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baldursgatedatingsim · 7 months

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These are just random blurbs I wrote during EA about a dnd OC that I turned into a BG3 OC. Her name is Kill-Sin (because tiefling virtue names are the best), and her wife is killed after the Descent to Avernus by an anti-tiefling mob. In the EA, Kill-Sin was an Oath of Vengeance Paladin devoted to Jergal which I know makes no sense bite me.

...

Shadowheart's eyes fell on the open locket near Kill-Sin's bedroll. "Who is she?"

Painted in painstakingly minute detail on the inside of the locket was the portrait of a tiefling woman. She was ghostly pale with wide all-white eyes and a flowing mane of pearly gray hair. She had four horns, two on each side of her head, which curled out and away from each other. Her upturned lips reminded Shadowheart of the faces sculptors often gave Celestials- exceedingly kind and ultimately forgiving.

Almost reverently, Kill-Sin knelt down and picked up the locket. Her thumbs carressed the outer edge which acted as the portrait's frame. The ghost of a smile haunted the corners of her lips. Then she remembered where she was, and who she was with, and Kill-Sin snapped the locket closed. She wrapped its chain around her fist. "No one."

"Can you really say that? She seems important to you. You sleep with her next to you every night, after all." Shadowheart tilted her head, waiting to see the effect of her words.

Kill-Sin stood, expression stony. "Whatever game this is, I suggest you play it with someone else." She bit out the words with a cold fury Shadowheart was used to seeing from Kill-Sin, but never before directed towards her. The tiefling woman was trying to cover up for her exposed vulnerability. But they both knew it was too late. Kill-Sin stalked off without another word to continue packing for the day. They were returning to the Emerald Grove. Hopefully, Halsin would be grateful enough for his freedom to cure them of the tadpole parasite.

...

Dammon shook his head as he cast a glance at Kill-Sin surrounded by Mol and the other orphans. "It's a tragedy, what happened to her," he remarked. Shadowheart and Wyll were going over some armor, while Lae'zel inspected his arms.

"What do you mean?" Shadowheart tried to keep her tone politely curious, and she never took her eyes off of the fine metal gloves arrayed in front of her.

"After what happened in Elturel, well...you know." He gestured to the gathered refugees. "People started attacking tieflings, calling for us to be exterminated. Someone claiming to be a cleric would go around saying, "Oh, such-and-such a god is giving me visions. The divines are calling for hellspawn blood." I don't know how much anyone believed them. Seemed like just another excuse to come after us." Dammon shook his head at the harrowing memories. "Sometimes I can still hear the screams of innocent people being carried out of their homes just to be hung outside of the city walls or in the parks."

"That's awful," Gale remarked in genuine horror. "No wonder Kill-Sin is so...walled-off."

Dammon nodded. "That's what happened to her wife, Lethe. Sweetest person you could ever meet. Everyone joked she was the 'Gray Lady' because she looked like a ghost, and the way she just glided when she walked. Then one night..." His eyes unfocused again, lost in another nightmare. Pulling himself out of it, he shook his head vigorously. "You don't need to know all the gory details. Hells, I don't want to even think about them. But Kill-Sin was never the same afterwards."

They made their requisite purchases, trading in some of the weapons and jewelry they had looted back at the temple. He nodded as they left, smiling politely, and went back to packing up his mobile forge.

They walked back to the gate, each mulling over Dammon's story. Halsin and Zevlor stood atop the wooden walkway, conversing. In the shadows under them, Mol was attempting to pick up Kill-Sin's greatsword, a fancy new quill tucked into the strap of her eyepatch.

"Just wait 'til I'm big," she huffed, struggling to even get the pommel over her shoulder. "I'll be a better forger and warrior than you."

"Not if you don't practice your lettering," Kill-Sin chided. She picked up Mol and the sword in one swoop. The little girl, who often acted more like a mob boss than a child, squealed in delight.

"Ready to head back?" Wyll asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Ready to watch some big people drink themselves stupid. I've got the grandest of plans," she teased.

Wyll laughed. "Trying to impersonate the Blade?"

"Let me guess," Mol quipped, hopping to the ground, "I've got a big scabbard to fill. I'll see you in Baldur's Gate, boss?" She gave Kill-Sin puppy dog eye, her lip quivering with genuine emotion.

"Of course." The woman sounded almost gentle. She slung her pack to the ground and rummaged through it. After a few moments, she pulled out an envelope with a wax seal, stuffed almost to bursting. "Nearly forgot. Take these for practicing. When you get to the Gate, seek out a svirfneblin named Taliesin Glitterskein. Tell him Limos sent you. He'll ask you for the password first, but he'll teach you everything you need to know."

Mol gripped the envelope in her tiny hand like it was the grandest treasure. "What's the password?"

Kill-Sin winked. "I guess you'll have to figure that out."

The girl gave a toothy grin, then ran off to rejoin her flock of orphans. Kill-Sin watched her for a moment before banishing any remaining frivolity from her bearing.

"Who's Limos?" Wyll wondered.

"An...acquaintance." Kill-Sin re-sheathed her sword. "Let's go."

...

The dream started off pleasant enough. Kill-Sin was lying in the grass, green blades swaying softly in the breeze. The sun danced merrily between downy clouds. A perfect afternoon.

"You frown when you sleep."

Kill-Sin's blood turned to ice when she heard the voice- kind, sweet, loving. She sprang to her feet and wheeled around. Standing there, clear as day, was Lethe. She wore a see-through purple gown which draped from a gawdy jewelled halter smithed from gold.

"Who are you?" Kill-Sin demanded to know. Her heart hammered in her chest and panic rose in her throat. She had to get away from this thing, this Not-Lethe. But all that surrounded her were cliff faces. There was nowhere for her to go.

Not-Lethe tilted her head, pity in her pale milky eyes. "I think you know. In your heart you know."

"You are not her! How dare you. How dare you!" Kill-Sin screamed, and her accusation echoed around her.

"You would reject me, Killy? After I saved you?" Heartbreak tinged Not-Lethe's words with sorrow. Crocodile tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill.

"Don't..." Kill-Sin sobbed. "Don't call me that."

She fell to her knees. Confusion and pain overwhelmed her. This was a nightmare and she prayed for it to end.

A cold hand pressed against Kill-Sin's cheek, then retreated. "I will return to you when it's time. Hopefully, you'll be ready for me then."

Kill-Sin awoke in a cold sweat, the drumbeat of her heart set to a dizzying speed. She stormed out of her tent, grabbing her sword, and headed out into the trees. The feel of Not-Lethe's cold hand lingered on her cheek, the sound of the voice echoing in her ears, and Kill-Sin roared with rage. She heaved the greatsword with all of her might, smashing through the nearest tree and into the dirt. Half a dozen more trees fell to the ground before Kill-Sin collapsed, emotionally and physically spent.

"I do not envy whosoever draws your ire." Withers emerged from the shadows, his steps silent against the forest floor.

"If you do not leave," she growled between heavy breaths, "it will be you."

"You and I both know your threat is devoid of any real substance." The strange undead rested a bony hand on the hilt of the greatsword. "You are as incapable of harming me, as I am of harming you."

Kill-Sin didn't bother responding. Instead, she focused on her breaths and returning them to a normal rhythm. This took a few minutes, her eyes shut tight against potential distractions, Withers included. All the while, he studied her with a detached curiosity.

"Is he as silent with you as he is me?" the skeleton asked out of the blue.

"Who?" Kill-Sin stood, brushing the dirt and leaves off of her night clothes. She held out her hand for the sword, but Withers simply looked at her.

"Jergal. Obviously." He stepped back and motioned for her to grab the weapon herself. She wondered if he was even capable of lifting it. He didn't really have any musculature.

She pried the sword out of the ground and considered the question. Prayer had never been one of Kill-Sin's regular activities. Nor was she a true follower of Jergal as the armed scribes had been. The books from the chapel did reside in her tent, but those she collected out of a strange compulsion she assumed was the work of the god. Even Lethe had not been devout, though she was a believer in what she called 'little miracles.' Animals with fur on their paws that looked like they were were wearing little boots, perfectly brewed cups of tea, the smell of wildflowers- these were the things Lethe believed in.

There was only one time a prayer had mattered in Kill-Sin's life. When the broken and battered body of her wife lay in her arms, she had screamed out for anyone to help her. Her hate-filled heart sent out a call only one god dared to answer. A god of death and murder and ink made of bone-ash. Jergal.

He spoke to her once. Offered her vengeance in exchange for a lifetime of service. And that was it.

"I haven't...heard anything. I assumed he would speak when the time is right for him," she replied. "He is a god, after all."

Withers nodded, considering her words. He retreated once more, presumably to his spot by the river. Following his lead, Kill-Sin returned to camp. The heavy embrace of armor would help her sudden feeling of being unmoored.

When she got back to camp, the others were huddled together over their bowls of breakfast stew.

"There you are," Shadowheart greeted her. "Care to join us?"

"No." She continued her resolute path towards her tent and the armor she had lain out last night.

"Her dream must not have been as scintilating," Astarion remarked. "Although, it's hard to tell if Kill-Sin's in a bad mood or just being her usual cheerless self."

"Shut it. I had a dream, I just don't want to talk about it." She glared at the smug high elf.

"Did it feature your dearly departed wife?" he teased.

Lightning fast, Kill-Sin made her way across the camp and punched Astarion. He went flying back several feet before landing on his ass in the dirt. She growled at him, ready to spring and continue her attack.

#og kill-sin beefed on site with kagha but i didn't write that part out nearly as well #but tbh i kinda miss her #compared to current kill-sin who is super nice to everyone she meets ugh #bg3 #oc #kill-sin primple #also let me adopt mol you cowards

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dutybcrne · 1 year

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@typewriterings said : ❣️ - What are their love languages? 🤔 - What’s something they’ll never understand? 💝 - What gestures do they really appreciate? How do you get on their good side? {For Lisa, Kaveh, & Kaeya, & Hu Tao!} 『 Meme || Accepting 』

❣️ - What are their love languages?

Hu Tao: Quality time ( receiving/providing ), Words of Affirmation ( providing/receiving to a lesser extent ), Gifts ( giving/receiving to a lesser extent )

Kaeya: Acts of service ( providing ), Quality Time ( receiving ), Words of Affirmation ( receiving/providing )

Kaveh: Acts of Service ( providing/receiving ), Quality Time ( receiving/providing ), Words of Affirmation ( receiving ),

Lisa: Quality time ( receiving/providing ), Gifts ( receiving ), acts of service ( receiving/providing ), physical touch ( receiving/providing )

🤔 - What’s something they’ll never understand?

Hu Tao: Why someone would want to live beyond their set lifespan, in particular trying to achieve immortality. She gets it, death is a terrifying thing to most. But to her, there is little to nothing worse than being unable to truly be at peace, especially being unable to join loved ones in the afterlife, whether because they refused or were unable to likewise achieve immortality with the respective partner ( isn’t that the saddest thing? ). And who’s to say immortality is all it’s cracked up to be, anyways? Human life and experiences are precious because of a human’s mortality. Sure, it’d be neat to get to experience more than what a regular human could in a lifetime, but she has no doubt in her mind that sooner or later, that very same longevity would only end up being a lonesome burden, whether in the person seeing so much of humanity come and go without them or because that immortality would inevitably change them until they’re unrecognizable as themselves. That it would leave them fed up with such an existence, as ennui and frustration built up within them like tar as the endless years go on, a festering poison and ticking timebomb in one. And what then, if they end up agonized enough and wishing for death, only to never be able to have its sweet relief? She hates even thinking about it.

Kaeya: Where his true place may lay. Every time he thinks he’s made a decisive conclusion as to where he belongs, something new always arise to bring his doubts anew. Crepus’ death and Diluc’s attack should have liberated him from his ties to Mondstadt, refocused back onto the very purpose he was to have. The last hope of Khaenri’ah. And yet his attachments to the Knights and those of the Dawn Winery kept him in place, the ties he’d forged through his life in years he’d spent among them too strong to snap, regardless of what Diluc had done. Mond should undoubtedly be the only place for him, the only place that took him as one of their own and raised him well, whereas the nation his ties lay buried in would give him nothing. Gave him nothing, as long as he’d lived, save a blood father that left him a spy and a purpose that instilled nothing but conflicts in him, a nation with so many mysteries and intrigues that so beckon to him regardless of how he would want to discard it. And tried, genuinely tried so HARD to. Yet it was Dainsleif’s words that ironically rekindled his curiosity for the long ruined nation, in spite of the man’s hopes they wouldn’t, the hunger for that aspect of himself gnawing deep within as Kaeya’s desire for answers arose. Truly, he knows he ought to quell it all. That to seek answers, he may invariably stumble across one that leaves all he is and all he’s worked so hard to maintain crumbling in its wake. He would swear it mattered not to him, but he burns to know. He burns to know it all, even essentially having been told by the very man who sparked it all anew he would be better off not knowing. He does try his damndest to keep his distance from it all, even with this want, even giving into temptation just the slightest hint every so often. Still, he doubts that even in knowing more, his conflict will be resolved. He’s hopelessly attached to his present and his past alike, who he wants to be and who he was meant to become. And even should he be forced to make his ultimate choice between the two...could he truly say he’d be happy with either?

