#and when he started refining his skills and learning how far he could go | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wall-maria-fritz · 2 years

Note

Omg, I loved your Big Blonde Headcanons, and was wondering if I could get some general headcanons for Zeke Jaeger too 🥰

Monkey Man

Random Zeke Jaeger Headcannons

I'm glad you enjoyed the Big Blonde Boys! And I'm sooooooo glad you asked for Zeke! I have a weird fascination over this asshole asdfghjkl

Big Blonde Boys (Erwin, Miche, and Reiner Headcannons)

Maria's Scribblings MASTERLIST

Zeke Jaeger

· Zeke has always been one of those boys in school that seemingly every girl has a crush on, yet won’t seem to date any of them. Or anyone, for that matter.

· His grandparents are secretly waiting for Zeke to finally find a wife and get married.

· He would never admit it, but Zeke unironically enjoys pumpkin spice latte.

· The War Chief is clearly as brilliant as can be, and his love for reading shows that. His favorite author is known to be Leo Tolstoy, having already read War and Peace and Anna Karenina several times now. I won’t be surprised if he was reading Tolstoy when he attacked Levi in the Forest of Giants Trees.

· Remember that stuffed monkey he used to play with? Zeke named that monkey “Wild Thing!” This was because his favorite book as child was Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.

· Growing up, Zeke has always wished he had a baby sibling.

· He’s tried to learn how to play the violin at the insistence of his grandmother as a kid. But Zeke wasn’t very patient with learning the skill, and so never got past the basics.

· He secretly gets a kick out of reading all the hogwash and conspiracy theories the Marleyan tabloids would write about him and the Marleyan Military’s leadership.

· In fact, the tabloids are weirdly over-interested in Zeke Jaeger’s love life. Nearly every week, there’s new gossip over a new “Jaeger Girl.” Many speculations have been made over the years. Including Zeke being gay, and/or that he was in an affair with Pieck and/or that he had degenerate tendencies.

· This complicated man’s tastes can go from a Pâté for brunch, to fucking mac and cheese for dinner.

· Zeke is an avid lover of music. It helps him retreat into the bubble of his mind, and allow him to think. As War Chief, his aide-de-camps have been known to say that once he starts playing Chet Baker in his office, you best believe that Zeke Jaeger's cooking up quite the strategy.

· He likely found a love for jazz from his grandparents. So much so, that he’s always said that Ella Fitzgerald is the greatest singer to walk the earth.

· At the same time, he’ll never pass up some good ol’ classic rock n’ roll! Zeke strongly believes that The Beatles will never go out of style, and loves to blast Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in his car when he’s out driving.

· You’d never believe me, but Zeke Jaeger has a talent for the arts! It was something Grisha often admonished him for, constantly drilling into his head that he should busy himself with “matters of consequence” instead.

· But yes, Zeke has a knack for wood working, and have created several pieces of wooden furniture for his grandparents now.

· Once, Porco accidentally stumbled upon Zeke’s collection of charcoal sketches. His subjects were often the flora and fauna of downtown Liberio; canaries, poppies, cats, dandelions, etc. Porco never had the guts to ask about the sketches, but it’s probably some form of therapy for the War Chief because god knows he needs one.

· Zeke is a nitpicky asshole when it comes to alcohol. On that aspect, he has very refined tastes. He’s been known to serve his own personally brewed craft beer to his fellow warriors during their meetings-turned-shitstorm. I say this, because Colt absolutely loves whatever sorcery Zeke does to his beer, and gets a little too enthusiastic when drinking.

(Everybody except Colt knows this, but Zeke secretly tries to brew his beer a little bit stronger each time, just to see how far Colt’s drunken bullshit can go. Is Zeke a bastard? Yes. Is he having the time of his life? Fuck yes.)

· Zeke was once invited to throw first pitch at the Marleyan Major Baseball League Championships once. Despite being Eldian, for a while, the Marleyan press called him “Chief Perfect Pitch.”

· Zeke’s favorite movie genre has always been espionage. And his love for James Bond as a teenager definitely taught him how to conduct himself as a sophisticated albeit arrogant gentleman.

· He has cried in a movie though. Which movie? August Rush.

· Zeke likely smells like cigarette smoke and coffee, and prefers earthy scents for his cologne.

· His favorite color is maroon.

· When Zeke’s drunk—and it’s VERY rare that he is—Zeke breaks out the dance moves. Think Magic Mike meets the Jabbawockeez.

· His grandmother once tried setting him up on a date. The evening ended with the poor girl sobbing out that Zeke’s one cold, emotionless, rock. Safe to say, it didn’t work out.

· Zeke likes to go boxing when he’s angry. Much more so, late at night, where he can make as much noise as he wants—screaming and grunting out obscenities at the punching bag.

· No one really knows whether or not Zeke’s ever slept with a woman. No one’s ever seen him at a brothel either. Porco once joked that the War Chief probably goes out boxing so much at night because he’s “gotta find some way to deal with his boners.”

Pieck smacked him up the head for that.

· Zeke has really, really crappy handwriting. I mean, he does come from a family of doctors.

· Zeke actually has quite the good instinct for stocks and investing! Somehow, he has good understanding of financial trends. He’d probably be a business man if he wasn’t a Warrior.

· Audrey Hepburn and Snow White were his childhood crushes. If anything, that gives you an idea as to what’s Zeke’s type in a girl is-- a factoid which tabloids have used to connect him to Pieck.

· He’s also known to slack off on his paperwork. A lot. Instead, he opts to just pass the work on to whichever new aide has a crush on him. He never feels bad for it, because the young aides never say no anyways.

· And finally, Zeke gets really chapped lips, and often uses a colorless lip balm. All Cherry flavored. How do we know this? His aide-de-camp won’t say.

A/N: Requests are OPEN! Here are the rules.

#zeke jeager #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jeager x reader #zeke jeager x oc #zeke jeager headcannons #zeke jaeger #pieck finger x zeke jeager #zeke jaeger x oc #zeke jeager x you #requests open #zeke yeager #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x oc #zeke yaeger x reader #zeke yeager headcanons #zeke yaeger x you #zeke yaeger

375 notes · View notes

septembercfawkes · 3 years

Text

Debunking 6 Myths about Steadfast, Flat-arc Characters

Steadfast/flat-arc characters are characters who don't drastically change their worldviews over the course of the story. In contrast, a change character will do largely a 180 flip in worldview from the beginning of the story to the end of the story.

For example, in the fable of the Little Red Hen, the Little Red Hen never changes her worldview about hard work. But in A Christmas Carol, Scrooge completely changes his worldview from the beginning of the story to the end of the story.

In the writing community, there are a lot of misconceptions of the steadfast/flat-arc character (at least from my experience), which I'm going to talk about, debunk, and clarify today in this article. This information will still be useful to writers who have no interest in writing a steadfast protagonist--because nearly every successful story features a key character who is steadfast.

irst, though, we need to visit our familiar pit stop on writing terminology. The most common term for this character is the "flat-arc" character. But it is not the only term. This character has also been called the "steadfast" character, which is what Dramatica Theory calls it. While "flat-arc" is more common, I prefer "steadfast" for a few reasons:

- It conveys that the character must struggle to hold onto something (after all, one is only "steadfast" when there is opposition)

- "Flat-arc" sorta sounds like there isn't really any growth or movement, which isn't exactly accurate.

- For much of my experience in the writing world, protagonists who don't have much of an arc have been frowned upon or treated as "lesser." The term "flat-arc" reminds me of that.

This is completely preference. You may use whichever term you want. Today, I'll be switching between the two.

Now, you can have positive and negative steadfast characters. A positive one will hold onto a true worldview throughout the story, while a negative one will hold onto an inaccurate worldview. For the sake of this article, I will be focusing on the positive one, which is more common, and may do a future article that focuses more on the negative version.

Now, let's talk about some of the misunderstandings and myths about the positive steadfast character.

My (Helpful) Personal History with Steadfast, Flat-arc Characters

Despite wanting to work in the writing industry since I was seven, I entered the writing world like anyone else: naive.

I had an idea for a story I wanted to write, with a protagonist that drew inspiration from some of my all-time favorite protagonists.

What I didn't know, and what no one could explain to me, was that all these protagonists were steadfast/flat-arc characters. And that's what I wanted to write.

I took writing classes, went to conferences, read books, and tried to soak up any piece of advice anyone could give me. But for some reason, some of the information didn't seem to work into my story or apply to the favorite stories I was drawing inspiration from.

This led to a lot of questioning and challenging of "writing rules" on my part (though that was mostly internal). I was told over and over again (if not in these words) that I needed to have a change arc protagonist. It was implied, over and over again, that protagonists who didn't have change arcs were static, simple, lacking depth and dimension, and were just boring. Of course, there was always the occasional acknowledgment that 007 or Indiana Jones were successful. But I didn't want to write 007 or Indiana Jones. I still wanted to go deep into character.

Well, over the years, I unwittingly switched my protagonist from a steadfast protagonist to a change protagonist. I've only fully realized this recently when reviewing some of those favorite protagonists from years ago.

Not to be dramatic, but I feel a little cheated and let down by the writing world because of that. Even recently I went looking for resources on steadfast/flat-arc protagonists, and frankly, found very little. And of what I did find, 95% pulled from the same source material. I mean, it's great, but we are obviously lacking with this.

I tell this story, not for therapeutic reasons (okay, let's be honest, some of it is totally therapeutic!), but because I know there is someone out there who is struggling like I was. Someone who can't get their story to work because they are trying to apply change-arc advice to a flat-arc protagonist. This doesn't work. But you can't see that, because the people you are learning from (who have sincere intentions), don't fully understand or acknowledge steadfast protagonists.

For example, a writing book that has been making waves (that I looove and definitely recommend) is Story Genius by Lisa Cron. This book is amazing! And so helpful!

If you are writing a positive change protagonist.

It will not help you nail down your steadfast protagonist. Because its principles are founded on the protagonist changing.

So if you are trying to apply it to the wrong type of protagonist, you are going to get frustrated. . . . or switch your protagonist's type.

Unfortunately, I myself have been guilty of perpetuating some inaccurate advice, but only because (like most people), I didn't know better. This also tends to happen because by far the most common protagonist type is the positive change protagonist. There are lots of resources on it. There are lots of people writing it.

But this doesn't mean that the steadfast protagonist is wrong. It actually doesn't even mean that he is boring, static, or one-dimensional, nor that he doesn't grow, struggle, doubt, or change at all. He just doesn't do a direct flip in worldview. Instead, he proves his worldview true (the thematic statement).

Let's debunk some myths I've heard in the decade or so of being in the writing world.

Myth #1: Flat-arc Characters Don't Grow

The most common myth you are likely to run into, is that steadfast characters don't grow. This is inaccurate. The steadfast character doesn't drastically change her worldview. The positive steadfast protagonist has a worldview that will be proven true by the end of the story, which creates the theme. (In contrast, a negative steadfast protagonist has a worldview that will be proven untrue.)

This doesn't mean the character doesn't grow in some way.

For example, you may have a flat-arc character who becomes more competent. Maybe he learns to become a great marksman. Or maybe she learns how to navigate law school (Legally Blonde). A steadfast protagonist can gain any kind of skill, even some that are less obvious, such as learning the art of manipulation. In Moana, Moana must learn how to sail.

You may have a steadfast character who learns to become more proactive/assertive. It's not exactly unusual for a flat-arc character to not want to get involved in the main conflict in the beginning. He may be a reluctant hero. He may need to learn to not stand by but to stand up for what he believes in, by confronting the antagonist directly. In Disney's live-action Cinderella, Ella must become more assertive to fully thwart her wicked stepmother.

A steadfast character may grow in experience and wisdom. In Wonder Woman, Diana must experience and understand the real world in order to fully wield her truth against the antagonist.

A steadfast character can grow in pretty much any way that doesn't totally flip his or her worldview.

Certainly, there are flat-arc characters who don't grow at all, like 007, and that is fine, and you can write successful characters like that. But that doesn't mean that none of them grow whatsoever.

Myth #2: Steadfast Characters' Worldviews Remain Completely Static

Explained most simply, a positive steadfast character has an accurate worldview--understands the true thematic statement--from the beginning. This doesn't necessarily mean she has a perfect understanding of it.

The character's worldview may need some refining. It may not be whole or complete. Or, as mentioned, above, it may need more wisdom (discernment) behind it.

These things can only be realized with real-world experience--in other words, the tests and trials of the middle of the story.

While this concept may overlap with the prior, it's slightly different, as not every way a steadfast character grows will be linked to his or her worldview. They may be two completely separate things. But they can also go hand in hand.

