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missathlete31 · 1 year

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Pulled Strings

Summary: Jake Seresin is feeling stressed so he gets out his violin and begins to play. The only problem? He's not alone in the barracks today and some of his teammates are shocked to learn of his hidden talent.

This story came from the knowledge that Glen Powell was trained on the violin. Is it filled with unnecessary angst? Yes. Does it paint Hangman in a good light because it's the only way I know how to write him? Also Yes. Sorry about that.

Jake Seresin was used to stress, you didn't become one of the Navy's Top Aviators without being accustomed to it, but this mission was starting to become a bit much for even him. First it was the long suffering rivalry with Rooster. Jake didn't particularly hate Bradshaw, he just never understood him, or his proclivity to over-thinking. Sure, Hangman tended to stray a little far over the line of cocky, but he had faith in his abilities like every pilot attempting the skills they did on a daily basis should. Rooster's naivety was annoying for its sheer unsoundness. He was clearly talented, he wouldn't be where he was if he wasn't, so this faux, 'I don't know if I can go that fast or fly like Maverick' was just getting frustrating at this point.

Hangman knew he crossed a line when he brought up Rooster's father, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't even mean for it to land so wrong. He didn't mean to make it sound like he blamed Maverick, or that Nick Bradshaw's death was anything but a tragic accident. He only meant to light a fire under Rooster, to show Bradley and by extension Maverick that the mustached man was never going to be ready to fly if he didn't stop thinking and living in the past. Bradley did the team no favors, he did himself no favors, staying in his head instead of in the sky.

Since the altercation, Jake had apologized. Maverick took it with a genuine look, his eyes lost in a past that Hangman knew he was fortunate to not understand but had callously brought up anyway. It probably would have felt better if Mav had taken a swing, but the older Captain just patted Jake's shoulder and told him to go get ready for his flight later in the day.

Of course then the dark haired pilot went up to run a hop with Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote.

Jake's initial plan was to reach out to Bradley for his apology as they hung around the ready room but before he could get the words, Coyote was in G-lock and Jake's heart seemed to stop. Javy was Jake's best friend, his only real family if he was honest with himself, and the thought of losing him that day made the ramifications of this suicide mission a lot more sickeningly clear. Hangman had shakily collapsed next to the radio once Coyote finally answered but then the bird strike happened and everything seemed to get even more clouded with emotions. Jake would never survive something bad happening to Javy but he in no way thought he would feel the same way about the others, not until he kept hearing Phoenix's voice calling that they were on fire, of Bob's panicked cries that they needed to eject, of Maverick screaming they couldn't save the jet. All three voices, combining with Mav's calls for Javy to pull up, were terrifying enough to cement into Jake's nightly rote of nightmares for the time being. Another strain from an impossible mission.

Hangman went to the hospital after Phoenix and Bob were picked up like all the others but somehow, once everyone was deemed more or less in one piece, it seemed only he and Rooster remained in the waiting room, both men needing to see their teammates with their own two eyes. Jake mustered his apology there and Bradshaw, reeling from the close call of almost losing Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote in the same afternoon, had only begrudging nodded.

Things weren't fixed, they never would be, but a truce was created. And, the asshole part of Hangman also wished he could point out to some of the others who still looked at him with disappointed looks, Rooster was now flying faster and giving Jake a run for his money in terms of being wingman. Especially now that it was basically written in stone that Maverick was flying; he had demolished the course the other day after the funeral.

It was a scary concept, a foreign concept, but Jake was suddenly finding himself thinking he might not be the one flying this mission. He had the speed, that much was never in doubt, and his target locks were getting better- still not the best, but certainly no worse than the others. No, Jake's deficiency was that he had no team; the others trusted him about as far as they could throw him, and he could tell from day one that Maverick held pride in pilots that could work together, not solo showboats. Hangman had overshot his landing field in this whole predicament and it was really throwing the blond Texan off kilter.

Jake wasn't used to failure, he didn't allow for it. He didn't have to worry about facing his parent's wrath for failure anymore, that bridge collapsed and burned the day he left for the academy, but there was so much expectations Jake had placed on himself because of them, so much need to prove that he was worth the time, the effort, the love that was never given.

Yet as the hours to shipping out crept closer and closer, Hangman seemed to find his place was being filled by someone else and the looming shadow of not being good enough was getting ready to block out his sun.

Hence the stress.

His normal stress reliever was running but the typical North Island sun was hidden in rainclouds this afternoon. The team was able to have their standard lecture but hops had all been scratched, leading Jake to feel restless as he paced his small housing. Normally rain wouldn't deter a run completely for the hot shot pilot, he actually found it quite peaceful, but he doubted Maverick or Cyclone would be as accepting and the chance of a reprimand for risking illness so close to shipping out dissuaded the blond. His next thought was the gym but Jake didn't have the stomach to run into any of the others, they were on better ground but not enough that anyone went out of their way to include Hangman, except Javy of course. Coyote had texted earlier to say that he and some of the other pilots had taken the short respite the weather had afforded them to get off campus, and from the lack of noise around him, Jake assumed he was the only one left in their housing block, which offered a unique opportunity. Hangman headed over to closet, pulling out the guitar case that was one of the few personal items he allowed himself. Opening it carefully, Jake reached for not a guitar but a violin, the mismatched instrument case his attempt at not allowing others to know his hidden talent. Playing the guitar was expected from a Texan, but a violin? Not something normally entertained from a cocky Naval Aviator.

Jake took our his bow and made sure to grab some rosin, greasing it gently and properly like he was shown so many years ago. When everything was ready he brought the instrument to brace against his neck and began to play, the notes coming easily as he moved through some scales and uncomplicated melodies. Immediately, Jake's shoulders un-tensed, the power of music always calming him, and he closed his eyes and pretended he wasn't back at Top Gun and training for a deadly mission but rather back home, in Midland Texas, playing in the orchestra room with Ms. Elliot, one of his most beloved teachers, as she watched him with a pride reserved usually for parents that Jake had never experienced before.

Quickly, Jake was transitioning to harder pieces, the melancholy of both the rain and his own disappointment in his performance thus far these past few weeks making him long for sadder and more drawn out music. He naturally went to Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto, skipping to the second movement so he could relish in the hauntingly dramatic opening melody.

Next he switched to Bach. Jake was not normally one for changing composers so quickly but he allowed it today, his fingers just playing with no real thought, his bow slicing across the strings as he integrated the two musicians a few times as the pilot sounded out his feelings. It was emotional for the blond, his own inadequacies coming out through the notes and Jake wasn't surprised when a tear, and then two, slowly trailed down his cheeks. He didn't try to wipe them, couldn't stop now that he was so engrossed in the music anyway, until he thought he heard a knock on his door.

"Bagman!" a familiarly angry voice called, "hey Bagman!"

Jake's fingers stuttered, his bow coming across jagged and letting out a screech that made goose bumps prickle on his skin. For a moment the blond stood there unmoving, shocked at the interruption to a point he didn't really know how to proceed. His guest, however, seemed undeterred.

"BAGMAN OPEN UP!" The voice called again and Jake finally recovered enough to put his violin down. He could sense the blush rising on his cheeks, the natural embarrassment of being caught, although he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. He felt unsettled, not liking to ever be caught unaware, and Hangman couldn't help but curse himself for not ensuring that he truly was alone on base before he started playing. Hoping he could act it off as the radio, Jake put his violin back in its case carefully, but when he recognized Phoenix's knock for a third time, because of course it had to be the fiery female pilot that loved to give him shit on a good day that caught him, he jumped and slammed the case shut.

Striding over, Jake took one last second to wipe any remnants of the tears the music caused him away before swinging open the door. He schooled his mask in place and tried to look annoyed, hoping to throw Phoenix away quickly, but he was met with not only the dark haired woman but her WSO behind as well. The addition of Bob shouldn't have been surprising, they seemed to be attached at the hip these days, but it still made Jake's haunches rise, now seemingly caught by both of them.

They were all silent for a moment before Natasha gave a long suffering sigh, "finally" she drawled.

Jake narrowed his eyes, "What?" he questioned, his tone a touch too emotional to play off his normal Hangman persona, "What do you want?"

"I want" Natasha grumbled out in clear annoyance, "for you to lower that classical music crap you're blasting. We can hear it down the whole barrack."

In what should have been a relieving moment, since Phoenix wrongfully assumed Hangman was listening to classical music and not playing it, Jake couldn't help but scoff in an indignation he didn't quite understand. His temper flashed, "right" he sneered, his trademark cold smirk growing, "can't upset precious Phoenix, god forbid someone does something she doesn't like."

Her dark eyes flashed as her nostrils flared, "Rich coming from you, but I shouldn't be surprised that you would have no decency for any of the rest of us. Thinking you own the place like you always do."

"It was just music-"

"It was loud-"

"We were trying to catch up on some sleep" Bob stepped in, playing mediator to the two high tempered pilots, "been a little difficult since the bird strike." Phoenix immediately shot her back-seater a traitorous look, no doubt hating for the man to expose a weakness so easily to Hangman of all people. Jake, however, stepped back with a shaky nod, understanding more than anyone the debilitation of night terrors. "Fine" he spoke up, curt but not mean. "I'll keep it down."

Bob looked grateful, a smile rising on his lips, "thank you" he replied back and then when his partner stayed silent, he cleared his throat. He lifted an eyebrow towards Natasha and when the woman caught it she rolled her eyes, "thank you" she murmured, before turning away and moving to go back to her own room. Bob looked to follow before his eyes caught something left on Jake's bed. "Wait?" the bespectacled man spoke up questioningly and Jake followed his gaze to see the bow he had failed to put away in his haste, "is that yours?" Bob continued.

"Yeah?" Jake couldn't stop the defensiveness in his tone, "so what?"

"You were playing before?" Bob looked weirdly delighted, his excitement making Phoenix turn back around, "you weren't listening to music, you were playing it."

"Look Baby on Board-"

But Jake's words were cut off as Natasha stalked back over, "That wasn't Bagman" she explained with all the certainty in the world, "that was a recording." She turned to her partner, "like we said before Bob, it was like a professional."

Somehow such a off-handed compliment from Phoenix of all people made Jake's stomach flip and his cheeks reddened. He held back the urge to run a anxious hand along the back of his neck. When he looked up he saw Bob's knowing stare on him, "Violin?" the WSO asked softly, smiling when he saw Hangman's small nod in return, "it was beautiful."

"Hang on" Phoenix pushed back forward, now heading into Jake's room uninvited. "That couldn't have been you, you don't have a violin."

"I do actually" the blond moved back to his guitar case, "it's here." Somehow if he kept his eyes downcast, he could ignore the burning blush of embarrassment at exposing himself like this. When Hangman undid the buckles and showed the small string instrument to the duo in front of him, Bob gave a acknowledging hum but Phoenix's brow furrowed. "So you really play?" the shock was slowly leaving Nat's tone, replaced by a lift that made Jake worry. "Yeah" he nodded, green eyes watching as the woman kneeled down next to his instrument, "I do."

"Okay" her fingers ghosted over the strings carefully, "so play us something."

"Excuse me?"

"Play us something" she looked up at him, face challenging. "If it really was you" she goaded, "you should have no problem."

Hangman rolled his eyes at the dare, "I'm not some street monkey" he reasoned.

"Are you scared?" her dark eyes were bright with mirth as she took a seat on Jake's bed as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Jake would be lying if he said it didn't send his heart into a somersault at the sight. His feelings for Phoenix had always seemed to simmer within him, but time and angry barbs between them had cauterized Hangman's hopes of anything ever happening. To see her now, sitting in his room, waiting for him to expose such a hidden and beloved part of his soul, was preposterously frightening. "Come on" Phoenix urged, though her voice lost a lot of its edge and seemed more curious. "Your audience is waiting."

As Bob moved to take his desk chair, Jake picked up his bow and sighed, relaxing his shoulders to get into position. Jake knew he could play the piece he had been working on before but something about seeing Natasha sitting there in front of him, her right foot tapping against her left in her impatience, made him think of another song. He started the first few notes, the look of recognition crossing Phoenix's face as the popular sound of Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' filled the tiny room. Jake knew Natasha had grown up in California, but something about the East Coast crooner that was Sinatra and his mantra of 'My Way' always made the blond think of the fiery female pilot. Natasha Trace was a force to be reckon with on a good day, an immoveable stone on a bad. She was unforgiving in her quest to get what she wanted and yet her drive helped encourage everyone around her to want to be at her level. She was a brilliant pilot to watch and even better to fly with, and even though Hangman left her on that first day, he only did it because he knew she could handle herself up there in the skies. Her getting in the way of his shot was an unfortunate circumstance and though Jake could have easily defended his actions and explained the situation, he knew he would always be delegated to Phoenix's enemy rather than her friend. Hangman knew his place despite how much it killed him.

As the song came to a close, Jake finally opened his eyes to see the twin looks of awe on his teammates' faces. When he put down his bow, the blond pilot prepared for the teasing but Bob began with a round of applause that Natasha joined. "That was great" the bespectacled WSO announced, "really great."

"Thank you" Hangman turned to put his instrument back down, properly this time, avoiding Phoenix's look. The woman scooted to the edge of the bed however, to watch him, "he's right" she finally spoke up, "it was great."

Jake's cheeks flushed with barely hidden pride, "told you I could play" he countered, meeting her eyes.

She smirked, her expression playful, "guess it's par for the course for a rich kid like you. Must of had a whole bunch of hobbies to impress mommy and daddy."

Jake's face fell as he thought about his childhood. Yes his family was wealthy, but they were poor in everything else that mattered: love, affection, conversations, attention. He tried to hide his shudder when he thought of his Father's reaction to him choosing to study a girly instrument instead of spending more time with a pigskin. "Yeah" he finally gasped, his face pale from unease of the memories, "something like that."

Sensing she messed up, Phoenix leaned closer, allowing a hand to catch Jake's arm, "hey" she called, until she finally managed to get him to look at her again, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." He closed the buckles on the guitar case and stood up from the floor. "Alright" he clapped his hands together, "concert is over now, you guys can go and get back to your naps or something."

Natasha sighed, "Bagman-"

"I said go" he nodded towards the door, "I don't think I need to show you the way."

Bob stood first, looking a little crestfallen, "well thanks" he murmured, heading out into the hallway. He didn't wait for Natasha, which was good as the short woman still hadn't moved from Jake's bed. Hangman crossed his arms defensively, "what Phoenix?" he shot out, his tone cold.

"Nothing" she shook her head before getting to her feet. She crossed the room and headed for the door, only stopping as her fingers gripped the door frame. As though debating with herself, Natasha waited a moment, then finally turned back around to look at Jake, "I guess we aren't always what we seem right?" she asked him, their eyes meeting.

"I guess not" he replied back, not exactly knowing what she meant but understanding enough to know that it went beyond the violin.

She nodded, "See you around Bagman" she called heading after Bob.

"Sweet dreams Phoenix" he whispered back, before shutting his door. He didn't go back to playing, honest in his hope that Phoenix and also Bob were able to catch up on sleep, but he felt he didn't exactly need to. The stress and uncertainty of what this mission would bring was still there but Jake felt lighter. He could only do what he could, could only prepare as best he could and have faith that the best possible outcome would unfold. He had to, because any alternative would break the blond beyond repair.

Also here is a link to the most beautiful cover of my way on a violin. I’m obsessed with it ❤️😊

youtube

#top gun maverick #glen powell #jake seresin #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin #top gun #natasha phoenix trace #top gun fanfiction #hannix fic #hannix #Jake Seresin is a musician because Glen Powell is #Youtube

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they��re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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jungkxook · 4 years

Text

—moonstruck. (m)

⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader

⟶ genre: werewolf!taehyung au / arranged marriage au / smut with a sprinkle of fluff

⟶ words: 7,421

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: in hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted” and the only way to save you is to be mated with taehyung. whatever that means.

⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, first time (virgin!taehyung), clumsy sex, soft and gentle sex, sort of rough sex, all the sex, cunnilingus, riding, hair pulling, knotting, buckets of cum, biting kink, slight impregnation kink, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ disclaimer: first fic back after a long hiatus and i’m suddenly v nervous to post this!! also this is shamelessly and 100% inspired by an episode of the show outlander (to be exact, the wedding episode). i couldn’t help myself!!

“Are you serious right now?”

In hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted.” Whatever that means.

Had you heard yourself speak a year ago before meeting Taehyung and having your life turned upside down, you would have surely thought you were insane, and you would have definitely thought Taehyung is insane, and the rest of his friends who are, subsequently, now yours ━ each of whom are all currently splayed out before you in Namjoon’s spacious country-side home with similar grave looks staring back at you.

“Dead serious,” Hoseok takes the liberty of breaking the odd silence saturating the kitchen. He’s made it a point to be on time for once, which you consider great and all if it wasn’t basically to dispute your current death sentence. “Always thought Jaebum’s pack were sons of bitches ━ glad to know it’s still true.”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi scolds. “Be a little more compassionate.”

“Am I wrong?” Hoseok refutes.

From off to the side, Jimin pushes himself forward with a frustrated groan, shaking his head. “Tae, I told you this was a dumb fucking idea ━ bringing Y/N into the pack━”

“I didn’t think this would happen,” Taehyung protests hotly. He’s leaning against the wall somewhere behind you, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown darkening his face.

“How could you not think this would happen?” Jungkook retorts bitterly.

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“She’s a human,” Jungkook says. “Jaebum wants her gone, but if he were to get his hands on her, then who knows what could happen━”

“I said shut up, Jungkook,” Taehyung snarls, an odd vehement tone dripping from his every word that is out of the place for the usually tranquil boy. Jungkook’s mouth clamps shut at once, though you suspect it’s not to do with defeat more so than because he’s the newest addition to the pack and, while Namjoon is their leader (or Alpha, as you’ve heard being thrown around before), Taehyung was something of a second-in-command. You could only imagine the consequences of crossing either Namjoon or Taehyung within the pack.

“Hold on a second,” You try to sputter for air, lungs wheezing. Your mind has since been spinning, struggling to keep up. At first you thought they were joking when they had told you, but now you were beginning to understand the severity at the very least. “I’m being hunted? Why?”

Now, Namjoon looks from Taehyung, then to you, and back again. Taehyung hesitates to answer at first, and Jungkook scowls. “Well, tell her, Tae. You dragged her into this mess. She deserves to hear it from you.”

As you twist in your seat to look up at Taehyung, your eyes locking briefly with his, the boy grimaces and then has to look away. He takes a deep breath before responding. “Okay, look. You know that pack I told you about? Jaebum’s?”

You nod, though the memory is vague. You’ve heard the name in passing before, but you could only gather that there was some sort of animosity between his and Taehyung’s pack.

“He found out about you, and I don’t know how,” Taehyung explains. “And now he wants you gone, and he’ll do anything to see it through.”

You blink once, dumbfounded. Terrified, even. Taehyung can certainly hear it in your voice and it makes him flinch again, as if being striked across the face. “Why?”

“Because you’re not one of us,” Taehyung says. “Because you’re human. When I first told you about us, I was risking everything. It’s uncommon for one of us to bring a human into the pack just because, and often even frowned upon. There’s a fear you’ll expose us to the human world or the hunters. Jaebum’s threatening to start war if we don’t deal with this situation ourselves.”

It’s only then that the dread begins to creep upon you, chilling you to the bone. “Deal with it… how?”

“The ultimatum is either kill you ourselves, or give you over to Jaebum to deal with, as a sort of peace offering,” Namjoon says carefully.

“Which probably also results in death,” Hoseok points out morbidly.

Jin scoffs. “Or worse.”

“Is there any option that doesn’t result in death?” You ask warily. At this, the group falls silent once more.

“Well, there is one.” Namjoon glances fleetingly around at his brethren, then sighs. “You become one of us.”

“I━” You stammer, face suddenly hot. “You mean, like, a werewolf?”

“I mean, a wedding.”

“A wedding?” You gasp. “How is that going to save me?”

“Not a wedding like you think,” Namjoon says. “More of a bonding. A handfasting. Right now, as a human, you’re vulnerable and exposed. We have no claim over you. But if you become one of us ━ without being turned ━ then Jaebum shouldn’t be able to touch you.”

Slowly, you begin to piece together the fragment of your dilemma. “Marry who?”

A beat of silence passes amongst the group in which time you spot Namjoon nod in the direction of Taehyung’s figure beyond you, a wordless yet clear gesture. Suddenly, a stubborn warmth of a blush pinches at your cheeks. You wonder if they can notice, if Taehyung can notice. You start, “Taehyung━?”

“He offered to be the one,” Namjoon says. “And Jaebum knows Taehyung’s role in the pack. If he knows you’re mated to Tae, Jaebum would be absolutely insane to try and come for you. It’s the only way, Y/N, and it ensures your safety.”

“Marrying Taehyung?” You ask shrilly, voice dangerously thin. “How is marrying Taehyung going to ensure my safety?”

“It’s not just a marriage,” Jimin explains.

But of course you already know this, werewolf laws a strange and intricate jumble of rules that you’ve long since grown accustomed to. When he speaks next, you already know it’s much more than a marriage; and, when he speaks next, you fear you’ve already had your fate decided for you.

“It’s not just a marriage,” Namjoon repeats, matter-of-fact, “because we’re making you Taehyung’s mate.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

You try not to think about it. Admittedly, marrying your friend who you have only known for a year isn’t something you had been expecting. But, as Namjoon had explained it, it wasn’t necessarily a legal unification between you and Taehyung, though you suppose it’s as valid now as any marriage with the ritualistic handfasting ceremony making it official. That, and you favoured living to see another day instead of becoming a werewolf’s next meal or ripped to shreds by one.

Only a day after your conversation with the boys of Taehyung’s pack, you’ve come to your ultimate decision which has led you to where you are now, returning to Namjoon’s home for a wedding. Your wedding. You hadn’t very long to decide your own fate anyway, with the boys grimly warning you it was now or never. But you trust them, despite this crazed ludicrous situation you find yourself in ━ and you trust Taehyung more than anything, your friendship with him having quickly blossomed into something so sincerely profound over the year that you’ve known him.

If you’re being honest, Namjoon’s pack had at least made an effort for the occasion because despite how unconventional it is, it was still a celebration. A celebration for your marriage, and a celebration for their hopeful victory over Jaebum. Still, the underlying threat of the evening remains, made more prevalent by the fact that it was required to invite at least another pack (of which you’ve met the leader, Jisoo, a handful of times before) as witnesses. It’s a simple ceremony too, quaint and cute if you weren’t clinging to life. You had made it a point to dress up, digging a pretty white dress from the depths of your closet with flowing butterfly-like sleeves; Taehyung had forgone a suit but was still handsomely dressed too, leaving you to feel like less of an idiot. Namjoon had officiated it, standing before you and Taehyung as you held one another’s hand, wrapped delicately in ribbon, listening to the vows being proclaimed that talked about true love, and the passion and yearning involved.

When the handfasting finally draws to a close, you’re shoved into a room alone with Taehyung for a moment of privacy by Hoseok, who can be heard quipping wolfishly, “Get it over with quick!” before vanishing behind the closed door. You wager he’s left to join with the rest of the festivities outside where, no doubt, every werewolf is currently drinking themselves blind.

Finally alone with Taehyung, a saturated silence fills the air that has you wringing your hands anxiously in front of you. You sit on the edge of the bed in the center of the room. “What other choice was there, Tae?”

Taehyung takes a moment to respond, and even he knows the thought is a useless one when it crosses his mind before voicing it aloud. “We could have ran away.”

“How far would we get?” You sigh. Still, the sorrow earnest in his voice and riddling his face is enough to make you look up at him sympathetically. “I’m no use to you if Jaebum or someone worse finds us by ourselves. Besides, the boys need you.”

“No, you need me,” Taehyung insists. “Jungkook’s right. I dragged you and the pack into this mess. It’s my responsibility to fix this.”

He drags his feet towards the bed, then flops down onto his back on the mattress. A troubled groan punctuates the air, and you sneak a glance behind you to see him rubbing warily at his eyes.

You decide now would be the best time to ask the one question that has been on your mind since the night before when you were sitting in Namjoon’s kitchen to discuss Jaebum’s scorn. “Is that why… Is that why you offered to be my mate?”

“Yes,” Taehyung admits meekly. “Sort of. Think we’d all rather it be me than Joon, anyway.”

You don’t argue with this. The reasons as to why it had to be Taehyung satisfied you well enough. That, and aside from having befriended the pack over the months, you’re much closer to Taehyung than you are with the others.

“So…” You trail off, clearing your throat. At this point, you’re simply speaking for the sake of filling the void. “What now?”

Taehyung shrugs. He looks around the room. “Nothing.”

“Well, what did Hoseok mean just now? Get what over with?”

“Erm━” Taehyung opens his mouth, as if preparing to explain, then decides otherwise. “It’s nothing.”

“Taehyung, we literally just got married and you’re already keeping secrets from me,” You retort. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he insists. “It’s just that… Well…” He sits up from the bed, meeting your curious gaze. “This was essentially a mating, and every mating needs to be seen through to the end to be considered valid. The pack can tell when it’s… uh… done.”

Oh.

Now it hits you. It’s the way he awkwardly trails off, hand ruffling through his long locks, that has you immediately understanding what he’s trying to imply. You gawk upward at him. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

Suddenly, Taehyung looks flustered and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, they expect it, but I would never force it on you.” Then, he straightens up, as if captivated by a newfound confidence. The smallest of smirks dances upon his lips that you don’t miss. “Besides, I never said it had to be between you and me. As long as they can sense it, I’d say your hand would do just fine instead ━ but you have all night for that.”