Kaveh: Why there is such an importance heaped upon talent and intelligence. It’s not to say he’s griping over sour grapes or anything, he knows and is very self-assured in his own, thank you. In fact, that’s precisely why he has such a problem with it. Because he knows quite personally just how stressful it is to have so much attention draw to it and have many rising expectations, both from one’s self and others. Sometimes, he feels his creativity stifled in being reminded of the sheer reputation he has amassed with his work, in the oh so glaring reminder that he HAS to live up to said expectations, or else. And that’s without mentioning how much his bleeding heart hates seeing how much it affects others. He doesn’t know WHAT to do about it, save impulsively offer a helping hand to those he sees struggling in particular, even while he himself is positively floundering. It doesn’t matter, as long as he can make even the SLIGHTEST difference, he’ll be content enough with that. If only he could get through to the Akademiya’s sages, or even DO something truly worthwhile and lasting about the unfortunate matter.

Lisa: Why anyone would be so intent to pursue the fullest extent of knowledge, or even keep on forging past their own limits in general, especially to a rather self-detrimental degree. Similarly to Kaveh, she’s seen burnout and breakdowns aplenty, has been there herself. She’s seen the horrid effects and consequences that have come from doing just that. From someone pushing themselves massively for the sake of their goals, and while she wasn’t really one to have tried to reach out to stop or help them before ( and oh how she regrets not having done so and spared so many the pain they ended up in ), since she was caught up in her own goals and meeting impossibly high expectations ( her own, the Sages, those fellow scholars who looked up to her ), she will be damned if she lets any of her own within her beloved Mondstadt fall to such toxic patterns. Not if she can help it. There is a reason she will always actively attempt to persuade others to take their breaks or even try and lower their standards for themselves. To give them reasons to cease working themselves so hard, by inviting them on outings, getting them to spend time with her. She’s aware some may find it irritating or even end up frustrated with her, but she’d much rather end up with her own reputation taking the brunt of it all, so long as she can ensure she provides even the smallest distraction for them in some way.

💝 - What gestures do they really appreciate? How do you get on their good side? {For Lisa, Kaveh, & Kaeya, & Hu Tao!}

Hu Tao: Spending time with her is an easy one. She is well aware that most people find her a bit much. She is also very adamant on not changing herself and who she is for anyone either. If she is to have close friends, they will be ones who can meet and want her as she is, eccentricities, flaws, pleasantries and all. Why spend what life she has trying to be someone different to please others? As such, those who let her hang around them, most frequently accept her invitations for tea, or especially actively try and seek her out more are held in the highest fondness from her. To be wanted as she is a delight in and of itself, but even better is having the chance to properly show more of herself to them, beyond her usual manner of being. And it’s in the more one spends time with her that she can best tailor how they hang out to suit the both of them a lot better as well, to MAKE things better for them and herself overall. Any and all times spent together meant the world.

Another thing she appreciates is blunt directness. It doesn’t matter if it hurts her feelings or not, she likes the certainty that would ideally come with it more than enough to bear with it. Stuffy politeness and flowery words meant to humor her or keep in her good graces for whatever reason are irritating, she doesn’t know what to do with them or what the person is trying to DO. But someone being completely upfront with her, no matter how unpleasant, is easier to understand and much more preferred. With that, she’ll better know how to act accordingly or at the very least know where she stands with them. The latter is more important than anything. She makes it a point to be upfront and honest with near everything she says ( life’s too short to bottle up anything for long if at all, after all ), and she would very much prefer it if people skipped formalities and polite niceties with her as well

Kaeya: It’s as simple as relying on him. Being someone who’s not afraid to lean on him and make him feel NEEDED; that’s the sort he’d wind up treasuring greatly, platonic or otherwise. It doesn’t matter how trivial or how important the matter is, so long as he can help or even play the smallest role in it for the person, he’s more than happy to lend his time to do it and remember that. He may tease and jest about them being ‘over-reliant’, but truth is, nothing would his heart soar more than for them to be just that ( even as he recognizes the codependency that would surely arise from that could ultimately be detrimental, but he’d elect to ignore it- ). Overall, being relied upon makes him feel trusted, WANTED, and that’s all he’d ever want to feel, especially by those particular few who’ve wormed their way deep into his heart. Even the smallest of tasks assigned to him by someone he is fond of would be enough to perk up his mood exponentially. A pass on his offer is enough to dampen it to an embarrassing degree, harder to hide than what delight would bubble within him otherwise. He’s more than happy to take initiative and take on tasks for his people, basking in how they may remark on his efforts ( done anonymously or not ) or even simply watching how much more efficiently they work because of what he did for them.

Being checked in on is also something that really gets him. He can get so caught up in his efforts to aid others, he would tend to neglect himself in the process more often than not. And while their notice of his state or even a simple remark of theirs for him to take care of himself would be met with surprise ( depending how well and/or swiftly he can hide it in the moment ) then teasing delight, he would end up internally gushing over and dwelling on that for hours afterward. Dwelling on the fact that he was important enough to someone ( be it out of convenience to them or because they actually cared, he’s content enough either way ) to have warranted it, and probably making a damn fool of himself in the way he’d go about his day after in the process.

Kaveh: Admiring his work. Now he doesn’t simply create with the aim to garner compliments for himself, of course. Though they are pleasant to receive and he will always damn near preen in the face of them. But ultimately, he loves to create simply to add beauty to the world and push himself to innovate, more and more, to see what he can DO. Someone appreciating what he’s done, admiring the work alone and being an awe of it ( he wouldn’t even mind being an afterthought to it, rather be ecstatic he’d gotten someone so caught up in it ) leaves him positively giddy. He would always hope that what he does may stick with them for a bit, in mind or even inspiring them a bit, a little something special to carry with them in their day-to-day.

He rather likes it when people take initiatives, as well. On projects, interactions, daily life, all of it. While he has no qualms completely carrying something or someone through to the finish ( they just need to ask and let him know, preferably before the last minute ), continually relying on him to do everything and scarcely putting any effort in frustrates him greatly. It’s been enough to make him quit on several collaborative projects, no matter how eager he was to initiate them. He may be willing to do damn near anything to help others, but that bleeding heart of his has a line that can be easy to trip on over without even realizing it. It doesn’t have to be a big effort compared to his, but just enough of a contribution to make a difference is good. It shows investment and that makes him all the more eager to engage that person more than others and bump said person up on his list of Priorities overall.

Lisa: Helping her with her work. Or at the very least helping contribute to motivating her to. Both because she greatly appreciates the company and because executive dysfunction is a bitch. The fact that she gets to spend time with someone makes it even better. Be willing to do this ( especially after all the commentary she gets on being ‘lazy’ and ‘squandering her potential’ ) is something she pays close attention to and carefully notes each and every time. It doesn’t go without reward though, as the more someone has taken time to help her, the more effort she will put into helping them and even going as far as working to be able to work alongside them more, even when the effort is more likely to leave her spent. But it’s worth it for that person. She’s not one to advise pushing limits in such a manner, but there are very select exceptions she may be willing to bend that. Just a little bit.

Listening to her can quickly endear someone to her just as well. Be it talking about her current favorite book, or anything and everything at all, even little pieces of counsel she may share, it doesn’t matter. If the person makes an active effort to listen to her and actually retain what she says, she will ADORE them, plain and simple. She will happily do just that for them, even keeping a little journal dedicated to ensuring she never forgets a single detail about her person. To have that care reciprocated ( even if not to the same extent, but she certainly won’t mind it when the effort counts most ), it’s such a wonderful thing.

#siidera #hc; kaeya #hc; hu tao #hc; lisa #hc; kaveh #long post for ts #//Ages late but shhh #answered #//The what they will never understands are more canon elaborated into hc's; I think kjbdkgfg

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kitacco · 3 years

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sunrise.

pairing: fem!reader, gojo satoru.

genre: angst with happy ending.

summary: time doesn’t always heal.

cw: mention of manipulation, violence.

wordcount: 4.1k.

! part two of clouds !

the sky is clear when you look up into the sky. even though the sun is not out, and instead, the sky is covered with grey clouds, you still like to believe it’s clear.

he made you believe that the first time you two met.

it wasn’t like you were escaping from reality, he simply thought if there was something you could change, then you should. you believed him, after so long.

how could you describe how he makes you feel? you had never felt it before. he felt like the orange sky adorned by the full sun, illuminating the grass and bringing warmth to the body despite the breeze. was that an exaggeration? probably, he didn’t think so, though. he made you believe you could rewrite reality with only your imagination.

meeting him was fate. he told you that, you thought it was sheer coincidence and two people on the right place. he was a little more romantic than you, though.

you had been to therapy for about two years.

things weren’t easy, and honestly, you wished you could forget about it.

your therapist assured you it wasn’t your fault - it took you a while to understand that.

you were aware that it wasn’t entirely your fault, what happened was a casualty, sadly, an experience you had to go through, but also a lesson you had the opportunity to learn from. it wasn’t easy, you understood that after a year of one session every month. you cried a lot, more than what you expected, and you felt responsible. because, if you hadn’t fallen for him, everything would’ve turned out well.

you were quick to learn that your emotions shouldn’t make you guilty, instead, who was to blame was him.

after a while, you finally accepted it.

gojo never contacted you after everything happened. you wanted to go on with your life like he most likely was, however, you were incapable of creating any type of relationship with people. what used to be a big group of friends became one, and what used to be exciting became scary. your friends, then, insisted you visited a therapist. you didn’t want to, at first. if anything, you wished you could simply erase the situation from your brain for the rest of your life, but how could you when subconsciously you failed to move on? your friend and her husband moved away, and so did you. she left the city while you moved to the other end of the city. not necessarily because you wished to avoid him; your therapist thought it was better to forge relationships from zero.

another year passed, and he had completely vanished from your life. you hadn’t told your new roommate about it, but you knew your friend had before you moved in. you didn’t mind. you knew she was trying to protect you. but, it’s not like he’d ever come around again - that you believed so.

you didn’t exactly know how you met him. maybe it really was fate, like he said once. only eleven months after the incident, you were still incapable of communication. leaving your house was scary and worrisome for anything other than therapy, so you didn’t tend to visit places much often. during the time, you were still leaving at your old apartment. your friend insisting on you moving on had already convinced you of leaving the building, and that day you were finally taking the boxes out.

you met by the stairs. a box had fallen from your hands straight to his feet.

as much as you apologized, he only smiled, assuring you he was alright.

and that was it.

you met him again on your way to your therapist. it was all too similar, you thought to yourself. he happened to have a friend living in the same building as you (he was literally your next door neighbor), and you were starting to open up to people a little more. you knew his friend, as much as one knows a neighbor. the guy was nice and he always gave your roommate eyes - she genuinely didn’t mind him.

you told your therapist about it the other day. and the next day, the guy was knocking at your door.

you remembered how nice having company felt. your roommate worked all day, while you only stayed at home. unable to properly work just yet, you only worked in the mornings at a coffee shop. it was safe and easy for you most of the times, only having to wipe tables and greet costumers. you didn’t complain.

he told you he had just gone to see his friend and happened to be curious about you. his eyes were a little intense but there was something about the tone of his voice and shakiness of his smile that managed to make you feel at peace.

besides your roommate, he became someone you could trust.

things didn’t go as quickly as it would’ve normally. you had never invited him inside your house alone, but when your roommate was there, you would let him inside. he would always visit with sweets or a cup of coffee for you.

it’s like everything repeated itself once again in some extent.

after hanging out with your roommate and him, his friend started tagging alone. the guy was sweet and funny, and in less than three weeks he managed to get your roommate to go on a date with you.

that was the first time the two of you spent alone.

you’d thought by that time you were over it. you were quick to understand there were some wounds that no matter how much you tried, would leave scars that still hurt.

but he didn’t mind waiting all the time in the world for you, and he let you know that.

looking back, you finally realized what real love truly was. he was what real love felt like.

small touches, assuring words, constant communication. silence wasn’t needed with him, and your eyes never spoke more than what words did.

you genuinely felt safe again.

gojo didn’t mean this to happen. after the yelling of your friend and the end of the friendship with his friend, gojo decided he was done with you forever.

so then, why was he involuntarily following you around the store?

he had no other intentions than to look at you for one last time. it had been a while, and he was genuinely curious about how you were doing. it was impossible to find anything about you, you had completely wiped yourself out from social media, and all your friends had blocked him too. that should’ve been enough for him to understand he wasn’t welcomed in your life anymore.

but then, why was he walking towards you? maybe for some closure, maybe to apologize, maybe only to say hi.

he couldn’t tell, but it was too late before he could make up his mind.

gojo tapped your shoulder quietly in the snacks aisle. he didn’t feel nervous, tense, or uneasy, almost as if the two of you were old friends that happened to meet again after so long, picking up the friendship where it had been left off. gojo was quick to realize that wasn’t the case, though.

“gojo!” you exclaimed, jumping at his sight.

had he always been that tall?