For example, while Cinderella knows kindness will help her through trials (the thematic statement), her worldview needs some refining. She must realize one shouldn't let others take advantage of that kindness. She needs to stand up and be assertive with her stepmother.

In Arrival, Louise Banks knows that communication can help us understand another perspective, which enables us to avoid confrontation. However, through the story, she gains a greater, deeper, more complete understanding of that, as she learns the heptapods' language--which has the power to unit humanity and species across time.

In Wonder Woman, Diana knows from the beginning that we should fight for the world that we believe in. However, she gains more wisdom in that regard, after experiencing the gray moral complexities of humanity--does humankind deserve a better world? Only after she comes to terms with this, is she able to embrace the true thematic statement with eyes wide open.

Sure, some steadfast characters have completely static worldviews, but many of them don't.

This concept can become all the more complex when we consider secondary themes.

First, as a quick recap, the positive steadfast character has an accurate worldview--the "truth," as some like to call it--this is also the primary thematic statement. This is the truth the story is arguing. The positive steadfast character starts the story with this.

In contrast, a positive change character will start with an inaccurate worldview--the "lie," as some like to call it--this is basically the "anti-theme"--the opposing argument to the "truth." The positive change character will change to the "truth," the accurate worldview, the true thematic statement at the end.

However, many stories have more than one theme. Many stories have secondary themes.

Because of this, it's possible for the positive steadfast character to be steadfast in the primary theme, but be a change character in the secondary theme.

For example, Diana is steadfast in the primary theme, which is the argument that we should fight for the world we believe in (as opposed to the argument that we should allow humans to suffer the world they "deserve.")

However, in the secondary theme, she is a change character. The secondary theme is about whether humankind is innately black and white or whether they are innately gray. Diana begins the story believing they are innately black and white (innately good, if not for the antagonist), but learns the truth: humankind is innately gray. This is an arc of disillusionment. This feeds into the primary arc and primary theme.

I have an article on secondary themes in the works, but it's not complete yet. For now, know this:

Many stories have multiple themes. A steadfast protagonist may or may not be steadfast for every theme (or "worldview" if you prefer). But by definition, they must be steadfast for the primary theme (obviously).

Again, more on that in the future. However, this is why you may see writers argue over whether a particular character has a change or flat arc, and why the same character may get categorized differently--it depends entirely on what thematic thread the person is pulling. One may, in fact, argue Diana is a change character, because she arcs in disillusionment, while another may argue she has a flat arc, because she believes the primary thematic statement from beginning to end.

No worries if it sounds a little confusing. In short, a positive steadfast character's view may grow or shift in some way, but it never does a 180 flip in the primary arc and theme.

Myth #3: Flat-arc Characters Always Stand Firm

Just because the steadfast character has an accurate worldview and belief system (knows the "truth"), doesn't mean she never wavers or has doubts about it.

In most flat-arc protagonist stories, the character will have her beliefs tested through the conflicts of the middle. As the antagonistic force gets stronger, the character may experience doubts and powerful temptations (which may include conflicting wants). At some point, it may even seem that her worldview might be wrong. This, along with the cost of adhering to the truth, is almost always the meat of her internal journey. If you want your steadfast character to have a rich inner journey, this is where it's at.

For other steadfast protagonists, the internal journey isn't a major plotline (like 007). This means we won't see many (if any) moments of him having a worldview struggle.

Ultimately, at the end of the story, the steadfast protagonist will hold onto her accurate belief system. This is what makes her steadfast. But that doesn't necessarily mean she never second guesses it.

Myth #4: Steadfast Characters are Simple and One-dimensional

While a steadfast character is probably more likely to be simple, they aren't necessarily. Complexity isn't strictly tied to character arc.

What makes something complex is dichotomy. It's boundaries. It's layers of identity. I talk about this in my free booklet "Core Principles of Crafting Protagonists." But I'll review briefly.

Complex characters are most easily created when we smash together seeming contradictions.

- An outlaw who is law-abiding

- A soldier who refuses to hurt anyone

- A vampire who doesn’t like drinking blood

. . . for example.

Once you’ve smashed together contrasting features within the character, the gray area can be explored to find complexity. Why would an outlaw be law-abiding? How can someone be a vampire and not like blood? (These are more obvious examples, but they prove the point.)

Complexity can also be created by considering the character's personal boundaries--what it takes for him to consider doing something he wouldn't ordinarily do. We all have thresholds when it comes to our values. For example, I may have a character who proclaims that he never lies. But when the pressure gets high, I may show him lying to save the life of a loved one. This will reveal that he cares more about his loved one's life than about always being honest. In other words, he's not as simple as he first appeared.

While within the character arc, a steadfast protagonist will largely adhere to the accurate worldview, even when the pressure kicks up, this doesn't necessarily mean she can't find herself being pressured into unusual behaviors outside of it. For example, just because Job will stick to his faith in God regardless of what is inflicted upon him, doesn't mean he won't be pushed to complaining when the trials get intense. Difficulties reveal deeper character.

Finally, a character can be made complex by differentiating layers of identity. Identity gets down to how someone is defined, and no one is defined the same way from all angles. For example, who the character thinks he is, and who he actually is, will likely be different in some way. Who he believes he is and who society believes he is may be, in fact, opposite concepts.

While these elements can feed into character arcs--or rather, The Character Arc--they don't necessarily have to. There is no reason a steadfast character can't have some complexity.

Myth #5: Flat-arc Characters don't have Ghosts/Wounds

This isn't a myth I've heard very much, but I do feel like there are some misconceptions when it comes to the positive steadfast character and ghosts/wounds.

A "ghost" is a past, significant, often traumatic event that motivates the character to adopt an inaccurate worldview (the "anti-theme" or the "lie" or the "misbelief"--depending on your preferred terminology). In the industry, this is also sometimes called a "wound." You can learn all about ghosts/wounds in my article, "Giving Your Protagonist a Ghost."

But in a positive steadfast protagonist, this is often flipped just a bit. The ghost is often a past, significant, sometimes traumatic event that motivates the character to adopt the accurate worldview (the "theme" or the "truth" if you prefer).

For example, Cinderella's mother, while on her deathbed, tells Cinderella to always be kind. This motivates Cinderella to do just that.

Of course, not every character will have a ghost addressed in the story.

For the positive steadfast protagonist, the ghost may be largely resolved.

But not always. They may not have complete closure and peace. And it's possible they are still traumatized by the event.

Sometimes adhering to what is true can be nearly as haunting as having regrets. It's just that the haunting will come from either the cost of the truth, or, a lack of power--a lack of control--during the ghost. Generally speaking anyway.

In The X-Files, Fox Mulder, in the overall story and theme, is a positive steadfast character. The ongoing theme is an argument of belief vs. disbelief. (The motifs, "I want to believe" and "The truth is out there" speak to that.) However, Mulder has an unresolved, traumatizing ghost: his little sister was abducted by aliens.

This event cements him to the thematic truth of belief and motivates him to investigate anything unnatural. But this happened at the cost of his sister.

Sometimes the trauma comes from not being able to do anything, just as Mulder was powerless to stop the abduction.

Other times it may come from not being able to stop a loved one from choosing the inaccurate worldview--the "lie," "anti-theme," or "misbelief." The steadfast character may be haunted by the outcome of someone else choosing the lie.

So, just because you are writing a steadfast character, doesn't mean she can't have a traumatizing past.

Myth #6: Steadfast Characters are Boring

I have sometimes heard writing instructors discourage students from creating steadfast characters because they are "static and uninteresting." By now, you probably can see for yourself that this doesn't check out.

In reality, any kind of character becomes boring when poorly written. Sure, steadfast characters may need to be handled a little differently (they can easily become annoying when mishandled, for example), but this doesn't mean audiences aren't invested in them. A steadfast character can be just as exciting, meaningful, inspiring, and complex as most change characters.

I mean, I don't think most of us would call Diana, Fox Mulder, Moana, or Louise Banks boring.

In the future, I'll be breaking down this largely misunderstood character type some more. I mean . . . some of us have got to do more about the lack of resources out there, right? I don't want another person who wants to write a steadfast protagonist to be "tricked" into switching it to a change one. If you want to write a steadfast protagonist, this is me giving you permission.

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #nanowrimo #fanfic #flat arc #steadfast #wonder woman #arrival #moana #writing reference #writing advice #character

2K notes · View notes

naoyas90dayfiance · 3 years

Note

Would you be willing to do some cute headcanons for Naoya and Ranta who are both trying to impress the same love interest? :3c Love a good competition. - Lokescurse.

Of course bestie uwu ❤️

I love these two, they're so different.

Naoya Zen'in and Ranta Zen'in trying to impress the same love interest HCs

Ranta Zen'in

When Ranta is interested in someone, at first he might feel shy and just look at them from afar.

However, after a day of planning in his head what he can do to get your attention, he comes to the conclusion that he wants to introduce himself.

On the first introduction he was not subtle, his eyes were on you all the time, he had the biggest smile on his face when he told you his name. After that, he followed you around and asked personal questions.

And the thing is that you didn't even notice you were having a "personal conversation" because it just felt right. He was so charming and kind. Everyone who saw you two talking could clearly see that you were enjoying your time together.

Another thing Ranta does to get your attention is to be around when you need it.

If he sees you having a hard time with something, he's there to help you; if you tell him you need some help with anything, he's going to do it for you.

And he only wants some time with you in return. Seeing you smile and listening to your stories makes his day better.

The Zen'in family starts to notice that you two actually spend a lot of time together, and the women say that you would be a wonderful couple.

But Naoya doesn't think the same.

Naoya Zen'in

Oh boy, you had to catch Naoya's attention, didn't you? Get ready, baby.

If Ranta got his flirting tactics from the Sweetheart book, Naoya got them from the Caveman and Gentleman book.

Naoya trying to get your attention goes in two ways:

1. He's going to make sure you see him provoking others, so you can see the power he has on others

This means he's provoking Ranta, his uncle, his cousins, his brothers and every single person crossing his way. If you're within sight, he's going to provoke them until they lash out and it leads to a short fight that he'll win. It's his way to show you that he's the man in charge.

2. He's going to show you how refine he is.

You're going to listen to him playing the piano, he's going to show you his paintings, he might even ask for your opinion (as an excuse to show off) about his poetry writing skills. He wants you to know how artistic he is.

If you don't fall for this, then his last resource is to invite you to use the weapons of his family. Just look at how great the Zen'ins are! Don't you want to be the spouse of the head of the clan?

And he's not stopping there, he knows those robes don't do him justice. So he's asking you every afternoon to spend some time with him and learn how to use each weapon.

Ignore him taking off his shirt, flexing his muscles all the time, and even holding you a little bit too close to the point you can feel his breath on your ear and his perked nipples on your back.

"Sorry, I didn't hear what you said," Naoya said as he leaned closer until his hair was caressing your own, your clothes now wet with his sweat.

And of course, darling, after a day of training your muscles must be so sore. Why don't you lay down and let Naoya give you a massage with his strong hands? He can be so caring too, isn't he the perfect husband?

This man is a menace.

Ranta Zen'in and Naoya Zen'in competing for your love

Now that we established what these two are doing, if they happened to like the same person then it's not going to be pretty.

Naoya DOES NOT like to see you smiling and giggling with his cousin when you're baking something for the Hei and Kukuru Squad.

And Ranta isn't found of the way Naoya snuggles with you when you're training.

Sadly, the one who has the power here is Naoya. And he's doing everything he can to keep Ranta away from you, the young sorcerer will go on missions to other areas, will train way too far from where you are and he even had to move to another room that's miles away from yours and Naoya's.

But hey, love and kindness shall prevail. So Naoya isn't happy when you suddenly ask "Have you seen Ranta?"

Or when Ranta and you run into each other and you're hugging way too tight for Naoya's liking.

Ranta might be innocent and cute, but he's not stupid. Of course he kept his friendship with you through texting and video calls. And that's something Naoya didn't take into account.

The dynamic between these two is one of Naoya taking advantage of his power position and Ranta innocently becoming more and more sneaky.

The question now is: what are you going to do 👀?

Requests for cute headcanons with the Zen'in men (Naoya, Naobito, Ranta, Jinichi, Ogi and grandpa fjdk) are still open (◕ᴗ◕✿)

#i love thisssssssss #the zenin men are my weakness jdjsks #Naoya zenin #zenin naoya #naoya zenin x reader #zenin naoya x reader #ranta zenin #zenin ranta #ranta zenin x reader #zenin ranta x reader #letters 💖

64 notes · View notes

winchesterxxi · 3 years

Text

A Link (Din Djarin x Reader)

Rating: PG-13

Type: Angst

Request: “Fic request - reader is a Jedi ( untrained) and Luke requests she also joins him. She has to choose between leaving Din or going with the child. After watching that episode I’m already depressed as hell so the more angsty the better!”

