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wallwriterstuff · 3 years

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The Good I Come Home To ||Leon S. Kennedy x Female!Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Angsty, PTSD Leon being very jumpy and shell-shocked, mentions of sex.

Words: 3318

Summary: Originally posted to my Archive of Our Own Account.

Part 2 can be found here

Leon has kept it very casual with you for months, seemingly oblivious of the growing feelings you harbour. You have no idea just how badly it hurts him to leave you every time until he tries to cut you out of his life completely. You have other ideas. You just have to persuade Leon they're the right ones.

Leon S. Kennedy was a complicated man in many respects, but it was easy to unravel all those complex layers if you started looking at his core values, his sense of purpose. To serve, to protect. Leon was built to be the bodyguard of humanity, the first line of defence between unimaginable horror and the things he loved. Every experience had moulded him into this hard shell of a man, so far from the one people used to know. It had been interesting, really, to see an old friend from the Police Academy approach him and see just how different they had turned out. They both had the eyes of experience anybody in the force acquired over time, but Leon’s were sterner, like an unbreakable stone as opposed to ice you could chip away at and eventually shatter. This old friend of his had a small-town job and apple pie life. He had the white picket fence and the wife who kissed him when he came home to freshly made dinner. His children were doing well at school.

Leon had listened like his life was a whole other world away. It was visible in his eyes, though he carefully kept it off his face, that the comparison between each man actually disturbed him. You hadn’t meant to see of course. It was pure coincidence you’d happened to be in the supermarket, walking down that same aisle. His old friend had hit the barricade you so often hit when you asked. You’d stopped questioning it after a few months of back and forth and the looming threat of losing him became a dark and unbearable burden.

“So er, heard about the huge explosion at Raccoon. Where’d they place you after that?”

“Nowhere. I work for the government now.”

“Oh damn. FBI?”

“Something like that.”

His job was the complicated topic. Classified and bad enough to put a certain brand of darkness behind his eyes when you asked, it was best left untouched by your hands because it was hidden beneath the many layers of the man you’d only ever been allowed to scratch the surface of – literally and figuratively. Beyond his core values, the simplicity of Leon S. Kennedy lay in his needs. He was a flesh and blood man after all. He was guaranteed to need to eat, to do laundry, to shower, to relieve himself. These simple needs were what made him somewhat predictable to you. On his best days, when he text you days or hours before, you were almost guaranteed to be wined and dined. Okay so the wine and dine option was sometimes more like beer and take-out pizza but it was always paid for by him if you bought the alcohol.

When he was feeling a little less than okay, you’d get no outright statement of his desire to see you, but he’d hedge around the topic and wait for you to ask him, like he was afraid to be a nuisance. You’d only get this awkward and prompting behaviour from him an hour or two before he showed up which left you little time to prepare, but a quick shower was always on the cards. In his worst moments, he’d give no warning and simply show up at your house with smouldering eyes that demanded your attention and everything else you had to give him. God help you, you always gave him everything. As simple as his needs were, as his feelings on the matter appeared, yours were much more complicated. Leon S. Kennedy had made it clear from the start when he met you at the bar that fateful night, all chiselled jaw and playful eyes, that nothing serious was to come of this.

It had progressed to a proper agreement when you both seemed to just keep running into each other. You were free to date, if you so pleased, and he’d stop showing up. He’d be gone like dust in the wind, untraceable and impossible to bring back. You didn’t want that. Until the day either of you became tied down you had agreed you were exclusive. You sated each other only. It was hard to keep to that promise all the time when he was away for long periods, but you remained true to your word anyway, and that was how it had stayed for a solid eight months. Leon came back to a bed you kept free just for him and left in the morning like it was no more than a pit-stop on a long and winding road.

You suspected he wasn’t proud of it. You thought sometimes you could see something softer in his eyes, something that made you think he wished for something more than he was already giving you. There were moments his eyes lingered when he said goodbye, times his hands stayed on you a little longer than they usually did. On rare occasions, when he was just a bit too drunk after what you guessed was a bad job, you let him sleep it off with his arms around you and listened to the whimpers in his sleep with an aching heart. Leon consistently let you have his body, gave you the briefest glimpses at the big heart he held so carefully hidden away, but never once did he let you into his mind. As much as you loved being with him, you had never truly been with him at all. You’d never truly connected with him beyond anything physical. It pained you to know you never would. You cared for him too much. You saw the deep pain he carried with him everywhere, and you’d never be able to alleviate that load because he wouldn’t let you.

You had to pause the TV to be sure you’d actually heard anything at all, but when you heard the noise again it was stronger, bolder. Knocking. Glancing at the clock, you turned the TV off with a frown. There weren’t many people who would come knocking at this late hour, and you didn’t know if your heart was in it tonight to let him in when he would forever keep you out. As if on cue, when you opened the door to a dripping wet Leon, thunder rumbled and rattled the open window in the corridor of your apartment block. A small puddle of water had formed on the windowsill, dripping in as the harsh rain battered the glass. Leaving your door propped with the door stop you kept nearby for moments like these, you crossed to the window to close it and lock out the weather. You felt sullen enough without the storm clouds invading your house.

“Leon if you’re here to drink that’s okay but I’m not really up for-“ you cut yourself off, uncertain all of a sudden as to what it was he was here for. His needs were always so simple, the looks and actions associated with them something you had come to learn to recognise without much conscious thought. This was entirely new. Those piercing blue eyes were sullen, fighting between being as hard as sapphire and as soft as calm ocean waves. What was frightening was the depth of the ocean you saw. It was like staring into an abyss of torment. Red-ringed and with whisky on his breath, it didn’t take a genius to realise Leon had been crying and was in fairly bad shape. Hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, he stared at you through those horribly complex eyes, his mouth half open like he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out. He was pale, breaths even but heavy, like he had to physically remind himself to huff out each one.

Wordlessly, you took him by the hand. His skin was freezing to the touch and you guessed the faithful jacket had done little to keep the bitter cold from seeping into his exposed skin. Your theory was proven right when his cheeks were just as cold to the touch.

“I…” you thought he might say more but it was like watching a caveman learn to talk. There were only sounds, no words. He was usually very skilful with his tongue but tonight those talents were nowhere to be found. Pushing his jacket from his shoulders you hung it to dry over the back of your sofa, hoping the radiator would do its job and leave it toasty for him when he inevitably put it on to leave you again. You ignored the stinging in your chest at the thought. Leon didn’t need you to be petty right now. Truthfully, you were frightened. Leon’s carefully constructed composure had been shattered by something and you didn’t think you wanted to know what was strong enough to shatter this man’s rock hard exterior and cut him so deeply. He stood dumbly in your hallway, and you gently pushed him to the edge of the sofa to take off his shoes so they wouldn’t traipse water into your home.

“Shhh Leon, just come with me.” You coaxed him back onto socked feet, leading him down the hall to your bathroom.

“No…no Y/N I, I don’t…” he swallowed.

“Do you trust me Leon?” you asked him, keeping your voice gentle like you were cajoling a wild animal into eating from your palm. Leon nodded without question and you smiled slightly. “Then just follow for me now.” You kicked open your door and led him to the edge of the tub, grabbing a towel from the shelving units there and placing it on the sink.

“What are you doing?” he could barely speak above a whisper, looking confused and upset and lost all at once.

“I’m going to run you a nice hot bath before you catch your death. I don’t know how long you were in the rain for Leon but you’re frozen to the bone.” You said calmly, putting the plug in the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. Leon didn’t answer, merely watched you with the eyes of a man so lost in trauma he couldn’t find his way back to the surface world and make sense of the happenings around him. While you waited for the water to turn steamy, you rubbed at his hair with the towel in your hand to dry it. You knew something was incredibly wrong when he let you mess it up like that. There were very few instances you were allowed to touch his hair and you had to always, always comb it back into place or suffer the consequences. Occasionally, you took a break to fill the tub with some of your prized bath oils. Lavender, camomile, jasmine, all your favourite scents from a beautiful kit a colleague had bought you as part of secret Santa last year.

He didn’t comment as the room filled with intoxicating, relaxing scents, nor when you checked the temperature again and told him he could get in when he was ready. He held the towel in both hands, staring at the cotton as if it might hold some answers.

“Thank you.” He mumbled. You nodded once.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” you asked him. He nodded once, but he didn’t meet your gaze. He was lying you were sure. “Okay. Take as long as you need in here, I’ll be about when you feel ready to see me alright?” you promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly. Your lips lingered a little too long, but Leon didn’t move away. He closed his eyes as if the contact was all he had wanted and more. As the door closed behind you you heard the soft, muffled sob he tried so hard to bury in the towel, and your heart broke a little more. Something had shattered Leon S. Kennedy and it didn’t sit well with you at all to see him this vulnerable. He needed the space right now to get his mind back in order but once he did, when he was ready to face you, you weren’t sure you’d get an explanation from him. He’d shut down every time you’d ever asked for one before.

He’d woken screaming one night, lashing out so violently that if you had been sat upright there’d have been no way to avoid his fist and he’d have knocked you out cold. When you tried to ask what was wrong, he’d simply snapped at you to leave him be and left your apartment so fast there could have been a fire under his ass. So, what did you do? Did you just not even try? He hadn’t made a move on you, had specifically said no when he saw you heading in the direction of the bedroom. But if he wasn’t here for sex what was he here for? It only added to your anxiety that you really had no clue what he wanted if it wasn’t your body he’d come for, and though part of you thought that should make you angry, another part of you hoped that that meant it was something more that he was after this time. The kind of more you wanted.

No. You had to try for him. You couldn’t let him go on like this. He didn’t have to fight the war in his head alone, not when you were here. At least, if he wanted to go it alone, he could have someone stable waiting with a safety net if he stumbled. For now you’d let him linger and soak in the tub, and you’d make the most out of the ingredients you had in the fridge. If he stayed, he could eat it off a plate. If he didn’t…well, you’d make some in a container in case. Pasta bake had always been your father’s speciality and it had been your favourite as a child, was still your comfort food now. Chicken and bacon sizzled, pasta boiled, and you grated the cheese to the rhythm of your favourite song playing softly on the radio while the milk and butter warmed on the stove. You snagged a piece of bacon from the wok and let the salty flavour burn your tongue.

With your masterpiece constructed and more cheese grated on top, you slid the dish into the oven for it to crisp up and set your timer, setting about washing the utensils next. It kept your hands busy, kept your mind from wandering too much, but even the sudsy water couldn’t quite keep your mind from ticking over. Why had Leon come here in the pouring rain? What had spooked him so badly he’d thought, in his less than coherent state, that he needed to be here in your apartment? Did the fact he’d come to you mean anything at all or did he just happen to be nearby? You put the saucepan a little harder than necessary into the rack when it slipped from your hands, jumping and cursing to yourself at the loud clang it had made.

“Y/N!” Leon almost roared your name in pure, abject terror. Eyes wide you rushed for the bathroom, hands still soapy and dripping water. He was already out of the bathtub, naked and scrambling through his jacket until he came up with a gun of all things, aimed right at you as you burst through the door. A shriek escaped you and you immediately dropped to the floor, hands above your head.

“Leon it’s me!” you begged. Harsh breathing filled the room.

“Where is it?” he demanded. You peeked up at him from below your arms, lowering them slowly. He was half-crouched, eyes wild and fixated on the door that led back to your room. He offered you a hand. “Come on, get up and get behind me, where is it?” he repeated the question more firmly now.

“Where’s what? Leon I – there’s only us here. I just dropped a saucepan.” You breathed. His expression faltered, confusion flooding his features first , then guilt, and finally grief. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled slowly. He lowered his gun after a few more deep breaths.

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking a little like a kicked puppy. You shook your head, slowly pushing to your feet so as not to startle him. His skin was tinged pink, little suds clinging to the ends of his hair. The timer went off in the kitchen and Leon flinched again, hand tensing around the gun. You soothingly placed your hand on his arm.

“It’s just the timer. We’re the only people here Leon, nothing’s going to hurt us. How’s about you dry off and come have something to eat?” you suggested. He blanched at the mention of food and you frowned. “You don’t have to eat everything, just a little bit, you look really pale.” You reached for the towel and held it out to him until he reluctantly nodded and wrapped it around his waist. You left the door slightly ajar and headed for the kitchen to switch off the damn timer. He was so jumpy, so eager to jump to your defence. You plated up a small portion, not wanting to put him off with a large one. You didn’t feel particularly hungry yourself but you’d had a proper meal earlier in the evening, a cup of tea would suffice, camomile and honey would soothe your nerves. Leon had a liking for peppermint you knew. Maybe if he was nauseous that would help him eat? Tea and pasta bake served you sat opposite his place, one hand wrapped around the handle of your mug and the other pulled up to your mouth, your teeth nibbling the side of your nail.

“You’ll make your thumb sore.” He lingered in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should sit down or run away. You dropped your hand and placed a more welcoming smile on your lips, nodding to the plate.

“Chicken and bacon pasta bake. It’s good.” You invited. Hesitantly, Leon shuffled to the chair and sat down. You didn’t push him to talk. Months of being with Leon had assured you that pushing would only clam him up further, and you wanted to pry him open tonight. With a sinking feeling, you realised it might be the last night you ever saw him. He’d let himself be extremely vulnerable to you already and you weren’t the type of person to see this kind of trauma and let it go unchecked. You’d want to check in on him, you’d want to help him feel better, and Leon didn’t appreciate the questions you’d have to ask to get the kind of help he needed right. He sighed slightly, picking up the fork and taking a small bite. He looked physically sick for the first few mouthfuls, and you made an effort to distract him with small talk about the weather, your day and all its mundane happenings.

He seemed enraptured by your very voice, soaking in every syllable that crossed your lips and mindlessly working his arm and mouth to clear the plate and drain the mug in front of him.

“Can I have a bit more? It’s really good.” He surprised you with his request but you obliged him, spooning some more on his plate.

“If you’re that partial to it you can take some home to.” You said simply. He nodded once, clearing the second portion with ease and looking much better for it. The colour had returned to his cheeks and he looked a little more put together than before. You settled back in your chair, watched him clean his plate and put it in the drying rack. It was a courtesy you’d never have asked for but were grateful for nonetheless. He didn’t turn around though, keeping his back to you and tightening his grip on the countertop.

#resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy #female reader #leon kennedy x female reader #angsty #tw ptsd #part 1

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queeranarchism · 4 years

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Hey! I saw your post about how hiveminds are represented poorly, where you then talked about how anarchists form a consensus among large groups. I was wondering how this process of forming a consensus typically works, because I always thought people did have a vote.

Most anarchist communities don’t vote. Because whenever we vote, a majority gets what they want and a minority doesn’t. And this could mean there is dissatisfaction, which leads to internal strife, anger, bitterness, mistrust. Or worse this could mean there is injustice when a minority doesn’t get the safety, resources, access, fulfillment, they need. And that’s not what we want. For many anarchists, voting is a tool of injustice through which minority interests are suppressed. Instead, anarchists use:

1. Consensus: decisions that impact everyone are made by using a variety of techniques to get to an agreement that everyone can agree on. Consensus processes often consist of small gatherings in which affinity groups and minority caucuses talk among themselves, followed by large gatherings in which the conversation goes on until there is agreement among all (established through hand-raising or some other technique. Basically a vote that requires 100% yes).

2. Autonomy: decisions that mainly impact you and your affinity group can be made without consulting anyone. Decisions that only impact your neighborhood require a consensus within the neighborhood, etc. Basically no one not impacted by your decisions can get in your way, unless you start harming and oppression others.

3. Emergency agreements: most anarchist communities have some system in place through which some people can make fast decisions. When there’s a fire, or a flood, or an eviction, you gotta act fast. Often a what-if plan has been made in advance using consensus and that what-if plan is implemented with the use of temporary leaders or temporary voting followed by a review and re-establishment of consensus.

Consensus is the least understood of those 3 concepts because very few people can imagine acting in a community based on good faith, where no one wants their favorite option to win and everyone wants an outcome that works best for everyone. Consensus requires trust, flexible positions, really listening to minority voices and being able to settle for a less than perfect option because you recognize the needs of other people.

Electoral decision making cultivates competition, only listening to large groups who have the voting power to achieve a majority, encouraging faithfulness to a fixed position to build a majortiy and basically the opposite of all these cooperative attitudes. So if you’ve raised in majority decision making, it’s not surprising that it’s difficult to imagine people acting differently.

Seeds for Change described the consensus process as follows

The problem, or decision needing to be made, is defined and named. It helps to do this in a way that separates the problems/questions from personalities.

Brainstorm possible solutions. Write them all down, even the crazy ones. Keep the energy up for quick, top-of-the head suggestions.

Create space for questions or clarification on the situation.

Discuss the options written down. Modify some, eliminate others, and develop a short list. Which are the favourites?

State the proposal or choice of proposals so that everybody is clear.

Discuss the pros and cons of each proposal — make sure everybody has a chance to contribute.

If there is a major objection, return to step 6 (this is the time-consuming bit). Sometimes you may need to return to step 4.

If there are no major objections, state the decisions and test for agreement.

Acknowledge minor objections and incorporate friendly amendments.

Discuss.

Check for consensus.

Seeds for Change mentions that when despite multiple attempts there is no consensus, the group as a whole can:

Allow the person most concerned to make the decision.

Leave the decision for later or take a break.

Ask everyone to argue convincingly the point of view they like the least.

Break down the decision into smaller areas. See which ones you can agree on and see what points of disagreement are left.

Identify the assumptions and beliefs underlying the issue. Get to the heart of the matter.

Imagine what will happen in six months, a year, five year’s time if you don’t agree. How important is the decision now?

Bring in a facilitator. If your group is unable to work through conflicts or if similar issues keep coming up, think about bringing in a professional facilitator or mediator who is trained in conflict-resolution techniques.

& when consensus can’t be found at all and a few people consistently disagree, those who disagree with the most popular option can choose:

Non-support: “I don’t see the need for this, but I’ll go along with it.”

Standing aside: “I personally can’t do this, but I won’t stop others from doing it.”

Veto/major objection: A single veto/major objection blocks the proposal from passing. If you have a major objection it means that you cannot live with the proposal if it passes. It is so objectionable to you/those you are representing that you will stop the proposal. A major objection isn’t an “I don’t really like it “ or “I liked the other idea better.” It is an “I cannot live with this proposal if it passes, and here is why?.!”. The group can either accept the veto or discuss the issue further and draw up new proposals. The veto is a powerful tool and should be used with caution.

Leaving the group: If one person continually finds him/herself at odds with the rest of the group, it may be time to think about the reasons for this. Is this really the right for them to group to be in?

Consensus decision making is tricky and can be flawed. Conversation facilitators often hold more power than they’re willing to admit, talented public speakers can have more impact than those anxious about speaking in a group, long crowded meetings are not accessible to all, dogmatic cliques can sabotage the process by misusing the veto, etc. Measures need to be in place to counteract this, or true consensus becomes impossible.

It’s also important not to let consensus eclipse ‘autonomy’ or to nitpick every minor decision. The answer ‘what are we having for lunch?’ shouldn’t be a consensus process. It should be ‘whatever people want, & those who want the same thing can make lunch together’. Similarly, if the question is ‘do we want a new water filter in the community garden?’, you might wanna avoid long conversations and rephrase that question to ‘Are there enough people here willing to help me build a water filter in the garden and no one who objects to a new water filter?’. Let enthusiasm to do new things thrive.

This is doubly true in a situation like an occupation, blockade, autonomous zone under pressure, etc. Resistance requires flexibility and surprise, which can not come from consensus. A resistance movement that doesn’t allow its affinity groups to roam free and exploit opportunities won’t live long.

Your movement will die if you try to do everything by general assembly and limit the power of autonomy. In my opinion, one of the most common failures that I’ve seen in anarchist organizing in Europe has been to try to limit the autonomy of its affinity groups, try to do everything by large scale consensus meeting, and when that got too time-consuming and had authority issues, switch to more voting instead of more autonomy and better consensus processes.

Some reading:

Peter Gelderloos - Consensus: A New Handbook for Grassroots Social, Political, and Environmental Groups. (print)

Seeds for change - Consensus Decision Making https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/seeds-for-change-consensus-decision-making

C.T. Butler and Amy Rothstein - On Conflict and Consensus: a handbook on Formal Consensus decisionmaking https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/c-t-butler-and-amy-rothstein-on-conflict-and-consensus-a-handbook-on-formal-consensus-decisionm#toc8

The Inefficient Utopia or How Consensus Will Change the World https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/curious-george-brigade-the-inefficient-utopia-or-how-consensus-will-change-the-world

#queeranarchism #consensus #encar-murogue

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taizi · 3 years

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the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter one: the ship sways

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 2549 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

During family dinner, Wei Ying’s phone rings, cutting mother off mid-sentence.

Jiang Cheng cringes inwardly and his brother’s face goes two shades paler. They have guests over, so mother doesn’t do more than glare hatefully in Wei Ying’s direction.

She won’t make a scene in front of Yanli’s husband, or even Wei Ying’s fiancé—Jin Zixuan is everything Yu Ziyuan wants in a match for her daughter, and Lan Zhan’s family is one of the richest on the East Coast.

Lan Zhan is also willing to give as good as he gets. His eyes are already narrowing in mother’s direction, the tentative ceasefire of family dinner wobbling precariously beneath their feet as he perceives the great and unforgivable offense of insult to Wei Ying. A-Li resolutely tries to pick the conversation back up from where it lulled, with all the steely resolve of someone throwing herself into the path of a rampaging bull. Jin Zixuan has graduated from grimacing into his wineglass to gazing hopefully at the clock every three minutes.

Always willing to fall on the grenade, Wei Ying ducks his head meekly.

“Sorry, I thought I silenced it,” he says, the shape of a laugh in his voice even if he can’t manage to drag it all the way out. He’s rummaging his cellphone out of his pocket, presumably to turn it off as a gesture of good faith. “I’ll just…”

But his eyes catch on the screen, and something happens to his expression that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

Wei Ying stands up, so abruptly his chair sails back with an awful screech, and excuses himself. Lan Zhan follows him out of the dining room without a single word or a backwards glance. That’s all it takes for mother to pick up a scathing tirade against Jiang Cheng’s good-for-nothing, ungrateful, waste-of-space brother.

He joins Jin Zixuan in watching the clock. Worry swims in the back of his mind like a school of startled fish.

Wei Ying’s apartment is really actually Lan Zhan’s apartment, but the two of them have been inseparable since they were fourteen, and it naturally followed that where one of them would live, so would the other. The place is ridiculous, modern and minimalist, and it would look like something out of a magazine if not for Wei Ying’s inevitable clutter. But even the stacks of books and magazines, and haphazard easels, and little jars of paints and loose brushes everywhere manage to make the place seem charming and lived-in instead of the horrible disaster tornado it rightly should be.

Jiang Cheng asked him once what the monthly rent was but Wei Ying looked so haunted by the question that Jiang Cheng decided he didn’t actually want to know.

They’re all crammed into the conversation pit, recovering from family dinner in the usual fashion. Jin Zixuan is much more likable when his tie is loose and he’s nursing a lukewarm beer.

A-Li is clinging to Jiang Cheng’s hand so hard he’s beginning to lose circulation but he’d sooner agree to amputate than he would shake her off.

“You’re on speaker, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says with mock-severity. “Keep it PG for the children in the room, please.”

“So Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are there?” Wen Qing asks rhetorically.

