’s referring to Adrien and nervously tries to insists that she and Adrien are just friends and that’s all she sees Adrien as.

But Luka doesn’t mock her, nor laugh at her for it, because he doesn’t have to and he gets it. Unlike people who constantly try to force Marinette’s hand, Luka lets her figure things out on her own.

And when they finally come to a stop next to the bus, he doesn’t put any emphasis on Adrien. All he tells Marinette is that the importance of the trip is for her to get some clarity.

That is the closest thing to what I wanted (and just emphasizes how much I adore Luka and how refreshing his interactions with Marinette are), but it’s the farthest thing from what she actually gets.

How am I supposed to believe that Marinette and Adrien have a genuine relationship deserving of endgame when her feelings are constantly being forced in one direction? How am I supposed to believe anything about them when it’s not natural? How am I supposed to believe that this is the couple that’s “made for each other” when the show is so desperate to make me believe it that they’ll say it outright?

Because, obviously, I don’t believe any of that, and all this special has done is make my disdain for the love square even stronger.

That’s a failing grade if I’ve ever seen one. What a waste.

#category: salt #special: Miraculous New York #((It's like some horrid amalgamation of ''Mayura'' ''Heart Hunter'' ''Startrain'' and ''Gamer''))#((and I didn't even get into the other needlessly-cruel things they did to Marinette for the sake of a laugh.))#((Ugh.))#((I'm just gonna go daydream about if Marinette had been able to be let off the plane and spent her time with Luka and Kagami.))

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ohnobjyx · 4 years

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I've seen so many sol0 fans or just people that have watched cql and cares for the cast, talking about how they feel that bjyx is something one sided and unrequited. some comments about how xz (in the later fan meetings) is kinda just patiently indulging yb but clearly was not v happy about it. Sometimes I do think xz is more reserved and seems to try to "tame" yb to be more discreet about their, whatever it is, thing but i don't particularly think he is cold? What do you think?

I know it may sound odd but is there some analysis about Xiao feelings towards Yibo? I mean this guy is head over heels for him, no doubt about that but I don’t really feel the same from Xiao? I mean I could be wrong since I’m new there and didn’t read a lot of analysis so if you have some can you link them please? Thank you! And I don’t ask this in a « wrong » way like I genuinely feel like there’s something but I don’t see the same feelings towards each other. Again, I could be wrong!

Hi, anons. These asks has been sitting for the longest time in my inbox, so I decided to tackle them today (still writing two days later, I’ve desisted on creating a more organized post and I’m just dumping my thoughts here this time).

(It’s also that I’m frustrated about this, because these are two of the most polite ones, but I’ve also received others less well worded ones, that basically imply that there’s nothing from gg).

For the anon asking for some analysis, I’ll leave a link here to a post that basically sums up my own thoughts.

Disclaimer: as always, don’t take bjyx seriously. Pure speculation here.

Long post.

Before I start, I want to say that I shouldn’t be the one to convince you to anything. It’s never my intention to impart the “universal truth” or to be patronising. If any of you really feels that there’s nothing from gg, no matter what I say, you won’t be convinced by my post alone. And it’s alright to agree to disagree. Just keep it in mind.

I feel that what anons describe it’s something that often happens to new bxg. Dd’s so obvious, so painfully obvious that in comparison, gg is much more “discreet” (well, we had to learn to read Lan Wangji’s expressions, didn’t we? The same happens with gg’s gestures). I don’t agree with the idea of dismissing someone’s love just because they aren’t as obvious and as telling as their partner at first glance (gg’s songs and drawings aren’t as straightforward, but they are there for those who care to listen and see).

From my pov, I think it’s very very probable that they are together. So, that works both ways for me. I don’t think dd’s love unrequited. They take care of each other in ways that speak of a high level of trust, intimacy and chemistry (yes, I initially wrote that post for these asks). I’ve talked about subtle ways to display your love, because when you love someone it’s difficult to hide it, and gg has a hard time trying to hide for the cameras.

(I’m still thinking of Happy Camp, when dd hurt his neck with the necklace... gg’s reaction wasn’t controlled in the slightest, and the combination of worry and anger would be a interesting combo if gg indeed wasn’t anything to dd or if he hadn’t gifted him the necklace).