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: CH.16 SPOILERS

A/N: What’s the most depressing love song you can think of? Play it.

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

You’d never think this rescue mission would lead to this. The plan was to get in, rescue Grogu, get Moff Gideon and walk out - the less damage the better. Needless to say, things didn’t go exactly according to plan, not in a single way.

But you definitely were not expecting an X-Wing to land on the ship and for a Jedi to walk out of there. Not any Jedi: Luke Skywalker. You’d heard a few gossips here and there about how he was the last great one of his kind, but you couldn’t predict that he’d sense Grogu and come get him. Ashoka? Sure. Luke Skywalker? Not in a million years.

It all happened so slow yet so quickly. One minute Grogu was in your arms, pointing at a screen, the next Din was saying goodbye to him, letting him see his face for the first time, while tears pooled across his vision before putting him down and letting the child waddle to Luke and the droid.

All eyes were focuses on Grogu as he exchange some sort of conversation with the beeping droid, before Luke’s eyes met yours.

“The force is strong with you too, Y/L/N”

“Just Y/N is fine.” you correct him, deferring his statement.

“Were you ever trained, Jedi?” he questions you, clearly noticing how unlike a Jedi your garments were - a beskar armor Din made sure to make buy you in Naboo as to protect you as much as possible, given the jobs you carried alongside him. It had cost him a great deal of credits but he didn’t want to hear a word about it. If it’s to keep you safe, I’d sell my own armor, he said.

“No?... I don’t know, I’ve just always felt The Force, I kind of taught myself everything I know."

“Have you ever maneuvered a lightsaber?”

You shook your head “No. Just blasters and spears.”

“A Jedi must learned to use one.” You don’t like where this conversation is headed and you can see by the way that Din’s shoulders are tensing up, as he stands next to you, that neither is he.

“Do you know the dangers of being your age and untrained, Y/N?” look questions, eyeing you only.

“No.” Din cuts in abruptly, stepping in front of you in a protective manner, his frame towering over you completely cutting your form from Luke’s vision “You’re not taking her as well.”

You can hear the croak in his voice. He is still on the verge of tears but there’s anger in there as well. Luke wants to take his lover away.

You step out from behind him to his side, left hand on his shoulder, forcing his bowed head to look at you. Your eyes meet his and it’s as if every muscle in your body felt like floating up to space. This man melted you every time.

But you have to own up to yourself, looking up at him with eyes as if to exchange a message in a language that only the two of you spoke. As if saying I should go.

His lips tremble and he shakes his head.

“Not you too, cyar’ika.” he begs.

“Din...”

“Don’t leave me. I’ve lost my home, my son, I - ... Please, don’t leave me” he grabs both of your hands in his, bowing his head and sniffing, as a single tear falls in the back of your hand.

The feeling of the wet drop in your hand opens your own gates, but only slightly, as you try to keep it together for the both of you.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” you sniff, palming his cheek in your left hand “you have... plenty to figure out on your own.” you say touching the handle of the dark saber hanging from his gun belt.

“I don’t care about that piece of junk, I care about you.”

You wan’t to fight him back. You want to tell him how big of a deal that saber is and how much he should indeed care about it. But that wasn’t Din, that wasn’t Mando. He didn’t care about some stupid weapon or the status that it’d bring him. He went as far as to yield it to Bo-Katan as soon as he could, but unfortunately that’s not how it’s supposed to work. But he didn’t care. He only cares about the people he loves. And that made your heart ache all the most.

You are standing there, shaky breaths looking down at your hands, before sniffling and facing Luke.

“What happens if I go with you?” Din’s head shots up, looking at you,

“Given that you’re way past the normal age gap in which a Jedi is trained, you’d probably be assigned to a Master right away and they’d be responsible for all your training.” Luke explains, Grogu at his feet.

You nod and turn your head to look in Din’s eyes, your voice quieter now “And if I stay?”

“That’s... that’s not recommended as the grasp you have--” he starts

“What if I stay?” you insist.

“You’ll stay untrained, to put it simply. You’ll keep not understanding the dimension of your powers and the responsibilities that come with it. You might misuse it, you might not be able to control it and hurt the ones you love. You might kill without intending to, and you might turn to the dark side.”

“I would never - “ you interject, defending yourself

“It’s a faith you can’t control. Unless you train yourself. Unless you refine your skills.”

You ponder his words. The weight of both options dawning on you as you consider them.

“Even with me having a different Master from Grogu, will I still be able to make sure he’s okay?” you look at Grogu, adoringly. Who knew that little green ball of bald hair, if there even was such a thing, would become such a big part of your life.

“Arrangements can be made, yes.” Luke assures you.

You nod your head to yourself, eyeing the floor. You have made your decision.

You grab both of Din’s hands once again, this time his are the ones in between yours and you grab them hard. Not as to hurt him but to comfort him about what he knew you were about to say. But before you can say anything he shakes his head, another tear falling down his right cheek.

“Please, no.” he breathes

“It’s what’s best for everyone, Din.” you plead

“For everyone? I’ve lost my home, I’ve lost him, I can’t lose you too.” he takes a break to catch his breath, sniffling a few times “No, not you.”

“Din... let me go, please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“How can you ask me that?” He looks you in the eyes. Those sweet brown eyes and his furrowed brows, asking you how you can even dare to break him this way “Please don’t walk out of that door.”

“If I stay, I might hurt people and I - “

“You’d never do that. You care for everyone you meet you’d never hurt people.” he brings your hands up to his chest, planting them there. You can feel both his breathing and heartbeat.

“You heard Luke...I might not be able to control it.” you try to reason with him “Din, if I ever hurt you I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He bites his bottom lip trying to keep it from trembling and you grab the back of his head, feeling his curls and pulling his forehead to rest against yours.

“Do you trust me?”

“What? Of course I do.” he says in less than a second

“Then please...” you breathe out“ trust that I’ll keep him safe. Trust that I’ll come running back to you as soon as I finish my training.”

Seeing the scenario unfolding in front of him, Luke decides to help you out “She might also act as a link between you and the child. The three of you are connected by a very strong bond and Y/N can act as a communication link.”

You look in his direction, silently thanking him.

“Din.” you whisper his name. Oh how sweet his name has always sound in your voice. Every time you’d call him his heart would flutter inside is ribcage, but he would never admit to that. But he understands you.

“It is for the best, isn’t it?” he whimpers quietly, barely above a whisper.

“It is. I know it hurts. Fuck, it hurts so bad, but it is.”

Pulling slightly away from you, he reaches into his back pocket taking out something before offering it to you, on the side that is hidden from the other presences in the room. He reaches down into his pocket taking out the sphere. When he opens his gloved hand, you can see it’s the tiny sphere from the Razor Crest that Grogu loved so much.

“I want you to give him this.”

You shake your head, carefully closing your fingers over his “No.”

“But the kid -”

“Din, keep it.” you know it’s the only thing that he’ll have to remember the kid “You’ll need it more than him.”

There is silence, at last. Only both of your altered breathings can be heard for a while until you notice Din’s hands shuffling at the bottom of your peripheral vision. Looking down, you can see that he is taking his gloves off and your brows furrow in confusion.

Before you can process whatever was happening, his hands, his ungloved hands, come up to rest on both sides of your face and he holds you there. His hands are a little rough but you don’t mind - they are all the more warm and gentle as you feel his skin against yours. His thumbs wipe a few tears away from the corners of your eyes as they stare at him. His right hand slides slightly down from your cheek to your lips as he wipes your top lip, carefully, feeling the softness of them. His delicacy causing you to lean into his palm and placing your corresponding hand on top of his.

He wanted to touch you. If this were the last thing he gets from you, he’ll be happy with it. Slowly, Din then dips his head to join your lips with his in a passionate but sweet kiss, your hands still on top of his, cherishing his touch as much as you could. Despite your eyes being close, you can tell he was crying just as much as you as you could feel tears that weren’t yours come in contact with your cheeks.

Pulling away, but not enough to separate your faces, your foreheads rest once again against each other. One of his hands finds it’s trail to where your heart would be and he rests it there, you doing the same to him with your opposite hand. Feeling each other's heartbeat, connecting.

A few moments pass until you hear his voice again.

“This isn’t a goodbye is it?”

You shake your head slightly. “Not in a million years. We’ll both be back to annoy your ass before you can even notice.”

This causes him to give a half-hearted chuckle, yearning for the day when that happens. “If you come back-”

“When I come back...” you are quick to correct him.

“ When you come back, the first thing I’m going to do is make you my riduur, I promise you that much.” you squeeze his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“And I promise you that I’ll say yes, in a heartbeat.”

His head shifts slightly and he rest his lips against your forehead, whispering the words that until a year ago he would’ve never dreamed of ever saying to someone, but that he has since said so many times. But only to a single person. Only to you,

“I love you.”

“I love you.” you assure him against his chest.

Taking a big breath in, you pull away taking a good look at him one last time. Until suddenly you feel a tug on the bottom fabric of your armor. Looking down you can see Grogu with his little arms up, gesturing for you to pick him up.

Laughing between the tears, you reach down and pick him up, facing Din. In any other occasion, one could interpret the way the three of you were standing as a mother holding her child, saying farewell as the father heads out to work. But this reality is so much more painful. In this reality you’re both the ones leaving, and what you leave behind has a wound that won’t be fixed for a long time.

Tilting your head close to the kid you prop him to say his goodbye “Say bye bye to Din.”

Grogu’s little 3-fingered hand shakes as much as his arms allow him to in front of him as he coos, probably thinking he was articulating an actual farewell. Before you can a step away, Din grabs the back of your head one last time, kissing you between your eyes, before letting you go.

You step in Luke’s direction, communicating through The Force how grateful you were with him for being so patient, and he nods in acknowledgment.

“May The Force be with you.” he says to Din, who nods his head.

The four of you turn to walk away, but Grogu manages to climb up your arms and stay looking at Din as he gets farther and farther away. When you all reach the elevator you turn to face him one last time, using the force for what you never did before - connect with him.

I will always let you know where we are.

And as his eyes soften, you hear a response.

And I’ll always be at the ready to fly to you.

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

Want a completely personalized imagine just for you? Click here!

#hope you had tissues #if not WELL #winchesterxxi #din djarin x reader #angst #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #star wars #jedi reader

459 notes · View notes

headingalaxys-spicy · 2 years

Note

1. So I saw your yandere!demon!Germany headcanons, both SFW and NSFW and I was wondering if you could do the same thing with Yandere!Demon!Japan?

2. Who’s your favorite yandere demon so far? 🥰

To answer the last question first: It’s a little unfair but Demon America. Because I’m a simp for my America content.

Anywho my simping aside.

Yandere! Demon Japan

Considered to be once of the most docile Demon Kings of the nine he still has his insanely nasty streak in him when the mood strikes him. He’s the demon if secret hidden lust and does a damn good job of hiding his true intentions and feelings from others or when its convenient.

He does have numerous ways of keeping tabs on you. Have a cellphone and computer? Consider it hacked. He’s probably reading your most recent chat logs and emails in your inbox as you read this. He will always know what you’re up to. He’s in love with the sweet darling that he saw that they wasted all of the same animes that he did and had a refined taste in them. He will read them over and over in hopes to find if you have a lover at all, he can seek them out and torture them to a point where they will be driven insane. If you’re sad and single don’t worry your demon prince will soon be able to sweep you off your feet.

When he finally decided to crawl out from his pit in hell to court you. He has barely enough confidence to do so. But he somehow manages to pull himself together long enough before he snaps and shows his true color and feelings you your that he’s probably harbored for a long time before he ever even introduced himself to you.

“Herro y/n~” (He’s also probably going to Demon France for help on how to talk to people and to woo them.) Demon Japan is just that silent and introverted that he does need that kind of help. He found you while you were chilling at your local anime store trying to figure out which plushie you were going to add to your collection. He couldn’t wait to add you to his cute collection in hell where no one else would be able to reach you.

He’ll finally be using the social cues he learned from France when it comes to being a skilled flirt. You guys do have quite a few anime and games you like in common and he executes his skill so well that you end up giving him your number so that you can meet up later.

“See you later Kiku~,” You say excitedly to have a game night of sorts at his place.

Days later to the day the both of you planned out you go over to his modest and clean apartment that was in the middle of Tokyo. It had an immaculate view of the Harajuku district. The city lights dazzled your senses and you started outside the floor to ceiling windows in awe. Kiku watches you from his kitchen as he preps the snacks for the long game night you two hand in store for the night. He almost burns the ramen he was making while he was gazing at your beauty.