Jin Zixuan sighs but doesn’t rise to it. Jiang Cheng snaps, “Listen, assholes,” partly out of half-hearted irritation, and partly to hear Wen Qing sigh the way she does when she doesn’t want to reward someone with a real laugh.

“Yanli and Lan Zhan are here, too,” Wei Ying says cheerfully. His tone doesn’t match how worried his eyes are. “This is a family-only meeting. So tell us what those texts were about.”

Jiang Cheng realizes right away why Wei Ying bailed on dinner.

There was an apartment fire. The Wens lost everything. Wen Ning is in the hospital with smoke inhalation and second-degree burns because he ran in to make sure their neighbors got out safely. All of their savings are wrapped up in putting Wen Qing through medical school. She’s adrift now in a way that Jiang Cheng has never been.

“There’s... we have an old house, somewhere out in the country. It was sold to my grandparents cheap, but they never got around to renovating it. It’s not even livable, just bare bones.”

A-Li starts crying the second Wen Qing does.

“It’s too much,” Wen Qing forces out. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Wei Ying, to his credit, actually does hesitate. A whole five seconds. And then he says, “I thought you were supposed to be my smart friend. Who said you were doing this on your own?”

He says it as easily as if it was an absolute given that he would turn his whole life around and upside down for her. All she had to do was call.

There is a minor disagreement between Jiang Cheng’s siblings.

“A-Li,” Wei Ying says, holding both of her hands in both of his own and looking deeply, imploringly, into her eyes. “You’re way too pregnant to fly.”

Her face crinkles alarmingly, eyes already red and puffy from recent tears. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan tense in exactly the same way, at the same time.

“I won’t have you going all the way to California by yourself,” Yanli says in her most eldest-sibling tone of voice. “I won’t have it, A-Ying.”

“I am a grown-up,” Wei Ying points out gently, with all the wisdom of his twenty-four years. “I pay bills and have a job I hate and everything. And I won’t be by myself, I’ll have A-Qing and A-Ning.”

“And me, obviously,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Wei Ying whips around to stare at him.

“Oh,” Yanli says, a blanket of relief rolling across her face. “Oh, of course.”

“You can’t,” Wei Ying hisses at him, looking more panicked now than he has all night. “Your mother—”

“Okay, first of all, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jiang Cheng bites back, prickly with worry for the Wens and worry for his idiot brother. “Secondly, you, going by yourself, is not an option. It’s off the table. It was never on the table. Stupid,” he adds, on principle.

Lan Zhan doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at this point but Jiang Cheng learned a long time ago that that doesn’t mean shit. Lan Zhan has more opinions than any three people combined, whether or not he chooses to voice them. There is no fucking way he doesn’t have thoughts about his fiance picking up and moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Maybe there’s some strange alternate timeline out there where he would be content to stay behind and let Wei Ying go off without him, but Jiang Cheng would bet his entire trust fund that that’s simply not happening here.

If ever there was a world where Wei Ying would be backed into a corner and forced to help the Wens alone, this world isn’t it.

There’s a minor disagreement between his siblings, and there’s a whole fucking nuclear fallout at home.

“I forbid it,” mother snaps. She’s livid, but she’s livid so much of the time that it started losing its edge a few years ago. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow this family to lose face because you want to gallivant across the country for some charity case.”

Jiang Cheng sees it when Wei Ying’s posture changes. The dreamy raincloud gray of Wei Ying’s eyes hardens into heavy steel, and his spine stiffens, and his shoulders go back; the absolute opposite of his downcast self at dinner earlier. He’s willing to fight any impossible battle as long as it’s for someone else.

Jiang Cheng grew up looking up to him. He spent all of his formative years as Wei Ying’s little brother. That’s why he’s willing, too.

“The Wens aren’t a charity case,” he says. Not very loud, but he says it. It’s a lot more than he could have done when he was a kid.

“You don’t even know them! They’re just some random people on the Internet. They’re probably scamming you, and you’re both idiot enough to fall for it!”

That’s so untrue and unfair that Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to argue for a moment. They’ve never met the Wens in person, but Wei Ying has been friends with them since he was ten. They mail each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. Jiang Cheng distinctly remembers calling Wen Qing for help with biochem homework, multiple times. Wen Ning always Skyped with Yanli when he was stuck on a recipe, the two of them cooking together from three time zones apart. They’re all tangled up in each other’s lives, comfortably, irrevocably.

Of course we know them, Jiang Cheng thinks, bewildered.

Out loud, he says, “They’re not scamming us. And we already told them we’re coming.”

Mother screeches and storms around the house and throws things, but she hasn’t actually hit either of them since they grew taller than her. She hasn’t been a source of real fear since Jiang Cheng started looking down at her instead of looking up. It’s mostly just miserable to be around her now.

He remembers that fear, though. It sticks to his body like a half-healed scar. It reminds him to flinch.

It’s early enough in the morning that it might as well still be nighttime when Jiang Cheng and his suitcases finally show up at Wei Ying’s building. He leaves his luggage in the lobby under the watchful gaze of the concierge and takes the private elevator up, keying in the code to his brother’s apartment.

The doors roll open to the living room. Lan Zhan is holding a tiny animal carrier in his hands, gazing at Wei Ying in an extremely gross and smitten way while Wei Ying discusses the upcoming trip with their pets. Pidan and Bao are not being particularly attentive, snuffling at his chin and chewing on a piece of his hair respectively.

“Diedie has decided to be stubborn and not listen to good sense,” Wei Ying is telling the rabbits seriously, “so you’re coming with me and ruining your life instead of being safe and comfortable here at home.”

“Baba is being dramatic,” Lan Zhan informs them in turn. “And also foolish, if he doesn’t realize that our home is wherever he goes.”

“This is the weirdest domestic scene I’ve ever walked into,” Jiang Cheng says loudly, since apparently the telltale ding of the elevator wasn’t enough to announce his presence. He has to interrupt before they do something horrible, like make out in front of him. It’s a constant fucking risk with these two. “Are we leaving or what?”

So the rabbits go into their crate with a frankly absurd amount of fanfare and Jiang Cheng helps wrestle the luggage downstairs. By then, the shuttle that Lan Zhan ordered is waiting for them at the curb.

He knows it isn’t going to be a vacation. Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying has essentially put his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. It’s going to be hard work. It’s probably going to be painful, and a little bit scary.

Jiang Cheng is only involved because he chose to be, but it never occurs to him to choose anything else.

If this is where his brother is going, it’s probably the right place to go. And if it’s not, if the whole thing turns out to be a horrible mistake and he regrets all of it, then at least he’ll be in good company.

Wen Ning is out of the hospital by the time their plane lands, and he’s waiting with Wen Qing at the airport. Wei Ying, who by all accounts should feel as foggy and queasy as Jiang Cheng definitely does, drops his bags and sprints across the terminal towards them.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow at a more reasonable human pace, possibly in part to give the friends a few moments together. The busy airport traffic moves around them like a river flowing around a rock.

Wen Ning is sobbing, almost a full head taller than Wei Ying but buried against him like the little brother he is. Wen Qing is leaning quietly against the two of them with her eyes closed, as if filling her reserves and shoring up her strength.

She’s the type of person who would be able to cow his mother with a single glance, Jiang Cheng thinks admiringly, and more efficiently than Lan Zhan ever could. She must have a spine built out of steel to be able to stand there without crumbling under the weight of what she’s lost.

And Wei Ying stands there holding them up, tireless and steady. He’s talking too quietly for Jiang Cheng to hear, saying something that makes Wen Ning nod against his shoulder. He’ll hold them up until the ground falls out from under his feet if he has to. Thankfully it’s more like three minutes.

Introductions aren’t necessary. They all just trade exhausted looks and move as a cohesive unit towards the doors.

Wen Ning starts to help with the bags, bandaged hands and all. Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng both snap at him before he can so much as touch a suitcase, and then he just waffles in place anxiously, like he doesn’t know how to person if he isn’t actively being helpful.

“Hold the kids,” Wei Ying says in the spirit of compromise, taking the pet crate from Lan Zhan and holding it out to Wen Ning instead.

Somehow, they shuffle everything out of the airport and into a rental car. Lan Zhan’s phone starts to blow up as soon as he turns airplane mode off, so he turns airplane mode back on and returns the phone to his pocket.

“My uncle has checked the credit card statement,” Lan Zhan says calmly. “My brother is handling it.”

“Poor Lan Huan,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“We have to call A-Li,” Jiang Cheng remembers with a jolt. He digs his own phone out. “She wanted us to call as soon as we landed.”

Everyone clusters in close for the FaceTime call with Yanli, who is tearful and hormonal and indignant about being left behind. Jiang Cheng begs her not to get into a fight with their mother over this. Yanli raises her chin and says, “We’ll see.”

It’s a very long drive to the estate. Wei Ying’s head sinks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder in an inevitable, unstoppable act of gravity. He falls asleep within minutes.

“You have to help me thank him,” Wen Qing says quietly, tapping anxious fingers against the steering wheel. “Help me figure out how to thank him.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, not unkindly. “What makes you think I know how?”

An entire childhood spent raising each other, protecting each other, annoying the shit out of each other, and there are still some things Jiang Cheng has no idea how to say to his brother in a way that he’ll understand. Like I’m sorry, and thank you.

Lan Zhan turns his head to the side, so that his cheek is pillowed against Wei Ying’s hair. Outside, the sprawling California countryside sprints past the windows, wild and golden under a relentless summer sun.

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #yunmeng shuangjie #jiang cheng #wei ying #lan zhan #wen ning #wen qing #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #it was only a matter of time fellas #the ship sways

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kingreywrites · 3 years

Text

words cannot say (what I want them to say)

Prompt: "You weren’t there...why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there!" for @thefoghaslifted and anon

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 7670

Summary: "He's alive," she announces, yet there's no hope in her tone. "He… He won't be for long."

This picture is wrong, wrong, wrong, and Eugene wants to scream. Adira doesn't stutter. Adira doesn't talk in a soft, compassionate tone. Adira, the woman who chased down a myth for twenty-five years, does not lose her faith so easily.

And yet.

(Eugene receives a letter telling him his father is dying. He goes to the Dark Kingdom, and tries to find the right words.)

Note: this is a Death Fic so uhm yeah, Edmund does die here. Also this takes place five years post canon! I kinda mention it in the fic but just in case it isn’t too clear... Anyway it’s kinda sad, kinda weird, kinda long, but I hope someone enjoys this anyway gdhdhhd

Read on ao3

Eugene's first clue is one of his father's ravens, not Hamuel, flying towards him with a message attached to its claw. It should have been a relief - Hamuel is... bad, at this whole messenger thing, and despite begging Edmund to send a bird that wouldn't get lost in the boot of a random nesdernian merchant along the way, his father had never relented, giving his full trust to his companion of decades. So it should have been a good sign; a sign that the letter made its way to him in the quickest, smartest way possible. A sign that nothing got lost, and that maybe, Edmund was listening to him.

Yet, a pit of worry forms in Eugene's stomach at the sight. What kind of message couldn't allow for the delay Hamuel would necessarily cause?

His second clue is the small, neat writing that greets him on the letter. Adira's handwriting. She writes to them, sometimes, in the empty space of his father's letters; when Rapunzel asks her something in one of Eugene's own letters to his dad, or when Adira wants to make a remark on one of their adventures, always neat-picking their fights even from miles and miles away. She writes to them, so he knows her handwriting, knows that she never sent him her own letter unprompted before, knows that she wouldn't if she didn't have something to say.

Adira knows how to get to the point. The short message feels like a punch in the gut, and Eugene leans on the railing of the balcony without meaning to, hands trembling around the paper he keeps reading again and again.

"Eugene?" Rapunzel calls. He doesn't know how long he has been there. His eyes blur, looking at the letter again.

Eugene (not Fishskin, and it had been his last clue, because Adira always called him Fishskin, no matter the years and the distance, no matter if he complained or bragged about it, and the fact that she didn't here told him the worst thing about it all. She was trying to be gentle.)

You must come to the Dark Kingdom at once. King Edmund was wounded in an accident, and his condition is serious. Doctors fear he might not pull through.

Bring someone with you, and don't die on the road. (Gentle, too gentle, and if her words hadn't been enough, he would have known here that she did not think his dad would pull through either.)

"Eugene?" Rapunzel asks again, closer, but he doesn't turn to her.

We'll be waiting for you.

- Adira

A dark spot appears on the last sentence, staining it. He rubs at his eyes, heart beating sharply in his chest, and hands over the letter to Rapunzel without protests, his hands too weak to hold onto it anyway. He sees her face pale, sees the cold determination in her gaze, and he knows she'll agree before he even opens his mouth, but he asks anyway.

"Can we go visit my dad?"

She hugs him fiercely when he turns towards her, and he melts into it, still trembling. They begin packing right after.

------

Lance goes with them, steering the hot air balloon effortlessly. Eugene had tried to protest, words stuck in his throat as he had looked at Kiera and Catalina helping Rapunzel pack, but Lance hadn't budged.

("The girls will be okay," his best friend had said, voice achingly soft, like everyone who knew about what was happening. "You need me." Eugene had wanted to say no, but he couldn't, so Lance had come.)

Quirin is chatting on the other side of the balloon with Rapunzel. Eugene feels bad that he hadn't even thought of warning him when he decided to go to the Dark Kingdom, but Rapunzel had sent for him, and he was already coming to the castle, having received a letter similar to Eugene's own. Varian's father is a tall and silent man. The complete opposite of his son, Eugene had thought when he first met him, until the day Rapunzel and Quirin had a four hour long vivid discussion about apples and how to cook them, and Eugene had seen in the older man's excitement the echoes of Varian's own when he talked alchemy. Today, he learns that father and son get worried the same, all wringing hands and tired smiles that don't reach their eyes. It's a knowledge Eugene could have done without.

Doctors fear he might not pull through. It's almost as if Eugene can see the words dance in front of his eyes, for how much he had read them over and over again. The environment passes him quickly, cold wind blowing through his hair, and Eugene can't seem to focus on any of it.

There's a forest under them. Eugene is pretty sure they went through it the first time they were on the road, making their way to the Dark Kingdom with difficulty. He wonders, somewhat distantly, if there's a chance he'll spot Cass down there, riding through the woods on Fidella's back, her cape floating behind her. The idea is nonsensical - she's all the way over to the west side of the continent, and he knows it, knows she couldn't be there.

(His last irrational fear, before leaving, is that Rapunzel will miss Cassandra's next letter. It always arrives at the end of the month, and even if they tried, they wouldn't be able to warn her in time that they were travelling, and she won't get Rapunzel’s answer when she expects it, and she'll worry, and-

"Eugene," Rapunzel had said, her forehead against his. It was night. The Princess and the Captain of the Guard couldn't leave the castle in a day, no matter how eager they were. "It's okay. There will be more letters."

Maybe there won't ever be more time with his dad.)

Eugene keeps watching the forest down there, until it's out of sight.

------

That night, Rapunzel huddles close to him, seeking warmth as they fly through the colder air, and Eugene doesn't have it in his heart to ask for space anymore. He had done so earlier because- because he couldn't talk about it, not yet, not when he didn't even know, not when Edmund could- could already be dead as he hoped he wasn't, could survive as he grieved him. Eugene had asked for space, because he wouldn't be able to refuse if Rapunzel asked, and he didn't want to talk.

When he wraps his arms around her, it's with the cold resignation that now was a good setting for a breakdown anyway. Maybe in the dark, she wouldn't see his tears.

"I love you," she murmurs against his skin.

"I love you too," he answers easily, bracing himself.

She falls silent. Hums a soft tune under her breath - a song he taught her way back then, when everything was still so new and she didn't even know any other song than the incantation and the ones she had tried writing in her spare time. It's a song from his childhood, silly and simple, and he chokes up for the umpteenth time today, his nerves frayed. Rapunzel holds him tighter.

It takes a while, but Eugene falls asleep.

------

He hears the surprised and worried exclamations of his name as he jumps down from the balloon, but Eugene doesn't turn back. They were close to the ground anyway, and he can't wait any longer. Adira is there. A somber expression on her face. Eugene can't breathe as he walks towards her.

"Is he-"

"He's alive," she announces, yet there's no hope in her tone. "He… He won't be for long."

And yet.

There are a million questions at the tip of his tongue - what happened why didn't you protect him why does he have to die what's wrong with him why my dad why now why why why - but there's only one that's important.

"Where is he?"

A word from her, and he's off. He remembers very well how to find the throneroom, and his father's bedroom so close to it.

He's not surprised to find Hector sitting next to the door, his two bearcats growling at Eugene. Eugene is too tired to argue - he knows that Hector's loyalty is as strong as he is stubborn, and he knows the knight loathes to leave his dad's side when Edmund is in trouble. If Hector hears everything he says in this room, then so be it.

To his shock, Hector gets up. His eyes, always so wide and angry, are cast down.

"I'll give you two privacy," he says, his voice so alien Eugene barely recognises it. Even in the years they had known each other on somewhat friendly terms, Hector had always been loud, full of righteous anger over the smallest things. The man in front of him looks… defeated. He pets the head of one of his bearcats, still looking at Eugene. "If something happens, tell them to come fetch me."

Just like that, he leaves. The bearcats lay down on each side of the door. Eugene, hands trembling anew, finally turns the handle.

Edmund is in bed, pale skin flushed red. The air is heavy, reeks of medication, and his dad - his dad, so tall he easily towers over him, a mountain of a man who can easily defeat the strongest warriors - his dad looks small, under the covers.

Eugene is still stuck at the door, unable to move. In all this time since he got the letters, he hasn't thought once of what he would say, what he would do once he finally saw Edmund. He half-thought it would be too late, and he should be relieved that it's not but- he won't be for long, Adira had warned, and Eugene is helpless to do anything, he doesn't understand anything, Edmund was fine before and now-

There's a low sound in the room, of his dad struggling to breathe, and it's like a bolt of lightning went through Eugene, spurring him into motion. There's a chair on the left side of his father, and he sits down here heavily, eyes never leaving Edmund's face.

"Dad…" he whispers. "Dad, I…"

There are tears in his eyes again, and Eugene hates his own helplessness. His father is in pain, his father is dying, and he's just sitting here, unable to do anything, to fix anything. His hand seeks Edmund's, and Eugene gasps at how cold it feels, heart dropping in his throat when he raises the cover and sees purple fingers with greying fingertips.

High fever. Failing lungs. Cold extremities, likely due to low blood pressure. The terrible certainty in Adira and Hector's expressions that his father was going to die. Eugene is no doctor, but he has lived on the streets for a decade, and he knew the signs to look out for, knew what illnesses he should avoid at all costs, and treat immediately if he ever fell victim to them.

Sepsis.

His tears fall. Eugene, selfish as always, manages to say only one thing: "Please don't die."

Edmund doesn't answer.

------

After a while, Hector comes back to stand guard in front of the room. Eugene would thank him for the privacy, but he hasn't been able to say anything since that one whispered plea, the weight in his throat too overwhelming.

After a while, Rapunzel appears at his side. He doesn't notice, really - just, at one point, he raises his head and she's here, like she always is. She looks sad, too. He holds her hand. (He still can't take Edmund's without feeling sick. He can't give his own father comfort, because he's too scared of the cold and stiff fingers. What a son he makes.)

After a while, Lance is here too. His best friend of years, who has enough presence to make an empty theatre feel lively by being in it, is quiet as a mouse. Eugene wants to joke about that, before the mere idea catches up to him and his stomach twists terribly. How fucked up do you have to be to joke in front of your dying dad, he thinks. He can't avoid this, can't lighten the situation, but being a coward is ingrained in his bones at that point, and the fact that he could have- in front of-

"Hey Eugene," Lance says. His hand, big and warm, gently touches Eugene's, which is gripping his own hair tightly. He doesn't remember doing that. "Do you… Want tea?"

Eugene startles, not expecting this question. It takes him a moment before it registers, a moment before he tries to answer, only opens his mouth wordlessly, and closes it. Silently, he finally nods, heart speeding up for reasons he can't understand.

"Okay," Lance smiles. "Do you want to come make it with me?"

Eugene should say no. He should stay with his dad, who is at death's door and could die at any moment, his internal organs fighting a losing battle. Eugene should say no, he should talk and speak to his dad, speak to Rapunzel who he knows is worried, he should… He should be a good son, and say goodbye to his father, one last time.

His head is spinning. He opens his mouth, closes it without a sound, and nods again. He's not a good son.

Lance's hand on his shoulder guides him more than his feet do. The kitchen isn't far, and Lance busies himself with its sparse content, searching for a cup silently. Quickly enough, he's making tea, water boiling noisily in the kettle, breaking the oppressive silence of the castle. Eugene stands around, more and more aware that you don't need two people to make tea.

It feels like no time at all before Lance is pressing a warm cup in Eugene's hands, telling him to wait for it to steep. Lance keeps moving, making another cup. Eugene wants to ask who it's for, but can't bring himself to.

"Rapunzel and Qurin wanted tea too, remember?" Lance answers, at the question he can apparently read in Eugene's eyes. Eugene doesn't, in fact, remember; he's not even sure Quirin was in the room. "Adira said coffee, though. And Hector said he didn't want anything, but he strikes me as a coffee guy. I'll make myself tea, that way if I'm wrong, I can always switch them."

Just like that, Lance starts talking about anything and everything, and Eugene relaxes a fraction. He listens, and sips his tea slowly, the warmth soothing in throat. He thinks Lance put some honey in it. It's really good.

It feels like he's at home, and everything is okay, for a moment. Lance had become a cook after adopting the girls - he wasn't very good at listening to orders, so he had simply opened his own restaurant near the castle, soon becoming the most popular one in town. Of course, it helped that the princess herself visited it often, but Lance was genuinely amazing at what he did, and that's what kept the curious around.

For two guys who, fifteen years ago, thought their best chance at a future was to make a deal with the Baron, they were doing pretty good for themselves.

Eugene finishes his cup right as Lance finishes his preparations.

"Thanks," he croaks out shakily, earning a blinding smile from his best friend.

"You want another?"

Eugene hesitates, before nodding, making Lance chuckle. There's still boiled water in the kettle, so it won't take long.

"You know," Lance says, a certain carefulness in his voice, "it still happens to Catalina, sometimes. It's not like when she was a kid, but when she gets too anxious, her voice just… leaves her." Eugene feels himself flush, lowering his eyes. "Tea helps her. It doesn't give her her voice back if she's not ready, but it helps with her throat, when she feels like it's bothering her. I just thought…"

"It helped me too. Thank you," Eugene repeats. He wants to say that he's not like Catalina; that he's a grown man, who shouldn't have clammed up just because he felt bad, who should have been here for his father and everyone else, who should be there, right now, instead of drinking tea, but he bites his lips and holds it back. If he throws himself a pity party on top of it all, it'll take even longer.

"Eugene." Lance is in front of him, hands on his shoulder. Eugene can't do anything but look up, and sees in his best friend's eyes so much love and compassion that he wants to hide from it. "I know you. I don't know, exactly, what self-perceived failures you are torturing yourself with right now, but I know you're being too hard on yourself anyway. Your dad wouldn't want that."

Eugene breathes in sharply, tears burning in his eyes. He wants to get angry, or joke, or do anything to get out of this conversation, but he can't- he can't avoid this. The situation feels unreal, like he's going to wake up if he just concentrates enough, and he can't- he can't-

Lance pulls him to his chest and holds him tight. Eugene blinks, and suddenly he's crying, Lance the only thing holding him on his feet.