“it’s been a while,” he chuckled, looking back at your cart full. “you got a lot there, huh? you live closeby?”

gojo didn’t waste any time, pressing a hand against your cart, trapping you.

“no,” you’re quick to answer.

one of gojo’s eyebrows raises, and you look around, hoping someone can notice your state.

“oh, then you like this store? it has more things than the others around the city, i guess-”

“i’m sorry, gojo, i’m busy and need to finish this as fast as i can, but it was nice seeing you again!”

gojo’s gaze stays on your figure as you run off with your cart. he knows you’re lying, but which two was a lie? he didn’t know.

gojo should’ve taken the hint.

he walks out of the store, noticing the clouds turn darker than they were before. he’s deliberately waiting for you outside, hoping he can get you to talk a little more. was he curious about you? not really. was he wishing he could get you back?

perhaps.

you step out of the store with the cart full of bags, and gojo approaches you fastly, startling you once again.

“need a ride?”

“oh, no, thank you,” you decline, pulling the bags out of the cart.

“then let me help you to your car,” he proposes, reaching out for one of your bags.

“no!” you exclaim, grabbing them faster than he could. “i-it’s fine, there’s a station right there so it’s fine.”

“oh no, are you silly? so many bags on the train, you’re in a rush and it’ll more likely rain? c’mon, i’ll drive you home.”

you decline his offer again, your mind running wild. it’s not that you didn’t want to accept his generosity, but suddenly all the fears you once thought were buried floated to the surface again. suddenly it felt like all the progress you had made the past years was being ripped out of your consciousness.

“please, gojo, trust me, it’s fine,” you insist, grabbing onto your bags and trying to walk away. you look around, hoping someone sees the two of you, hoping someone would stop him. but no one is around, and no one but you can stop this.

but when you see gojo again, you finally understand it was never your fault.

gojo manages to get through you, and now you’re seated by his side as he mindlessly drives through the city. you texted your boyfriend the moment you got inside his car, telling him you were coming to his place and asking him to wait for you a few streets away. he instantly called you, but too nervous, you declined the call. you didn’t want gojo to know any more about your personal life, nor know you had moved away. if anything, you wanted gojo to disappear.

but could you tell him that?

“feels like the old times,” gojo mutters over the music on the radio.

like the old times?

an inexplicable feeling rises up your chest, yet you stay silent, wishing the ride was over. gojo would occasionally eye you, and everything would feel too familiar.

only that this time the tables had turned. because you realized you hated gojo’s guts, and he realized he loved you dearly.

“we should, hang out, again,” he mutters.

“i don’t think i can,” you speak, this time, your voice doesn’t falter, and gojo turns to face you.

“you got a boyfriend?”

“no,” you retort. “i’m busy.”

“you’ve always been busy, can’t you make some time for me again?”

you don’t answer. you knew too well, that if you say a word, you’ll explode. and as capable you thought you were of getting back to him, you could also remember clearly everything gojo had done to you. you don’t think it was worth the risk, trying to speak your heart out with someone like gojo.

he would never understand; he never wanted to. and he didn’t deserve to either.

“it’s here,” you announce, and gojo stops abruptly.

he frowns once he sees the man approaching his car, and you’re quick to jump out, telling him the bags were in the back. gojo steps out of the car too.

“hey, nice to meet you,” he says, and your boyfriend looks at you. “you’re his friend?”

“she’s my girlfriend.”

your breath hitches and you’re quick to grab his hand, distracting him from gojo’s conversation.

your boyfriend wasn’t an impulsive guy. he’s thoughtful and caring, fast to understand any situation he’s in front of.

but gojo is the complete opposite, and by experience, you know no one can go against gojo, no matter how hard they try.

“oh, that’s nice,” gojo taps the top of his car as he watches the two of you grabbing the bags. “i can help you carry some bags upstairs, if needed so.”

“it’s fine, thank you,” your boyfriend responds for you.

your boyfriend grabs your hand along the bags and walks towards the building gojo knows too well.

for your surprise, gojo doesn’t insist, and when you look back, he’s already inside the car, watching the two of you enter the building.

after that incident, you once again were incapable of leaving your apartment. and you didn’t want your boyfriend to leave his either.

gojo surely had changed, you noticed that the day you two met again. he looked taller, stronger, and unnerving. even though the two of you had been friends for many years, gojo was still unpredictable. you learnt that the last years of friendship you two shared.

“can i help you’” your boyfriend speaks.

gojo is at the other side of the door, in what was once your building, and outside what was once your apartment.

he cocked his eyebrows, incapable of hiding the smile creeping up his face.

“oh, you live together? that’s sweet,” gojo comments.

your boyfriend doesn’t respond, closing the gap between his body and the door so gojo couldn’t see indie his house, “yeah, what you want?”

“well, my birthday is coming and i thought maybe the three of us could celebrate it together. i don’t know if she told you, but we’re really good friends.”

your boyfriend nods, of course you haven’t.

“i don’t think we can, the both of us work.”

“oh, yeah? well, she always manages to make time for me, maybe i could ask her personally since you’re acting quite weird,” gojo tries again, his hand pressing against the surface of the white door.

“no, i’ll ask her and we’ll let you know.”

“fine, i’ll wait for your answer by saturday, if not, maybe i’ll come back,” gojo mutters, smirking.

your boyfriend wasn’t an aggressive guy. but, hell, he wished he could punch his face so bad.

he didn’t tell you anything about gojo’s visit nor invitation. you were already having a pretty bad time, you didn’t need more pressure put on your shoulders.

he genuinely thought he’d made the best decision - yet, he couldn’t help feel intimidated by the figure he happened to constantly meet.

gojo always told him it was a coincidence. he didn’t believe him, and fast enough, he started to understand your emotions. there was something eerie about the guy.

in no time, gojo had managed to push him against a wall. your boyfriend noticed what gojo claimed was coincidence was, indeed, his following, and too scared of him finding out you, in fact, didn’t live with him, your boyfriend started lying to you, claiming he had too much work and that he couldn’t go visit you. you facetimed and called each other often, but sadly, you felt uneasy, and your boyfriend knew too.

but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you.

“so, you made up your mind?”

your boyfriend stands at the other side of the door, startled by the tall white haired man. he’s smiling, as always, feigning a kind gesture as if the two of them were friends.

“sorry man,” your boyfriend speaks up. is his voice shaking? “we couldn’t get a break from work.”

“oh, that’s unfortunate,” gojo clears his throat, smiling again. “then maybe you guys can pick a day and we can meet then.”

your boyfriend observes him, eyes darker despite the blue orbits. his tapping his feet against the floor, unable to read gojo, and he, simply smiles. he knows he’s made your boyfriend nervous, and suddenly, he’s reminded of you.

no wonder you’d get with a guy like that.

gojo knew he couldn’t let you, though, you couldn’t stay with a guy like him.

how could he protect you if something ever happened to you? this guy was so easy to manipulate. it didn’t take more than a faint punch and the closing door for him to lose his composure in front of gojo. wasn’t your boyfriend supposed to be strong enough, like him perhaps? what was this guy gonna do if he were to be in front a situation like this again? he can’t seem to land a single hit on gojo, instead, receiving the other end. gojo expects him to put up a fight, maybe ask him to stop, but he doesn’t.

he wasn’t the man for you. gojo was, he just had to prove it to you.

snapping a picture, gojo sighed.

“guess i’ll have to show her what she’s missing, don’t you think?”

your boyfriend can’t stop him when he walks out of the door, and neither can he watch him, his vision too red, and the iron smell stir his insides.

gojo looks through the guy’s phone. who leaves their phone without a password? he was only proving gojo his unworthiness. this guy wasn’t made for you.

all he had to do now is let you know.

you hear knocking on your door. it’s late, your roommate is out with her boyfriend and your boyfriend didn’t tell you he was coming. still, hopefully, you walked to the door, expecting him to surprise you.

what did surprise you was gojo on the other side, with flowers on his hands.

“did i surprise you?”

it’s too fast, or maybe not, you don’t know. gojo casually enters your house, the place you had so long worked to keep safe. he leaves the flowers on the table, and approaches you, wrapping his arms around your figure.

you’re not shaking nor reacting, and gojo takes in your warmth.

oh, how much he missed you.

“i missed you so much,” he whispers in your ear. “did you miss me?”

you reach out for your phone on the back of your pants, carefully bringing it in front of you to quickly deal your boyfriend’s number.

a phone starts ringing, and it doesn’t take you long to recognize the ringtone.

“oh, someone’s calling,” gojo mentions, letting you go to check your boyfriend’s phone. it’s like he was expecting you to do so, answering the call like he hadn’t seen your caller id on the screen. “yes?”

“why do you have my boyfriend’s phone?”

“we happened to meet before i came here, nothing too serious, don’t worry,” gojo pats your head. “he was being an asshole, though, i guess i just had to prove him.”

you gasp when gojo brings up the phone to your face, “w-what did you do?”

“told you, i just wanted to make sure he was enough for you. he wasn’t, though, so i had to come let you know.”

only proves we’re made for each other, don’t you think?

you shake your hand, taking a step back.

“listen, listen gojo,” you start. your voice is firm and your trying to keep your cool too. gojo has many times proven what he’s capable of, and right now, you only wanted to at least postpone whatever he planned to do. “i think you should go home, it’s like, my roommates coming with her boyfriend, i don’t think it’s fine if they see you here.”

“you think? we can find out though.”

“no, i don’t think we should, so, let’s leave it here, we can meet tomorrow, okay? we can go have lunch together and catch up like old times.”

gojo laughs, shaking his head as he looks down to his hands.

“why are you treating me like i’m crazy?” he asks, and your breath hitches. you stop and watch his movements, suddenly the atmosphere turning colder. “because i’m in love with you?”

“i’m sorry, gojo—”

“is it wrong to be in love? are you really blaming me for my feelings?”

you can’t tell if he’s being honest or putting up an act. once again, he’s managed to get inside your head. you don’t have more options and your minds clouded, unable to find a proper solution to the situation, unable to end this.

“just give me one last chance, that’s all i ask from you.”

gojo knows you too well, too much for your own safety and sometimes for his own liking.

and so you find yourself sitting at a restaurant a few streets away from your apartment, waiting for gojo to arrive. you didn’t believe you’d made an irresponsible decision - in fact, this was the smartest way to handle the situation. your boyfriend pleaded you to not come. you could understand that, he’d finally met gojo and he’d sensed it; gojo was far stronger mentally and physically than you’d suspect. it was fine. you weren’t nervous or scared, no, because, if there was something your therapist had told you, was that, as long as you set your boundaries and knew your worth, you wouldn’t fall for his tactics anymore. you didn’t come here to make friends with him again or to assure him everything was okay, you were here to let him know it was over. plus, you had decided to give yourself a day to decide what exactly you were gonna tell him.

“didn’t expect you to come in so early,” he mutters, taking a seat in front of you. “you’re fifteen minutes—”

“let’s talk,” you interrupt.

gojo can sense it, you’ve changed. when he looks at you, he can tell you’re not that deer he’d used to hunt for.

he wants to tell you the truth - the one he’s made up in his head.

“i love you, i’m in love with you.”

it hasn’t been more than five minutes since he sat down. gojo notices the lack of reaction, the indifference in your face, and suddenly, he’s feeling nervous. he’s not good with words and you know that, yet you’re not reacting the way he’d pictured, imagined, last night. you’re not telling him you’re in love with him too and that you want to try again. you’re not smiling or reaching out to hold his hand on the table, or getting up to wrap your arms around his body. you stay in your place, with eyes boring into his, waiting for him to say something else.

but he’s got nothing else to say, “gojo, i don’t love you.”

gojo doesn’t like that, you can tell by the soft tapping of his shoes under the table. the restaurant is full and you know the last thing he wants to do is make a scene. because, if he were to do so, his true colors would show.

“how are you sure about that? is it because of your boyfriend?” gojo asks, leaning closer to you. “you know he’s not the one, you know he doesn’t make you feel the way i do.”

“gojo, everything is in the past,” you sigh, tilting your head, tired. “the both of us made bad decisions, played with each other, hurt each other, but that’s in the past and it should stay there.”

“no! i don’t want us to stay in the past, i need us right now,” gojo mutters, and if you didn’t know him well, you’d almost think he was pleading. “we’re meant to be.”

“we’re not!” you exclaim, now losing your patience. “we hurt each other, can’t you remember that? i let you play with me and manipulate me, and now that you’ve realized i did nothing but try to please you you’re suddenly feeling guilty! but things don’t work like that, gojo, mistakes like that can’t be embedded that easily. you have to take responsibility of your actions.”

“i never wanted to hurt you, i wanted you to be stronger—”

“and i am now, thanks to you,” you say. “thanks to what you did to me i’ve finally understand that i deserve better.”

“how do you know i can’t make it up to you?”

“because i won’t let you, because i’ve found somebody else that’ll make it up to me, and it’s not you.”

“one chance is all i’m asking—”

“you already had your one chance, and you wasted it.”