“Aaah!” Kiku yelps in a short panic. You tear your attention away from the view to see if your date was alright. You wander over to him only to see that some of the hot water had spoiled on the floor and Kiku’s usually pale face was red like a Winesap apple. He was doing his best to save the slightly burned ramen by draining it in the sink. He began to prep the toppings like the eggs, dried seaweed, green onions, etc.

“I’m okay y/n.” He does his best to not look at you while he knows his face is heated up like the Harajuku district below his apartment. While doing so he accidentally lets his small black and red wings slip out from his embarrassing state. You see this and in a slightly trembling voice:

“Kiku… are you… alright?” You put your hand on his shoulder. Concerned obviously.

“Yeah, why…why do you ask y/n.” Still unaware that his demon wings have appeared since he’s so nervous and he’s still trying to only concentrate on getting dinner ready for the night.

“Well I mean you have” You hesitate for a moment and try to consider if this is a dream of some kind. After a few long labored breaths, you finally have the courage to say. “Devil wings coming out of your back.”

Kiku will say nothing. The obvious pressure to tell you what he really is or not is beginning to get to him. And he’ll simply snap and turn around with a dark around that engulfs his figure. He didn’t know how to explain to you and he didn’t want you from escaping him all because he accidentally had a slip up so he did the only thing he could think of within the moment: knock you out unconscious with a syringe mean to keep you out for a few days. You didn’t have any time to react to the scary scene that had unraveled before you. The next thing you saw was his full demon from wings, tail, and horns, all done up together with red eyes. That will haunt your memory for a long time afterward. After that, you felt a pain in the left side of your neck and your vision quickly transitioned into black.

The n@ughty bits.

Once you come to you will notice that you’re all tied up in pink roped shibari. It will dig into your soft skin making the parts under it red. Something that Kiku seems to enjoy. The room you’ll be in will have a kawaii monster Harajuku theme with a massive 20 ft bed sitting a few inches below your levitating body.

“Ah, Y/N 愛人” you hear him say as he entered the room after your sleeping serum had finally worn off and you were conscious. He takes off his socks and jumps onto the massive bed to use his long thin black tail to grab your face so that you could look into his now confident brown eyes that had a dark spark in them.

“I’ve waited a long time to have you here with me.” He states darkly and with the longing that has finally been fulfilled. He unlatches your ropes from the ceiling and brings you close to his body and he kisses you on the forehead as he feels your body tremble. He softly chuckles at your fear and smiles.

“Let's have some fun.”

He will force you to do some sort of school girl role play where he is the teacher and you, his student that is a stray and needs his ‘guidance’.

He’s actually pretty gentle when it comes to love making. Just be prepared to be in rope in some way shape or form for a long duration of it. He enjoys seeing you in such a helpless state where he is the one that is solely in control of the situation.

“ Y/N I love you so much, and I’ve waited for so long after watching you from afar. You don’t know how hard this was for me without you down here.”

He’ll say right before he goes deep into you.

He’s sometimes even into hair pulling while doing the deed. He’ll kiss you with an intense burning passion while doing so.

Japan is an observant and controlling Yandere Demon King. Every part of your life will be under scrutiny from the way you conduct yourself. Your hair, clothes, the behavior will all be things that he will make and break and mold you into his perfect mate.

愛人 means “Lover”

#yandere england #yandere headcanons #yandere japan #hetalia fandom #hetalia japan #yandere #demon au #answered

25 notes · View notes

avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

49 notes · View notes

angelanimedesaray · 3 years

Text

Wings in the Dark Chapter 1: Encounter

AN: All right...we’re flipping the script with this series, hehehe. Also, I’m doing MOSTLY similar vampire rules to the Investment series, but there’s gonna be some key differences to make things more...interesting. hehehe.

Listen, I’ve honestly had this idea for over a year, and it’s finally coming to fruition, I’m gonna be excited.

Tell me if you want tagged!

Characters: Levi, Vampire!Reader, Numerous BG Characters

Pairing: (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings: Language...don’t really have anything else for this chapter

Word Count: 5616

Masterlist Next Chapter---->

*Reader’s POV*

The sound of new recruits in the midst of combat training filled the air, a cacophony of moving feet, cries of attack, sounds of pain, accelerated heartbeats and the occasional shouted order from a supervisor. The wind was strong enough to blow hair about your face, but not enough to be cutting, the sun beating down from above warm enough to drive away any chill from the wind. The occasional sliding foot kicked dust up into the air, making it hard not to sneeze as your sensitive nose became agitated from all the dust in the air. Your arms were held up in an at the ready stance, but your mind wasn’t entirely on the training that was happening in front of you.

The Survey Corps. At long last, you managed to make it past your training in the Cadet Corps and choose your branch of the military to go into. Despite the high death rate and the negative publicity the Survey Corps got, it had been your clear goal since day one. It was the only place you felt you could go where you might feel useful, where these abilities of yours could finally be put to good use.

Of course, you weren’t through with the training phase quite yet. The Scouts had their own tests to put the new recruits through, unique maneuvers and combat preparation that would also help determine where you were going to go within the regiment. You still had to get past this sorting period, so you didn’t let yourself get celebratory yet.

But still, two years of hard work in the Cadet Corps, learning to readjust, learning your limits, refining mannerisms, careful planning and consideration into your every move.

Of course, that wasn’t what it looked like to your classmates. To them, you were well aware that you were the cold and aloof antisocial bitch that would knock everyone to the ground like they were nothing in the combat training, and always kept everyone at a distance.

It wasn’t that you were hateful, far from it. You just didn’t want to risk anyone getting too close to you while you were in the Cadets. And it wasn’t your fault if the training came too easily for you--you couldn’t help your nature. Hell, most of your focus had gone into holding back and restraining yourself since day one. While you wanted to make an impression and prove your skill and worth in combat, you didn’t want to stand out too much and draw unwanted attention. It had taken ridiculous amounts of concentration and effort, carefully planned throws on tests and combat evaluations, in order to purposely place at sixth in the top ten. Skilled, but not a shining star that would get full attention.

But that first place spot could have easily been yours, if you didn’t have to be so careful about how you presented yourself.

As important as it was to do well in these tests to get properly placed somewhere you and your abilities could be of use, you still had to maintain the front of someone who ranked sixth, not suddenly display all the skill and strength that belonged to someone easily top of the class. Not to mention, you were on a time limit for something far more important to your stay in the cadets for the long run.

This was your grace period to figure out what you needed to do in order to blend in with everyone else. And not just in skill. Your main concern was your food source.

Back in the cadets, in had started as a painful struggle, having to find ways to sneak out without anyone noticing so you could get a proper bite that would last you at least half a month. The cadets had also been your trial by fire to see how well you could handle freshly spilled blood in front of you, though you were painfully aware that particular test was only going to get more difficult when you went out into the field and Titans started eating people.

Right now at the Scouts, though, you didn’t even have escape routes, predetermined, best routes to sneak out and get a drink without anyone noticing. You hadn’t pinned down sleeping schedules for everyone yet, either, so you could figure out who you needed to be wary of when you were trying to sneak out. If you couldn’t find good times to sneak out and the best ways to leave and return undetected, then your time with the Scouts would prove to be painfully short, for your own safety.

And you wanted to stay here as long as possible, for reasons that had taken root deep in your heart.

Of course, you still had to worry about the training and some basic parts of being a Scout, as well. You were still frustrated with yourself for forgetting one of the simplest things--the horses. Of course, you got a painful reminder when you entered the stables and the majority of the horses got nervous and skittish while the rest went wild.

Not everything was easy to you. You now had to find and befriend a horse that you could hopefully keep with you that wouldn’t be afraid of the predator it could sense in you. It was going to take time, and you were certain this oddity about you had already been noticed, but hopefully when you befriended one of the horses, any sparked suspicions would go away.

Then there was the ODM gear. Obviously you could operate it, you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t. The problem was that your instincts and reflexes could happen faster than the gear could operate. It made it difficult to slow down and operate it properly when you were running on instinct, and even after two years in the Cadets you were still trying to temper your natural instincts to slow down to something the gear could keep up with. Though you had managed in your personal training time to also craft some maneuvers of your own that was more forgiving to your sharp reflexes and instincts, maneuvers that actually required more physical movement and less dependability on the cables. The less you tried to do with the gear and more you did with your own body, the less of a chance you had to screw up a maneuver by going too fast for the gear to execute at a costly moment.

But out of everything in this grace period that was going to be the most difficult, it was the social aspect. You always kept everyone at a distance because you didn’t want anyone to get close enough to find out what you were, or to risk them getting hurt. As such, you usually came off as antisocial or rude, when really it was maddeningly lonely for you. But what else were you supposed to do? You didn’t even want to think of what kind of a disaster could unfold if you allowed yourself to get close to someone, they found out what you were, reacted negatively and then...and then what? What were you supposed to do with a threat to your safety when it was someone you’d grown close to?

You shuddered at the thought every time it wandered into your mind. This was one of your greatest concerns with being around people again, but now, you were in a situation where you were going to have to do the balancing act flawlessly anyway. One thing you had learned watching the Scouts so far was that there was a degree of trust and closeness in the community. Privacy was still a thing, obviously, and you didn’t have to be best friends with everyone...but people had to know you could be trusted, that you would have their backs out in the field. You had to be amicable at the very least with people--you couldn’t keep them all pushed far away or give them a reason to think you might be hiding something. You were going to have to start making friends with your comrades despite your reservations, but you couldn’t quite figure out how to start.

This was what you got for being a hermit living by herself for oh so long before coming back to the surface, back into daylight, back around people--

Your sparring partner shifted, and your eyes refocused slightly on the match in front of you. It seemed he was going to be one of the many who had seen the glazed over look in your eyes and assumed they could get the drop on you because you weren’t paying attention.

Just like everyone else, he was about to find out how wrong he was.

As he charged you, you reacted rather instinctively, grabbing at his arm and sweeping his leg out from under him before sending him to the ground on his own momentum.

“How?” he fumed. “You weren’t even paying attention!”

“You probably shouldn’t assume that of your opponent,” you returned calmly. Just because you’d been lost in your own thoughts didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention.

Your partner wilted slightly, looking dejected, and you had to stop and do some mental math to figure out how long the two of you had been sparring. It was probably best if you let him win this next one. Both so you could break this perfect streak and so he could get a bit of his pride and confidence back. Plus, you’d get to rotate to a new partner, and the cycle would start fresh. He could probably use some time matched more evenly against someone anyway. It wasn’t fair to anyone who got matched with you, even if they didn’t know it.

What were they supposed to do against someone they thought was human, that was anything but?

You fell back into your at-the-ready stance, watching him closely this time to make sure you knew exactly what he was going to do. He came at you again, his feet planted firmly, form practically perfect--

--you shifted one of your feet so that you were standing just a little too wide--

--and this time as he tackled you, he was able to easily knock you off your feet. Not too easily, you made sure there was enough resistance he found it believable, but for the most part, you let him knock you to the ground.

“Yes!” he cried successfully as he sprang back to his feet, the elation of finally receiving a victory causing his blood to rush in your ears. You closed your eyes and took your time getting calmly to your feet, brushing yourself off as you regained control of yourself.

You’d had a brief spike of hunger with his blood pumping so close to you. Thankfully, you had some practice controlling your thirst in these kinds of situations after so long in the Cadets.

While you were getting up, one of your overseers called for a switch in partners now that he had finally won a bought against you. You got to your feet as your partner scurried away in relief, brushing hair from your face as you waited expectantly to see who would be matched up with you this time.

Unfortunately, it seemed someone had caught your throw this time.

Instead of another new recruit stepping in front of you, a well maintained shock of raven hair and sharp pale blue eyes entered your vision as Captain Levi himself approached, his gaze centered solely on you.

You’d known he was helping supervise the new recruits--all the squad leaders and section commanders were rotating through so they could get a feel for the new recruits and see if there was anyone specifically they wanted with them. You hadn’t realized, however, that you’d caught his attention. But instead of looking pleased, he seemed a little irked.

Quickly, you snapped to a salute, body tense for a few moments as you waited to see what he was going to say. You already knew it wasn’t going to be praise.

“Throwing matches doesn’t help anyone,” Levi said bluntly, his sharp gaze fixated on you.

Fuck, he’d noticed that? You supposed anyone paying close enough attention could catch it, but you’d hoped you were being subtle enough your throws would go undetected.