He shakes and he wonders how the shy kid he remembers became- Lance. Reliable, sensitive, funny Lance, who is a dad now and who can hold you together when you're falling apart.

Eugene remembers their first meeting, Lance crying in his new bed, freshly orphaned after the death of his parents. He remembers how quiet he had been for a while, and how he had stuck to him like a shadow after Eugene comforted him that first time, seemingly thinking him to be some sort of hero. Eugene, of course, had revelled in the attention, playing up his courage and his strengths, telling stories of his future adventures and of all the money he was going to have.

"How do you do that?" Lance had asked one day, after one of his stories. "You know, how do you… how do you not care about… your parents, and how they left? How do you stop caring?"

It had hurt, at the time. Lance's desperation (still grieving his family, still hurt, wanting to forget the pain without being able to) had flown right over his head, and all Eugene had heard was that his friend thought he didn't care, about anything. It was wrong, but that's what he had wanted, right?

So he had said: "Adventurers don't have the time to care about their family - they have the whole world to discover, after all."

It was a Flynnigan Rider quote. One of Flynnigan's enemies, sure, but Eugene thought it wasn't so stupid. He had wished he could be like that, like Flynnigan who didn't even have a family to care about, and could just do whatever he wanted.

But the truth he couldn't admit to Lance at the time was, Eugene cared. He cared and he cared and he cared, torturing himself with how much he did, crying himself to sleep with a practiced silence at the idea that no one in the world loved him. His own parents abandoned him as a baby, and he wondered what he could have done to them, wondered how he could be better if they came back. Eugene cared and he hated that he cared, hiding behind fantasies and made up names, desperate to escape his identity and his life and his skin.

And when it hadn't been enough, he had tried to carve the kindness straight out of his heart, hurting everyone in the process.

Even that hadn't been enough. Rapunzel had seen through him easily, finding him a worth no one would have even thought to look for. Gothel stabbed him, and all she managed to do was kill Flynn, because Eugene, who cried and loved and cared - Eugene had been there, like he hadn't allowed himself to be in a while.

Maybe, if he was still Flynn, the thought of his dad dying wouldn't make him miserable. Maybe, if he was still Flynn, he wouldn't be crying on Lance's shirt, wanting for everything to stop.

But if he was still Flynn, Lance wouldn't be there anyway. He would have lost his best friend after one betrayal too many, and never seen him again. He wouldn't love Rapunzel. He wouldn't love his friends, his family, his father. Probably wouldn't even know who Edmund was, or where he came from. He would be all alone.

He doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want the people he loves to leave.

He doesn't want his dad to die.

"Please don't leave me," he asks between his tears, voice quiet enough that he hopes Lance hasn't heard, but Lance holds him tighter and promises he won't.

Eugene cries harder.

------

It's early in the morning. Eugene barely slept, kept awake by the idea of Edmund dying while he was resting. When the sun starts to poke through the sky, dim and feeble light reaching him, Eugene decides it's morning enough, and slips away to his father's room, careful not to wake Rapunzel. Hector is sleeping in front of the door, his bearcats piling up on him, but he opens an eye when Eugene arrives, and nods in his direction.

Edmund is still there, still alive. Quirin is here too.

"Couldn't sleep?" Eugene asks softly. It feels wrong to talk over someone unconscious, but… it feels wrong, too, to not acknowledge Quirin at all.

"I'm a farmer," Quirin says, "I wake up early more often than not." He doesn't return the question, but Eugene knows how awful he looks after a bad night, so Quirin is probably just trying to do the polite thing.

Eugene still has the chair closest to Edmund's hand. He also still can't take it, heart beating faster at the thought. His father's hand should be warm, agile as it handles a weapon, it should... it's his only hand left. It won't matter if he dies, but it's his only hand left, and Eugene feels ridiculous but he can't- he should ask Quirin to hold it, take his place since he couldn't give his father this one thing.

Edmund's breathing is louder today. He's struggling more. Eugene feels nauseous, unable to do anything, wishing he could have just slept and slept and slept so nothing would be happening.

"I met Edmund when I was ten," Quirin says out of the blue. Eugene raises his head, but Quirin isn't really looking at him. "I set him on fire, actually."

That gets a surprised snort out of Eugene, and a smile from Quirin, tired but genuine.

"Don't tell Varian, but I liked to experiment with all sorts of things at the time. It was supposed to be a self-destructive message, and, well, it was destructive alright."

"Why did you even give him a self-destructive message the day you met him?" Eugene asks.

"I was a friend of your mom," Quirin grins, a little self-conscious. "She was tired of Edmund being too shy to ask her on a date, so she asked me to deliver a message to ask him on a date. If he hadn't caught on fire, of course, I think they'd have both enjoyed it a lot."

Eugene smiles, and as the story progresses, he learns that Quirin gets embarrassed the same way Varian does, too. That's a knowledge he appreciates a lot more.

------

"It's all because he wanted to change," Adira says, cryptic as always.

The others left to have dinner. Eugene couldn't. Edmund's breathing is louder today, his fever higher, and he doesn't respond to pain stimuli. Eugene doesn't want to think about any of that, so he turns towards Adira, desperate for conversation.

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes are stuck looking at her king, pain and grief and anger in her expression. Adira doesn't usually allow herself to be read so easily, but she has been on edge the entire time. It takes some time, but Eugene understands that she's just as afraid as he is.

"The accident. Him getting wounded. It's all..." Adira swallows. Her eyes harden. "It's all because he wanted to move on. I wanted to move on."

Eugene doesn't really understand what she's getting at. He's heard bits and pieces of what happened, mind so scrambled he had trouble making sense of it, but it was simple enough. They were doing renovations. Edmund got hurt - a stupid accident, as all accidents were, and then it only got... worse. An infection that didn't want to heal, and when they really started to worry, it was too late. Eugene wants to rage at the unfairness of it all, and maybe he will, later, but it simply makes him tired.

Edmund shouldn't have to die like that after surviving decades of terrible loneliness.

"It was an accident," he ends up saying, because he can see the tightness of Adira's jaw.

She doesn't say anything to that. Long minutes pass, only rhythmed by Edmund's uneven breathing.

"I've always hated traditions. Especially stupid ones. The first thing I did, after being accepted in the Brotherhood, was to ask for its name to be changed, because I am a woman." A sigh. Eugene doesn't dare interrupt. "I was asked to behave myself properly, and took to eating food as noisily as possible, daring anyone to come fight me if they were brave enough. Of course, no one did." She pauses. Looks at his dad again. "When Edmund decided to destroy the moonstone himself, I protested, but I didn't think it was such a bad idea. For a long time, I wondered if I could have saved his arm, could have saved our kingdom, if I actually tried to stop him. If I had listened to traditions more closely, because not all of them were built on false beliefs."

Suddenly, Eugene gets it. The emotion in her voice, the lines around her eyes - a feeling so foreign in Adira that he hadn't been able to recognise it before. Guilt. And he knows that, for all that she's talking about the past, it's very much the present that is troubling her.

"Maybe that's true," he shrugs, quiet. "But then again, you tend to be right most of the time. And my life is what it is because of what happened back then, so I'm pretty grateful it all went down like it did."

That makes her chuckle, because what he says is definitely true. Adira's confidence is not unearned. But there's still something hanging in the air, and he waits to see if she's going to confide in him. He feels like he knows Adira as much as he doesn't - she's as straightforward as she's cryptic, and he thinks they're friends, in a way, but he's not one to push when someone has secrets they want to keep, and Adira isn't one for sharing. The silence between them is an understanding, and he's not sure how to navigate anything else.

"This castle," she starts, hesitant and slow, "was built over the spreading black rocks. It's strong, but it won't hold forever, now that its core has disappeared. We weren't doing renovations as much as we were emptying it, because King Edmund decided it was time to move on from the past, and start to live somewhere livable. It was a tough choice for him, and I... heavily encouraged it."

Bitterly, Eugene realises that after surviving so long in the claws of his past, his dad would still be taken by it. This castle, as much his home as it was his prison, won't let him escape it. Eugene wants to cry at that, wants to shake Edmund and ask him to get up and not let himself die for something so stupid, wants to shake Adira and tell her it was a good thing and it's not her fault it turned out so badly. Mostly, he wants to bury his head in his hands, scream and forget it all, because he knows his father only felt ready to leave behind his ancestors because Eugene always insisted that they did not define who they were.

He thinks he should say something meaningful in answer. Something like, I forgive you Adira, but then again she does know that, and doesn't really need his forgiveness, because she didn't do anything wrong. She's not seeking that; she's frustrated, just as he is, and needs... companionship. Someone who understands.

He's not good at coming up with life-changing advice anyway.

"Stupid castle," he declares, voice unsteady.

"Stupid castle," Adira echoes.

That's enough, for now.

------

Eugene is alone with Edmund again. It's been four long days since he got here, and he knows… He knows it won't be much longer. Doctors, when they come, try to make the king comfortable - they don't try to save him.

Eugene is looking at the form of his dad's hand under the cover again. Edmund wouldn't even feel it if he touched it, but Eugene still can't shake off the guilt and the shame choking him. He shouldn't be disgusted by his dying father. He's not doing any of this right - he's not fighting to heal him, he's not loudly grieving, he's not holding onto hope, he's not talking to him, he's… He's not a character from one of his books. Standing vigil at someone's deathbed wasn't just a couple of lines in his backstory, and every single minute of it hurt in a way he shouldn't allow.

This isn't about him, and yet it's difficult to think like it's anything but. Edmund hasn't regained consciousness once. The fever and the infection are doing damage they can't even see, and the doctors suggested his mind might already be… gone.

"I don't want you to die," Eugene whispers, words like knives in his throat. "I don't want you to leave. We've only had five years together, and it's… It's too short, I want more."

I want, I want, I want - he's selfish, he knows it, and he can't bring himself to regret it, not when that's the only thing which makes sense. His dad is still young. They already lost so much time together, already had twenty-five years to catch up on, and it's over? One accident, and he's gone, Eugene an orphan all over again?

"You've still got too much to make up for to leave me like that," Eugene bits out, a familiar and safe anger drowning away the hopelessness.

It's easy, to blame someone who can't respond, to get angry at his dad instead of crying over him. Eugene had spent years being angry at everything, and mustering this resentment all over again takes no effort at all. He clenches his fists on his knees, tremors coursing through them, and the feeling grows like a storm, until he wants to hit something.

"You- You've been so busy, rebuilding this stupid country, and we've barely seen each other these last years! We kept saying later, later, we'll have time later, and look where that got us!"

Edmund sleeps. His closed eyes, his heavy breathing, it all becomes too much for Eugene, igniting a fire he doesn't control. He slaps his hands on his knees, hard, frustration making him shot up from his chair and pace, but it doesn't seem enough because- Edmund is dying, his stupid dad is dying because of a stupid accident and it's so terribly mundane, it makes Eugene want to bash his head on the wall. He grips his hair, tries to breathe -deep, even breaths that his father can't manage-, tries to keep his tears at bay even though his eyes burn.

"All my life, you weren't there for me!" he explodes again, "You weren’t there… Why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there! You weren't-" His voice breaks this time, and he cuts himself off, immediately feeling ashamed for his outburst. He sits down again, like a puppet with its strings cut, and his hands shake even more than before.

He doesn't feel better. Edmund doesn't look better.

"I'm sorry," Eugene whispers. "I'm sorry, I- I…" I'm a terrible son, he can't say. I'm not doing this right, I'm not being fair to you, I'm terrified and I don't know what to do. I want to wake up tomorrow, and still have a dad, still have a chance to get to know you better, because five years isn't enough and I don't want to lose you. I'll miss you so much.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles finally, mind buzzing with all he wants to say, all he's not sure how to say. "I forgave you for all of that long ago, I- I shouldn't have screamed." Not that it matters - but it does, at the same time.

Since he first received Adira's letter, Eugene had wondered about having the right words. It should be meaningful, right? His last words to his dying father, they had to be important, they had to be something that would help Edmund, didn't they? Except Edmund is unconscious. Maybe already gone. And these words, these words he tortured himself over, maybe they weren't for Edmund's sake as much as they were for his. It made him feel worse, for some reason. Selfish, again.

Eugene presses the palm of his hand against his eyes, slowly feeling how his tears slip through anyway. He wishes Rapunzel was here, even if he's the one who asked for some time. She would know what to say. She would… she would help, because kindness and advice and everything, it came easier to her. Eugene is still… still learning, he thinks, still not caring enough in comparison. He's never caring enough. He's rude, and yells at dying people because he can't keep his emotions in check, and doesn't hold their hands because he's scared, and- and-

He's not good at this. He doesn't want to be.

"I never thought I'd have a dad," he chokes out. "Even now, I'm not sure I know how to be a son, after so long of not being one. But… But I'm glad we could learn together, these last few years. I'm glad you are my father." Despite the weirdness, and the awkwardness, and Dabney - Eugene doesn't say that, but it makes him chuckle tiredly.

Maybe it would hurt less, if Edmund had died before Eugene could meet him. It certainly felt different learning about his mom; painful, too, but not anything like the claw he could feel bury itself in his heart. It's so soon, too soon to lose his father again, because five years is nothing in the grand scheme of things and Eugene had always wanted more out of life, but… If he could do it all over again, he'd want things to be exactly the same. He'll never regret meeting Edmund.

"I love you, dad," Eugene says, crying as he looks at Edmund. It's just the truth, not some grand declaration, but it's enough all the same.

Oh so slowly, Eugene rests his hand on top of Edmund's own, the cover between them. He thinks, maybe, that Edmund is breathing easier.

------

In the next hour, the last king of the Dark Kingdom dies.

------

"Want a drink?" Hector grunts from where he's laying, vaguely shaking a bottle in the air.

It's not really a surprise to find him here. Eugene sits down next to him, and doesn't bother with a response, instead taking the bottle from the knight's grasp and drinking a little out of it. It's definitely not the best stuff but Eugene has drunk worse in his life, so he doesn't comment on it. He's not looking to get drunk anyway.

He doesn't really know what he's looking for. Air, mostly. Rapunzel doesn't want him packing, she thinks he should rest, but staying too long with his own thoughts as company quickly gets heavy. Eugene sighs, and lays down completely, looking at the stars shining above them - there are a lot more than what you can see from Corona. Maybe because there's less people, and less light to hide them away.

"I'm not gonna comfort you if you start crying," Hector interrupts gruffly, sounding sick at the mere idea. Eugene laughs, because there's perhaps no funnier scenario than him seeking out Hector for a hug. At best he'd get trampled by his rhino.

"Staying inside sucked," is all he answers, and Hector hums. He seems to understand that.

They stay like this for a long time. Just silence, sometimes broken by Hector drinking a little bit more. Eugene would worry, if he didn't already know that everyone in the Brotherhood has a stomach made of steel, and that Hector will need a lot more to really get drunk.

It's not much, but it's nice. At least Hector doesn't pity him. Eugene is grateful for the comfort he receives, but sometimes the attention feels like it hurts more than it helps, and he's definitely getting overwhelmed right now.

"Any plan on taking his succession?" Hector asks after a while. It's not a surprise either that he breaks the silence first - when he first met him properly, Eugene thought he was the surly and silent type, but Hector did like conversation. He was unpleasant most of the time, sure, but if he was thinking something, he tended to say it directly. (He wouldn't say it, but Eugene also thinks Hector is a bit lonely.)

"Nah. Not really my kingdom to manage, and I'm too pretty to be king," Eugene responds. He told his dad years ago that he would never be his successor, and though Edmund had a difficult time wrapping his head around it, he had accepted it.

"Probably would have quit if you did," Hector says pensively. Eugene feels ready to protest because it's one thing for him to not want it, and another to have someone hate the idea so much, but he stops himself in time to hear Hector murmur: "I couldn't call anyone else my king."

Ah. Loyalty, the one thing in Hector Eugene understands easily. He can't really imagine having his one purpose in life being ripped away from him, can't imagine how it feels to keep going after that.

Then again, Hector has more experience with this kind of situation than most. It's a sad fact in its own right.

"Guess you guys will finally have to change the name," Eugene muses quietly, knowing it's better to change the subject. They're not the right people to have a heart to heart. "Dark Kingdom wasn't super inspired to begin with. Though, I hope you don't go for something equally stupid, like Dark whatever-the-new-regime-is."

He expects a barb about his own ancestors being responsible for that, but Hector falls silent. He's thinking, Eugene gets after a while, and he doesn't like the weird gleam in the other man's eyes.

"Edmundland," Hector whispers, nearly reverently. Eugene can't contain an audible gag.

"You are not naming it that."

------

Two weeks have gone by since Edmund's funeral, and it still doesn't feel real. Back home in Corona, it's easy to forget - Eugene doesn't see his father often, and his routine has barely changed, so it's easy to think, for a moment, that Edmund is alive and happy in the Dark Kingdom.

The wave of his grief recedes, before crashing back violently. When Eugene remembers, it hurts all over again, like he's back at his father's side hearing his breathing quiet, until there's nothing left.

He keeps going. He cries, too, and then gets up and keeps going. Rapunzel and him left for a week and a half, and there's plenty of work to catch up on, even if everyone is determined to ask him if he doesn't want to rest instead. In truth, he doesn't really know - keeping busy helps, but there are moments when he wishes he could simply curl up in his bed for a century, and never talk to anyone again. His mood is unstable, but he tries not to take it on anyone, as hard as it can be.

He already yelled at Lance to leave him the fuck alone once, and despite his best friend assuring him that he understood, Eugene wants to go apologise again.

So today, when he woke up on edge and then nearly threatened to kill Pete for stumbling, Eugene was quick to decide that it was better if he took that rest, finally. That's why he's on his bed right now, leaning back with his feet still on the ground, tracing Rapunzel's mural with his eyes and trying hard to not think about anything. But then his eyes stray to the right, to the painting he knows represents him and his father hugging, and Eugene doesn't know whether to cry or to yell. He takes a pillow, puts it over his head, and does both.

He doesn't feel better. He feels ridiculous.

Grieving feels like it should be more. He shouldn't wake up in the morning like he usually does, he shouldn't take his coffee the same way, he shouldn't hide behind a pillow and he shouldn't avoid his work and he shouldn't… He should do something more, and he cannot name what that might be.

What he knows, though, is that he misses Edmund, and doesn't feel like he's ever going to be able to breathe like he did before.

So he stays in his bed, pillow pressed against his head. He doesn't move when he hears the door open. Doesn't move when he feels Rapunzel sit next to him, before laying down just like he is. He's crying again, and he hates it.

"I don't know what to do," he admits then, voice muffled and broken. Rapunzel touches his arm gently. "I feel so bad, and I don't- I don't feel like it's gonna get better."

"It will," she says, so certain that Eugene can't do anything but believe her. "It won't be like before, but it'll hurt less, one day."

He closes his eyes tightly, until they hurt. Crying gave him a headache, but it's practically a constant these days. He thinks about Rapunzel's words, and knows intimately what she's referencing - remembers more than well how she grieved Gothel, full of hurt and pain and anger at the fact she even did. He hadn't really understood at the time either. But Gothel had raised her for eighteen years; Rapunzel had loved her for all of them, and still loved this mother she knew never existed. So she had mourned her, she had hated her, and Eugene had tried his best to be there for her.

It's not the same, with his dad. Of course it wasn't, because for all of their history, Edmund had still loved him, more than Gothel had ever cared for Rapunzel. It's different, but Rapunzel understands, in a way, what it means to lose a parent. She understands his grief. He sees it in her eyes when he finally discards the pillow, and meets her gaze. His face is a mess, yet she smiles sadly and kisses his tears away, pulling a worn out smile out of him.

"Thanks Sunshine," he whispers, "I really hope so."

"I'll be there, no matter what," she assures, even if he never doubted it. "I… I also have a gift, for you," Rapunzel says, more unsure of herself this time.

He straightens up as she does, intrigued, and wanting to let her do what she thinks will help. He thinks she needs it just as much as he does, because she lost someone too - no one wants to say it, but Eugene knows he's not the only one grieving.

He doesn't know what to expect from the piece of paper she holds towards him. Slowly, she hands it to him, careful and worried, and he wants to reassure her immediately that it's okay but.

But.

There, under his fingers, is a painting. He sees himself, smiling, soft and beautiful in the way only Rapunzel paints him. On his left, his mother stands, a happier expression than the one on the only painting left of her on her face, her hand on Eugene's shoulder, looking so alive and present that tears spring up to his eyes. And then, on his right…

He realises, while he looks at his father's peaceful expression, that it's the first time in weeks he has thought of his dad as he was in life, instead of the dying man he had been at the end. His skin is pale, but healthily so, no traces of fever on his cheeks. His smile is wide like it often was when Eugene told a bad joke, and his eyes are aware and full of joy. He's touching Eugene's shoulder too, in the painting, and on his bed Eugene can almost feel it - that weight on him, neither stiff nor cold.

"I thought… I thought you'd like having a picture with all three of you," Rapunzel says, and he doesn't have to watch to know she's playing absently with her hair, nervous.

Eugene is careful not to crumble the picture like his heart is, putting it down as he desperately reaches for Rapunzel - and she's here, immediately, even if he's crying again and making a mess and holding her so tight he's afraid to hurt her.

"I love it," he says again and again, mixed with thank you and I love you and I'm sorry. She holds him and whispers that she loves him too, again and again.

Weeks will turn into months will turn into years. The picture will stay on his bedside table, always.

(Things do change, and because they change, they heal.)

#tangled #tangled the series #Eugene Fitzherbert #King Edmund #Rapunzel #Lance Strongbow #Adira #Quirin #Hector

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abraxos-is-toothless · 3 years

Text

Summer Lovin’ (Lucien x Tarquin)

Hello all!

This fic is something new, and will be in multiple parts, updated as and when I finish the next part. It is a Lucien x Tarquin fic. I know what you’re think but I had this thought about them because everyone writes crackships, but then I told @tswaney17 and the two of us fell in love with the idea. She is to thank for this spiral.

