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ashonheavenscloud · 1 month

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i fall || b. chan

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ contents: bang chan x fem!reader, angst of a hopeless love, autumnal wistfulness and nostalgia :(

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ word count: 4.8k

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ warnings: none

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ a/n: i love love love using seasons as a motif oh my goshhhhh. enjoy! (even if it’s heartbreaking)

now playing - 21 - gracie abrams

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chan should have known from your first whirlwind of a meeting that he’d fallen into something hopeless.

Felix had been the one to introduce the two of you; you’d appeared out of the blue, on a particularly cool autumn afternoon. Chan had been minding his business, listening to Felix rant about his day while the older boy cleaned the coffee shop tables and counters. The place had been empty- courtesy of small town living- and the sound of a bell had alerted the two of them instantly of a new arrival.

His first glimpse of you had been you running, grinning as you all but jumped into Felix’s arms with exclamations and laughter. “Lix! Oh my god, you’re actually still here!”

“And you’re back!” Felix replied, holding you out at arms distance. Chan observed from the sidelines, a little confused but more curious. Your smile was bright and captivating, and he found himself instantly liking you. He didn’t know why, he just had a good feeling about you from the beginning.

“Ah!” Felix exclaimed, seeming to remember Chan’s presence. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet Chan. He’s a good friend.”

You exchanged hellos as Felix babbled, “Chan, Y/n used to live just in the next town. Although she’s been slacking on her visits.”

“Hey, I never promised anything.” You argued, lightheartedly before turning back to Chan.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected when meeting you, but he was surprised when conversation flowed so easily that Felix teased you must have met before and hidden it from him. You were just so engaging and exciting- and it didn’t take long for Chan to consider you close to his heart.

It was odd, considering how different the two of you really were. Chan could never understand your passion for travelling- it came in part with your job, but mostly because- as you confessed- you didn’t like to stay put for long, preferring a more scattered existence. Chan himself found comfort in the stability of the city he’d always loved, it’s steady rhythm that remained a constant in his life. He could never seem to leave it for long- it’s borders were his home, and the people inside his family.

“We, my friend, are clearly very different.” You’d chuckled, shaking your head.

“Can’t be that different.” Chan insisted, ducking behind the cafe counter with a shrug. “How do you feel about blueberry muffins?”

You smiled at him- and looking back, he’d been a lost cause even this early on. He hadn’t been able to help it when your smile was somehow brighter than fireworks and took his breath away just as easily.

Chan wondered for a long time if your meeting was fate. You popped back into his life with every change of the seasons, threw him for a loop and then disappeared again for weeks at a time. Where he figured it should have driven him crazy, he only felt more anticipation for the next whirlwind you brought him- and you never failed to come back no matter how long since your last connection. You returned like autumn; and Chan couldn’t help but fall harder for you every time.

And now your latest visit was just beginning- Felix and Chan had picked you up from the train station the day before, and you’d informed them you planned on staying for longer than your usual couple days. That small piece of news was enough to make Chan both excited and anxious. While he had more time with you, he knew it would speed past like always. He figured he should plan the days, work out his free time and whatnot. However, as always, you seemed to sneak up on him and throw all his meticulous strategizing out the window- and this time was no different.

It was a particularly cool day- only a few nights since your arrival- when he found you standing in a faint drizzle, huddled in a forest green raincoat by the bus stop. Your boots absentmindedly scuffed at the colourful leaves that littered the ground in soaked piles. Their earthy smell was one of your favourite scents, Chan knew; it was something you never failed to remind him of.

You glanced up at him just before he reached you, and a bright smile lit your face. He felt his heart stammer, the damned thing a reminder of your affect on him.

“I always liked the rain.” You raised your face to the sky, smiling at the tiny droplets that coated your face and dampened your hair. The peace in your expression was something Chan envied. Content always seemed to come so easily to you. “It makes me feel alive.”

“I suppose it does.” Chan replied softly, holding his free hand out to let the rain douse his palm. After a minute of silence, he bobbed his umbrella in your vague direction. “Does that mean you wouldn’t like to share this?”

You mumbled something that seemed suspiciously sarcastic before shuffling to join Chan under the umbrella. His nerves tingled at your sudden closeness, the warmth of your body pressed against his side. His heart was beating frantically, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“Thank you.” You peered at him, and nudged him. “What’s with the smile?”

“Nothing.” Chan replied quickly; your smile grew and he felt compelled to add an excuse. “It’s just that you’re right. The rain, it’s… refreshing in a way.”

“Of course I’m right.” You tossed your hair dramatically. “I’m always right.”

Chan laughed, and you flicked water at him.

“It’s nice to see you.”

His eyes swiveled to meet your own, caught off guard by the sudden confession. You were rarely, if ever, forthright with your affection.

“Out of nowhere?” He had to question with a flustered chuckle.

You shrugged, staring out at the grey sky. “I don’t know. It actually seemed overdue.”

And your bus pulled up then, leaving Chan to puzzle over your words as he was left alone in the rain.

He wondered late into the night what exactly you’d meant, his heart becoming a little too excited at the prospect of you staying for a while… whatever a while meant. He knew he shouldn’t hope, but in the early am’s he couldn't help it. He couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to have you here. Here, with him, close enough to touch and hold.

But he was getting carried away, he knew, shaking his head to try and clear it of the ridiculous idea. It didn’t matter what happened in the next two weeks. At the end of it all, you would be gone again. He shouldn’t expect anything.

Yet he hoped- and he hoped more strongly than he’d intended. Perhaps, in hindsight, it hadn’t been entirely his fault. You’d been consistent in meeting him somewhere along his bus route, and the ride through town had been so much lighter with you there to talk with. He asked you so many questions, and you never seemed to grow bored of answering them. How do you take your coffee? Straight black, but on occasion you’d add sugar. Do you like thunderstorms? The only form of rain you didn’t approve of. And even though you travel so much, where do you think your heart calls home? For that one, you’d laughed half heartedly, “I shouldn’t-”

“Tell me.” Chan was far too curious.

You paused to play with the straps of your bag, staring out at the rain and the rainbow of trees. He almost wondered if you might not answer, or say something vague, or reply with ‘I don’t know.’ But then you looked at him with the echo of a smile.

“I suppose it’s always been here.”

He shouldn’t hope. He knew it would bring himself nothing but heartache.

But god, he couldn’t help it with you.

…

As he’d expected, the days flew by. He spent as much time as he could with you- at least, when he could find you. Felix joined you occasionally, but he was often busy with papers to complete and tests to study for. His first year of university was already proving to be difficult. Chan couldn’t complain in this instance- although he felt for the boy, he was also more than happy to spend his time with you, just the two of you. All the while though, he had to remind himself that you weren’t staying- like always, he would watch you leave again.

A couple days before you left, Chan convinced you to meet him at his tiny house. It had been a while since you’d been there, and Chan knew there was a particular something- or someone- you’d like to see.

“Berry!” You exclaimed, the fluffy spaniel immediately racing over at the sound of the door opening. You crouched to pet the puppy, tail wagging enthusiastically, and for a few minutes Chan just watched you with a smile.

“She missed you.”

It was meant to say more than that, and maybe you picked up on that- because you turned your face away with a small grin. “Seems like it.”

Berry decided petting wasn’t enough and ran to find a toy to bring back. In the meantime, Chan urged you further into the house, a small one story that still sometimes felt too big to Chan. It was nice to have someone- even if momentarily- fill it again.

“Nothing’s changed…” you murmured, falling onto the nearby sofa with a sigh. “I don’t even think that pile of clothes in the corner have moved-”

“Hey, of course they have.” Chan laughed, cheeks flaming as he scooped up the various items and stuffing them hastily into his room close by. “Felix dropped these off- he didn’t want them and offered them to me.”

“If you say so.”

Chan threw a pillow at you, which you caught with a laugh and hugged tightly- oddly endearing to him. “Want something to eat? Drink?”

He smiled to himself when he heard your feet hit the floor and patter after him into the kitchen. “Is that even a question?”

He laughed, swinging open the fridge. “Soda?”

“You know me so well.”

He couldn’t help but grin as he pulled out a grape soda for you and a ginger ale for himself. After collecting a small plate of mini donuts to go along, you both settled on the sofa again, with Berry curled up between you.

“You know, I bet it doesn’t taste half bad together.” You insisted, imitating dipping a donut into Chan’s drink.

“No way!”

“It’s not that different from milk and cookies! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“It’s not about adventure, it’s about-”

“If it’s disgusting, at least you’ll have tried.”

“I’ll stick to what I know, thanks.” Chan laughed, taking a sip of his soda.

You shrugged, grinning.

It was moments like these that filled Chan’s heart the most- and simultaneously made it sink. Because it wouldn’t last. Because soon enough, this house would be painfully empty again. Of course, Felix would come occasionally- when he had time- and Berry was good company. But… it wasn’t the same as you.

“You said nothing’s different.” Chan murmured, setting down his drink.

You blinked at him. “Is there?”

Chan nodded, standing and motioning for you to follow him. He felt strangely nervous as you both entered his bedroom, and Chan stopped just inside.

“Look.”

You paused in the doorway, following where he pointed before your hand flew to cover the gasp from your mouth. “Chan! You got it!”

Chan looked down shyly, fingers lightly brushing the head of the sand coloured guitar sitting beside his bed. “Yeah, I took your advice.”

The last time you’d been here, Chan had confessed to wanting to learn to play the guitar. But he’d been unsure- the cost of the instrument alone had been deterring- but you’d encouraged him to go for it.

“Worst thing that happens is you don’t end up loving it.” You’d told him. “But… you could. You really could.”

Now, you raced over to gently touch the instrument, fingertips tracing the edges. “Oh my god, Chan. And?”

“And… I really like it.” He admitted with a small laugh- for some reason he felt nervous as he lifted the instrument and plopped onto the bed. “I’m sure I’m not that good yet, but-”

“Play for me!” You insisted- ah, right. That’s why he was nervous. Of course you’d ask for him to play.

“I’m still learning, really-”

“I don’t care, I just want to hear you.” You pleaded, sitting beside him on the bed. Your knees brushed his, sending a jolt through Chan’s body at your proximity. Your eyes were shining as he looked back at you, already knowing he was defeated.

He could never help it with you.

“Alright.” Chan blew out a breath. “Don't hope for much though.”

You just waited, chin propped on your hands- and so Chan counted to three in his head, before strumming the first chord.

It was a familiar song to you both- a favourite you both shared, a sentimental love song you knew every word to. And although Chan was slow at remembering the chords, and you weren’t the best singer, a soft melody filled the room as you hummed to his strumming. Chan filled in with harmonies, closing his eyes to listen as peace took over his heart. Your voice, the song- he could live in this moment forever. And he didn’t even notice the way you were watching him, until the song ended and he opened his eyes to find your sparkling gaze and happy smile focused on him.

The last chord faded and was replaced with an almost tangible silence as Chan’s grip on the guitar loosened, and he let it gently slide to the floor. His eyes could not leave yours as he held his breath, fingertips tingling. He wanted to reach out to you, he wanted to take your hand that sat so temptingly close to his on the blankets. Just the thought made his stomach jolt nervously. He was frozen- and then the moment was over.