Then again, this was an entirely different field from the Cadets. You were among the true elite, if you were going to put a bit of your bias in there, and if anyone was going to catch on…

You needed to be more careful.

“I felt he would benefit more from a different sparring partner, sir,” you said stiffly. It wasn’t a lie--hell, anyone would do better if they were paired with someone other than you. You didn’t mean for that to sound cocky, but it was the truth. You were naturally designed to outmatch humans.

“You don’t seem to be putting much effort into this training, either. Do you feel it’s beneath you, cadet?” Levi asked, his voice low. Some of your old classmates that had come to the Scouts as well were letting their eyes wander to the scene in the middle of the training field, most likely looking forward to the frigid ‘slacker’ finally get what was coming to her.

“Quite the opposite, sir. Titans aren’t the only threat in the world--you never know when you’ll need training like this,” you countered, meeting his gaze as you gave a reason that you’d once uttered to shut down the dismissal of other cadets for these person on person combat training exercises. You had your own demons these kinds of moves could be used against, but there were also plenty of...unpleasant...people in the world. You never knew when your life would be threatened by another person, and it was in those moments when you would want this kind of training.

Of course, with your reflexes and strength, it was easier to execute them. Your learning process went into learning the techniques, and once you had that down, you really didn’t have much to worry about.

There was a spark of curiosity in Captain Levi’s eyes at your answer--apparently it hadn’t been a wrong one. You recognized the training’s value instead of brushing it off like most people. And most people who did realize its value usually didn’t state it openly like you just had. Maybe you should have cut that last part out.

He still didn’t look pleased, though, which was understandable if his observations had led him to believe you weren’t taking this training as seriously as it should, that you were brushing it off.

“Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what you’ve learned. I’ll expect perfection with that attitude of yours,” Levi said in a flat voice, taking a few more steps until he was standing opposite you. There was a dangerous note in his voice, and you had the feeling he intended to make you take this sparring seriously, with full attention.

“Sir?”

Levi didn’t answer. He fell into an at the ready position across from you, and you realized he wasn’t going to give you time to ask any more questions. He was about to attack, and you had better be ready for it.

You finally dropped the salute that had loosened during your brief conversation, falling back into a similar at the ready position and feeling your attention start to sharpen. Around you, people were turning their attention away from their training to see Captain Levi give the careless newbie a lesson.

A small part of you whispered that perhaps you should let him take you down right out of the gates, have him teach you the lesson and then move on, deal with the fact you’d made a poor impression on the captain of the Elite Squad.

You let out a slow breath, the world snapping into attention as you honed in on your opponent, Humanity’s Strongest.

Something inside you refused to lay down and take it. You were going to at least show him that you had potential. This was your moment to prove that it wasn’t all bravado and charades. You had skill to back it up, you were capable, and you were not some slacker that wasn’t taking any of this seriously. You were here to fight, to help in the push against the Titans,, no matter what anyone thought from their first impression of you. You were here to stay.

Levi’s eyes flashed, and your body instinctively tensed for the oncoming attack as he darted forward with an almost inhuman speed. You clamped down on your instinct to use your truly inhuman speed to step out of the way, instead choosing to block or at least re-direct the blow with his foot with your arm as you went low, ducking under the kick and coming up on his side. Levi was already turning when you were halfway up, and his fist connected with your side, causing you to take a few steps back.

Shit, that hurt. He really was going to teach you a lesson to take this seriously, wasn’t he? If you didn’t want to end up beat to hell, you better be ready to show him you were learning.

And after the strength of that blow and the speed of his attack, you were going to have to put some actual effort into this.

Levi was already coming in again with another attack, fist cutting through the space between the two of you. You turned your body aside to avoid it, knee coming up to try and get him in the gut. He knocked it aside with his other arm as you blocked the one that had tried to punch you from coming at you again, grabbing onto his forearm and bringing yourself into his space. You threw a punch of your own, still holding back to avoid seriously hurting him, but he blocked it just as quickly, the two of you grappling up close with a series of punches, blocks, and shifted feet before you decided to break away, fists still up and ready for a pursuit. He kept using his small stature to get under your defenses and go after your weak spots, using momentum and your own weight against you. But you were able to return in kind, upping the effort you put into your offense and defense with every block or failed hit.

You could hear his heart, which had started so steady and calm, starting to pick up from effort and exertion as well--so you weren’t the only one who had started to put effort into this fight. You were both two combatants that rarely found someone on their level to fight, and now here you were.

A voice in the back of your mind screamed to stop and throw the fight before you gave away too much, but you couldn’t stop yourself, your own heart pounding with excitement. When was the last time someone could actually challenge you? Which one of you was actually capable of winning this fight?

Hell, you’d never thought someone human could stand toe to toe with you in basic hand to hand without bringing some dirty tricks to the match, but here you were. As exciting as it was, there was also something strangely...relieving, about it. Reassuring.

Levi’s knee flashed through your vision, and you had to lean back, hands coming down to meet it and stop the assault before it could connect with your chin.

Reflection could come later, right now...well, you should really be throwing this fight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You kept meeting his attacks and coming in with your own, no matter how much reason screamed at you to stop.

Suddenly, Levi switched tactics, and instead of coming in to hit you, he grappled you to the ground, the two of you now caught in a tussle to see who could pin the other and end this fight. His arm started to snake around your throat, and you quickly placed an arm against your throat to break the incoming hold, dropping your shoulder with hands wrapped around his forearm to throw him over you. He managed to keep his grip for the most part, but he was no longer in the position to choke you out from behind.

His heartbeat, as well as your own, continued to pound in your ears, telling you just how much you both were fighting. This had rapidly changed from a lesson to be taught into a straight up match at some point, both of you fighting for dominance, with not a single peep from the onlookers as both of you started throwing in dirty tactics that looked more like skills learned on the streets than something taught in military training.

He’d landed some solid hits on you, easily bruising your body where he connected, but so had you. Of course, you were still trying to be careful and not hurt him, but the longer this fight went on, the less restraint you showed, because all the while you were testing his limits, seeing how far you could safely go, and you had yet to see a sign that it had been to far.

At this rate, I wouldn’t mind this being a regular thing. This is exhilarating.

In the scuffle, Levi ended up below you in the middle of a roll, and you took advantage of the position, leg planted firmly behind him near his head, arm grasping his and pulling it up, about to trap him in a position where he wouldn’t be able to move without breaking a limb.

You felt a tingle on the back of your neck as your eyes met.

Levi’s eyes widened in surprise.

Your ears perked at the first sign of whispers among your spectators.

“Is she...gonna beat Captain Levi?”

“I thought he was Humanity’s Strongest?”

“Some random cadet is gonna beat Levi?”

Your heart froze, even as your body kept moving.

He couldn’t hear the whispers, not that you felt he cared much about such a moniker, but you could hear, and you did care. Levi knew he was about to be beat, you could see the flicker of realization in his eyes. And right now, with both of you putting effort into this fight and no attempts to throw from you so far, he might pounce on an opening without seeing it for the throw it was.

Maybe.

Whether that was true or not, this fight had to end, and it had to end one way.

Your grip shifted slightly on his arm, your foot slid slightly to the side, and you changed your weight distribution, giving him a split second window he could still get out of this. And just as you’d hoped, he took full advantage, breaking your grip on his arm and knocking you off balance with your now unsecure stance and uneven weight distribution. As quickly as you’d started to pin him, Levi suddenly leapt on top, his arm pressed hard against your chest as you found yourself flat on your back, wind knocked out of you abruptly by the fast move.

In the brief second before Levi pulled away, you saw disappointment in his eyes.

Right.

This all started because he realized you were throwing fights. And now you’d just thrown the fight with him. Whether or not he knew why was up for debate, but what matters was he knew you threw it at the last second.

Levi got to his feet, brushing dirt off himself with distaste before he stared down at you with a face that looked perfectly controlled, though those eyes of his were gazing at you with a thousand thoughtful emotions that made you uneasy as you sat up.

“Put that effort into sparring with your comrades, and they might learn something,” he said dismissively, then turned and left the field, most likely to go clean himself up.

You got to your feet, expression hidden by hair that had fallen loose in the match. Now that it was over, you were able to think more clearly, and you were chastising yourself thoroughly on the inside for such a stupid move.

Who cared if it had felt exhilarating to spar with someone on even ground? Who cared if you hadn’t wanted to give him the wrong impression of you on what might have been his first time seeing you? Who cared if the feeling of realizing there was someone out there that wasn’t what you were, that could fight you like that, was akin to not feeling so alone for the briefest second?

You shouldn’t have done that. You weren’t supposed to be drawing that kind of attention to yourself. It was sloppy and stupid and you could only see it resulting in trouble. You should have thrown the match far earlier than when you had, you shouldn’t have given everyone the impression that you could take Levi’s title from him.

Because even if it could, even if you were able to best him in a fight, you shouldn’t. Not in public, anyway, where word could spread and people started calling you the strongest instead. It wasn’t right, and the thought made you feel dirty and ashamed.

A vampire shouldn’t have the title of Humanity’s Strongest.

*Levi’s POV*

Coming out of the bath with damp hair still hanging on his face and shirt not buttoned up yet, Levi let out a soft sigh and leaned against the wall beside his office window, hand brushing thoughtfully over a nasty bruise he’d gotten in that sparring match from the cadet, his mind lost in thought even as he started carefully buttoning up the shirt.

That...had not turned out like he’d expected it to.

When he saw her throw that match so cleverly after watching her act with such clear distance during the training, he’d been irritated at the thought that she wasn’t taking the training seriously. Or that she might think throwing the fight helped her opponent somehow by making him think they’d won on their own merit. They weren’t going to learn if they were allowed to win. If anything, such a move hurt their progress more than it helped, so he’d intended to put a stop to that thinking before it got too far. Besides, with how carefully she timed and planned that throw, she had to have some kind of real skill she was hiding.

What he couldn’t understand was why she would hold back. Especially now, at the stage where the aptitude shown decided where each recruit would be tasked.

No matter what the reason behind it all, he’d felt a push was necessary to make her step it up and start trying. Seeing her standing there appearing not to take any of it seriously had been irksome, and he wasn’t going to let it happen while he was on the training grounds.

As he’d thought, she’d sharpened up when he challenged her. There was no far away glaze in her eyes when he stepped up to spar her, just unbridled focus and determination, perhaps even a bit of excitement. For a moment, he’d despised it because he thought it was because she was one of those, so hell bent on impressing him, everything else be damned. The kind of attitude that got people killed out in the field because they were too busy trying to impress instead of actually learn, that showed people to be nothing more than squabbling children who weren’t taking any of this seriously.

As the fight progressed and she started to show her true strength, though, it started to make more sense.

He could still vividly picture the shift in her demeanor, the glint in her eyes the second before their spar began. How at that moment, he knew he was about to see if she was sitting on true potential and was paying attention, or was just blowing smoke up people’s asses and blowing it all off.

He’d been fully ready to knock her into the dirt in that first strike to knock reality back into her, but that wasn’t what happened. He’d been genuinely surprised when she managed to block and keep up with him, even more with how well she was able to return what he gave her. Quickly he’d abandoned the thoughts of teaching an arrogant cadet a lesson and instead started to prod at her capabilities, intrigued and impressed with what he found. Being able to spar with someone on such even ground was a rarity, and he’d found the experience rather...exhilarating.

She was faster and stronger than she appeared, just like him. She was also quite clever--predictably, considering the care she’d put into throwing her matches--and had clearly been paying attention to the taught techniques. However, when he’d thrown something street learned and not taught by the military, she hadn’t flinched, and pulled a few underhanded street fighting techniques of her own.

Which gave him a peek at her background, as well. If he was to look, he would bet his salary that he would find that she got into some kind of trouble in the past--the illegal kind.

Several of her blows had, clearly, hurt, which told him she wasn’t holding back anymore--at least not as much. A part of him could tell, through their whole fight, that there was still something she was holding back with, just like he was. He hadn’t tapped into that strange power of his, not fully, and she had also kept herself from using her full potential--something tipped off by the fact her attacks had been getting progressively faster and harder. Of course, in a spar, you weren’t supposed to go all out--for example, neither of them were trying to do anything lethal. But even then, she was sitting on something.

Now he was fairly confident the reason she’d been holding back on the others had been to avoid hurting a comrade by accident. That he couldn’t fault her for, but she still shouldn’t have been throwing the fights. They needed to learn, and making them think they’d won didn’t help them.

Of course, there was also the glaring fact of how she’d ended that fight.

He had definitely been shocked the moment he’d realized she was about to pin him. Of course it hadn’t been anywhere in his mind that a younger rookie would beat him in a spar--before today he would have thought that kind of suggestion was madness. But she’d done it, and for the briefest moment, just before she would have pinned him, he saw the faintest red glimmer in her eyes.