I’m using my general ACOTAR tag list for this, but you do not have to read it. Also do let me know if you would like to be kept out of the tags for this in the future. (The title is just something for now because I honestly haven’t decided something yet😂)

~~~~~~

Lucien’s life had been chaotic lately, but still, he hadn't quite expected this to happen, of all things.

Elain had finally said she didn't want this bond between them. He knew it was going to happen and he couldn't exactly blame her. Having it related to a traumatic experience wasn't going to be something positive, and no matter what the Cauldron thought of them matching each other, accepting the bond wouldn't have made them happy. She had the Spymaster for that, and Lucien was grateful to see how much she’d healed since seeing her as skin and bones in the library of the House of Wind. Azriel helped her and loved her; it wasn’t something predestined or whatever other shit people liked to talk about. They had chosen it for themselves, and Lucien couldn’t fault them for being happy.

Then came one of the biggest bombshells of his life.

Beron was not his father.

Though he had found out several months ago, it was still fresh in his mind, as though it were yesterday that he had been told.

Lucien still didn’t understand what he was doing in the River House. Rhysand had turned up in the human lands this morning to get him. When he’d asked why, the bastard just smiled at him. Lucien had honestly thought that the male might have been taking him to his death. But then he winnowed them into an office, Feyre sitting in the window, little Nyx in her arms and a content smile on her face. Now it was a few hours later, Nesta had been and gone, collecting her nephew for his nap, and still, he didn’t know why they had brought him here.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on now, or do I have to wait several more hours?” Rhys was just smiling from where he sat on his chair, wings hidden and humming, making Lucien roll his eyes. Feyre came to sit next to her mate, giving him a reprimanding look. She gave Lucien a soft smile.

“Just a little longer, I promise.” Feyre had barely even finished the sentence when there was a knock on the door. “There we go.” She stood, smoothing the skirts of her dress before walking towards the door, trailing light fingers over Rhys’ shoulder as she went. When she pulled the door open, Lucien could honestly say he was shocked to see that it was Helion on the other side, led by Cassian.

“Your guest, dearest sister. Please, take him.” Helion let out a low chuckle behind the general. He placed a hand over his heart, faking pain when Cassian turned to look at him.

“You wound me. Why so hasty to get rid of me?”

“If you keep looking at time the way you are, I will not be held responsible for what Nesta does to you in a jealous rage.” Helion’s retort was cut off when the female in question shouted from somewhere else in the house.

“You can take him! He’s been a pesky annoyance as of late.” Cassian disappeared then, grumbling about how she didn’t mean that, he was never annoying and Nesta was madly in love with him. Which was true,-the madly in love part, not Cassian not being annoying- anyone could see it. Lucien would never tell her about the doe eyed look she got though. He valued actually being alive.

Helion laughed again, bending down to kiss Feyre on one cheek and then the other.

“Feyre, you look as lovely as you always do. Motherhood suits you.”

“That I agree with entirely.” Rhys said as his mate welcomed the newcomer into the room, closing the door gently behind them.

“I’ve told you Rhysand, no more babes until Nyx is older.” The male nodded in agreement, though Lucien thought they were going to be having this discussion a lot in the near future. She smacked him over the back of the head when he smirked, before sitting once more. He had a feeling they were talking to each other in secret again. “Have you made it so no one can hear us?” She asked when they were all settled. Helion now sat in the chair next to him, giving him a nod, Feyre sitting on the arm of Rhysand’s seat. The High Lord of the Night Court gave a dip of his head. “Warded the moment you closed the door, my love.”

“Good. Now, onto what we brought the both of you here for.”

Helion crossed an ankle over the other knee, hands linked where they rested in his lap. The High Lord of Day was dressed in a mix of gold and black. Gold fabric covered his body. One side of his chest left bare, clothing pinned at the other, flowing down his body, belted at the skirt. It was embroidered around the hem with reds and greens, and it seemed to shimmer like glitter under moonlight. Sandals wrapped around the dark skin of his calves. “Forgive me for asking, but why such secrecy? Can you not trust your own family?”

Lucien didn’t understand why they were being so careful all of a sudden, either. Any time he’d been in here, discussing all the problems they were still trying to overcome from the war with Hybern, they’d never stopped the others inside the house from being able to hear too. Rhys tilted his head slightly to the side. “The information will leave this room when you do, and you will do with it as you see fit.”

Lucien spoke then, frustrated. “You brought me here hours ago, told me absolutely nothing on why I had to come. Just tell us what’s going on.” Rhys raised a dark brow at him, but said nothing, so he turned to Feyre. She sighed, wringing her hands together before stopping herself. It was one of her nervous traits, and nervous traits accompanied by serious conversations never boded well.

“Back when we were trying to get the High Lords to work together, to help us against Hybern, you told us a story about Lucien’s mother, Helion.”

“Yes, I did.” Lucien hadn’t known that. But he supposed looking for Myriam and Drakon meant he wasn’t privy to a lot of information. There were things from the time he was gone that he was still learning about.

“Including the affair that you had.” Lucien sucked in a sharp breath, slowly looking at the male seated beside him. Beron was not nice to his mother, he knew that. But the man had spies everywhere, always had. He would have had to have known about his mother being with Helion. And if he knew, he would have had her killed for it.

“But my mother lives. My father wouldn’t have allowed her to live after he’d found out. And trust me he knows, he always knows when his family isn’t doing exactly what he wants them to.” Beron would have wanted to set an example, a vicious one at that. He showed that with what happened to Jessminda. Thinking of her only made Lucien think fondly of their good memories together now. He was no longer attacked by grief and self hatred, though waves of sadness would come and go. On the bad days, the storm in his head made them rough and dangerous, but those were few and far between.

Feyre started to look uncomfortable, causing Rhys to continue. “To have killed her, would have caused a scandal. He was younger then, and it wouldn’t have done him any good.”

Lucien still didn’t understand and it was starting to piss him off. His fire tempted its boundaries, flames growing hotter and higher in his frustration. It felt as if it were boiling his blood, heating his skin. He pushed it down into the depths where it belonged. “The only scandal is that she wasn’t faithful. The gods know he fucking hasn’t been. But then again it was always ‘do as I say and not as I do’ with him anyway.” Feyre simply shook her head at him. He opened his mouth to say something, to say how pointless this meeting was if they weren’t going to get to the point, when Helion suddenly sucked in a sharp breath from beside him. Lucien startled slightly.

“Mother above.” He breathed. “He can’t be. No, you’re lying, I don’t believe you.” Helion just stared at Lucien when he turned to him, amber eyes wide, mouth partly open.

“I’m not lying, Helion. I figured it out that day, and I’ve also had his mother confirm, but do not ask me how. You can see why Beron hated him the most now.” Lucien was severely done with them taking but still not explaining anything to him.

“Confirm what! What are you fucking talking about?” Rhysand looked at him, not even phased by his outburst.

“Beron is not your father, Lucien.” No. No. They were lying. When he looked at Feyre, when he looked at his friend, she gave him a small nod. He looked back at the male beside him, the male who seemed to be shocked into silence by the situation.

As if Lucien’s life couldn’t get anymore fucked.

It had been months since that day. Feyre told them again that she wouldn’t say how she’d been in contact with his mother, and Lucien didn’t want her to tell him anything anyway, no matter how much he wished to find out so he could see how she was. To talk to her himself. It would put her at risk, and Lucien wouldn’t allow that. And he knew now that Helion wouldn’t either. His father. The High Lord of Day was his father. Lucien was the sole heir to the Day Court. Helion had been nothing but welcoming in the time sincerely but he never pushed. Said that it didn’t have to mean anything, if it wasn’t what he wanted. Lucien had been a little confused with his wants at first, but had decided that he wanted them to acknowledge it. Wanted them to get to know each other.

Helion asked him a few weeks ago to stay with him. They didn’t have to be in the same building, that Lucien could stay wherever he liked in the Day Court, but he did want him to stay. Lucien had found he couldn’t refuse. Jurian and Vassa had been angry with him, saying that he was just abandoning them, that clearly he’d only used them. He had tried to explain that he’d just found the one who had actually fathered him. That he wanted them to have some kind of relationship, something that was robbed from the both of them. The two wouldn’t hear it, and told him to leave. So he went. They had each been closer to each other than they ever had with Lucien anyway.

That was how he was here now, standing in the garden of the small townhouse his father had found for him, the male in question standing across from him. Helion was standing in the early morning rays, arms at his sides, golden crown absent and spouting words Lucien never thought he’d hear in his life. “You want to do what?” Lucien said, still wondering if this was something that was actually happening. Helion sighed, rubbing both hands over his face for a moment, before pulling them away.

“I know that it’s not even been that long since we’ve found out the truth. And I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but I think this could be the biggest step towards allying the courts together.” Lucien could see the frustration on his face, knowing that he struggled to ask this.

“You want me to marry the High Lord of Summer?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know that you want to do this?” Helion moved closer to him a little.

“I proposed a marriage alliance to Tarquin, but I didn’t say who. He agreed after a lengthy discussion, but only if who I chose wanted it. You know I haven’t formally announced that you are my son yet, and this would mean I’d have to.” Lucien folded his arms across his chest, suddenly self conscious.

“And you don’t want to announce it?”

“No.” Lucien stopped, hands tightening where they rested on his biceps. Helion, suddenly realising what he’d said, scrambled to backtrack. “Gods, I meant yes. Yes I want to tell them all I have a son. I just weren’t sure if you were ready for that.” His father let out an unsteady breath, meeting Lucien’s eyes for a second before looking away, only two repeat that over and over. “You don’t have to do this, but having my son marrying into another court makes the alliance stronger than if I were to pick out anyone else.” Lucien understood. And he understood wanting all of the courts to get along. It would mean they could truly live in peace, something they had all hoped for.

“I’ll do it.” Helion’s head shot up, disbelief written across his face.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I really thought you were going to say no, probably yell at me or something.” Lucien’s brows furrowed, a red lock of hair falling in front of his face.

“Why would I do that?” Helion sighed, almost exasperated. Though Lucien noticed he didn’t hold tension in his shoulders anymore, seemed more relaxed and at ease now that Lucien had answered him.

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was using you. Also, I didn’t even ask. Do you like males? That should have been a question right? I mean, I just assumed, I shouldn’t have.” His father was rambling, and Lucien chuckled.

“Yes, I like males. And Tarquin is a good male, a good High Lord. It might not end in love but, I might get a friendship out of it.” Lucien smiled, a full grin, teeth showing. It was something he realised he hadn’t done in a long, long time. Suddenly the breath was sucked out of him, and strong arms wrapped around his body. It took a moment, but Lucien returned the gesture, hugging him back. Helion was taller than him, and nearly pulled him off of his feet.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for asking. I should have found another way.”

“It’s alright. I think this might be good for me. I had Tamlin and we both know how that ended. I didn’t fit, at the Night Court, not like they do. And Jurian and Vassa...well, I told you what happened. Maybe I’ll find a home with Tarquin.” Helion pulled back, holding his shoulders, a soft smile on his face.

“You may not think it, but you fit here. I never got to be there before, and part of me is glad because the not knowing kept you and your mother safe, but I’m here now. I want to be your father.”

“Thank you.” They decided to continue walking through the garden then. Mostly in companionable silence, occasionally asking the odd question here and there. Lucien was getting lost in his own thoughts. He wondered whether Tarquin would be okay that it was Lucien he was marrying. If they’d be able to make some kind of happy life together. The few times he’d seen him before, Lucien could admit he was attracted to him. It was easy to make conversation with Tarquin, to find common interests. There was the chance it would never turn romantic and Lucien would be okay with that, but at least he’d have a companion to live his life with.

Maybe this was his chance to get his own happy ending.

~~~~~~

Well there it is. The beginning. You’ll see Tarquin next time I promise but I just wanted to give you something to see if you were going to like the story or not. Please be respectful, I’m tired of the ship wars. I want this to be a safe place for me to post the ideas that I have.

Tags: @myfriendscallmeraba @thesirenwashere @elrielllll @stars-falling @silver-flames @1islessthan3books @bamchickawowow @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @tswaney17 @awkward-avocado-s @courtofjurdan @junkiejosten10 @mu-si-ca-l @agem10 @harmonyindark245 @tanaquilpriscilla @starrynightsbooks @maastrash @elriel4life @illyriangarbage @b00kworm @thewayshedreamed @rhyswhitethorn @22emmmmmm @mimianyy @stop-breathing-its-annoying

#acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #lucien x tarquin #lucien vanserra #helion #tarquin #high lord of day #high lord of summer #lucquin #they’re officially my babies #my fic #my writing #haz writes #acotar fan fic #acosf spoilers #possibly?

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kacchanrawr · 3 years

Text

Things I want to see in the future of MHA

(not just post-war stuff, but also the entire series. Some of these are kinda self-indulgent)

1. Endeavor and Hawks’ judgment

I honestly don’t know if I want to see them punished or pardoned. I’m interested in both of those so I’ll just trust Horikoshi on that one. But anyways, there’s no way they aren’t getting shit for this.

2. Whatever the ‘fake heroes’ are gonna do after this

Going back to Stain’s ideology about fake heroes. I agree with parts of it, there are a lot of people that become heroes without the conviction. They get into it by treating it the same way as any other office job, not as a mission to be well, heroes. But I don’t agree that they should be killed or eliminated. Being a hero for money isn’t inherently a bad thing, it’s when you let greed take over you to the point that you forget what it means to be a hero. Some of those ‘fake heroes’ like Mt. Lady who was originally in it for the fame and money have grown to become real heroes. Others who really have zero conviction, will probably quit after facing this amount of despair, like the guy in chapter 296.

3. The Todoroki family’s image

How will everyone else see the victims of the situation, Natsuo, Fuyumi, Rei and Shoto after this? Especially Shoto. Now that his past is out in the public, that will probably affect his future as a pro. Would his classmates and peers see him or treat him differently after this? Like out of pity or sympathy?

4. The public’s backlash in general

How will the public start viewing not just Endeavor, Hawks, and the Todoroki family, but all heroes? Will they lose faith in heroes? We know they kinda already are when UA had a lot of backlash when Bakugo was kidnapped. UA as well, will it get shut down?

5. Bakudeku’s talk

I don’t think their relationship is actually gonna stay the same after this whole ‘my body moved on its own because I care for you and wanted to save you so I just got stabbed and risked my life for you and even told you to stop trying to be so selfless and do everything by yourself’ thing. All Might also did foreshadow that they were gonna talk soon. Maybe we could get the long awaited Bakugo apology scene ? Though it feels way too soon. And if Hori feeds us Bakudekus even more I think we’re just gonna combust.

5. Deku’s character development

His mindset and view of the world will probably be way darker and even more serious after this. I also want to see how Bakugo getting hurt for his sake and saying “don’t play hero all by yourself” will affect him. We know that he has decided to become a hero that wouldn’t make anyone worry about him when he had a flashback of his mom crying and being worried for him. He decided that the solution to that is to be stronger, but now maybe he can learn that selflessness doesn’t necessarily mean that he has to carry all the weight by himself. But then there’s the 4th user’s quirk that will probably push him to be even more selfless.

6. Ochako’s development

Please please PLEASE let this girl have more development. The way her fight against Toga ended, and her seeing the grievous side of being a hero? Probably a set up for her development.

7. Basically the rest of the kids’ development?

Obviously it’s not just the people involved in the fight against Shigaraki, or Ochako that are gonna view the world differently after this. I wanna see how they will deal with this. Kirishima and Mina will probably be some of the highlights. Also Momo, since Midnight meant a lot to her when she was the one that trusted Momo to lead their classes in the battle against Gigantomachia.

8. Aizawa and Present Mic dealing with Midnight’s death

Those two are especially highlighted amongst all of the other UA staff members because they have a past with her, as shown in vigilantes. We saw their anger and sadness about Shirakumo, what more when it comes to Midnight?

9. The villains dealing with their losses

Yes, know Toga went on a rampage after Twice’s death, but how will she and deal with it in the long run? How about losing Mr. Compress? How will Shigaraki react to both of those, and having the other Paranormal Liberation Front members like Geten captured? Not just emotionally, but how about the loss in terms of strength and power?

10. Prison break arc

People have been talking about this for years, maybe ever since we knew All for One was only imprisoned and not killed. We’ll probably see it happen next chapter. Will it cause the public to lose even more faith in the hero system? How will it affect the villains? Will AFO be their boss now, or will they resist him and stay loyal to Shigaraki?

11. All for One vs Shigaraki

Related to the previous point. We know Shigaraki really doesn’t want AFO bossing him around. They’ll probably have a fight. Maybe Deku and Shigaraki vs AFO? Then they’ll go back to fighting each other once the common threat is gone. This doesn’t feel very likely, but it could be a way of interpreting Deku’s “you looked like you needed saving” at the end of chapter 295.

11. Deku’s arms?

I don’t know if I want him to lose them and get prosthetics, or get healed by Eri. It would be great to see him experience a major loss, but ability-wise and emotionally? Not so good for him, though that’s kinda the point. Also he might not be able to use OFA in his arms anymore and I kinda don’t wanna see that. Even if he can, will he be able to use it at 100%? So far, we’ve seen that the level of technology in MHA aren’t enough to withstand 100%

12. Deku mastering One for All

I wanna see him consistently use 100% without injuring himself. I want to see him do more with black whip, float and the fourth user’s quirk. I’m also curious about the other three quirks left.

13. Power buff for everyone else

I kinda don’t wanna see the MC getting so ahead of everyone else, to the point that they leave everyone else in the dust. But I know that it’s been established way earlier on that Deku will surpass everyone in terms of strength. Even now, Bakugo, one of the strongest in Class 1-A could barely catch up with 30% OFA. But from his internal dialogue in chapter 293, I’m guessing he already had a quirk evolution when he saw Deku at the verge of death. I want to see more details on that though.

14. Everyone else’s reaction to Bakugo’s sacrifice

It’s gonna be a big thing for his character and all, but I don’t think this is gonna happen because of well, everything else being a mess. But maybe at least All Might’s?

15. Deku’s father

I don’t want him to be a really big famous, important figure, or someone involved in this whole AFO vs OFA stuff. It will kinda ruin Deku’s character of like, ‘just an ordinary boy that was lucky and so his character arc is to be worthy of that blessing’. If Deku’s father was someone like that, that would mean he was the fated or chosen one in the first place anyways? But what else can Deku’s dad be? I honestly don’t know.

16. All Might’s death

I see so many people complain that he should’ve died in Kamino, but I disagree because saving that big moment for later was actually a good decision. We know he’s gonna die, he has death flags everywhere. But I wonder how exactly he will die, when he will die, and how big of an impact his death will have.

17. The final battle

As in, the last battle of the entire series. Deku vs Shigaraki rematch, Ochako vs Toga, Shoto vs Dabi. And for Bakugo, well...... he doesn’t really have a villain nemesis? (Huh maybe I’ll talk about that some other time) But the best I could think of right now is Bakugo and Deku vs Shigaraki, like in Heroes Rising. If the Heroes Rising ending was the original series ending, maybe Hori was hinting that Bakugo and Deku will be fighting the final boss together?

18. Bakugo and Deku as a hero duo

Related to the previous point. Shipping lenses aside, I think there’s plenty of foreshadowing for that? Even if they wouldn’t officially be hero partners, I’m guessing they’re both gonna be important pillars. “Win to save, save to win”

19. The ending

I want to see how they will fix the broken hero society. I want to see Class 1-A as wonderful heroes. I want satisfying closure for the villains as well. What I don’t want to see is everyone getting married and having kids like Naruto, and those kids being the characters for a sequel series. I’m sorry but as much as I like a lot of the ships, I think that’s probably one of the worst endings possible. But a next generation sequel actually wouldn’t be that bad if the main characters were the established kid characters we already know and love, Eri, Kota, Katsuma and Mahoro. We can see through them how the new hero system/society works, and maybe all the smaller subtle stuff that they still need to patch up. Other than that, I don’t think there’s anything else good about it.

20. Deku becoming the greatest hero

Also very much related to the previous point but I only remembered it afterwards. We know it’s gonna happen, but how? Also notice that while Bakugo always says ‘number one hero’, Deku always just says ‘greatest hero’, which kinda aren’t the same thing. Maybe it’s just cuz I’m a Bakugo stan, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to just let the rival characters be content with number two? Either ‘Bakugo is the number one in ranking while Deku is the greatest hero’, or ‘Deku is the greatest and number one hero but their rivalry hasn’t ended and it’s a push-pull’ thing. Or just kill one of them (cough Bakugo cough) and it’ll be fine.

21. Other people finding out about OFA

I don't think it's going to stay a secret between Deku, Bakugo and All Might anymore. At the very least, the people involved in the fight against Shigaraki, like Shoto, Aizawa and Endeavor should be given an explanation on why Shigaraki was targeting Deku in particular. At worst, it becomes public news and Deku will now have to deal with a much a greater pressure of everyone expecting him to take up All Might's mantle. I'd rather go with the former, but the latter is also interesting I guess. Or if not those, they'd have to come up with a really good excuse.

Anyways that’s all I can think of for now? There’s probably way more at the back of my head. I’ll just edit whenever.

#mha chapter 296 #bnha chapter 296 #mha #my hero academia #bnha #bakudeku #bkdk #deku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #todoroki shouto #todoroki family is screwed #endeavor and hawks #just random ramblings #mha theories #well not really but kinda