You blinked and looked away, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You’re not half bad.”

“Thanks.” Chan replied, because he didn’t know what the hell else to say. His mind was a mess of questions paired with screaming disappointment that he’d let his chance pass.

His chance?

This was what he contemplated long after you’d said goodbye and parted ways. He couldn’t deny the tension that had hovered in the air when your eyes had locked and he hadn’t seemed to be able to turn away. Even more rattling, though, was the heavy feeling of his heart when he thought about that moment. Because…

Gosh, it had never been this hard to imagine you not being here.

Why was it so difficult this time? He’d thought the miles between you would be bearable as long as he knew that you’d turn up again- he’d been fairly content with it for a time- but for some reason, the idea of watching you walk away even once more had him pacing in his room at nearly 4 am two days before your departure. He’d known damn well not to dabble in optimism for this particular situation, but he hadn’t been able to help it. He loved you. He could admit it now, a silent confession to the stars that would listen. He loved you desperately, feverently, hopelessly. And now, he didn’t know if he could say goodbye this time around.

It was either insanity or the product of a panicking, blinded heart- which is, by all accounts, very nearly the same thing- when he asked you to meet him at the cafe you’d first met at those many years ago. It was a cloudy but pleasant evening, the sky barely darkening as a light sprinkling of cold rain dampened the streets. You were already waiting for him when he arrived, and Chan wasn’t sure if the feeling in his chest was warmth or dread when he noticed you’d remembered his coffee order- and it sat across from you, steam curling steadily into the air.

Chan felt anything but steady at this moment. Because he didn’t even know what he was going to say; he just knew he had to do something.

“Hi.” Chan greeted you with a small smile, ducking into the empty seat as you responded with your own hello. Silence settled over the cafe- interrupted only by a shuffling employee’s feet and the whir of machinery- before you cleared your throat.

“You were quite mysterious over the phone.” You stirred the tea in your mug, swirling the tea bag around and around before turning a teasing smile his way. “Well?”

Chan laughed, a short and nervous laugh, before shrugging. “Well,” he blew at his drink to cool it- and to buy himself a bit of time to mull over his words- before saying, “I suppose this is just a last little… something before you-”

His shrug felt heavy, like his very body loathed any reference to you leaving. You merely smiled, as Chan distracted himself with a sip of his cappuccino. Yes. Just the way he liked it…

“Everything comes to an end at some point.” You answered simply with a smile. How could you smile? Chan felt like he was being pulled in two directions, and getting ready to snap. “I mean, even life ends- we all die, don’t we? Ah, gosh-” you laughed, sipping your own drink. “I didn’t mean for it to sound so dark and final.”

He didn’t know what to say. He felt like a thread fraying, piece by piece, and he was sitting here pretending like the thought of you leaving tomorrow didn’t make him bat crazy. He remained silent, gripping his mug a little too tightly.

Either you didn’t notice or didn’t want to say anything, because you just kept talking. “It was wonderful to come. To see you, to see Felix. I’ve always loved this place… especially in autumn.”

Snap. Snap. Each tiny bit of his thread.

“It is beautiful.” He made himself say, a desperate attempt to keep himself together.

You smiled at him, and said, “Thank you for making me feel so welcomed when I’m here, Chan. I… don’t know how to tell you how much that means to me.”

He couldn’t do this.

“Ah, I almost forgot-” you dug into your bag, and pulled out something small. Chan watched as you cradled a small box in your hands. “I meant to give it to you all week but… well, honestly, I didn’t know how to do it.”

You handed it to Chan, who surveyed the creamy white container, simple and plain. And when he opened the box…

It was a picture, framed simply in black. What took Chan’s breath away was the photo- he knew exactly where it was from. Last year, you’d visited for New Years and joined him and Felix and a few other people on the roof of the cafe for a celebration. You’d counted down until the New Year, and in the spur of the moment you’d pecked his cheek- after all, tradition right? you’d said while laughing, while Chan had tried desperately not to appear as flustered as he’d been. You hadn’t made a big deal out of it, so neither had Chan; he hadn’t said anything about it since, and neither had you- but here you were, frozen together in the picture. You’d kept that? Chan barely had time to take it in before you were speaking again, words coming a mile a minute.

“… I found it, so I printed it out and all that- and I don’t know, I thought you might want it. I mean,” you laughed, and it sounded uncharacteristically nervous. “I wanted you to have it. This is kind of my… confession.”

His mind was spinning, but it was still able to latch onto that word- and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

“Because I’m leaving again, and Chan… I just had to tell you. Isn’t that selfish? But you deserve to know that I care about you more than you might think.”

No. No, why like this?

In every scenario he’d imagined today would go, this hadn't even crossed his mind. You… and him… but you were…

He was trying to grasp words to say, anything at all but they escaped him. He was completely thrown off guard, and his heart felt like it was coming up his throat. His hands dropped to the table, too heavy now to lift. His eyes drifted from the picture frame clutched between his fingers and your hand sitting inches away.

Inches.

You were still speaking, “I kept putting off giving it to you for some reason. But it will be so busy at the train station, and I didn’t want to-”

“You could stay, you know.”

The thread had snapped, the words bursting from him before he’d even registered them- and coming out more choked than he’d intended. You met Chan’s gaze, and he could see the warring of your mind before you slowly shook your head.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, Chan. I feel crowded if I stay here too long. Like I can’t breathe right, like… like I’m trapped.”

He didn’t understand. He knew you cared for him, knew you might even share a fraction of the adoration he had for you. Why wouldn’t you even try?

“I’m not like you, Chan.” You added softly, tracing your index finger absentmindedly against your mug. Maybe to avoid looking at him. “I could never be content with a simple life. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with one, just… I would hate it. I would grow to despise this place, and I’m afraid I might begin to despise you with it.”

“I don’t believe that.” Chan whispered- mostly because he didn’t want to.

You smiled a bit at that, and looked up at him with sad, soulful eyes. “Would you be happy, then, to leave? To come along with me instead?”

He hated the way his eyes burned with the beginnings of tears. And he really hated that you both knew the answer.

“I know.” You whispered, turning away to gaze at the vibrant trees outside. Raindrops slipped from the colourful leaves and splashed into tiny puddles forming along the sidewalk. “That’s why I won’t ask it of you.” After a pause, you said. “It’s a dream, Chan, nothing more.”

“Then why do you keep coming back?”

He caught the smallest tug of your teeth on your bottom lip, before you turned back to him. “Because I liked this dream. Maybe even loved it.”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear this anymore. The distance had used to excite him in a way, as it kept him on his toes waiting for you- but now it just hurt. He wanted you close and then closer- and then some.

“Just… think about it.” He pleaded, unable to stop himself from reaching out to take your hand. The coolness of your skin sent a rush through his body.

Surprisingly, you didn’t pull away; instead you squeezed his hand, pausing before letting it fall. “See you tomorrow.”

You stood and left the shop; Chan gripped the framed photo long after you’d disappeared from view.

…

The train came too soon.

The packed station made it difficult for Chan and Felix to push their way through. In the meantime, Chan had plenty to think about. To fret about. He played with the sleeves of his jacket. His head was spinning, and he stumbled over the feet of a few passersby.

“Chan?” Felix was watching, confusion arching his brows. “Are you alright?”

Chan shook his head in response. “Come on, we need to hurry.”

It was ten minutes until the train left when, at last, Felix spotted you over the crowd. Chan hung back, a murky gray cloud of dread hanging over his head as Felix said his goodbyes, insisting you call him and visit. Your smile, for some reason, seemed sadder today- especially when it was directed at Chan. He took a deep breath while Felix waited a distance away, and approached you.

It only took your eyes finding his own for the lump to swell in his throat and his eyes to burn as he tried to figure out what to say. Gosh, it had never been this difficult to say farewell.

“Chan-” You gently lifted Chan’s face with your left palm, making him face you. He saw you smile through the blurriness of sudden tears, biting his lip as he desperately tried to halt them. But all he could think about was how unfair this was, and how much he’d missed you. Because he always did, and it hurt more each time he said goodbye.

“Chan?”

“Hmm?” He managed, swallowing roughly. “Y/n?”

You hesitated for a moment, before taking his hand with your free one. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I am. I don’t know, I just… I mean, you’re just perfect…”

“Just not for you, huh?” Chan murmured, clutching your hand like a tight grip could prevent your inevitable departure. Like your grip on his heart could somehow keep you together.

This time you bowed your head, and Chan thought he saw a tiny splinter- a crack in your gaze- before you looked back at him again. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Why not?

He hugged you tightly, afraid of letting go. You had the sense to do so first.

No tearful goodbye; it never was that way with you. Just a forlorn smile and a wave of your hand through the window before you were gone.

But you would come back, Chan assured himself, because you always did. Like the cycle of the seasons, you would return to him soon enough.

But you didn’t this time. You didn’t come back.

Weeks dissolved into months, and months turned into a year. His hope slowly faded into worry and distress at your disappearance, and then a solemn acceptance. That goodbye had been your last; even more he knew it in his heart that you didn’t intend to return.

In hindsight, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it coming. And he blamed himself for it, despite Felix’s assurance that it wasn’t his fault. After all, if he hadn’t pressured you to stay, maybe you’d continue to come and go as you always had. It had been his careless advances that had chased you away, and he’d been foolish to wish for you to remain within arms reach. It would have hurt for you to never find content in staying with him- but he swore it hurt a thousand times more to think that he might never see you again.

He wondered, though, if he could have borne it. Seeing you for brief pockets of time, all while knowing you would leave him again eventually. He tried to imagine it; find a scenario where both of you could be happy and be together. But… how?

Maybe it was for the best, then. If he couldn’t make you happy, it was selfish for him to expect anything from you.

Still… he missed you.

God, he missed you.

It was over two years before he heard anything from you. A mutual friend, Jisung, had run into you in Orlando. The meetup had been quickly relayed to Chan, who jumped at any information of your well-being. And as it turned out, you were doing well. Free and tied down to nothing, you were doing what you loved- exploring the world, finding your next adventure in the great unknown.

And Chan knew that it was the right path for you- even if it hurt to admit. And even if it was hard to be happy for you when he couldn’t seem to let you go himself.

Because everywhere he went, he saw you. Saw what you were, and what you might have been. You lived in his head now that you weren’t here, and he wondered if you would always stay there as his biggest what if? Even more, he wondered if you ever thought about him too.

Chan thought of you for the umpteenth time that week as he stood in a heavy drizzle, an umbrella keeping his body dry as he waited for his bus. Evening was approaching quickly, the sky darkening at an alarming rate. Brightly coloured leaves were tossed in the wind, skittering over the wet pavement. Chan stood perfectly still, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

Eventually he let his umbrella fall back; his eyes turned to the sky before closing as the first droplets of rain fell onto his face. He inhaled deeply, the rich smell of the damp leaves making him smile- even if a little wistfully.