Then some kind of realization hit her, she seemed to register she was about to win as well, and she’d shifted. At first, he’d thought she’d simply hesitated, that her unbalance had come from getting inside her own head in the middle of the fight, and he had pounced on that opportunity. There was another part of that moment that was worrisome to him, though.

For some reason, he’d reacted off a survival instinct, even though he was well aware that it was a spar. It hadn’t been a mere moment of ‘I want to win this fight,’ but a split second where he felt like an eagle pinned down by a horned owl, where natural instinct told him if he didn’t break free…

But of course...it had just been a spar, no matter what the novel moment had made him feel for a split second.

Of course, once he had her pinned beneath him, he realized how easy the motion had been--to easy for someone who was a hair’s breath away from being pinned and the fight being over. And he could tell from the look in her eyes, the dulling of that sharp gaze and the distance in her posture, that she’d thrown the fight.

Again.

Of course he was disappointed. The entire spar had started because she’d been throwing matches with her fellow recruits, and at the last second, when she would have pinned even him and proven what she was capable of, she backed off. She held back.

The only two who knew she really won that fight was him, and her.

He knew she’d been holding back the whole time. That she threw at the end. That there was a dangerous edge to her. That even if he went all out, there was a chance she could take him.

Levi looked out his office window, which overlooked the training grounds that were now empty after combat training had finished. Why did she do it? Why did she throw the fight? Why was she hiding her potential instead of showing what she was truly capable of? What did she want to hide, and why was she trying to hide it?

Who was she?

Did she have a power similar to his own?

Did he want her on his squad? That question he was far more unsure about, because while her raw skill alone tempted him to recruit her to the Elite Squad, something stirred uneasily in his gut about her. From the look in her eyes, that glint, that moment of survival instincts kicking in, all the unknowns...

There were too many questions and too many unknowns about her right now. He wasn’t about to act hastily. First, he needed to learn what he could about this new recruit, ask around and keep an eye on her from a distance. Once his questions were answered…

Well, that all depended on what he would find after some digging.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags: @humanitys-hottestsoldier @clary-quinn @sunny-flo @whalerus

195 notes · View notes

ibijau · 3 years

Text

Concubine nhs / on AO3

Hey! It’s been over a year! but I’ve updated this! Miracles do happen!

The letter arrives just a week after Nie Mingjue and the emperor’s visit (a visit so brief that both were long gone by the time everyone woke up, having foregone sleep and hurried toward the capital to organise the now inevitable war), and its contents are a surprise to everyone. Certainly, Nie Huaisang is the most shocked of all to be invited to the capital by a cousin of his father who currently holds a high office in the imperial administration. The surprise is greater still when, upon reading the letter, his father finds subtle hints that the request is not to be denied, as it is the emperor’s own desire.

It has to be Nie Mingjue’s doing, they both agree. Now that the war is there, he must have asked his childhood friend to ensure the safety of his bastard brother. Qinghe is far too close to the border after all, while Gusu is far away from the fight and as safe a place as can be.

Father is not happy with this turn of event. He complains that Nie Huaisang was only starting to be useful to the house, that he had hoped to rely on him to organise supplies to the troops and to keep their house safe while Mingjue and him would be on the frontline. He speaks of scolding his oldest son for being selfish, and even half accuses Nie Huaisang of having organised this to avoid his duties, in spite of being so generously legitimised. In the end though, Father can’t go against an imperial order, and Nie Huaisang is sent away the very next day, having barely been given any time to pack for what might be a long stay in the capital.

It is a long trip to Gusu, made longer by the use of a carriage. Nie Huaisang is not a skilled enough rider to travel so far on horseback. His father had never seen the point of letting him learn until recently, stating a servant had no need for it. As slow days pass, Nie Huaisang entertains himself by chatting with his own servant (a man who until recently was not just his equal but his superior due to seniority), by admiring the landscape (it is his first time leaving Qinghe and its mountains, and the plains they traverse fill him with unease until they approach Gusu and new mountains save him from the oppressive flatness), and by wondering what will become of him in the capital.

Although they’ve all been quick to blame Nie Mingjue, as he travels toward Gusu and falls prey to boredom, Nie Huaisang allows himself to form another theory regarding his sudden summoning. It is only a fantasy, a silly idea, but he cannot stop thinking about that handsome young man with the mismatched robes he’d seen in his brother’s room that night. He had introduced himself as being part of the imperial family, and was of an age with the emperor, so he might have just enough influence to make a request to the son of heavens. For example, a request to have a certain seventeen years old bastard sent to the capital so they can continue their conversation.

It’s ridiculous, and Nie Huaisang sternly scolds himself whenever his thoughts go in that direction. But he cannot help himself. That young man had smiled so nicely, he’d laughed at Nie Huaisang’s weak jokes, he’d been much more polite than anyone ever bothered to be, and he’d said that he hoped to see him again. Wouldn't it be a lovely story if Nie Huaisang had made such a strong impression? He’s certainly thought a lot about that young man, even before the letter arrived. That imperial relative had been so handsome, his mouth so made to be kissed. His personality had been pleasant as well.

In short, Nie Huaisang only wants the chance of a second meeting, and he’s quite certain he could fall in love with that handsome stranger.

Nie Huaisang’s cousin welcomes him with little warmth, but that’s only to be expected. On his only recent visit to Qinghe, Nie Funyu has made it quite clear that he does not approve of his relative’s decision to elevate a mere bastard, and a servant’s son at that, to the position of legitimate son. So after perfunctory welcomes, some exchanges of gifts, and the usual questions about everyone’s health, Nie Funyu abandons Nie Huaisang to the care of his personal servant, a young man by the name of Meng Yao.

Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang immediately strike a great friendship, in spite of their difference in status. It is something Nie Huaisang knows he will be scolded with, but he sympathises too much with servants, and forgets he no longer is one. Still, it would be hard not to like Meng Yao who shows him around the house, gives him rules to follow, advises him how to best please his uncle, and even shares some news about Nie Mingjue. They’ve missed each other, it turns out; Nie Mingjue left the capital only two days before his brother arrived, unable to delay his return to the border a moment longer.

That first morning is quite pleasant. Then, after a refined lunch, Meng Yao informs Nie Huaisang that he has been instructed to urgently take him to buy a better set of robes. The ones he’s brought are his best ones, but while they’re good enough for Qinghe, they just won’t do for Gusu, and especially not for a presentation to the emperor. How the emperor already knows that Nie Huaisang is in the capital, or indeed why he should care, is a mystery to both of them. But a message has already reached Nie Funyu’s house that his young cousin is to come to the imperial palace the next day, so the emperor might see for himself the younger brother of his dear friend Nie Mingjue.

It is not to be a formal meeting. After all Nie Huaisang holds no office, he is nobody, so there is little need for him to be introduced to the emperor the way a true son of noble blood would be. Instead, Nie Huaisang is encouraged to be present in a certain garden with his cousin at a certain hour, where the emperor might see him, and perhaps even acknowledge his presence, provided that nothing more important comes up.

That Meng Yao finds suitable robes on such short notice says a lot about his skill. Nie Huaisang, who had briefly wondered how a man barely three or four years older than himself could have become such a high ranking servant in so noble a house, finds his question answered and promises himself to learn from his new friend, so he can better serve his father when he returns home. To make it better, the robes that Meng Yao found are gorgeous. They’re second hand, since nothing new could have been found under such a delay, but they fit Nie Huaisang wonderfully, and make him look like he is worthy of being his father’s son.

Nie Huaisang’s vanity is only increased the next morning when Meng Yao takes it upon himself to help with his hair. Nie Huaisang has always done that on his own, and his servant is not trained into that sort of task, so he is again grateful to Meng Yao for his help, especially when he’s so nervous that his hands tremble.

“What sort of man is the emperor?” Nie Huaisang asks as Meng Yao crafts elegant braids into his hair.

“Master says he is very wise for his age, and knows to carefully listen to his advisors before making decisions. He does his best to be impartial, and to listen to all sides of a story before passing judgement. Truly we are blessed to have such an emperor, he is far more dedicated to his people than his father was.”

“But as a person?”Nie Huaisang insists, chewing on his bottom lips. “Is he nice? He has to be, or Mingjue wouldn’t like him so much, but…”

Meng Yao smiles as he gathers the braids into a bun, and secures an elegant guan upon Nie Huaisang’s head, making him look like someone who isn’t him. Like someone who knows how to give order without doubting they'll be obeyed, and who has never cleaned a single pot in his life.

“Young Master Nie need not worry about the emperor’s personality,” Meng Yao says, stepping back to admire his work with a critical eye, before pulling in his robes a little here, straightening his collar there. “Young Master Nie is unlikely to have any occasion to meet his imperial highness after today. Even this encounter today will only happen as a mark of favour to your brother, and his imperial highness will most likely only address my Master, as you are not of a rank to be taken notice of.”

That is enough to quiet Nie Huaisang’s nerves a little. Enough at least to eat something and drink some tea before they set out toward the imperial palace. On the way there, Nie Funyu gives him a dozen orders, telling him how to conduct himself, how to stand, where to look, how to speak. It is clear he expects Nie Huaisang to make a fool of himself, and he might be right, but Nie Huaisang is determined to try his best to please everyone. Without Meng Yao’s comforting presence to calm him, his nerves are getting the better of him again, though it helps to remind himself that the emperor doesn’t care one bit about him.

But also, if that young man with the pleasant smile is there, if he looks at Nie Huaisang, if he smiles at him again…

A foolish hope, when so many people live in the imperial palace. But it is a hope to which Nie Huaisang clings desperately. If they should meet again, if they could become acquainted… It is all Nie Huaisang really thinks about as his cousin and him head for the garden where they’ve been ordered to go, as they wait for the emperor to appear.

At the time given to them, the emperor comes for a walk, heading their way. He is a young man, not much older than Nie Huaisang himself, but that much he already knew, since the son of heavens only came of age that year. What Nie Huaisang didn’t know, what he could never have imagined, was that the emperor should have such a warm smile, or that he would look even more beautiful when he isn’t soaked from heavy rains and wearing mismatched robes.

What passed during that brief meeting, Nie Huaisang could hardly say. He remembers only that the emperor smiled at him, called him by his name, and expressed the wish to become better acquainted with him, perhaps over a game of weiqi someday.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t know what he said in answer. He thinks he accepted both the offer of friendship and the invitation to play, if only because to refuse would have been impossible.

He doesn’t see the dark expression on his cousin’s face as they head back home, and barely hears the questions asking if he’s met the emperor before, where, what he said, what the emperor said. Nie Funyu isn't happy with the answers he's hearing, but Nie Huaisang hardly notices that either.

“Your father will have to be notified of this immediately,” Nie Funyu says when they are home again. “If the emperor has that sort of plans… well, the timing is not bad. We need his full support, and this isn’t a bad way to obtain it. Tomorrow you’ll go again with Meng Yao to buy another set of new robes. He’ll know how to dress you to your advantage.”

Nie Huaisang, touched by such generosity, can only nod and thank his cousin, before asking to be excused for the afternoon. It has been a while since he’s had a worthy opponent while playing weiqi, he wants to read about strategy to refresh his memory.

He also wants to be alone, just so he can laugh at himself a little.

To think that for weeks now, he’s been daydreaming about kissing the emperor! It’s the funniest thing in the world, and it should be a good lesson to him about letting silly emotions get out of control.

After all the emperor might be handsome, and he might have a pleasant smile, but he’s the emperor, and quite out of reach for someone like Nie Huaisang.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin guangyao #concubine au #I like this au dearly but I should couldn't think how to continue it #anyway see you again in a year unless inspiration strike #jau writes #mdzs

32 notes · View notes

eggtoasties · 3 years

Text

Chapter One: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

Counter point: Good counterpoint requires two qualities: (1) a meaningful or harmonious relationship between the lines (a “vertical” consideration—i.e., dealing with harmony) and (2) some degree of independence or individuality within the lines themselves (a “horizontal” consideration, dealing with melody).

It was illogical really, Kuroo thought to himself, having to take a mandatory arts class. He was an athlete. He would probably major in STEM or business the next year if he didn’t go pro. But here he was, staring at the course catalogue, deciding between different bands, choirs, art classes, and orchestra. Irritatingly, Kenma had finished his arts requirement last year, taking a video editing class which Kuroo thought was definitely cheating since he figured Kenma already knew the basics. Plus, he not-so-secretly believed that Kenma would benefit from another non-electronic hobby.