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andolinii · 3 years

Text

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

❛ The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist ❜ ❛ One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail. But one does not undertake an experiment knowing one has failed. ❜ ❛ At least that's something we can agree on. ❜ ❛ It does seem like a dreadful place to be stranded. ❜ ❛ Heaven, friend. Or as close as we'll see till Judgment Day. ❜ ❛ I’m afraid of you. ❜ ❛ We had a deal! Open this door, right now! ❜ ❛ So you expect me to shoulder the burden? ❜ ❛ Just 'cause the city flies don't mean it ain't got its share of fools. ❜ ❛ Heads? Or tails? ❜ ❛ I told you...I'm not gonna do it! Now go away. ❜ ❛ I never find that as satisfying as I'd imagined. ❜ ❛ I guess you're expecting me... Is anyone here? Hello? ❜ ❛ Why are you following me? ❜ ❛ Violence is not the answer! Blood must not be shed. ❜ ❛ Violence is not a foregone conclusion. ❜ ❛ I see every sin that blackens your soul. ❜ ❛ Not all debts can be repaid. ❜ ❛ Chin up. There's always next time. ❜ ❛ Prophecy is my business, as blood as yours ❜ ❛ thy crook is bent and thy path is twisted. ❜ ❛ It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. Just sit down, and everything will be fine. ❜ ❛ Is this some kind of sales pitch? Because I am not interested. ❜ ❛ I'm a friend. I've come to get you out of here. ❜ ❛ I don't dance. C'mon, let's go. ❜ ❛ This will end in blood. But then again, it always does with you, doesn't it? It always ends in blood. ❜ ❛ Oh, can you smell that? I've never smelled anything like that before, have you? ❜ ❛ Give a man a little power, he falls in all kinds of love with himself. ❜ ❛ Coming here was your idea. ❜ ❛ that fall into the water did you no favors. I'll keep an eye out for something that might ease your pain. ❜ ❛ Knock it off! Will you stop it? Will you stop it! I'm not here to hurt you. ❜ ❛ If you're going to be a sore loser, then I shan't do this again. ❜ ❛ You're a roguish type, what does it look like? ❜ ❛ Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt. ❜ ❛ Where did you learn to pick locks? ❜ ❛ Whatever that was, it's got nothing to do with the job at hand. This job's getting worse all the time. ❜ ❛ What interest does a prophet have in a bunch of carnies and carousels? ❜ ❛ I never even heard of this place before I got here. ❜ ❛ They frown on gardens in my part of town. ❜ ❛ I don't really understand what I just saw back there, but it sure as hell looks like a shortcut to getting us killed. ❜ ❛ You've always been different, haven't you? You crave no glory. ❜ ❛ You see? You're a killer, like it or not. ❜ ❛ Now that you're out of yours, you might realize cages have their advantages. ❜ ❛ I can handle whatever comes along. Trust me. ❜ ❛ A choice is better than none. No matter what the outcome. ❜ ❛ What happened back there, that...that's not the last of it, is it? ❜ ❛ Maybe you're the man I remember, maybe not. ❜ ❛ There's survival...and then there's finding pleasure in the act. ❜ ❛ Look, you seem like a decent enough sort. That said, the less you know about me, the better. ❜ ❛ I'm leaving and there's naught you can do to stop me. ❜ ❛ Me busting you out, what do you think that was? Charity? ❜ ❛ I got no quarrel with you. ❜ ❛ Are you afraid of God? ❜ ❛ I never claimed to be no hero. ❜ ❛ There's already a fight. Only question is, which side are you on?❜ ❛ Just hold up for a minute! I'm not angry with you. ❜ ❛ You killed those people. I can't believe you did that...they're all dead... You killed those people. ❜ ❛ I have no need for one such as you. ❜ ❛ Don't get too comfortable with my company. You are a means to an end, no more. ❜ ❛ You’re either a great hero or the worst of scoundrels, depending on who's doing the telling. ❜ ❛ I am a believer, but I am not a fool. ❜ ❛ What is the most admirable creature on God's green earth? ❜ ❛ Does this strike you as good news? It doesn't strike me as good news. ❜ ❛ I don't much care for you… but I must admit, you know your way around a brawl. ❜ ❛ Now, now, All I ask is that you finish what you started. ❜ ❛ Son, I do say I like the cut of your chin. ❜ ❛ You know, when your name was first passed to me, I wasn't quite sure you were the man for the job. ❜ ❛ What could people have done to deserve to be locked up in a place like this? ❜ ❛ You're a lion. But you can't blame me for looking after my own interests, can you? ❜ ❛ Lions walk with lions, not hyenas. ❜ ❛ I killed them. They were dead. ❜ ❛ You must think me some sort of...freak. I must seem ridiculous. ❜ ❛ Like all bastards, we serve it best by smothering it in its crib. ❜ ❛ Let me tell you about sin. ❜ ❛ Are you going to just sit there? ❜ ❛ the biggest sin of all, the mother of all sins, is that we sit back and take it. ❜ ❛ In this world, you were a martyr. ❜ ❛ These folk need a better class of hero. ❜ ❛ This isn't our responsibility - none of it. ❜ ❛ Why, that sort of ambition will serve you well. ❜ ❛ I had a role in this catastrophe, if you want to pretend we're innocents in this, then that's your prerogative. ❜ ❛ I saw you die. Saw it with my own eyes. ❜ ❛ I know how this feels. Listen, I think you should talk to me. ❜ ❛ How do you wash away the things that you've done? ❜ ❛ Once people get their blood up, it ain't easy to settle it down again. ❜ ❛ This prophecy business... You don't think anyone can really see the future, do you? ❜ ❛ These are dire times and I could ever so use your aid. ❜ ❛ That is an oath you cannot keep. ❜ ❛ If you were to take me back...that's death. Or something so like it, I cannot tell the difference. ❜ ❛ A mother who abandons their child doesn't draw a lot of sympathy in my book. ❜ ❛ You just got dealt a bad hand. ❜ ❛ The only difference between past and present is semantics. ❜ ❛ If we could perceive time as it truly was… what reason would grammar professors have to get out of bed? ❜ ❛ You couldn't have known this would happen. ❜ ❛ One doesn't expect a picture of one's corpse to come across so lifelessly. ❜ ❛ Listen to me. what you've been through… ain't nobody in the world deserves that. ❜ ❛ We are gettin' outta here, you got it? And you're never gonna have to look back. ❜ ❛ Child! Child! You are the lie that spewed from my womb. You are the lie, the lie, the lie. ❜ ❛ Some men dream of money, some men dream of love. My father dreamt of a flood of fire. ❜ ❛ I can see all that would be, might be and must not be. ❜ ❛ Child, would you like to pray with me? ❜ ❛ All I ever wanted is to see you live up to your potential. ❜ ❛ Humanity wrote a bad check, and the flood was the only way to settle the accounts. ❜ ❛ You'll need to eat sooner or later. If you hold out, you'll just starve to death. ❜ ❛ God put his faith in men once, too. It seems that we have something in common: disappointment. ❜ ❛ Why do you ask ‘what’ when the delicious question is ‘when?’ ❜ ❛ All I can do is watch as what I set in motion slides into its terminal stage. ❜ ❛ Time rots everything, even hope. ❜ ❛ We're going to cure you. ❜ ❛ When the body cries out, the spirit listens. ❜ ❛ Do you hear that screaming? That is the sound of your interference. ❜ ❛ Is this where you start moralizing? You forget, I know you. ❜ ❛ What are you going to do to stop me?❜ ❛ You struggle against prophecy, like a stone loosed from a sling. ❜ ❛ I don't understand. I heard you screaming, I was… I was coming to get you. ❜ ❛ Do you think...it's possible to redeem the kind of things that we've done? ❜ ❛ We're doing this together, or I'm doing it alone. Either way, I need to know the thing's been done. ❜ ❛ Rejoice! Rejoice! Death has no sting. ❜ ❛ I may be the one who strikes you down, but you've always had a knack for self-destruction. Who's to say you won't beat me to the punch? ❜ ❛ Some sins can't be forgiven.❜ ❛ I'm not going to let you kill him. ❜ ❛ I won't abandon you. ❜ ❛ You come to wipe your slate clean, but time will walk backwards before you find redemption. ❜ ❛ Everything I've done...I've done to keep you safe. ❜ ❛ You killed him. What did he mean? Huh? You tell me, what did he mean? ❜ ❛ Just drop me off if you want to. This isn't your problem. ❜ ❛ I'm a fool. I've sent mighty armies to stop you; I've rained fire on you from above. ❜ ❛ Will you do this for me, just...just this one last thing? Please… ❜ ❛ You thought the streets were paved with gold, but they were paved with blood, sweat and tears. ❜ ❛ Look at that. Thousands of doors...opening all at once. My god, they're beautiful. ❜ ❛ Baptism is the rebirth of the spirit...but sometimes the mind gets in the way. ❜ ❛ There are a million million worlds. All different and all similar. Constants and variables. ❜ ❛ We swim in different oceans but land on the same shore. ❜ ❛ Are you ready to have your past erased? Are you ready to have your sins cleansed? Are you ready to be born again? ❜ ❛ I can see all the doors, and what's behind all the doors. ❜ ❛ Hey, the deal is off, you hear me? The deal is off! ❜ ❛ You think a dunk in the river's gonna change the things that I've done? ❜ ❛ If I don't get caught, it's going to be a very long time before we see each other. ❜ ❛ Do you hate your wickedness? ❜ ❛ Are we worth saving if we will not save ourselves? ❜

#sentence starter #sentence starters #rp meme #rp sentence starter

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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

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Just one last night - AO3

Since the "holding hands in the quiet of his bedchamber" snippet came out I'm depicting a thousand different way for that scene to play out. This is just one of them! Hope you all enjoy it and feedback are always sooo appreciated! ______________________________________________________________

“I will leave the vials here as a precaution. I know you’re comfortable enough and I trust you to have the demon at bay, but we can’t ever be too careful.”

Zoya looked outside the window, mustering the courage to say the next words. As everyone said their goodnights, she had lingered in his sitting room, following him to his bedchambers and making small talk to fill the space between them. There wasn’t a real reason why she was there with him, except the pathetic excuse she was ashamed to have come up with. To be frank, anyone could have delivered the vials to him, it didn’t have to be her. Zoya just wanted it to be her, just for tonight. And she didn’t miss the knowing look on Tamar face when she agreed to let her handle it; yet she ignored it anyway, turning on her heels. She absentmindedly touched her neck while she put them on his nightstand; it felt bare at the absence of the heavy key she used to lock him in every night before the Fold. Her mind escaped her; at times she felt as if her and Nikolai were like distant planets, bound to orbit for their eternity around a bright sun without ever getting to touch it and be embraced by its warmth. They would circle each other, and when they came too close the flames of the sun scorched them. So they continued their march, growing distant again. But the orbit was set; they couldn’t steer away from it, it kept them in place, preventing them to drift too far from one another. Zoya let out a tired breath, watching the vials. You’re losing your cynicism to Nikolai’s sentimental nonsense. What’s gotten into your head? Now everything seemed to be going on smoothly, with Nikolai having regained control; the only precaution was for him to keep taking a mild sleeping draught just in case the demon came knocking in his mind. Her help or her presence weren’t needed anymore; even this small moment alone felt like a theft. She inhaled, steadying her voice to sound sharp, emotionless.

“Tamar and Tolya have more of this if it’s needed. Even the stronger one we used.” She closed her eyes under the dim light of the night, savouring the feeling of being in this room before dragging the dagger in. “It’s best if I don’t come here again. You can’t afford any more whispers now that you’re engaged. Especially since your wife to be isn’t exactly enthusiastic.”

A deeply buried part of her wanted Nikolai to protest, to find a way to still have her with him every evening. Her pragmatic side, on the contrary, reminded her that driving a wedge between them was the wise choice to make. She heard him sit on the bed with a sigh and turned to see his shoulders dropping; a defeated Nikolai was a hard sight to take.

“I suppose you’re right. Although I was almost getting used to it. I’ll miss your goodnight spite.”

“I’ll let you have enough of that at any other hour of day.”

“Make sure there’s no shortage of it. I don’t know how I’ll survive without hearing you delightfully insulting me every two sentences.”

He grinned. Leave it to Nikolai to find the strength to make everything seem easier. Zoya scoffed, taking a few steps until she stood in front of him.

“You look awful.” She stated, eyeing his strained face.

“See? How can I go to sleep without this?”

“You’ll sleep just fine. You just need to survive until the marriage.”

He groaned, casting a glare at her. She could see how much he hated this, how much he hated every time she was the one to mention it. It was hard not to comfort him, but it wasn’t her role to play.

“Come on, Nikolai. You only have to stand on an altar being handsome and say yes.”

“Ah, but saying yes to people is not an easy task, Zoya. I like to be a contrarian.”

“Believe me, I know”, she huffed, “It’s going to be quick and painless.” He considered her thoughtfully for a while, leaning back a little and resting his hands on the mattress, tilting his head in her direction. Her brow shot up with a questioning look.

“You might be eager to get rid of me, but you don’t seem excited for this either, you know.”

Nikolai pointed out, carefully pondering every word, an expectant look on his face as he studied her. Oh, bold of him, Zoya thought, caught off guard by his direct remark. She faltered for a moment, thinking he didn’t really know how right he was. He could never know. She dismissed him with a shrug of her shoulders, trying to look unfazed.

“We’re marrying you off to someone who tried to kill you, it’s not a choice I’d define perfect. And I don’t like weddings as a general rule.”

Half-truths were better than nothing. I especially don’t like yours. She put her best annoyance in the words, pursing her lips and sitting gracefully beside him on his bed, pulled here by the string that tied her to him. Zoya purposely ignored how dangerous this action was. A small part of her still wanted to savour these moments until she could. He scoffed, amused, shuffling more near to her, poking her playfully with his shoulder.

“Why would that be? You’re such the romantic type.”

Zoya glared at him, tossing her mane of black hair over her shoulder.

“What would you know about that?”

“Nothing, really.” She told herself she imagined the displeased tone he had while admitting this. “Are you?”

She pondered his question for a moment. No, she was most definitely not the romantic type. Nothing about her previous conquests had been romantic. Since she was little, she had know romance was not waiting in her life.

“I don’t think so. Not that I had the chance to find out. I stopped believing in these charades at a very young age.”

“Why is that?”

That’s a complex answer, Nikolai. One made of many stories, one that started soon in her life. She remembered showing him the scars on her back. This was no different, just another one of the wounds she had tried to heal. Why was it so natural to reveal her most guarded secrets to him? When had he began to unravel her like that? The words rolled out of her mouth before she could really think on them.

“At nine years old they tried to march me to my own wedding. Maybe that’s why I never grew fond of them.”

Zoya let her hands rest on the bed too, next to his, straightening her spine and keeping her posture up. Her chin was held high as she spoke. She didn’t want to look and find his compassion, his pity. But Nikolai was not like that, he would never be like that; he would just keep surprising her, over and over. After a wave of shock flowed by, he looked at her with a rumbling rage inside him. Despite herself, she was touched by his fierce reaction.

“What?” He sputtered, trying to control himself. His eyes never left her.

“We had nothing when I was young. So, my mother tried to sell the only thing she could make profit from: my beauty. But something happened, and the wedding was stopped.”

“You were a child, Zoya.”

“I was”, she conceded, “but it didn’t really matter.” He shook his head with a troubled look.

“It does matter. What happened?” You matter, Zoya. That’s what she heard in his strained tone.

“Someone saved me.”

Her voice wavered and cracked a bit at the thought of her aunt. Sweet Liliyana, brave Liliyana. She left and now Zoya was on her own on the ship with the two-star flag, sailing a restless sea. She couldn’t find the words to say this; it was a pain so carefully nestled in her heart that she feared she would’ve still succumbed to it, even with Juris guidance to accept it. Her lungs grew tighter, the weight of that loss pressing on her chest. She felt Nikolai moving on her side, regaining his calm: he was so close she could feel his warmth and the scent of his skin, still salty after the year since he abandoned Sturmhond. Their hands were already almost touching each other; suddenly, his made a shift and came to rest on hers, curling gently on it. She tensed for an instant and sucked a sharp breath in, but when she let herself relax, she found that his touch was soothing. It was an intimate and delicate gesture, driven by the despair he sensed even through her perfect stillness.

As he held her tight, Zoya felt she was not steering the ship alone in this particular storm. Her eyes wandered around, trying to distract herself: she foolishly thought how much she really liked this room. She liked the walls painted blue, a testament to the longing Nikolai felt for his days as a privateer; as much as she gave him hell about it, she enjoyed that part of him, the ruthless pirate and explorer. She could see why he chose that tint, it was comforting for him too, made him feel at home. It was so much like her own chambers, with the towering waves painted all over them. She glanced briefly at him under her lashes and found him silently looking at her. He didn’t push her, didn’t ask for more, just waited patiently for her to decide whether to go on or not.

Silence enveloped them like fog on a winter morning. The sea wasn’t troubled anymore; Nikolai was there with her, in a place that seemed to be always made just for him. She inhaled deeply.

“Then I was the one to save us in return. My power came through, and I cracked the roof of the church open. I was taken to the Little Palace and begun my training. You know the rest of the story, or some of it.” She turned to him: his eyes were hard to read in the faint light of the room. He was looking at her with marvel, and something else she couldn’t quite place. Something that dangerously looked like a kind of affection they couldn’t indulge on. The shadow of a smile flashed on him.

“It’s perfectly in your character.”

“What is?”

“To tear down a church at nine years old. Highly predictive of what came next.”

She smiled too. She couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Tolya might frown at my disregard for faith.”

“He most definitely would.”

Zoya knew she should’ve let go of his hand. She could hear his breathing, and if they stayed silent enough, she was so close she could hear his heartbeat. It was an intoxicating feeling.

“Before that happened, I dreamed of being a soldier, as I told you once. After that, I became one. Just not the kind I thought I’d be.”

All the lives she could’ve had flashed behind her eyes. She saw herself in an olive drab coat, serving in the First Army, with a rifle in her hands instead of the wind as her ally. She saw a little girl taken too soon, her suffering and helplessness. A young woman working in Liliana’s shop, who grew up to marry a nice farmer and be a mother, maybe. Lives that weren’t hers anymore, and that she would never trade, lives that peaked every now and then in her nightmares. There was another future too that she saw, distant and blurry: one full of Nikolai’s light, one she couldn’t dwell on, that was lost before it was even possible to conceive it. And yet their hands were still bound, none of them brave enough to break the connection.

“You’re still a soldier. A general, as a matter of fact. And your beauty is still something that makes people do insane things, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing tone, wondering if he would do insane things for her.

“Beauty is a double-edged blade, Nikolai, as much as any other virtue. You can let others use you for it or be the one to weaponize it. They tried the first with me, so I learned to do the second. I shaped my appearance to be something that I could exploit for my own goals; be it to be respected, to gain favours, to have whoever man I wanted to toy with. To be the one in control. The way I look is a sword just like the ones made from steel.”

She would never admit she threw in the "toying with men" part just to gain a reaction. Not that it wasn’t true, or that she wasn’t proud of it, because she was. That was just how they were used to provoke each other, and none of them usually yield to the taunts, or they would just keep answering with the same snarky remarks. But this time, Nikolai flinched. A shadow went through his face and betrayed his inner turmoil, and it looked more like remorse than empty jelousy. She supposed she should’ve taken it as a victory and be satisfied, but this win just felt sour and left a bitter taste in her mouth. They were getting worse at this game. What are you thinking of, Nikolai? He nodded without answering; they both knew he understood this well. His charm was a weapon too, one he learned to wield at a young age, one that brought him to success and distracted his enemies many times. He began to brush his thumb on her palm, squeezing her hand lightly.

“I know you don’t need me to tell you. But you’re so much more than that.”

For all her confidence and withering glares, he seemed to know how sometimes she still felt like the child being dragged to marry an old man. How sometimes she was still scared, and lost, and lonely. He knew this was the reason why she left the lamp burning for him when she wished him goodnight: because everyone is afraid of their monsters when we’re alone in the darkness. Her heart missed his rhythm and she tightened her hold too, a way to told him she understood, that the gratitude she felt was too hard to voice. Zoya wondered how someone could feel so full and empty at the same time, until Nikolai interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Do you remember the night in Ivets? The carriage ride back?”

I remember everything, Nikolai. Every word you have ever said to me. She cocked her head towards him, some curls falling on her face, imitating his teasing tone.

“Want me to read your fate again?”

“What future do you see in the stars now, general?”

Her lips quirked in another smile. Wife, that’s how he called her that night. She didn’t miss how he seemed to have casually chosen another title now; it was a joke they could hardly afford anymore, one that caused too much ache somewhere deep inside of them. She kept the lightness in her tone, but replied with honesty.

“I see a war. A war fought on many fronts, but with many allies too. With friends. And I see a great young King leading his country to victory, against all odds. I see you rebuilding Ravka.”

“We.” He corrected as quickly as if it was an instinct. We. As if it could ever be a reality. She shook her head with a fond smile.

“This is your fate, Nikolai. You’ll read mine another time.”

He was still grazing her palm. With a sudden movement, he intertwined his fingers in hers, looking at their bound hands as if they were something sacred. She was all too aware of his warming touch on her skin. There they were, closer to their burning star than they’ve ever been.

“You really mean it.” It was not a question: he heard the certainty in her voice.

“I do. I believe in you.”

Nikolai locked his eyes in hers, casting her a longing look that made her want to fall at his knees. A whisper came out of him.

“And even if he wins, how much will his eager country take from the young King?”

The despair in his voice sent a stabbing pain through her. It will take you from me. And there it was, as their orbits almost crossed, the fire blazing, telling them it was time to say their goodbyes. The weight of his hand felt suffocating now; she trembled and untangled their hands abruptly, and it was like someone had just tore a limb away from her body. The fear had clutched her heart: an icy wind swept her, as the armour of the general slipped back into place and she cast aside her desires. Zoya remembered why she was here, what she had told herself. Who she was and what she had to do to save them. Things that were too easy to forget when Nikolai was standing so close. You can’t be here anymore. She couldn’t have this weakness. He seemed to want to reach for her, leaning slightly towards her, struck by her sudden shift in mood. She slowly got up, smoothing her kefta.

“This is a broken place, Your Highness. You will bring this drowning man to shore, of that much I’m sure.”

Even in the quiet of the room, Zoya could swear she heard him shout at her to stay. This she couldn’t endure; she paced towards the door, turning around to him when she trusted herself to be far enough not to surrender. The fire crackled, lighting up Nikolai’s golden pained eyes.

“But we will pay a price nonetheless.”

For days to come she would ponder wherever she had found the willpower to walk away from the safety of his hold. Zoya pulled the handle and got out without looking back, hearing the lock click behind her. Her steps were unsure, fragile. She wondered how many times she had left to hear this sound before his door would close forever, never to be opened for her again.

#zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoya and nikolai #zoyalai #fan fiction #my writing #post kos #king of scars #rule of wolves

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alliterative-albatross · 3 years

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So, I sent you (@disgruntledspacedad) a pretty long ask a while ago (back when you had anon on) and I'm decently sure Tumblr ate it (or maybe you ignored it, in which case, feel free to ignore this one as well). But then I saw one of those "writers appreciate feedback no matter how long" posts, so I'm back here. Here is my mediocre attempt to rewrite my original review of your work. Bear in mind that English is not my first language, so if at any point my phrasing sounds weird to you, you know why. Mandatory disclaimer/apology: this might get a little too long 😅

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

I remember being SO mad at myself for not finding this sooner. I binge read it one afternoon with no thoughts for any real life responsibilities I might have had (and no regrets). Javiears is one hell of an unconventional relationship in the beginning, and I really love what you did with them. The whole premise of your story is quite refreshing, and you somehow manage to convey the trust and mutual respect there two feel for one another without explicitly showing us the beginning of their "entanglement".

Also, fuck you for what you did to poor Emilio, that man was a saint and he deserved better! I honestly can't believe that I got so attached to a character that appeared so little in the story, but it happened, and his death kind of broke my heart.

But the Javiears reunion + mild confession was lovely, and felt completely deserved. And of course the sex scene. I won't lie, I expected a bit better from Javi there, but I did like how utterly /human/ it was. Capturing that humanity, the imperfections in each character is something you're really good at (more on that later).

AFTERSHOCKS

Ah, my emotionally constipated babies who really need to work out their communication issues. I do love them, though. And this short series did a really good job of delving a bit deeper into Ears's and Javi's psyche. Kudos to you for dealing with the medical "aftershocks" of living through an explosion AND using that experience to move your emotional plot forward. These two need to grow a lot before they can get to a stable point in their relationship, and you really manage to convey their insecurity and fear of commitment/intimacy while making it clear that they're in it for the long run and that theirs is a relationship that WILL work out so help them God.

IF I FALL

Ouch. Punch me in the gut while you're at it, why don't you?

But seriously, "If I Fall" is SO FUCKING GOOD. Don't get me wrong, it's angstier than an image of Jesus on the cross (don't judge me, it's Holy Week and I just got home from accompanying my grandma to church), but it somehow works beautifully. You, my dear, play heartstrings like they're a fucking guitar and I AM HERE FOR IT.

You're doing an amazing job at making me feel everything these characters are feeling, which is both awful (bc pain) and impressive.

Also, if anything happens to Ana I will cry, because she is adorable and wonderful and has suffered way too much already and really deserves a break and some cookies.

Also also, if anything happens to Ears I will cry, because she is badass and wonderful and has suffered way too much already and really deserves a break and some cookies.

Also also also, if anything happens to Javi I will cry, because he is loving and wonderful and has suffered way too much already and really deserves a break and some cookies.

Basically, I am really invested in the well-being of these characters and can't wait until they're happy and safe again (please tell me they will be, my heart can't handle much more pain).

A quick note on the angst complaints: yes, this story is way angstier than most other fics out there and it can be a bit too much at times, especially considering how many chapters of pain it's been. BUT it's obvious that "If I Fall" NEEDS this amount of angst to get where it's going, to send the message it wants to and to properly develop its characters. The pain is as important to this story as flour is to bread. You may not like eating flour on its own (I don't think anyone does), but you love bread (because bread is amazing) and you must recognize that bread NEEDS flour to work. It wouldn't be bread otherwise. And eating the flour as part of the bread even makes you like the flour because the bread is just DELICIOUS.

I fully understand and sympathize with the people who have elected to table "If I Fall" until it's completed so they can binge read it knowing there's a happy ending in sight, but in case you're feeling a bit self conscious about all the angst, please know that your story is beautiful not in spite of the pain, but rather /because of it/.

PS: No, I'm not high/drunk, I just really like bread

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Silly thing to comment on, I know, but I do feel like it's important that you know how useful your ANs have been. There are many details in the story that I simply wouldn't fully get without reading your comments at the end of each chapter, and I appreciate your writing a hell of a lot more knowing how deeply you understand and care for each one of your characters. Plus, it is obvious how much work you've put into researching a country and a time period that are (from what I gather) unfamiliar to you, and I really do believe you've done an amazing job of it.