Gg often has a hard time controlling his reactions when dd is involved. He’s much more natural, a lot closer to how he really is instead of his very polite and soft public persona. He get a glimpse of him in the bts (I suppose they never expected CQL to be so popular, and didn’t thought that the bts would be so watched a year afterwards), and comparing how he is in the bts with dd to how he usually is in other interviews and events with other people is a very interesting exercise.

It’s true that gg in the interviews seemed to try to hold back dd, to the point that they both lied sometimes in the interviews... the effect they caused was contrary to what they wanted. Definitely. Because they tended to forget what they had lied about, and the “plot” had holes everywhere. Like gg reacting surprised to the possibility of dd starting a fashion brand. Twice. In the same day. Or the eggplant/carrots thing. Or the “I didn��t know you slept with the lights on, but I’m aware of your sleeping pattern” thing. Please note that these three plot holes were caused by gg (in the second case, I’m refering to carrots ofc).

About what the first anon says of “how xz (in the later fan meetings) is kinda just patiently indulging yb but clearly was not v happy about it”. It’s one thing that by then they’d have noticed that their cp had attracted a whole lot more attention that they had ever expected it to and a whole another thing to “indulge” someone (as if only dd wanted it and gg had nothing to say about it) and “not be very happy about it”. Gg might have tried, but even he couldn’t completely erase all of the little moments directed at dd (and you have to take into account that gg was actually sick in the last fan meeting in Nanjing, that’s bound to affect his mood too).

(There’s no one else when they look at each other. No wonder Wen Ning achieved such a third wheel look when they were filming the boat scene, I suppose it’s taken from real life).

How gg looks at dd and only smirks when dd looks up... well, gg still makes his best effort at being discreet...

And dd in this moment... well, what can one do when a man like gg looks at you like that? (dd.exe has stopped working. Please restart).

Source of the gifs: 仙娱

Last but not least, I’d like to talk a little about W/ibo Night, the main source of many people’s doubts. I’ve seen many analysis, from “poor puppy dd following gg around” (that’s... bs) to some better analysis that deserve to be taken into account.

W/ibo Night is an event organized by a state controlled social media platform. It’s one of the most observed events of the years, with potential future employers and coworkers, apart from the government, so it’s not just them, but everyone is very serious and controlled in their actions.

They obviously had agreed beforehand on how to behave in this one. While dd is very serious, he doesn’t seem angry or sad that gg isn’t looking his way. However, they both can’t help but look in each other’s direction (gg’s more discreet, but pay attention and you’ll see him side glancing at dd at least three times on stage) and the way dd turns just so he can have a look at gg is... 🤦

They tried so hard that it ended up getting the effect they wanted to avoid: when everybody else was greeting each other (friendly hadshakes, patting their backs, etc.) these two just stood there, a little awkwardly. It became obvious to most people that they were acting as if they were strangers.

I think (speculation here) that while they had agreed to act as if they didn’t know each other, gg was... off that night. His eyes were very bright (as if teary, so not in a good way) and his smiles were tense, so I’d say in a bad mood or maybe he was feeling under the weather. I think dd was worried, so that’s why he kept glancing at him (I’ve read about the rumours of why gg was like that, but I tend to dismiss them if there’s no proof).

For someone as polite as gg, to walk so obviously in front of dd when they were getting on stage (c-culture here: the one who walks in front has more seniority/authority, so gg always lets the other people walk in front of him as a sign of politeness and respect), speaks of a familiarity that exceeds that of coworkers. Dd’s actions need no more words: waiting for gg and letting him walk in front comes naturally to him.

Choosing fans (though at first, dd just looks at gg choose his). I don’t know if you remember, but gg chose “I can do it” and dd chose “I have it difficult” (as a way of saying “I can’t”). I think it was entirely a coincidence, because dd was looking at his gg choosing his fan, the one he had wanted at first was taken by another person, so he chose this one as “I couldn’t take the fan I wanted” and “it’s difficult for me to choose”.