Sighing, he assessed each class. He knew he was tone deaf and did not want others listening to him sing. Plus, he’s seen the red cummerbunds and bow ties the choir had to wear for concerts and refused to give his teammates the blackmail fodder even if Yaku thought it looked “refined.”

To be honest, Kuroo didn’t know much about the arts. He only had the vaguest understanding of the differences between Watercolor 101, Figure drawing 101, and Oil Painting 101. While he thought of himself in the studio, palette in hand with an apron tied around him, working intently at the easel on the next generational masterpiece, he remembered when Kenma threw his pencil-drawn mockups of promotional posters in the trash and told him not to show the rest of the team.

While maybe he could try digital media, he couldn’t help but imagine himself against the romanticized backdrop of more traditional arts.

He had to choose between the several band electives and orchestra. He couldn’t do marching band—he wouldn’t be caught dead in those uniforms, wind ensemble had auditions he surely wouldn’t pass, jazz band had mandatory solos, but symphonic band was for rookies. ‘Beginners welcome,’ was typed out with an asterisk under the listing. But, so did orchestra. Doing a quick search to figure out the difference between band and orchestra, Kuroo weighed his options.

He took piano lessons from ages four through ten before finally convincing his parents to let him quit—wearing them down by crying every week and throwing a mini tantrum at daily practice—not that he intentionally did it as an elementary school student. But, even from an early age, he knew volleyball was it for him.

While he wasn’t well acquainted with classical music, he had grown up with it from his parents. Well, when they were irritated with the bickering matches between him and his older sister, their parents would crank up the car radio, drowning their yelling. His mom would tell him she used to play Mozart for him when he was a baby which is why he grew so tall—which he would always say makes no sense—and occasionally, a film score would make the hairs on his arms rise even when he was trying to focus on the scene.

So he decided. He’d enroll in orchestra for the year, make himself unnoticeable in the back, and fulfill his arts requirement so he could graduate high school and maybe apply to university. Plus, he figured, as he ticked the box next to orchestra, he’d finally be able to wear his suit his parents bought him, saying that he’d need it eventually.

Folding the course registration paper and sliding it into an envelope to be sent to Nekoma High, he stood up from his seat at the low dining room table and decided to go to Kenma’s, figuring they could squeeze some volleyball practice before summer vacation ended.

The first day of his third year was unextraordinary. He woke up tired, coaxed his bed head into something manageable, and started his commute to school, picking Kenma up on the way. Double and triple checking his course schedule on his phone and reminding his teammates that they all had to help out in advertising the volleyball club—well, maybe except Yaku—he tapped his toes with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

His classes were nothing special, most of them a continuation of the year before or courses he carefully picked with the advice of his seniors. But, walking towards the orchestra room at the far side of the building where all the music classes were, he felt a familiar rush of nervous adrenaline spike—not unlike the nerves before a big match. But this time, he couldn’t be confident in his own skills or rely on a team to back him up. Counting the room numbers until it matched the one on his registration, he found the room with its double doors propped open.

Striding in, the large open space was in various states of organized chaos. Other students were already moving chairs in uniform columns, two to a row, and were pulling instruments out of cases. Unsure of what to do, he immediately found the teacher.

“Hi Jouda-sensei, I’m Kuroo Tetsuro,” he introduced. “I’m new—where should I sit?”

“Hi Tetsuro-kun, it’s nice to meet you,” she said warmly. “Ah, yes I see you enrolled as a beginner.” Flipping through the pages on her clipboard she hummed, “Is there a particular instrument you’d like to play?” sweeping a hand across the room. “We could always use more violas, we have enough cellos, weirdly too many basses, but we could also stick you with the second violins?”

Kuroo didn’t quite know the difference between violas and violins but figured ‘second’ violins implied that there was also a ‘first’ violins group and that he’d be more likely to be able to hide in the back in a bigger group.

“Yeah,” he drawled out confidently, “I actually wanted to learn violin.”

“Okay, perfect. Here—” she motioned another student over. “Tetsuro-kun, meet Daisuke-kun.” Daisuke greeted Kuroo with a shallow bow and Kuroo responded with a head nod, mentally rolling his eyes at Daisuke’s subtle disapproval.

“He’s first chair of the second violins,” Jouda-sensei continued, “he’ll get you set up. Daisuke-kun, have him take one of the rentals and teach him the ropes. Today’s mostly getting people set up if they don’t have their own instruments and playing through potential setlists,” she explained while twirling her pen in her right hand. “Testsuro-kun, you’re our only new violin which means everyone can help you learn—take today to be comfortable with an instrument in your hands and observe your classmates!” she finished, walking away.

“I’m Sato Daisuke, a second year,” Daisuke reintroduced, emphasizing his year.

“Kuroo Tetsuro, third year,” he said smugly.

“Ah—okay,” Daisuke said standing straighter, “Kuroo-san, follow me,” turning towards the back of the room.

Chuckling Kuroo said, “Just Kuroo’s fine—you’re technically my senior here since I’ve never played violin before.”

Stuttering a bit and covering it with a cough, Daisuke nodded once. He stood in front of a wall of neatly labelled cubbies and pulling a black rectangular case out, he handed it to Kuroo. Explaining the rules of the rental and making him sign a form, Daisuke taught Kuroo how to properly tighten the bow, use rosin, clean the instrument, and taught him simple exercises to practice posture.

Fiddling a bit with the shoulder rest as Daisuke excused himself for a second, Kuroo ran through the exercises to get himself acquainted with the feel of the violin under his chin and a bow in his right hand. It was uncomfortable, he noted. His left shoulder wanted to scrunch up towards his face, his left wrist wanted to press towards the neck of the violin, and he couldn’t comfortably hold his bow. For the first time in a while, Kuroo felt out of his element—he felt as though his body couldn’t do what he wanted it to do. He felt awkward and unsure and the back of his neck prickled as he caught other students look his way.

Finally, Daisuke came back. Holding a thin blue book in his hand he explained, “This’ll teach you the basics of reading music. The thickest string on the left is G, followed by D, A, and E. Notes go in order of A through G and it just repeats.” Making sure Kuroo was following along, he continued. “So, If we start on the G string and put a finger down,” he moved over to place Kuroo’s index finger on the first tape, “what note is this?”

“A?”

“Yup, great. Follow the tapes for where you should put your fingers, I taught you how to tune and you need to study and practice every night so you’ll be able to partially follow along in class.”

Head a little dizzy with the new information but also proud to have understood some of the basics, Kuroo nodded. Daisuke took Kuroo to the back of the group, explained to a student who Kuroo was, then took his place towards the front.

Kuroo’s stand partner was a first year—Hayato. He’d been doing orchestra since middle school, didn’t take private lessons like many of the other students, but enjoyed orchestra enough to continue in high school as a hobby. Although a little awkward, Hayato was patient when giving Kuroo a more detailed explanation of reading music, since six years of piano lessons had completely left him, and set him up with basic exercises.

“You need to make sure your left wrist is down and relaxed,” Hayato said, tapping a pencil to Kuroo’s inner wrist. “Also, your bow grip is atrocious, but that’s one of the hardest things for a beginner.” He showed Kuroo how the bow was supposed to be held, stressing how it should look relaxed and curved.

Making small adjustments while Kuroo shakily moved the bow across the strings, Hayato said, “Sensei will probably have you come during study hall to practice, but you need to practice at home too or Sato-san and the concertmaster will probably chew you out.”

Bow stuttering crookedly across the strings, making Sato tut at him, Kuroo paused. “The concertmaster,” he asked disbelievingly. “What is that?” imagining some despotic conductor in long tuxedo trails and a clipboard.

Laughing at his confusion, Hayato explained. “The concertmaster is the first chair violinist. In orchestra they’re like the leader of the group. They tune the group, come out second to last before the conductor during concerts, make decisions on bowings, and everyone kinda follows their lead.”

Nodding to himself Kuroo said, “Okay, so he’s like,” he trailed off, “the captain of the team?”

“Exactly. Except she’s a third year like you and pretty well known in the music scene in our area, y’know.”

Frowning at his assumption he admitted, “Ah, okay so,” he trailed off, “concertmistress? I play volleyball, I don’t really know music.”

Hayato laughed and Kuroo raised a brow. “I mean obviously—you don’t really look like a violinist.”

Affronted Kuroo said, “Oi, what does that mean?”

“Kuroo-san, you’re like, huge,” Hayato squeaked out.

Trying not to preen, Kuroo waved his hand and turned his head towards the front of the class.

Jouda-sensei stood on her podium and tapped her baton on the raised stand in front of her. “Hi everyone, good to see all of you again. We have a few new faces so make sure to welcome them and help them out. I’m super excited for our potential set list this year, but before I pass out the folders, let’s a hear a few words from our concertmistress!”

With scattered applause and stomping, a girl rose to the podium as Jouda-sensei stepped off. Holding her violin and bow in her left hand she beamed at the class. Briefly introducing herself and sharing her excitement for the year to make music with everyone, Jouda-sensei interrupted her return to her seat.

“For the first rehearsal, how about you formally tune us?” Jouda-sensei offered.

“Aw, no it’s okay—some people are beginners and all the section leaders already took care of it right?”

Next to her, her stand partner threw an eraser at the podium making her scowl. “Just do it, her stand partner complained,” drawing laughter from the class.

Giving her partner the finger, hidden from their sensei’s view, she laughed good naturedly and straightened her shoulders.

All of a sudden, Kuroo noted, the atmosphere in the room changed. Students were no longer whispering to each other, playing random tunes, or shuffling in their seats. Everyone’s eyes were on her at the podium. She offered an open palm and nodded towards the back of the room. A single note penetrated the silence.

She swept her hand towards the back and Kuroo was suddenly flooded with the sound of the deep and rich brass section. After a few seconds, she repeated the process and the woodwind instruments close to Kuroo in the back began to tune.

Hayato leaned towards Kuroo. “Before concerts and rehearsals everyone should’ve tuned beforehand. This more for last minute checks and also a show for the audience. The order and how many sections tune at once is usually decided between the concertmaster and the conductor—Kuroo-san, we’ll tune last.”

Nodding in appreciation, Kuroo turned his attention back to the podium. The woodwinds trailed off and after a beat of silence, she nodded once again for the tuning note to be played and she waved her hand towards the cellos and basses at her right. The gravelly resonance of the strings filled Kuroo with a strange sense of full contentment and marveled at the size of the basses, whose strings seemed to be quadruple the thickness of his own.

Finally, the concertmaster gave one last nod and tucked her violin under her chin. Hearing the drone of the pitch, everyone around Kuroo began to tune. Unsure of what to do, he stumbled to mimic Hayato who was adjusting his tuners. Since Sato Daisuke already tuned his instrument, Kuroo just played open strings and waited for the rest of his section to stop. Glancing to his left at Kuroo’s right hand, Hayato whispered sharply, “Keep your pinky curved!”

After tuning, folders were passed out to each student, filed with sheet music. Hayato organized the sheets on their stand.

“Since you’re on the inside—the left hand side of the stand—your job is to turn my pages,” he explained. “It’ll be good practice to see if you can follow along even if you can’t read, but no worries if you want to spend today just watching and listening.”

Thanking Hayato and teasing when he fumbled in embarrassment, Kuroo spent the rest of class in awe. Although the group was seeing the pieces for the first time, he couldn’t help the goosebumps on his arms as the orchestra came together. Even when he heard Hayato miss a note, noticed when the conductor would glare at a section, or when they had to stop and regroup, listening to individual instruments try come together as one left Kuroo wanting to be a part of it. From the inside, he watched as bows moved in unison and fingers slid up and down the necks of stringed instruments. He was hyper aware of the instruments behind him providing support to the main melody, and leaned towards them to catch their individual parts.

He set his gaze towards the front of the room and watched the concertmaster. Powerful yet graceful, her bow made sure movements across the strings, fingers moving quickly and accurately. Her body swayed with the music and her face, unlike Hayato’s, was not one of extreme concentration. She seemed focused as she watched the conductor and indicated entrances to her section through her body, but despite the multi-tasking, it was clear to Kuroo that she was having fun.

She trusted her section to follow along, for her stand partner to flip the pages at the right times, and for the rest of the orchestra to do their parts. When Jouda-sensei made the class begin again, she would lean towards her stand partner and share whispered giggles and Kuroo caught the glint of shiny pink polish and traced the way her hair fell across her shoulders.

He knew what being a captain was like—he had been captain since he was voted in at the end of his second year and he wondered how long she’d been playing for, how much she practices, and how she encourages her section. He wondered what the differences and similarities were between leading a team and an orchestra were—the differences and similarities between them, even.