“then another one—”

you’re sure six months ago you’d fell for that. you’d wished to give gojo another chance. after all, no one was more special to you than he was. you could say, until this day, gojo was the most special person in your life. that didn’t mean you deserved to suffer to help him make it up to you. whatever he wanted wasn’t something healthy and neither of you deserved it. but it wasn’t your job to make gojo understand that, it wasn’t your responsibility to fix gojo.

gojo knew you had changed. he knew he didn’t have the right to come back in your life, nor were you supposed to help him embed things. still, he wished he could still have you by his side.

“it’s time to move on.”

because now, when he looks up at the sky early in the morning to watch the sunrise, he knows he wasn’t made to stay by your side.

#gojo angst #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen x reader #tw. manipulation #tw. violence

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aspoonofsugar · 3 years

Text

Jaune: Zero to Hero

Pyrrha: It's not about why; it's about knowing. Understanding dark and light helps us manifest our Aura. Everyone has some of both.

Knowledge, Creation and Destruction all lead up to Aura. This is just another way to say that they lead up to individuality, which is something Grimms lack:

Pyrrha: They are creatures of Grimm, the manifestation of anonymity.

Individuality is conveyed through Choice. This is why Choice is the most important and final gift. It is symbolic of self-actualization, which is what our characters are pursuing in their coming of age story.

Jaune’s personal arc comments the group’s collective journey and marks each stage very clearly.

In which way does it happen? And what do these stages mean for Jaune’s growth as an individual?

THE IGNORANT WARRIOR

Pyrrha: Jaune, do you... know what Aura is?

Jaune: Psch! Of course I do! Do you know what Aura is?

Jaune is introduced as inexperienced and ignorant. He lacks combat experience and knows nothing about key concepts like Aura, Landing Strategy or Semblances.

His journey starts because Pyrrha shares her knowledge with him:

She awakens his aura, his very soul and later on trains him, so she helps his body get stronger:

In other words, Pyrrha is the one who puts Jaune on the right path to become a true “hero” and a “warrior”.

This is Jaune’s objective since the beginning, but he initially pursues it in the wrong way:

Jaune: I don't want help! I don't want to be the damsel in distress! I want to be the hero!

He is fixated on an idea of hero which is outdated and has its root in toxic masculinity:

Jaune: Cause this is always what I've wanted to be! My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough.

This is why symbolically Jaune wants to be like his male ancestors. He wants to grow into “a real man”:

Cardin: Let's see how much of a man you really are...

And this is conveyed also through his Weapon:

Jaune: It's a hand-me-down. My great-great-grandfather used it to fight in the war.

Jaune did not forge his own Weapon, but he inherited it. Crocea Mors initially represents the legacy he wants to live up to. However, this legacy, instead of driving him, slows him down because he can’t grow until he remains in his ancestors’ shadow. Jaune needs to develop his own individuality instead.

In order to do so, he needs to grow not only as a figther, but as a person too.

As a matter of fact, Jaune’s ignorance is not only limited to the world he has stepped into, but also to the people around him:

Jaune: That's easy for you to say. You've probably got guys clamoring over each other just to ask you out.

Pyrrha: You'd be surprised.

He is so self-focused that he does not notice others’ feelings and hurts them unintentionally.

However, Pyrrha teaches him once again:

Pyrrha:Tell her exactly what you said. No ridiculous schemes, no pick-up lines. Just... be honest.

It is thanks to her that Jaune manages to become a better man:

He is even able to call Neptune out the way Pyrrha did with him:

Jaune: Then just go talk to her. No pickup lines, no suave moves, just be yourself. I've heard that's the way to go.

And as a result, even Jaune’s relationship with Weiss gets better:

Weiss: You said you were embarrassed at first. What made you come talk to me?

Neptune: You're looking at him. You got some good friends looking out for ya.

Because the girl realizes Jaune is not only after her money or her romantic attention:

Weiss: All my life, boys have only cared about the perks of my last name.

But wants to genuinely be a good friend to her.

In short, Jaune starts the story as immature both as a fighter and as a person to the point that he is considered unfit and annoying by other characters:

Glynda: I don't care what his transcripts say. That Jaune fellow is not ready for this level of combat.

However, thanks to Pyrrha, he is given the chance to mature.

Not only that, but while other characters see a weakness and a nuisance in Jaune’s ignorance and inexperience, Pyrrha sees it as a possibility:

Weiss: Jaune, is it? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?

Jaune: Not in the slightest, snow angel.

Weiss: This is Pyrrha.

It is specifically because Jaune is new to Pyrrha’s world that he is free from bias:

Pyrrha: That's what I like about you. When we met, you didn't even know my name. You treated me just like anyone else. And thanks to you, I've made friendships that will last a lifetime. I guess, you're the kind of guy I wish I was here with. Someone who just saw me for me.

This is why Pyrrha feels she can forge a genuine bond with Jaune. What is more, the girl has faith in his potential:

Pyrrha: It's all right. I used my Aura to unlock yours, but the energy that protects you now is your own. You have a lot of it.

She sees in him what others do not and helps him develop both as a man and as a warrior.

This is well highlighted by the metal motif the two characters share.

As @hamliet explains here Rwby has several characters linked to the seven metals of alchemy.

The goal of alchemy is to create gold thanks to a process of refiniment that purifies the metal and has it go through several transformations.

The seven metals are nothing, but a scale that goes from the heaviest and most raw metal (lead) to the most purified (gold) passing through the others (tin, iron, copper, mercury, silver).

For a story, it simply means that a character goes through a process of change that leads to self-actualization.

In Rwby this idea is conveyed through specific characters embodying a metal (Ironwood, Penny, Mercury) or even thanks to metal motifs commenting a specific part of a character arc.

For example, Yang is associated with gold:

I am the golden one Who burns just like the sun

But Adam takes her arm away and has her regress in the scale of metals to iron. This regression is not simply physical, but psychological as well:

However, Yang re-affirms herself and moves forward. The first step of this process is to symbolically make her new arm “gold” again:

When it comes to Jaune, I think that he may be the character associated with lead aka the “prima materia” that needs to be molded into gold. Even if this is not true, metal is at least definately still a motif in his arc, as it is in Pyrrha’s. This is why both characters wear metal armors, differently from others.

Pyrrha is already close to her self-actualization and she reaches it in the climax of the Vale arc, where she completes her (tragic) arc and dies a Maiden.

This is why her armor is gold, while Jaune’s is white and gray. Pyrrha is at the top of the metal scale and close to the end of her journey, while Jaune is respectively at the very bottom and at the very beginning.

He is the embodyment of the prima materia that has potential for greatness, but only if he is rightly guided and if he himself works hard.

Pyrrha takes over herself the duty to help Jaune mold himself.

This is underlined also by Pyrrha’s semblance:

Pyrrha: Well, Ruby has her speed, you have your glyphs. My Semblance is polarity.

Pyrrha can control and bend metals and she shows her power for the first time when she helps Jaune against the Ursa, so that he can overcome his self-issues.

So, Jaune starts the story as the lead and is going through a path of self-refinement which will lead him to become gold, so more similar to Pyrrha herself.

Pyrrha offers him the basic knowledge to start this journey, but unluckily leaves him too soon and now Jaune has to move forward on his own.

THE CREATIVE AVENGER

Pyrrha: I want you to know that I'm just happy to be a part of your life. I'll always be here for you, Jaune.

Even after Pyrrha’s death, this stays true:

Blacksmith: That was some fine metal you brought me. Accents the white nicely. Where'd you get it from?

Pyrrha has become a part of Jaune.

This is a recurring motif in Rwby:

Penny: I won’t be gone, I’ll be part of you.

It is the idea that grieving is a process that leads to acceptance, but also to integration with a lost one. It is a way to have the deceased keep on living through the survivors.

In Jaune and Pyrrha’s case, this is conveyed through Pyrrha’s metal being used to enrich Jaune’s Weapon.

As stated by Ruby:

Ruby: Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so cool.

Weapons are symbolic of the self, just like Semblances.

What is more, Weapons and Semblances are also a declination of the dychotomy of body and soul, presented by the series.

Weapons are wielded by bodies, while Semblances are a materialization of the soul.

In other words, Pyrrha’s gold becoming a part of Jaune’s Weapon is symbolic of Jaune’s first step in a painful process that will lead him to overcome his partner’s death and to inherit Pyrrha’s legacy.

Jaune must keep on learning from Pyrrha and become more like her. As noted by @hamliet, this is symbolized also by Jaune’s design aquiring more golden details as he goes on in his journey:

Jaune: Guess I was going to grow out of it eventually.

Ren: A sign of progress.

Jaune: Progress.

That said, grieving is not easy and Jaune must struggle with much pain and negative feelings.

This is why the changes he makes to Crocea Mors are finalized to increase its attack power:

It is because Jaune feels anger over Pyrrha’s death and wants revenge.

In the Battle of Haven he gives in to his fury and tries to kill Cinder. He is trying to superficially imitate Pyrrha’s sacrifice:

Jaune: If I die buying them time, then it's worth it. They're the ones that matter.

However, he is not doing it out of bravery or necessity, but out of recklessness and self-hate. This is why his actions lead to this:

Once again, Jaune risks to lose another loved one:

Jaune: No, no, no, no, not again! Weiss, c'mon, please!!

However, this time he is able to save Weiss thanks to his Semblance:

Jaune: My Semblance?

Nora: How else do you think you're healing her, dummy?

Jaune gives up on using his Weapon to fight and chooses to use his Semblance to cure. He chooses soul over body and Creation over Destruction.

At the same time, Jaune’s activation of his Semblance is meaningful on two levels:

Jaune: No. I don't think I'm healing her. Our Aura heals our bodies. It feels... it feels more like I'm using my Aura to amplify hers!

Nora: Wait, aren't you worried about running out?

Jaune: Pyrrha once told me I've got a lot of it. I still believe her.

First of all, Jaune’s Semblance is rooted in the idea that people heal themselves. His power is not to cure others, but to amplify others’ auras, so that they can become stronger and can heal. It is about bringing out the best in others. It is a power fit for a leader, but also an ability symbolic of Jaune’s own process of healing. He can heal himself through helping others to heal.

Secondly, Jaune’s Semblance is in itself a nod to Pyrrha. Pyrrha used her own aura to awake his and Aura Amp is simply an evolution of this idea. It is not about activating others’ auras, but it is a power that lets Jaune share his. It also makes good use of something Pyrrha noticed immediately aka Jaune’s huge quantity of aura.

In other words, Jaune ends up acting like Pyrrha in the Battle of Haven, but not because he fights Cinder, but because he shares his gift with others, just like Pyrrha did with hers.

Pyrrha is a part of Jaune both in body (Crocea Mors) and soul (Aura Amp), but Jaune must still truly understand what this means.

He makes progress in Lost:

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

This is the essence of Pyrrha’s sacrifice. Jaune comes to understand it and chooses to make a similar choice together with his team:

Jaune: I think... I think she knew she wasn't going to win. That she might not come out alive. But... she also knew she was the only one that could try.

Ren: So she did.

Nora: Maybe we should too.

Jaune: Yeah, we should.

In this way, it will be as if Pyrrha were fighting together with them:

Nora: Pyrrha may not be by our side anymore, but we can fight like she is.

Jaune: And in a way... she will be.

Jaune tries to overcome his anger and his sadness for Pyrrha’s death in order to keep fighting like she did.

So, once again he chooses this:

Ruby: I wanted to protect my friends.

Maria: Precisely! It is the desire to preserve life which fuels the light inside you. And to make no mistake, it is light. Preservation is an extension of creation, or, at the very least, an enemy of destruction. The Creatures of Grimm were made by the God of Darkness, but your light comes from his brother.

He chooses to protect life and this is the essence of Creation.

Once he confirms this choice, he is free to explore Creation’s potential and he does so in the land of Creation itself, Atlas.

He strengthens his shield instead of his sword:

And he trains his Semblance:

Oscar: Nice, your recovery is getting faster.

This all leads him to become stronger psychologically:

Ren: Him on the other hand... There's no fear at all. I can see it, he believes we're going to get this done.

That said, Jaune starts meeting limits to his new found strength rooted in Creation:

Jaune: Ah, sorry. No matter how much I boost you, they won’t go away.

Jaune: Did... I stop the virus?

Penny: No. It’s still there.

Jaune’s way to move forward is to heal himself through healing others. Still, what to do when this is not possible?

THE DESTRUCTIVE HEALER

Penny: No… there’s not enough time to heal me…

Penny: But there is something you can do…

What happens in Atlas is an inversion of Haven.

Penny pushes Jaune’s Semblance away and touches Crocea Mors.

Jaune is asked to give up on healing her and to speed up her death instead. He is asked to choose his Weapon (body) over his Semblance (soul) and Destruction over Creation.

This marks the characters entering the Destruction phase:

Leaving Creation (Penny) behind.

For Jaune, this means that his own self image that he has worked so much to build and to make his own:

And that has been enriched in Anima thanks to Pyrrha...is shattered:

At the same time, he is once again put in a similar spot as Pyrrha:

They both become unwilling agents of Penny’s death because of Cinder (and Emerald and Mercury in the first case):

Pyrrha: Ruby, I... I'm so sorry.

Ruby: Me too. But it wasn't your fault.