“Oh my god.”

The smirk widens into a devious look now. “You said you wanted honesty.”

As he dissolves into a fit of stifled chuckles, you scowl but you wager it’s mostly an attempt to hide the frazzled look on your face. Then, hurrying to change the topic, ask, “Is every mating like that then?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. “If two mates want to stay together forever, they complete the process with marking, usually by a bite. It strengthens the mating bond.”

Taehyung notices you squirm in your spot, crossing your knee over the other and squeezing your thighs together. He can sense you’re uncomfortable, understandably with your current situation, but can’t quite pinpoint what else seems to make you sit so rigidly.

“What was it like for you?” He decides to ask. “The handfasting?”

The question takes you by surprise, though his sincere intrigue makes you smile smally to yourself. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before, but it was… It was nice.” You think back to nearly an hour ago, and the way Taehyung had looked standing before you. While you were marrying him out of necessity, there was something candidly beautiful about the entire ceremony. At the very least, you were glad it had been with Taehyung of all people. “Can I be honest with you, Tae?”

“Of course,” Taehyung says. “At this point, you can pretty much tell me anything. Don’t think anything’s as shocking as coming out as a werewolf.”

An innocent giggle bubbles at your throat. Suddenly, you look sheepish. “I might have had one too many glasses of wine before coming.”

“Ah.” Despite the interested hum of noise, he looks genuinely entertained. “So you’re drunk?”

“Not quite. Pleasantly buzzed,” You say. “Well, can you blame me? The occasion called for it considering a bunch of wolves want to kill me and I’m being arranged into a marriage.”

“So you don’t remember anything about your own wedding?”

You pull a face, though Taehyung gathers it’s because of the blunt mention of the word. “I do. Just… not all of it. Some things are clearer than others, but I think that’s mostly because I was nervous.”

“I remember every moment,” Taehyung muses thoughtfully. “I remember seeing you there, in your dress, and everything felt right despite it all.” His stare hardens in that moment, as if probed by the harsh reminder of the reasoning behind the night in the first place. “You know I’ll do anything to keep you safe, right? We haven’t had time to sit back and talk it over but you really do mean the world to me.”

A muffled groan eclipses your lips. You dig the heels of your palms against your eyes as you bemoan, “Don’t say those kinds of things, Tae.”

“Why?”

“Because… Because…” Your eyes shoot open, though suddenly you refuse to meet his curious wandering gaze.

But Taehyung doesn’t even need you to finish your thought. You wonder if it’s one of the many keen abilities possessed by these shapeshifters or if it’s simply a Taehyung thing, being that he’s quickly become one of your closest friends over the year that you’ve known him.

“You’re still nervous,” he hums as delicately as possible. It’s not an accusation, but a simple fact of the matter. He pushes himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, leaving an appropriate amount of space between the two of you. “Are you nervous because of me?”

“No.”

“That’s a lie,” Taehyung snorts. When you don’t respond immediately, a small inkling of a doubt makes him question apprehensively, “Are you scared of me then? I wouldn’t blame you, especially after everything that’s been going on━”

“What?” You finally turn to look at him, a look of incredulousness contorting your face. “No! No, I’m not scared of you, Tae. I could never be scared of you.” You don’t dare turn to face him, instead keeping your eyes fixed on your hands as you continue. “You make me nervous, but not in a bad way. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” When you chance a look at him, you find him smiling softly to himself. “It’s the same way I felt when I saw you earlier tonight.”

Your heart quickens in pace against your chest, and you’re almost positive he can surely hear it. Now, you finally lift your timid stare to meet his pensive look, and you have to bite back the smile that threatens to form on your face. He looks distracted, though not in a way where his mind is elsewhere entirely; instead, he seems besotted, dark eyes shimmering gently, and there’s a palpable shift of energy in the atmosphere.

Without even realizing it, the pair of you begin to gravitate towards one another, leaning in close enough to shorten the distance between the two of you. You pause, lingering near enough to feel his warm breath fanning against your neck. He can’t help himself, and reaches out with his hand to brush his fingers along your shoulder to the base of your throat, sending chills down your spine. His hand comes to rest against your neck, fingers stretching outward to cradle the back of your head. He guides you toward him this time, closer and closer.

“Taehyung…” You whisper.

He stops at once, clamps his mouth shut and squeezes his eyes closed. His restraint seems to be not without labour, judging by the sobering small shake of his head, and the way he leans his forehead against yours, tendons in his jaw fluttering as he clenches his teeth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.”

“I want you to.”

He’s startled when you’re the one that moves first, catching his lips onto yours. He’s unmoving at first, basking in the feel and taste of your mouth smoothing over his. It’s slow, steady, but then he’s craning his neck to deepen the kiss and something feverish overtakes the both of you. You clamber onto his lap at once, swinging one leg over his and settling back onto him, your dress bunching up at your thighs. He’s taken aback for a moment, though his hands instinctively come to grip at your waist and you try not to focus on how large and warm they feel, burning against the material of your dress. In fact, every inch of him radiates a thermal energy that is both comforting and excites you. You chase his lips, yearning for another kiss, but he hesitates at the last moment, jerking his head away. He doesn’t move very far at first, then he drops his head into the crook of your neck. His nose burrows against the base of your throat, his lips brushing against your skin as he moves along your neck to your shoulder, then back again. You can tell he’s holding himself back, not quite allowing himself to enjoy this. To enjoy you.

“You said we have all night, didn’t you?” You rasp. “So why not start now?”

“I also said it didn’t have to be between you and me if you didn’t want it to be.” Taehyung finds his voice at long last, however hoarse it may be. You’re already driving him crazy, just by your smell alone. “Are you sure? You said you wanted honesty, so be honest with me, Y/N. Don’t just say it’s because it has to be done. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“Well, don’t you want this?” You question.

“Fuck, yes.” He groans against your neck. Something feral seems to stir within him, and you can feel his canines bare against your skin. “But only if you do.”

You aren’t quite sure what seems to possess you all of a sudden. He’s intoxicating, you think. Your hands tug at his hair now, desperation wearing your own voice thin. “Yes, Tae. Please. I want you inside me so badly.”

Finally, he presses his mouth against your throat, tonguing hot open-mouthed kisses there. His grip tightens around your waist, tugging you harder against him, and the feeling of him growing harder against your inner thigh in a matter of seconds has you both enraptured by a newfound heated ferocity.

Grasping at a moment of clarity, you ask meekly, “Isn’t this your first time?”

“Is it that obvious?”

You want to tell him anything but, the way his hands and lips move across you an indicator of that. “I thought you wolves are all about sex. Don’t you, like, go into heat or something?”

It’s a feeble attempt at a snarky joke, judging by the way your lips unfurl into a languid smirk. “Typically. But I never wanted sex for the sake of fucking. The boys make fun of me all the time for it.”

You snicker, but the delightful noise is lost in a simper as he continues to kiss upward to the underside of your jaw. He grips tightly at your waist and moves, shifting the two of you around, until your back is splayed out on the edge of the bed and he’s hovering directly over you.

“Taehyung…” He grunts in response, though you don’t blame him for not responding. The way his cock bulges against your core now, the way you press your hips up into his instinctively, is enough to drive you insane, let alone the boy. Still, you manage to rasp, “Tae, just don’t bite me. Promise me.”

“I won’t,” he assures, though now he certainly seems preoccupied. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring, and whines aloud, “God, I can already smell you. So fucking good.”

His head falls into the crook of your neck as his hips dig harshly into yours in a way that makes you aware of what his words seem to mean. Slick arousal already begins to form between your legs, pooling into a mess on your underwear that has you squirming beneath him. The thought of him being able to smell you makes your face heat, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He kisses down to your collarbones, then, without warning, flips you over at once. Rough hands grasp at your waist, pulling you to your knees and your ass off the edge of the bed. As he fumbles to tear your panties from your hips, then lifts the skirt of your dress up with one hand, he hurries to undo his belt and the button of his pants with the other.

“Wait, Tae━” You gasp. Before he can push himself into you, you heave yourself up with your hands and twist just enough to place your palm above his waist on his abdomen, stopping him in his place. “What are you doing?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brows creasing with concern. “Isn’t this how it’s done? I’m not totally helpless.”

You bite back your abrupt grin, swallowing your amusement when you realize he’s genuinely confused. It’s hard to grasp how he can look so innocent even despite his leaking cock still in his hand. “Well, yeah, but not always.”

“I just thought it was like how dogs go at it, y’know?” Taehyung says. “The guys all seem to say so anyway.”

You can’t help it now when this newfound information has you keeling over with laughter. You’re fortunate he doesn’t seem offended by your delight, instead grinning sheepishly to himself as he watches you wipe tears away from your eyes.

“What?” he asks promptly, and then as if to nudge you back to reality, tightens his grip on your waist and yanks you towards him gingerly. Pressing his front flush against your back, he catches your ear lobe between his teeth and nibbles on it.

“Then I feel sorry for their mates,” You manage to choke out. “It’s not bad, but I want to be able to see you the first time around. It’s better that way. More intimate.”

You squirm out from beneath him, turning to face him properly. Still sprawled out before him, you prop yourself up on your elbow and then reach out with your other hand to grab at his face and pull him down to you.

“Noted,” he hums into your mouth. “Anything else I should know?”

“Nothing that I can think of at the moment,” You admit, though maybe that’s simply because your mind is spinning at the sight of his length.

He’s much, much bigger than you imagined, tip irritated and swollen red already, glistening with precum as he swipes his palm over himself a handful of times. You hike your dress up further around your waist as he guides himself towards you.

“Stop me if it hurts,” he says.

You nod, though you trust him well enough to know he’ll treat you right in the best way possible. As he pushes the tip of his length against your folds and into you, your reactions are almost immediate. He ceases above you, face scrunching up at the feeling of your slickness around him. You notice his furrowed brows, the way he bares his teeth. A guttural growl sounds deep within his chest that has you shuddering in anticipation.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “You’re so fucking wet. You take me so well, baby. I don’t think I’ll last long.”

“Don’t care,” You whimper. “Just wanna feel you.”

He pushes himself in further, slowly and carefully, inch-by-inch, in just a way that has the both of you feeling how he stretches you open every single step of the way. You wonder how much further you can go until he’s stopping, bottoming out within you. He sputters for air, collapsing against your chest entirely as you fall back onto the bed. He waits just enough for you to adjust to the girth of his weight in you, then rolls his hips into yours. Then again, and again, until he’s grinding into you with such measured and deep strokes that you melt beneath him entirely. You kick your legs up to wrap around his waist, head lolling back at the feeling of his mouth sucking against your throat.

“I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off then into an abrupt cry. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum━”

He’s quick to dissolve into shambles, grunting and moaning every time you clench around him and every thrust of his hips. Just when you think you’ve lost yourself to the moment, he cums much faster than you thought and entirely unexpected for him too, in hot waves that have you still writhing beneath him. When he’s spent, his weight falls slack against you, crushing you beneath him but in a comforting manner. It’s silently peaceful for a few moments as he settles, heart thundering in his chest and against yours. Your fingers smooth over his sweaty long locks, scratching at his head. Then━

“That was terrible, wasn’t it?” he mutters wretchedly.

“Not terrible,” You confess. “What was that? Three minutes, top? For your first time, I’m honestly surprised you lasted more than a minute.”

“Fuck off.” His fingers poke at your sides teasingly as you burst out into laughter. He lifts his head to meet yours, perhaps a little embarrassed. “Don’t tell the guys. They’ll never let me live it down.”

“Doesn’t matter,” You hum, tracing your finger down to his lips. “We can practice whenever you want. I’ll make you into a lover so good, you’ll want me to brag to them.”

“Practice, huh?” His eyes sparkle mischievously. He pulls himself from your core and you hiss at the sudden loss, tugging at his chest as if to keep him close to you but he seems to have other plans. “Why stop now?”

You watch him curiously. “Easy there, boy. Don’t wear yourself out.”

“Well, I have to make it up to you,” he points out. “Especially on your wedding night. It’s only fair. What kind of lousy mate would I be to call it a night without having you cum on my face?”

“Romantic.” You roll your eyes but you marvel at the way you had shuddered at the word only moments ago and now, under such a different circumstance, the way he utters it makes your heart flutter in your chest. “Is this the first time you’ve eaten a girl out?”

“I said I was a virgin,” he says. Your eyes stay trained on the boy as he shifts himself further down your body to wedge himself between your thighs, throwing one leg over his shoulder. He kisses at your navel, then down to your core. He takes his time as he reaches out with his fingers to swipe at your folds, admiring the way his cum leaks from you; then, with his forefinger, he wipes at a stray bead of his arousal and pushes it back into your cunt slowly. The simple action is enough to have your back arching off the bed, hands flying out to brace yourself by gripping at his hair. “I never said I didn’t know how to please a woman elsewhere.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Gladly.”

He sinks lower to your core and out of sight, leaving hot open mouthed kisses along the way. His finger never once leaves its spot within you, and instead is joined by another that spreads you wide in absence of his cock.

“Do you know how hard it is to focus on anything other than your beautiful cunt?” he asks, voice low and sultry. “From the moment I could smell you, I wanted a taste.”

His tongue probes against your clit, the wet muscle a sudden startle that has you slackening against him. He flicks it back and forth, mouth wrapping around the bundle of nerves and sucking hard. A moan threatens to fall from your lips but an intrusive thought crossing your mind has you swallowing it with much difficulty.

“Can’t the boys hear us from down there?” You ask. You wonder how the celebration for your “wedding” has unfolded over the night without you or Taehyung there, or if they even notice your prolonged absence.

“No.” His voice is a deep mumble, rattling you from your core outward. “We learn how to tune out sounds nearby unless we really want to pay attention. The new ones struggle a bit, though.”

He curls his fingers inside you, stretching them upward. You pant, “Isn’t Jungkook still new?”

You can feel his smirk unfurling against you even before he pokes his head up to look at you with devious, hooded eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s a bit of a hazing process.”

You hardly have time to register the thought, though it doesn’t matter much. You’re far too overwhelmed by the way Taehyung is making you feel to even care. He drops his mouth from your clit to your folds, tongue swirling against your aching core. He laps at your cunt like a mangy dog as his fingers continue to work within you. The further he burrows into you, the harder his nose digs against your clit and sends you over the edge. You try to hold on just a little longer but your core is already achingly sensitive from when his length had made it home.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let me taste you.”

Fingers twisting in his hair, he growls roughly against you, basking in the way you mewl and moan his name. Time seems to blur and, before you know it, you’ve reached your high. You’re embarrassingly wet, soaking his chin and nose which glistens with a mixture of yours and his arousal. Taehyung doesn’t hold back, instead licking you clean of every last drop, a muffled moan of content emitting from him.

“So good,” he says. “All mine.”

When he finally pulls away from you, he licks at his lips as if not quite finished with your every taste. From where he sits, you’re an entire mess, brows scrunched in concentration, teeth tugging at your lower lip. Needy hands yank at his hair and he obliges, kissing his way up your body to meet your mouth. His tongue pokes through to lav at your lips and wedges itself beyond, and you suck delightfully at the taste of you and him mingling on it. His own hands caress your body, bringing you back down from your high gradually but you can still feel his straining dick against your thigh and it invigorates you even further despite the beginning hints of exhaustion starting to creep upon you.

“Want more,” Taehyung growls with a newfound intensity, catching you off guard. “Need your cunt. M’gonna make it mine. Need to make you mine. Gonna fill you with my cum till you’re bursting with my pups, how does that sound?”

Mind spinning, you nod eagerly at the thought. Your words form in the shape of a moan. “Yes, please.”

“Gotta get this dress off first,” he mutters, greedy palms wandering up beneath the hem of your dress.

You scurry to obey, helping him slide the dress off your arms and toss it away on the floor. He’s more than pleased to see that you had decided to forgo wearing a bra earlier in the day, and reaches out at once to grasp at your perked breasts in his large palm. He buries his face into your chest, catching one of your nipples between his teeth. He busies himself by marking your chest red with small nibbles until you grow impatient, tugging at the shirt he’s still wearing. He’s quick to oblige, shedding himself of his clothes; then, his nails are digging viciously into your hips as he flips the two of you over with incredible ease.

“Sit on my cock,” he snarls into your ear. “Need to feel you again.”

Legs weak from your past orgasm and the huskiness of his voice, you sidle onto his lap, tossing one thigh over his. He sits up to join you and helps push himself past your folds, though you finish by settling back on his length carefully until you’re filled to the brim. Despite already knowing what to expect from the first time around, you still shudder at the feeling, mouth unhinging as you roll your hips leisurely against his. He hardly strays from your body, instead continuing to kiss between the valley of your breasts and up to the underside of your jaw and back again. Fingers poke and prod at your body as they follow his lips, then grasp at your ass to push you closer to him each time you grind against him.

Just when you begin grinding against him in a new angle that makes you moan into his ear, a sudden noise startles the both of you but only just. It takes you both a moment to register it’s the sound of knocking on the other side of the bedroom door (that you can’t remember if Taehyung had locked, because you certainly hadn’t), followed by Jimin’s familiar voice. “Joon said he wanted us to check in on you!”

Taehyung immediately groans into your neck out of frustration, though you suspect it’s because your pace starts to stutter and not because of his bothersome friends.

“Taehyung,” You bite at your lip in an attempt to hide your moans. You tug at his hair, as if to portray what your words fail to do, but he can hear it plainly riddling your voice. The concern, and the sudden shyness, as if fearing Jimin may walk in. But part of you is thrilled at the thought, and judging by the way your unabashed cry of glee slips from your lips without much hiding is proof of that. “Oh, Tae━”

“Shit,” Taehyung’s muffled grunts of pleasure and the way his hips continue to dig into yours to meet your efforts makes you aware Jimin is the least of his current troubles. “Fucking hell━ Don’t stop.”

“Are you guys okay in there?” Now comes Hoseok’s voice, a little faint but undeniably there. Can they hear you? Do they care? They must know what’s happening beyond the door.

“They’re doing it on purpose. Fucking idiots,” Taehyung snarls as he slams his hips up into yours. A contented whimper falls from your mouth, and you cling to him tighter as you quicken your pace. Taehyung grabs at your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes fixed on him despite wandering to the door. “Look at you fucking yourself on me still even with them listening. Such a good girl, huh? So desperate for my cock, aren’t you? Gonna breed so well.”

You think Hoseok and Jimin give up and leave at some point, though you don’t recall when. Instead, in the next moment, something primitive seems to awaken in Taehyung once more and he’s shoving you onto your back on the bed. Kneeling before you, he pummels his hips into yours again and again until you’re only crying his name.

“Mine. All mine,” he growls. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

So wearied from your first high, you tumble easily to your second, coming undone in a matter of seconds, spurred on by the lewd wet noises of his length thrusting into you.

“That’s it, baby,” he mutters, basking in the sound of your moans. “Fuck━ Let them all know who you belong to━”

But just when you think Taehyung has reached his own orgasm ━ sputtering for air and crescendoing in moans of your names, panting hot breath into your ear as he leans against your chest ━ he doesn’t. His thrusts become desperate and sloppy, bordering on frantic, that the soreness between your legs begins to burn. It’s an amalgamation of stubborn yet bearable pain and something harshly pleasant that has your head lolling back.

“What’s wrong?” You moan, blindly tugging at his hair. “Taehyung?”

“I can’t━” He cries out. “I can’t━ I’m so fucking hard, it hurts. I don’t know what’s wrong━”

Confused yet too tired to keep up, you reach out to smooth your fingers across his back. “It’s okay. Just let go, baby. Cum for me, Tae. Please.”

“I’m trying,” he chokes out. “I just can’t━”

Your mind works in a haze to understand what’s happening, but through it all you’re able to discern one reasonable thought. What had Taehyung said about matings and bonds? Aside from the obvious of sleeping with a mate, he had said that typically certain bonds require marking. But he had also said that marking proved to be almost irreversible, resulting in a connection so close that a pair of mates would be together forever. It was a troublesome concept to think about, especially when considering you didn’t think you were a fit match for Taehyung if only because you’re human.

But is that what he needed? The physical strain he puts himself under now to reach his high is almost unbearable to watch. So, you settle on a whim of a decision and conclude that you won’t think of any consequences until after the fact, only wanting to see the poor boy in relief.

“Tae,” You whisper. “What if you bite me?”

“I won’t,” Taehyung says through gritted teeth. His pace has slowed as he slumps against your chest in nearing defeat. “You told me not to.”

“I don’t care,” You retort. “Just bite me.”

He hesitates, lifting his gaze to look at you. When he sees your earnest zeal, he grimaces as if despising that this is his only option. Still, the look of relief that crosses his face is undeniably there. He presses his mouth against your throat, lips brushing faintly against your flesh as he grazes the smooth expanse for a spot, sharp canines poking against you. You brace yourself for the bite, though the pain isn’t as bad as you had thought. A sharp jolt runs down your spine as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and his reaction is immediate, crumbling into pitiful moans of glory.

“Fuck!” he wails. With one final slam of his hips into yours, he finally reaches his high and it’s unlike anything you have felt before. As if he begins to swell within you, his length pulsates as he cums in you to the point where you can’t help but feel so full. It overflows and leaks from your core and onto the sheets, a sticky mess that lingers even long after he’s done. Your mouth pops open at the foreign feeling, whimpering his name.

“I’m sorry,” he flinches. “I’m sorry, does it hurt?”

“No,” You manage to say. “It just… It feels so good━”

He sluggishly rides out the rest of his high until you both physically can’t take anymore. When he hears you hiss his name in a soft reminder, he apologizes once more. Then, as the room falls oddly silent, he slumps against you. He lavs his tongue over the fresh mark on your neck, the gentle motion alleviating the sting left behind. As Taehyung settles finally, he shifts his head to look up at you. You note the faint yellow hue lingering in his eyes, fading now.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “We might have to stay like this for a while.”

“Can’t say I’m mad about that,” You croon sleepily. “You better draw me a bath after this.”

He laughs, rubbing gentle circles against your hips. “Of course. I’ll do anything for you.”

You believe him wholeheartedly when he says it, smiling against his mouth when he leans in for a kiss. His tender wandering hands over your body does wonders in calming your shrill heart, the stretch between your legs, and the bite on your neck. He nuzzles his face into your collarbones, the tip of his nose tickling against you. As your fingers rake through his hair and scratch at his head, he mewls in content.

“Is it always like that?” You ask through a stifled yawn. “You had so much energy, I could barely keep up.”

“No,” he admits groggily. “It’s only like that when you’re mated with someone.”

“What does that even mean anyway?” You ask. “To be mated with someone?”

“Well, it’s━ It’s not really a conscious decision. It sort of just happens,” Taehyung says. “It’s a connection. You gravitate towards one another. You can’t live without the other. We call it imprinting. Sometimes you’re mated to a person who doesn’t even want you, but those are rare instances.”

“So we’re the exception?”

“I thought we were,” Taehyung trails off now. He finally lifts his head to look at you, perhaps a little embarrassed. “I━ Well━ All of this, and especially the bite, doesn’t just happen ━ and definitely not with humans.”

“Oh.” You blush now, face warming under the boy’s introspective stare. “So you’re saying we’re…”

“I always thought there was a connection, but I didn’t think it meant this,” Taehyung murmurs to himself. “As crazy as it sounds, I think we were meant to be.”

“So the bite…”

You don’t finish your thought, instead already having pieced it together in your mind. It does sound crazy, but even you have felt it before. A strange connection to Taehyung, far more exceptional than simply having feelings for him. And the bite is what draws it all together, proving his point and your previous speculations about some sort of affection between the two of you.

“Are you starting to regret this now?” Taehyung asks sheepishly, a weak attempt at a joke to what he had asked you earlier in the night.

He braces himself, as if waiting for your outburst of annoyance or anger. To push him off of you and leave forever. But you do neither, instead reaching out to grasp at his face in both of your hands. You delicately lift his head, meeting his docile stare, entirely and utterly bewitched by him.

“No,” You say earnestly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better night.” A smile forms on his face, innocent and ardent in nature. “I’m just wondering how I’ll hide the mark.”

“I think there’s little to hide now after tonight,” Taehyung grins wolfishly. “Especially with the boys.”

He quivers with laughter at the sight of your scowling face and fingers poking at his sides. As he settles, he leans into your ear to hum, “I’ll make it up to you. Everything. Jaebum, the bite, the boys. But I think you should rest now. We’ll deal with all of that later.”

You don’t argue with that. You’ve already begun to fight the beginnings of sleep, eyelids drooping and itching with a need to just close them ━ and with Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you, his body emitting a pleasurable heat, you decide there’s no place else you’d rather be, moonstruck and in love.

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

A Slow Flame

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,346

Warnings: None

Premise: Love is often like a flame, and sometimes that flame takes a while to catch. Yet it is no less bright when it finally does.

In which Scaramouche slowly falls in love

Author’s Note: Since this was requested as a headcanon I put it in bullet pointed format. Although I haven’t written proper headcanons in years, so this might read very similar to my scenarios. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy.

When you first came into Scaramouche’s life he could hardly believe in your existence.

Most of the new recruits learned quickly enough to leave the icy Harbinger alone, knew that currying favor was an utterly useless endeavor, and found his personality grating at best. And yet you were insistent on sticking around, or sticking around as much as a lowly soldier could.