JAVIER PEÑA

My boy. I love your characterization of this complicated character, and I have eagerly read each and every one of your headcanons about him. I can't really say if your version is fully faithful to the source material because it's been a while since I saw Narcos, but your Javi most definitely reads like a real person. He's fairly consistent as a character, and I feel like everything he does is perfectly natural for him to do as a character. He makes for an unconventional yet deeply interesting romantic lead, and so far I have thoroughly enjoyed all his POV chapters/scenes.

OCs

I know you've gotten some flack for making her into an OC halfway into the story, and while I get why the sudden change may have felt like a disappointment for some, I don't share that sentiment. I firmly believe that this fandom is unfairly harsh towards Original Characters and their creators, and I don't really understand why. Listen, I love Reader fics, and consume many Reader fics. I have read dozens, maybe even hundreds, and I can safely say that I've only ever "inserted" myself in approximately 10% of those stories. Reader characters are not as blank as their writers may want them to be. They can't be. They're characters, and character have personalities and moral values and senses of humor and a bunch of other things. Reader characters may not have a backstory or a physical description attached (and even that's not guaranteed), but they're still characters.

And on a more personal note, pretending they're actual blank slates is naive at best and insensitive at worst. Reader characters are American coded 99% of the time, and white coded 95% of the time. Not every readers is white nor American, even if that's the predominant demographic on Tumblr. When I read a JavixReader fic about a woman who speaks exactly zero Spanish, I know she's not me. The story may be beautifully written and have an amazing plot and character development, but the Reader *isn't me*. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, and some of my favorite xReader stories feature a "reader" who couldn't be more different from me, but it's something that enemies of OC fics should take into account. Particularly if they are white and/or American. But I digress.

HANNAH AARONS

Your character is amazing. She's strong, smart, confident, independent and an all-around badass. She gets kidnapped while pregnant and still focuses on problem solving and survival. But she's also overly guarded and mistrustful, and really needs to work on her communication skills. There are times when I absolutely love her and even admire her, and other times when I want to whack her with a slipper. She's no Mary Sue, but remains interesting and likeable throughout the story. She feels wholly human and real, and that's no easy task. I like her, I am invested in her, and I can't wait to see what's next for her. She's a compelling and three dimensional protagonist in a complex story who never fails to draw me in. I love her. She's your baby, and you should be proud of her.

Also, quick question about personality types: I know you've typed Javi as ESFP and Ears as ENTP (100% agree on both, btw), but have you given any thought to their enneagram types? I personally have always seen Ears as being somewhere on the thinking triad, maybe a 7 or even a 6w7, but I'm not too sure about Javi. 9w8 maybe? He could also be a 6w5 🤔

PARTING THOUGHTS

Basically, I love your story, your characters and your writing in general. You are a fantastic storyteller and wordsmith. You get into the heads of incredibly different characters personality-wise (Ears, Javi, Berna...) and manage to capture all of their complexities and quirks every single time. And it doesn't feel like it's something innate for you either. To me, it seems that you have put a lot of work and effort into understanding each and every one of your characters, who they are, why they do what they do and what they want. And let me tell you, all that effort has been more than worth it. "Better Love" is a fanfic, but it wouldn't be out of place in a regular bookstore, if I'm honest. I don't know what you do for a living or if you've ever considered writing professionally, but you clearly have the skills and the drive to create some masterpieces.

You are amazing and your writing is a gift. Thank you for sharing it with us, and have a nice day! ~ 🍪

My friend, I apologize for hoarding your first ask. I’ve been sitting on it because I’m not gonna lie, I enjoy going back and rereading it. It gave me a lot of comfort when I was in a pretty dark place, both personally and in regards to my writing, and I was reluctant to send it out into the the abyss of Tumblr where I might never see it again.

That’s not fair, though. You put just as much effort into sending me that review as I put into my writing, and I apologize for never responding to you.

Okay, anyway, so twice now, you’ve made me cry. In a good way, I promise!

I absolutely love your bread/flour metaphor. It made perfect sense. I want the emotional release of Javi and Hannah’s reunion to be earned, and in order to do that, the angst has to come first (there are also a few plot “ingredients” that have yet to make their appearances). Thank you very much for understanding that, and for voicing it so eloquently.

I appreciate your comments on my research and characterization. You’re correct that I’ve put a lot of time and effort into crafting a universe. In a lot of ways, I’m doing my best to stay true to the source material (regarding culture and timelines in particular), and in others, I’m branching into my own territory.

On that note, I’ve never once regretted fully embracing Hannah Aarons’ identity as an OC. She’s stayed consistent in my mind from the beginning, and it was a relief to finally share my vision of her with the audience. And for the record, I totally agree with you regarding “reader” characters. Every reader insert echoes the perspective of their author, no matter how vague the physical description. I can only imagine how grating that must be from the perspective of a non-white, non-american reader. Thank you so much for sharing your insight! I will certainly keep it in mind the next time I write a “reader insert” fic.

Okay, enneagrams! I am much less familiar with enneagram than I am MBTI, but I agree 110% that Javi is a 9 with a strong 8 wing. I waffled back and forth on Ears a little, but eventually landed on 8w7 for her. It came down to the eight’s deepest fear, which is being controlled. That’s Ears all over, and the fact that she and Javi share that eight willfulness means that they might butt heads a little, which also seems very appropriate for them. Big thanks to @remusstark for her insight into the eight frame of mind - our conversations helped solidify my decision on this. :)

Anyway, I’m just rambling now. The big take-away point that I want you to get is that I am so, so grateful to you, both for your insightful feedback and your dedication in making sure that I actually saw it. You are an absolute gem and a deep thinker, Cookie-Anon, and if you ever feel like sliding into my DM’s, I’d welcome the opportunity to get to know you better.

Mad love and soft hugs,

~ Jay

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lizacstuff · 3 years

Text

Bölüm 45 asks

Plus a few asks from 44, and one about the fragman for 46

Read more under the cut

Anonymous asked: I cannot believe that Ayse revived the "Kemal is Serkan's real father" theory but I think I'm down for it? At least now Kiraz has one decent grandparent and he seems like genuinely nice man. I've been wishing for him to have some scenes with Serkan because the way they set up this S2 plot, they could relate to one another and I was sad to see that he spent 5 years hiding instead

I'm down for this plot! See, now that I know they're doing the long-lost-father plot, it makes all the sense in the world why Serkan doesn't like Kemal and they didn't forge a relationship in the last five years. If they had, then finding out he's his dad would have been a lot less jarring and dramatic. Finding out now and then forging the relationship I think will be a bit more meaty story so it works for me.

To me this story works on a lot of levels, and makes sense with who Serkan is and his very strained relationship with Alptekin. It's like Alptekin sensed it, and resented Serkan his whole life. For those worried that Serkan will no longer have the last name Bolat, I'm not sure where that's coming from. Maybe I'm just not familiar with other cultures, but that is his name, Alptekin raised him, adults don't just up and change their name because of genetics. If you're adopted and you meet your bio dad as an adult, you don't change your name to your bio dad's.

Serkan's name is very much a part of his identity. Which is why this story has so much potential, because it could shake Serkan to his very core to find out who he thought he was, was wrong. He thought he was unlovable, most importantly maybe he'll finally realize there was more at play there and it wasn't at fault.

Anonymous asked: There were a couple things in the last episode that didn't sit well with me. 1. I can't believe Eda made Serkan sleep outside at night and didn't feel bad in the morning when she realized he got sick! 2. The way Seyfi announced Aydan and Kemal's secret relationship. It wasn't his secret to tell, though Aydan did deserve the way everyone reacted. So I got over that pretty quick. 3. Burak!!! He's not the one for Melo. She deserves better and if they end up together in the end, I'm gonna protest.

1. Unless you're going to put the same energy into not believing that Serkan had the gal to remove his bed on the floor as a way to maneuver himself into Eda's bed before she was ready, I really can't relate. It was done for comedy, my advice is to unclench and just giggle along.

2. Or you could look at it as being unfair of Aydan to burden Seyfi with that secret and require he lie to his other employer for five years. I mean I don't disagree that it wasn't his secret to tell, but Aydan had plenty of chances, and it was time for it to come out.

3. This one we are in 100% agreement about. MELO DESERVES BETTER. I will die on this hill.

Anonymous asked: Hi! Do you think Serkan actually believes in Kerem's abilities (he trusts Eda's faith in Kerem) or is this part of his plan to win Eda back? Either way I'm okay, just wondering what you think.

No, I do not think he gained a sudden belief in Kerem's abilities, but I do think he believes in Eda. And if Eda believes in Kerem then when push comes to shove that is enough for Serkan. Of course, he did it as part of his plan to win Eda back. Serkan is taking every opportunity to let Eda know that he respects her and believes in her and I think this was another example of that. There was also an aspect of him trying to win over another person in Eda's circle who was suspicious of him. The fewer people he has working against him, the better! He knows he has no shot with Burak or Ayfer, so this episode he worked on Melo and Kerem. But mostly it was him trying to make Eda's life easier, by smoothing over a personnel problem she was having, thus making working out of Art Life a more attractive option for her. All of those things in one!

Anonymous asked: What do you think about Eda and Piril's friendship? This episode really highlighted how close they've gotten.

Yes, they have gotten close, and I'm happy Eda has a friend, but at the same time I don't trust Piril. This is a woman who discarded Eda and embraced Selin when she was manipulating and abusing a brain-damaged Serkan.

Eda might be able to forget, but I can't. Also as a character she's just boring, rigid and humorless. One of my least favorites on screen.

That being said I do like the triad dynamic of Kiraz/Can, Serkan/Engin, and Eda/Piril, it was fun when they were calling each other at the same time.

Anonymous asked: Idk if they reached out to Maya just because she looked like Hande considering she had no acting experience, but this little girl is like the best casting I've seen. The chemistry with Hande and Kerem is amazing. She's so expressive. I am a Kiraz stan.

She's doing a fantastic job, precious thing! I have no idea how they found her, I know she was an instagram model, but the SCK casting director strikes again. This season doesn't work if we don't fall in love with Kiraz. Thankfully, we did!

Anonymous asked: Hi! Since it seems that we will have 13 episodes, do you think that Edser reconciliation/wedding will be left for the finale, 12-13 ep? Cause Ayse loves to drag and keep them apart.

I think the wedding might be closer to the end, but I think reconciliation will be a bit sooner than that.

However, I have to say that it's really not like they're apart.. is it? I mean this episode we had them living together, sort of casually planning their future together. Next episode we have them pretending to be married and ramping up the sexual tension to white-hot-sun levels, these are all good things. With episodes like this, I don't personally consider the show dragging it out.

In fandom I see a lot of peeps upset because Eda isn't getting immediately back with Serkan and I am feeling inpatient as well, do you think the writers are making a mistake keeping them apart?

Again, I guess my response to you is, by what definition was this episode "keeping them apart?"

Yes, they aren't having sex, but they are living together, working together, raising their daughter together, and I'm a-okay with having a couple of delicious episodes of that while they are still not fully back together romantically. Let's be real, they're still waking up in bed together, flirting, and having a romantic dinner together, so it's not like things aren't moving forward, they are. I'd advise putting aside your impatience, and just sit back, relax, and let the story take its course. There is no need to be anxious with this one. They are going to end up with their happily ever after together, but what we're seeing right now is delightful. It's them in family and domestic situations, them with their child. Most shippers only dream of getting to see this.

This sort of goes back to my stance on episodes 16-24, I know that was a frustrating time for a lot of fans because they were "broken up" but I've always said they may have been officially broken up, but they were in a committed relationship that entire time. And I enjoyed those episodes from that perspective, that tension of them being "apart" but still functioning as a unit and still being emotionally tied together underneath it all. There's kind of a similar situation here, they aren't officially back together, Eda is resisting him, but they are in a committed relationship and I don't understand what the need is to rush through this part? Enjoy the sexual tension of them living together, but not sleeping together. Enjoy the rom com romp of Serkan trying to get in her bed, and Eda taking steps to keep him out. Enjoy their daughter putting them in situations that force them into close proximity, and enjoy them falling into easy compatibility without even trying. Enjoy Serkan planning romantic dinners, and Eda enjoying it despite her every effort to protect her heart.

To me this is very good stuff, and spending this time being impatient and wanting what didn't happen yet, instead of enjoying what did happen is pretty much the recipe for unhappiness not just with this show, but life.

Anonymous asked: i feel like i've seen the exact same frustrations ppl have had with eda right now back around the 20s too after serkan told her about her parents' secret. it was like, now that he's told her the truth, she should automatically forgive him and get back together. same thing happening here, with him accepting his role as kiraz's father. it feels like the same impatience that's put on eda to just forgive him already bc everyone wants happy edser and she's in the way lol.. like girl needs time!

Agreed, and it makes me wonder if these folks have ever watched television before, lmao. Patience! There's a story unfolding and from the first 6 episodes it's clear they have a season long arc planned. All in due time.

Eda spent five years thinking that Serkan stopped loving her, and discarded her for work. The second time he used that excuse to break her heart. My goodness, it's more than okay if she needs a little time to adjust and learn how to trust him again. PLUS that means we get to watch him work on her, try to make inroads, romance her, forge a relationship with his daughter and earn Eda's trust back. What's bad in that?

What did you think of the fragman? It's kind of dumb and unrealistic that they have to dance for a school admission interview.

LMAO. Yes, yes it is, but my question to you is, sana ne?

I mean why do you care if the set up is dumb or not? Or if it's realistic? It's a device to get Serkan and Eda to pretend to be married before they're fully back together and an excuse for us to see Edser smash themselves together in a sensual tangle of limbs while they pretend to be unaffected, while both are being engulfed in USTy flames.

I'm not complaining, why are you?

Come on, this show is silly, it has been from day one, enjoy the fact that we are getting silly plots that force our couple into hilarious and hot situations, because Hande and Kerem are going to give us gold, I guarantee it and I'm going to smile through every second watching it.

xxxxxxxxxx

These asks are from episode 44, they came in and I didn't have time to answer before 45 aired:

Anonymous asked: Do you think there is a point when there are too many “parallels” and it becomes more like scenes are being recycled? Because I kinda felt that way in the last episode. Like she’s just tossing in as many things as she can from those first 11 episodes but I’ve already watched those and Id rather we focus more character progression. I feel like they regressed from those honest conversations last week and were back to being petty this week.

I guess my answer is... no, I don't think there have been too many parallels. Episode 44 was partly about truth bubbling to the surface, with the biggest truth being that Serkan has been in love with Eda every minute of every day since they parted. That is a very important thing for Eda to understand and know and they really can't move forward until she does, because she felt unloved and forgotten all those years. Most of the parallels were illustrating that by showing that he held on to their history, he remembered their history and he honored it. Okay by me.

Anonymous asked: There were some amazing dialogues in the episode. I have two that tie for top. One was when Kiraz said that Serkan was her wish (when blowing her birthday candles), and the other was when Serkan said Apollo was never going to give up on the woman he loves nor on the cherries! Oh my heart had feels both times. What were your favourite dialogues in the episode?

Oh man my head is in 45 now, but both of those examples of yours were great. I loved both of them.

The other than springs to mind is while fishing, Eda telling Serkan that he didn't need to be perfect for Kiraz to love him, he just had to be himself.

Swoon.

That's so important for Serkan to hear, because he doesn't think he's worthy of love as himself, so hearing that from Eda is impactful.

Anonymous asked: reading your ep review, i think a big reason some people are hanging on to hate the s2 plot no matter what are just bc they hate the writer. of course not everyone, but a lot of people will just hate on anything she writes out of spite, even if objectively the episode is very good. idk why that is or when ppl decided they hated her but it's not warranted at all imo. i can understand not liking the premise of this season, but after watching it so far there has been SUCH an improvement edser-wise.

People can like, dislike, love, hate anything they want. Consuming entertainment doesn't have to be a team sport. That being said, from what I've seen I'd agree with your assessment. Teams have formed (Anti-Ayse, Pro-Ayse, etc) and the former are too invested in hating everything she does, the former possibly too forgiving at times. That's their choice, but I have to say I feel bad for the anti brigade, this is a show they loved, and most of them are still watching, but they've completely sabotaged themselves from finding any joy in any of it and I think they're going to regret it once it's over.

Also season 2 is so much better than I thought it could be. I honestly thought there was no way to get back to the early quality, but it's here. The show is really watchable and fun this season, and it's a shame for those who've let their attitudes get so negative that they can't enjoy it.

Anonymous asked: Ok so I'm aware this would be highly uncharacteristic of a dizi - but if they know there's only 6 eps left, my dream would be no more big bad events and just spend it rebuilding EdSer as a couple and a family. Would that be too much to ask lol. They've jumped from one disaster to another. Since we're at the end & they have the luxury of knowing it, I just want to see them working through things as a real unit. They've dated for like 7 eps out of 45? Can we get that above 10 at least????

Congratulations! Because that's exactly what we've gotten so far in season 2. Once we got past the trauma of the 5 year time jump, all the drama has been internal to Eda and Serkan and their relationship. The whole season so far has been about rebuilding Edser as a couple and a family. And if you're watching without the tauntruming twitter teens in your ear, you'd realize we ARE watching them work through things as a real unit.

I'll say this until I'm blue in the face (apparently) just because they are not currently sexing each other up, does not mean they aren't emotionally doing all the things necessary to reach their full potential as a couple.

They are. It's happening. Enjoy it.

#Sen Çal Kapımı #sen cal kapimi #edser #sckask #sck 2x45 #sck 2x06 #sck episode discussion #edser discussion #asklizac

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saiilorstars · 3 years

Text

The Serpent

Fandom: MCU // Pairing: T’Challa x woc!OFC

Chapter Summary: **One shot. Agent Citlalli Del Rio struggles to keep her professionalism in check whenever she visits Wakanda and its King. If she paid attention, she would notice that T'Challa has the same issues with her. Only he will know how to eventually get through to the woman who was once known as the warrior Serpent to her own people.

A/N: This is just a one-shot of an OC I'm currently drafting. I always like sampling a new OC with a few one-shots before I post an actual story and since I already did an OC/Steve and OC/Bucky one-shot series for each, we're going for the last OC I had in mind for now! A little context, she's a descendant from the Aztecs and, thus, from Mexico! The pronunciation of the OC's name is 'Seet-la-lee'!

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles

Citlalli’s Masterlist // Masterlist to my other OCs

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

"You certainly look as sharp as ever," Okoye remarked in her rigid stance when T'Challa walked up beside her. She didn't even look at him completely, she had enough sight from the corner of her eyes.

"As King of Wakanda, I have an obligation to look my best," was the very King's response. Had they not been surrounded by the Dora Milaje, awaiting for a scheduled visitor, perhaps Okoye would've snorted at the weak excuse. She may also be holding that snort out of sheer pity. She knew well enough why he was taking extra care in his appearance today.

As agreed upon, their visitor arrived a short moment later. Okoye could see T'Challa straightening himself up when the jet landed a safe distance from them. It was frankly bemusing.

The jet opened up and in a few seconds, a tall woman dressed in a traditional black pant suit with a white buttoned up blouse stepped down. Her caramel brown eyes met the awaiting group across from her. She walked towards them in a purposeful stride. It wasn't the first time she was lucky enough to visit the King in Wakanda itself.

"Your majesty," she said. Even the slight Spanish accent in her tone wasn't enough to hide the overwhelming sarcasm.

If Okoye hadn't already met her plenty of times before, she would've been outright offended with the sarcasm.

"Don't you dare bow," T'Challa warned the woman as soon as he caught one of her legs already bending.

The woman chuckled and straightened up that leg. "Caught me," she put a hand over her chest. "One of these days, you won't."

"I will keep my eyes sharp and open when you are around," T'Challa promised her. Beside him, he could see the tight-lipped smile Okoye was battling on her face. He had half a mind to send her away but that would out him in a second. Instead, he put all of his attention on the woman standing in front of him.

She was waiting for him with a polite smile on her face. Her curly brown hair was neatly laid on the left side of her neck but the light breeze in the air would occasionally pull loose strands.

"Agent Del Rio, welcome to Wakanda," he said, making her smile widen.

"It is beautiful as always and, just as always, my name is Citlalli. I beg you to use it," she glanced at Okoye with a polite smile. "Nice to see you as well."

Okoye gave a dutiful nod. "Likewise."

Citlalli put her hands together in front of her. "I am ready to start whenever you are," she said to T'Challa. "But I need to return to Virginia by the end of the day."

"Of course," T'challa gave her a nod. She was always on a schedule given her work in the C.I.A. but he always managed to stretch out her visits a bit more than what she always scheduled for them.

Citlalli motioned him to lead the way back to the palace. She assumed their meeting room was already waiting for them.

"Actually, I thought we could do something different," T'Challa said, much to her surprise. "It's just you and I this time so I thought we would have more time, you know?"

"Ah," Citlalli slowly nodded, "O-okay. Where would you like to have the meeting?" T'Challa set his eyes on the city beside them. Citlalli didn't quite understand until she followed his gaze. "Oh." She blinked.

T'Challa smirked. "Shall we?" he motioned her to walk first. Slowly, she did. T'Challa followed behind her but he met Okoye's smirk on his turn.

"Hardly a place for a meeting," she mumbled as they began to walk.

"Shh," he promptly told her.

~ 0 ~

"This is hardly a place for a meeting," Citlalli would unknowingly repeat Okoye's words later on in the day. She and T'Challa walked side by side down the bustling city. "I am not wearing the right clothes, either." She fanned herself with her hand every now and then. It was a warm day today.

"Nothing wrong with a change of air," T'Challa shrugged his shoulders. He enjoyed watching her curious eyes gaze over the many stalls lining their sides. Despite being one of the people allowed in Wakanda-the only agent allowed for that matter-she'd never gone out of the palace during her visits.

"Of course not," Citlalli agreed, "But, as I said, I am here to talk business." She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Dora Milaje walking a good distance from them. Privacy reasons and whatnot. "And besides, we could save the Dora the walk, couldn't we?"

"They are fine. Trust me, Citlalli," T'Challa insisted. "What are we supposed to be talking about?"

Citlalli sent him a flattened-expressed glance. "Did you not read the file I sent you prior to this meeting?"

"Of course I did, I just wanted to make sure you read them. Have you?"

Citlalli couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. For a King, he was rather funny sometimes. She tucked a curl behind her ear and sighed. "Alright," she conceded with him. They could discuss their potential plans outside. It was actually rather beautiful outside anyways. "It's regarding the center you recently opened in Oakland. Stark is interested in aiding with the funding."

"I am very thankful for it but Wakanda is more than capable of taking care of the finances of the program," T'Challa said, purposely stopping in front of a stall.

Citlalli was forced to do the same without noticing what the stall was offering. She was focused on the conversation. "Of course, nobody doubts that. I certainly don't but the idea is-"

"Would you like some?" He offered her a small piece of bread.

"What?" She blinked at it, having been thrown in the middle of her conversation. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course, what kind of person do you think I am?" He offered the bread again.

Citlalli sighed. "I didn't exactly bring money to go shopping."

T'Challa smiled at her. "My treat."

Citlalli raised an eyebrow at him. "Does that mean you will pay?"

Before T'Challa could explain to her how it usually went, the seller herself told her that it was really her treat. How could the King pay and much less a friend of the King?

With that, Citlalli had no choice but to accept the bread, or whatever it was. She took it from T'Challa and dropped it into her mouth. As soon as she started chewing, sweet flavors of honey and nuts flooded her mouth. "Oh, that is good," she covered her mouth as she went through the several stages of divine tasting.