Jaune: She's right. Whoever was on that microphone... they're the ones that did this. And we have to make sure they don't take anyone else.

So Jaune’s journey to integrate with Pyrrha, to understand her and her struggle continues.

What now?

It is too soon to say because we have yet to properly start our journey through Destruction and what it is about.

That said, there are two things that are worth highlighting. The first is a motif Rwby is following, while the second is a general theme found in many stories.

1) As @hamliet has stated in many metas and as I have written here, Rwby is an alchemical story. Alchemical stories are usually marked by three important deaths. Each death is symbolically linked to a color. They are usually black, white and red. However, sometimes there can be yellow instead of the white or the red. This is the case here, where a resonant death is the yellow death aka Penny’s.

It is a death that happens while the characters are surrounded by yellow:

And it happens through a weapon called “Yellow Death” (Crocea Mors’s meaning). So, it is really not subtle. Penny’s death is meant to mark an important passage for our protagonists, just like Pyrrha’s one (the black death).

2) It is common in stories that deal with healers to explore the concept of death as well.

The basic idea is that a healer is a person meant to cure. That said, they will meet people impossible to cure and that will die on their watch. This is an unescapable truth a true healer must live with.

Let’s highlight this theme is found in works very different for genre and culture.

Let’s have two examples.

Scrubs aka an American comedy about doctors deals with this theme multiple times. In many episodes the characters must simply accept they can’t save a life, but must still not lose hope and keep on living themselves.

Yosano from the manga BSD says so:

Her backstory explores the link bewteen life and death further since it is shown that a power that cures fatal wounds can be used to cheapen life itself:

It is too soon to say if Rwby will explore a similar theme, but the fact that Jaune, (the healer) is the one that has to speed up Penny’s death might be a very powerful and poignant choice. This is true especially because Rwby does not refuse Destruction (and so does not refuse death), but presents it as a principle equal to Creation (so as a part of life).

THE CHOOSING HERO

Jaune’s arc is about living Pyrrha’s death over and over again with different scenarios and outcomes. This happens so that in the end he can finally overcome it.

So far, it has happened three times and each time has been in the climax of an important battle.

The Battle of Beacon has him witness powerlessly to Pyrrha’s death (lack of knowledge and passivity).

The Battle of Haven has him saving Weiss (creation).

The Battle of Atlas has him killing Penny (destruction).

What is more, every time Jaune becomes more proactive and conscious of what he is doing.

In Beacon he has no idea of what is happening. He works with little information and things happen to him without him being able to do anything.

In Haven his actions lead to Weiss being in danger, but he manages to save her. That said, he does not do it consciously. He unlocks his Semblance because of emotional stress. It is an unconscious choice and not a conscious one.

In Atlas he makes a specific conscious choice, but it is a choice that is forced on him because of external circumstances. It is also a choice that is meant to challenge and temporally break him.

In other words, he is slowly and painfully approaching Choice aka self-actualization. Right now, he has to face the consequences of Penny’s death, but this will probably lead him to finally enter the Choice stage and to complete his arc by becoming a “hero” aka gold (probably).

At the same time, this final choice will also be about healing and overcoming grief. It will be the final integration with Pyrrha and him being able to honor her legacy.

After all, we have been told from the beginning what Pyrrha’s fate would have been. We’ve just failed to notice:

Pyrrha: For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.

June and Pyrrha’s bond is eternal and she is meant to be the key character in Jaune’s arc. It is only through confronting and finally overcoming her loss that Jaune can finally self actualize and become the person Pyrrha has always known he could be. Pyrrha will symbolically be with him in this struggle. Her memory will protect and inspire him.

#rwby #rwby meta #jaune arc #arkos #rwby arkos #pyrrha nikos #tw: penny's death #jaune x pyrrha #my meta

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peeterparkr · 3 years

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red; tom’s version|two.

chapter two: the lucky one. “You don’t feel pretty, you feel used”

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader story summary: you’re reminiscing through your relationship a month after the heartbreak and breakup. Wondering if it went wrong from the very start when Tom arrived at New York, and him being a cautionary tale or if the problems came along the way. Perhaps the key to find back your way to him is going back through the nice things before the heartbreak came. Or is it too painful to go all over again?

chapter summary: bottle caps, a red scarf and two coincidences that probably mean something warnings: angsty a bit, cussing, word count: 6.7k playlist (updated after each chapter, including Red songs+ other for the chapter): Spotify | Apple Music

fic masterlist previous chapter next chapter

Present day. One month after the breakup.

Tom knew he had to stay quiet. Or rather, there was barely anything he could say while he was plotting his next words. He could barely believe he had a chance.

Walking down the streets with her quietly as he saw her, arranging her own thoughts. She had agreed to listen.

And he knew it was because whatever they’d felt, it made it worth it.

Y/N was angry. Not sad, angry. He had expected her to be crying. He didn’t want to be the reason why she would and he tried thinking he wasn’t. Though, deep inside, he was perfectly aware that he would be blamed for the tears that she’d shed in the last few months.

He wasn’t proud of that.

Guilt blinds. And Tom was blind in an attempt to shield. It was easier to shield on his own excuses that would serve barely as a plea to forgiveness.

Glares were directed at him. Her jaw was clenched and she had crossed her arms. The moment she’d realized what she’d agreed to, she’d turned stiff.

“Aren’t you cold?” Tom had tried asking.

“I don’t wish to speak to you.”

Fair.

And it was the middle of the night once again, how many times had they not walked under the stars with barely a destiny to reach. And now he was walking to his doom.

Y/N was mental.

In a good way. But the girl had taught him how insane you can be when it comes to relationships. In the best way possible, not as an insult.

Tom knew that he had fucked up. And he had been in New York for a while, though he hadn’t spoken to her directly, knowing that approaching her would only wound her.

It was colder now, Christmas was barely around the corner. In any other circumstance, it would’ve added to the romance.

Here it was just a bad omen of whatever would come next. The lights flickered as soon as they were walking past them.

“Are—are we not going to talk?” Tom questioned anyway. “I thought—“

Y/N shrugged. “I’m still deciding it, you see, I don’t know if I want to listen to you break my heart in an attempt of forged honesty.”

Tom dug his hands in his pockets. “I genuinely want to apologize.”

“And I genuinely don’t like you,” she snapped. “You see my problem?”

Tom sighed. “Fine,” he gulped. “But you are cold, that thing isn’t covering your neck or chest.”

Y/N had gone for a rather inadequate option for a cold winter day. Though Tom would agree that the black dress had been yet another punch to his stomach, all of course with an attempt to make him regret it, it was still rather unsuitable for the freezing city. But she looked stunning.

Her coat barely covered her, and her crossed arms were probably more of an attempt to warm herself and it served as a clear exposition of her anger.

She didn’t answer, however.

“You could wear this,” Tom offered, showing her the red scarf that once belonged to her. Tom liked to think that it now belonged to them.

The red scarf that had become a token to their relationship. From the very first day.

Y/N looked at it, and reluctantly took it. “It’s only because I’m cold.”

But Tom wanted to think it wasn’t only because of that. Wearing the scarf meant she was opening a door for him.

Seeing her again had been quite different from what Tom had expected, her hair was different and her makeup too. Her gaze seemed lost.

Whoever was standing beside him didn’t seem like her. She was a stranger, a very familiar one. But there wasn’t that visible spark that he’d fallen for. Not that he wouldn’t be able to love the figure in front of him but he feared he was the reason for its disappearance.

“It smells like you,” y/n whispered as she wrapped the scarf around her neck.

Tom smiled, briefly. “I’ve been wearing it. Your own smell wore out,” he regretted saying that. “That sounded way too creepy or cheesy.”

“Both, somehow,” she agreed. “Don’t ever say that kind of shit again.”

Tom gulped a chuckle, “noted.”

There was still that y/n in there, the one that liked the kind of cheesy things that he could say. The ones that came up at the right moment. Though, there was still that y/n that didn’t take any bullshit.

Tom hadn’t gone exactly through diamonds and sparkles after the breakup. And the city was now quite different from when it had first received him. Now covered with dark smoke and trash, with only skeletons of trees.

Guilt drowns. And Tom was, undoubtedly, drowning in a drought. Everything had dried off yet he felt like he could barely breathe.

Knowing you’re the reason for someone’s hurt is no fantasy.

And he was broken, too. Very, very broken. However, he knew he was seen as the bad guy here and he wouldn’t call himself less, and he wouldn’t admit he was aching too.

So he was trying to ignore it.

Her apartment building hadn’t changed. Not that Tom had expected it to, but it was nice to come to a familiar place. He noticed the stairs were still rusty and unclean and creaked as he walked in. New creaks had come in that he hadn’t memorized yet. He hoped he would have the chance to.

Y/N stopped at her door, with more questions than answers to give him.

“I really don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted to him. “But I know that if I don’t give you a chance to explain yourself I’ll never forgive myself.”

“That’s fair. But…I’ll do whatever you want me to, but please let me explain it to you,” he begged. “I—If you want me to leave New York and never come again I’ll understand.”

Y/N crossed her arms and leaned against the door, a red door that would open to memories he couldn’t quite forget.

“I already said I would listen,” she recalled. “But—“ her eyes met his, they looked tired. “I am having an inner monologue on why this is stupid.”

“Care to share?”

She took a heavy breath, “Well, you see, Tom, if that even is your real name…”

“Really? You’re—“Tom tried hard not to roll his eyes. “Yes, my name is Tom.”

“Tom….”

“Holland.”

“Hm, interesting. Holland, I remembered it being something else. You’re a liar, just making sure,” she said. “I’m—I just feel stupid. Because I shouldn’t be feeling this way for such a short relationship, is that even—was it? Can we even call it that?”

Her words felt bitter to Tom’s own tongue. He understood why she was defensive. “Yes.”

“Well, I don’t fucking know, maybe we confused whatever we were feeling with love, or—“

“I didn’t—“

“Could be easy, Tommy, you’re an actor, actors, as far as I know, act, and man did you play such an amazing role,” she snarled as she opened her door, leading the way. “Be quiet, by the way, I don’t want to wake up Lula or Jules.”

Tom walked in into what seemed a messed snapshot of how he remembered the place. It was the same, in essence. But sadder. The apartment still had a few sweaters here and there, and y/N’s notebooks all over it.

He could see Lula’s leftovers in their coffee table and some candy wraps that Julia had probably been eating while reading her book.

He turned to that one corner and saw it, the jukebox that had been what had defined y/n’s and his relationship. He dug his hand into his pocket to search for the locket y/n had given back. Tom squeezed it as he searched in his pocket for something else.

Guilt kills. And Tom was dying.

“Here,” Tom said as he reached out for three beer caps in his pocket, “I brought these to you,” he offered them to her, knowing there were jars full of them.

Y/N collected them. Or rather, it was her latest collection that she’d later use for her art. Or whatever she was into at the moment.

The apartment was small. It had two bedrooms which they all shared. They’d rotate whoever had the luck to have the single room. So small. And yet it felt so big.

Y/n pursed her lips but then took the beer caps and placed them on the counter.

“We’re going to the roof,” y/n said. “I’m just getting us some wine—No,” she shook her head, probably realizing that having wine would make the moment a tad more romantic or cuddly than she expected it to be. “Make yourself useful and make some tea, I’ll go change myself, I’m freezing.”

She’d brought blankets and a hoodie he hadn’t remembered he had left. They didn’t have to go to the roof, Julia was staying with Matt and Lula was not back yet from wherever she was.

She had stayed quiet, for a bit. Cuddled up in the same couch where they—

“Do you like your tea?” Questioned Tom.

She looked up. “Yeah, you can add that to your many talents. Right before lying.”

“I make better tea than lies? Good to know.”

Y/N shrugged. “How long have you been here?”

“A… few days,” Tom admitted. “I have been trying to walk up to your door but I keep getting lost in the subway, and when I did come here I panicked and cried.”

Y/N shrugged. “I thought I saw you, the other day,” she said.

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t you,” y/n confessed. “So I just yelled at a poor stranger. I—I genuinely feel sorry for him.”

Tom tried not to chuckle. “What did you yell?”

“I called him a bastard and asked what was wrong with him,” she scrunched her nose. “Not my proudest moment. I was kicked out of the bus.”

Tom gulped. “I’m sorry,” he took a deep breath. “You can yell at me if that helps.”

She shrugged. “No, I think I’m good, I let it all out with him,” she grimaced. “But I might just—“she picked up a pillow and threw it at him with barely any energy.

“Fair enough,” he nodded. “But I can be your punching bag, I deserve it,” he admired. “I see the jukebox,” Tom said, motioning to it.

She shrugged. “Yeah, would be stupid if you didn’t. It’s quite big. Barely any space left.”

Tom chuckled. “I meant—“

“No, no, I know what you mean. I’m trying to ignore it,” y/n admitted. “I notice it too, every day. Almost threw it away.”

Tom nodded. “Why didn’t you?”

“Well, it’s a very functional jukebox, the music on it,” she said. “It would be stupid to throw out something like that.”

Tom had expected a different answer, one rather more romantic. Like, that maybe throwing it out would’ve meant throwing him away.