First on time to drill, first to get to meals, first to respond to questions and first to inquire after details in return. Scaramouche couldn’t figure you out, brushing you off as a try-hard or as an innocent who would quickly give up and run away. People such as you didn’t exist. They simply disappeared.

And yet you didn’t.

The trust grew slowly. If efficiency was valuable coin in the Tsaritsa’s army, then loyalty was priceless. Scaramouche knew that, could not understand why you would then offer such a thing to him. How could he trust it? It made no sense.

Yet you made no attempt to betray him, no attempt to pawn off information or get some bribe out of him. And slowly, almost unconsciously, he began to rely upon you.

At first he couldn’t see that the line was blurring.

When pressed with the question of your value in his eyes he would brush it off as you simply being the most qualified Fatui member he’d ever worked with. Of course he preferred your company to that of the rest of the lackeys, those fools who tripped over themselves trying to do the simplest of tasks. You were his most loyal soldier. Why shouldn’t he prefer your company?

You, in turn, made no attempt to close the gap that existed between you two. If you loved Scaramouche you did a good job of hiding it. And, of course, no one would ever bring such a topic up otherwise. Anyone who did would surely have a death wish, as Scaramouche would have their clothes singed to black in a second.

Within such an atmosphere perhaps it should’ve been no surprise that he never thought to examine his feelings for you. And yet, just because he didn’t examine them didn’t mean they stopped growing.

His first recognition of his feelings was when you were enlisted in a task headed by one of the lesser generals. Though the operation only lasted three days and you were soon back by his side Scaramouche found those three days surprisingly disarming. He’d grown accustomed to your presence, to the surety that you were always by his side. To be deprived of that felt like a shock to his system.

He even found himself unconsciously calling to you. Turning over his shoulder, expecting your advice, only to be met with the bare wall of his tent. Even the embarrassment of such a mistake couldn’t hide the unease that floated around him those three days.

When you finally returned it was as if Scaramouche had finally set foot on solid ground again.

After that he began to notice you more, as if finally becoming aware of your presence. No longer were you a loyal shadow, something that grew and changed in the light, fleeting and unobtrusive. No, now you were vivid, finally put into color by those days in which you were gone.

The first thing he noticed were your expressions. Before, he hadn’t really registered your gestures, the little habits that all people carry within themselves. Now your expressions hypnotized Scaramouche. The way in which you leaned slightly forward when laughing, the fact that one side of your lips tilted upwards before the other when you smiled, the way your face stilled when you were considering something, with only your eyes revealing the thoughts and considerations going through your mind. These expressions seemed new to Scaramouche and he reveled in them.

He began to wonder if you noticed the same things. Did you ever muse on the way his hands grasped pencils and mugs and papers? Did you also smile at the ways his eyes shined when he was excited – something admittedly rare? Were you suddenly as aware of him as he was of you, or had you not noticed yet? Had you always noticed, and he was the one being slow?

And yet he still didn’t connect it with love.

Then you were called away to Liyue.

Under Dottore’s supervision you were to study ruin guards; how they worked, what purpose they served, all these tasks were now up to you. Scaramouche wasn’t actually sure who had made the decision. He assumed it was the Tsaritsa. Perhaps because if not he would’ve never been able to agree to it.

After that Scaramouche turned colder. Suddenly he didn’t care as much; didn’t care about his subordinates, didn’t care about the infantile missions he’d been sent on. Didn’t care that Signora had already claimed a gnosis, and he was lagging dreadfully behind.

The only thing that had ignited his interest was the knowledge that Childe was now in Liyue, presumably on the same mission as Signora. This did nothing to call him to any sort of action however. Instead it seemed to leave him more drained, more disgusted with the world around him.

When Signora came to visit she couldn’t believe the state the Harbinger was in. Since when had Scaramouche become so inattentive? It was unheard of. And more baffling was the Harbinger himself, who neither knew nor care of his transformation.

Now, unlike Scaramouche, Signora isn’t a total idiot. It took approximately two days of sticking close to the Harbinger to realize what was wrong. And really two days was being generous.

Later it would embarrass Scaramouche to recall the fact that he’d been told he was in love with you, rather than figuring it out himself. At the time however he had no such embarrassment.

He’d initially rejected it, almost appalled by the answer laid at his feet. Yet even as he narrowed his eyes and sharpened his voice his mind betrayed him.

Suddenly things had taken on a new significance, memories that had laid dormant now brought bare. Suddenly a smile wasn’t only a smile, and the trust in your loyalty was no longer a matter of simple reliance. Suddenly he couldn’t stop thinking of your eyes, and suddenly your voice was a prized memory. Suddenly he couldn’t stop his love for you.

Scaramouche had promptly declared that it didn’t matter. Staring at the ground, he felt cynicism wash over him. What did it matter now? What good was there in realizing his feelings when you were already gone? There was no point in labelling it, as love or otherwise. He might as well forget.

Love was a useless emotion anyways. Perhaps it was best that he’d lost his chance for it, perhaps he’d just managed not to become weak.

Signora was incredibly irritated at this line of thinking, and was quick to berate her listless coworker. Nor was she just content in lecturing.

And thus Scaramouche landed himself in the plains of Liyue, eyes lighting up as they fell once more upon your face, heart somehow feeling lighter.

He didn’t want to admit that he loved you, still begrudging himself an emotion that made people weak.

Yet he couldn’t help but reach for your hand when you came up to him, and he couldn’t help but soften a bit at the contact, at the thing he’d secretly wished for all those weeks.

He wouldn’t tell you his true motive for traveling to Liyue and Mondstadt, not wanting to reveal his shame. He would speak only of his mission, to chase down a traveler and rid the Tsaritsa of a nuisance.

Yet sometimes, when the light was low and the stars were rising, he allowed himself a moment of honesty. I trust you, he’d whisper in his mind. I trust you, I trust you, I trust only you.

Perhaps one day he’d been able to change that trust to love. And perhaps one day the whisper in his mind would become words that passed his lips.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #headcanons #requested #my writing

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Curse-breaker (Chapter 3/4)

- ao3 -

There were more guards than usual around the Unclean Realm, undoubtedly as a result of Wen Ruohan’s refusal to move from their gate, but that wasn’t a problem for them.

They knew all the ways in and out.

New ways, like the hole in the wall their little brother had teamed up with his best friend to carve out so that the two of them could leave little gifts and pass messages to them, and old ways, ancient ways, the ways of the dead that they’d learned from the still-lingering saber spirits that burned in rage and hate forever like an endless longevity candle.

Rage, and hated – but also love.

The saber spirits didn’t have to keep burning, keep fighting, but that was what their masters had wanted, and so they did. They fought against evil, time and time again, forever and always, and through their endless battle, in their hearts, their masters were never truly lost.

It was that simple.

It was that complicated.

It was time, they thought, to straighten things out. The saber spirits meant it as a gift, but the masters saw it as a burden; that wasn’t how it was meant to be at all – they just didn’t understand each other, steel and flesh speaking different tongues, meaning different things. The gaping chasm of understanding between life and not-life, which no one could bridge.

Well.

No one until them, anyway.

If a fish and a bird fell in love, where would they live?

On the shore, they thought. Right in the middle.

All they needed was someone to tell them that was an option.

It was time.

They passed like a formless spirit themselves through the many walls and guards in their path, heading to the sect leader’s study, as familiar to them as their own palms. Inside they found what was familiar, too: the heat-rage-pride pulse of Jiwei, resting in pride of place by her master’s side, and beside her was her master, their father, standing with his hands folded behind his back and looking out the window into the distance as if it would give him answers to questions that had eaten away at him his whole life.

They approached.

They were detected, of course.

“I already said that I didn’t want to be disturbed,” their father said, and although they had snuck close many times to hear him speaking, that beloved voice more familiar to them than their own, not daring to talk to him as they did to Huaisang who had always promised to keep their secret, there was still something different about hearing it so near, without walls between them.

They sighed happily.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said…Jiwei? What’s gotten you so excited –”

Their father turned.

His jaw dropped, eyes going wide and round as saucers, an absurd and silly look that suited him so much better than did the grim scowl and sad listlessness, interspersed with increasingly frequent bouts of uncontrollable rage, that he wore on his face more often than not these days.

What they had in mind would hurt, they knew, and equally they knew that they would not be able to act if they did not act fast – they were loathe to hurt people, much less people that they loved, and those that they loved would be equally unable to bear to see them hurt, yet both were necessary now, if they were to do what they had decided to do.

They did not allow themselves time to doubt.

They moved forward as quickly as a saber strike, sure and true, and their hands connected with their father’s chest and belly, heart and dantian both, with enough power to knock the breath out of him, taking advantage of his shock to strike when he would not even think of dodging.

In that moment of breathlessness, they latched on – latched on, and pulled.

What-are-you-doing-stop-that, Jiwei said, but even her ceaseless rage was blunted by the joy of seeing them once more.

You are hurting him.

I-am-not-I-am-refining-him-I-am-strengthening-him-as-he-strengthens-me-He-is-my-master-and-I-love-him.

You are hurting him, they insisted. Flesh is different. Flesh is brittle. Too much strength, and he will break.

Let me show you.

It hurt, of course, just as they’d expected. Not as much as when they’d shattered, though, and it was that – and perhaps only that – that allowed them to persist, using themselves as a cauldron, forcing their qi that was neither wholly spiritual nor resentful, neither fully alive or un-alive, through their father’s meridians, reshaping them as they went to be something capable of accepting the harsh, resentful, corrosive love of a saber spirit.

When they were done, their father stared at Jiwei, hearing her sing in his soul with an unprecedented clarity, feeling her love for him the way she meant for it to be felt, feeding his own love back to her in equal measure, giving everything of himself without holding back to the only thing on earth that he had ever loved without restraint.

His eyes were clear.

“A-Jue,” he whispered. “A-Jue…what is this?”

“A gift,” they said, their voice raspy with disuse. “Of many years making. I’m sorry that it took so long.”

Their father, unbreakable, burst into tears.

Later, when their father, his eyes still wet (though now from laughter rather than relief), told them about the ‘curse’, about his promise, about the rumors, and even about Wen Ruohan waiting for the chance to repent of his regrets, they thought about it for a while and said: “Let me see him.”

Wen Ruohan had done many things worthy of condemnation in his long life.

He had schemed and plotted, playing the hero and the villain both in their turn; he had fought in wars of such brutality that the current generation could not even begin to comprehend them, and he had also murdered in vile and underhanded ways, abandoning all integrity and righteousness, to ensure that such wars did not happen again. He had sought to strengthen himself by means both fair and foul, betrayed who he had to betray and stepped on who he had to step on; he had followed his ancestor’s path with his head held high until he had very nearly become a god.

He was not accustomed to regret.

Not accustomed did not mean immune: there were things he regretted, of course. The loss of his first family, the two sons and a daughter that he had failed so thoroughly that he still could not stand to hear the sound of their names, each one declared utterly taboo within the Nightless City – the wife he had married for power and then divorced in a fit of temper, driving her and her not-so-secret lover to the end of their rope in unspeakable desperation – the faithful servants he had sacrificed as pawns in his power plays and only afterwards realized how much he had relied upon them –

His brother.

His curse.

If by some miracle of fate he could choose to change a single thing in the ancient life that he had so far lived, it would unquestionably be the death of his brother.

Wen Ruohan had had quite a few brothers, in fact – his father, much like the usual style of leaders of the Wen sect, had fancied himself both empire-builder and emperor, and had had children accordingly, both his own and those he’d adopted, with all the headache-induing and often life-threatening dramatics associated with that – but to Wen Ruohan, there had only really ever been one that mattered.

Only one.

Wen Ruohan didn’t even remember any longer whether Wen Ruoyu had been his blood-related brother, sharing a father and maybe a mother, or if he’d been some child seized from another sect and given the Wen surname to help grow their power. It hadn’t mattered to him back then and it didn’t matter to him still, for all that he now prized his personal bloodline even above merit.

All that mattered was that Wen Ruohan had loved Wen Ruoyu more than he’d ever loved anything in his life, more than his sect, more than cultivation, more than power, and that Wen Ruoyu had died not knowing it. Had died cursing his name, spitting blood onto his face, fingers scrabbling at his neck in a futile attempt to choke him, wishing with his final breath that Wen Ruohan would never again know a single moment of peace.

Well, he hadn’t.

Ever the dutiful brother, he closed his eyes to nightmares, and woke to dreariness. He madly sought power enough to ensure that such a thing would never happen to him again, only for his obsessive quest to drive his few remaining loved ones into the grave; he had very nearly succeeded in becoming a god, and lost all interest in life in the process. The only joys remaining to him were his ever-growing power, his ever-expanding sect, and, sometimes, the blood and pain of other people, which he used as a reminder that he was not truly alone in this world.

And Lao Nie, of course.

Wen Ruohan had almost entirely succeeding in sealing off all of his emotions by the time Lao Nie showed up, smiling and carefree and reckless, half in love with the death he knew awaited him – showed up and battered down all of Wen Ruohan’s defenses. Wen Ruohan wished, now more than ever, that he had carried on in his attempts to make himself a true god, above all humanity, and not yielded to the siren call of friendship. Perhaps if he had been a god, he wouldn’t have been so hurt when Lao Nie barreled onwards with his life, leaving him behind not once but thrice – perhaps he wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have nearly murdered the little boy that Lao Nie had on occasion shoved into his arms during a visit, no matter how many times Wen Ruohan reminded him that it was inappropriate – the little serious one who looked so bewildered by it all but who still called him Sect Leader Wen the way Wen Ruohan instructed rather than listening to his father’s not-quite-joking suggestions of ‘Uncle Wen’, the little crybaby that had all unknowingly once tricked Lan Qiren into a logical conundrum that had made the man’s mind splutter out like a machine falling all to bits while Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie had roared with laughter…the one that had been charming enough to make him change his mind and opt to keep little Wen Xu around instead of sending him out to be adopted into the branch families the way he had with the other children he’d refused to acknowledge, mourning as he still did his first family.

He hadn’t meant to hurt Nie Mingjue.

Not like that, anyway.

It’d taken some time for the regret to creep in – his initial bout of horror had been more shock and irritation at having hit the wrong target, the shame of making such an elementary error to hit a boy he hadn’t seen in years rather than the man standing right in front of him, and then he’d shrugged it off, thinking to himself that the loss of a son would be as good a way to punish Lao Nie as the loss of his life. It wasn’t until his spies in the Unclean Realm came back and described to him what he had wrought…

Nie Mingjue didn’t look anything like Wen Ruoyu, not really, but in Wen Ruohan’s dreams he wept tears of blood in just the same way, spitting up foam as his eyes rolled in his head, dying – dying – dead.

Not dead.

It wasn’t a curse, Wen Ruohan knew, but if there was something he could do – anything he could do – he would do it.

He had to.

“You have to let him go,” someone said, and Wen Ruohan looked up in surprise: he’d been waiting for half a day already and god or no god, his legs were numb with sitting.

He didn’t recognize the too-tall young man who stared down at him, one eyeball eerily colored red and steel grey – the young man’s clothing was non-descript and ill-fitting, mismatched as if he’d picked it off some laundry pile without thought of coordination. There was something of the Nie in his face, the breadth of his shoulders, but his features were finer and sharper, his waist more slender, his fingers lacking in the familiar calluses of the saber; he looked like he’d be a fierce war god when he’d grown into his body but that he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

His golden core shone.

Wen Ruohan stared. His lust for power had long ago become an essential part of him, and in front of him was power, power at such a young age – if he could claim that cultivation for his own, maybe he could stop describing himself as nearly a god, could actually call down a heavenly tribulation and leap up to join the heavens in a single bound.

And then, maybe then, at last, he could have peace.

“You have to let him go,” the young man said a second time, and Wen Ruohan was distracted by wondering what he meant, not sure he understood and not entirely sure he cared. “That’s the only way. You have to let him go.”

He shifted forward, and something inside Wen Ruohan warned that he would strike.

It seemed ridiculous, though. Wen Ruohan, the finest living master of arrays, was not afraid of anything this young man might try to do – only a spiritual sword could pierce his armor, and even that, only one that took him utterly by surprise. No one would dare try to strike him.

Especially not this young man, who carried neither sword or saber.

Perhaps that was why Wen Ruohan never saw it coming – the young man’s hand moved in a jabbing motion, the way a sword would swing, and suddenly, impossibly, there was sword intent given physical form through spiritual energy, piecing through his defenses, slashing down at him and aiming right at his neck.

“Let me get this straight,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing his forehead. “Nie Mingjue reappeared after something like ten years out alone in the wild, and when he did he brought some sort of technique that just…fixed the Nie sect cultivation issue. The one that was killing you, and has been killing your ancestors for – generations.”

Lao Nie nodded.

“And then you allowed him to see Sect Leader Wen, who he attacked…in a way that happened to mimic some old tragedy that has apparently haunted him for years, thereby allowing him to resolve some long-held heart demon. And now Sect Leader Wen has retreated into seclusion in order to explore this moment of enlightenment further, and doesn’t intend to bother the rest of us for a while. Certainly not by continuing his schemes to take over the cultivation world.”

“That’s right,” Lao Nie said. “Though I don’t expect he’ll be in seclusion all that long; the Wen sect doesn’t practice –”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, indicating he wasn’t done and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

Lao Nie obediently fell silent.

“And then,” and by now Lan Qiren was speaking through somewhat gritted teeth, “when Sect Leader Jin rushed over because he wanted to get in on what he perceived to be Wen Ruohan’s attempted takeover of the Qinghe Nie, your son attacked him, too – except in this case, he crippled him.”

“I did say anyone who trespassed would be killed on sight,” Lao Nie said, entirely unbothered. Because of course he wasn’t – why would anyone think that suddenly being freed of a lifetime’s death sentence would make him less reckless and shameless? If anything, his overwhelming joy had just made him even more arrogant and inclined to insist on getting his own way. “It’s been known for years, and no exceptions have ever been made, not even for sect leaders. Why should Jin Guangshan think himself different?”

“That’s a terrible excuse,” Lan Qiren scolded. “And besides the point.”

“What is the point?”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth, then stopped, thought it over, and sighed. “The point is, I suppose – are you going to the Jiang sect next?”

Lao Nie blinked. “The – Jiang sect? Why?”

“Because instead of the cultivation world breaking the ‘curse’ on your son, your son has apparently taken to breaking the curses of the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “And he’s already gotten four out of the five Great Sects, so why not complete the set?”

Lao Nie’s lips quirked. “Four? I can see the others: my Nie sect’s qi deviations, Wen Ruohan’s madness for power, the Jin sect’s terrible luck in getting that scheming old lecher selected as their next sect leader…but what did he do for the Lan sect?”

“It was in his name that you forced my brother out of seclusion all those years ago,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “And now I spend half of every year traveling wherever I wish, and the other half teaching; it is everything I would have wanted. Meanwhile, my brother has finally through his children learned what it means to care for others instead of rotting to death in a self-imposed grave built from ill-fated love…if that’s not curse-breaking, what is?”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #sect leader nie #wen ruohan #lan qiren #my fic #my fics #cursebreaker

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kaaytea · 3 years

Note

hi :’’) i love ur blog so much!!!! can i request some random fluffy headcanons/lil scenarios of what a relationship with haruichi, ryou, and miyuki would be like? maybe childhood friend for miyuki only? ;v; i just feel like hes the type to go after his childhood friend lol

Falling for a childhood friend

⤷Includes: Ryousuke, Haruichi, Miyuki

Warnings: brief mentions of death, lil bit angsty

A/n: Hello lovely! It makes me so happy to hear you're enjoying the blog 🤧 I've already done dating hcs for both Ryou and Haruichi so I decided to include them in the falling for childhood friend req, I hope you don't mind! Also I don't know what happened with Miyooks, I threw in his mom as a small detail but then it turned slightly angsty

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

Ryousuke

Please, Ryou has been introducing you as his s/o since he was 8 years old

You lived across the street from the Kominatos and being the same age as Ryou your parents set up play dates frequently when you were younger

Initially Ryou would tease you alot by tugging on your hair and occasionally shoving you

But when other kids on the street started to bully you and push you around like he did, Ryou defended you with his life

Only he was allowed to bully you 😤

One day he just casually asked you out while lying on the grass in his backyard

You were kids so you didn't fully understand relationships

You liked Ryou, he protected you and was kind so that was enough reasoning for you to accept

You were "dating" the last few years of elementary school

When you started junior high you were a bit confused on if your relationship was actually serious because it began from an innocent question on Ryousuke's part

Was he actually seriously considering you his s/o? Or was this just a silly thing the two of you had kept going for too long?

When you asked him this he looked at you like you'd grown two heads

"I asked you out didn't I?"

"Yes but we were barely 8 at the time. You couldn't have actually been serious."

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't serious. My feelings for you haven't changed, if anything I'm probably more in love with you now then I was then."

"O-Oh"

To prove his point he kissed you on the lips for the first time

(and then he made fun of how flustered you looked)

Anyways

When Ryou told you he was going to Seidou you were heart broken. You were already confirmed to attend a local highschool meaning he'd be in a completely different city from you for the next three years

The last thing Ryousuke wanted was to break up with you. You were probably the only person he had met that he considered as important as his family, it'd be even more painful for the both of you if he broke off your relationship before leaving

You eventually settled on calling each other every night to talk and then Video chat every other Saturday

Ryousuke would sneak off during dinner to avoid his teammates eavesdropping on your conversations

He ended up missing you alot more than he thought he would so he looks forward to your nightly calls all day

He's extremely happy whenever you take the train to Tokyo to watch one of his games

After the game he always meets up with you and sneaks away from the team so you could watch the next game together

He also looks for a secluded area to just hug you for 5 minutes straight because wOW did he miss being able to hold you!

Haruichi

Haruichi was so close with Ryou when they were younger and spent most of his free time following him around so the two of you most likely met at school

Haruichi wasn't the best at putting himself out there to make friends in elementary school. He was a bit too timid to approach anyone so he usually kept to himself or sat with his teacher when the class was given free time

Until one day you just sat down next to him and started talking

He was too shy to tell you to go away and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like having a friend to be with, so he let you pull him over to a different table to draw together

By the end of that day the two of you were inseparable

Haruichi was honestly sO excited to have a friend that wasn't one of Ryou's! Sweet boy went home and told his mom all about you

Fast forward to junior high and you're still best friends

It's actually during junior high that the two of you somehow get even closer as Ryou left to attend Seidou leaving Haruichi alone back home in Kanagawa

The two of you spent almost every free moment you had together and Haruichi started to find a different sort of comfort around you

He doesn't even know what triggered it, he just suddenly realized how cute you looked and ever since then his chest would get all tight and he'd have the constant feeling of butterflies in his stomach when around you

Ironically everyone thought the two of you were already a couple, including his parents who once asked how his date with you was to which he had to stutter out an explanation with a bright red face

In your finale year of junior high, Haruichi decided he had to confess at some point. The uncertainty of where he'd be going for highschool was hanging over him like a nasty rain cloud, and with how he was leaning more and more towards running off to Tokyo each day, he knew he couldn't just leave without telling you how he felt

So one day while the two of you were studying in his room he just couldn't hold it in anymore and told you everything

You immediately told him that you were harboring the same feelings he was and encouraged him to go peruse baseball at Seidou

It felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders when you said that. He pulled you into a tight hug and hid his face in you shoulder as he muttered out thank yous

The day Haruichi left for Seidou you could tell he was torn between being disappointed about leaving you and being excited to open a new door of possibilities at the prestigious school

You sent him off with a kiss on the cheek promising to come visit sometime

What Haruichi didn't know is that your "visit" would be happening way sooner than he thought

A few months prior you had sent an application to Seidou and remarkably you were accepted!

Haruichi was significantly gloomy on the first day of classes. For the first time in over 10 years you wouldn't be sitting in the desk in front of his. He didn't think he'd feel so lonely this quickly, but here he was staring out the window desperately wishing you were here to ramble on about a videogame or what your mom had packed in your bento

The look on his face was priceless when you walked into his classroom and pulled a chair up to his desk like you'd usually do

"W-what are you doing here?!"

"I go to school here silly! Anyways, I started a show last night that we HAVE to watch together!"

Unsurprisingly the two of you were still attached at the hip while at Seidou

Although, Ryou seemed to find great pleasure in teasing the both of you now that you were in his proximity. He always took the time to send you knowing smiles or bops on the head when he passed the both of you in the halls

Miyuki

You lived relatively close to Miyuki but knew him more so due to the fact that your father worked at his dad's steel mill

When Miyuki's mom was still around she was always offering to watch you while you parents worked, so the two of you were kind of forced to become friends from your constant presence at his house

Those early days of friendship were spent in the kitchen with Miyuki gushing about baseball, pointing out cool plays and explaining the game to you while his mother cooked you both lunch

He'd also drag you and his mother to a park near by so the two of you could play catch together

(his mom would often have to remind him that sometimes you didn't want to play catch and to let you decide what the two of you should do)

When his mom died you slowly saw the effect it had on him

Miyuki lost the cheerful innocence he carried when he'd explain baseball games in his homes small kitchen. He became a little more closed off; a little less bright

There were days you would stop by to check in on him only to find Kazuya curled up on his bed clutching a scarf his mother had made him to his chest

He didn't cry, not once. Instead your friend became an empty vessel, a shell of what he formally was

Slowly his old cheery attitude would shine occasionally when making jokes or teasing you, a small crack in the calculative demeanor he kept up

Those small appearances of light-hearted behavior were your only reassurance he was still the same little boy you initially knew

Since his mothers death you took it upon yourself to be that little spark of light that seemed to have dimmed inside him

You pulled him to the park to play catch, encouraged him to continue being a catcher, you even helped manage your schools team so you could keep him company

You also became accustomed to carrying band-aids with you. Miyuki was a small kid for his age and had a habit of pissing off his upperclassmen which never ended well

When it came time to choose highschools Miyuki made it clear that you didn't have to follow him to Seidou to keep him company

He was going for baseball, making friends wasn't his top priority anyways

In the end you still went to Seidou with him (which secretly he was very grateful for, he felt better knowing you'd be there for him and vice versa)

I feel like Miyuki would unknowingly have had a crush on you for years but never realized it. He just played it off as you being his childhood friend

you knew him better than he knew himself so of course he'd feel this comforting love towards you!