The rain felt a little colder this year, didn't it?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

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narwhalandchill · 3 months

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ok one thing i am Absolutely certain of is that something is Up with misha and im far from the only one

the fact that literally No character acknowledges his presence beyond us and clockie (who, mind you, isnt seen by anyone else either). how his dialogue as a visitor to the express has him likening it to feeling the way "home" does. the fucking keyhole eyes and the keyhole door motifs in the dreamscape Especially a childs dream (and whos a child in the penacony cast???)

and just honest to fuck the ENTIRETY of a childs dream like. mikhail. when misha is a diminutive of the name. the voices you hear during the story segment in the map DEFINITELY include mishas. they describe it as a dream that is created from the memories of a child yet its also the map that contains the most references to the watchmaker including that room which seems like his workshop or sth??

his interest in the astral express and the new gacha destruction LC literally depicting him receiving a ticket to the express (from his grandpa too whos prolly the mikhail n also the watchmaker) combined with the fact our invitation to penacony was using the EXPRESS distress call genuinely makes me feel like it could be him behind that hidden message

n then i just saw a comment that wondered whether hes the fucking nilou to penaconys "dream". and like. it would be so fucking wild but also adds up so well?? Or maybe im insane but listen.

penaconys dream is falling apart its sinking back into the depths of a much more chaotic, dangerous memory space. the way the dream samsara in genshin 2.0 story worked was that it depended on the "dreamer" never becoming aware of the fact that theyre dreaming. and what question does the distress call slash invitation carry? one thats pondering the meaning of dreaming. one that i can VERY well believe to be coming from someone whos literally been dreaming for aeons know How long slowly becoming aware and asking Why. Why does life slumber?

if misha has been created as or made into the lynchpin of penaconys dream holding it all together but for some reason has begun rousing from his slumber and gotten close enough to awareness that he IS dreaming that its beginning to affect the stability of the dreamscape. and he has some sort of vague memories (or maybe inherited ones thru his 'grandpa' who might well be just the watchmaker that Created him) of the express. wouldnt it make complete sense for the first thing in his mind to call for the express?

and even things like "death" too? if misha is the dreamer and waking up and hes fucking terrified and confused and disoriented. Yet its still his dream that makes up the entirety of the dreamscape. its not at all unrealistic on the level of just the idea itself that his creeping existential dread of who he even is and if hes even real outside of this dream hes now been forced into being aware of. begins to take the shape of an actual death incarnate in the memory zone. bc isnt that what it is to discover you yourself might just be a part of a dream - and a dream that could fall apart any moment if you wake up. That he might be already dead - or never even have existed in reality at all. like sheesh kid id be spawning nightmarish horrors into my dreamscape too

then i also just rly feel like. the watchmaker equals a nameless equals mikhail equals mishas grandfather but also the creator of penaconys dream but also possibly either the creator of misha or maybe misha himself being not only a diminutive of mikhail in name but Literally . as in a fragment of the watchmaker left behind in the dreamscape as the dreamer holding it all together. the LITERAL watchmakers legacy. like hhhhhhhh i cant stop thinking about thiss

if aventurines trying to take back penacony for the IPC does it mean hes literally trying to wake misha up to destroy the dream (tho he might be unaware of this being the final step as of rn himself)?? and the familys interest is obviously in forcing the dreamer to slumber eternally. but the one thing neither party might foresee is misha himself taking action too. which hes Already done if it was him behind those invites too

+ acherons comments when u first meet her? about the dream being doomed to fall apart in the end. it feels prophetic. ppl have theorized shes an emanator of terminus the finality which could mean she experiences linear time in reverse the same as her aeon. literally traveling from the end to the beginning in a predestined path. so if thats true then its almost guaranteed she wasnt making a hypothetical comment about the dream being destroyed.

she mightve seen it happen already.

man what the hell is going on in this planet😭😭

#how is this goofy ass toothpaste hair child labor at the prison turned hotel feel so fuckimg ominously involved in everything😭😭😭#i like him tho hes very endearing i want all the best for him #but also....... yeah we havent seen the last of him at all #rambles #hsr #hsr spoilers #misha #long post

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imminent-danger-came · 1 year

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MK+ Reflections

(1x00 A Hero is Born)

MK: “I just...I don’t want to let my friends down, you know? [...] But it’s too hard! I’m just one guy.” (1x02 Duplicatnation)

(2x00 Revenge of the Spider Queen)

Mirror MK: “Ugh, Stop that! Listen, every time we get in trouble we turn to Monkie King or our friends or someone—they tell us a story and we find that smidge of motivation we need. Well! Now we’re on our own. It’s just you.” (2x00 Revenge of the Spider Queen)

“I gained a new power!”

“The power...of self-reflection”

(2x00 Revenge of the Spider Queen) (This one is an honorary mention)

(2x00 Revenge of the Spider Queen)

(2x02 Dumpling Destruction)

Lady Bone Demon: “Whatever she’s planning, it’s all to do with that. I- I’ve seen you use your staff, surely you could use it to smash that thing?”

(2x05 Minor Scale)

Mirror MK: “No, stop! What are you doing!”

(2x05 Minor Scale)

MK: “This is the trigram furnace, from the celestial realm! How is this-”

“...Trust your instincts.”

(2x05 Minor Scale)

Totally Not Macaque: “The Hero and the Warrior were like the sun and the moon, their light like a protective glow shining upon the world. As the hero’s light grew, so too did his shadow—and soon, the Warrior was cast into that shadow. In the darkness, the warrior was forgotten by the Hero.”

(2x07 Shadow Play)

(2x10 This is the End)

Lady Bone Demon: “This is your destiny.”

(2x10 This is the End) (This isn’t MK, however MK’s self reflection is so closely tied to the celestial furnace, and LBD appears in a trigram furnace reflection so many times with MK that I am obligated to include it)

Tang: “Um, MK? I get the feeling you aren’t telling us something.”

(2x10 This is the End)

Tang: “My mother was right! Associate with the wrong people and see where you end up.”

(3x02 Great Grand Dragon of the East)

MK: “It’s like a whole new me!”

(3x02 Great Grand Dragon of the East)

Sandy: “Are we sure we’re going in the right direction?” Tang: “Not a clue. All Monkey King said to do was head west, so-”

(3x03 Smartie Kid)

MK: “UGH. How am I meant to fight the lady bone demon?”

(3x04 The Winning Side)

(3x06 The First Ring)

(3x14 Destiny Fulfilled)

Sun Wukong: “You actually might have done more for this world than I ever have!”

(4x01 Familiar Tales)

(4x02 New Adventures)

MK: “Remind me how this ‘game’ is supposed to convince me I’m not destined to turn into an evil demon monkey thing again? Cause, EVERY option I pick brings me to this! Same! Screen!”

(4x10 The Jade Emperor)

Oh reflection motif, how I love you.

Interesting to note, MK’s reflection never shows up in the Demon Revealing Mirror (something that is actually, you know, a mirror). Very intriguing to think about, isn’t it?

#it took FOREVER to sift through 30+ episodes to find every instance of an MK reflection #There's a lot and I wanted to compile it!#It takes a little bit to transcribe too #But I've wanted to make this one for a little bit #Next post like this is probably gonna be for the hand motif ehehe #lmk parallels #lmk #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid mk #lmk mk #monkie kid #lmk sandy #lmk sun wukong #lmk lady bone demon #lmk lbd #OH I ALSO WANT TO MAKE ONE WHERE IT'S MK AS A MIRROR #THOSE SHOTS ARE VERY INTERESTING TO ME #long post #lmk reflection motif

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wangxianficrecs · 8 months

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The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos by dvasva

The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos

by dvasva (@dvasva)

M, WIP, 117k, Wangxian

Summary: “Of all the rotten luck I could have!” Outside, in between the gentle embrace of an imposing misty mountain and the caress of soft wind, stood the Cloud Recesses. It wasn’t a section that Wei Wuxian had recognized from his time in the sect, but the motifs of clouds and cranes in the buildings, the impeccable feng shui and carefully manicured paths, and the utter silence as the sect members slept peacefully, all burned themselves into Wei Wuxian’s eyes. No wonder the curtains were so firmly nailed to the walls! Any bit of demonic energy escaping the room could call down a veritable army of righteous cultivators! What sort of person in their right mind would dare to summon a spirit into their own body using resentful energy in the Cloud Recesses of all places? What kind of person would scoff so rudely at the Lan Clans most important rule, ‘Do not fraternize with evil?’ After being dead for four years, Wei Wuxian wakes up in a body he doesn't really feel comfortable with, in a place that he's sure wants him dead, and married to a man who surely hates him. Kay's comments: Another story that I'm currently following and which always makes me shout in excitement when the notification for an update comes! A story in which Wei Wuxian gets brought back to life way earlier, but a) now he's stuck in a woman's body, b) it's a woman of the Meishan Yu Sect and c) he's married to Lan Wangji. I really love the character developement in this and the life this story gives to background characters and it's always good to see Wangxian reunited and married sooner. Poor Wei Wuxian only has to deal with a dysphoria and transphobia now, but at least the Lans are supportive and help him to the best of their abbilities when it comes to this. I also really love the relationship between Wei Wuxian and Lan Sizhui here - our little radish is a lot younger too after all. Excerpt: “Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji said it so softly, so tenderly. It almost hurt to hear. Wei Wuxian had never heard Lan Wangji’s voice so soft, and yet it felt so familiar and inviting. Any guilt that Wei Wuxian felt for being on the receiving end of such care was whisked away. He wanted to melt right there. Instead, he tensed. “Ah, isn’t interrupting people breaking the rules? How did you guess so fast? I barely made it a single day without someone recognizing me. What gave it away?” He blabbered, fast paced and without a breath. “Listen, Lan Zhan, I’m really not going to do anything bad, I’m not eve-“ Lan Wangji grabbed his hand, and Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t a very strong grip. If he wanted to, Wei Wuxian could break free or tug his hand back. Lan Wangji’s hand seemed to tremble as if ready to pull back at any sign of discomfort. But, Wei Wuxian did not move, simply waiting. With no resistance, Lan Wangji turned Wei Wuxian’s hand over so that his palm was up, then placed the jade token on it. With both of his hands, he closed Wei Wuxian’s fingers over the token and pushed it towards Wei Wuxian’s body. “What?” “I will not trap you here.” Lan Wangji stood up. “Please let me attend to your wound.”

pov alternating, canon divergence, trans male character, trans wei wuxian, love confessions, getting together, transphobia, good parents lan wangji & wei wuxian, mutual pining, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, gender dysphoria, cultivation sect politics, hurt/comfort, corporal punishment

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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gabessquishytum · 9 months

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Hello Friend,

I am begging you to hear me out on a fic idea I just have not the time nor talent to write for now. But I really want to one day so maybe if you’ll help me get some of it out? Or feel free to add to it! It goes like this:

Hella slow build, Hob has been searching for Dream since he missed their meeting 24 yrs ago. He has nothing more to go on that Johanna Constantine looking for a being of his stranger’s description. But one day he sees Death and she can no longer hide from him that Dream was captured. She fesses up and gives Hob a hint of who to look for: “The Magus shouldn’t have been strong enough, Hob. Someone else helped him so you should stay away from it.” Hob won’t listen to that and she knows it. Bada-bing bada-boom Hob fishbowl savior intro is done.