However, look at the happy and surprised smile from gg when he notices that his fan and dd’s make a pair (similar to “yes” and “no”, gg had filmed an ad for the event in which he linked this two exact phrases as opposites). A sad spoiler: this is the only time he truly, spontaneously smiles at the event (and notice how dd’s face inmediately mirrors gg’s and how he tries to rein it in a second later).

I couldn’t find a video, but just before leaving the stage, dd looks at gg again and shakes his fan. Without a single word, gg understands that dd is asking from where to leave the stage, and makes the slightest movement with his fan to point the way. I assure you, this level of 默契 (mo qi) is difficult to find even in established long time relationships.

Once they are seated, gg leaves for a second and tells dd “I’m leaving” and dd answers “okay”. There’d be no need for this interaction unless they’re still friends/couple.

This one broke my heart a little: dd had been sitting on a plastic bottle the whole time. Usually gg clears his seat when dd comes (Nanjing fan meeting, Tencent awards night), probably because he has noticed that dd doesn’t care that he’s sitting on things. Dd left earlier the event because of his schedule, and once gg came back from getting his w/ibo king award, he sits on dd’s seat. And notices the water bottle under him. Even his poker face can’t hide the sad fondness “aiyo this boy...”

Some say he sat in the seat next to dd’s, but there’s a video I can’t seem to find (the despair is real) of gg sitting on the water bottle, so it’s indeed dd’s seat.

Also, you may try to think this from your own perspective: when and why would you sit in another person’s seat in an event as important as this one? If I try to answer this from my pov, I’d say that first I’d need to know that that person wouldn’t mind me sitting there and/or knowing that this person isn’t going to come back to the event. In both cases, it requires communication and trust between these two people. Gg had to know that dd was leaving first (and why would dd tell gg if not because they chat about their work schedules?) and that dd wouldn’t mind once the fancams made it to social media. This is what I think, at least.

Okay, so here ends my post. I just exposed some of my thoughts on why I think yizhan is NOT one sided or unrequited. But of course, you’re allowed to disagree with me, anons, since we are all in the speculation ground here. Nonetheless, note that this is a yizhan/bjyx blog, which implies (at least for me) that there are feelings from both sides, so I may not interact further with one-sided yizhan/bjyx asks.

(BTW, I found a very complete post of moments where yizhan isn’t one sided here, so I decided not to elaborate on those moments in this post).

#yizhan #bjyx #not one sided #but I think people need to see that for themselves #I don't want to be a preacher here #so this is still my opinion

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kim-ruzek · 3 years

Text

All The Ways A Heart Can Break

Summary: He remembers all that, and all the moments like that. And that’s why he knows that if he has the chance to make her smile, make her day he’ll always take it, even if it ends like this, even if it ends with her on a date with Roman and him alone, in his apartment, getting drunk, with only his self-hatred and pity to keep him company.

Adam turns up at the theatre, only to see Kim walk in with Roman.

Fix-it for 3x18/19. Very angsty, but it does have a happy ending. Technically has some Roman bashing in!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word Count: 16.3k words. (Only the first 2k is here, you'll have to read the rest on AO3, which will be linked both here and at the bottom of this post, due to length!)

Read on AO3

Notes: I hope y'all enjoy!!! This has been a labour of love and I'm so excited to finally share. A special thank you to @justanoffalygirl bc without their reactions to the snippets I sent, I might've given up!

Adam stares at himself in the mirror, the self-doubt and uncertainty he’s feeling staring back at him. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, so many reasons why he should just get out of these clothes, why he shouldn’t go out, why he should just stay at home and drink his weight in beer.

The probability of this going bad than good is high, that the chance that he’ll be home again within in the hour, his heart torn afresh again, is too much of a possibility that he should just cut the going out part, and just skip to the self-hatred part of the evening.

If he had any sanity, any logic or rationality, he’d listen to that voice that quotes him the statistics, that tells him it gets harder and harder to hear her rejections, and it’s not worth it. But Adam’s team doesn’t affectionately call him a bit of a dumbass for no reason.