Boy is his world turned upside down when Kuramochi asks him how long the two of you have been dating

He'd never considered seeing you in a romantic light but now the thoughts of holding you to his chest or kissing your nose WONT. LEAVE.

He becomes very awkward and goes through a mini crisis everytime he sees you

This would go on for a few weeks but everything seemed to peak after the summer tournament

You'd just gotten back with the rest of the managers and immediately went off to find Miyuki

He was in the dinning hall already watching their game against Inashiro when you found him. It was pretty late so the hall was empty asides from the two of you

When you walked over to him he just silently pulled you down to sit on his lap, propping his chin on your shoulder so he could continue reviewing the game. In return you ran your fingers through his hair

Kazuya would never admit he was upset with how the game turned out, but you could tell he was torn up from the outcome

Everything about this moment seemed to make his feelings boil over. He moved his head from your shoulder and stared you down

"I'm in love with you"

"About time you admitted it, dumbass!"

He pinched your side in retaliation, laughing as you slapped his hand away

And then he kissed you ♥️

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teenage-mutant-ninja-freak · 3 years

Note

Can we please have April introducing their friend, the reader, to each of the brothers(separately). Like they were on a lead about mutagen being distributed to some shady people and they would’ve almost died if it weren’t for the turtles. When asked who were those guys, April sets them up to meet one of the brothers as to not overwhelm them. Besides a bit of hysterical laughing and self rambling “Giant ninja turtles. Okay sure!” They take it all like a champ. Sorry if this is too much. 😅

I think I understand this one and it’s not too much at all, just sorry if I misunderstood and get it wrong

Leo

Obviously, April introduces you to Leo first

you had snuck into one of the shadiest places you think you’ve ever been in order to find out who was distributing this mysterious mutagen which had half of the city looking like animal farm and the other half scared out of their wits

but things took a turn when you asked too many questions

that was always your mistake, bad guys don’t ask questions.

But Leo was the one who helped you up from the floor when you hid behind the sofa

they’d blown the lights out before they came in so you didn’t really get a good look at them other that noticing they were big, big boys.

so before April introduces you she warms you that they’re not..of the human variety.

You didn’t understand until she opened the door and sat at the breakfast nook was a very large turtle man wearing a blue mask

“Holy fucking shit. dick, fucking fuckery” you say in a low, almost expressionless voice

you’d gone full circle from being so intensely surprised that your voice came out as bored

Leo looked up at you

“I’m sorry” you say “that was rude, what I meant was: holy fucking shit, dick, fucking fuckery” but this time you say it with feeling.

Leo gives a kind smile and a small chuckle. it wasn’t the worst reaction he’s had from a human before but it was one of the funniest.

that’s when the mumbling starts.

“I mean if you’d said giant turtles I would’ve- well, no, I wouldn’t have believed you but come on how is Kachhapa over there even real I mean seriously and is that? Ye-yep that’s a sword, he’s a giant turtle with a sword. Not sure if that’s cool or irresponsib-LOOK AT HIM!”

then you just start laughing, which gets a nervous laugh from everyone else in the room before a long silence

Leo finally talks

“...Well, I’m glad I could see you again in such different, less dangerous circumstances. I hope you’re staying out of trouble”

April decides you guys should leave it at that, if you’re gonna be weird then you should see Mikey next

Mikey

Leaving Leo to go see MIkey you mumble “What does he mean ‘stay out of trouble’ he’s not my dad”

so April hurries you along faster

you stop her before she knocks on the door to Mikey’s room

“so there’s another one? Of them? Ok just let me gather myself”

you half attempt some prayer hands together yoga pose thing before April just knocks anyways

when you walk in, you don;t know what you were expecting but somehow are surprised all over again that another mutant is in front of you

but you keep it together this time

Mikey is so cheery and happy to have company that isn’t April or his brothers

he waltzes up to you and does a little half bow with a small “Hey there, lovely. How’re you?”

all you can do is turn to April and ask “The turtles flirt?”

she widens her eyes as if to say “Stop fucking acting this way”

you sigh, look back at Mikey and smile

“Hi! Thanks for saving my life before, really appreciate that and all, being alive is-is kind of my jam so .....”

he beams at you, now he remembers you

you exchange a few more sentences out of politeness before excusing yourself to use the bathroom

Inside the bathroom you give yourself a much needed pep talk in the mirror that starts with “you dumb bitch, act casual!”

when you hear a voice from outside the door say “Normally pep talks are supposed to be motivational, not self deprecating but go off, I guess”

Donnie

That voice belongs to the one and only: Donnie

you open the door and immediately just say “holy shit, I’m so sorry you had to hear that”

he’s so nice about it, though

all smiles and “It’s ok, we’ve all been there. Who are you trying to act casual for? If I may ask”

You explain that this is kind of awkward, but being around mutants isn’t really something you grew up accustomed to so this is a whole new world for you “And I called your brother Kachhapa!” you blurt out

which makes him really laugh

“Don’t worry, I bet that reference was lost on him” he reassures

you compliment his glasses

because that’s what normal people do, right? Point out stuff they like about each other

this one has a more calming affect than Mikey did and you appreciate that so much, but he warns you about his final brother

says he’s a hot head and you should watch what you say a little

finally April finds you “So I see you’ve met Donnie now” then leans in closer to you “Hope you’ve got all of that out of your system before you meet Raph”

you reassure her that you’re a perfection functioning human being now and both Donnie and April walk you to the gym to see Raph

Raph

you get to the gym and the biggest turtle of them all is bench pressing the biggest weights you’ve ever seen

you gulp

mental pep talk time since the purple one interrupted your last one

“ok, he’s big, he’s strong, he could rip you in two so easily. why does that sound kind of good right now, though? stay on track, brain! Ok, just tell him like a gym pun or something?”

“Hey!” you call over to him, Donnie and April widening their eyes at your boldness “you hear about that guy who asked the receptionist at the gym which machine he should use to impress women? She pointed to the ATM”

he cracked a smile!

you couldn’t believe it!

this big badass guy who you could see as you got closer was lifting 450lb cracked a smile at a dumb gym joke

you soon discovered he didn’t say much but at least this wasn’t anywhere close to the interaction of fire and death you had pictured when Donnie and April talked about how ... Difficult this brother is.

eventually Mikey and Leo come join you in the gym and now that you’ve become accustomed to these oversized turtle men, not being weird is getting easier, you even got invited round for dinner the next night to meet their dad

April leaned in and told you their dad is a giant rat and all you replied is “of course, why wouldn’t he be?”

in the end, They all commend you on taking this meeting like a trooper and not freaking out entirely

even though you feel as though you could have been a lot cooler than you were about it

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bubmyg · 4 years

Text

scarecrow - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, fluff, couple blood mentions, death mention (brief), bit of protective yoongi, those previous three warnings sound a lot more dramatic than they actually are, non-chronological with the rest of my vampire yoongi series, this hints at some of the angst for future parts but only if you squint

word count: 1,612

summary: you’re going to keep telling yourself (and yoongi) that the maze is targeted towards literal children or the one where yoongi growls at a fake scarecrow.

“Whose idea was this?”

You contained your laugh by shoving your chin further into the pile of scarf fabric tucked around your neck and anchoring down on Yoongi’s clammy hand in yours.

“Uh, yours, babe.”

There was an acute chatter around your huddled figures, laughter too, and the faintest of startled screams coming from the dying corn stalks that clattered against each other in the late evening breeze. You, however, were only aware of the leaves crunching beneath Yoongi’s boots as he shifted next to you, arm occasionally brushing yours, tiny shoulder bag clacking against your hip.

“We can go home,” You reminded gently, casting a gaze behind you past the line that had quickly gathered behind you. “I think they’re selling cider near the entrance—”

“No,” Yoongi said quickly. Too quickly. Quick enough for a sheepish smile to form on his lips as he glanced at you. “I’m fine. C’mon, we’re next.”

You regarded the costumed attendants at the gate to the haunted corn maze with a muted giggle, squeezing Yoongi’s hand when the more bloodied of the two seemed to zero in on him with their pointed warning of, “Have fun…”

The group in front of you appeared as nothing more than some fuzzy shadows, disappearing as quickly as you thought you’d made them out until a small scream emitted from that general direction. You laughed again when Yoongi tensed, tugging him along through the beginning weave of the maze by means of threading your free hand around his elbow.

“What if we get lost in here?” He wondered out loud, seeming to calm when the first dozen yards weren’t lined with haunted jump scares.

“We can cheat the maze. Corn is planted in rows, we can just shimmy through them. The field has to end eventually...”

Yoongi was staring at you with a strange mingle of confused fascination. “Why do you know that?”

You saw the outline of a giant felt spider dangling at eye level before he did, letting your grin grow when the next succession of steps forward had him walking directly into it. There was a surprised yelp that came from his lips, higher pitched that anything you were accustomed to from your soft spoken, ancient boyfriend.

“Not funny,” Yoongi complained with a clear pout even in the haze of the evening, unlacing your fingers to drag his perspiration lain palm over the front of his jacket. The wrinkle at the bridge of his nose only worsened when you used your grip on his elbow to surge forward and peck his nose.

“Kind of funny,” You pointed out, regaining possession of his fingers in yours. “Haven’t you, like, killed people before?”

He groaned, dragging you past an actor’s arm that darted out from the corn in an attempt to snatch your heel. “Have I told you before that you’re ridiculously morbid?”

“You’re a two hundred year old vampire that just got scared by a fake spider made of styrofoam in a haunted corn maze marketed towards human children,” You cocked an eyebrow at him, “and I’m the ridiculous one?”

You didn’t need proper lighting to hear his cheeks pinkening. “I wasn’t scared…”

If there was anything about Yoongi you’d had to accustom yourself with, it was his consistent ability to be alert. Whether it was his inner survival instinct, his heightened senses, or simply a byproduct of his curiosity to understand the human world as it evolved around him, you weren’t sure. In fact, you began to hypothesize it was a combination of all three. Long ago had you stopped being startled when his nostrils flared at the sound of a loose dog two neighborhoods over, when his eyes flicked to a leaf rustling and breaking apart from its steam one hundred feet up in a one hundred and fifty year old oak tree.

Everything about Halloween themed amusements were meant to simulate a similar thing, pricking your ears to every movement, every scream up ahead, every rustle in the dirt part below the soles of your shoes. Somehow, the opposite effect had trilled through Yoongi, relaxing him when he began to anticipate the miniscule jump scares, progressively becoming less and less infatuated with anticipating them so as to mask his reaction. He’d started focusing more on you instead, calming only when he began to register the roar of your heartbeat in his ears was good, fear consented to rather than something he needed to try to curb for your safety.

You weren’t that scared by the scarecrow that catapulted from between the corn. There was an automated voice to the mechanism too, warning something about staying far away from it’s crop, encouraging you to run in some eerie monotone. You were near the end of the maze, anyway. You could see the lights of the festival at the end approaching over the stalks.

But in the moment, you jumped. It was unexpected, genuinely, as it was intended. Your shoulder blades bumped into Yoongi’s chest, your hand immediately coming up to cover the thrum of your heart underneath the layers of sweaters and jackets. The laughter of disbelief at your own actions fizzled when you heard a sound you’d only heard Yoongi make a handful of times.

A strong arm secured around your waist, heightening the growl that reverberated against your back, effectively pulling your stature backward until you were stationed firmly behind Yoongi’s bristling figure.

“Hey—” You touched Yoongi’s waist first, then his arm, using the tiniest budge you managed to get on his strength to touch his cheek, turning his gaze to yours. The shade of gentle brown in his warm irises had darkened red and, as you expected, the point of his fangs extended beyond his bottom lip, “—it’s okay. I’m fine.”

He blinked, an action that only softened the shade of his eyes but didn’t calm the rigidity of his stature, not as his gaze whipped to where the scarecrows animatronic had already retracted itself back into the corn. Gently, you took his hand, willing your heart to stop beating so fast so you could, with the utmost trust, settle his palm against the side of your neck where your pulse thrummed the loudest. “See,” You coaxed, triumphant when his thumb stroked under your jaw and his eyes swirled caramel, “I’m okay. Promise.”

Yoongi’s shoulders slumped, dragging his gaze away from yours but his hand remained on you, standing there huddled in a corner and dangerously close to a stray husk of corn that was dangling off one of the nearby stalks. You paid no mind, not when his hand traveled up from your neck to your cheek, brown eyes returning to you despite his fangs that still pressed small indentations into the plush of his, now pouting, bottom lip.

For a half second, you thought you were the one with the keen hearing when you heard him murmur, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” You demanded, the laughter that started the whole incident bubbling back through the slight, genuine, fear that had settled high in your chest.

“Sorry,” He tried again. His arm curled around your waist, pressing you close enough to lay his lips to your forehead.

You couldn’t resist. “No, thank you, actually. You protected me from the big scary scarecrow.”

It was a whine that left Yoongi’s throat this time, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it, I—”

“I’m kidding,” You laughed, rubbing a soothing palm over his stomach until he glanced at you again. “Hey—”

“I ruin everything,” Yoongi grumbled and even if he looked almost comical with the pointed tip of his retracting fangs still poking out from between his lips, you sensed he was at least halfway serious about the statement.

“Hey,” The firmness in your tone made his eyes widen. “I love you. I love being with you. You were caught off guard, no big deal.” His eyelids lowered in solace, nodding a couple of times, mostly to himself.

“Besides,” You took to pinching his hip, “Would Jimin have growled at a fake scarecrow for me? No.”

At the mention of your human coworker and best friend who harbored a not so subtle yet mostly joking crush on you, Yoongi locked his grip around your fingers again and began marching off toward the exit of the maze.

“Wait,” You tugged on his hand, only to have narrowed eyes assess you seriously when he stopped walking. “Do not go girl who cried wolf on me,” Yoongi deadpanned, “I just got my fangs to calm down. That includes mentions of that human.”

You grinned, rolling on your toes to cup your hand around his ear, even if he could have picked out your voice among a million others if you were halfway across the world from him.

“There’s a real life human waiting at the end of this maze to scare us. I think they’re dressed as a scarecrow,” You whispered, locking him in place when his features scrunched and he tried to lean away from you, “I’m telling you now that I’m not scared of them. In fact, I’m sacrificing you to them. As an offering.”

“You’re infuriating,” Yoongi told you when you dropped away from him, still rocking your hands at a gentle sway between your bodies, “You know that?”

“I love you?” You tried again.

Yoongi’s entire being softened, tiny flecks in his eyes now mirroring the stars shadowed by the thinnest layer of clouds racing across the night sky above you.

“I love you, my angel.”

Then, a look of determination crossed his features as he began shuffling backward. “Let’s get out of here, I want a caramel apple.”

“...wait, you do?”

#bts imagines #bts reactions #bts x reader #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #fic: vampire yoongi

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tartagilicious · 4 years

Text

[CN] victor’s double seventh/qixi date (eng)

this translation was a whole trip mythological aus are the best 😭 for this date, because his name is important to the plot, I decided to keep it as his CN name, Li Zeyan!

all of the qixi translations this year were divided up by a small group of translators, and you can find them on their blogs: @cheri-translates did Gavin’s, @redqueenschoice did Shaw’s and Lucien’s (though they’re available on Cheri’s blog), @skyholders did Kiro’s, and of course, I did Victor’s!

—

Soldier A: Where did you go?

Soldier B: There is no other way, they must have run into the woods!

Officer A: Chase them!

The voices of the officers and soldiers faded away. I slowly rose from the riverbank and made sure there was no one around. Finally, after a while passed, I stood up straight and took a few deep breaths.

Gripping the peach wood sword in one hand, I carefully picked up my skirt and prepared to step ashore.

??: who are you?

MC: !

As soon as I was about to act, my arm was suddenly pulled tightly, and the sword in my hand almost fell.

I turned my head to see a man behind me squinting at me, and his expression became even more gloomy when he saw my sword. With horns on top of his head, and a tail behind him trailing up to my legs, he seemed to want to impede my actions…

??: This sword…

MC: D-Demon!

I yelled desperately to avoid him, but he was too strong, my attempts ultimately having no effect.

Soldier B: I heard her voice! Over there!

Hearing the voices of officers and soldiers coming from the fork of the mountain road, me and the “Youkai” in front of me were both stunned.

[youkai (妖怪) are a class of supernatural monsters in japanese folklore, and the term doesn’t translate to anything directly, but traditionally means demon or spirit]

I was suddenly reminded of the importance of keeping the peach sword. I didn’t know where I borrowed the strength from, but I broke free of his shackles and forced him back into the water.

MC: Demon, since you haven’t had time to eat me, I won't involve you… so, you hide here, I have to go first!

I picked up my skirt to run once again, but the soaked clothes had since become heavier, and I almost couldn’t even stand firm when I left the river. A very light sigh seemed to be heard behind me, and I was pulled back into the water by force, my back pressing against a warm chest.

MC: you--

“Youkai” ignored me, just casually glancing at the soldiers and officers passing by. I followed his gaze and saw that the vines on the edge of the cliff moved by themselves, entangling the ankles of the officers and soldiers and throwing them back onto the mountain road.

MC: You… be merciful. They are annoying, but not deserving of death.

??: They are not qualified to be killed by me.

As soon as the voice fell, the several officers and soldiers got up and stumbled away. I had just breathed a sigh of relief when the “Youkai” behind me refocused on me.

??: What crime did you commit?

MC: I didn’t commit any crime! I only got my belonging back, it’s those people who are wrong.

I hugged the sword in my arms angrily, and noticing his gaze on me, I immediately regained my bearings.

MC: well… thank you for helping me just now, but can you please not eat me?

??: Didn’t you dare to push me into the water?

He pointed to the peach wood sword in my arms.

??: Is that what opens the barrier?

Barrier?

I looked down thoughtfully. I once heard my father say that there is a kind of barrier that can seal away monsters, and only a peach wood sword stained with one’s blood can break open the entrance. Since more than ten years ago, outside the barrier is no longer home to monsters, but--

MC: could it be that you are… the Guardian Saint Black Dragon?

MC: it’s really a dragon horn… the scales on your tail are so shiny! And wow.. Your clothes are satin. Did you make it yourself?

[stop it mc you’re embarrassing the both of us ;;]

Black Dragon: …

I didn’t expect that I would meet the Guardian saint, and my curiosity was overwhelming, so I forgot how fierce he was just now. Just when I wanted to study his hair again, he suddenly grabbed my hand and pressed me firmly into the shore.

Black Dragon: Have you touched enough?

MC: um…

Black Dragon: You are also a criminal..

I caught his dangerous gaze and swallowed nervously. His gaze moved down my face and finally stopped on the peach wood sword.

Black Dragon: Open the barrier again.

MC: What?

Black Dragon: Open it, and I can count it as you making up for just now.

I don’t know what the consequences of letting the Guardian saint leave without authorisation is, but I still obey what I feel in my heart and nod in agreement. The Black Dragon released his hold on me, but he kept his eyes on me as I walked away, as if he didn’t trust me to honour my promise.

MC: Lord Guardian, do you dislike humans?

Black Dragon: I just don’t trust them.

MC: hmm…. Humans can be very cunning. Someone did you a favour today, and you may be asked to return the favour later.

Black Dragon: ...What do you want to say?

I watched his expression and carefully considered my words.

MC: Now that I’ve promised to open the barrier, I will not break that promise. But, you’ve also seen the situation just now. If I go back like this, I definitely will not be able to keep this sword.

Black Dragon: Is it important to you?

MC: Yeah… My family has been slaying monsters for generations, and this sword is our heirloom. A while ago, the owner of the Jianzhu Workshop stole it. I took it back, but it seems that I’ll have to hide in the future.

Black Dragon: You come from a family that eliminates monsters, so why are you still afraid of them?

I recalled the exaggerated reaction just now, and chuckled embarrassedly.

MC: Because in the ten years since you were locked away, the world has been very peaceful. We have become accustomed to a world without monsters.

MC: Suddenly seeing someone that’s so different from me, of course I’ll be shocked…

The Black Dragon raised his eyebrows without further comment.

MC: Why don’t we make an exchange! I will help you open the barrier, and you will help me settle the situation. This must not be difficult for you.

Black Dragon: This is the “favour” you want me to pay back?

MC: Yes. I will set the conditions right now as to raise the value in the future. This is an exchange where you can make profit without losing anything.

The Black Dragon was silent for a while, and finally nodded gently

Black Dragon: I can help you, but you must protect important things in the future. Additionally, I won’t help you a second time.

MC: I will! Thank you, Guardian Lord!

I took him down the path and into the city, brainstorming how to have him move around the city without obstacles.

MC: By the way, when we go into town, is it possible that you can hide the horns and tail?

Black Dragon: I can.

He lowered his eyes and blinked, and the dragon horns and tails disappeared.

MC: Ok…. I still need to know your name.

Black Dragon: You do not need to know.

MC: Then, how do you expect me to call you in the city? Are you still called the Guardian Saint?

Black Dragon: That’s not possible.

MC: Lord Black Dragon? Lord?

He frowned and stared at me, not seeming to like my options. I racked my brain to think of more titles, and he sighed, seeming to have come to a decision.

Black Dragon: My surname is Li.

In order to avoid the officers and soldiers who might reappear at any time, we were cautious all the way before finally returning home along the right path. However, just as I opened the door, the voice I didn’t want to hear sounded from behind me.

??: Yo, isn’t this that little robber? I didn’t expect to run into people not yet caught by the government today.

The owner of Jianzhu Workshop actually had a group of people wait by my house! I hurriedly hid the peach wood sword behind my back, and stepped forward to block the Black Dragon.

MC: You stole my things, and are so embarrassed that you want the government to arrest me?

Boss: No one saw me steal your things, but many people saw you steal things from my store. What are you going to do?

Most of the people behind him responded and began to surround me. I’m suddenly nervous and at a loss. But, then I see the Black Dragon standing beside me with his arms lifted slightly.

Those who came close seemed to hit an invisible wall, bumping one by one and falling backwards. No matter how many times they tried, they didn’t make any ground.

Boss: T-This is magic! You are monsters!

The group of people looked on at us in horror and kept backing away. The boss ushered them away disdainfully and drew his sword.

Boss: You turned out to have a monster as a helper, but don’t think that this will scare me!

After speaking, he flew forward and leaped, with the sharp tip of his sword barreling straight towards my face. I subconsciously closed my eyes, but the coolness of metal breaking through air did not come as expected.

I hesitated for a moment before slowly opening my eyes, and saw that the boss’s figure was stagnated in the air, and the tip of his sword had stopped less than three inches from my face. In the next second, he also bounced far away like his men had before him, and the sword fell on the ground with a crisp clang.

Boss: What kind of monster is this… cough cough… it’s so powerful.

I secretly glanced at the Black Dragon next to me. He still stood there quietly, as if he hadn’t paid attention to the scene just now.

The boss reluctantly stood up with his sword and walked towards us, but stopped halfway obediently under the gaze of the Black Dragon.

Boss: I can’t beat you anyway, so let’s be honest with each other. I want that sword to conquer the Black Dragon. You should have heard that legend, right? The peach wood sword that has eliminated a demon -- as long as it’s stained with the blood of the Guardian Saint, he will surrender to me.

Boss: Now that the sword is in your hands, as long as you agree to cooperate with me, I can give you a share of the reward as compensation.

MC: It’s too vain to do that!

Boss: Mankind has been eliminating demons for many years, isn’t this point of return justified?

The surrounding temperature seemed to drop suddenly, and I held my sword tighter.

MC: Don’t even think about it. Xiao Li, don’t listen to his nonsense. Let’s tie him up and send him to the government!

I yelled this with a strong momentum, but the fingers hidden under my sleeve secretly hooked onto the Black Dragon’s hand and shook, hoping that he would not mind the disrespectful name. He glanced at me unhappily, but still moved his fingers, making the owner unable to escape.

Seeing some onlookers appeared nearby, I pulled the Black Dragon back, wanting to end this farce as soon as possible.

MC: Everyone is watching. If you still want to keep the Jianzhu Workshop in business, you should move on quickly and forget the ideas you shouldn’t have.

Boss: ….

MC: If you don’t speak, I’ll assume that you agree.

Black Dragon: He is speechless now.

I was stunned for a moment, looking at the flushing boss. But I looked at the Black Dragon and suddenly understood. So, I cleared my throat and deliberately amplified the sound.

MC: Now that you’ve realised your mistakes, go to the government and confess your guilt honestly. As long as you are willing to tell the truth this time, I will not care too much. I believe that the government will give us a fair verdict.

After testifying with the government, I locked the door of my house and lit a fire in the corner of the yard. Since the Black Dragon was trapped behind the barrier here, many legends that do not tell the truth have emerged, gradually ranging from spreading his divine power to how to conquer him.