At the end of class Kuroo promised to himself to practice a little every day to be able to play with the group and hold his own. For the rest of the school day, he idly hummed the melodies they had played in class and replayed images of bows and hands moving in unison.

In the club room before practice, Kuroo came in with his violin case. Greeting his teammates, he started to change.

Loosening his tie and pulling his sweater over his head, Kuroo heard Lev ask about his case. Swapping his school top for his practice one, Kenma responded.

“Kuroo’s taking orchestra for his arts credit.”

“Why would you take a band credit, you should’ve taken sculpture like I did,” Yamamoto exclaimed proudly.

“Your sculptures were ugly,” Kenma said evenly, over the sounds of his video game.

Before Yamamoto could respond, Fukunaga menacingly shook his water bottle at the two of them causing Kenma to turn his back and hunch defensively over his game.

Narrowing his eyes at Kenma, Yamamoto turned his attention back to Kuroo who was idly flipping through the practice book Daisuke had given him.

“Yeah Kuroo, band classes are so much work when you’ve gotta learn the instrument, why’d you enroll?”

Before Kuroo could respond Yaku jumped to Yamamoto’s side and jabbed him. “Band and orchestra are two different things you uncultured swine!”

Doubled over and grasping his stomach, Yamamoto glared tearfully at his senior, then directed his glare towards Lev who was slapping his knee in laughter.

“Kuroo-san,” Lev shouted, “can you play us something?” he asked excitedly.

Gaining the interest of the rest of the team, everyone crowded around Kuroo, nodding in unison. He rubbed the back of his head in uncertainty.

“I’ve literally just learned how to play. I don’t know if you’d really want me to.”

“We really want you to!” Lev said, encouraging him to open his case.

Begrudgingly, Kuroo went to his violin and briefly explained how to setup and tune, to the amazement of some of his teammates. Even Kenma peered curiously over his video game in the corner. He tucked the instrument under his chin, carefully held his bow and placed the hair on the A string and played. Kuroo focused intently on ensuring that his bow grip was loose, but secure, that his pinky and thumb were curved and that his bow was making straight lines across the string.

As Kuroo looked over to his teammates, he noticed Yaku’s shoulders starting to shake while he pointed a finger at him.

“I-Is that the best you can do?” Yaku nearly screamed, howling in laughter. “You’re not even moving your f-fingers!”

To Kuroo’s embarrassment, the rest of the team tried desperately to hold in their laughter and Lev deadpanned, “That kinda sucked, senpai.”

Stuttering out an indignant scoff, Kuroo’s brow furrowed, “I told you I just learned this today! A-and posture is important you heathens!” shaking his bow at Lev and Yaku.

#kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro drabble #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x you #haikyu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #nekoma high #nekoma haikyuu #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo x y/n

82 notes · View notes

teamxdark · 3 years

Text

Drowning

When one has a water deity as a mother, one does not know drowning. Yet when Lancelot saves a man from a river, he might just find himself in too deep.

Read on AO3 here!

All his life, Lancelot had considered his life to be akin to a stream; small, perhaps, but endlessly flowing, able to carve down into the world and leave a mark. He had direction, being pulled forth with or without a purpose, and only became stronger and larger the further along he went.

But something had changed after he left Corbenic to retrieve his sword, the legendary Arondight, and learn the ways of the water with his mother. Training at Misty Lake had been a new sort of challenge, no longer working out his body but his mind and any semblance of magical ability he had. Lancelot was powerful, much more powerful than he had realized, and though he would never reach the ranks of a learned wizard, he had capabilities beyond most others with his mother’s blessing.

The Lady of the Lake had taught him well, and water would never hurt Lancelot.

Yet with a new threshold passed, Lancelot began to feel stagnant, less like a rushing stream morphing into a river and more akin to a lake, like his mother’s home. Impressive, but still.

He had asked Nimue for guidance, a next step, and so he found himself making his way to Camelot on foot, slow and steady, as he figured that whatever he chose would be what destiny had in store for him.

“Go to the capital city,” his mother had told him with a wise smile. “Something tells me that you will find enough there for the rest of your life.”

Vague, but worth listening to. Nimue had never been wrong before, and her guidance was something to be grateful for.

The man admired the world as it passed him by, step by step. The winds whispered around him, promising a world bigger than the corners that he knew, and it struck Lancelot just how far he could go, just how much he could learn, if he just kept exploring.

Was the rest of his life truly confined to Camelot?

He shook his doubts away. His mother had told him that there was enough for him there, not that he would stagnate further. An opportunity, perhaps, to see more of the world or consume the knowledge therein? A way to refine his power into something even greater? A purpose, guiding him like the wind guided the waters of the river as it began to carve its bed into the world?

Lancelot chose the long way to Camelot, following the river that flowed down from the north, finding serenity in its familiarity. He trusted the water, and always would.

“AHHH!”

The sound of a scream and a splash up ahead had Lancelot’s ears shooting up in alarm, and without a second’s hesitation, he rushed forward, looking for the source. Up ahead, he saw lines in the dirt, skid marks from someone who had tried to stop but was unable to do so in time, and further along, bobbing up and down in the river, he saw a head and a pair of flailing arms struggling to keep to the surface.

What are you doing, you fool?! Lancelot wondered as he rushed forth, faster than the river’s intense current. Swim! Swim or you will not survive!

The head surfaced one more time with a gasp, before the body collided rather harshly with a stone that jutted out above the water, then went under. Lancelot felt his blood run cold.

He had never had to imagine what drowning would be like, but he felt terror and panic sweep in when the other didn’t resurface, and without a second thought he jumped in after them.

Lancelot opened his eyes after submerging himself, drawing in a slow breath as he adjusted to breathing underwater again. He saw the figure getting pulled along, body limp and stunned, and far too much air was escaping the lungs. Lancelot raced forward, fast in water as he was on land, scooped up the stranger in his arms, and carried him to the surface.

They emerged, Lancelot easily coughing the water from his throat to make room for air once again, while the stranger in his arms curled up, heaving, trying desperately to expel what he could from his lungs. Lancelot was surprised; he would have thought that a blow like that would have rendered anyone unconscious. The black hedgehog stood up on the water’s surface, making sure to keep steady, and put his hand on the stranger’s back, focusing his energies on the droplets that remained. His hand stroked upwards, passing soaked blue spines, feeling strong but lean muscles that lied below the skin, and brought the water upwards until the other hedgehog in his arms coughed it all out, wheezing for breath.

Lancelot waited for a while, letting the other recover, before asking, “Are you okay?”

The stranger in his arms stirred, then uncurled, and then Lancelot was looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

His mouth went dry.

“You...” the other rasped, coughing a few more times. “You saved me...”

“I did,” Lancelot replied, his tongue feeling like lead and his eyes unable to leave the other’s. “I was not going to let someone drown.”

The man blinked, looking at him in gentle awe, and Lancelot willed his knees not to buckle below him. Then those eyes roamed away, and Lancelot mourned their loss, though suddenly he found that he was able to breathe easier.

“You’re standing on water?!” the man yelped, clinging to him in terror, and it brought Lancelot back to his senses. Now that he was thinking clearly again, it was probably a terrible idea to be standing right on top of the river that had almost killed the man in his arms.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to soothe him. “Relax. I won’t let you fall. Just look at me.”

Eyes greener than spring locked with his again, and Lancelot couldn’t have looked away if he tried. They stayed together as Lancelot walked along the water’s surface back to dry land, and all the while, the other man’s magnetic gaze pulled him in and held him until Lancelot felt as though he might never think again, for how could one think when looking at a sight so glorious as that?

He didn’t want to set the other down, but he did, softly setting him on the grass so he could regain his bearings and calm down. The man’s grip didn’t lessen, even as solid ground reappeared below him, and Lancelot made sure to keep his hands on the other’s torso.

Just in case...

After a minute or two, the panic faded from the other man’s gaze, and he shivered, glancing back at the river and breaking whatever spell that had been taking over Lancelot’s mind. He inhaled, feeling as though he hadn’t breathed in ages.

Had he? Had he been breathing when those magnificent eyes had been pulling him into their brilliant depths?

Was this what drowning felt like?

“You walked across the water as if it were land...”

The other man spoke, looking back to him, his gaze claiming every last bit of Lancelot’s attention with a beautiful effortlessness. The eyes were livelier now, bright with wonder and gratitude and open awe. “Incredible,” he continued, removing his hands to help shift himself into a sitting position, but soon after Lancelot began to mourn the loss of their touch, they were back on him, holding his shoulders. “Are you fae? A deity? Chaos themself?” the man asked, trembling with cold and excitement, and Lancelot felt his face grow warm under such praise.

“None of those,” he managed to reply. “Just a very fortunate man with very skilled teachers.”

“Incredible,” the other breathed, and the repeated compliment sent a new wave of heat to Lancelot’s face. “To have no fear of water...”

For a moment, they stared at each other, the other hedgehog in open awe and Lancelot in mesmerized silence.

“Tell me, brave stranger, what is your name? I wish to thank my rescuer properly.”

Lancelot had to clear his throat before responding. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he saw the other man’s verdant gaze drop down to his mouth. A thrill ran through him, and that pushed him to speak.

“My name is Lancelot du Lac.”

“Lancelot,” the other echoed, and his name had no right to sound so good coming from that voice. The hands on his shoulders dropped down to take his own, and Lancelot thanked all six deities that he was sitting down right then. He doubted he would have retained the strength to stand as the other held his hands between his own. “My greatest thanks to you, Lancelot du Lac. I am forever in your debt.”

“Think nothing of it,” Lancelot insisted, for he was already overwhelmed.

“There must be something I can offer you as thanks,” the other man claimed, his eyes reclaiming Lancelot’s gaze and holding it without trying. “You’ve saved a very powerful person, and I would be more than happy to give you what you desire as thanks.”

The word ‘desire’ also had no right to sound so fantastic coming from that voice, and Lancelot fought it away before speaking again.

“I only want to find my way to Camelot.”

“And then?” the other persisted, his hands squeezing and weakening Lancelot’s resolve in an instant.

“...I haven’t figured out what comes next,” he admitted. He only knew that he could find his destiny in Camelot if he searched for it, but he had no idea where to start.

“Then allow me to accompany you there,” the blue hedgehog said in a tone of voice that remained light but didn’t allow for argument. Lancelot felt his tongue tie itself into knots as the other stood up, helping him to his feet with a pull of their joined hands, and Chaos above, he was handsome when standing at full height and without panic marring his features, wet spines and unkempt appearance be damned. “If you are looking for living arrangements or employment, I think I will be able to help without much trouble.”

“I... I don’t wish to trouble you--”

“Nonsense,” the other man interrupted, and Lancelot couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed about it. “Might I remind you that I would be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

A great loss, to be sure, Lancelot thought as he silently let himself be pulled along.

With the lull in conversation and the lack of eyes to pull him under, he finally got a good look at the man he was with. Dark blue spines were beginning to dry off and lighten to a brilliant blue, and a waterlogged cape slapped unpleasantly against long, strong legs. A pair of golden gauntlets covered the hands of his companion, one of which remained stubbornly clamped around his own, and on his hip, a sword lay.

A sword... Lancelot’s eyes widened.

“Are you a knight?” he demanded, causing his companion to slow down.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Lancelot’s mouth went dry again. What did that mean? Just who had he saved?

“What is your name?” he whispered, his voice failing him, and when the other hedgehog turned around to face him, his breath failed him as well as he was sucked back into a world of green.

“King Arthur Pendragon.” The hand around his squeezed again, green eyes glinted in the sun, and Lancelot’s heart stopped in his chest. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

It took all of Lancelot’s willpower not to collapse right then and there.

...

One week later, Lancelot found himself kneeling before the court, with Caliburn descending to tap both shoulders.

“Rise, Sir Lancelot du Lac,” came the command, and Lancelot obeyed, looking up at the green pools of warmth that were his king’s eyes. From his spot a few stairs above him, King Arthur extended his hand, and Lancelot took it in his left, bowing down to kiss the gauntlet, his eyes never leaving his king’s hypnotic gaze.

He had agreed to be knighted the instant Arthur had suggested it in his list of things he could do as repayment. Lancelot was a force that needed guidance, and he knew in his heart that Arthur was the right person to direct him. His king was a remarkable man, kind-hearted and free-spirited, and Lancelot knew that he was willing to fight for him. That much had been clear since the first moment he had been pulled into those eyes and drowned, quickly and easily and without terror.

Lancelot had found his destiny in Camelot after all, and it was King Arthur.

#Avalon Series.#Drowning AU.#Arthurlot.

148 notes · View notes