The big thing I cannot get out if my mind is the LONGING. That they become friend friends who BOTH talk, about former lovers and sons, who visit each other’s houses, who eat together and cry together, who watch movies and maybe cuddle slightly too closely. I’m talking about the longing of too many wistful stares, too many deep silences, too much hand holding and charged eye contact, and so many unsaid words but it mostly being, “I love you.” Then after 20+ years of friendship, after Hob has reinvented himself again they finally have it out.

It was a family dinner or some stressful event for either Hob or Dream where they get too tipsy and too honest. “Gods Dream, can I finally kiss you?” Dream runs to the Dreaming out of fear but Hob finds his way to the throne room. Dream can only stare at him as he ascends the stairs and by god, why is he so beautiful? Why is he so unobtainable? Hob is not hurt, not angry, he’s confused. This cat and mouse game is so like them yet when they should have started furiously making out on Hob’s couch, Dream had disappeared into the air.

“I don’t understand, Dream. Surely, you must know how much I feel for you. I haven’t been able to hide it since you that day you shot a ramen noodle out of your nose at my impression of Destiny.” Dream chuckles but he still doesn’t look up from where his hands clench at his robe, pulling the stars around him like a shield. Hob steps forward so that their feet almost touch and he gently cups Dream’s face. Dream sighs as he melts into that hand and he’s grateful Hob does not make him look up further because seeing his beautiful face would crush him. Hob continues as a thumb caresses along a pale cheekbone. “I worried for centuries that you didn’t feel the same but I see the way you look at me. I know the regard you have given me in spades is so rare that even Lucienne couldn’t believe it. And I know I can comfort you, that I can make you laugh and that I am not afraid of any aspect of you. I can love you like you have never been loved before. And I know that you know it. So can you tell me why you ran?”

Dream takes a long time to say what he’s been thinking because while he needs Hob to know he is afraid what Hob knowing it will mean. “I will not have a relationship with you, Hob.”

“Why not?”

“I have already stated my intent, why must you know the reasoning?”

“Because I know you aren’t thinking about this right so I want to know what your lovely brain is cooking up there in order to make this reasoning.”

Hob says it so plainly, so lightheartedly that it should make Dream angry if it wasn’t something he adored about the man. But he will feign angry anyway in a spiteful attempt to get Hob to back off even though it’s obvious to them both that he won’t. “I won’t explain myself to a mere mortal. I cannot be with you so end this folly.”

“I’m actually immortal and cannot die so… And you said can’t that time.”

It was a trap. Dream turns away with a huff, out of Hob’s intoxicatingly warm palm. He walks towards the stained glass windows hoping the distance will help settle him but considering it’s colorful swirling motif is a representation of Hob’s joyous laugh the irony almost makes him scoff. He is so fickle these days. His false anger turns to embarrassment and then that turns to agony. He wants nothing more than to sink into Hob’s arms but he cannot be so weak as to ruin him. He is in the heart of the Dreaming at the helm of his throne but deep inside he knows Hob has all the power here. How long had that been true?

“Dream? My love, what are you thinking?”

Hob’s kindness burns him. Immediately his proverbial heart slams into his throat, choking him and tears well in his starry eyes. If Hob won’t take his anger maybe he would take the truth. “I cannot care for you in this way, Hob. I would not see you scorned the way I have ruined all those who previously cared for me.”

“Dream. You would not ruin me. And even if you did I would thank you for it.”

Images of Hob’s imagining flood in. Him crying with a reminiscing smile. Them screaming at each other and slamming doors. Hob wearing a suit of armor about to fight Hell for Dream and asking only to kiss him upon the hand as a boon though he knows he will never return from battle. It’s too much so Dream folds further in on himself.

“Love, please. I can see you’re hurting. Let me help you, let me love you.”

His pleading hurts and Dream does something he has never done before. He turns to face Hob and suddenly drops to his knees in front of him. Hob immediately lunges to pick him up but before he can do so Dream lays his hands on the icy stone before Hob’s bare feet. He closes his eyes against the tears there and places his forehead between his upturned palms. “Please. Please, Hob Gadling. Grant me mercy from this torture.”

Hob’s stunned into silence at the king kneeling before him. “Dream…I…”

“I beg of you, Hob. I could not bear it if I hurt you the way I have hurt those who came before you in loving me. Even now, I cannot say the words for fear calamity would instantly strike you down. So please, I am begging you as all that I am. As Dream of the Endless, Oneiros, Morpheus, Ruler of Dreams, King of Nightmares, and the master of the Dreaming and its inhabitants, I beg you please, do not love me.”

Silence echoes in the hall and the only sounds that make it pass the roaring in Hob’s ears is Dream’s unspoken words. I love you.

*****

That’s all I got so far in this hour long sleep deprived rant session (sorry!) but all that really matters to me is the image of Dream kneeling. Him begging Hob not to love him because I have always thought Dream would never accept Hob’s love so easily out of fear for hurting him because of course he’s already in love. I just always like the idea of them knowing but not saying anything because longing and pining are what make love confessions feel so much like relief. And I just want Hob to be as patient in this matter as a man who waits decades for an unknown friend. But mostly, I just want to be in looooovvvvveee.

Sorry this got out if hand lol. I did not mean to drop all this on yah😅 Any thoughts?😅 I know this isn’t like your normal asks but I’m ace so the smuttiness doesn’t occur to me so naturally. But if I ever get to writing this (in 10 years lol) then I will defs have some crying throne sex for you😘

Have a great day!! Thank you for all your wonderful thoughts that bring me joy everyday!!❤️

-🧶 Anon

🧶 anon you have RUINED me. Dream begging Hob not to love him??? Hi I'm going to cry. Dream has hardly ever begged in the entire course of his existence!! He desperately wants to tell Hob that he loves him - he can't even say it! He'd rather beg and humiliate himself than risk hurting Hob.

And poor Hob 😢 what would you do if the love of your life BEGGED you not to love him?! Holy shit!!!!

Hngnng. Thank you for sharing this, I hope you have the opportunity to continue with it! I think it has amazing potential and you can make lots of us cry with this concept!!!

#🧶 anon #the sandman #dreamling #dream x hob

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heda-heather · 3 months

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:nervously off anon: So I watched the Anti-Hero video for the first time yesterday (I know, I know...SO behind the times), and I'm so curious how Swifties are interpreting the very clear symbolism. Like, Taylor is two selves. One of them (the "villain") is her exact presentation out in the world right now. Taylor's lyrics match up with her real self. Her public persona doesn't match up with her lyrics. Swifties don't acknowledge this contrast?

Also, what do they make of the bottle she's drinking from? The one with the Lover video's family crest. Do they not wonder WHY that crest is in a video that is otherwise not about romance? Like, I feel like with close attention to lyrics + close attention to videos + an ounce of attention to how her persona changes from album to album + THE ENTIRE LOVER Era = AT THE VERY LEAST that she is not who she seems (and is most certainly under the queer umbrella).

An even deeper dive will lead you to "she is with Karlie; that crest is signaling Karlie; her songs signal Karlie; Taylor is likely identifying as a lesbian now." Yet somehow they don't see any of it that way, and I wonder how. Maybe willful ignorance. Maybe selection of detail to support their own thesis. Maybe it's the English major in me that makes me pore over this stuff.

My assumption is that many Swifties center their listening experience on how they relate to what Taylor's talking about, so it's more about their own experience and projection than what is actually being written. I know they'd say the same about gaylors, but there are CLEAR motifs in this discography. It's all fascinating but also driving me mad. LOL

Anyway, sorry for the novel. I am still a whole n00b to this fandom and mostly choose to engage with Taylor's world via this corner of Tumblr and through her lyrics. The wider fandom seems like actual hell. LOL

Whew ok I needed a minute to read and process before responding 😂

1. Swifties see the anti-hero more as her battle with fame I think, kinda missing the deeper meaning of her being a completely different person underneath that fame.

2. I doubt they think about the crest at all. I never noticed it until a Kaylor blog pointed it out and showed all the times it’s been displayed. They probably assume it’s just a random design.

3. Her persona changing from album to album actually gives them fuel to say she’s NOT part of the queer community because “the lover era was her activist era, just showing her support, then she moved on from it”

4. They’re NOT looking for signals to Karlie. And they take what she shows them (hanging all over football guy) at face value

5. Projection is a big piece of it. “Loving in secret” to us, is such an obvious flag to the experience of realizing you’re queer in a heteronormative society. I think a lot of them romanticize this instead. They see it as finding a love so special, you want to keep it to yourself. I think a lot of them are obsessed with her work because she describes this intense, earth-shattering love. It gives them hope to find it… but they don’t realize it’s a queer love. And the fact is… 2 women loving one another do share a different experience than a man and woman, because of how women express themselves and understand the universal female experience. Add that to the experience of being queer in anyway. So… they’re kinda holding onto false hope they’ll find a love like she describes. But also there is no other Karlie Kloss in this world 😍🥰

Anyway, my thoughts. Thanks for being brave enough to come off anon! Always love a good chat.

#note: I am referring to cis man and cis woman compared to two queer female identifying persons as Karlie and Taylor seem to identify

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boundinparchment · 6 months

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Dream a Little Dream of Me - LI

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Content warning: This chapter contains references to abuse, physical abuse, sexual assault and the consequences thereof, power imbalances with figures of authority, etc. While previous chapters touched on these topics regarding the MC’s past, this is the one that will be tackling these events the deepest and in more detail. If you are uncomfortable, click the back button and come back for Chapter 52. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3.

The sentiment captured you in a self-sufficient whirlwind, one you hadn’t felt since before Sumeru. It was lighter than the melancholy that gripped you when you first arrived at the Palace and sweeter than any decadent dessert you ever tasted.

You met the musicians, the conductor and manager, listened again when they didn’t know you were there. There was a quality amongst them unlike any you’d heard before and they were consistent in keeping said quality. When you said as much to the manager, they laughed as though it were a given.

They would be up to whatever challenge presented to them.

And when it came to creating said challenge…well…

You had ideas, certainly. You listened to spin-crystals you found in the Palace Library, picking up unique motifs and rhythms from Snezhnayan composers. Arrangement would matter just as much as the composition but you couldn’t arrange if you couldn’t write…

Nothing you put to paper sounded right. Felt right. You were so close.

All this energy and emotion and nowhere for it to go.

The memory sessions weren’t helping matters. In fact, they seemed to just make everything worse. You were irritable, prone to snapping more often, you felt hyperaware of when eyes were even glancing over you. If you weren’t making any progress on anything, surely everyone else was seeing it, too.

One morning, Zandik found you curled up in your chair as you used your pen to trace notes in the air. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger as his crimson eyes examined you in the dim blue light of dawn. He then took your hand, pen and all, searching your joints as his eyes remained on your face. You winced; he frowned but opted for silence as he let you go and left your quarters.

A loquacious man such as your soulmate never skipped an opportunity to hear himself speak.

Which meant everything he had to say was so obvious that he was not about to waste his time nor breath repeating himself.

Enough light passed through the window in front of you to make it just barely reflective and you caught a glimpse of your visage. There would be no hiding the tell-tale signs beneath your eyes and your dry lips wouldn’t survive another escapade outside without bleeding. Your entire spine felt as if it needed to be pulled out of your body and cracked like a whip. Meanwhile, an entirely new hand wouldn’t be amiss. Your fingers were stiff and your tendons didn’t cooperate long enough to let your muscles do what they needed to.