“Right. I’m surprised the cops haven’t come for it.”

She smiled.

She… smiled?

She smiled.

Tom hadn’t thought he would see it again. So comforting. And genuine. Not forced.

“It’s not stolen,” she reminded him, “not really.”

Tom decided to smile back, but to himself. He couldn’t really look her in the eye.

“I guess I also kept it for the same reason why you kept that stupid scarf,” y/n added. Quieter now.

Tom took a deep breath. “It’s a fashionable accessory.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “It’s been out of fashion for 10 years.”

“Trends come back.”

Y/N looked up. “Not when they're horrible, no,” she said with a heavy breath. “I don’t—“She shook her head. “No, we can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Tom questioned.

“Talk like you didn’t break my heart,” she snarked, gulping down her thoughts. “I always knew your heart never truly belonged to me, you know?” y/n said, holding to her mug. The tea was probably cold now. As so were they.

Tom was taken aback by that statement. “I—at the beginning—“

“No, it never truly did. Not completely.”

“I—“ but Tom didn’t have an answer to it.

The night was cold and New York was still awake. But it felt like it was them and only them even if they felt like oceans apart. He hated it. The first time he’d ever been truly lucky he had run out of luck.

Y/N watched him. “I always knew it was meant to be for a short time and I didn’t need anything more, I somehow knew that you’d hurt me,” she explained.

Tom had never meant to go this far. “I never meant—“

“Imagine if you had meant it though, how crushed would I have been. It wasn’t your intention, and yet I ended up crying on the floor,” she said, ironically

Tom couldn’t say more but an “I am so sorry.”

“I know you are,” she said. “I hope you are.”

Tom stared at her, “I am.”

Y/N directed him a single glance. “I don’t think you understand, Tom. This month has been the shittiest in my life.”

Tom didn’t have enough words to apologize. Or he had too many to say. Instead, he could word out anything.

“The worst part is that you also gave me the best fucking days of my life,” she continued. “So I’m at a crossroads here. Because there’s a part of me that thinks it was all bullshit and there’s also the part that knows it couldn’t be.”

Tom watched her. “It was not bullshit,” he said. “It was real.”

“That’s the worst part,” she pointed out. “I think, yeah, all of it being real then it makes it hurt even more because that means I lost the best thing to ever happen to me and you lost something so real.”

Tom nodded. “I lost the best thing to ever happen to me, too.”

Y/N was, without a doubt, the best thing he’d never looked for.

“Did you lose it because of me? Or did you lose me?” She quickly questioned, raising her brows.

Y/N was also a murderer.

“Well,” she took a deep breath, ignoring his sight as he was trying to know how to Answer. “You better start explaining yourself.”

“Before I—I… I… Right, well—Before I came here—I—Ella—“

She closed her eyes. “Actually, no.”

Tom paused, in fear.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, we will….” Y/N tried arranging her thoughts. “Tell me from the moment you hopped on the plane.”

Tom stayed quiet.

“I need to know how it looked from the moment you arrived, not… before, although I’m risking the fact you’re an unreliable narrator.”

“I am a terrible narrator,” he admitted.

Two months before the breakup. Tom’s version.

Tom remembered how little it had taken him to make the decision to escape. He had decided to escape from what everyone told him he should love.

With a backpack, his passport and a half ass made suitcase, he had hopped on the first flight to New York. No regrets as it had taken off. Sweet Escape airlines had been so kind to him.

Not telling anyone about it. To their eyes, he probably was only late to a party, and they’d see him in a few minutes with an excuse of an apology.

Yet, he was on a plane. Escaping from the perfect life.

They always said how lucky he was. Didn’t they? How incredible it was to have what he had. Because he had everything.

And he was running away from it. He watched the people on the plane, his seat was unflattering, next to an old lady who seemed to be rather impolite.

He remembered when he had made the decision to run out, the night before, a camera flash had blinded him and time had suddenly stopped. Just a few hours before hopping on the plane. Everyone expected him to do something he was not ready for. Everyone thought it would come.

Even Eleanor.

Especially Eleanor. Ella was probably counting only the minutes for his arrival. He had promised her he would be there.

No one could ever judge Tom for the decision he had made. Well, everyone would. But Tom liked to believe they couldn’t. As a technicality, that is. That they had absolutely no right to do it.

His parents wouldn’t be proud of it. Too bad.

Tom was nervous, though. The decision had been, undoubtedly, rushed. He hadn’t shown up to that early brunch.

Still wearing a suit, with a white buttoned shirt unbuttoned on his neck. He had still almost gone to that brunch in that FancyAss restaurante.

A brunch? He thought to himself. How incredibly out of character it seemed, he had become a caricature of whatever they wanted him to be.

Did he have to apologize to Eleanor? He didn’t want to.

He really didn’t want to.

He looked at his phone, Harry was calling him. A few other texts from his mother, too. Two missed calls from Ella. Probably wondering why he was late. He hoped they didn’t wait for him, for he would never arrive.

New York was a bit far from it.

The whole flight had been him trying to figure out if it was a good choice.

But he was given an ultimatum, and when those come you have to decide.

His decision was to go to New York. And it was the best choice.

It was, of course, but it was alright to doubt it. It was not likely of him to simply run away.

He didn’t have it all figured out. And that’s why he was clutching his backpack. He was chasing a dream that he didn’t even know he had.

Maybe that’s why he was running away. He didn’t know who he was. But of course he had heard it, how he looked like a million bucks. And he had said it to everyone else the night before, how the stars looked like diamonds in the skies.

He was making a name for himself, he knew that. Or rather, they were making a name for him. And he didn’t know who he was.

The flight was rather short, or maybe Tom barely had any time to think about it.

Running away from his own country, from his family, friends and from Ella, whom he barely had a title for right now.

The city was quick to receive him with bustling crowds, people pushing and rushing. But also opening up as he was walking in. Dancing around him.

How magical. He thought to himself as he tried texting Harrison, hoping his best friend wouldn’t mind receiving him at his place.

Tom managed to get a taxi that was waiting right outside the airport.

He hopped in and grinned to himself proudly. He was there.

With a new city ahead of him and no one expecting anything from him. With no one telling him what to do, with no one giving him an ultimatum and no one with orders for him.

“Where to?” Asked the taxi driver, as he stared from the mirror.

Tom, though he was not proud of it, was having a moment. “I’m running away from my life,” Tom explained. “don’t you ever get tired of the role you’re supposed to play? Like you were not meant to play it but now you’re too stuck in it.”

“Man, I'm sorry, I ain’t got no time for that kind of poeticbullshit, I need an address.”

The moment ended quickly. “Right. Sorry. I’m an idiot… uh, it’s this one.” Tom had to look up for Haz’s address.

“Every time,” the driver sighed, chuckling. “Why do y’all think New York is some sort of magical city that will give you the answer to whatever you’re going through.”

Tom’s smile widened sarcastically, “Well, isn’t it?”

“Guess it is, in a way, but I’ll tell you something,” the driver stated, “whatever you think New York will give to you, it'll be the very opposite. It won’t be what you want but it might just be what you need.”

“Oh really?” Tom chuckled, “who’s the one with the poetic crap now?”

“No, I’m messing with you, damn all you tourists believe that kind of thing huh? New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of huh.”

“It’s what we’re sold,” Tom gave in.

“That sounds pretty, don’t it? To not get what you want but what you need.”

“It does.”

In a way, he was right. Tom would’ve thought he needed a break. To escape. That’s what he wanted right?

But what did he need?

The city welcomed him with a short rain, the water reflected the twinkling lights, as the shadows were reflecting the life he had left behind. The people rushed with their coats, as they were off to their lives. And it felt like he was finally breathing.

Although he would not share his thoughts with the driver again, Tom thought this was what he needed. A new start with no one that would judge him.

That’s probably why he’d chosen New York, the people are too busy living their own crazy lives to focus on someone so insignificant like him. He didn’t have to be whoever he was before, the pretty face, the cool guy everyone liked.

No, he was a guy in a stupid cab, and not to be worried if they said he hadn’t chosen a better ride, on a bigger car.

No, no announcement of whatever he was going to do on the papers because his dad had arranged it.

No, now he was but what he always wanted to be. One of those cautionary tales that they tell about people who go mad and escape and live.

He was a legend now.

Maybe they were right, he was lucky. He was lucky because he had finally made it out of there.

And he saw the lights, with Broadway shows waiting for him, with new adventures coming. With a new life that he wanted to create. The Broadway signs changed to Tom’s sight.

‘A very new life for the Lucky One.’ Starring Tom Holland.

A new beginning.

Maybe he was lucky. Though he never wanted to be in the spotlight. He constantly was, though.

Except, of course, for the fact that Haz hadn’t really answered his text the way he wanted to.

Haz probably didn’t believe Tom that he was in the city.

He would just knock at the door then.

“Well man, I hope whatever kind of role you want you get it,” the driver had said as Tom had hopped off.

Harrison’s building was far from fancy. Harrison had often described it as an ‘affordable pigsty’. Tom wouldn’t describe it as anything else.

But it was perfect. The perfect stage for his new charade.

Tom carried the now heavier backpack and suitcase up and was lucky enough that someone had entered the building so he could go up and show up uninvited to Haz’s apartment. If he could call it that.

He knocked, two times and Haz opened the door.

“Piss off, you’re not actually here!” Was the way Haz had decided to greet.

Tom laughed. “I fucking am.”

“You bastard,” Haz grinned before pulling his friend into a hug. “No way, I didn’t believe you. Man, I’m so glad to see you!”

“You too, man your place is…” Tom couldn’t finish.

“A pigsty but it’s home, I’ll make some place.”

And they had.

Haz had left a few years ago, with a dream in his head and a chance to make it. Or… a chance to get a chance to make it.

Leaving London had been quite such a simple decision for him. An inspiring actor that could’ve made it back at home but decided to leave for New York? It was stupid, honestly. Very anticlimactic of him.

But like Tom, Harrison had to escape before he was pulled in.

Just like Tom had been, tangled up. Tom’s ‘big break’ had yet to come but his family had managed to get him to the rising star he was.

He loved what he did, acting was definitely his true passion but not like this. Not buying his way into parts, not going out with someone so he could be considered. Hanging around with the right people just so they could get him a role.

Haz had gone for plays instead, and Tom knew he was fantastic. But he also had to get his big break. The industry had a funny way to say this.

“So, you just left?” Haz asked with a beer in his hand as he’d taken Tom to his favorite bar. Beers were cheaper there, and given that it was a Thursday, the happy hour lasted longer.

The bar was different from what Tom had expected. An old jukebox that was playing odd songs, colorful things. Very odd.

“I bloody just left,” Tom admitted. “What was I supposed to do?”

Harrison rubbed his face, “I dunno.”

“I couldn’t keep pretending,” Tom said, as he played with the bottle. “I—It wasn’t me.”

“But didn’t you just get cast in—something important?” He questioned.

Tom sighed, “Not for talent, no.”

He had seen a girl walk up to the jukebox and pay again to play “Twist and Shout” by The Beatles, she moved her head along to the song.

“Man, who bloody cares?” Haz rolled his eyes bringing the attention back to him. “You’re getting somewhere! You look pretty, you’re cool, and you’re getting somewhere.”

Tom knew where Haz was coming from. Things were going perfectly, one could argue. But it didn’t feel real. It was just a game of make believe where Tom had eventually been dug in.

“It wasn’t that,” Tom admitted. “Ella gave me an ultimatum.”

Harrison stopped, probably now understanding more why he had left. “And how do you feel about that?”

Tom stared at his beer. “Not how I’m supposed to.”

Harrison watched him. “One can only pretend for so long.”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed as he undressed the beer bottle.

“Does anyone know you escaped?” Haz asked.

Tom grimaced, pulling out his phone, turned off. “No, well, Harry knows, I told him I had left but didn’t tell him where to,” he said before unwillingly turning it back on, to show the billion notifications popping up. Multiple text messages, missed calls. “I need a new phone so I can keep this one turned off.”

“I think you should tell someone, otherwise they’re going to call the police or something,” Haz suggested.

Tom sighed, “Before I do let me go get another round,” he said as he headed to the bar.

Though Tom should’ve known right then and there that his life would change, he was very oblivious as he saw a couple. The beautiful girl sitting right beside… some guy. The very same girl who had played ‘Twist and Shout’.

She wasn’t smiling anymore, and Tom could only interpret her stare as something unpleasant. The guy and her were both stiff.

Tom couldn’t blame the guy because he was often criticized for also being like him. Not being able to make the beautiful girl beside him smile. Not understanding her worth and brilliance as anyone else in the room did.

She had dressed up, it seemed, just for her very date and he was just… there. The guy was simply an unuseful accessory adorning her side. His eyes were glued to the TV on the bar, a program that seemed to be very uneventful.

Tom often liked overhearing conversations, and this time wasn’t an exception.

“I recently discovered my new collection,” the girl said. Tom noticed the scarf on her neck,“I will start collecting bottle caps.”

The guy looked over, “Is it going to be for your new project that you’ll never finish?”