Many seniors believed that the peach wood sword would be abused by people with ulterior motives, so they wanted to destroy the sword. But, it used to be a glory in the family and it was a relic of my father’s. I have always cherished it very much and am not willing to destroy it.

Until now, I have not really realised how disturbing its existence is.

The wooden sword was thrown into the flame, and the flame seemed to have received my worry, and quickly rose to swallow it. I waited until the flame went out and I doused the embers before returning to the house.

The Black Dragon was not there, and the window facing the black dragon was open. I hurried to the window and heard a little noise coming from the pond.

As soon as I slipped out, I saw the Black Dragon immersed in the pond water, seeming to be examining his own strength. The water around him seemed to diverge and gather, but only for a moment before it suddenly fell back into the pool, revealing his figure. He leaned casually on the bank, his slender fingers outstretched slightly.

The falling flowers on the water floated back onto the shore, embossed under the roots of the trees. The hanging water curtain not far away turned into layers of mist with his simple instruction, and fell onto the other branches with a crisp rustling noise.

For a while, I so surprised that I could hear nothing but the beating of my own heart in my chest.

This is… the strength that has always protected us.

In some kind of broad tenderness, this casual moment silenced the whole world.

He has a small wound on his body that is slowly bleeding, but he doesn’t seem to care. At this time, he had long faded away from his initial vigilance and suspicion, as if he had just found a comfortable place to nurse his fatigue.

Looking at this scene, I suddenly thought that if I had looked at his eyes more when we first met, I definitely wouldn’t have misunderstood his identity. Such a clear and quiet gaze could only belong to a truly powerful being.

Black Dragon: Don’t hide, come out.

MC: Sorry, I didn’t mean to peek on purpose… I thought you were gone.

Black Dragon: I am indeed ready to leave.

Hearing him say this, I felt a little reluctant.

Black Dragon: But I still have a question for you.

MC: What’s the problem?

Black Dragon: Why did you reject that person just now?

I was stunned for a moment, and then realised what he was referring to.

MC: ...The person stealing other people’s things is not credible, and I’m not interested in the conditions he offered. What’s more, is that the sword in my family has been used for generations to eliminate evil, and it cannot hurt a Guardian Saint who brings peace.

I couldn’t help but glance at his wound, and found a handkerchief in my pocket and handed it over.

MC: Why are you hurt?

He turned away slightly, his expression a little unnatural.

Black Dragon: The yard is too small and there are too many trees.

I looked at the small branches scattered around the pond and smirked internally. Naturally, this place can’t be compared with the vast forest. He obviously hasn’t adapted to the new area yet.

MC: Your blood seems to be very important, so wait for me to help you bandage it.

The Black Dragon looked at me, smiled lightly, and grabbed my wrist.

Black Dragon: The legend of the peach sword is false.

MC: What?

Black Dragon: Do you really want to hear more about it?

Looking into his smiling eyes, I almost lost my consciousness and nodded subconsciously. With a little force in his hand, he drew me closer, and the low voice sounded through my ears.

Black Dragon: The conditions that make me surrender never come from other things.

Black Dragon: You asked my name before. Do you know its true meaning?

Black Dragon: No way.

MC: I’m really fine!

Black Dragon: If I say no, it means no.

MC: But there is no other way. You’re a guest and a noble Guardian saint, I can't possibly let you sleep on the ground, right?

Black Dragon: …

Considering that the Guardian Saint was injured in my home, I warmly invited him to stay overnight, and he gave me the chance “to make up for the past”. I had taken the initiative to bandage the wound and make dinner for him, but after a smooth night, I suddenly hit a wall in sleeping.

I forgot that my cabin has limited space and only one bed. So, I was going to sleep on the floor, but he didn’t allow it. I had forgotten about the possibility of sleeping in the same bed, so, after thinking about it, I carried the quilt on the ground onto the bed.

Ignoring his surprised gaze, I first climbed into the innermost side of the bed, turned my back to him and patted the empty space behind me.

MC: If nothing else, I sleep very soundly!

I eavesdropped on the man behind me, and after a long silence, I finally heard the sound of the quilt being lifted once again.

The night was still deep, but we laid still for a long time. I still couldn’t sleep. Though, I still remember what he said to me by the pond--

Black Dragon: Names are a curse.

MC: Lord Guardian, are you asleep?

Black Dragon: ...Not yet.

MC: I have a question. Since the name is a kind of curse, many people usually call me, so why didn’t I feel it?

Black Dragon: Because you are all ordinary people.

MC: Is that right…

My curiosity flared up again.

MC: Lord Guardian, my name is ___. Since I am called ordinary, can I ask the unusual Guardian saint to recite it?

I waited for a long time, and the person behind me didn’t respond, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge my whim. I was beginning to grow restless, so I tightened the quilt corner and leaned against the bed.

Black Dragon: Li Zeyan.

MC: ...What?

Li Zeyan: My name. Go to bed now and you’ll still remember it.

MC: !

MC: Did you really just tell me that? Is it okay to?

Li Zeyan: ...If you dare not accept it, I can make you forget now.

MC: Wait, wait! I accept! But, if this isn’t a mantra, does it matter if i recite it?

Li Zeyan: You can give it a try.

MC: ..Li Zeyan

Li Zeyan: Good.

Li Zeyan responded reluctantly and put out the candle. I waited for a while, and it was quiet behind me, as if nothing happened. I’ve been so overwhelmed by the excitement of knowing his name that even in the dark, I'm not willing to close my eyes.

MC: Li Zeyan?

My answer was another stretch of silence.

I grabbed the quilt, and an uncontrollable impulse that could no longer be subdued was relieved through the curling of my lips. So, my brain began whirring and three words suddenly came out.

[she says three words because Victor’s chinese name, Li Zeyan, is characterised like this: 李泽言]

MC: Li Zeyan.

As soon as I was finished speaking, I felt that the bed next to me suddenly sank, my shoulder was caught, and I was pulled over. Before I could even utter an exclamation, I met Li Zeyan’s close face.

Li Zeyan: What are you trying to do?

It seems that every time I get close to him, I can’t think, I can only let the thoughts in my head slip to my lips.

MC: I just think your name sounds nice. I wanted to say again.

Li Zeyan seemed to be taken aback, and his hand holding me loosened.

Li Zeyan: Have you said it enough now? Shut up and sleep when you’ve had enough.

MC: But, I still want to hear you say my name. You know, everything must be exchanged in the human world, and I will sleep only when you say it.

Li Zeyan had probably never heard of such a request before and stopped talking, seeming to be judging if I was joking or not. Seeing that I still met his gaze firmly, he spoke word from word after all.

Li Zeyan: ___.

MC: !

I immediately covered my face, detached from his arm, and retreated to the other side of the bed.

MC: I-I promise to stop talking! I’ll sleep now!

Li Zeyan: ……

However, even when the room was quiet again, my noisy heartbeat did not calm down. Is this the so-called “curse”? This curse is really powerful. No no, it’s the “unusual” Guardian saint that is the most powerful.

I sigh quietly. It seems that I won’t be able to sleep tonight.

The next day, I woke up amidst a strange noise. I opened the window and looked out at the situation on the street. After recalling the day, I remembered that the Qixi festival has arrived.

I turned my head and looked at the other side of the bed: it was empty.

I quickly cleaned myself up and opened the door. I saw Li Zeyan leaning against the door and looking in the direction of the main street.

MC: Good morning.... Li Zeyan.

Li Zeyan glanced at me, and nodded stiffly to communicate a response.

Li Zeyan: Why is it so noisy outside?

I looked at the hint of curiosity in his eyes and suggested with a smile.

MC: If you’re interested, do you wanna go out with me?

The Qixi Festival has always been the most lively summer festival. Stalls have been set up early on the main street to sell all kinds of novel and interesting gadgets. I chose a booth at random and took him over to see it.

MC: Look, it’s a black dragon puppet!

The puppet was dressed in a colorful cloak, and the dragon’s horns and tail were swollen with cotton. I snuck a look at Li Zeyan, and he immediately frowned in disgust.

Li Zeyan: Too exaggerated. There’s no need to look like that.

MC: But it looks so cute!

Li Zeyan: ...Do you like it?

I was thinking about how to respond to the Guardian saint’s question, when the stall owner leaned over with a smile.

Stall Owner: The girl has a good eye! I bought this black dragon puppet from a temple of incense. Buying it back will surely protect both of you. For today’s holiday, if you each buy one, the price is discounted! Son, what do you think?

Li Zeyan: I don’t need it.

I took a peek at him, smiled and put down the puppet, then raised my arm and shook it indifferently.

MC: I don’t need it either.

I have been favoured by fate, so I can at least leave the puppets to others.

I don’t know if it’s my illusion, but Li Zeyan seemed to slow down and walk with me patiently. I guess he must have rarely had such a talkative moment during the long years he spent in the forest.

I secretly made up my mind to take him today to experience the “world fireworks”.

[it was never explicitly stated, but I’m guessing that this refers to the tradition of kongming lanterns mentioned soon.]

In the long main streets, through countless shops and stalls, we stop and try our best to spend this special day seriously. I imagined the Guardian saint who was aloof, but I was so entranced that I didn’t even dare blink my eyes, and together we studied the mysteries of the street performers

He still occasionally resents helplessness, but unexpectedly does not refuse assistance. Perhaps because of the smoke and fire, I almost forgot his original identity.

Time passed by, and the end of the main street was already in front of me. A small river transverses, and there are already many people piercing Kongming lanterns on both sides of the river

Li Zeyan: What’s the purpose of this?

MC: It’s a paper lantern to make wishes on. It rises into the sky after you light the inside of it. People write their wishes on the lamps, and the gods in sky will see it and may even help realise it.

Li Zeyan: How can there be such a thing?

MC: Today is the Qixi Festival, you can’t say such things! If it’s heard by the seventh sister in the sky, it will be bad.

Li Zeyan: ...what wishes do you generally make?

MC: On the Qixi Festival, everyone will wish for a good hand or a good marriage.

Li Zeyan: what about you?

MC: I…

I looked at a few pairs of lovers not too far away, and silently lowered my head. If you desire too much, than what’s the difference between me and those who want to imprison the Guardian saint?

But, perceiving Li Zeyan’s gaze on me, I cheered up and decided to answer the question in another way.

MC: Right, tonight, I want to see the stars, so I’ll take you to a good place to see them!

The pavilion at the foot of the mountain is part of a summer resort that I accidentally discovered when I was young. Now that the area is kept dense, the water is as clear as a mirror. The mountain breeze in the evening is very cool, blowing away all the heat of the day.

Li Zeyan leaned in the pavilion, looking at the distance with a relaxed expression.

MC: Is the Guardian Saint satisfied with this place?

Li Zeyan: well, it’s not bad.

MC: No one else will come here, so you can relax.

Li Zeyan seemed to have seen through the words as I was expecting, and showed a pair of beautiful dragon horns and a tail.

MC: I wanted to say it the first time I saw you, but, you’re really good looking.

Li Zeyan: In your imagination, was I ugly?

MC: Um… I was only expecting you to be more fierce.

Li Zeyan: And i did not expect that the one to open the barrier would be a reckless “bandit”.

I turned my head angrily, but I saw the smile at the corner of his mouth at a glance, and the feeling of dissatisfaction disappeared immediately.

I handed Li Zeyan a small purse I'd been holding in my arms.

MC: Just in case, I decided to prepare you something.

Li Zeyan took it and opened it, holding up a small peach wood sword pendant.

MC: Even though it’s small, it has the same effect as the original sword!

Li Zeyan: ...Didn’t you burn the sword?

MC: I secretly broke off a piece of the hilt of the sword, I think my father would not mind. But, if you ever encounter the barrier in the future, you can walk out by yourself.

Li Zeyan: “Self?” Where are you going?

MC: You definitely don’t want to stay in this world, do you? I couldn’t even go to heaven with you.

Li Zeyan: You don’t have to go so far. The freedom I want has nothing to do with where I am.

MC: But, you said yesterday that you were ready to leave… Are you going to another town?

Li Zeyan looked at the pendant and pondered a moment before speaking.

Li Zeyan: The forest is very large… but it’s not as good as a small yard.

Li Zeyan: No matter whether it is man or a god, there are no taboos, but it depends on whether that restriction is actively being accepted by itself. The spell of that name is a lock, and only those who know it can open it.

Li Zeyan: Just now, I've put the lock and key into your hands. So, I must keep you by my side.

I stared at him with a serious look, and it took a long time to find my voice.

MC: My home is so small... You will either get hurt or you will not sleep well...

MC: I can’t accompany you to heaven, but I can go with you anywhere else in the world. Because you know my name, I also want to keep you by my side.

He laughed at me, hooked his finger at me, and I leaned in faintly.

Li Zeyan: In this case, I’ll leave this on you.

With warm fingertips around my neck, he put the pendant on me. I stretched out my hand to caress the small pendant, and my heart was filled with wonder. I have no supernatural power, nor have I learned to kill demons and eliminate evil. Only this little peach wood sword and myself, who keeps the secret, will become his keys together.

I pulled out a comb from the side drawer and handed it to him.

MC: According to human rules, to make such an important agreement, you have to help me comb my hair.

Li Zeyan hesitated and took the comb suspiciously.

Li Zeyan: I have never brushed anyone’s hair before…

MC: You will live in this world in the future, so you can learn more.

Li Zeyan: Why are there so many rules?

MC: This is how humans are.

In order to reduce the difficulty, I took the initiative to lift up a strand of hair

MC: Comb this strand, and it will be done after three times.

Li Zeyan: Why?

I held back my smile and tried to find excuses for my careful thinking.

MC: Hmm… Because this way, the agreement will last longer.

A helpless sigh was heard from behind me, but he still continued. The movements were very slow and light, and he took care to not hurt me at all. Time seemed to stop in this moment, and at the same time, lovers of heaven and earth meet.

I leaned on his lap and peaked at the reflection in the water: he’s clearly smiling.

As the night darkened, a Kongming lantern suddenly floated in the distance. Orange lights gradually revealed themselves in the night sky, like stars symbolising wishes.

MC: What a nice view...

Li Zeyan retracted his eyes from the sky and looked at me.

Li Zeyan: I remember that you haven’t said your wish.

I stroked his hand holding the comb and combed the hair to the bottom with him.

“Three combs to the end, will tie two hearts together forever.”

The night breeze is cool, bringing the wishes of the world to the sky. And there is still a wish, turning into a quiet whisper before falling into someone’s ear. The person who receives this wish is my destination.

#mlqc #mr love queen’s choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #spoilers #mr love queen’s choice victor #otome #it won’t let me edit this post on mobile and I can’t fix the cg placing on my laptop :-;

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giggles-and-freckles · 3 years

Note

5 for obi wan and Ahsoka? 🤞🏼 pleeeease

from this december prompt list

5. dancing

“Well, you’re stunning.”

Ahsoka beamed up at him. “Thank you.” Obi-Wan struggled to withhold his smile at the way she ever so slightly twirled as she grabbed his arm, pulling him in the door. He was surprised at the dress she’d chosen, but quickly remembered the girl he’d grown so accustomed to seeing on a battlefield was still exactly that–a girl. A fifteen-year-old at that.

And one who he was only just now learning liked shimmery dresses that trailed the ground behind her.

“I just need to grab a couple more things and I’ll be ready,” she said, bouncing off to her room.

He sat on the couch, careful not to crease his own dress robes. The common room looked like he’d remembered it. He’d been here several times since moving out to visit or complete mission reports or clean the eternal mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, but it still felt strange to know it wasn’t his home anymore.

Of course, home had always been less of a place and more of a person for him, so perhaps his home was still here after all.

“Where’s Anakin?” he called.

The rustling around in her room stopped abruptly. “Um, I’m not sure.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. He stood from the couch and walked toward her doorway. Leaned against it with an inquisitive brow.

“Where is he, Ahsoka?”

She looked up at him guiltily. “He’s...not coming.”

“What do you mean–”

“Master,” she said quietly. Firmly. Enough to make him stop. She shook her head.

He closed his eyes against the sudden knots in his stomach.

“Master Obi-Wan?” she asked. He could feel her concern.

“I’m fine, young one. But, perhaps–” He stood up straighter and adjusted his dress robes. “Perhaps it’s best that we don’t go tonight after all. I’m not feeling well, anyway. The latest bit of stabilisers they gave me to aid in the transformation back, well...”

She studied him in a way that was too reminiscent of her Master to put him at ease.

“It’s not mandatory that we attend, so we can simply–”

“Master.” She placed a small hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it. You know him–he’s just...being dramatic.”

“I do know him,” Obi-Wan nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Which is why I’m worried.”

She swatted at his hand. “Stop that. You’re messing it up.”

“You’re lucky.” He chuckled, lightly flicking one of her lekku.

“Oh, this?” She smirked, lifting one side theatrically. “Took me hours, Master Kenobi.”

---

The party was like the others. Too loud and obnoxious for any real enjoyment on Obi-Wan’s part. But then...he wasn’t here for personal gain anyway.

The Republic. This was for the Republic.

Everything was for the Republic.

“It’s amazing what you accomplished on Naboo, Master Kenobi,” a Rodian senator was saying.

“Hm? Oh,” Obi-Wan pulled a smile, setting his drink down. “Yes, I am thankful we were able to prevent any true harm that was intended toward the Chancellor.”

“When we heard of your death on Kyreeah, we were shocked. The Great Negotiator! Killed by a sniper shot!” The Senator snorted in laughter and Obi-Wan wondered what dictated decorum on his planet because it was certainly different than what Obi-Wan was used to.

“Yes, well, it wasn’t the most enjoyable experience for me, either, Senator.” He tried for a laugh, but ended up coughing instead. “If you’ll excuse me…”

The Senator nodded with a quizzical frown. Obi-Wan bowed his head and hurried away from the table.

Air. He just needed some air and perhaps some sleep. He couldn’t afford to be here anyway.

There were council meetings tomorrow, almost all day. And once he finished with those, he needed to complete the paperwork for his physical and stop by the Halls so Master Che could sign him off. If she did, he’d be shipping out within a week, which meant he needed to get in contact with Cody and see about getting Tidal Squad back from their temporary assignment with the 382nd and–

And–

“You better not be ditching me.”

He gasped, hand reaching out for the wall as reality washed over him like a bucket of ice water.

“Master?” Ahsoka’s steps quickened and then her hands were on his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Padawan.”

“Master Obi-Wan.” She fixed him with an unwavering glare and, for a moment, he wondered if he had accidentally taught her that.

He surrendered. “Just thinking. Got a bit...overwhelmed. In my head.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

The older Jedi frowned. He hadn’t known she’d noticed, but then–they’d spent a great deal of time together in Anakin’s recent blocks of absence.

“I’m sorry to worry you.”

“Master Skywalker says its stupid to apologise for something that isn’t your fault.” She said simply, crossing her arms. “He also says you do it more than anyone else he knows.”

He breathed a tight laugh. “Well, Anakin has bore witness to the greatest number of my mistakes.”

The markings above her eyes knit together. “Naboo wasn’t a mistake, Master. You...did what you had to do.”

For the Republic.

“Dance with me.” she said suddenly, surprising him.

“Ahsoka–”

“I want to dance, Master.”

“Then, go ask a Senator. Stun them with your boldness.” He motioned to the room of well-dressed politicians. “We’re supposed to be mingling.”

She held a steady hand out. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“You drive a hard bargain, dear one.”

“I learned from the best, oh Great Negotiator.”

He accepted her hand with a roll of his eyes. “Heard that, did you?”

“He was an idiot–what?” She cried, noticing his admonishing gaze. “Look, I’ll respect Senator Goni when he learns that slavery is slavery, whether they’re convincted criminals or not.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but grin with pride, thinking of the absolute storm of justice and goodness his Grand Padawan had become. This galaxy would be better because of her.

She stepped into him, her cheek coming to rest near his shoulder. Pretty soon, she’d be tall enough to rest on it, he realised.

“He will come around, you know,” she hummed into the fabric of his robe.

Obi-Wan wasn’t so sure.

Ahsoka swayed, pulling him with her. His ears strained to hear the music she was following, but the band, already on the other side of the gallery, had slowed down and quieted. He followed her anyway, remembering when parties like this had still been a chore, but one he could count on enjoying with his Padawan at his side.

Anakin–scrunching his nose at off-world foods and making faces behind the backs of snotty Senators. He never gave up on trying to teach Obi-Wan a traditional Tatooine waltz, even after the older Jedi had accidentally flipped an entire table in the process.

“I’m glad you’re here, dear one,” Obi-Wan said quietly, pulling Ahsoka the tiniest bit closer.

#my fic #oh anon you know what I LIKE huh??#I know I said I would force myself to keep these short #but um–#ITS OBI AND SOKA WHAT DO YOU EXPECT FROM ME???#obi & soka #post-deception arc bc that's my angst bread and butter #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #december prompts #writing prompts #sw fanfiction

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costellos · 4 years

Note

I loved the hcds of the bucci gang realizing that they are in love, how is it with the squadra?

YEEEESSS thank you for this suggestion, friend! delicious. finally some good food. I only focused on Risotto, Prosciutto, Melone, and Ghiaccio for this one. it doesn’t seem like there’s much of an audience for Illuso, Formaggio, and Pesci, anyway.

Bucci gang ver. here!

❥ ┋ ❝ la squadra realizing that they’re in love!

risotto nero.

Risotto realizes he’s in love when you prove him wrong.

he’s a man on a mission. as a world-renowned assassin, Risotto knows exactly what needs to be done and how to do it. there is no room for hesitation in this line of work. that’s why he was so surprised when you were placed in his team.

you’re capable, he’ll admit that much. but during his assignments with you, he’s quick to notice those brief moments of apprehension. there might be a glint in the target’s eye, that sign that they’re not ready to die yet. even though he tells you to ignore it, you still hesitate. he concludes that you’re not ready for this.

it happens while following an assignment from the Boss. Sorbet and Gelato still haven’t turned up. despite his team being nothing but obedient (even with their suspicions of the couple’s fate), Risotto doesn’t like the way this mission is carrying out.

chatter fills the streets of Naples. streetlamps are ignited, signing a near-end of the day. there isn’t anything off about this night, not technically. it still doesn’t feel right. Risotto keeps his guard up as he turns with you into an alleyway. you’re supposed to retrieve a yellow envelope from the Boss here.

you catch it before he does. the mission is a set up, with the Boss sending men to dispose of Risotto, as his death would shamble La Squadra. yet before the Boss’s henchmen can do anything, you swipe at their legs, incapacitating them.

there weren’t any giveaways that these men were working for the Boss. yet when you both approach them, they admit they were paid a hefty sum to carry out the assignment. that’s when he sees it: the Aegis tattoos on their wrists.

like always, you hesitate when getting rid of them. thankfully, the job is done and you’re both safe. at least for now.

“you caught their tattoos,” he notes.

you admit that you did. it’s a sign of loyalty that all of the Boss’s higher profile cronies bear. a divine shield, the tool that Zeus himself used to strike fear into the hearts of men. Risotto is shocked that you caught the marks so fast.

you always hesitate during missions. he’s well-aware of that. but while he initially saw it as a weakness, there’s more to you than he anticipated. your ability to analyze the situation, to catch details that even he would miss. it’s... curious. yet intoxicating nonetheless. ↳ “good work.” his hand is on your shoulder, an action that you’ve become familiar with during your assignments with him. this feels different somehow, though. warmer. “but don’t assume that this is the end of it. tonight proves that we need to be more aware.” aware of everything now, he notes. your surroundings, the people you talk to, and as Risotto spends more time with you, his own feelings.

prosciutto.

Prosciutto realizes he’s in love when he sees your efficiency.

he doesn’t like dwelling on things. feelings, main points, and certainly not missions. Prosciutto makes his best effort to complete his assignments as quickly as he can. that doesn’t mean he cuts corners, though. he’s very good at his job.

that said, he gets quite frustrated watching Formaggio and Melone carry out their assignments. they always leave a trace of themselves behind, and in the case of the former, he often has to deal with several needless causalities. going over their paperwork is always such a headache.

then he’s partnered with you. despite your three months on the squad, this is the first mission Risotto has had you collaborate on. not that Prosciutto minds. like all other things, he doesn’t think much of it. he’s seen enough reports of your own fighting style to know that you’re skilled.

it didn’t come so apparent until you landed on-site. the Forum of Augustus, ruins left by Augustus himself honoring the Roman god, Mars. although Prosciutto had visited Rome countless times (sometimes for formal work, sometimes out of pleasure), this is his first time stepping foot in the forum.

you’re supposed to dispose of a small but rival gang. Prosciutto makes diligent work of aging them. but there’s one kid who’s stubborn, using her explosive stand to send shock waves throughout the site.

he sighs. this might be more work than he had anticipated. no wonder Risotto sent two people for this assignment.

but before he can think of his next move, Prosciutto finds the girl at his feet. he scowls. then he looks at you. you’re breathing heavily with your arm still raised, a sign that you had used your elbow to knock her out. he’s not sure how you did it but you did, and now this mission is over before it began.

“nicely done,” he tells you. the forum doesn’t look terribly damaged. there are some collapsed columns and chipped statues, but nothing worth fretting about. so he starts using Grateful Dead to disintegrate the bodies to nothing more than dust. that’s when you start beating yourself up, something about how you could’ve done better. Prosciutto turns to you.

you wanted to cause less damage. the Forum of Augustus is a national landmark; just because it was used as a meeting grounds for some lowlifes doesn’t mean that it should be destroyed. likewise, you wanted to make Prosciutto’s job easier. you had heard that he’s a stickler for inefficient work, and this being your first mission together, you didn’t want to be a nuisance.