You propped your elbows up on your desk and buried your faces into the heels of your palms, pressing just hard enough to see stars.

If you continued, you would fail.

You knew that.

The thought plagued you as your head grew heavier and your arms moved of their own accord, your head sinking with them to the cool surface of your desk. A little sleep wouldn’t harm anything.

“You cannot be serious.”

You stared groggily at the machines on your side of the bed from the doorway, across the room. Heart and EEG monitors. IV pole and dangling tubes. When the hell had he brought those up?

Had you napped so soundly or had Zandik simply relied on the veins of the world to close the distance?

Did it even matter?

“Your mind must process events in the order they occurred in to get to Omega’s next node. I additionally find myself wondering if the last place we left your unconscious mind is bleeding into your waking existence, holding you back,” Zandik replied.

He spoke of the memories of too much wine and lingering touches, blatant favoritism and doting gifts. Both of you knew the path ahead but only you would experience their pain again.

“You think I’m having trouble creating because I’m scared to succeed?” you spat, arms crossed and eyes burning. “I think I’ve been composing and playing just fine.”

“Up until the Tsaritsa presented this opportunity, I am inclined to agree. I believe it has less to do with your emotional response and more an instant connection that the second you succeed, or even get close to it, your own well-being is taken from you.” He didn’t give you a chance to counter. “Discussing my hypothesis will only do so much while you’re awake.”

You held his gaze across the expanse of the bed, skin crawling. He said it so easily, as if this were simply a recipe to follow. After all, he was watching your memories as one did a moving picture. It was your mind and body that experienced the physiological responses and the result of dredging up what you wished you could forget.

“I know what I’m asking of you, it’s why I thought here was far better than the lab so you’re comfortable,” Zandik said, his gaze drifting from you to the pillow and then back again. “You should know by now that I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t expect beneficial results.”

“Not because you’re curious, Zandik?”

Nothing stopped him from seeking knowledge and answers, ever. You knew that. This boundary was one the two of you skated around like children on a frozen lake; you never thought details were necessary when alluding to your patron’s behavior. Several Fontainian orphans were taken into the House of the Hearth under similar circumstances, or so you heard. And you were doubtful someone as clever as Zandik needed details spelled out for him.

“This is much for me as it is for you, lest you forget this entire process is meant to purge Omega from your memories and correct neural pathways. I am not so much intrigued by your past experiences as I am aware that some things must surface in order for the rest to settle. One’s past is precisely that: the past. It does not wholly define but rather shapes us, calls for change in how it molds and carves. And we must change, mustn’t we? Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.”

In a world full of cyclical rebirths and stars deciding one’s fate, change seemed almost moot. You would have disagreed in part with him if presented with the notion when you first met; you changed your career but not your love of music, for no one could take that from you. But both of you were given a connection long after you expected none at all, a change both loathed and adored.

You rounded the bed slowly, eyes drifting from the pillows, to the machines, and then back to Zandik when you drew closer. Without missing a beat, you pressed your lips to the septum of his nose where it had broken more times than he wished to admit before you crawled under the covers to await the familiar sensation of falling.

The void was untouched, as it always was, the corridor expanding forever except for the pane through which you witnessed yourself.

You had worked through smaller memories since the last major session but nothing substantial. Those were simply trials to perfect your method and help Zandik understand everything, step by step.

The gap between your last destroyed memory (which you only recalled in terms of your fist meeting the surface and cracking it) and the next time you saw your soulmate was not as lengthy as it seemed. It felt like centuries but in truth, it was only a handful of years between the two lies Omega planted.

Time was strange in this portion of your life. When you looked back upon it in the waking world, it felt like it happened to someone else. You entered that house, beautiful and just as foreboding as it was promising, and left a completely different person, fully aware of the lies your nation painted upon its people.

Everyone endured a form of suffering under that roof. Even the house staff were not true allies despite treating guests well and bringing food or sneaking in medical assistance. One bad day was enough to send words flying and no one went unpunished.

A shudder ran down your metaphorical spine and you wondered if such a sensation reached your physical body.

It was behind you. It wouldn’t happen to you again.

Your memory banks knew precisely where to pick up from. Beautiful gifts of a bow with expensive strings, perfume, a new kind of typewriter that allowed you to type notes instead of write them. Balms for your hands. A private tutor so you wouldn’t stagnate.

For you could always be better, couldn’t you?

One specific memory flickered as it passed by. You didn’t need to watch it in full to remember the way the expensive plush rug felt beneath your knees. Your nose recalled the smell of him when he pushed himself deep into your mouth. Disappointment was warm, salty, and shoved down your throat instead of dinner.

You gagged and reached out to sort through faster. The spaces in-between were blurry, deemed unimportant by your subconscious. Your fingers hesitated as you caught sight of a bedroom not your own, opulent by comparison with a large poster bed with its own heavy curtains for privacy.

That first time had been full of praise, admiration, what you mistook for love. You hadn’t understood, not then. There were stories of performers and musicians finding their beloveds under patronage and class barriers being eroded. You were eager to please the one who gave you support to pursue your dream.

And he was eager to rob you of them as often as he could.

He took you from behind the next time when you messed up too often during a rehearsal he sat in on. The arm of the couch had pressed into your abdomen and between that and his harsh thrusts, you hadn’t been able to breathe.

And on it went.

Your cycle was late more than once and he was always careless. Relief washed over you every time at the sight of blood. Pain never felt as wonderful as it did then, for it meant you would be left alone.

Threats of broken fingers along with gentle caresses, soft brushes along your skin that made you feel sickeningly warm. Gowns that exposed more skin than you wanted to show, legs on display at dinner parties due to skirts with high slits and your shoulders and breasts exposed for all to see.

He was careful never to hit you or bite you the night before a party. At least nowhere visible.

You finally came upon the memory you were looking over. Omega stood before you, your hand in his as he pressed your knuckles to his lips, his white suit almost glowing in the candlelight of the salon.

His entire visage was outlined, superimposed over someone else. You reached out a finger and traced the seam, distinct now that you knew it was there, rough despite the sleekness of the flat crystalline surface. Someone had kissed your hand that night, you recalled when you focused, but it had not been Omega; it had not even been a Fatui diplomat. Your fingers picked away at Omega, shards plinking to the ground as you went and revealed an unremarkable face, one of many from such nights. The stranger had remarked about your playing, about how you needed to take breaks, and then given your patron a knowing look and smile.

Such arrangements in Fontaine were open secrets among those who considered themselves the cornerstones of the arts and entertainment world.

Once again, the memory recognized the holes and mended them, filling in the gaps where Omega used to be.

You experienced the party alone, mingling carefully to avoid too much attention (difficult to do when your dress was backless and bared your legs whenever you walked). Every time eyes settled on you, your patron managed to pull you into a conversation, hand lingering on the small of your back in a silent message of ownership.

Meanwhile, your hands were locking up and you almost dropped your glass at dinner. Holding your utensils was an arduous task you had to pretend was easy otherwise you would be left with no energy.

Knives shot through your forearms and into your fingers when you took your position after dinner and your skin prickled. Between your pain and the irritating material of the dress, you were a hair’s width away from asking to excuse yourself; a glare across a glass of wine made you think better of it. Playing that night felt as if your blood contained glass shards and every minute movement was searing agony.

It didn’t get better.

You were dragged from guest to guest, glued to your patron’s side, his hand never leaving your hip. He flaunted his playthings, his toys, and every inch where you could sense his presence, your skin burned. If you were paper, you would have long since turned to ash and you would have been grateful.

There was no flash of white tailcoats. No teal hair. No experimental touches to ease your tendons.

Instead, you felt bruises bloom across your flesh and the telltale warmth of blood from where nails dug into your skin. Your dress was taken off of you in harsh, frustrated tugs and the intrusion, while expected, had you wondering if you would, finally, be split in two.

The memory ended and for a moment, you could only stare at the dark panel, your reflection looking back at you. You frowned, the sensation that you had forgotten something sitting heavy in your mind as you raised a hand and flicked through future sequences.

Concealed applications and hidden compositions. Smuggling your cello in and out of the manor as you tried to keep track of your story and excuse for leaving the house. You endured what you had to all the while.

You paused the memories on the offer letter you received from the orchestra and your heart soared, just as it had back then. Waves lapped at your feet and you could still hear the guttural sounds of nearby Blubberbeasts as they lounged on the shore.

Free.

Golden Vision in your other hand.

A signature, a signet ring, the Stone clutched behind your back. Farewells were easy, for you couldn’t get out of the oppressive aura of the house quick enough.

The events, at least thus far, were the same as you knew them to be. Entirely unchanged. That made sense…

You sifted through images of playing for Lady Furina and Monsiuer Neuvillette. A starry night in Liyue among familiar faces. A summer in Mondstadt where the air was crisp and the wine was sweet. Music poured out of you, a professional saw to your hands and provided a regimen, and you could laugh without fear of repercussions. Sumeru’s greenery came into view, the loop finally closing.

There was no memory of your orchestra traveling to Snezhnaya. You never arrived here with anyone other than Zandik. No ball, no greenhouse, no near kiss. No secluded existence with Omega, no oozing purple ore.

All of that, nothing more than a fleeting dream.

Your eyes burned as you opened them, your vision watery and your senses tangled. It took you a second to move your toes, flex your muscles, your brain playing catch up as you focused on singular movements. Phantom pain danced on every nerve, although you couldn’t recall the actual pain such sensations were meant to mimic.

Tears seared your cheeks as you ran your hands over the cool, smooth sheets and tried to look around. This was real, you reminded yourself. The bed was real; the curtains near the window were real; the man with his gaze fixed on the outside world was real.

Air was stolen from you when the realization truly sank in and you could only open your mouth in a soundless scream. Your squeezed your eyes shut.

Zandik had never been there. Not once.

No one had been there.

You saved yourself. You’d had to.

A harsh beeping infiltrated your thoughts and you heard mutterings mingled with your own choking sobs. Your heart pounded as gloved hands pulled at sticky nodes along your chest and freed you of the sounds. Words were audible but never lingered. You caught careful reassurances and words in another language you didn’t understand from a voice that made your very being as light as a feather.

The same hands that removed the nodes moved the covers and shifted you as long legs brushed yours. You found yourself pressed against a hard chest, sandalwood and mint making your nose tingle as you gripped the blue fabric of a shirt.

The world fell away around you as you fell asleep to nature’s metronome, a steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #fic: dream a little dream of me #dottore x female reader #soulmate au #il dottore x female reader #minors dni #mdni #tw: ptsd #tw: abuse #tw: dark content #tw: dark themes #read the tags and warnings everything is under a cut

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tarnishedinquirer · 3 days

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Roderika and Hewg

I'd seen the larder from the walkway above, but it didn't prepare me for the experience of climbing over these bodies while the troll above dropped fluids on my head. It's good to know I can still be shocked and disgusted, even after all I've seen.