It’s not like this is a hasty decision. It’s been days of confusion, of contemplation, of questioning and uncertainty. Days of weighing up the pros and cons, and despite the cons outweighing the pros, this is the conclusion he came to. That he might be getting rejected again, that he may have a rough evening ahead of him, but no matter how high those chances are, the small chance that it’ll go well, that he’ll make Kim smile, make her happy, is worth all the pain he’s chancing.

Adam had been deep in concentration, so focused on the paperwork he was filling out, that when his phone had buzzed with the reminder which set off these chain of events, he had initially thought it was a text, not immediately recognising the difference in tone.

Assuming it had been some random text from his sister, or father, or even Kev seeing if he wants to escape from the monotony of paperwork and make a quick trip to the vending machine, he had picked up his phone, looking at it casually.

He wishes, even now days later, that he had realised it wasn’t a text, that it was a reminder. That he had been prepared in some way for the punch to the gut the reminder caused, the way it didn’t just remind him to make sure his suit was ready, but that it reminded him how much his life has changed since the day he made it, reminded him how much he’s lost since.

Reminded him that his biggest concern isn’t making sure that he doesn’t prove Kim right, that he has to set a reminder so that Kim isn’t right in her statement that he’ll forget to make sure his suit is ready.

Reminded him that in the few months since he made that reminder, he’s lost everything, lost his happiness, lost the future he thought he was going to have, lost his girl.

Reminded him of how he made the reminder with a smug grin, sitting on his bed, listening to Kim list all the examples of times he forgot to prep his clothing from the bathroom. Reminded him of how he pictured this going, of him getting his suit ready, of her realising he had, of the smug playful way he was going to wrap her up in his arms, trailing her skin with barely-there touches in the way that he knows gets her all bothered and needy for him, of how he was going to growl against her how she owes him an apology, of murmuring into her ear, telling her exactly how she could apologize to him.

Reminded him that he had made it when everything was okay, when he had Kim, when he was happy, when his heart was fine, unbroken, full of love.

When Adam didn’t have to look back on his memories of Kim and wonder if she was actually happy, if she was actually smiling because she wanted to, because she was happy, content, or if it fake, that she was miserable and he just didn’t notice.

When he didn’t have to wonder, question, analyse, dissect all his memories of her, of all their interactions, didn’t have to wonder if their playful banter was just that, if their little harmless and half-playful, affectionate arguments were really so little or harmless or if it was just another missed sign. Was she happy, in despair of him but happy, or was his habits, his casual forgetfulness really grating on her that much?

When all his memories of her wasn’t tainted with these questions, when he could look back at them, and just get lost in the happiness, of the love, because they were happy memories with the love of his life. When he didn’t have to wonder if they were really happy memories, or was it just her being miserable with him and him being an oblivious dick?

Adam had put down his phone after reading the words, turning back to his paperwork, trying to focus on the words and not on the agony twisting in his heart. All while trying to keep an impassive expression, maintaining that everything is okay, that he doesn’t once again feel like the walls are too close and he can’t breathe, not wanting his unit to realise something is wrong.

He had dismissed the notification, making it disappear from his phone screen, never to appear again, but the damage was done; there was no dismissing it from his mind.

From that point to now, Adam’s been in hell, in a constant state of heartbreak, of confusion, of contemplation. It should’ve been just as easy as dismissing it from this phone, the reminder just another relic from his life before Kim left him. It was just something he set before and had forgotten about, there was no reason for it to affect him.

Maybe it’d cause him to drink a little more at night, causes his self-hatred increase, causes his mind be occupied by thoughts of just how much he fucked everything up. And it did, but it also changed things. It made him wonder what he should do about it, made him remember that Kim will have two tickets she ordered when they were together, and made him wonder if he should approach her about it, ask about it.

Made him wonder if he should offer to pay her back, wonder if he should maybe make sure he’s fine if she wants to take someone else, like Nicole.

Made him wonder if he should tell her he’ll still go with her, if she wants. Adam knows her, knows how she’ll be in turmoil over these tickets as well, knowing how she hates wasting stuff, but also knowing how she hates going to things alone.