“I will finish it,” she said as she took off the scarf, now playing with it, tying and untying it. “And I’m going to ask Ben here to save me as many as he can.”

“Y/N,” the guy said. Pretty name, thought Tom. Fitting. “You never finish them.”

“Art is never finished, William,” the girl, y/n, defended again. “It’s only… abandoned.”

“My point,” The guy, William, rolled her eyes, “You never get through with them.”

“I do,” she defended herself. “You just never pay attention to it.”

Tom watched her frustration. Even then the guy wasn’t really into the conversation. He didn’t blame him, really. But he was more on y/n’s side.

“I think you should pay attention to more important stuff. Instead of wasting your time doing whatever.”

“Art isn't whatever,” she sighed, and then frowned, noticing Tom was watching them.

“I’m not saying it’s whatever, y/n, but you’ve got to have other dreams rather than collecting beer caps.”

Y/N looked away, “It’s for a painting.”

“A painting you’ll get bored of eventually, it’s always the same, y/n,” the guy was still too busy with his own beer watching the TV.

Y/N clenched her jaw but then directed her glance at Tom, still intrigued by the conversation.

Tom cleared his throat as he finally got his beers, the guy opened them for him but Tom asked for the beer caps.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but listen,” Tom admitted before giving her the beer caps. “Good luck on your project.” The girl finally smiled as the guy accompanying her glared at him.

Tom shrugged and dedicated them both a smile before going back to Harrison. Had Tom been William he would’ve appreciated that someone made his girl smile, it was a waste not to share her smile with the world.

And Tom, out of everyone, understood what the girl had said, people bringing him down were always for him so to have genuine support from a stranger would help her. And him.

Yes never getting anything done but still having a passion for it was accomplishment enough.

“So what’s your plan?” Haz asked as soon as he was back. Tom watched the girl, still.

“I have none,” Tom admitted, watching as y/n and William were still arguing, probably now over the fact that Tom had left the beer caps. He didn’t feel guilty, even when both of them were pointing at him as the argument kept going. “I will just—Get a break for a few days. A well deserved vacation.”

Haz watched him. “Right.”

“You know, be a tourist,” Tom shrugged. “I—I dunno I just needed to get out,” Tom sipped from his bottle as his eyes were glued to the couple, now arguing loudly but not loud enough to be understood.

Haz followed his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“Dunno, they’re odd,” Tom shrugged. But they weren’t really. He just saw his future, so uninterested to the girl beside him.

“Not really, you should get used to that,” Haz said. “But—You’re going to tell Harry, right!”

“Problem is,” Tom brought back the attention to Haz. “I don’t think Harry will be able to keep the secret.”

Harrison crossed his arms. “What are you really doing here Tom? You do realize that you’re hurting everyone—“

“Yeah, yeah fuck that, I know, I feel guilty. But—I can’t anymore. I couldn’t fucking stay there, not anymore,” Tom snapped. “It’s not Ella’s fault. Well not entirely but—“

“No, I know,” Haz rolled his eyes, “guess the perfect life can get boring.”

Harrison thought so too then. That Tom had the perfect life. How was it perfect? How was it really? Tom was not perfect. He was far from it, nothing about it was spectacular. He wasn’t living. Even though everyone around him thought he was having the time of his life Tom couldn’t help but feel miserable.

He wasn’t getting what he truly wanted. He didn’t enjoy the roles he was getting or the parties he was attending. He was far from what his dream was. And though his ‘breakout’ would come eventually and he’d have the chance to be who he wanted to be, it wasn’t coming any time soon and he doubted that he’d be able to be happy.

Or maybe he would be. He needed a break.

Tom caught up with Haz, his life, his misery and whatever the conversation led to, it’s fair to say that Tom’s head could barely pay any attention. His decision was sinking. He’d escaped his life.

He saw the girl from before leave, with the guy following her with frustration.

“They’re gonna break up,” Haz said watching them too.

Tom saw the girl had left the unfashionable red scarf behind.

He expected them to come back for them but they didn’t.

Eventually, Tom and Haz left. Tom picked up the scarf. He tried to say that it was a little reminder that he’d helped someone. He had actually been drawn to it. He couldn’t explain why. So he kept that idea.

Of course, he’d seen the red scarf and then regretted instantly taking it. Haz had judged him too.

“Why the fuck would you pick up a stranger’s scarf?”

“Because.”

The next day, with very little sleep and a bit of a headache from the jet lag and the beers, and after telling Haz he’d be productive, he decided he wouldn’t be and instead he wanted to visit a museum. Again, he was unsure as to why he wanted to go there. Lately he only followed his instinct.

But then again he had escaped so he could do whatever he wanted, and going to a museum seemed like something they’d never expect him to do. So that’s what he did.

But of course, he didn’t know much about art or anything so he decided he’d end up at the MET. Where else would he start?

He had planned getting on the subway but he decided he didn’t have time to memorize it and he didn’t want to look like an idiot so instead he took another cab. He didn’t tell the drivers this time any poetic bullshit.

When he got to the MET, he was immediately lost. Tom had this stupid habit of never knowing where the hell he was.

He didn’t mind this time. He would take the time to explore, to think to himself. To stare and read and to learn a little.

How ironic it seemed to be at the place where so many people were at. Basic, maybe but he was still enjoying it.

The big walls and endless exhibitions were making him feel small. And he hadn’t felt that way in a while. He liked that.

His path wasn’t being decided and he only followed his heart. He got to the musical instruments exhibitions.

A piano made him stop. It resonated with him. In some sorts, or it was interesting enough for him to make him stop.

“That’s the oldest surviving piano,” a voice mentioned from behind.

Tom blinked, realizing he had stared too long at it. “Oh?” He looked back at the voice and though Tom did not believe in coincidences he couldn’t help but think this was an oddly magical one.

The beer cap girl from the night before.

“Yeah, it dates back to 1538 and was created by—pardon my pronunciation—Bartolomeo Cristofori, the Italian man who is credited with inventing the piano,” she said, staring at it too. Her hair was slightly messed up. Wearing an overall that was covered with slight paint stains, a white cardigan over it.

“Oh, I would’ve never thought that,” Tom said. “It looks old.”

“Yeah,” she hadn’t looked at him, she was too entranced by it, her arms were crossed. “It's very old.”

Tom stared at her instead, how weird it was. He should’ve brought the scarf. No, that would’ve been weird, weirder than taking it.

“So you work here?” Tom questioned.

“No, I’m just incredibly good at lying,” she stated.

“Wha-what?”

“That fact I gave you, yeah that was a lie,” she grinned and finally turned to him. She tilted her head.

“Oh it sounded… very real,” Tom felt like an idiot.

“Yeah, I’ve worked on that for a while, lying to tourists, you’re my first one of the day,” she said. “So, a pleasure lying to someone with an accent.”

“It sounded very real,” Tom cleared his throat.

“I know, it’s a real fact, just slightly twisted,” she grinned. “I gave you the date wrong.”

Tom coughed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, and you straight up believed me,” she grinned. “The date is right there yet you listened to a random weirdo,” she grinned.

Tom blushed, “well, you sounded very—“

“No, don’t feel bad, it’s an art, lying to people,” she grinned.

He nodded in agreement.

She watched him curiously, “Do I know you?”

Tom faked to not recognize her. “I don’t think so.”

She narrowed her eyes, examining him head to toe. Then stopping at his face. “No, wait, were you at Bennie’s Beer Garden last night?”

She had recognized him.

“Uh—I was at a bar,” he decided to fake ignorance. “Oh—“he snapped his finger. “Wait are you—?”

“Beer cap girl, yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah, that was me, but I looked better last night.”

Tom smiled, “No, you look fine.”

“What a coincidence, thanks for the beer caps, by the way,” she chuckled. “How weird, and now you’re the first one I lie to.”

“It’s a pleasure, thank you,” Tom laughed.

“You must think I’m crazy, collecting beer caps and lying to strangers,” she blushed now, stepping back from him.

Tom did think that. In a good way. The girl seemed to be whatever he wanted to be: a fucking weirdo that don’t give two shits about anything in life.

“Surprisingly, no,” Tom shook his head. “I would lie to people instead if I was good at lying.”

Ironic, it seemed. Didn’t he make a living out of lying? Didn’t he technically lie his way through life?

“Yes, it's very tiring work, people say they don’t like being lied to,” she said. “I do, that’s why I love reading whatever is trending on twitter.”

Tom cackled, and turned his attention back to the piano.

“I’m y/n, by the way,” she mentioned casually.

“Tom,” he answered simply.

Y/N nodded. “So, Tom, what's your favorite lie supplier?”

“I watch movies,” he said, “or celebrity gossip.”

“A classic,” Y/N grinned. “Yeah, we all choose the lies we want to believe, I guess.”

“People like that, believing lies and feeling like they’re true,” Tom gave in. “Especially if they’re pretty. They help us escape reality.”

Y/N nodded slowly, and smirked. “We are getting deep now, huh?”

What the fuck did New York do to Tom that he randomly said poetic bullshit to strangers. He was embarrassed. “I—sorry.”

“No, no, I like that,” y/n was excited. “I guess you’re right. Lies are a way to cover something.”

“Yes, sometimes lying means protecting,” Tom bit his lip.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is it really?” She didn’t want to agree. “I would say lying is a way to actively hurt someone.”

“Well, were you trying to hurt me with your lie?” Tom challenged.

She licked her lips, defeated. “In a way,” she gave in. “I was trying to misinform you. So.”

“Well, what if the truth hurts more?” Tom questioned.

Y/N took a deep breath. “Then it’s a paradox.”

“Excuse me,” Someone interrupted them. “I’m sorry, y/n? I thought you weren’t coming today.”

Y/N smiled, “oh yeah, I wasn’t, I just forgot something in my locker and decided to walk around.”

The other guy turned to Tom. “Did she give you a fake fact?”

Tom chuckled, “she most certainly did.”

“Y/N, you can’t keep doing that,” the guy warned her. “You’re gonna get fired.”

Y/N grinned as she watched the guy go.

“I thought you didn’t work here,” Tom chuckled.

Y/N smiled mischievously, “I do, just another lie I said to you. You’re very lucky, two lies in one.”

Tom chuckled. “huh. Yeah, lucky me.”

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, little British man,” she grinned. “I’ll go lie to other people, nice lying to you.”

Tom grinned. “Yeah, yeah, nice… believing your lies.”

“Enjoy the Met,” she grinned. “Hope I get to see you again, thanks for the beer caps.”

“Thanks for the… lies,” he said, watching her leave. Maybe he was lucky.

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cluescorner · 3 years

Text

It’s Disbarment Day come get y’all’s comfort.

- Trucy was truly Phoenix’s light in every conceivable way. She can make him smile like nobody else and uses Mr. Hat to give double hugs to her Daddy. Whenever Phoenix can’t bring himself to leave his home, Trucy pesters him into taking her out for ramen or ice cream. She was the sole thread that kept him hanging during the first few days of his disbarment, the only thing really keeping him tethered to the world around him. She was what kept him going even during his darkest times.

- After Miles heard what happened, he nearly broke international laws trying to make his way back to Phoenix as soon as possible. And the moment he arrived, he held Phoenix and refused to let go. He made sure that Phoenix knew just how wonderful he was and how much Miles appreciated him. Phoenix figuratively and literally saved Miles’s life several times, and Miles repeats one of those incidents every time that he can tell Phoenix’s thoughts are getting the better of him. Afterwards, he becomes the foundation of his family’s financial state. As a prosecutor, he makes enough money to support his family in every way they need and more. He moves in with Phoenix and Trucy, bringing Kay and Sebastian along with him, until Phoenix has a part-time job that affords him enough money to make rent.

- Sebastian teaches Phoenix how to play piano. Though Phoenix may be woefully inadequate, Sebastian is patient and a better teacher than many would expect. While they practice, they talk about everything. Sebastian tells Phoenix about the time he nearly caused a mistrial for a dangerous criminal and tried to help his father get out of murdering someone, Phoenix regales Sebastian with tales of his courtroom antics and the Matt Engarde situation. They have heart-to-heart talks with each other about everything from relationship drama to feeling inadequate to whether it’s a ladder or a step-ladder. The bond Phoenix forms with Sebastian helps him remember that he’s not alone in feeling set up for failure or betrayed, giving him a person who genuinely understands how Phoenix feels.

- Kay keeps Phoenix moving. She gets him out of bed, takes him to ‘stakeouts’ (secretly an excuse to get free help on heists), and brings him to whatever local events interest her. Kay knows that constant activity and stimulation help her get out of depressive slumps, so she figures that the same would help her new dad(?) keep himself going. Though Phoenix isn’t quite cut out for tree-climbing and running through the mall after Kay commits felony theft, her antics certainly make sure that Phoenix is never left with nothing to do. Her joy from the most minor things (seeing a cool looking rock on the beach, learning how to use a pottery wheel, or even just walking through town) helps Phoenix see that there are little things in life that are worth living for, even if it’s only a dog on a skateboard.