Prosciutto blinks. you went that far for some thousand-year-old cement? for him? he’s so used to his colleagues brushing him off (save for Pesci, bless him). being considered for once feels... nice. so he puts his hand on the small of your back, shaking his head at your grievances. ↳ “to be honest, you far exceeded what the others would have done.” Prosciutto comes off as a cold man, but he’s actually quite comfortable giving praise as he sees fit. it certainly applied here. “don’t dwell on it. let’s just finish the job.” and it was true: you did great work, exceeding beyond his own expectations. how else will you surprise him?

melone.

Melone realizes he’s in love when you go out of your way to protect his stand.

yes, he can make a new junior at any time. this one, though... di molto! it’s absolute perfection! the ideal combination of nature and nurture, this junior is sure to put up a beautiful fight. Melone is brimming with excitement.

he first thought it was a mistake. your using your stand to protect his, defending it from an onslaught of punches from your target. “I can’t tell if they did it on purpose or not,” the junior reports to him. Melone simply waves his hand in the air, telling it not to worry. it can trust you protect it. he only says that to reassure the junior, however. while his other colleagues had protected it in the past, they never went out of the way to do so. Melone thinks nothing of it.

even still, he’s puzzled. he knows he can make a new junior at anytime. you know this too.

ugh. whatever. he won’t think too much about it.

but then it happens again. this time, your stand swoops the junior into its arms, saving it from a falling lamppost. when Melone hears word that you defended his stand — for sure now — he’s not sure how to react. so he leans back in his seat, hand stroking his chin.

he’s become so accustomed to Formaggio mocking Baby Face. not like that idiot would understand, anyway; Melone’s gotten used to it. he knows what Baby Face is capable of. his colleagues do too. and certainly you.

that’s why he can’t wrap his head around why you would do it. it’s the first thing he asks you when you return back to the squad’s hideout.

because I knew how proud you were of this one, you respond. you make it sound so casual, with your bright smile and shrug of the shoulders. Melone simply looks back at you, eyebrows scrunched. even Risotto would let the junior perish if it meant completing the mission. you obviously went beyond simply defending it. at that point, it’s just risky for everyone.

despite that... he can’t stop thinking about it. your prioritizing his happiness over the mission might have been foolish, but he still appreciates it. how you smiled when you told him, how you made it sound like the easiest task in the world. Melone suddenly finds himself wanting more missions with you. so he approaches you as you’re leaving for your next assignment, frame overlooking you, expression amused: ↳ “heading out now? di molto! let me have Baby Face assist you!” he’s so obvious about wanting to spend more time with you but he doesn’t care. someone who entertains his silly, little pleasures is something worth keeping an eye on. “no, no, I insist. please, it’s nothing worth fretting about.” maybe one day, you’ll have eyes for him too.

ghiaccio.

Ghiaccio realizes he’s in love when you indulge his rant.

although he can remain level-headed during a mission (to a certain degree), there are many things that makes Ghiaccio tick during moments of peace. his most obvious grievance being inconsistencies in diction and proverbs.

everyone is familiar with the Venezia rant. that said, most had become familiar with what makes him annoyed. and unfortunately, most do it on purpose.

it happens while planning for the next group assignment. it’ll take place at Teatro di San Carlo, a historic opera house next to the Piazza del Plebiscito. Prosciutto is running over the details when he says it: foyer. not as foi-yur, however. foi-yeh. and Ghiaccio loses it.

he goes off on a tangent, explaining that the word stems from old French and it doesn’t make any sense for it to be pronounced like that. he’s slamming his fist on the table, voice raised as he makes his point. Prosciutto and Pesci are looking at him blankly. Formaggio and Melone are stifling a laugh. Risotto and Illuso let out a sigh and turn to each other. with a nod from Illuso, Risotto holds up his hand, asking that Ghiaccio save this for a different day.

despite his obvious displeasure (crossed arms and a soft click of the tongue, typical of him), Ghiaccio quells his argument. Risotto gives Prosciutto the okay to continue.

so he does. but this time, he makes it a point to continue using ‘foi-yeh.’ he emphasizes it every time he uses it, his azure irises flickering toward Ghiaccio with every use. he’s enjoying this. Ghiaccio clearly isn’t.

at the end, Prosciutto asks if there are any questions. you raise your hand. to be honest, Ghiaccio isn’t paying attention to most of what you’re saying. that is, until he hears you use ‘foi-yur.’ you emphasize it as clearly as Prosciutto had with ‘foi-yeh,’ sprinkling it wherever you can. when you finish, you turn to Ghiaccio (who’s now staring at you, eyes wide) and flash him a thumbs up.

Ghiaccio isn’t sure what to do. so he responds with an ‘okay’ sign, eyes still wide from your little show. no one has ever defended him like that. “defended” might be a strong word for most, but to have his point be acknowledged in such a small way has Ghiaccio at a loss for words. so he just sits there, wordlessly, staring at the blueprint that Prosciutto is using for this next mission. once Risotto calls the meeting adjourned, though, Ghiaccio is the first to spring from the table, taking his spot beside you as the others file out of the room. ↳ “you didn’t have to do that, you know.” he blinks. shit, was that to harsh? “they’re going to call you a kiss up now.” there. that puts the concern on you, because truly, he is worried that the others will tease you now. but you just shrug and say that you don’t care, that you didn’t want him to feel ignored. Ghiaccio is, in spite of White Album’s abilities, a hothead. he’s a man built from passion and liveliness and enthusiasm. and after hearing you say that, he’s starting to feel those sentiments apply to you, too.

#la squadra #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #golden wind #La Squadra Esecuzioni #risotto nero #prosciutto #melone #ghiaccio #headcanons #Anonymous #side note this was RIDICULOUSLY hard to write #we're given so little information about la squadra that it was hard to dig into their characters when there's like.... nothing there :')#which is why most of these focused on missions #still #this was a really fun challenge #thank you for the request!

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thecrownrp · 3 years

Photo

THE KINGDOM OF CLOVERS PRESENTS . . .

one of the FOURTH TIER ROYAL candidates, KWAK AHYOUNG: a 22 YEAR OLD born on SEPTEMBER 28TH, 1998. some may know them already but with a face like that, it’s hard not to admit they look a little like JO HASEUL. curious to know more? apparently, these are words they live by: “she’s like a rose that’s forever in bloom.” intriguing, aren’t they? only time will tell if they’re suited for the throne or not.

LOOK A LITTLE CLOSER . . .

tw: slight abuse, neglect, death

kwak ahyoung never wanted to be a princess.

her mother’s side of the family was known for wanting to please the queen at all costs, doing the absolute most to try and get close to her and gain her approval. but even as a child, ahyoung didn’t see the appeal of it all. rather than growing up like any other child, she was forced into a lifestyle of manners and etiquette.

“how could you not want to be a princess, ahyoung-ah?” her mother asked her stubbornly during one of their many quarrels. out of everyone in this family, it was this woman who always pushed the royalty agenda against her. she couldn’t get along with her for one second.

“i want to be a musician!” the little child would scream back. “i want to sing to travel the world and sing to people!

"don’t be foolish, girl! you must be accustomed to this life or else!” she’d lecture. “now get dressed or else you won’t be able to have dinner tonight!"

thank god ahyoung’s father at the time was always there to defend her to calm down their arguments. not only that, but she’d always see him as a shield of some sort, always protecting her from her mother’s harsh words. she knows that the woman loved her… it was just the fact that she’d never give her the chance of seeing things in her light.

her father however did. before he had married her mother, he was a musician once, too. he always had a guitar in hand and would play songs for the little one to sing along to, always letting her live her dream of being a singer seem possible to her. he even taught her piano, with approval from her mother as it would come in handy with impressing the royal highness.

"why do i have to be a princess, papa?” ahyoung asked her father one day as they played a piano piece together.

he was silent for a while, trying to think of an answer that would convince his little sunshine. “don’t you want to live a nice life, ahyoungie?” he asked her, tugging on her cheek to get her to smile. “princesses and princes get to live in a palace and lots of attention and food. they also get lots of gifts and always look pretty. it’s essentially our life, but with more benefits!"

and that sounded convincing. ahyoung’s family was not poor by any means. because of her mother’s side, they were very much well off and it’d be nice to gain even more. but at the time, the little girl didn’t think about power or reputation. she didn’t think about how popular she’d be, should she follow the path her mother wanted her to. to her, there was nothing special about being in a beautiful gown full of riches in a large, extravagant palace. if she wasn’t able to explore the world and see what more it had to offer while also doing what she loved most, then that was the life she certainly didn’t want to live.

"mmm. i don’t care,” she answered. “i just want to sing and travel the world while singing. i think i’ll be happy that way."

her father gives her a smile. "you really are my girl,” he says, adoration practically dripping from his voice. “if in a few more years you don’t change your mind, i’ll convince your mother to let me take you around the world and we can sing together."

"deal!” she cheered happily.

kwak ahyoung can’t be a princess.

ahyoung and her father get into an accident that ruins her life forever. while she is left with only a few wounds and a broken leg from the collision, her father was the one that was most affected. she is knocked out as soon as the impact braces them, not aware of how her father was losing so much blood right beside her. she was unconscious while her father was rapidly losing whatever leftover strength he had left.

the only time she became aware of the fact that he was dying was when she woke up from the hospital bed, looking over at her mother with her little sister holding her hand.

“where’s dad?” she asked with a worried tone. as soon as she sees her mother’s red eyes begin to water again, she finds herself crumbling apart as well.

the night after his memorial service, ahyoung is called to her mother’s bedroom. “there is something important i must discuss with you. please be sure to get there as soon as we get home,” she told her as they made their way out of the funeral home.

“i’m sure you know why you’re in here,” she starts off. “we must discuss your future. specifically, we must discuss your future. specifically, your future as a princess."

the girl grimaces. this was a fate she had wanted to avoid for all of her life. even now at her young age, she wanted to not listen to her. "why does it have to be me?” she asks. “why can’t it be ahri?"

"your sister is much too young to be a princess. she is only twelve years old!" her mother explains to her, her tone sounding as if she was mocking her oldest daughter. "and even if it's much later than we intended it to be, you can be a princess at your age... how old are you?"

"twenty-one. you were at my birthday party."

"oh! right! my, what an incredibly late age to be a princess," the woman sighs and shakes her head. "no matter. becoming a princess late is better than never. you should be grateful that your father has kept you from being one for this long. otherwise, you'd have been a princess... six or seven years ago!" she laughs to herself.

she's the only one laughing. when she stops, she continues her speech.

"no matter. as you are under my roof, you will do as i say until the moment you are bethrothed... if that ever happens." ahyoung wants to smack her face at this point, but she restrains herself from doing so. there was no point in showing her anger now. after all, she is still grieving. her father wouldn't want her to do anything rash to her mother, anyway. "i expect to see you prepared tomorrow. i know your father has passed away, but the sooner you become a princess, the sooner you will repay him for the burdens that you've rested upon him. understood?"

"understood."

"good. you may leave."

and so she leaves, her jaw clenched as she finds herself pinching her own skin as a way to hold herself back from absolutely losing it.

kwak ahyoung must be a princess.

she does not want to be, but she also wants that wretched lady off her back.

perhaps when she finally achieves the goal that her mother's family has been yearning for, she'll finally be treated like a daughter from her mother. maybe her mother will treat her the way she treats ahri. she won't lie that she always envied her little sister for receiving all the love and attention she wish she had growing up from that woman.

despite the unfortunate events in her life, a part of ahyoung still has hope. upon clearing his belongings as instructed by her mother, she had kept her father's guitar pick and attached a string to it, wearing it as a necklace around her to symbolize some sort of hope. someday, she will travel the world and sing with a band. she will inspire people and have them sing along with her too, if not clapping along to her voice. because though her father is gone and she still has to find a way to get used to the palace full of riches, she still has hope for her humble dream. even if she has to be more aware of her power and reputation, she could care less about all of the expectations put onto her.

she does not want to be here.

she will make sure that she will be free... even if her mother intends on keeping her contained.

#cwnfollow #cwn kingdom: clovers #cwn rank: royalty

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pfreadsandwrites · 4 years

Text

不名誉・Ignominy・一 (1/3)

AO3 LINK AND AUTHOR’S NOTES

ACCOMPANYING SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

warnings: description of suicide, depression, violence, death, angst, father-son relationships, one-shot, 7k words

i.father /ii. son (tba) /iii. legacy (tba)

不名誉（romaji: fumeiyo) - dishonour

Nothing is here. Not time, not space. Just the ghost of a father, waiting for the ghost of a son. What else would limbo be for?

親はなくても子は育つ

Even without parents, children grow up.

The flame is incessant.

It rustles and crackles, never wavering, the only thing of note, of light, in this eternal aphotic abyss. It’s comforting somehow, the warmth of the fire. Energising. Igniting his soul in a way that he doesn’t mind this place, wherever it is, however long he’s been here. Paradoxically, he doesn’t feel it.

A spark escapes, but he doesn’t make to evade it. His bleary eyes watch on hopelessly as it disappears back into the obsidian.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say he doesn’t begrudge it.

Limbo, is it? Sakumo figured. Certainly not the afterlife, not all of it. Bleak as it was, it was too… empty, too inconsequential, even for someone like him, someone who died like he did. He shouldn’t have expected anything more. He didn’t deserve anything more. It was fitting that even transferring from the physical realm to the spiritual isn’t straightforward, not for him anyway. It’d been too bold of him to assume he’d at the very least get that, even if he did only assume it for a moment.

When he considered the notion of his own death - and he had considered it - afterlife hadn’t really come into it. It didn’t matter, he’d decided. As long as he ceased to exist on Earth, what awaited him here was an afterthought. And he’d be remiss if he lamented it now, not after what he’d done.

There’d been no other way.

(But if that were true, why is he bound here? He knows nothing has ever been that simple. Surely there’s something missing, something he needs to atone for beyond his death? Or maybe-

The thought is snatched away before it forms fully, engulfed by the greedy fire before him)

Yes - no other way.

It’s of little comfort though, because it just means that he was always supposed to be here too, regardless. Waiting. He knows why. Ending things like that - no, how dare he be cryptic - when he plunged the blade into his stomach, swiped it along smoothly and keeled over. When he groaned in pain, torment and inure. When he expelled his guts and with it, his anguish and his anger - and his sins and his virtues, in the hope that no one else would bear them, especially not the little boy. When the the little boy that, despite acting more like a man, wouldn’t understand that this was all for him, the little boy that looked too much like him and too much like her, the little boy that meant everything, had discovered his father’s corpse.

Yes - no other way.

Necessary - incumbent, horrific, as it was, he has to take responsibility. Even if it means staying and suffering here for all eternity. He won’t let thoughts of regret enter his mind, let alone admit it out loud.

Whether what he did was fair, whether what led up to it was fair, is inconsequential. Justice doesn’t come into it. It’s honour. It’s what a shinobi does, what a man does, what a father does. If he can’t do even that for his son, then that flame can grow and swallow him up now for all he cares.

He owed Kakashi that much then, and he owes him that much now.

So he knows he can only accept, and wait. Morbid as it is to wait for your own son here, of all places, it’s the best he can offer him. It’s all he’s ever been able to offer him. He closes his worn eyes. The smoke from the fire envelops him and for a moment, it’s too real. He reminds himself there’s no point in coughing.

(How can he still feel so tired?)

Less than a fortnight after his own birthday, the child is born. He takes as much as he brings.

It’s quick - it seems barely minutes have passed before his wife’s cries were replaced with the newborn’s. Kicking and crying, a typical protest at being dragged away from safety and into this wretched world.

He waits outside (a shinobi has no place at a birth, after all), mission-worn, resting his bruised forehead on his clasped fists whilst his eyes are screwed shut. He knows better than to expect a perfect outcome, even if her determination wouldn’t accept anything less. But still, his ears strain of their own accord for the slightest hint of her voice camouflaged by the baby’s.

“It’s a boy. A healthy, beautiful boy,” the nurse says kindly, breaking him out of his prayer. Her eyes avoid his, and he can’t help but read too much into the hesitance in her words. So he attempts to ready himself for the impossible, but she continues. “Hatake-san, your wife-“

His breath hitches.

“She’s a fighter.”

The scene is alien, when he finally meets his new family, hunching over her bedside. She holds the infant close against her breast, nursing him with an exhausted, but enduring glow on her weary features. The tenderness that she’d previously only ever shown him seems to define her whole being now. The skill, the nonchalance, with which she’s transformed so flawlessly from a woman, from his wife, into a mother leaves Sakumo unable to do anything but watch awkwardly. It’s too pure an image, too different from all the ones he’s grown accustomed to. Completely natural whilst somehow equally ethereal. He knows he’ll sully it the moment he interrupts.

Luckily, she does it for him. She’s always been stubborn. Dragging him back for his sake, like she always does.

“Your son,” she states matter-of-factly, before dissolving it with a giggle. “Come meet him.”

He nods. Her smiles always were infectious. So much so that they both forget that it’s a miracle she’s still here. His large, marred hand brushes over the baby’s tiny head, his soft, clean silver hair, silver just like his. This is the son of the White Fang. Cruelly ironic, the visceral reminder that this boy was his, even in all his innocence and all his father’s battle scars.

Father - yes, he was a father. How long will it be, until his son sees his father for what he is? How long will it be until he turned out the same way? Fatherhood - his head suddenly feels too heavy to hold up, to bear it, just like his son’s.

As if she knows, she interrupts his internal doubt. “He looks just like you. If I were feeling just a bit pettier, I’d say it’s unfair,” she jokes. “Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” Sakumo dismisses quickly, and points to a mark next to the boy’s mouth. A black dot, placed so specifically it feels intentional. It’s easy to miss, but it’s there. Unwavering, unremovable. Just like her. “This is yours.”

Almost in agreement, the baby’s tiny fist clenches around his finger. His eyes widen, and she laughs. “Mm. And look - you’re his.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything - only marvel at how, for the second time, someone was just able to pull him away from himself and so close so simply and so impossibly.

He straightens his back.

“What do you think of the name Kakashi? You know, scarecrow to your crops?”

He grins. Strange how she always re-ignites his courage.“…It’s a good name.”

It’s dreamlike after that. The child grows quickly, and every day they both find new things to smile about, to love, about the baby and each other. Kakashi looks more and more like his father each day, and it exults his mother, even if she pretends otherwise. Each mission has Sakumo more reluctant to leave the sanctuary she created when she kisses him goodbye, but he returns quicker each time too. Their smiles are more motivation than he ever thought possible.

Nothing so idyllic would last so long, even if a child can convince you otherwise.

It isn’t long before her smiles disappear when she thinks his back is turned. When her colour disappears, her fingers tremble and she becomes lighter in his arms as Kakashi grows heavier in hers.

Her infinite determination is only finite at delaying fate. Suddenly the always blunt, smart-mouthed woman is reticent, subdued. She’s never been good at apologising, but it’s all she seems to do now. To him, to Kakashi - even he, with his curious, intelligent eyes, seems to understand more for his age than he should. He becomes equally silent.

“Look after him, for the both of us, Sakumo. Watch him grow up. Please.” Of course he assuages her fears, even as his world falls apart, and as Kakashi takes his first steps a little ahead of them.

It’s earlier than normal, but by that point they come to expect it. His tiny feet tremble, and he thinks he might stumble, but he doesn’t let his parents see. He doesn’t cause more concern than he has to.

She takes her last breath before his first birthday.

Less than a fortnight after his father’s birthday, the child turns one. He takes as much as he brings.

The grooves around his eyes become deeper. The smoke feels real again. Sometimes he wishes he could choke on it.

Still, he’s here. He’s waiting. Maybe he’s supposed to atone a little more before seeing her, too. The smile comes of its own accord, when he considers just what she’d say when she finds out he didn’t keep his promise quite like he was supposed to. Maybe she’ll forgive him, though not before scolding him. It makes the uncertainty of this vacuum more bearable, just barely. Afterlife, when he does let himself ponder it, is one thing.

Her.

He’s not so proud to pretend that he has the nerve to face her without having something more to tell her about Kakashi anyway.

Would things have turned out differently, if she - He stops himself. He won’t make excuses. He still would have taken the mission, and he still would have failed it. He still wouldn’t regret failing it, either. And it still would have ruined the village, and ruined it for them in turn. He still would have had to resolve it, resolve it in that excruciating way. He has no right to put that burden on her absence.

It’s so foolish, devoid of foresight - but he never considered that he’d be the one raising a child alone. It’s cruel, when the realisation bites him. He’d never let himself ruminate on it, but the assumption had always been there. Underlying every farewell, every strike of his tanto, every homecoming.

He’d definitely die first.

That would have been easier, selfish as it sounds, but then, he’s never been destined for ease. Neither had she. But he can even accept that, if it means, somehow, in some twist of fate - it’s too sentimental, but he grants himself an allowance this time - that Kakashi would have to bear a little less.

(Don’t get him wrong. He knows the fact that he’s here, that the fire is right there, waiting, to burn up his optimism incinerates that hope.)

The child catches on quickly.

Kakashi gives up crying for his mother, and soon gives up looking for her at all. It’s a response to that look Sakumo gives him, that maps his face involuntarily before the carefully chosen smile replaces it. It’s easier for them both if he pretends the last expression is the first.

Regardless, they manage, even if their home no longer feels like a home. There are sympathetic drop-ins on the poor widower and his baby, and again when the missions restart. Eventually he burns less food, Kakashi’s sleeping habits are less chaotic, and the house feels a little less empty. Soon, they’re affectionately thought of as the Hatake boys. You rarely see Sakumo without his pup.

The Hatake boys are nothing if not adaptable. Especially Kakashi. He grows quickly, too quickly.

He takes after his father, that’s what everyone says. And Sakumo lets himself believe it - the physical similarities are obvious, the boy is smart, precocious and he shows so much interest and talent for his pre-destined shinobi path that it’s mournful.

He knows he’s being idolised a little too much, but instead of quelling it, he succumbs to that wonder, that innocence in the boy’s eyes. God knows if this world has its way, it won’t be there much longer. And Kakashi’s in too much of a hurry to grow up, so he has to protect what little of it remains.

It’s no wonder, though. He tries to shield him, from the praises, the adulations - hero, legend, genius - but it’s futile. Just as he’s about to explain that such words are tentative, that they might have a time limit, they both hear it again.

“Look! It’s the White Fang!”

“And his son! I bet he’ll be just as great.”

It’s forever chasing them. Kakashi’s not the kind of boy to ever outwardly hesitate, but he’s thoughtfully silent now.

He insists on wearing a mask by the time he’s four. It’s bizarre, but apparently ‘the quintessential shinobi wears a mask’.

(How the hell does he know the word quintessential?!)

But his logic is sound. Still, Sakumo can’t help but think it’s a response, cleverly disguised like the boy’s already learnt to disguise so much. Did he want to invite less comparison? So far, it hadn’t really helped. Or had Kakashi caught him glancing at the black dot near his mouth one time too many, that unforgettable, enduring reminder of her?

Regardless, he doesn’t fight back, even though it’s damn near impossible to find masked shirts for children and his homemade attempt makes Kakashi chortle in an unusually carefree outburst. He’s never been good at denying him anyway, just like he was never good at denying her. That’s another thing - the more he looks like him, the more Sakumo’s reminded of her.

He holds onto his hand after pestering him to take him to the training grounds, and to the academy entrance exam - flooring the invigilators, to Sakumo’s pride and horror - and back home again, tugging on his shirt, a familiar demand to hoist him on his back when witnesses are out of sight. He has that uncanny way of making him and only him feel needed, even if he’s too proud to say it. Just like her.

Kakashi’s independent, mature, self-sufficient - even a little arrogant. But it’s impossibly endearing, just like her. He’s blunt, too matter-of-fact and never understands why it’s a problem, no matter how many times he’s reprimanded, but it’s chalked up to his maturity and his talent rather than a personality defect. He’s too logical, and causes adults and children alike to scratch their heads in confusion and infuriation. It’s all too familiar. His mother’s influence is just as enduring in him as it ever had been, but it’s as subtle as that damn beauty mark.

The mask, too. How typical of her, how perfect it is, Sakumo thinks, when it finally dawns on him. It’s his way of revealing himself to others on his - and only his - terms. He controls how much you see of him, whilst he sees right into you.

The child catches on quickly.

The fire rustles again, but it’s remarkably hearth-like now. Cosy. Sakumo lets himself smile, and open his eyes again. There was an optimism, a warmth, in those days as well. It still hurt, but they managed, even enjoyed themselves. They made quite a team. Kakashi seemed more like a man than a boy, even when he was that young. It seemed natural to others, and Sakumo supposed it was, partly. But he tried so hard too.

Things had looked up for a while, as they so often do, when you hold so much promise. When you’re not a pariah. It all changed so quickly. He knew it would, from the moment he turned his back on his duty, even if he didn’t know what it would entail. But it never felt wrong either.

It felt hopeless instead. He’d have been a bastard either way. Better to be a bastard who made a mistake, whose softness led to a screw-up, than a heartless bastard who’d throw his friends away for bureaucracy, for a convenience. For something as constructed as a code of conduct.