T'Challa chuckled at her. "I thought you would like it. I remember you mentioning your like for honey."

"Mhm," she nodded. "You remembered that?" It'd been an off-handed remark in a conversation she could barely remember.

"Of course," he said in a matter-of-fact way that made her pause for a moment. She studied him.

"What is it?" T'Challa asked her when the studying lasted minutes.

"I am just trying to figure you out,"Citlalli shrugged. She began to move again, prompting him to do the same. "I never considered you to be the type of King who walks through his own city."

"Is that bad in your eyes?"

"No," Citlalli smiled at him. "It's humble."

"I am glad you think so. Can I show you something else? I think you might like it." T'Challa picked up his pace to reach another stall.

Citlalli had to sprint a bit to catch up. They ultimately stopped by a stall full of flashy jewelry. She was delighted at the sight-he knew that she loved accessories. Her favorite, though, were the...

"I thought you might like this one," T'Challa took one golden snake-head bracelet. She was always drawn to the serpents because of her background.

Citlalli's smile faltered at the sight of it. "Um..." she swallowed hard. "That's very beautiful but...I don't wear that stuff anymore, you know that."

T'Challa nodded. "Because you haven't found your people yet, but I have no doubt that you will."

Citlalli never knew whether or not she regretted telling him the story of her lost village. She trusted him to keep the secret to himself but she wasn't sure if she was alright with the fact that someone else knew about her personal mission, a personal mission that she was failing miserably at. "You are kind with your faith but my personal agendas should not be any of your concern," she offered him a polite smile. "You are King. You have enough on your to-do list."

"I will always make time for a friend." T'Challa suspected that if Okoye could hear the conversation, she would've scoffed for sure. He was guilty of wanting to offer Citlalli a lot more than friendship.

Citlalli lowered his hand with the bracelet to the stall. "Please," she whispered, eyes falling low with distinctive pain. "Can we go back to the meeting?"

T'Challa was alarmed with the hurt in her eyes. That was never what he intended and the fact that Citlalli even showed that type of feeling meant she was truly hurt about something. No doubt it pertained to that personal agenda she had. Ever since he met Citlalli, which had been under the worst circumstances due to his own pain with the death of his father, she always gave the aura of strength. She hadn't been nicknamed the Serpent in her village for nothing. She was strong, brave and best of all, a mediator. She liked solving problems and providing the justice that most people didn't get. But it appeared that her solitude was slowly getting the best of her.

Anyone would if they were separated from their people for as long as she'd been.

"Citlalli—" He tried to mend is mistake but she simply asked him if they could talk about the meeting again. He didn't want to make her feel any worse so he had to agree.

The rest of the day was, lamentably, all about the kinks of the outreach program and a few other potential programs they could start. At the end of the day, they returned to where they started. The jet was already waiting for Citlalli.

"Before I go," she said, "This was from Stark." She produced an envelope from her pocket.

"Do we have any idea what it is?" T'Challa raised the envelope to the sky to see a few words through the paper.

"I might," Citlalli rocked back and forth on her feet. T'Challa gave her an odd look until she answered, "I may have gotten one myself."

"Gotten what?"

"It's an invitation. Stark is throwing a birthday party for Miss Potts. Very nice place, very sunny place, so if you go, you should take that in mind for clothing preferences."

"Will you be attending?" T'Challa curiously asked her. He had no idea where that act of bravery came from but he thanked Bast that it came.

Citlalli sheepishly shrugged. "My relationship with Tony Stark is terse at times but I do appreciate what he is trying to do for people after, uh, what transpired with the Accords. Plus, Pepper is a good friend."

T'Challa had all the information he needed. "I will see you there."

Citlalli half smiled at him. He always spoke so easily, she envied it. For all her experiences with people, royalty, he always made her feel like she wasn't doing enough. He simply made her forget things she knew how to do, like talking. Why he kept such an open friendship with her, she had no idea. Surely there were other agents he could speak with.

You're the only agent allowed in Wakanda. What's that about? She ignored the warmth in her chest each time she remembered that detail. He'd chosen her to do Wakanda's business with whenever it came to speaking with the C.I.A. Why? It was an answer she never got an answer to and truth be told, she was a little afraid of what the answer was anyways.

"It was lovely visiting, as always," she spoke up after realizing she spent a lot of time thinking silently. "Your city..." she glanced at the city's landscape on their side, "It really is magnificent."

"Hopefully next time I will be able to show you much more of it," T'Challa said, really having faith that the next time she visited, he would get it right and be able to show her everything.

Citlalli nodded. She held a hand out to shake with him. T'Challa took her hand and shook it but just as Citlalli would pull her hand from his, he gripped it. She raised an eyebrow at him, curious. Had they forgotten to talk about something?

T'Challa would then raise her hand in his hand to press his lips over it for a kiss. Citlalli felt a deep warmth over her face. T'Challa looked at her from under his lashes, smiling at her in a way that spread the warmth down to her stomach. Butterflies would even arise.

"I hope to see you at that celebration," T'Challa lowered her hand between them but without letting it go.

Citlalli had to catch her breath before even thinking about speaking. "See you..." She swallowed hard, immediately feeling the cold when T'Challa let her hand go.

Very unprofessional! The voice in her head scolded. She turned to leave as soon as her feet responded. She couldn't trust herself if she stayed another minute.

T'Challa was left to watch the jet disappear in the sky. In a matter of seconds, Okoye had stepped up beside him. "Well, will you really be attending that celebration?" she curiously asked, eyes wondering over the invitation T'Challa held tightly in his hand.

"If it is my only chance, why not?" He countered, smiling to himself. He wasn't all that into the idea of being surrounded by unknown people but if Citlalli was there then it wouldn't be that bad.

~ 0 ~

Stark's choice of scene for the party was, as usual, a grand site. Even Okoye would admit to it, but everything else was irritating.

"This dress is far too uncomfortable," she grumbled to T'Challa as they walked in through the entrance. He wanted no Dora Milaje around today and the only way that would happen is if Okoye accompanied him.

"You could go back..." He said far too innocently for anybody to believe him.

She threw him a sharp look. "What for? Agent Del Rio has no quarrel having me around. Do you?" T'Challa purposely kept his gaze ahead of them. Okoye's smirk wasn't something he wanted to face.

They eventually came to the backyard, a large place for the party. There were far too many people around, none that really concerned T'Challa. He saw a few familiar faces amongst the crowd eventually, like Rhodey and Pepper. As politeness went, T'Challa moved towards the latter to wish her a happy birthday.

"Thank you for coming," Pepper smiled wide, especially when Okoye handed her their gift. "You really shouldn't have."

"I hope you like it," T'Challa sincerely said. His eyes swept over Pepper to see if he could finally spot Citlalli. Maybe she wasn't here yet.

"Tony!" Pepper called, motioning him to come over from wherever he was.

"The King!" They soon heard Tony's exclaim.

Okoye rolled her eyes as the man headed their way. To T'Challa's surprise, however, he was not alone. Citlalli was walking beside him, looking like she'd just entertained something no doubt Stark "funny".

"Nice of you to make it," Tony greeted the pair of visitors. "A change of sights doesn't hit bad, does it?"

"No," agreed T'Challa. He met Citlalli's gaze, brain racking to say something good to her as a greeting. The way she looked, though, would prevent much of that from happening.

Her curly hair had been tamed to one side again, braided to the tip. She wore a spaghetti-strapped white maxi dress with a bright turquoise flower pattern. There was a beaded necklace of browns and turquoise sitting around her neck with a large shiny brown stone in the center. With little makeup, she boasted her natural beauty, whether she realized it or not.

"Your majesty," she beat him to the greeting, just like she typically did.

T'Challa wondered when he would be able to say the first word to her. Probably when you stop staring at her. Perhaps then...or perhaps not. He tended to lose air when he was around. "Citlalli," he managed to say her first name this time around. Baby steps.

"Okoye," Citlalli flashed a smile at the woman. "I love the dress today. Red is your color."

"Thank you," Okoye pressed a hand down her side. "But I can't keep wearing this all day. How do you do it?"

Citlalli and Pepper laughed together. The former then admitted that she wasn't all that used to wearing dresses anymore. "When you're a C.I.A. agent, you don't really get a down time for leisure. But Miss Potts over knows her way around pencil skirts." Okoye's face might as well have said there'd been a murder.

"We are not going to stand here and discuss skirts, are we?" Tony pretended to be oh-so-tired already. "There's music, there's dancing, food, amazing drinks. Please enjoy."

"Please do," Pepper said in a much kinder manner. "And thank you for coming." She headed off with Tony.

"I must admit I thought you would not come," Citlalli said to the pair when the others had gone.

"Why?" T'Challa curiously asked her.

"I don't know..." she shrugged, suddenly looking shy which was one thing Citlalli Del Rio was not. "I didn't think you and Stark were that close, that's all."

"We are not, but it is a good idea to be on a amicable terms for both sides."

Citlalli nodded with an understanding that only they would understand. After the Accords, everyone knew that the ties between Stark and most of the Avengers had been thoroughly severed. "I am glad that you can do that," she said. "And I am also happy that you came."

Now that brought a good smile from T'Challa. "Really?"

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side, hoping to calm that warmth in her face again. "Yes, I...I need to speak with you, actually."

Surprising given the location they were in, but T'Challa would take it. He glanced at Okoye, not needing to say it out loud. She could barely hold the struggle to not roll her eyes.

"I will be over there..." she excused herself and walked away.

"You look beautiful today, agent," T'Challa said as soon as they were alone for fear that he would lose his courage. It was all worth it when she smiled bashfully. Did he make her shy?

"Thank you," Citlalli found her voice a few seconds later. She couldn't help look him over—ignoring how utterly unprofessional it was—and concluded that he was as handsome as ever in his casual dark suit. If he moved, she would get a flicker of purple. "You look good," she returned when she was sure that she would be able to say it in one go.

"Would you like to dance?" T'Challa made a gesture to the ongoing dancing behind them. It wasn't quite his style but he could only dream of being that close to Citlalli and today he might just get the chance.

Citlalli's eyes flickered past him towards the dancing. "I was just dancing with Stark..." she started, already sounding weary as she began to remember it.

T'Challa chuckled at her expression. "I will not be like Stark."

"I doubt you could be," Citlalli said. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"Does it pertain to business?"

"No, not really."

"Then can we dance first? After that, I promise I am all ears."

Citlalli bit on her bottom lip as she considered the implications of a dance with him. It wasn't a slow dance but it did require for arms to be around each other's. Could she handle that? Whether or not she could, did she want to? Absolutely, she answered herself on the spot.

She finally gave him a nod. "Okay."

T'Challa reached for her hand, raising it first and foremost to kiss the back of it. She awarded him a soft smile in return. "Beautiful bracelet," he remarked as he led her towards the dance by the hand. Citlalli could feel his thumb grazing over the feathered jade-colored bracelet he mentioned as well as her skin. A ploy she wasn't really against.

"Thank you," she said once they stopped together. He turned to face her, picking up her hand against to hold on their side. "Hand made," she would say as she moved her free hand over his shoulder. She swallowed hard when his free hand slid behind her back. He had the gentlest touch.

"You don't say?" T'Challa sarcastically asked, making her chuckle.

"My aunt made it for me a while ago. She tried to get the most precious stones to make it," Citlalli explained as they started swaying to the music. "She tried to make it like home," she added in a quieter tone. Her gaze fell for a moment. Home was a raw subject even years after everything had occurred.

"That was very kind of her," T'Challa's voice would pull her out of her moment. He didn't know how he did it but he was glad he did. Citlalli met his eyes. "I have heard terrible stories of adoptive parents and their respective families. You have no idea the relief it brings me to know that it was not your case."

Citlalli half-smiled at him. "You shouldn't feel anything," she told him. "You've only known me for a year. Everything that happened to me was a long time ago."

"If it pertains to your well being, I will," he clarified.

"You simply care too much but I suppose that's what will inevitably make you a good king," she shrugged. "And a good friend."

Friend. It stung even though she used it so kindly on him.

T'Challa surprised her with a twirl. It had her laughing when she came back to him, leaning on him. He was smug when he grinned. "I can be many things, Citlalli."

She had to agree there. She peeled herself off him and continued to sway kindly to the music. "A good dancer, amongst those. Did Shuri teach you some of those moves?"

"The fact that you think I could only be a good dancer is if my baby sister taught me is quite offensive," T'Challa bobbed head as if he was doing his own little dance to the song. Citlalli giggled. She hardly did that too so when she did, T'Challa relished it. He may replay it in his head a couple times too.

"I would never offend you, your majesty," she drummed her fingers over his shoulder. "...but did she?"

T'Challa's face fell flat. When Citlalli started laughing again, he surprised her with another twirl. This time when she came back to him, he made it so that they were closer than before. Their foreheads would nearly press with their inch gap. She smelled sweet and floral, intoxicating and addicting. How dare she walk around like that and expect him not to fall for her? Because that's exactly what happened to him. He craved her presence whenever she wasn't around, and it was unfortunately like that most of the time. Her visits to Wakanda were sporadic just as his were to America.

Citlalli was very aware of their closeness and as much as she told herself to step away, her feet were only responding to the rhythm of their dance. If she were to move just an inch, maybe half an inch, something would happen that should not...but it was something that she really wouldn't mind either. "Uuh...can we talk now?" she thought to ask. Her question, though asked in a whisper, was still enough to break their moment.

T'Challa stepped back from her and nodded at her. She took his hand, an act that made things a little better for T'Challa, and led him away from the dance. She found a nice place on one of the garden sitting walls.

"What is troubling you, Citlalli?" T'Challa asked as soon as they were comfortable.

"I was thinking about the last time we saw each other and...T'Challa, I am so sorry for the way I behaved what that jewelry stall."

"What—"

"You were being kind and no matter what, I should have appreciated it. I know I have a hard attitude and sometimes I don't realize it then but I'm really sorry."

"Citlalli," T'Challa touched her cheek, an act that left her frozen while he spoke, "There was no problem there. My plan simply didn't result, but it wasn't your fault."

"Plan?" Her face scrunched. "What plan?"

"My plan to show you the city, of course, and see your smiles."

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side in thought. "I...do not understand. I thought I was apologizing, it's been gnawing at my head since it happened."

"Please let it go, I hold no resentment. As if I could ever do that with you," T'Challa flashed her a smirk. "You do not see it, do you?"

"See what?" Citlalli watched him carefully. Her nerves were rising and she wasn't even sure why. Nothing was happening.

T'Challa's smirk faltered and soon it turned into a sad smile. "Nothing. This conversation did steer us towards something I wasn't sure how to best introduce."

"What do you mean?" T'Challa motioned her to give him a second. He shifted to better face her then reached for something in his inside pocket. Citlalli watched him pull out a small box. She was startled when he held it out for her. "For me?" she pointed at herself with wide eyes.

"Yes, I chose it with great care. Open it."

Citlalli was hesitant at first but who could say no to him? She couldn't. She took the box from him and pulled it open. Her eyes widened even more when she saw a coil, double wrapped, snake bracelet tucked inside. It was golden with the stones of the snake head in her traditional color of turquoise. "This is beyond beautiful!" she gawked. "Where did you get this from?" It was hard finding those two colors together, she would know.

"I had this made for you," T'Challa explained, earning her fully stunned face. "I know that you always have a hard time finding things that are close to your home. Wakanda may be a place far away from where the Aztecs lived but I hope that this makes home feel a little closer."

Citlalli didn't know what she felt except for the stinging of tears in her eyes. "Oh...this is...T'Challa, you really didn't have to do this. I-I can't take this." She closed the box quickly and tried handing it back to him but he wouldn't take it.

"It's yours, Citlalli. The Serpent," he reminded her of her old name.

"I used to be," she corrected him.

"No, not 'used' to be. You were a warrior for your people and you're still a warrior today. You're just a little lost."

"A 'little'," Citlalli said bitterly, more to herself than anyone else.

"There is nothing wrong with being lost so long as you try to get back on the right path." T'Challa reached a hand over to her cheek and cleared off her tears. "I would like to help in any way that I can."

Citlalli sniffed. "Why?"

T'Challa tilted his head at her. "Because I want you to be happy. It could be selfish of me but...I would like to be the reason you're happy. Whatever it is, I'd like to be it." Citlalli softly smiled at him. That smile counted for millions. "May I?" He motioned to the box. She nodded and opened the box for him. He pulled out the bracelet and took her wrist, gingerly sliding the bracelet down her skin. His hand caressed her skin as he secured the bracelet around her wrist. Citlalli felt the shudders from his touch and wished time would slow so that his fingers could stay over her like that.

"Thank you," she said meaningfully. She could thank him for everything and it would still feel like it wasn't enough.

T'Challa was on the same page as her. "Thank you." He would never have the right words to express his gratitude for everything she'd done for him since the moment they met.

Citlalli shyly met his gaze, lips quirking into a small smile. Words weren't enough, but actions were. T'Challa's fingers came to her chin, gently pulling her forwards a bit. He leaned the rest of the way and pressed his lips against hers. Citlalli's eyes fell shut with the contact. Time did stop for them in the end. Her lips easily moved with his, discovering how truly soft he was. Everything about him was, even when those same lips were used to make sarcastic little comments every now and then. Little did she know that he thought the same thing of her. She was always professional, never saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, he wished he could get her to do loosen up and that was coming from him. Either way, however she was, he wanted her to stay just like that.

T'Challa pulled away first. He lowered his hand from her chin to her hand. He found her fingers to interlace with his and to his delight, she gripped his hand in return.

"You know, in my village, our stones were so beautiful and valued that we would use them in our conversations to refer to anything that we found precious." Citlalli's lips stretched into a wide smile. "To me, you're as precious as any one of those stones, even more." She touched his cheek, her fingers stroking a few gentle circles over his skin. "It's just hard to admit it with my hard attitude and all..."

T'Challa chuckled lightly. "You keep that hard attitude. I don't want to change anything about you." Citlalli chewed on her bottom lip while her insides desperately fought off the intense heat when T'Challa wrapped an arm around her waist. "My Serpent," he whispered fondly.

Citlalli brought her hands to her shoulders. "We're at a party—" Her laugh was muffled by another of his kisses. "Hardly the way a King would act, no?"

"I think I'm doing exactly what I should be doing," T'Challa said proudly. Citlalli playfully rolled her eyes at him. "Would you like to dance again?"

"I...guess..." The party did seem a more cheerful suddenly. Citlalli ended up nodding.

T'Challa let her go to stand up then offered her his hand. This time there was no hesitation when she reached out to take it. He pulled her up to her feet then kissed her hand.

She smirked. He saw her knees bending but this time, he couldn't stop her. She bowed. "Your majesty!"

"You did not—Citlalli!" He exclaimed. "Stop that!"

She giggled as she straightened herself up. "I told you that you wouldn't be able to catch me one day."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded proudly. "Oh..." He pretended to accept his defeat only to snatch her body and pull her up to him. She yelped with the sudden yank. "Look at that, I just caught you," he said innocently.

Citlalli took in a deep breath and rested her hands on his shoulders again. "Game on, your majesty."

"Game on..." T'Challa laughed. He cupped her face and planted another kiss on her, a longer one that would leave them both in need of air.

#ocappreciation #marvelocsdaily #mcu #black panther #fd: mcu #avengers #t'challa #t'challa imagines #black panther imagines #mcu imagines #avengers imagines #oc: citlalli del rio #oc: serpent

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chrysalispen · 3 years

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iii. vanished, and left but memories,

AO3 Link HERE

Chapter below cut.

============================

Papalymo Totolymo considered himself reasonably worldly for a man of Sharlayan. As the favored protege of the late Louisoix Leveilleur, many of the star’s most tumultuous events in the last twenty summers had taken place beneath his watch: from the mass colonial exodus to the motherland, to those final dark days before the Seventh Umbral Calamity. He still remembered offering prayers at one of the great standing-stones as the Empire unleashed Bahamut - that ancient and terrible primal bound by Allagan contrivance - upon the fields of Carteneau.

So too did he recall his master’s sacrifice. Papalymo was not what one would call particularly devout, nor had he placed as much stock in such things as coincidence or fate. But the events he had witnessed had gradually softened his harder stances, and the more he saw of the world, the more he thought he understood what Louisoix had meant.

Faith had, after all, saved Eorzea in the end.

He watched that slim, straight back as its owner sidled into shadow and disappeared from sight. At first glance, the woman hadn’t seemed any different from any other conjurer they had met in the past handful of years. But this time he thought there was something about her that was... different. The aetherovisor had-

“Papalymo? Are you listening?”

“...Hm? Yes,” he said with an absentminded nod. His hazel eyes lay fixed upon the emptied cavern entrance. “Well. That was… most edifying.”

“Edifying?”

“Educational.”

“What was educational about it? The sword? The Ixal?” Yda tilted her head in obvious confusion. It was quite clear that the two of them had taken something entirely different away from that encounter. “I thought you knew about those already. Or did you mean that conjurer?”

Preoccupied with checking and comparing indicator readings, Papalymo barely even acknowledged her. “Yes.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I did.”

Yda’s chin tilted in the same birdlike fashion Aurelia had noted upon their meeting, and her lips pursed briefly as she tapped her index finger against her cheek. “Actually, now that you mention it… I just thought of something.”

“Hm.”

"Is it just me, or did it seem like that woman was able to see Kuplo Kopp?”

“....And this occurs to you now? Honestly, of all the questions to ask!” "What- well, you did ask me, Papalymo."

She pointed this fact out with the cheerful self-possession that rarely failed to annoy him, specifically when she employed it against him. Yda knew he hated it, so of course she did it at every opportunity.

Silver-threaded blond curls drifted across the edges of the aetherovisor with the movement of his head from side to side, as the Archon cut off his lecture before he could properly begin. From his long years of experience with her, he knew there was a greater than zero chance it would all fall upon deaf ears anyway. “...all right, yes, that did appear to be the case- and don't you give me that look."

"What look?"

"That smug one you always get when you-"

"When I'm right? Hmm?"

"Oh, for the love of everything, Yda!"

"Go on. 'You're right, Yda.' Say it."

"Yda-"

"Saaaay it," she repeated, in a teasing little singsong. Papalymo scowled at his young partner before he realized she couldn't see his expression beneath the unwieldy visor, only the petulant purse of his lips. Pointless to fight the tide, he thought with a sort of exasperated fondness.

...He supposed he could allow her one small concession.

"Yes, yes, all right. Fine. You were right," he said testily, ignoring her tiny cheer and accompanying fist pump. "But don't get ahead of yourself. As to what significance that might bear, provided there is any, only time will tell.”

“Will it? I certainly hope so,” she retorted, bracing her hands on her hips. “It’s not as though you ever tell me anything.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I just said it! You never tell me what’s going on!” Yda’s pout lifted into a sly smile. “...Unless you don’t know either?”

“Of course I do! Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“-and even if I didn’t,” he huffed, “I certainly wouldn’t admit it to an insolent child!”

Yda did not take offense. Her laugh, tinkling like wind chimes, followed the pair out of the clearing.

~*~

After bearing the blade and news of a corpse to a surprised but very grateful Galfrid Mossback and his fellows, Aurelia entered the Fane to see E-Sumi-Yan conversing with one Kuplo Kopp. The moogle lifted a paw as she strode towards them.

“Ah! Aurelia," the guildmaster said. "Welcome back. I trust your return was without incident.”