On top of the pile, I found a brooch wrapped in a red handkerchief. It somewhat resembled Roderika's hood, and when I picked it up, I could sense spirits lingering around it. I'm no medium, but my third eye isn't entirely closed. I couldn't make sense of anything they were trying to say, if there was even any sense to make at all. The voice referenced Roderika's line about "Chrysalids," so I think even someone without my skills would see the connection.

I found Roderika where I left he, still lost in her despair. She immediately perked up when I showed it to her though. She stared at it like she was listening, and then she started to cry. That's a good sign. I've been in that pit of despair before, and you don't even feel enough to cry. Still, it's dangerous. Once you start feeling again, you start hurting too. She needed to be around people, so I suggested the Roundtable Hold. They might be weirdos and hazbins, but better than here.

I found her by the fire in Roundtable hold. Glad she took me up on my offer. She still seemed pretty steeped in self-pity, but at least she was looking forward now and trying to figure out what to do next.

Walked in on Master Hewg praying. Someone with more tact would just leave him to it, but inquirers with tact don't get very far.

Your divinity, have mercy, and grant me forgiveness. The road is yet long. A God is not easily felled. But one day, without fail, you will have your wish. So please, grant me forgiveness, Queen Marika..."

So... was the "sheer terror of her" referring to Marika? Could be. It was an easy conclusion to jump to. Maybe too easy. Some gods are feared, some are loved. No reason it can't be both, but his prayer sounded more in the latter camp than the former. Regardless, Marika wanted him to forge a god-slaying weapon? Some sort of divine suicide pact, or is there another God that needs slaying?

It was about then he noticed me. He seemed upset about being caught praying and said he'd be more careful in the future. I didn't press the issue, but while forging my staff, he asked me about Roderika. Said she's a spirit tuner and she reminded him of someone he knew long ago with eyes the same hue.

Cryptic. So now there's up to three women in Hewg's life. Let's make it four.

I went back and forth between the two of them for a while. Neither one seemed to believe that the other one could possibly want anything to do with them, but eventually I got them to talk to each other.

Roderika set up shop across from Hewg and offered to upgrade my spirit summons using the Gloveworts I've been finding in catacombs. They're strange bell-shaped plants, continuing the motif of sound (especially bells) being related to spirits.

It hadn't passed my notice that Roderika abandoned her hood once she set up shop. There's only two places she could have left it.

Tried the shack first, but all she left there was a bouquet of red flowers and a candle. That meant there was only one other option.

I returned to the larder with the "Chrysalids" and sure enough, there was the hood. I was impressed. It wasn't easy to get this deep into the castle, and Roderika did it just to pay tribute to her fellows. She'll be alright, I think.

Sure enough ,the voice had things to say about the hood.

A hooded cloak of vivid crimson. Worn by expatriated royalty. Such cloaks were gifted to those who departed on journeys without specific orders, to faraway lands from which they would never return. In other words, the gift of a cloak made it easier for undesirables to be on their way. Roderika never once saw the guidance of grace.

So she was sent to her death here anyway. Was there some political upheaval? Did she somehow disgrace her family? Or was there just not enough inheritance to go around? That seems the most likely. Make it look like an honor.

Why was Roderika exiled?

What is special about Roderika's eyes? Why can I see spirits too?

Why was Hewg tasked with forging a god-slayer?

Is Marika the one he's afraid of? If not, who?

For that matter, who did he know that was a spirit tuner?

#elden ring #elden ring lore #in character #in character blog #in character post #let's play #roderika #hewg #marika

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keikakudom · 19 days

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Agsudisg I'm so glad you liked it, Kazi, I literally sat down the moment I finished reading and started drawing cuz you freaking killed me, I MEAN, vox being stubborn and denying help, and Alastor stubbornly giving him the aid he needs, but crouched in their respective toxic egos and self-image? So delicious. Alastor, who needs to know why he was left behind, and vox who's desperately pouring himself into the new thing... Ahhhh...

The part where he implies he really was running off to die...and Alastor goes all soft...the shared frequency, the antenna petting... I reread that multiple times bc it's so good...and the claws, the claws, vox denies wanting help from alastor to the last, but the claws!

(also we tots need full seasons and reruns of 'Let's Shit on Vox', I bet Alastor even encourages to call in with more info, not that anyone would bc they're too scared. Hey, does carmilla have to listen his obsession LOL)

Btw for the artist questions, if you want, 9, 14, 30?

YOU NEVER FAIL TO MAKE ME GUSH, ES AAAA...oh lemme tell you when I lock-in, i do NOT fuck around with toxic old men yaoi. When I get better at writing, I hope to capture all their glory✨

I have never really written in this particular weird genre, I don't even know what to call it? Disgustingly intimate love/hate? At least, that's what I aspire for it to be XD

Heheh the part where "Alastor goes all soft" is also a little on the part of RR!AU characterization, so it's a bit exaggerated. He's trying to ween his way in appealing to Vox again, but RR!AU Vox is just so tired. Alastor keeps bringing up the past....This was kind of a wacky scenario to write because it does skip/make you infer a lot of stages of development, but the AU is close enough to canon that I think it's not far to imagine filling in the gaps hhh....

LMFAO yes, Alastor def encourages call-ins, "The 'Let's Shit on Vox' show, your one-stop opportunity to diss Hell's most saturated overlord!" -- on the rare occasion someone actually called in, Alastor killed whoever said something off about Vox that wasn't to his "flavor" of hate.

Carmilla has already read through these two idiots and just rolls her eyes at their immaturity. If she's there for Alastor's radio show, she's just in the background, utterly done and convinced they're playing everything up for entertainment at this point. Now that has me thinking, if Alastor ever started feeling something unfamiliar and god-forbid genuinely *good*(????), he would probably consult Rosie or Carmilla for it first........and Vox would ask Charlie.....oh..........

Aaaand Artist Questions under the cut, TYSM for the ask <33

9. What are your file name conventions?

I have terrible file organization. Many of them are named "a", "aa3", "asgv", "fhgh", or other random keyboard smashes. Recently, I have a bad habit of naming files "sketch1", "sk1", "skht1", or some misspelled way-- it's gotten so bad I'm up to "sketch22".... I find things by icon only.

14. Any favorite motifs?

Straight edges and shapes, maybe? I started drawing with an anime style though I'm mostly into western media-- I think it's very satisfying to have nice shape design/silhouettes though, but I don't draw in a super cartoony or exaggerated style so it's kind of hard to tell that I like and have fun doing it. I'm kind of scattered and like to dip my foot into everything unfortunately.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated?

None really, but if I had to pick one for HH, maybe this one.

For my older art, definitely this one. I mean, I don't love it anymore, but I really thought I ATE with the concept at the time.

#ask #flonautilus #you are giving me so much nice words of confidence sobs

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medusapelagia · 6 months

Text

8 Au-gust: Robots and Androids - Part 9

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 , Part 9, Part 10

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson WT: Android Steve Harrington, Wanted Criminal Eddie Munson, Temporary Character death [Steve], surgery on the android Words: 2340

Getting off the building is incredibly easy, no one pays attention to a dirty boy while there is an android that crashed to the ground.

Eddie forces himself not to look at the crash site and keeps following the tracker.

He steals a black cloak, uses the hood to hide his face, and keeps following the tracker, he has no fucking idea who Stevie might have called but surely is better than being taken back to prison to wait for his death sentence.

He has conflicted sentiments about the android. Not only did S.T.E.V.E. saved his life two times in a row, but he is also half-human. Or at least he has some human memories buried deep in his codex and he doesn't even know. It seems cruel that he died like that, without knowing any of that.

Eddie shakes his head. He is not dead. He is a machine, and a machine can’t die.

But on every screen in town, he keeps seeing the video of the android that falls from the building and then crashes to the ground.

In the last image, the android’s eyes are open but there is no light behind them while he lies on the ground like a fallen angel.

Eddie is not looking at those images. He is not thinking about the android. He is walking toward salvation. Or at least that’s what he hopes he is doing.

“Boy.”

He knows that voice, Eddie turns and sees Owens hidden behind a corner.

He runs toward him, finding his companions with him.

“Never leave like that again!” Owens scolds him, while he hugs him “Are you ready to go home?”

“But how?!!”

“Someone made sure we received the message. We were ready to assault the prison to get to you but our informant told us that you had help from the inside and that we should have just waited for you to come. Now let's go, the quicker we leave the lesser are the chances that we are going to get killed.”

“There is someone…” Eddie says, stopping the man.

“Another captive?”

“An android.”

Owens glares at him “We don’t help android Eddie. We fight them! Don’t you remember?”

“But he is special!”

“I don’t care how special he is…”

“He is half-human!”

Owens turns toward Eddie “What?!”

“Listen I can’t explain it to you but we can’t let them thorn him to pieces!”

“And what do you want us to do?!”

“The town is still in chaos. He crashed on the ground so they are sending someone to recoil his parts. If we could get there and steal the transportation and its cargo we could take him away.”

Owens shakes his head “Eddie I’m not going to risk everyone’s life because you got involved with a fucking android!”

“He saved my life. Twice.” Eddie protests.

“He would have had his motifs.”

“I can't leave him. Please. He was the help that I had from the inside!”

Gareth gets closer to them “The android helped you escape?!”

Eddie nods, and Gareth turns toward Ownes “We need to help him.”

“That’s madness!”

“Our entire mission is madness, Owens, but if we can have an android on our side maybe he could help us!” Gareth exclaims.

“What if he was only working to gain Eddie’s trust? What if it’s just a trap, uh?”

“It’s not. Please trust me on this one!” Eddie begs.

“If you get in trouble we will not be able to save you, you know that?” Owens asks seriously, and when Eddie nods he finally agrees “So, what’s the plan?”

***

The plan is that Owens will drive them as close as possible to the crash site and then Gareth and Eddie will try to steal the transportation with S.T.E.V.E.’s body and they will drive to the interchange station where they will get on Owens' ship.

“Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and then we are leaving, with or without you.”

Eddie nods, hiding his face with the hood.

“We’ll be there.”

“Good luck, son.”

Eddie and Gareth leave and they blend in as well as they can.

“Vecna.” Gareth whispers and Eddie sees it, kneeling next to Stevie and saying something to the other androids that lift the body. One of S.T.E.V.E.'s arms is definitely broken but they can’t see exactly how damaged the android is.

Eddie turns toward Gareth “Get on the van. And be ready to drive like a bat out of hell when I tell you.”

“Are you sure? We can still go back to the ship and…”

“This is important, Gareth. I swear!”

The boy nods and moves toward the van. Now Eddie has to wait for one of the androids to put the body inside and then get in the back of the van with Stevie.

Easy right?

He moves closer and closer, feigning to be a curious citizen but paying attention to hide his face until he is just a few feet from the van.

He sees Gareth open the van and gets to the driver seat, thank god they all know how to hot and wire!

When the android leaves the body on the stretcher inside the van Eddie smashes the van door against the android and the android, surprised, falls to the ground.

He gets inside quickly, screaming “Go! Go! Go!” and Gareth starts to drive as fast as he can.

Thank god Owens is still waiting for them.

“I told you fifteen minutes!” he yells, but he is still there.

They push the stretcher inside the ship and quickly escape.

“Hold on to something! We are going to jump!” he announces.