He had mulled over this for days. Kim had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want him to talk to her, didn’t want him to discuss anything about them, about the engagement, about the life they were going to share together, and that should’ve made it easy for him. That he should’ve been able to stop thinking about that damn play, about the reminder, about her, but he couldn’t. His thoughts constantly plagued by the question, that if he should ask her how they should proceed, inform her that he’s still an option if she’ll have him.

Adam had planned out what he would say to her, that he’d just casually bring it up when he sees her, or even just shoot her a casual text—ignoring how if his heart was beating even a fourth as it was when he was planning this he could hardly call it casual—saying that they were friends first, so if she needs company, he’s there. As a friend.

Although if Adam is honest with himself, and the way thoughts of her have consumed so many of his thoughts since they met, Kim and him have never just been friends. It’s not something he likes to reflect on, unless he’s got her in his arms because that reminds him that he may feel like a bit of dick for it but she’s worth it, but they’ve always had this spark, this connection between them. It’s never not been a casual, at-ease state for him to just flirt with her, to watch her blush, to see her flirt back, and that’s not friendship.

And yet again, if he’s honest with himself, it wasn’t just heartbreak, confusion and contemplation that he’s been feeling these past few days. It’s hope. He shouldn’t, he should chase away, to squash all that hope with the memory of her leaving him, that hope and Kim shouldn’t go hand in hand, not anymore, but despite all that, he hoped.

Hope, because this could be the thing he’s been waiting for, the doorway in, the step to getting her to talk to him, to stand near him for more than thirty seconds, for her to look him in the eyes. Hope that maybe, just maybe, if he offered to go with her, it’ll be the start of them again, that he could get her back.

In the end, he didn’t approach her, didn’t text her with that offer, just too caught up in his doubt and self-hatred. Caught up in the memory of her leaving him, caught up in the uncertainty he has towards all their happy moments. Caught up in wondering that if he didn’t notice just how miserable she was with him, what if she agreed to let him accompany her out of politeness, and he doesn’t notice that as well.

Up until a month ago, Adam had prided himself of knowing everything about her, of reading her so effortlessly, but he didn’t see her leaving him, didn’t see her being fine with the breakup, and now he’s not sure of anything.

For all he knows, he could be wrong. Kim might not be in turmoil over these tickets, she may be assured and certain with what she wants to do with them, if she wants to go, if she wants to take anyone with her. He’s been so wrong about everything else, why not this?

There’s a part of him that wishes that would be that. But Adam doesn’t have it in him for to let it go, he can’t, no when Kim’s concerned. He may not have asked her, might of chickened out, weighed down by the cons until it was too late, but he can’t not do something.

So here he is, dressed in his suit—tie and all, despite how much he hates it—preparing to potential gets rejected. He hadn’t originally planned to wear the tie, having planned to win Kim over with the undone buttons, but they’re not together, he can’t just flirt and seduce his way out if things, and he needs to show that he’s just trying to be a friend, that he’s serious and just doing something nice, not playing an angle.

Adam knows this is a bad plan. To not even ask her, or bring it up first, to just turn up outside. To see if she’s decided to go, if she’s taking her sister or even someone like Lindsay—they may not be together anymore, but he still notices things, like the two of them bonding.

But the thought of her turning up alone, feeling shy and out of place because of it, and knowing that he could make her night, make her happy, just by showing up is the only thing he needs for the resolve to stick to this plan, to ignore all the reasons why he shouldn’t go.

CONTINUE ON AO3

#burzek #kim burgess x adam ruzek #kim burgess #adam ruzek #chicago pd #burzek fic #chicago pd fanfiction #Ree writes #ree's.writing

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years

Text

Time to give this series more angst, and to make Henry even more of a dick; this is Charles's story now.

If you haven't read the previous parts, they are right here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 and revision

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Really quick recap: With Charles captured, Henry tries to persuade Charles into gibing up the sapphire. Upon resistance, however, Charles is left alone, and in a race against time.

LET'S JUST DIVE BACK IN!!!

We start on Earth as a child, man, and woman are outside and setting up a picnic near some woods.

TV perspective, we see the child hold the basket as his parents set up the blanket, one of them holding a cooler for drinks and condiments, the two talking, but we can't exactly hear what they're saying.