Kakashi could recite every rule of Shinobi Conduct before he even entered the academy (Sakumo doesn’t even remember letting him learn) but had only stared up at him blankly when Sakumo tried to tell him he needn’t worry so much. His rigidity, his insistence on his black and white view of the world - though he always used words beyond his years, it was a stark reminder that he was still only a little boy. A little boy that didn’t understand he was a little boy was a difficult thing. A dangerous thing.

Still, he trusted that the boy, little as he was, would understand one day. That he wasn’t leaving him behind because he regretted it. But because it was hopeless, because he’d become unfit for his purpose, both as a shinobi and a father, whether it was right or not. Because though it hadn’t felt wrong, he still had to deal with the consequences. Maybe one day the land they were expected to throw away their lives for would be more forgiving. Maybe it’d take his death for them to start to see it.

(Did he die for honour, responsibility, cowardice or anger?)

The child raises himself.

He’s the talk of the town now that’s he entered the academy. A prodigy, they call him. He’s set to graduate and be a full-fledged shinobi within the year. Classmates and teachers alike fawn over him, though he’s somewhat aloof to it all, which only makes them flock closer.

(He’s too young!) Her disapproval seems to float from that world to this one. And he can’t disagree, even though there isn’t much he can do about it. It seems Kakashi’s born for it, that he’d have nothing if he didn’t have this. So he supports it, fully. Besides, Konoha needs all the talent it can find.

Even if it means depending on children.

His self-reliance is bittersweet, but Sakumo won’t deny that it makes it easier to leave. That even if he doesn’t come home, he can worry a little bit less.

Isn’t that what fatherhood is? From the moment it’s possible, to help him feel his independence, feel every risk whilst concealing your own fear, so that he knows he might bear every pressure of this wretched world, prepare him so that he won’t collapse under it and, if he’s lucky, become a man that others can rely on too? He knows he can’t protect him forever. And that there’ll be a day, sooner than he’ll expect (it always is), where he won’t be there at all, because he’ll be damned if he has to go to his own son’s funeral instead.

Still, he would have liked to protect the boy’s childhood just a little bit longer. But he’s always so insistent on giving away what little of it he has left. It’s hard not to be bitter - when he sees the children of civilian families running around without a care in the world. But that’s the point, he knows that. Someone has to sacrifice so they can even exist at all. To be the one to do that is an honour, in one way or another.

The missions are relentless. The boy knows that each goodbye might be his father’s last. He doesn’t have to explain it. Kakashi is always calm, always accepting, always mature, careful to give him a casual send-off. It’s curious though, the intense, hopeful stare Sakumo feels bore into his back as he walks away.

The missions go well. Sakumo cements himself again and again as a hero, the revered White Fang, and invites commendation wherever he goes. Kakashi works harder, bearing pride and pressure on his tiny shoulders to meet his aspirations.

The mission is a failure. Behind enemy lines, espionage and destruction. It’s doomed from its inception. Mistakes pile up, and eventually his comrades get themselves captured. All his training has taught him that it can’t be helped, that he must carry out his mission and toss them aside. But he can’t abide. It’s never been in him to turn his heart to stone, not completely, but it’s even more impossible now. When the little boy’s at home, waiting for his own special report. When he’s watching and analysing his every move. When he’s picked Sakumo as the model he puts all his energy into emulating. He has to learn it’s okay to break the rules sometimes, lest he learns that lesson himself the hard way.

So, thanks to Sakumo’s doing, no lives have been lost. They’re grateful, for now. But experience fills him with apprehension. The worst is yet to come. There’s just something in the way his heart palpitates without explanation, why the journey home is forebodingly silent.

He’s right. The consequences are dire. Not just for Konoha, but through the entire land.

He turns from the Leaf’s White Fang to a disgrace overnight.

How precarious it all is, being a hero, he thinks with a sardonic smile. How fickle they are.

The smiles and praise become glares and blame, from strangers and old friends alike. Save for a few, but it isn’t enough to influence the rest of them. The close-knit community, the idyllic home he’d risked his livelihood countless times to protect almost seems an illusion now. Maybe it’s naive of him, that he never realised that ‘home’ could be conditional. That all the good you’ve already done could be wiped away so easily by one mistake that there was no point trying to do good in the first place.

He only indulges the bitterness for a little while. It’s immature. A man should take responsibility for his actions, good and bad. He knows what he did, and he knows it directly led to more damage and destruction. He knows it’s his fault. He knows he ended up hurting the very thing he was supposed to protect, and he knows it was him who elected to take on that responsibility in the first place. He knows he has no right to self-pity.

But he also knows he doesn’t regret it - the action, not the situation. He knows that if he had the choice to go back, he’d do it again. He knows wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew he was the kind of man that could turn his back on his friends, no matter what he’s been taught. He knows he has to set an example.

And an example he is. Kakashi’s quieter than usual, at first. He acts as if he doesn’t hear the angry muttering, he doesn’t notice that the missions are dwindling down, that the lines chiselled around his father’s eyes span further and that his clothes hang a little looser. That hurts most of all. That he’s suffering, but he refuses to dwell on it. It’s either for Sakumo’s sake or because that’s what a shinobi does. He doesn’t know which explanation is worse.

Everyone has their limits, most of all little boys. He should have expected this sooner. Kakashi doesn’t badger him to come to the training grounds like he used to, but Sakumo’s the one insisting this time. He still has to try. Even if it takes more from him than it ever has before. But he has to feel like he can still do something, anything. The range of which seems to decrease by the day. When the boy topples to the floor after a badly timed kick, he slaps away his father’s hand.

“Why?! Why did you do that? You went against orders, and everything went wrong! They all say these horrible things now! You’re not supposed to-” Kakashi stops himself, panting. His little body struggles to keep up with his rage and his words.

Strange, Sakumo thinks, as his dreary eyes meet the boy’s tearful ones. His reprimands match those of the adults he’s no doubt heard, but he’s never sounded more like the child he is. How can he understand? It must feel like a punishment, for all the pride and admiration he’s held for him until now. To have it snatched away like that. He can only apologise, but a father has no right to expect forgiveness from his son. Still, Kakashi lets him hold him close, just this once.

Then one day, it happens.

Cruelty is cruelty, no matter the source and no matter the recipient, and it isn’t long before the son bears the sins of the father. Kakashi does the best he can to take it in his stride, as usual, but when Sakumo asks if he can walk him to the academy, the sacred, persisting ritual comes to an end.

“I can go myself. Don’t worry,” he dismisses, gently enough, but he barely glances back before disappearing, before Sakumo even responds. It seemed so long ago, when he’d say the exact same words but he’d smile under his mask and grab his hand. Now he seems like an adult, resigned and reluctant. Hurt and tired. Bearing so much, for everyone else’s sake. For Sakumo’s sake

Whether it’s out of self-preservation, pity - or worst of all, an attempt to spare his father from the villagers’ scowls, it’s unacceptable. They all mean the same thing. Pretending he’s still needed, that his existence isn’t superfluous, is exhausting both of them. And he’s slipped one level further. Kakashi never mentions it, but he knows being Sakumo’s son is akin to damnation now.

He’s holding him back. Kakashi’s still the talk of the academy, but it’s opposite in nature now. There’s no more talk of his progress, of his graduation, of the illustrious road he was so sure to have ahead of him. It’s all snatched away in an instant. Kakashi has no future as long as Sakumo keeps breathing. What father can live with himself knowing that?

Everything is so difficult now. Standing takes all he has. He feels like a fraud for even doing that, for anything he says, anything he does. A soul-sucking, lacklustre performance. Every bodily function only spirals him down further into an abyss. He’s a ghost among the living. He’s always wondering why the hell he’s still here. He’s been able to convince himself, to a point, that he should still fight, he should still eat - but it’s undeniable now. He’s a burden.

And as burdensome as he is, the most important thing still remains.

He’ll do whatever he has to for his son. That much he can do.

Anything that Sakumo regrets is out of his control. He’s never been able to control anything where it counts. Not her death, not the mission, not sparing Kakashi from any pain. He’s even failing at his own modest goal - to ensure that the boy has the tools to bear anything and everything he might have to. So he can’t say he regrets this. What he regrets is far beyond anything he can express. This is the only thing he can do now.

Kakashi rejects his offer to accompany him before he even makes it. But he hangs on for a second, long enough for Sakumo to whisper one sentence.

“I love you, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

The little boy stops - silently studying his father’s expression. But he doesn’t have the same energy he used to either, to draw any real conclusions from it, to have the patience for his father’s random lamentations.“What are you sorry for? I’m fine. See you.”

It’s surprisingly easy to put things in order. The note is succinct, but it’ll do what it’s supposed to. Lift the sins that stick unfairly to Kakashi’s scrawny back, if nothing else. His possessions have dwindled, his paperwork is minimal, the deeds on the house are finalised. He’s determined to leave this world with as little fuss as he deserves, as he can manage. It’s the least he can do.

Then, Sakumo kneels, and takes out his tanto. The tanto that’d accompanied him as long as he could remember. Something he inherited from his father when he became a genin. Something he’d give to Kakashi as a graduation gift.

Who says a gift can’t be posthumous? It’s the same blade that’s going to wash away his and its sins. It’s ready for a reset with new honour, a new owner.

He inhales. He closes his eyes. He plunges the blade into his gut. It sinks in smoothly. The pain starts, spreading slowly and surely through his body like electricity. He exhales. He glides it along. It moves easily. Everything empties and he is exalted. His body, his being, his soul. His sins. His virtues. His love, his hate. His joy and his rage. His life and his death. He’s gone now, fading away into the whiteness. The warrior’s body is meek, inconsequential as it falls unceremoniously on its side.

And just like that, the boy is pure once again. He’s his own, as he should be. He’s no longer just the son of the hero-turned-pariah (maybe it was better to have never been a hero at all?), but Kakashi. Kakashi the prodigy. Kakashi the genius. Kakashi who he trusts will understand all this one day. That his father isn’t so wrong in what he did, but he knows he still has to do this, he still has to make up for it. They’re all just victims of circumstance. That he’s sorry, and that he loves him more than anything, but the last thing he needs is a father like him. He’s already doing so well. And he’ll do better now. After all, he’s never needed him.

The child raised himself.

The fire’s rustling becomes louder as the flames grow larger. A welcome distraction, Sakumo chuckles to himself. It’s almost as if he’s not supposed to concentrate on his mistakes and shortcomings.

(Or maybe the embers somehow know he doesn’t really want to)

Everything had seemed so urgent back then. Hasty. Not like now, where he’s neither here nor there, there’s no past and no future.

It must have seemed cruel, on the surface, he admits that. And his justifications probably seemed like excuses, like cowardice. He has the clarity to see that now. But it didn’t make them feel any less true, not at the time.

It was the best thing for Kakashi, how could it not have been? Not only that - he pauses, before he finally lets himself admit it. It was a relief. He was just so tired.

(But he’s still tired now. It’s just more bearable.)

Did any of it work? Or had it all been in vain? As much as he held out hope that when Kakashi did come here - and he would - he’d have been older, lived a long life of love. Where the village respected him, praised him, honoured him. Maybe with a family too.

(…Could any of that have happened if he’d stayed alive?

No. The answer has to be no.)

Or had he ended up too similar to his father?

Regardless, he knows why he’s here now. No matter how it turned out after, he did what he did. And he has to take responsibility for it. It’s all so much more demanding than he thought it would be. He chose death to take responsibility, and now he has to do the same for his death.

But then again, a father has no right to expect forgiveness from his son.

Especially not one like him.

The flame settles down. It’s calmer now, like its wish has been granted, like it’s satisfied.

It won’t be long now.

And as usual, he’s right. Soon, he hears footsteps. They’re measured, relaxed, but emphatic.

“That you, Kakashi?” Sakumo affirms, but he doesn’t know why. He already knows. Just like Kakashi doesn’t seem surprised to see him, or even be here at all.

“So this is where you’ve been,” Kakashi answers just as superfluously.

The deep voice should have thrown him, it should have been unfamiliar, but everything seems to make sense. Everything is natural. Everything is easy.

He’s a man now. Another superfluous statement, one Sakumo doesn’t voice. But here he is. He’s grown, a different person from the one Sakumo knew. But it still seems like he knows him, like he never really stopped knowing him. As if time has been the obstacle between them. He looks more like him now, even though he’s still wearing that damn mask. It’s amusing, the way his stubbornness appears to have persisted for no reason at all. It’s typical. There’s a scar across his eye. There’s a story there, as there always is. He carries himself with a rare combination of decorum and drudgery. Subtle acquiescence, controlled to his core.

“Will you tell me your story?”

He knows it’s only a pale substitute for not laying witness to it himself, but Kakashi seems happy to oblige. He agrees, joining him at the fireside. It rustles in approval.

“Yeah. But it’s a long one. I want to tell you everything.”

Sakumo agrees.

Kakashi’s smile is so relaxed, so wide that it’s visible - that he may as well be that same little boy again. It’s even a little bit contagious. “So, Dad…”

The conversation flows like water. Kakashi is unrestrained, serene, even as the terrible stories come out of him. Though they’re not all terrible. Some have Sakumo hanging his head in shame, others have him laughing out loud with a freedom he hasn’t had in years. Some are ridiculous. Some are stupid. He talks as if they’re not - as if they’re just that, stories. Happenstance.

But still, the terrible ones are the most memorable ones. It’s shocking, how much he’s been through. How many times he’s been failed, how many times he’s failed. How he’d been through more before puberty than most had been through by their deaths. The boy was always destined for that, though. He’d graduated not long after Sakumo died, and was promoted again within a year after. It’s only a few years after that that he makes jounin, the same rank as his father. Most everyone important to him is gone by then too. He’s made a name for himself as a legend, as a hero, even as the disgrace’s son. And he’s made sure to pass on all the lessons he’s learnt.

He doesn’t expect sympathy, or pity. He’s long made peace with it - well, to the extent he can. He’s just never had anyone to tell this to, without judgement. With ease. Where it’s streamed out of him without thought. Where he’s not using his pain as a warning for others, to try and protect others. Just the kind of acknowledgement you want from your father.

Gone is his cocky demeanour - Sakumo knew it would probably have to some day, but he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to go through so much to learn that lesson. Instead, there’s a humility about him, an ease. If she were here, she’d say Kakashi’s even more like him, and scoff at the injustice.

It’s like he’s happy to be here. Sakumo doesn’t know if it’s just the situation. Kakashi doesn’t seem like he’s ever done this before - but then, how could he? It’s the comfort you can only have with a father, and Sakumo’s grateful that he’s still considered one. But he can’t help but wonder if Kakashi’s smiling because he’s happier to be dead.

He acts older than he is, sometimes. He always did, but it has more weight now that he’s grown. Sakumo points it out, but Kakashi just chuckles.

“This job ages you. I feel older than I am.”

He can’t argue with that.

Soon, the conversation turns to other things. Philosophies, mutual experiences, women. He’s a little more subdued on that last one. He hesitates now, he’s more cryptic. There does seem to be one, Sakumo figures that much, though Kakashi’s reluctant to call it that. He isn’t as open out there as he is here. It’s no wonder. Everything that’s meant anything has been snatched away regardless of his will. Still, it seems that she’s a source of infuriation and confusion. She’s stubborn, but endlessly kind. She sees through Kakashi’s reluctant attempts at distance, and he’s drawn to her, whether he likes it or not. He shows absolutely no regret for being dead, but the only clue of it is when he talks about her. Sakumo lets it end there.

Eventually, they both have to acknowledge it. How miserable their lives have been, how they’ve died so young. A cursed pair. The burden of the suicide hangs over them both, their stories and their fates, like a cloud, in this strange place that has no sky.

“You did the best you could. You knew what the consequences would be, but you chose your friends anyway,” Kakashi says first. He’s only stating facts, but they’re heavy on his tongue. His gaze is locked on the fire ahead, and his voice takes on a gruff timber, one that ensures Sakumo of the depth of his words. He pauses. “And I understand you. I’m proud to be your son now.”

Sakumo’s eyes widen.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s all he can say. After everything, it’s too much, too difficult to accept. It took hearing it to actually realise it, for the weight he’s carried on his shoulders for so long to begin to dissipate. It’s not entirely dissimilar to the first time Kakashi had wrapped his tiny fist so fiercely and as-a-matter-of-factly around his finger all those years ago. Where his confidence and courage promptly returned. He never knew he needed it so badly, that it would be more freeing than his death was - forgiveness - even if he was never going to ask for it.

It’s a miracle, but somehow, it’s happened. He’ll never admit it has anything to do with him, but Kakashi’s grown. He’s grown well. He’s learnt everything he hoped he would, and he’s more than he could have ever hoped. It wasn’t easy. Life had put him through the wringer to say the least - that much was obvious before Kakashi even joined him at the fire. But he did it. He managed.

A father’s most important and most horrible duty is to leave their children to the wilderness - was that how the old adage went? He can’t remember. But they have to, because he won’t be there forever, because the world will eat them alive if they don’t. You offer up your only son up to the world, in the hopes it won’t chew him up and spit it out, and that he might come out better for it. It’s as much of a horror as it is an honour. He didn’t mean to leave him that viscerally, and he’s still so sorry - but he can’t deny that for the first time in God knows how long, he feels lucky. He doesn’t deserve Kakashi’s forgiveness, for him to grow up to be the man he is, but here he is.

Still, Kakashi’s a little too eager to come here. It’s the most wrenching thing about this, that he seems too comfortable, that he seems to have been waiting for his death. It’s the only thing he can’t accept, as a father. He doesn’t want to accept that his son’s life has been that miserable, with so little to show for it. Even if he seems satisfied to be here.

Before he can even voice it, a light emerges, starting at Kakashi’s core and soon engulfing his entire being. The fire beside them stills for a moment, but then it sizzles with a vengeance. He turns to his father in shock, looking for an explanation in the wordless way a child does.

Sakumo provides it immediately. He’s not sure, but he wants it to be true. “My guess is… It’s too soon for you. There must be something you still have to do.”

He doesn’t offer any explanation as to what, but it has to be true. He should get more than he has. He can’t be so happy to come here. They both could’t have been in such a hurry to die. It’s too tragic, too terrible. A son shouldn’t be lonelier than his father.

Kakashi ruminates on it, and he suddenly looks like the young man he is. Not a tired war veteran. It’s even more obvious how untimely this all is.

But it hasn’t been meaningless.

“I’m grateful we had a chance to talk. Thank you forgiving me. Now I can move on, and finally see your mother again,” he continues. I’m proud of you too, Sakumo thinks, just like he thought so many times during the boy’s childhood, and countless times during this strange meeting. But he has no right to say it. Still, Kakashi looks at him with those same wide eyes from all those years ago, heeding his words with the same awe.

The harsh, green glow rips Kakashi away from this world and back. Just like his birth. Sakumo smiles and stands, the stretch alighting and aching through his soul - it feels physical, even though he’s no longer corporeal. Tall, encouraged, proud and determined.

(It’s been so long since he last stood.)

It won’t be long now. He has his own exit now.

The fire suddenly quickens, expanding, expanding, expanding, fighting for its last breath, its rustling turning into a desperate roar, sparks flying out past the wood - until at long last, its energy dwindles. It hisses in protest.

Instead, there’s a new warmth. Somewhere, somewhere far away yet somewhere so close. An amused, feminine hum of his name travels through his being and invigorates his soul. He smiles.

The flame flickers out.

親はなくても子は育つ

Even without parents, children grow up.

#sakumo hatake #kakashi hatake #naruto #hatake kakashi #hatake sakumo #kakashi #naruto fanfiction #fanfiction #pfwrites #anyway i'm finally done #i'm so sorry if you were expecting something super long given how long i've been talking about this #but consider that i'm stupid can't write and can't concentrate and it'll make sense #i would love to know your thoughts on this cuz i'm trying a lot of new things here #and this is a very vulnerable thing to share for me #because the themes and ideas have been in my head for so long #also read my author's notes in the ao3 link if you want more context because THEY ARE LONG #i'm thinking of writing a kakashi POV version which i'm sure'll be less depressing... probably #but not sure yet. let me know if you think i should #btw i know my music taste is extremely roast-worthy #also tmi but i have zero relationship with my father and i'm neither a father nor a son why do i have so much empathy for fatherhood???

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twistedsinews · 3 years

Text

Our Jagged Fragments of Mind and Soul

Cyberpunk 2077; Jackie/V/Misty, Vik; PG-13 (AO3 Flavor)

Rain poured down the street, cascading over the pavement.

The door was open, as it nearly always was. As it was meant to be. Frozen in another time and shivering, he stared at the sign above it, as rainwater caught in his hair and in his eyelashes.

An aura of peace radiated past the threshold. It settled over him like a shroud once he got the nerve to step through it. A heady incense was burning in one of the braziers, drifting to the ceiling and making his nose itch. Knickknacks and figurines – symbols of protection, of good fortune, of peace – stared down at him as he passed under their gaze, keeping watch or making judgment and keeping it amongst themselves one way or the other.

Engrossed in a world all her own, Misty was pulling cards at the counter. Her eyebrows knit together, and her mouth was set in a mystified little pout at whatever they were telling her.

Thinking of her made his heart ache.

Seeing her made it bleed.

She tapped the edge of the card pinched between her fingers against one on the counter, and raised her head at last. The movement of her hand stilled, and her mouth fell open as wide as her eyes.

Jackie smiled.

Or tried to.

It may have come out all wrong.

Misty didn’t notice. Or she didn’t care, if she did. The deck fell from her hand, half scattering over the counter, as she darted around it to meet him, practically falling into him as he swept her into his arms. He crushed her to him tight, maybe even too tight, but he couldn’t tell and she didn’t complain.

She pulled away to look at him, and her mouth moved over words she couldn’t quite choke out, but he caught the How? and What? on her lips clearly, only he didn’t have much of an answer to give. She puzzled over his appearance, his clothes, his being here now in front of her; she cupped his face in her hands, as though touching was believing, and ran her fingers through his two months growth of sodden hair.

He held her hand to his mouth, and tried again to smile.

Breaking from her gaze, he cast a meaningful look around the store, and once more met her eyes.

“V?”

The question brought her back down to Earth; the light in her eyes dimmed. Misty glanced away, and gave a subtle shake of her head. It wasn’t quite denial but wasn’t at all encouraging, and it only served to feed the thing gnawing on his stomach lining.

“She’s not here right now.” Taking his hand, she led him to one of the chairs she had set in the back, coaxing him to sit down and kneeling down beside him. “Let’s... focus on what you need for now, okay?”

Jackie swallowed.

And nodded.

Squeezing her hand, he lifted it to the port on the back of his neck, pressing her fingers against the empty gap. Misty’s eyes widened, and he let her hand drop. It landed on his shoulder.

“Need to talk to Vik. Everything... I’m all out of sorts.”

She nodded. “Okay, well... he’s with someone right now, but he should be free in just a little bit, alright?”

Jackie mouthed a little yeah, in agreement.

“Alright. Just a little bit longer.”

His shoulders slumped as he settled in to wait, and she wrapped her hand over the back of his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Curled up together, wisely out of the rain, two cats kept watch from the altar, eyes reflecting the light as they tracked him. At length, one stepped out of the basket and stretched, and hopped down onto the arm of Jackie’s chair to investigate.

Before long, a lone edgerunner stepped out of the back room. She regarded them coolly, and nodding once in silent greeting on her way out through the shop.

For all the Jackie knew the way, Misty still led him by the hand out the back, and down the steps. The drizzle caught in her hair and in her sweater, but she never had minded the rain. She brushed the droplets out of her eyes, smudging her makeup as they stepped though the basement door to the security gate.

Vik was orating notes when he noticed them, Misty at first, and trailing off into stunned silence when Jackie stepped into the light.

Behind his glasses, his eyes flicked between them. Tentatively – stepping closer, eyes locked on Jackie’s face like he might vanish, or become someone new – Vik reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“...Jackie?”

“¿Qué tal, señor?”

Vik’s hand skimmed down his arm. He gave Jackie a once-over, looked at Misty again, then back to his face.

“It’s him.”

Misty’s voice was small, but confident.

Like there was ever any doubt.

And maybe there was. Or should have been.

Vik certainly seemed less sure.

“Need a new deck,” Jackie rasped. “They ripped it...”

His voice cracked, and caught in his throat. He glanced at Misty, who still held on to his arm, and back to Vik.

Vik gave a slow, understanding nod.

“Also need’a make sure I’m not being tracked.”

“Yeah, sure...” he agreed, finally remembering to turn off his recording. “We’ll get you all set up, run a full diagnostic – the works. Misty, you think you could go upstairs and keep an eye out?”

At first her lips pressed together thinly, and she looked like she might protest. Then she gave Jackie’s arm a firm little hug, and he reached to catch her hand and squeeze her fingers before she moved too far away from him and let go.

She took her time making her way across the floor, and paused at the gate to look back before disappearing around the corner, the door creaking open and soundly closed a moment later.

Gesturing towards his workspace, Vik intoned, “Chair, please.”

Jackie dutifully followed through as instructed. Dragging himself up into the chair, he eased back against it. The chair could hardly be deemed comfortable, but the familiarity of it was a comfort.

“And... plug in?”

He jacked in to the array, and felt the electrical buzz of a connection as the diagnostic software started with a shallow scan of his system.

His cyberdeck would’ve been feeding him information all about it.

If he still had one.

Vik disappeared behind the stack of equipment, and Jackie could hear him rummaging through his stock somewhere nearby. He reappeared soon enough with a small metal case in his hands, the device within smaller than a shard but similarly shaped and vastly more powerful.