“But we are too close to the surface!” someone tries to protest, but the familiar knot in the stomach tells Eddie all he needs to know.

They are jumping.

***

There is only one person that Eddie trusts to repair Stevie.

“Are you sure that the coordinates are the right ones? There is nothing on that planet.”

“There is a small human outpost. I’m sure. I have been there before.”

Owens looks at him with uncertainty but in the end, he nods and puts the coordinate on their ship.

Even if the landing is better than the last one, the welcome is worse.

Hopper, wearing a thermal suit, is threatening to blow up the entire ship, when Eddie gets out of the ship, his hands in the air “It’s Stevie! It needs help!””

As soon as they get to the human outpost Dustin and El are waiting for them.

“Oh god. Oh god. What the fuck happened?!” Dustin screams, trying to map every broken piece in Steve’s body.

“He fell… He fell from a building.”

“How the fuck did he… oh no. Tell me he didn’t fly.”

Eddie lowers his eyes.

“Fuck! I told him! I told him that he couldn’t fly anymore! Shit, shit, shit! I have to run a full diagnostic. Maybe we can save his personality chip and move it to another android.”

“No.” El says, quietly.

“Have you seen the damage El? I don’t think we can repair him! We need… I don’t know what we need but definitely more than we got!”

El puts a hand on Dustin’s shoulder “We can do it, Dustin. We have to.”

Dustin shakes his head, trying to clear his mind, and then looks at Eddie “I will need all the help I can get.”

***

Eddie knows a lot about androids. He knows how they work, and where the weakest points are, but he has never seen an android so damaged as S.T.E.V.E.

“You can fix him, right?” he asks Dustin, feeling unsure.

“Why do you care? You are the one that kept calling him a tin can.”

He doesn’t want to explain to Dustin what he discovered, not if they are not able to repair him.

“The arm is gone, we need to replace it entirely.” Dustin declares, removing the screw that keeps the arm tight to the chest.

“What about his chip and his code?”

“Why do you care?” Dustin asks again “You are hiding something and I’m working blind here. So help me if you really want to fix him!”

“He might have some human memories encrypted somewhere in his code!” Eddie blurts out.

Dustin’s sight goes to El, who simply nods.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“I had my suspicions.” she replies while holding part of Steve’s chest open for Dustin.

“I swear to god… you and your fucking secrets…” he mumbles.

Dustin keeps working with a little cutting torch, trying to reconnect the circuits, and suddenly S.T.E.V.E.’s eyes open wide.

“Eddie…” he calls confused.

“Hi there.”

“What?” he asks, trying to move.

“You have to stay still. Ok, Stevie? You got hurt but Dustin is going to fix you in no time.

Steve sees his chest open.

“Don’t look at that, look at me.” Eddie says, taking his metal hand into his “Keep your eyes on me, ok big boy?”

“Big boy?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah… it’s a nickname, you know? A little name you give to people you care about…”

“People you care…” S.T.E.V.E.’s eyes turn black for a moment while a buzzing sound feels the air.

“Boy… boy… boy… big boy… big… boy… pretty… pretty… pretty boy…” S.T.E.V.E. murmurs like a litany.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eddie yells.

Every sensor is beeping.

“We are losing him.” Dustin replies without stopping to work on Steve.

“You have to turn him off.” El declares calmly.

“We don’t know if he will be able to restart him if we turn him off. We could lose all the data.”

“It is overheating. You have to disconnect the battery, Dustin. You have to do it now.”

The android is still babbling words without sense. His plastic eyes turn toward Eddie “I love you…” he whispers, and then Dustin disconnects the battery.

***

For a moment everything stills.

“Did he say…?”

Eddie is looking astonished at the android: S.T.E.V.E.'s head is still turned toward him, his mouth half open as he was interrupted while he was speaking.

“Fix him.” Eddie snarls.

“Look, Eddie, I like him too but…”

“Fix him! You have to fix him!” he yells, approaching Dustin in a threatening way.

El let S.T.E.V.E.’s chest down gently and gets between the two.

“Don’t threaten him.”

“He must fix him!”

“He will do all he can to fix S.T.E.V.E. but you can’t ask the impossible from Dustin. S.T.E.V.E. would not want that.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what he would want or not! He has to fix him.”

The air is full of tension between the three of them.

“I can try to work on him while he is disconnected, and then try to connect him back. But if I say that is not working we stop and I don’t care if you are going to kill me or what. I will not put my people in peril.” Dustin says, sounding immediately older than he is.

Eddie stops. Is that what he is doing? Threatening the humans to save an android? How the fuck did that happen?

Eddie shakes his head “I’m sorry… I don’t know what happened to me. You are right, obviously. Do the best that you can to repair him, ok?”

Dustin nods, and El helps him.

He is still with his arms inside S.T.E.V.E. when he looks at Eddie “Do you think you are thinking clearly enough to help?” Eddie nods “Good. Because I need more hands.”

***

They work on the android for hours, while Eleven keeps the time.

“If he stays disconnected more than six hours he is not going to restart.”

Eddie nods, he knows that. He used that technique on some androids to get rid of them.

“Time?” Dustin asks.

“Four hours forty-seven minutes, fifty-two seconds.”

“Good. We still have time. I fixed everything I could on his chest, now we have to work on his back. I think we must take away the engines, they are too unstable.”

“But you need to put something to patch his back.

“We could leave space for some wings. He would still be able to fly for a little distance.”

“It would take too much time, Dustin.” El declares.

“What do you propose?”

“Close him. Maybe add more plates to protect his inside.”

“Patch him up, Dustin. Enough to keep him working. We will talk about the specifics later on.”

Dustin nods and takes some new metal plates to cover the huge hole that Steve has in his shoulder “He will not be balanced without his arm and his engines.”

“What do you mean?”

“He will have to learn how to walk. I don’t know if its program is flexible enough to adjust to this kind of change.

“What does that mean?” Eddie asks, confused.

“That he will not be a hunter anymore.”

“And how is this a bad thing?”

“Eddie. If he is not a hunter what do you think will happen to him when he leaves this outpost?”

But Eddie has an entire plan that can work only if the stupid tin can keep working.

“Time?”

“Five hours Thirty four minutes, twelve seconds.”

“We have to close.”

“But it’s not complete.” Eddie complains.

“No, but I need time to see if it turns on or not. Help me close him.”

Fuck.

They seal all they can and then Dustin gets the little cable that connects the battery to S.T.E.V.E.’s central system.

“Ready?”

Eddie nods, and Dustin connects it.

For a moment nothing happens.

Then, slowly, S.T.E.V.E. opens his eyes. Eddie is ready to cry with joy when S.T.E.V.E. says a name he was not waiting for...

“Billy?”

Tag list: @shunna, @yourmom-isgay I hope you enjoy it!

#android AU #Wanted Criminal Eddie Munson #Android Steve Harrington #tumblr fic #myfanfic #steddie #au gust 2023 #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #writing challenge #medusapelagia #medusapelagia fanfic #my fanfic

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frozenjokes · 8 months

Text

colored sketches as a treat as I try to figure out some design stuff! not exactly sure how Scar looks when he’s being killed via life drain through the ouija board but he does look pale! And I’d like some ice motifs as well. Didn’t quite hit the mark there but I was mostly just messing around at that point.

I should color more of these. Next might be a revised Pearl/Mumbo ghost monster design because I want MORE bug.maybe some sword hands. this au has certainly gone in A Direction

obligatory fic snippet below. Next chapter should be out soon >:)

***

Scar spoke, but Mumbo couldn’t hear the words, not that they were anything significant. Scar wouldn’t even look at him, why would he do anything but dodge his questions? But even now at the height of his frustration, Scar was beginning to deflate, his body curving into fits of uncontrollable shivering. His hand suddenly felt frail under Mumbo’s own. Was this killing him? After the night spent together, Mumbo was certain the ouija board interactions wouldn’t, but then again, he had never felt this warm. It was almost hot now, bordering on unpleasant. Maybe the extra heat stemmed from his anger? Mumbo sighed, loosening his grip. This wasn’t going to work, not with Scar so defensive. He’d have to switch gears. Even as some warmth returned to Scar, without Mumbo holding him up, he fell forward over the ouija board. Mumbo jumped, pushing him back into a sitting position. Since when had he gotten so weak?

“Scar, I need you to listen. Can you hear me?” He wished the gentleness of his tone didn’t come so easily. He wished he wasn’t so concerned.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Can you hear me, Scar?”

“Yes. Yes, I can hear you,” Scar slouched, and Mumbo thought for a moment he might topple back over. When Scar looked back up, beads of sweat were running fast down his face.

“I don’t want to care about you. About the things you did, about the person I never got to know. I don’t want to, but I do, and I won’t be able to move on unless you answer my questions. We- all of the ghosts- we are trying to move past this. Past you. Find a better life that isn’t just misery all the time. But I’m not ready, and I can’t be ready until I get some closure. Work with me here. You don’t want your back hurting for the rest of your life, do you?”

Scar laughed, the effort shaking his entire body, “You want closure, huh?”

“Yes. That’s all I want.”

“Closure,” Scar hummed, his eyes drifting elsewhere, his mind far away, “I guess I owe you one, don’t I. Well maybe if you’re right, I’ll get a hell of a deal out of this.” Scar closed his eyes, presumably imagining a life without the crew of The Flying Jellie, ever present and ever disruptive. Ever painful. “Alright, Mumbo. But if this makes things worse, try not to make it my problem. Shake on it?”

Mumbo narrowed his eyes at Scar’s outstretched hand, the other still trapped firmly under his grip. Make things worse? Seriously? No, things couldn't be worse than they already were. The answers would sting, Mumbo was sure of it, but the pain would fade. Knowing the answers to questions he had obsessed over for months would make it all worth it. Anything was better than laying on the floor of Scar’s room as he slept, wondering if the pain of his betrayal would ever cease. Still, sitting across from Scar and having this moment framed as a ‘deal,’ he couldn’t help but feel like he was getting conned. Mumbo shook his head. It didn’t matter. He reached out his free hand, meeting Scar’s in a firm shake.

***

link to the fic here

#hermitcraft #pirates smp #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #boatem #boatemghostsau #scar kills all their asses #to me anyway

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z-ppy · 9 months

Text

Room 22

After Jack gets his soul back, he realizes things will never be how they were. But they might be close. Slightly divergent from canon in small ways. @dawg-motif ty for the idea

“I’d like… for things to go back to the way they were.”

His voice was careful, measured, hitting the right intonations to convey fondness, to appeal to fatherly instinct, to appease. He’d picked out exactly what he wanted to say and how he’d say it. I regret it. The… accident.

___

They’d filled up his room after he died, crowding the empty space with tangible, but forgettable things. Moldy boxes, swords and masks, clay pots that occasionally let off sour-smelling fumes, an entire tarnished tea set that had a sign reading DO NOT STARE AT REFLECTION taped to the teapot. Books, stacked horizontal all the way up to the ceiling, covered an entire wall, the spines buckling out under their own weight. Unreachable and unreadable.