The man talks about drills and finally having a day off, to which the woman agrees, and then she sighs that it's good they have a day to themselves and their son.

Speaking of, the woman tells him to join them, now that the blanket's set up and cooler's open.

He does and they begin.

TV perspective again, we see from the child's perspective that these two adults are smiling and hear their words more clearly, especially when the woman places a hand on her son's head.

"What do you think, baby? Wanna help me throw Daddy in the water?"

"Try it. I'll pull you both in with me." The man turns to the boy, a smile on his face. "Don't give her ideas, Hawk, she's pure evil."

"How dare you," the woman laughs back. "He's my son, too, you a-"

"Hey. Language, he's just a kid."

"Right, and a future pilot like his parents."

We cut to see the child grown up, said child being Charles as he looks between his parents, confused and concerned.

"Mom? Dad?"

As they smile at him, an explosion goes off behind them and fire raises, coming closer by the second.

They don't notice, but it's a good thing Charles does.

"Mom! Dad! BEHIND YOU!" Charles shouts as he reaches out to them.

Too late, because the fire engulfs them both, but simply blows past Charles like wind or fog.

With the fire gone, smoke rises, but shows Calvin and Konrad, the two smiling with Charles in between them.

"Thanks for taking the fall for us," Calvin says. "Really we don't know what we'd do without you."

Charles looks between them and gives a confused look to them both. "What!?"

"Yeah," Konrad replies. "Better you take the fall than us. Who knows who would've lost it, if it were us instead of you."

"Captain Canterbury, for one," Calvin states.

"And the General."

"And Grit. She would've been sooo mad."

"And Rupert. Don't forget him."

Charles covers his ears and crouches down, saying to himself, "You're dreaming. This is just a dream. You've just gotta wake up."

"They're not wrong," Charles hears Rupert say, his friend appearing through the smoke-fog and standing over him. "If it had been them instead of you, I'd make you wish the General just put you in an orphanage instead of letting you join the government."

"Come on," Charles murmurs as he lightly slaps himself. "Come on, wake up already!"

Rupert reaches down and grabs Charles, pulling him up until they're practically breathing the same air.

The thing is, though, Charles isn't looking at Rupert, per se. He sees Galeforce instead, and what the General says to him:

"If it had been you instead of them, none of this would've happened."

"STOP!" Charles shouts as he pushes Galeforce away from him and runs. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"

Charles suddenly stops in his tracks when he sees Henry, who's standing in front of the military base as it burns.

"Don't have anywhere else to go." Henry holds out his hand, smirking. "Might as well come with. I really have missed you."

Charles tries to run again, but Henry grabs him and holds onto him as the fire grows and bursts behind them.

"WAKE UP!"

We cut to Charles as he's dropped to the floor, the cuffs still on and Charles waking up, sweaty, shaking, and hyperventilating. Don't worry, he didn't land on his wounds.

He looks around, feeling worse when he remembers where he is, who he spoke to, and what they were talking about.

Charles groans and sits back against the wall, a little tired of just about all of this.

He does notice he's free and runs toward the panel to open the door, but that hope dies when he sees the cuffs are still on his hands. He tries getting the panel to activate using both his nose and togue before giving up and kicking and beating at the door.

"No. No. No. No! No! NO!"

Charles sits against the wall and closes his eyes tightly, trying not to fully break down.

It doesn't help that the withdrawal of medicine has started and the hum of the orbital station is getting a little too loud, and Henry comes in with some breakfast in a tray; he's not sending in anyone else because he doesn't want Charles attacking them.

Charles does notice Henry, but ignores him, because he's not in the mood for dealing with him.

Henry sits across from him and sets the tray down. "I would've waited until you woke up on your own, but you looked like you REALLY needed some help."

Charles only glares at him.

Henry sighs at this and moves closer to Charles, bringing the tray with him before taking a piece of food on a fork and holding it in front of Charles, who cringes away from it; he has nothing against scrambled eggs, but he does when Henry serves them.

Henry's amused look drops instantly. "None of it is poisoned in any way, if that's what you're thinking. Now open up. You need to eat."

Henry goes to feed Charles again, but the pilot presses himself against the wall as much as he can.