“Yes, it was fine. The walk was most refreshing.” She hesitated; her gaze flickered from E-Sumi-Yan to his current conversation partner, hovering midair with open curiosity stamped all over his tiny face. “Although… I have something to ask, if I might?”

“Of course. Thank you for your assistance, Kuplo Kopp. Pray give my regards to the others.”

“I will, kupo! Wonderful to meet you at last, Aurelia!” he piped, adding a chipper backflip for good measure. “Don’t worry, I’ll say hello to Kupto Kapp and Kapna Kugi for you!”

The little creature had taken wing into the trees before she could respond, although E-Sumi-Yan’s expression was one of mild-mannered curiosity as they watched Kuplo Kopp disappear into the tree line.

“You had not told me you were acquainted with the moogles.”

“A bit of an exaggeration,” Aurelia hedged. “I met a couple of them by chance when I first came to the wood. They were quite helpful, as I recall.”

He squinted at her. Opened his mouth- then shut it, as if he had been about to say something and thought better of it, and cleared his throat.

“We have a good rapport with the moogles,” was all he said. “What was it you wished to ask?”

“When I was in the glade earlier, there were two others who arrived shortly thereafter. A Hyur woman - a pugilist - and a Lalafell gentleman. I asked after their business in the Shroud, but they were quite evasive.” Thoughtfully she tapped her temple. “They each sported some peculiar contraption. I thought at first perhaps they were customized sets of spectacles. Mayhap a magitek visor of some sort, but if so it was surely not of imperial make.”

E-Sumi-Yan was smiling.

“Ah,” he said. “You’ve met Yda and Papalymo.”

“Adventurers?”

“Scholars. Aetherologists from Sharlayan, if memory serves. But you may safely lay any suspicions you have to rest - they are friends. Their assistance over the last few years, particularly with regards to the Garlean Empire, has proven invaluable.”

Aurelia only nodded. The pair had been strange, and their exchanges clearly born of long years of personal intimacy, but neither had come across as threatening.

“Now- as to the matter we discussed before you took your leave…” He muttered something under his breath too softly for her to catch and began to pat down his robes. “Ah! Here we are.”

The neatly folded and wax-sealed parchment in his hand bore the mark of the Conjurers’ Guild and, she could see, the Padjal’s own painstakingly neat script. E-Sumi-Yan glanced at it for only the briefest of moments before he held it out for her to take.

“I took the liberty of discussing the matter with Miounne while you were running that errand for me. She has already agreed to send word ahead to the Adventurers’ Guild in Ul’dah, I expect.” A stray breeze ruffled his sandy hair as he inclined his chin, smile unwavering. “She should have another letter of her own ready for you when you return to the inn.”

“I- oh,” for a second time in the space of a day Aurelia found herself taken aback. “This… goodness, you work very quickly.”

“Oh?”

“I confess I had thought a letter of introduction might take some days to draft, not bells.”

“Not at all! I had the time to spare, and at any rate I have written many such letters in my time. They are quite formulaic.”

“I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken-”

“Lest you misunderstand, Aurelia, this is no more than I might otherwise have done for any of my novices,” there was no visible change to his expression but his tone was so firm it might almost have been a reprimand. “This letter does not guarantee your enrollment into the Phrontistery. ‘Tis but a window of opportunity, and little else.”

In other words, he could get her into Ul’dah and secure her lodging. Anything beyond that would have to be accomplished by her hand and hers alone - she was not surprised; she had a rough idea of Uldah’s love of self-made success stories.

But Aurelia was not unaccustomed to such uphill battles; if she could make her own way in Gridania despite her ignorance of its customs when she had first arrived in the Shroud, she was quite sure she could manage matters in Ul’dah. A chance was all she required, and here it lay, in her hand.

“Well enough to my thinking that you have provided it,” she said. “You have my thanks.”

His serene smile turned somewhat doleful. “I would be remiss not to admit that your absence will be felt. But I will not be one to clip your wings, either. Now go. Give Mother Miounne my regards.”

“I will.”

Perhaps you will return to the wood as a guardian once more, E-Sumi-Yan mused as she passed from the boughs of the Fane. Most heed its call, in the end. But I will only accept it from you if that is what is meant to be.

Even for foolish notions of sentimentality, he knew it was not his place to tangle the Spinner’s weave.

~*~

“I am beginning to wonder,” Alisaie Leveilleur declared to no one in particular, “if there are any other cycles of weather in this place beyond ‘rain’ and ‘purple.’ “

No one answered. Not that she had expected otherwise.

The young elezen spared a sullen glance at the dodo tenderloin on her plate - rubbery with gristle, lukewarm, and unappetizing - before resuming her people-watching out the nearby window, or what there was of it. Only one of the panes had tempered glass in; the other three were covered with some sort of oilcloth, no doubt to proof the opening against the region’s frequent afternoon showers.

There wasn’t much to see, truth be told. Revenant’s Toll had been washed away in the floods following the Carteneau disaster five years past. Although the adventurers who ran the town were rebuilding, the new town - if one could properly call it that - was essentially a glorified leve outpost. Albeit, she allowed, it was a leve outpost with a bar, a boarding house, and some tents attached, but at this moment in time still little more than a burgeoning bump in the road. The camp's new location sat well up the ascent onto the escarpment this time, some five malms north of the old camp.

Alphinaud had observed that the new location was far more strategically advantageous, and had been more than happy to explain his theory at length without any prompting. Alisaie had scant interest in such matters, and had tuned her brother’s lecture out in favor of exploration after only a few scant minutes.

Mor Dhona had been a very pretty place once, so they had been told, lush and green. But most of the old rainforests had been destroyed, first by the great battle between the Garlean Empire and the Dravanian horde, then by Dalamud’s descent. She was grateful that for a small blessing, the window seat she had chosen did not afford her an unhampered view of the Carteneau Flats. At its epicenter grew the massive crystalline half-sphere that had settled into the face of the land like a pockmark with its shattered Allagan structures poking haphazardly out from unstable, poisonous facets. That was where Grandfather had-- where he had--

Her gaze returned to her emptied teacup.

“Are you not hungry?”

Alphinaud stood at the edge of the table with a refilled trencher and a fresh pot. She shook her head.

“Just the tea, thank you.” Alisaie all but snatched the pot away before he had even finished setting it down, grateful for the momentary distraction. “I’ll pour it myself.”

“You really can see the Keeper from here.”

“What?”

“The Keeper of the Lake. So-called.” Her brother peered out the window as he seated himself at a positively glacial pace, deep blue eyes scanning their surrounds. "See? Over there, wrapped around the HRS Agrius. ...what’s left of it, at any rate.”

Following his gaze as she poured her tea, Alisaie could just see the outline of the gruesome landmark that sat in the center of Silvertear Lake. The protruding wreckage of the doomed imperial dreadnought shimmered dully in shades of black steel and flaking vermilion paint, only barely visible in the gloaming. Without the imposing structure, the decomposing remains of the great wyrm Midgardsormr wound tightly about its sheared and exposed hull: the final embrace of a murderous lover. Over it all loomed the blue-white silhouette of a very tall crystal spire, glowing with a strange ambient light. It put her in mind of a lighthouse watchtower in a fog bank.

“So,” Alphinaud had turned back to his trencher, “have you made ready, sister? We depart on the morrow.”

“Not yet." As ever, the long and careful sip she took from the cup helped her to gather her thoughts. She set it down with a quiet porcelain rattle before she continued: "I want to go down to the Flats once more before we leave."

“Why?"

“To see if anything was left behind.”

"No." His refusal was adamant. "We’re pressed for time as it is. Even if we weren't, anything of value will have been removed years ago.”

Nerves frayed by fatigue and frustration, catching the annoyed lilt in his voice, she felt herself bristling.

“Have you even tried to look?”

“Alisaie-”

“All I ask is another day to make inquiries. One day.”

“And I am telling you we don’t have one day. The itinerary-”

“Oh, sod the bleeding itinerary!” she burst out. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you simply didn’t care to assist me at all!”

Alphinaud’s fist, still holding his fork, slammed against the table with enough emphasis to rattle her teacup saucer and splash a few droplets of its contents onto the table. She expected some sort of surprised rejoinder, or - far more likely - yet another calm (and rather condescending) explanation as to why it would be impossible to continue her search without more resources. Implying yet again, as tended to be his wont, that her requests to seek more information as to their grandfather’s whereabouts were merely part and parcel of a childish whim.

Instead, the flash of light in his eyes was that of wounded anger: one of Alphinaud’s rare displays of ill temper- or, perhaps, the grief he so rarely allowed himself to display in public. His lips were drawn into a thin, taut line and his eyes, the same deep blue as her own, appeared for a moment to be suspiciously bright. “That was unkind of you,” he accused. “You are not the only one of us who misses Grandfather, you know. Nor wishes for his safe return, if there is a return to be had." "I'm aware."

"And you know he would not have wanted us to neglect tasks of monumental importance solely for his sake. That was never his way.”

"I just… Alphinaud, we promised each other," the strident pitch of it was close enough to a plea to make her cringe, but there was little help for it, "If there’s even the slightest chance he might still be alive-”

“The chance is slim to none. You know that.” He would not meet her gaze. “And even so, we cannot linger. Grandfather’s successor will be awaiting our arrival and she is certain to have more accurate information on his whereabouts than nearly anyone you would meet here.”

“But... oh, all right. I suppose you make a valid point,” she said. You’re right, as per bloody usual. One hand curled into a fist atop the roughened wooden surface; the admission stuck squarely in her craw, but Alisaie knew full well there would be no peace between them did she allow the rule of her pride to stay her tongue. “...And that was unkind. Forgive me.”

Alphinaud said nothing for a long moment. Worry had just started to nag at the corners of her conscience when his slim, unblemished fingers reached for her hand. She relaxed her fist and allowed him to lace his fingers with hers, then in her turn covered her brother’s hand with her other palm. It was a gesture meant to placate as much as to comfort, but she supposed that particular river flowed both ways.

“We’ll come back,” Alphinaud said at length. His sigh, a long-suffering thing, seemed to close the space between them. “All right? We’ll come back. I just think we should see to his outstanding obligations first and foremost. Once that's done, you can take as much time to investigate as you like.”

Somewhat suspicious of the gesture, she peered at him from beneath her snowy veil of fringe. “Do you mean it?”

“At the first opportunity," he added. "I swear it.”

Alisaie squinted at him for a careful moment before she withdrew her hand. She drummed her fingertips upon the table for a moment, then picked up the fork that lay alongside her long-abandoned trencher. He blinked when she jabbed its business end in his direction, a movement that might have been amusing were it not also vaguely threatening.

“...I’m going to hold you to that."

“Of course you will," he groused. "You always do.”

His surly retort prompted Alisaie to finally flash a strained grin. It was the first smile she had spared for him since the pair had stood together on the deck of their ship and watched the city shrink to a bare glimmer on the horizon, swallowed by the endless dark of the open sea. Then, their purpose had been united. The weeks spent at sea and on land had eroded it, but Alisaie at least had not lost sight of her purpose.

And I will hold you to your word this time as well, little brother.

She lifted her teacup in a mock toast and watched as he followed suit.

“Well. To the road on the morrow, then,” she said. “And Gridania.”

“And Gridania.”

The meeting of the twins' cups chimed with their sealed bargain. Without the town of Revenant's Toll, the pall of dusk continued its descent.

#upon pale dawns #aurelia laskaris #yda hext #papalymo totolymo #alisaie leveilleur #alphinaud leveilleur #a realm reborn

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pluto-writes · 4 years

Text

Kunikida Doppo x Reader | Fluff Alphabet

A/n: Kunikida makes an appearance! To that one Kunikida anon, I hope you see this and I did him well. This is the most I’ve written so far for the fluff alphabets... He was just a fun character to write about. I have 2 more to go and maybe, maybe, if these get a good amount of love I’ll do a third one... I heard that the character starts with a C...

Words: 2,764

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Kunikida loves to do typical romantic things with you. It’s all in his book of Ideals, of course. Whenever he is out on jobs or errands for the Agency, he keeps an eye out for date spots to take you to.

On his days off, he’ll take you out for a picnic date at the park. He thinks the park is the perfect place since its calming, and he believes the sun enhances your natural beauty.

He’ll pack your favorite snacks, and you’ll bring a blanket and things to do while you’re at the park. Whether it be reading or playing board games, he enjoys doing it all with you.

You guys also occasionally go fishing together. You had learned that it was a favorite hobby of his, and wanted to be able to do it together. So you had planned this fishing trip, and successfully managed to do so without him noticing.

When you took him to the beach, he became ecstatic when he found out it was to go fishing. And to his luck he managed to catch his favorite type of fish, bonito. You offered to cook it for him once you guys went home, and he thoroughly enjoyed his lightly roasted bonito.

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He loves how much you understand him. You don’t make fun of him for his ideals or his need to stick to his schedule. You even help him keep track of what he has to do for the day, and offer a helping hand when needed.

He also admires your dedication towards your work. It was what initially drew him in, in the first place. He notices all the effort and time you put into your work, and seeing you encourages him to get through the day without letting Dazai distract him.

He thinks your hands are your most striking feature. They fit into his hands so comfortably and holding them soothes him instantly.

Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He would take you away from the situation, as far as he can so he can get you somewhere quiet. Once he gets you to a quiet place, his next plan of action will get you to start talking about what’s bothering you.

To do that he’ll start talking to you to help calm you down, since you had mentioned before how much you liked his voice. After a while, he’ll manage to calm you down, and once he does, you’ll feel confident enough to confide in him about what has been bothering you.

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He has it all written in his book of Ideals. He pictures getting married to you after you’ve been dating for two years. He prefers quiet afternoons with you, if days are uneventful that means that things are going according to his ideals.

He has his ideals, but he also understands that you have your own too. If there’s anything you don’t want to go through with, he would completely accept your choice and wouldn’t force you.

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

The relationship the two of you share is rather balanced. He doesn’t want to be overbearing, or controlling. Plus, he loves it when you know what you want.

He wants someone that can make decisions for themselves, of course with that being said he doesn’t mind if you come to him for help sometimes. However, if it was a common trend he wouldn’t be able to put up with it.

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Kunikida is quick to forgive, mostly since he doesn’t like conflict. At times he is quick to anger if you push the right buttons, but why would you? Though he knows to only apologize when he is in the wrong.

He’ll need time to cool off first before talking with you again, but after that you guys are fine. Fighting with Kunikida isn’t fun since he tends to raise his voice when he’s agitated, and the volume he talks in is a bit scary. It’ll be mostly verbal, since he knows that communication is valuable in a relationship. And while he may not agree with you, that doesn’t mean he can’t listen to your reasoning.

Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Kunikida overall is a very grateful man, but above all he’s thankful about your entire existence. And he makes sure to tell you so every chance he gets. He may not notice the small things you do for him, but when everything is going smoothly he figures you had something to do with it and will thank you accordingly.

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

He believes in an open and honest relationship. And he’s aware that in order for it to work, there has to be a sense of trust between the two of you. Cause if he doesn’t open up to you how would you feel safe enough to confide in him?

There are moments he’d rather not mention, but he knows that talking about it will help him get through it, and he has complete faith in you. He’ll come to you when things start to get overwhelming for him. After talking to you, he’ll start to feel better about what’s been bothering him.

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Since he began dating you, the others had noticed that he seemed calmer, even with Dazai around. There would be times where he would get annoyed, but not as much as he used to. Before, even Dazai’s mere presence would induce headaches, now however, he’s able to tolerate him more without blowing a fuse.

Ever since you met him, you had always admired his belief in his ideals and the lengths he’ll go to protect them. Seeing that gave you the idea to make a book similar to his. Yours might not have an entire list, but it helps you keep track of your day to day life and any important info. Having your stuff organized has helped you finish what you wanted and makes sure that you haven’t missed anything.

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Jealousy doesn’t come easy to Kunikida since he’s an adult, and he’s able to spot the difference between a friendly conversation and one with flirty intentions -except when it’s towards him-. Plus, he isn’t territorial over you, he knows that you can stand up for yourself and when the situation calls for it you won’t hesitate to protect yourself.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

When he was about to have his first kiss with you, he was really nervous. He had just taken you on your first date and after a stroll under the moonlight he walked you home since it was the right thing to do. Once you reached your home he became fidgety, and his hands couldn’t stay still.

He could still remember how hard his heart was pounding, and how his palms got slightly warm despite the cold night. And you remember how cute it was seeing the usually composed Kunikida being so nervous around you, and the blush he had then.

He knew he had to go through with it, he wrote it in his book. To kiss you after your first date, but he couldn’t help overthinking about it. Seeing his nervousness, you took the initiative and pulled him into a kiss. Upon your lips meeting his he froze, and by the time you pulled away he was still in shock.

“What happened, Kunikida? Cat got your tongue?” You said teasingly, which only caused his cheeks to flare up more.

After his first kiss with you, he still got shy at times, especially in front of other people, but his kissing has gotten better. He doesn’t freeze up when you lean in for a kiss, and he has gained enough confidence to kiss you first.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

You have Dazai to thank for your relationship. He knew that the two of you liked each other, but neither of you did anything about it. So he took that problem into his own hands.

Kunikida was painfully aware he was in love with you, and at times being around you made him lose his composer. He even added to his list of an ‘Ideal Partner’ modeled after you. However, he managed to miss all your attempts at flirting with him, he took them as a friendly gesture.

After getting the same results over and over, you figured that Kunikida must not like you in the same way. Coming to terms with that was not easy, so instead of inviting Kunikida out with the intention of hopefully dating him, you would go out with him as friends, and somehow that was harder to do.

This is where Dazai came in, he was acutely aware of the situation at hand, and knew that it’ll take a big push from Kunikidas' side to confess to you. The day he executed his plan started as normal, that is until you walked into the office.

Cue the endless teasing from Dazai to Kunikida. His voice was somehow even more annoying than ever to Kunikida. But he held in strong, more focused in finishing his work. Which gave Dazai the chance to steal his book of Ideals.

“Oh (Y/n)-san ~! Would you like to see what Kunikida has written in his book?” He called out to you. “Especially this one section, ‘My Ideal Partner’. Sounds very interesting, don’t you think?” He smirked, holding the book out to you.

Kunikida never got up from his seat so fast. But before he could storm over there and give Dazai a piece of his mind, you spoke up.

“No thank you, Dazai-san. And you shouldn’t read it either. That’s not right of us.”

Kunikida couldn’t believe it! You respected his privacy and you scolded Dazai! That made him like you even more.

“You’re perfect,” Kunikida accidentally blurted out.

“What!?” You asked out of shock.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get out of it, he ended up confessing to you how he felt about you and his wish to further your relationship, which you happily accepted.

Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He would definitely want to marry you, he can’t imagine spending the rest of his life with anyone else. The way he’ll propose to you is well thought out.

First, he’ll take you to the place you guys had your first date. And while you guys are chatting he'll think about how much better his life has gotten with you around, and he can’t help but smile.

You caught him smiling and called him out on it, which only caused him to get slightly nervous, he wanted to surprise you and didn’t want to give anything away.

Once again, he’ll walk you home just like before, and with the moment finally about to happen he felt this sudden knot in his stomach. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t.

You noticed his nervousness and offered him your hand. He seemed to calm down after that, but his heart felt like it was about to explode. When you reached your home, you could tell he was hesitating about something. It reminded you before of your first kiss.

“You know,” you started, gaining his attention, “I can’t help but feel like this scene happened before… What are you holding back?”

“O-oh! Uhm..” His hand flew into his pocket, feeling the box. Taking a deep breath he pulled out the box and got on one knee. “Will you marry me, (Y/n)?”

Being married to Kunikida wasn’t all that different than dating. The only thing that changed was that he seemed more confident when you were involved. And shortly after you guys moved in with each other, which gave you more time to spend with him.

Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

He’ll call you things like ‘my love’, ‘darling’, and you even got you to call you ‘Honey’! At first he got extremely embarrassed calling you by those names, but it soon came naturally to him.

On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He was painfully obvious to everyone that wasn’t you. Those around him noticed the long glances he gave you, how he seemed to favor you over the others. And how his face got red after talking to you. Once Dazai knew the truth it was over for Kunikida.

PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He doesn’t flaunt around his relationship with you, he doesn’t see why it’s necessary since he doesn't wish to involve outsiders in your relationship. Kunikida has no problem complimenting you in front of others, and the way he says it states it as fact rather than his opinion.

However, if you try to show him affection in front of others he gets a little hot under the collar. He’ll cover his face with his hand and avert his eyes from yours.

Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

His organization is impeccable. You can count on him to keep track on everything, so that you never end up forgetting something important. And living with him is even better, he makes sure that there are no messes around and if he manages to get home before you, you can expect a dinner of some sort waiting for you.

Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Kunikida is a very romantic lover, whether it be intentional or not. Everything he does for you makes your heart flutter. When he plans dates out for the two of you, most of the time they are rather cliche, like going to the movies together.

He heard about scary movies being the perfect way to bond with your partner, so he took you to one expecting you to get scared and cling on to him. But of course it wasn’t that easy. The movie ended up being about ghosts, and he ended up being the one who got scared. You think it went pretty well considering that later that night he asked to sleep with you, and you were more than happy to obliged.

Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He has complete faith in you, and your abilities. If you ever feel down about not being good enough, Kunikida is there to remind you of how wonderful you are and the accomplishments you’ve made.

Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Kunikida is perfectly content with the relationship. As long as he has you by his side he doesn’t feel the need to spice up your relationship. Keeping a certain rhythm within it helps calm him down and lets him know that nothing wrong will happen.

When things are quiet it brings a smile to his face cause that means that his ideals are coming into reality.

Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Kunikida understands you well, any new piece of information he learns about you he makes sure to jot it down in his notebook so that he won’t forget about it.

When you feel happy, he feels happy for you, when you feel sad or upset because of someone he also feels the same way. He does his best to keep you happy because seeing you sad hurts him in a way he hasn’t felt before.

Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Your relationship with him is something Kunikida holds very dear to his heart. He’s a man of his ideals and he can’t picture a life without you. Being with you is now a part of his ideals and he doesn’t want to let that go.

Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Kunikida has always taken care of his hair, and it's so nice and long you couldn’t help eyeing it, wishing you could run your fingers through it and try to do different hairstyles.

He noticed your eyes on him, and when he brought it up to you, you had to explain what you wanted to do to it. And to your delight, he allowed it!

After that it became a regular thing between you two. Whenever you felt stressed out or bored, he would let you brush his hair and play with it. He doesn’t say it directly but he loves the feeling of you playing with his hair.

XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Kunikida is an affectionate lover in his own way. He shows that he cares for you by showing what he knows about you, or helping you out whenever you feel lost or stressed.

He loves to kiss and have you in his arms, but he gets embarrassed doing that in front of others, especially his friends. He thinks tender moments like these should only be between you and him.

Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He usually works himself to the bone. If he’s too invested in his work then he’s too busy to think about you. It would work for a while, but then he would remember that you always tell him to take breaks and make sure he doesn’t overwork himself.

If he’s really missing you and can’t wait, during his break he’ll call you just to hear your voice.

Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Kunikida is a man of his ideals, and seeing as you’re now a part of them he’ll be willing to put his life on the line if it meant saving you or your relationship.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #kunikida doppo #kunikida x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #kunikida doppo x reader #doppo kunikida #plutowrites #i hope that tumblr doesn't banish this into the shadow realm #i hope this was entertaining! it was fun to write

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