“A Raven Microcyber,” Vik introduced it to him. “Impressive little piece. Oughta at least get you back on your feet. I think it might even be brand new.”

“Know I ain’t got cash, right?” Jackie warned. “Can’t know I’ll ever be able to pay you back, way things are.”

“We can argue about eddies later. Right now I want to be certain that everything is in working order and you’re not going to collapse in the next five minutes.”

“And anyway,” Vik added, “V donated this one. As I recall, she... found it, in a drawer somewhere. That seems like an even trade to me.”

The question bubbled up within him, but before he could force it past his tongue, Vik had tilted his head to one side and forward to access his port. Jackie felt, rather than heard, the sharp little click of the deck sliding into place.

All at once, every implant in his body started to synch up properly. Vik let his head fell back against the chair.

Groaning deeply, Jackie scrubbed his face with his hands.

“That good, huh?”

“That is so much fuckin’ better, you would not even believe.”

Vik chuckled.

“¡Dios del cielo!”

“It should have your usual suite of basic functions pre-installed. And I still have your profile in the system, so we can make sure all your firmware gets installed and is up to date.”

“Mmmph.”

Giving his arm a pat, Vik moved to step away. “You’re welcome.”

Jackie stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, watching the data feed scroll down his display. Updates and diagnostics.

The silence crept into him, like darkness eating at the roots of his soul.

“They ripped me out of my head, Vik.”

He draped an arm over his eyes.

“Thought it was over; thought I was dead and then...” He didn’t even know how to describe that part. “And then... they shoved me back in. Made me go through all these... tests. Evaluations? Guess I didn’t pass, ‘cause they ripped me out again. And again after that. Over and over and fucking over, I thought I was gonna crack.”

“I guess we’re talking Arasaka?” Vik asked. “How did you get back here? I can’t imagine they decided to let you walk free.”

“Eh, you know how it is,” Jackie lifted his arm to look at him, and forced a smile. “They underestimated me.”

Vik smiled back, a gentleness in his voice that Jackie wasn’t accustomed to, “Can’t say they’re the only ones who did that.”

While he was there, Vik turned his attention to the readout.

Jackie watched the reflection of the data that scrolled down his sunglasses.

“Hey, Vik?”

“Mhhm?”

“Where’s V?”

The question caught Vik off guard. He glanced down at Jackie, frowning.

“Misty wouldn’t tell me, now you too, huh? Getting me kinda worried here.”

Like they didn’t think he’d even ask.

“At least tell me she got out. She did get out, right? She made it?”

“That is... a complicated story, Jackie.”

“Complicated, how?” Jackie waved at the apparatus he was still connected to by his wire. “This seems like it might still be taking a while; you got my total and undivided attention.

Crossing his arms, Vik studied his screen.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked. “Before...”

He struggled with the phrasing, prompting Jackie to scoff.

“Before Arasaka?” He prodded. “Before dying, you mean.”

He breathed out a long, even breath.

“Last thing I remember is V,” he said. “For a while there, it hurt like hell. Then it didn’t hurt so much anymore at all, I just felt... cold. And tired, like... exhausted. And there was V, and she was... hurt. I mean, we were both banged up, but that’s not what I mean, she was... she was...”

She was.

Vik was staring at the floor.

“V... took your death hard.” He shrugged. “I’ll admit, we all did. But V... she blamed herself. She felt she’d let you down.”

“She didn’t let me down.”

“That’s not how she saw it.”

“I didn’t want to leave her there all alone. Not that I wanted to leave her at all, but especially not like that. Just... It wasn’t really my choice, you know?”

“You didn’t let her down, either.”

Jackie only realized he was leaning half off the table when Vik calmly reached over to push him right back onto it, pressing him down by his shoulder.

“Hey, at least tell me she’s alive.”

Vik’s expression softened.

“She’s alive, Jack. Last I saw her. If you want to know where she is, I don’t have that answer.”

“I gotta find her. After this.”

Jackie fidgeted.

The doctor didn’t argue.

He did, however, completely change the subject.

“I can’t honestly say you’re as healthy as you were six months ago, but you’re certainly healthier than you were two months ago when I pulled you out of the back of an armored cab.” He gave the readout a discerning stare, and asked, “How long did you spend on the street before you came here?”

“‘Bout three days, I think? ...maybe longer? I... I didn’t wanna lead them right to you, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“My setup didn’t find any tracing bugs,” Vik assured him. “But you’re dehydrated. You need rest and you could definitely use some nutrition. Go ahead and unplug.” Jackie pulled his link cable free. Standing up as Vik shut everything down, he stretched.

Everything felt so much better.

“My recommendation is that you go upstairs, eat something and get some sleep. Tell Misty she can take the rest of the day off.”

“Sounds like my kind of prescription,” Jackie remarked.

He tagged his phone, only to find it completely blank. Which shouldn’t have been a complete surprise, but for a moment he’d forgotten.

“Ah,” he told Vik, as he was herded towards the security door. “Trouble authenticating my phone account. You got one I can borrow? I need to call my mother, let her know I’m okay.” Then he stopped. “Fuck, what am I saying? I can’t just call her up, ¡Eh, Ma, sorpresa para ti – no estoy muerto! she’ll have a fucking heart attack. I need to get down there and see her in person.”

“I’ll bring you down to see her myself. We can go tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Mañana, you’ll bring me.”

“I will.”

“¿Juras?”

“I swear.”

“And when you gonna tell me what happened with V?”

Vik sighed.

“What happened with V is that your dying was just the start, and that Relic the two of you made off with caused a whole lot more trouble down the road. I promise I will tell you everything once you’ve gotten some rest. Tomorrow – I am going to have Misty clear my schedule – I will tell you everything that happened with V, I will personally bring you home to see your mother, we can go and find a place that sells old fashioned ice cream if you’d like, my treat, but right now-....”

“Gonna hold you to that last one, Vik.”

“-...right now, I want you to take it easy for a few hours, and get some food and hydration in your system.”

Before he could step out the door, Vik tugged him backwards.

“Wait, hold on a sec.”

Jackie watched him, blankly, as he strode straight back into the space that was vaguely defined as his office, and came striding straight back out again.

“Always helps to have a little cash in your pocket at times like these.”

Vik shoved the money into his hand before Jackie realized what it was. Jackie balked, trying to hand it back.

“I can’t take this.”

“In case for any reason you need it before tomorrow,”

“Vik, I can’t take this.”

“Or in case anything else happens before then...”

“This is-...”

“Take the Goddamn money before I go up there myself and inform Misty that bedrest includes from bedroom activity.”

Jackie’s fingers closed around the bills with a subtle crunch.

Something else cracked, deep inside.

Reality setting in, maybe.

With a shuddery little breath, Jackie pulled Vik into his arms. Vik hmphed, and hugged him back, but Jackie didn’t want to let go. Didn’t feel like he could. It was everything of the past few months, pain, elation, despair, hope, sinking into his bones all at once.

He held on.

And Vik, being Vik, let him.

For as long as he needed it.

Eventually, his mind grew calm again and breathing steadied. Only then, and finally he could let go.

And when he did, Vik slapped his shoulder, and pointed to the door.

“Out.”

“Tch.”

“Tch, yourself, hermano.”

~*~

Jackie sat on the roof, mulling it all over.

Watching the sky grow pale and colorful, and the colors mix with the leftover rainwater.

Watercolor.

Taking it in, one breath at a time.

Misty appeared in the shadows. Or maybe she was there the whole time. She smiled when he noticed her, and stepped out onto the deck. Passing by the other chair with water in it, she came around to crouch beside him, folding her arms over the chair arm and resting her head on them as she stared off into the city skyline.

Jackie didn’t smile.

Oh he could have.

But he didn’t want to force it.

“So, uh... finally got hooked back into my phone account.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“V... she left about an hour’s worth of messages. Still haven’t gotten through ‘em all.”

Misty didn’t say anything. But her gaze was drawn from the sky to him. She reached over the arm of the chair for his hand where it rested in his lap, and gently squeezed his fingers.

“She’s out there somewhere, all alone....”

V had never been any good at all alone.

“I gotta find her, Misty.”

“I know.”

At that, Jackie did smile.

He bopped her third eye with his thumb.

“Yeah, you always know.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #jackie welles #misty olszewski #viktor vektor #fanfiction #<3

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regrettablewritings · 3 years

Text

Animatic/Storyboard Music

Got bored/procrastinate-y on coloring in this ultra intricate card for my mom. So I’m just gonna make a list of songs I think make for good animatic material. Because why not/I wanna foist my musical tastes on people/ @locke-writes got me in a music binge. For the most part, it’s just gonna be me explaining the meanings or the vibe or what they generally tend to be used for, but really it’s mostly subjective so imaginate whatchu wanna.

“Trust Me” - The Devil’s Carnival Originally depicting a story about the Scorpion and the Frog, it’s the perfect song for when you want to depict the dynamic between a gullible or at the very least more grounded character and a figure whose intentions . . . may be less than pure. Or good for anyone, really.

“The Dismemberment Song” - The Blue Kid I have a playlist dedicated to songs whose content and sound are just . . . not married to one another, but got a weird flirtationship situation going on. Anyway, I’ve seen people say that they like to imagine it’s sung through the POV of a scorned housewife who’s finally Had Enough™️. And . . . They’re really not wrong for it. Really, though, it’s just the right song for when a sadist is just ready to gut a fucker but is disturbingly jolly about it.

“Love Me Dead” - Ludo Continuing with my trend of songs about people in less than ideal situations, “Love Me Dead” is straight to the point: The relationship is just awful and the guy gets nothing from it, but he can’t help but be hopelessly in a state of adoration for the woman he’s latched on to (“You’re born of a jackal! YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!!”)

“Constellations” - The Oh Hellos There actually isn’t a plot to this song, it just feels really good (as all songs by The Oh Hellos are prone to be). However, if you feel a need to portray the concept of having to reorganize your thoughts after realizing that maybe they weren’t what you initially thought, and then coming to the conclusion that even though everything changes as a result, you’ll be alright? This is the song for you.

“A Kindling of Sorts” - The Oh Hellos An instrumental piece that is like . . . It’s related to another song of theirs about nationalism called “Torches”, so make of that what you will. (I personally have been using it to imagine storyboarding an opening for an animated The Witcher series.)

“The Other Side” - The Greatest Showman I know everyone and their mom has used this to portray situations like villains trying to get good guys to join their side. But I dun curr, it’s a fun song. That, and I like what Emilyamio did with her interpretation. It’s fun. For a basic rundown, know it’s another song about two characters’ dynamics being explored, with one coming to the other with a proposal that they join them in whatever endeavors they have in store. It’s often portrayed as something evil, but it really doesn’t have to be, as the original context was more about letting loose than anything.

“The Thief and the Moon” - Shawn James A much more mellow piece. Simple and straight to the point: A thief tells the Moon that he plans on stealing her light to shade the world in darkness. The Moon insists that the thief would only doom the world by doing so, to which the thief clarifies that he doesn’t care; if the world is shrouded in shadow, it means he will be able to steal with more ease (“My very existence is a race to attain wealth”). Disgusted, the Moon essentially curses the man with a warning that his greed can and will bring about his end -- and leave him to be forgotten by the rest of mankind, once it happens.

“Villainous Thing” - Shayfer James I’ve seen people say that this song is about singing to a cadaver but I can’t quite find anything confirming that (translation: I’m too lazy to look too into it). Regardless, it’s a fun ditty that yet again portrays someone with less than pure intentions encouraging someone to join him in some good old fashion villainy, as they’ve clearly endured their fair share of hardships and surely wanted to do evil anyway (“You’ll find no ever after here, it’s clear that isn’t what you came for“).

“Necromancin Dancin” - Bear Ghost Straight forward and fun as fuck: A necromancer apparently seems to cross classes and try his hand at barding by not only raising an army of the dead, but by also making them dance in order to make conquering the world easier. Because . . . a body doing Disco Duck isn’t scary, I guess.

"Aquaman” - Walk the Moon A song about one half of a couple wanting to become more involved in their relationship, but still having some nervousness about doing so. If you somehow haven’t heard this song yet, you gotta because it’s the cutest shit.

“Jenny’s Tale” - Ren I’ll be brutally honest, it’s about a woman named Jenny who just wants to get home after a long day of work and an unfortunate encounter with a 14 year old named Screech who gets way in over his head. As in, like, a death happens. That being said, I need. Like. An animated music video of this song. I imagine this shit in gritty charcoal or painted on glass, it just needs this. Somebody who isn’t me who knows what they’re doing, please look into this.

“The Curse of the Fold” - Shawn James As cheesy as it sounds, it basically boils down to not giving up or yielding. But what makes it so cool is the fact that Shawn James makes all his songs basically sound like a western gothic soundtrack. Which helps, because he admits that the title is also a reference to poker, in which giving up too often or too easily can often rob you of a delicious reward gained through perseverance and sacrifice.

“Thank God I’m Not You” - Himalayas I prefer to imagine this for an arrogant asshole of a character. Because that’s exactly what this song is about: They’re a liar and a thief, they’ve been called the son of Satan, and yet they consider themselves lucky -- ‘cause at least they ain’t you! If you have a character in mind who’s a delightful, punchable little shit, this is probably either their anthem or at least on the playlist you inevitably made for them.

"Passerine" - The Oh Hellos So there’s a common trend in The Oh Hellos’ discography that tends to explore the two founders’ experiences with faith and their growth in how they understand it or recognize it. With “Passerine”, the concept being explored is the experience they had when it came to taking a step back and realizing just how many of their supposed “fellow Christians” were actually doing some rather unchristian things, so to speak. When they “prune[d] their feathers”, it became clear that they had less in common with certain people proclaiming to be Christian while also spouting bigotry and greed. However, the desire to move away from such influences comes with the feeling of being torn, as moving too far away from the Bible leaves the singer feeling as though she is betraying something she holds dear. As a result, “Passerine” symbolizes not a breakage from faith, but a breakage from blind faith as they understood it, and the inevitable feeling of being torn that comes along with expanding upon how one views their beliefs and those around them. It’s therefore not uncommon to see Good Omens animatics using this song. (Something I also noticed is that throughout the song, you hear pieces of “Constellations”. TOH have a tendency to reference previous pieces, and considering “Constellations” is a song about changing perspective and the meanings we apply to them, it fits in beautifully with a song about reevaluating one’s stance.)

“Like the Dawn” - The Oh Hellos As stated before, a lot of TOH’s discography draws inspiration from their faith. In this case, it’s an outright retelling of the Garden of Eden, specifically when Adam awoke to find Eve had been created. What makes this iteration stand out to most, however, is that the singer is female, which seems to change the vibe you get. It sweetens the feeling of wonder we often forget the first man might’ve felt upon seeing somebody made for him, creating an air of beauty yet comfort with such lines as “And like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook” or “You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen.” Even without the awareness or an interest in religious influences, it still manages to be a very feel-good song -- which is the mark of an overall good song in general!

“Confession” - RED Dealing with the constant battle of feeling ashamed that how you feel on the inside isn’t in sync with how you present yourself on the outside. That you should feel bad for smiling out at the world while screaming and thrashing -- like it’s a lie. But you can’t help it: It’s what you’re accustomed to. Though it does end on a hopeful note with the singer deciding that they want to reach out for help and rid themselves of this feeling of pain they have inside.

“When I Grow Up” - Matilda . . . Only if you want to cry. Seriously. When you’re a kid, everything seems difficult but you’re positive that once you grow up, everything will change: You’ll be tall enough to climb the trees you were too small to, you’ll be able to carry everything because you’re stronger, you’ll be brave enough to fight the monsters hiding in your room, you’ll finally have all the answers. . . . But life isn’t that simple. We wish it were, but it isn’t. There’s this bittersweetness about this song, about a sense of purity we unfortunately grow out of where we think things will be just the same enough for us to do what we want when we want, but things are more complicated than that. We still struggle to reach, to bear the weight, to not be afraid, to have even a fraction of the answers. But! We’re reminded that just because we’re told life isn’t fair, doesn’t mean we have to take it. After all, nothing changes when nothing happens. And even beyond that? It helps to remember that we’re never quite done growing up; there’s always more to learn, so remember to be patient with yourself.

“Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!” - Will Wood and the Tapeworms This is . . . a song. The lyrics are honestly kinda all over the place and shooting rapid fire, making it a bit difficult to discern what exactly the singer is going on about. It makes for a pretty crazy song that suggests somebody’s going unhinged, which is apparently precisely the intention?? I’ve seen a lot of people interpret this as a song about a guy who is already at a low point in his life but nonetheless is going, “. . . I bet I can go deeper. Hand me my shovel.”

“No Reason” - Beetlejuice God if i had a youtube channel the segment i would spend on this song would be so juicy just ripe and thicc with thoughts and feelings i tell ya rich like a fresh fatty peach the apple that tempted Eve and gagged Adam yes ‘Nother song that explores the dynamic between two differing people and their worldviews. At its simplest, “No Reason” is about two opposite ends of a spectrum coming to a head: Idealistic and hippie-dippy Delia is convinced that everything happens for a reason, while cynical and depressed Lydia asserts that everything happens at random and it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re all going to die. And even though the delivery is ultimately a comedic one, you get more insight as to why one another feels the way that they do: Lydia, as we’ve previously learned, has recently lost her mother to an illness, which has left her depressed and feeling invisible (a theme in the show); whereas Delia’s failed marriage and desperate attempts to nonetheless be happy have left her dependent on the idea that these things had to have happened for a reason, otherwise, her pain would’ve been for nothing. What’s important is that neither side is actually appointed as the winner, with the song ultimately ending that the universe is random for a reason.

“Barbara 2.0″ - Beetlejuice Without spoiling anything (or at least too much), “Barbara 2.0″ is about growth. It’s about learning to put your foot down after a literal lifetime of being passive out of fear of what might happen and just accepting that nothing will happen if nothing happens -- but that doesn’t make whatever happens good.

“Bleed Magic” - IDHKBTFM It’s either about a killer or a vampire. No, seriously: When Dallon Weekes was asked about what the story of the song was, that was his answer. I personally prefer to think of it as a vampire or demon of some kind, given that the song came out around Halloween. Perfect for yet another example of somebody (likely supernatural) having an upper hand on an unsuspecting mortal. ...I have way too many of these on this list, I swear I don’t have a problem —

“Feel Good Drag” - Anberlin A toxic relationship of sorts. In that it shouldn’t be a relationship to begin with. Depicts the singer being approached by an ex, who seeks a one-night stand while her current boyfriend is out of town. However, the singer is aware that trying to continue anything regardless of the situation is a moot point: Even when they were together, their relationship was doomed from the start, and nothing about that is going to change -- especially now.

“Soviet Trumpeter” - Katzenjammer (It’s kinda difficult to work with this one but I’ve seen people work with less or stranger.) Based off the life of one Eddie Rosner, a Jewish Polish trumpeter whose fame within the USSR unfortunately faded due to the Soviet Union’s heavy censorship. Even if nothing is to be done with it, it still paints a melancholic picture of a talented man’s skills being largely unknown as a result of things beyond his control. All wrapped up in a song that denotes a strange deterioration in a way I can’t quite place.

“Apple Blossom” - The White Stripes On its face, it’s a very sweet song: The singer encourages his beloved to be vulnerable enough with him to tell him her troubles and to let him “sort them out for [her]”. She’s clearly saddened, and seeing so distresses him to where he insists that he will do whatever he can to make her happy. However, the tone of the song and certain lines make it easy to twist into yet another song of a character attempting to seduce somebody into a state of vulnerability . . .

“You’ve Got Possibilities” - It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman The one singular song people actually liked from this forgotten musical. Perfect for when somebody intends on giving somebody else a makeover. Y’know, after totally roasting them on their posture and clothing. If you want to add a lil something extra, know that the context is that a lady wants to give Clark Kent a makeover, insisting that in spite of his schlubby appearance, there’s gotta be something underneath. I repeat: She is telling this to Clark freaking Kent.

“Still” - Anastasia In the context, the show’s antagonist (not bad guy, there’s a difference) finds himself torn between obligation and personal interest: Does he fulfill his duty and live up to expectations set upon him by his father and the society he’s been selected to help uphold? Or does he let a woman he has become fond of go? Is she truly as innocent as she claims? Or is she well aware of what she’s doing? And every time he thinks he’s reached a conclusion, he can’t help but thing, “But still . . .” Good for when you want to portray a character conflicted between obligations of politics and what their heart wants.

“Two Nobodies in New York” - [title of show] Two young men plan on entering an upcoming theatrical festival but struggle with what to even submit. This song in particular focuses on them trying to figure out what to even write, the concept of fame, and if wanting the certain things that may come with fame can mean anything from being sell-outs to getting a sitcom. It’s admittedly specific, but it’s a cute and funny interaction between two guys who are, for the most part, actually in sync with their thoughts and anxieties. For the time being.

“Into the Unknown” - Idina Menzel Look, I refuse to watch that movie. I just do. But I will take this song over That Other One any day. Mostly because I personally like to imagine that the singer in this song is about to embark on a Pixaresque journey after accidentally leaving her home during the night of The Wild Hunt, accidentally separating her spirit from her body and thus giving her a very limited time to get back to it before she remains a soul trapped in a whirlwind of ghosts forever. But first: Let’s sing about that strange howling that coaxes her so.

“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” - The Offspring I sure do long songs that can characterize a shithead . . . Anywho! The smoothest way to go is just to portray some cocky, manipulative shit who’s used to just lying and cheating their way to get what they want before slipping away without any consequences -- to a point. There’s the option of portraying the betrayer’s comeuppance, but there’s also the frustratingly delicious option of just letting them get away with whatever to lie another day.

“Why Should I Worry” - Billy Joel When in doubt, go to earlier Disney. Because like it or not, they had some bops. And when in the need of portraying a happy-go-lucky (probably idiotic) doofus and his more neurotic or cynical friend going about their life with the former just Mr. Magooing it while the latter suffers more realistic consequences? You go with this song. If you want. That’s just me.

“Transformation” - Brother Bear For when you want to invoke a mystical or otherworldly feeling. There’s really not much more I can say except to encourage you to listen to it and watch the scene if you can find it. You’ll get the vibe.

“No Girl’s Toy” - Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure It’s a big shame this movie is relatively unknown and never got a proper VHS release or anything -- mainly because the music in this cult classic is definitely stuff I could see becoming standards. I could see people performing “I Never Get Enough” for little shows, or recycling “Blue” for a different show. Thankfully, somebody was able to upload a clear enough sounding recording of “No Girl’s Toy”, so at least we have that. In context (just...follow me on this), Raggedy Ann’s brother, Raggedy Andy, has had enough of being subjected to “girly things” while in the nursery. Additionally, though, the way the song was written means it can also be interpreted as just a guy who refuses to let himself be yanked around regardless of how thick the sugar being laid on him is. . . . If you wanna poke fun as a character for trying to appear tougher than what he is, here’s the song. (That being said, Andy is a sweetheart at the end of the day. No amount of tough-fronting will hide that.)

“I Enjoy Being a Girl” - Flower Drum Song (It is by sheer coincidence that this song follows the above.) Really, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: The singer enjoys being a girl and what all it entails for her. She loves her feminine form, she loves the attention she gets, she loves dolling herself up, she loves frilly dresses, and she hopes to one day marry a guy who enjoys “having a girl like [her].” And honestly? Good on her! Love whatcha love, lovely! Seriously, though, it’s a cute song for anyone who just wants to indulge in some girliness.

“Chip on My Shoulder” - Legally Blonde Come on: It’s Legally Blonde. You know what this bop is, or at least have an idea of it. But since I love this song, I’ll indulge: Disheartened by her failure to both win back her ex and succeed in the fast-paced environment of Harvard, the normally bright-eyed Elle is ready to call it quits. That is, until junior partner Emmett gets involved. Unimpressed by her story, Emmett reveals that he got to where he was by busting his ass due to having a chip on his shoulder from his rough beginnings — and maybe a chip on the shoulder is exactly what Elle needs to survive. And as somebody driven by spite, I can appreciate that kind of message. Anywho, it all in all is a song about growth and learning how to be “driven as hell” to keep up with an opportunity that may not be easy to take, but is not one to be passed by.

“What Do I Need with Love?” - Thoroughly Modern Millie “What Do I Need with Love?” asks exactly that: He could date a different girl every night of the week if he so wanted, and never once had any desire to go steady before. He considers himself lucky to have never fallen for anyone -- until now. Which he’s not! He’s not in love. ...He totally is and, by his own admission, he’s got it bad it’s terribly adorable.

“Interlude IV” - Zach Callison The entire album is actually a narrative about a failed relationship of Callison’s and I’m sure the other songs are just as great fuel for animatics -- I’m just too caught up on listening to this one over and over. Sometimes, we just wanna listen to Steven Universe cuss and be openly furious. Seriously, though, even without the context of the rest of the story, you get the idea well enough: A spiteful Zach decides to get back at the one that broke his heart in such a painful way, whereas a well-meaning friend insists they just leave it be and move on. While this technically would be the better and healthier option, Zach is just too far gone with rage to let it go and decides to take care of things by himself.

“Evermore” - Beauty & the Beast Look, I know the remake wasn’t anything crazy. But also I don’t honestly care too terribly much. Besides, this song was nice and it really gets me after that key change. We all want a royal doofus to be enamored enough with us to let us go for our own happiness but still know that their life will forever be changed because they met us. Animate that shit. Over and over.

goddamn this list is long lemme just stop this now byyyyeeeee

#long post #boop #music post #sorta

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