Henry, done with this, grabs Charles by the jaw and makes him eat some breakfast; it's pancakes, for anyone curious.

Charles tries kicking him away, which works, but Henry claps a hand onver his mouth before Charles can spit out his food.

The two glare at each other, but Charles also holds up his hand, which still have the cuffs on them.

"Look. You're going to be here for a while. I don't know when you ate last, so eat. And I don't trust you yet, so I'll feed you."

Charles, more pissed than ever, remains resolute, wanting very much to spit out that piece of pancake in his mouth.

Henry has none of that and uses his other hand to plug Charles's nose.

It's incentive for Charles to eat his food and let Henry feed him.

After a while, when the plate's empty, Henry speaks back up.

"You know, this is the quietest I've ever seen you, since we met."

Charles inhales sharply and trembles a little bit, trying to talk.

Henry leans forward and turns his ear toward him.

Charles struggles, but eventually forces out, "Medicine."

Henry has a confused look on his face before realizing what Charles means, standing up, and taking the pill bottle out of his inside coat pocket. "This medicine?" He asks, being a smug prick.

Charles races toward Henry, who steps back and watches Charles fall back down.

TV/Camera perspective, we see that Charles's eyes keep darting to the seams/bonds in the metal floor, to some scuff marks from shoes, to the details on the cuffs, like the seams, bolts, and even the metal around his wrists. We also hear the hum of the orbital station get lower, especially when Henry walks toward him and kneels down in front of him, reaching his hand to him.

Out of the perspective Henry lifts Charles's chin up, so they can see each other better.

"Sorry, Charles. As much as I like our conversations, I think I like you better like this." Henry holds up the pills again and leans closer to Charles. "Unless you know where the sapphire is."

Charles only stares at the medicine and reaches for it, forgetting the cuffs, and Henry holds them further away.

"Please," Charles says, just above a whisper.

Henry only holds the bottle close again and shakes it. "Where can we find it, Charles? Just tell me, and I'll let you take as many as you want."

Charles can only stare between the bottle and Henry, who's patiently waiting for an answer.

"Please."

Henry sighs, shakes his head, and stands back up, Charles watching in absolute despair.

"I'll leave you alone for a little while to rethink your answer."

Charles watches Henry, trying to protest as he leaves.

Tv/Camera perspective, we follow Henry leave Charles, who yells for him even as the door shuts.

Henry walks until he's in the Communications area, where he meets Burt.

"Oh, hey, Chief."

'Hello, Burt,' Henry signs. 'Is the message ready?'

Burt nods. "Yeah. Got the message and video ready. Just, uh, waiting on your call."

Henry examines the file, and the video feed that's attached, and nods as he smiles. 'Send it.'

CUT TO EARTH IN THE MILITARY BASE!

Galeforce is training via target practice and trying not to think about Charles being in danger, even though his parent instincts are going absolutely crazy.

That's when new character to this whole thing Victoria Grit comes in and reports to Galeforce that they just recieved a message from the Toppat Clan.

Galeforce follows her and meets up with Rupert, the twins, and Canterbury as they open the file.

It's a video that shows Charles in his cell as he sleeps, hanging by his wrists.

Galeforce is triggered instantly, while everyone else is highly disturbed.

They watch as Charles has his nightmare, as he's given breakfast by Henry, and has his medicine taken away from him, even when Henry leaves.

Galeforce is silent and trembling with pure rage as Rupert growls, "That bastard," and Canterbury mutters, "Junky," under his breath.

"Charles is attention deficited," Victoria explains. "Without those pills, he's about as functional as a plastic compass."

"Why do it, though?" Konrad asks. "Why take the pills, if Charles needs them that much?"

"Read what His Majesty added," Calvin replies as he points to the message attached.

'GIVE IT BACK'

Galeforce barely registers what the soldiers elaborate on a plan, instead watching Charles on the floor of his cell, trying to cover his ears and remain calm.

"Hang in there, Charlie. We'll get you out of there."

#henry stickmin #henry stickmim collection #completing the mission au #charles calvin #one sided stickvin #stickvin #medication withdrawl tw #forced medication withdrawl tw #torture tw

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