They’d moved his typewriter. He’d only used it once; pressing the stiff keys and listening to the reluctant click when they popped back up. It sounded like Sam’s creaky knees, which made him smile. He smudged his fingers with ink that had once been black as he poked around inside, trying to see how the machine worked, pulling his hand out in surprise when a rusty gear snagged the delicate skin on his knuckle. It stung for a second, then smoothed over, the small smear of bright blood sinking back under his skin.

Focus broken, he wandered back to the library, leaving little dark fingerprints all over the keys, desk, bedspread, and trailed along the tile wall in the hallway. Sam grabbed his hand when he reached for the book Sam was looking at, and gave him a long lecture about the proper conservation of historical archives, dirty fingers, and asking before you touch.

He didn’t play with the typewriter again. At first because he was ashamed, then because he was resentful that Sam had snatched him and told him off like a misbehaving child, and then because his soul was gone and he didn’t really care anymore.

_____

He’d barely noticed, before, that he’d been transplanted ("Only down the hall," Sam had said with eyes that said he was sorry), but now, with tears that never really dried stinging his eyes and an ache in his chest that felt heavy, suffocating, threatening to climb up into his throat and choke him, he could hardly stand it. His soul felt like a burning rock too hot to wrap his hands around. Now, through his blurry tears, he finally understood.

___

The air glimmered with dust particles when he flicked on the light; the draft from the hallway banishing them to darker corners of the room. He avoided the effigies and cut-glassware, careful not to trip over anything either. But he wasn’t human, he wouldn’t trip, and he probably couldn’t be cursed either.

The wall of books was one faded grayish color, each book defined by a fuzzy outline. Jack edged closer, weaving between boxes, and ran a light finger over one of the spines, trying to make out the faint golden lettering. When it didn’t crumble under his touch, he brushed harder, blowing on it. Dust flew in his face, and he sneezed. The lights flickered. There wasn’t really a biological reason for the reflex– his grace destroyed any invading particles before they could harm him, but it was stubbornly hardwired into his human form nonetheless. He sneezed again, and the overhead light shattered, sending sparks and pieces of glass flying.

Boots thudded down the hallway and Dean skidded into the room, scanning for danger. He stopped short when his steps crunched on broken glass. He looked at Jack, then at the shattered ceiling light.

“I, um…” Jack began, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Jack hadn’t thought he’d ever hear Dean laugh again.

_fin_

#it's scattered bc i wrote it instead of sleeping #supernatural fic #spn #jack kline #takes place in some liminal place after jack gets back from the garden #maybe delete later idk #unironically #i'm very tired #z.fic #supernatural #dean winchester

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fallenrepublick · 1 year

Note

Thrass content please? Maybe something about being newly weds??

Newlywed content???? Oh man oh man he is THE character for this!!

Yknow that thing that people say, how being married doesn't change anything, how you go home at the end, both still the same person, knowing each other just as strongly as you did the day before? It's the for Thrass... mostly.

There's something else to it, though. Something light and gentle, something relieved. It's present in everything he does from the moment the two of you are declared married. From his grin never before present in such a public space, to the way he guides you to your home, decorated and prepared to welcome you once more as if you ever left, from gentle kisses and kind words, to tracing paths on your arm in the early morning sunrise.

He needed no coercion to shut off anything meant to communicate with work, save for Ar'alani on speed dial in case of emergency. He knew she had no desire to bother him.

Thus, his attention, undivided and unbroken, lay on you. You and him. He's happy to be unencumbered these days, holding you, dancing you around the small, remote places he's found as you travel. The only additional weight was the new ring on his finger, the one he insisted on wearing despite it not adhering to Chiss tradition. Perhaps he wasn't one prone to attachment towards objects, but the gold in place of the small pieces of red string you'd used when everything was still a secret... it always brought him a smile. Proper jewelry on your hand, the way things were always supposed to be. He made a promise to you when you both were younger, and in moments of doubt, it was something he held himself to. With the means to follow through on the promise, he accepted the possibility of forfeiting his inheritance and proceeded with the plans. Regret never manages to hit him.

The moments of music he takes now have a recurring motif, a tiny melody carried throughout that you only began hearing after admitting feelings to him.

"It... feels like you," he explains one day, "It's the same feeling as when you touch my shoulder. Like waking up in the middle of a snow storm and knowing you have all the time in the world to enjoy the warmth."

You're not sure you understand. Or maybe you do. Either way, your presence remains in everything he does and everything he makes.

Even married, he never changes, not in the way some do. It's often expected that people change, become "boring" or dull, at least, even more so than they already are. Regardless of Thrass's outward unamusement towards everyone and everything that doesn't interest him personally, you find him most fun just the way he's always been. He doesn't "mature" in the way many expect, doesn't change himself. Even now, he gossips, snickers at other Syndics for their struggles or attempts at showing him up. At the first sign of drama, the communicator goes to speaker mode, and if the other party listens closely (which they never do), they'll hear hurried shuffling in the background as he brings you over to listen to the newest family drama.

Married life begins melding your minds, if only a bit. Socially, he relaxes, able to better interact with other people without hating them instantly. You find yourself sliding your sunglasses down your nose upon hearing anything close to an attitude from a conversation partner, something you've watched him do too many times to count. You often say the same phrases at the same time, picking up each other's slang. He swears in basic, you swear in Cheunh.

Magic.

#thrass #mitth'ras'safis #not him being ever so slightly ND like his brother

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lillywillow · 2 years

Text

Bookmarked

Summary: When Sam decided to finally visit the bookstore he always seemed to pass by, he wasn’t expecting to fall in love with the store’s cute owner

Written for: @jadedvibes’s Falling in Love writing challenge

Words: 1351

Prompts Used: “I know what you need. Hold on.” With a Bookstore AU twist.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff

One pleasant fall afternoon, Sam was taking his usual walk around town. As he passed the bookstore on the corner, it occurred to him that he never actually went inside. He didn’t really need to buy a book but he did love supporting local businesses and it would be much nicer than getting something from one of those big chain places. One thing that also really set this place apart is there was always some kind of decoration in the window with books to match. This month, the window had a whole autumn motif with orange and brown leaves, acorns, small pumpkins and apples around the display and the books all had a similar theme to them.

The moment Sam walked in the store; he could feel the love the owner had for it. There was a smell of old books and dust with a hint of something sweet he couldn’t quite place. The shelves were all organised by genre with the occasional stack sitting by a loose, unlabelled set of shelves or piled on top of larger, sturdier shelves. At the large, wooden desk sat a woman with her nose in a book.

‘She’s cute,’ Sam thought to himself.

Once she noticed Sam standing at the counter, she placed a bookmark in between the pages she was reading and set the book down.

“Hello, how can I help you?” she smiled.

“Um… I’m looking for something to get my nephews into history… you know, a lot of the world war stories are about old white guys and I’d like to find something that they could relate to…”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Sarah had struggled to get the boys interested in reading and history but nothing ever grabbed at them.

The woman’s eyes lit up and she smiled brightly.

“I know what you need. Hold on.”

Sam waited at the counter and she walked down one of the aisles. She soon returned and placed a graphic novel in his hands.

“The Harlem Hellfighters?” Sam asked, looking at the cover.

“Yeah! These guys were so cool! They spent six months fighting in France during World War I which was longer than any other American squadron spent, they never lost any ground and their men never got captured. They were first Allied group the break through to the Rhine River. Sadly, they never got the recognition they deserved but they helped pave the way for guys like the Tuskegee Airmen and the Black Panther tank battalion of World War II! I… I’m rambling now, aren’t I? Sorry, I’m a bit of a history buff. I’m Y/N, by the way… the store owner.”

“I’m Sam. I think it’s sweet. What else can you tell me about these guys?”

Y/N smiled brightly at him and continued her explanation about the 369th regiment as well as teaching him about the other two companies she mentioned. Sam loved the passion in her voice and the way her face became enlightened as she spoke. He spent most of the afternoon there, only leaving once Y/N realised it was time to close. Sam would definitely be back here again.

…

The following week, Sam once again visited the bookstore. You smiled when you saw him again. He was the first guy you met in a long time that listened to you when you talked about history and books.

“Hi, Sam. How did the book go with your nephews?” you asked.

“They loved it. My sister said that she’s never seen them so interested in history before. I also mentioned those other two groups you mentioned to them and they want to read everything they can get their hands on about them,” Sam informed you.

“That’s great!” you smiled.

“I was wondering, Y/N… could I buy you a coffee? I’d like to get to know you some more...”

“I think I’d like that,” you smiled.

…

The following weeks, Sam had been by your bookstore a lot. He would bring you a coffee and a cinnamon roll from the bakery every morning and on the days he would spend all day with you, he would help around your store. You could feel yourself beginning to fall in love with him. Little did you know how literally this would happen.

…

When October rolled around, it was time to change up your window décor. There wasn’t too much of a change, just swap out some of the decorations to Halloween ones and the books to horror theme. Sam was helping you to arrange your window by carrying the books you had taken from the display and putting them aside to be organised later. You were up on a wooden ladder to get a book from a higher shelf that would be perfect for the window when one of the rungs you were standing on snapped. You screamed, expecting to painfully hit the ground but instead fell into Sam’s arms.

“You okay, Y/N?” he asked, holding you close to his body.

“Y-yeah… I… I think so…” you whimpered.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re trembling…”

Sam gently set you down in a chair and fussed over you, making sure you weren’t hurt in any way.

“I’m okay, Sam. Really. I’m more shaken than hurt. I’m just glad you were there to catch me,” you sighed.

Sam kissed your forehead. You felt butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Well, a new ladder would be useful,” you muttered, now getting a good look at how bad condition the old one was in.

“Okay but when I come back, let me grab that book, alright? Can’t risk my best girl getting hurt.”

Sam gave you one last smile before heading out the door. The man truly was a character straight out of one of the books you so dearly loved. He was handsome, thoughtful, funny and caring. Sam was everything you could ever ask for and more. It was no mystery as to why you were totally in love with him… the question was, could he be in love with you? Sam spent as much time with possible with you and he helped you out when he didn’t have to… He did a lot of things he didn’t have to like buy you coffee and treats. Sam did call you sweetheart and kissed your forehead… Guys don’t normally do that if they’re not interested… unless they’re players… Sam didn’t strike you as a player.

When Sam came back, you had to tell him everything that was on your mind.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah, Y/N?” he replied, setting up the new ladder.

“What did it mean before… when you kissed my forehead and called me your best girl?”

Sam walked over to you and gently cupped your face.

“Isn’t it obvious? I love you, Y/N. It was all I could do before to keep myself from kissing you… I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable if you didn’t feel the same way about me…”

“I love you too, Sam.”

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked.

“Of course.”

As Sam pressed his lips to yours, you couldn’t ask for a more perfect kiss.

“So… will you be my girlfriend?” Sam asked when he pulled away.

“As long as you’ll be my boyfriend,” you smiled.

Sam smiled back and kissed you again.

…

Your relationship with Sam only blossomed after that. He introduced you to his sister and nephews who seemed to really like you. You even hired Sarah to work in your store so you could take some much-needed time off. On those days, you spent your time curled up to your wonderful boyfriend reading a good book. Who could ask for a better way to spend a cool and drizzly fall day?

#fallinginlovewritingchallenge #autumn #Bookmarked #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #Bookstore AU #Kiss #Books #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot

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