- Franziska VonKarma is pissed. She is pissed because Phoenix Wright is a fool for not checking that his evidence was authentic and she is SUPER FREAKING pissed that someone would frame him for this. Franziska drops everything she is working on and flies to that foolish country to give every fool within a 100 mile radius a piece of her mind. She is the first to actually tell Phoenix that she knows for a fact that he would never submit forged evidence, that she would stake her life and her name on it. Franziska tears through the bar association and the prosecutors’ office alike. Once she has calmed down, she helps Phoenix prepare to retake the bar exam, even before he was found to be innocent of forgery. Seeing even Franziska support him, Phoenix began the fight to prove his innocence. And after the truth behind the Enigmar trial was exposed, Franziska was the first person to begin procedures to have Phoenix reinstated.

- Gumshoe may not be the smartest guy, but he knows how to help people find part time jobs. He helps Phoenix with his search for jobs and offers to write personal recommendations for him, though Phoenix rejects this offer. Gumshoe and Maggy also help Phoenix work through how it feels to get fired, with Maggie being especially helpful by teaching him how to joke about it.

- Ema knew from the very beginning that Phoenix was innocent. So when he started asking for weird devices, she never asked why. When he asked for her help developing a camera for the Mason System, she quickly made it her top priority. She’s not great at offering comfort or emotional support, but she’s an excellent problem-solver. It was her idea to have Phoenix wear the camera in his beanie and she helped develop the Mason System from a technical perspective.

- Maya and Mia had a fight over who got to talk to Phoenix first. In the end, Maya won out. She was crying before even he was and kept repeating that he would never do something like this. She had half a mind to channel the spirit of Magnifi or Zak or anyone in order to prove Phoenix’s innocence, but he convinced her not to. So instead she finally paid him back for all of the times he took her out for burgers, taking him out for them instead. She would talk about whatever they usually talked about, trying to make everything seem as normal as possible. And it worked. Maya was one of the very few constants in Phoenix’s life, so having her by his side made everything feel just a little more normal.

- Mia dropped her ‘an attorney always smiles’ act and lets Phoenix cry to her about everything. She reminded him that she was always there for him, just a channeling away, and that her belief in him was set in stone. She believed that he would get through this and come out better for it, and thus Phoenix believed it.

- The people in Phoenix’s life are what give him hope and happiness and light every single time. Every time that he felt pushed to the brink, someone would keep him from falling. But in the end, he was the one who decided to keep going. To become a lawyer again and keep facilitating justice, regardless of what had happened in the past. Everyone else helped him along his way, but Phoenix was the one who chose to keep going every single time. And he’s proud of that.

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kyun-toast · 3 years

Text

[ATEEZ] Mafia!Hongjoong - Fateful

word count: 2.2k warnings: explicit language, gun use, death, mentions of alcohol summary: a feisty baby for a feisty scorpio a/n: I started writing this so loyal to mafia!ateez but now that I’ve watched kingdom, I’ve changed my mind - I wanna be a pirate hoe.

“You forgot your toothbrush.” You said, sat by the desk, arms crossed. “Good thing I didn’t finish unpacking right, you can take your shit just the way it came in the boxes, hmm?” You didn’t get angry very often due to the pure fact that your expectations for your boyfriend were so low at this point. The way that your words, let alone your face, held no emotion terrified the boy. He shuffled around your apartment, gathering his things with eyes to the ground in guilt.

“Can you hurry up? I have places to be.” You said, fingers massaging your temple.

Stopping in his tracks, the boy turned to you with pleading eyes for the nth time today, “Baby, I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to hurt you like tha-”

“I’m sorry, what? You disrespected me, not hurt me, there’s a difference-”

“Why are you doing this to me? You know I love you.” He pleaded.

“Is that a serious question right now? You cheated with my assistant in your first week as intern at my firm, then tried and miserably failed to gaslight and manipulate me into believing your lies which I find pretty bold considering that I’m literally a lawyer. I respect the attempt though.”

“Baby, it was an acci-”

“No, shut up, I’m not done speaking. And you did this while I bought out this apartment for you because I felt bad for your sorry ass having to live with your dumb friends. I had to spoon feed you through law school and now through life too? You should be grateful that I’m letting you leave with all your things considering I bought them all too.”

He stood there with his hands gathered, staring back at the floor again.

“What. You got nothing to say? I thought so. You gonna leave now or what?” You questioned. He took his boxes, feet dragging across the floor to the door. You rolled your eyes as you closed the door on him. Before needing to look for a new intern and a new assistant, you needed a drink more than anything.

It was a regular Friday evening at the bar for Hongjoong and the boys. In celebration of Ateez’s successful expansion of their ‘business ventures’, Hongjoong had decided to spend the rest of the day at their usual spot. Despite having been set up for the sole purpose of laundering their dirty money, Bar 1117 was doing ironically well. Due to the nightlife business booming, Hongjoong had gained another alibi to keep him under the radar and he couldn’t be more comfortable with where his life was at.

“No, I reckon it’s Yeosang” San said, bringing the glass of whisky to his lips.

“I back that, he’s not got the emotional capacity for it.” Woo agreed, laughing.

“Yeah, just because I don’t take any of your shit doesn’t mean I’ll do the same to my wife. I bet Mingi. He’s definitely getting married last.” Yeo rebutted.

“What wh-”

Before Mingi could finish, Seonghwa cut through, “Considering our line of work, no one’s gonna be getting married any time soon. Right Joong?”

Turning to the leader of the boys, Seonghwa saw that Hongjoong had his head turned away from the conversation, eyes scanning up and down a figure at the bar. Hongjoong was never a man to be distracted by anything or anyone, always focused on his business so it was a rare occurrence for him to be looking so intently at a person. The boys catching onto this, they followed his gaze to a man sat so close to the lucky person’s face, his facial expressions showing his desperation for a way to break down their walls.

“This might be interesting…” Wooyoung smirked.

“I genuinely couldn’t care less.” You said, head cocked to the side in your hand, staring dead straight into the man’s eyes. However, the man had no intention of ever stopping his speech as he sat next to you at the bar.

“Come on, you really don’t know my father? He was in today’s paper?” He carried on as you zoned out of the conversation and occasionally cringed at the man’s stale breath, wondering how many more men were going to be responsible for the deepening wrinkles between your brows. As you took a sip from your drink, you locked eyes with a blonde-haired man across the room. His features were delicate yet sharp like the thorn of a rose, or a shard of glass, eyes twinkling with mischief. He raised his glass at you and smirked, amused by the situation that you were in.

“Listen here, bitch-” The man grabbed your wrist, forcing your attention back to him, “You’re gonna take the drinks I buy you, listen when I speak and sit pretty like a woman is supposed to.” He spat.

“Grrrr, scary.” You crudely imitated the growl in the man’s voice, still uninterested, “What a man your mother raised. I bet she’s proud, hmm?”

Anger radiating from the man’s body, he grabbed the glass out of your hand and threw it at the wall behind you, missing your face by inches.

“Oh, so now you’re going to scare me into sleeping with you? You need to brush up on some people skills.” You laughed, throwing you head back. You only composed yourself to grab the man’s collar, causing him to stumble off his stool. “You want to throw another glass at me? Try it.”

You hadn’t noticed the blonde-haired man stroll up to your table seeing that you were so caught up in the situation.

“Hi, I’m Hongjoong. How’s your night going? Anything I can help you with?” He asked, rubbing his hands together, surprisingly composed despite the mess. You let go of the man as the name triggered something in your head, remembering it being mentioned a few times behind closed-door meetings with your father.

“Are all the whores around here like this? I came here for some fun and this is how I’m treated? Fuck this place and every one of you here.” The man started at Hongjoong. You sat there, curling your fists ready to punch the man this time but Hongjoong noticed and interjected.

He placed his hands on the ledge of the table, leaning forward to obstruct the space between you and the man. As he did, you noticed the glimpse of a gun hanging from inside his fitted jacket, the slick shine of the metal winking at you in the light.

“I’d rather die than come to this shithole again.” The man carried on and you noticed the mischievous glint that was once in Hongjoong’s eyes finally fade to black.

“Oh, sure thing, I don’t think I want to see you here again anyway.” Hongjoong muttered and what happened in the next few seconds flew by so fast it barely registered in your brain.

The blonde-haired man reached into his jacket to pull the handgun out and shoot the man clean between the brows. At the same time, you pointed the small pistol you always kept concealed on your body at Hongjoong in reflex, having been taught to react to the sound of gunmetal in this way since you were a child.

Once you realised that the bullet wasn’t intended for you, you sensed seven pairs of eyes trained on you. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw that the boys once sat at Hongjoong’s table were all stood up, half of their guns out pointed to the man, and the other half at you, the next possible threat to their leader.

It was then that you realised that this man was the leader of Ateez, Seoul’s biggest underground organization responsible for the running of the city. It may have been politicians and businessmen in the spotlight, but behind the curtains, it was Ateez pulling at their puppet strings.

“Easy with that, angel.” Hongjoong turned to you smiling and raised a hand at the boys to lower their weapons. He continued chuckling, “I felt like you might have an attitude, but I didn’t expect this from you.”

As if it were a regular occurrence, two barmen came round to dispose of the body and your eyes followed, gun still pointing at the blonde man. Using the tip of his fingers, he gently lowered your gun to point at the floor.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, “I know some people that can sort that out.”

“Yeah those people are my paralegals paying off police in their missing persons hunts and forging their death certificates.”

Everything had fallen into place for you in that brief encounter. You knew that your father and his firm were involved in some dark business, but you never questioned it. Respecting your father’s wishes in telling you that keeping you in the dark was keeping you safe, you let it go.

However, it was only a few years ago that he had begun to tell you about his private dealings as consigliere to the organisation Ateez. That recently, his age-old friend had stepped down as mob boss and handed everything down to his son. Chuckling at how much he saw the image of his friend in the young blood, he mentioned that you would be in a similar position, that you too would be handed the law firm and become consigliere by tradition.

You had always expected to take up this mantle since you were young, as you figured that the men coming to your house for private meetings while you played in the garden did not treat you with unparalleled respect for no reason. You just didn’t realise that it would mean for you to be so heavily tied with the illicit world of the mafia then.

From then on, you trained close by your father’s side, learning the ins and outs of the world of jurisdiction, though you were never exposed directly to the ongoings with the mafia as your father had said, “the time will come when it needs to.”

“Then I guess today is the day.” You whispered to yourself smiling, you held your hand out to Hongjoong. “I’m Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my father has always spoken very highly of you.”

Confused at first, a spark was ignited in Hongjoong as the shine returned to his eyes, and the amused smirk to his lips, your name triggering something in him. Realising that you were the daughter to one of the men he most respected in his life, he took your hand and brought it to his face to kiss gently, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, I’ve heard a great deal about you as well, but who knew my future right-hand man would be so hot.” He said as he flashed a sly smile.

The more he observed, the flames within Hongjoong only grew as he could sense the fire in you too. The most beautiful person he had ever set eyes on was to be his consigliere? Couldn’t be any more perfect. He wondered what more you could achieve together and pictured only pure wildfire.

“You better watch your mouth Mr. Kim, unless you want to start a war between the family before I even take up my position.”

“Of course, I have nothing but respect for you and your father. I was told that I wouldn’t be meeting you until he was to step down from his position, but I guess my lucky stars have aligned perfectly tonight.”

“Also, I’m more than capable of dealing with these things myself, there was no need for you to play knight in shining armour.”

“Sure, holed up in your guarded palace of a law firm, you’ve never had experience in the real world. Things are different here and what happened at this bar is just the cusp of it, princess.” He rebutted voice dripping honey, flirting his way through the conversation.

“But who is it advising your every action and saving your asses in the courtrooms, hmm?”

You and Hongjoong continued to jab at each other while the boys sat back in disbelief at the situation. Common people would have run the other way as soon as a gun was shot in their vicinity. So for you to have pulled one out in retaliation and furthering that, started arguing with their Captain, it was a sight to see.

“Bets on who’s going to win this one?” Yunho broke the silence.

“I’m betting tonight’s drinks on the lady.” Mingi said, throwing his black card onto the table.

“Me too, Hongjoong hyung looks too smitten for pride games right now.” Jongho agreed.

“Looks like we’ve got our first to tie the knot then.” San chuckled, nudging at Wooyoung who replied, “Hmmm, she doesn’t look like the typical housewife type though.” Analysing the unmatched confidence exuding from your body language.

Soon after, Hongjoong led you to the table of boys, pulling a chair out for you.

“Guys, this is Y/N L/N, future consigliere to Ateez, and not to mention, my future wife.” He smirked, eyes glowing.

“Carry on and I’ll be future Captain by regicide, Hongjoong,” you shot him a glare as you took your seat, “considering our fateful encounter, it looks like I’ll be seeing you more often with my father now, I hope we can get along.”

You poured yourself a glass of whisky and smiled while Hongjoong could already sense the eventful days ahead with none other than you by his side. -

Mafia AU Masterlist

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 24 - ao3 -

The Cloud Recesses was calm and serene, tranquil and undisturbed. But unlike its usual tranquility, Lan Qiren felt that it was the calm of the moment before a firework exploded, the air thick and heavy with the impending eruption of an oncoming storm.

Lan Qiren’s brother continued to neglect his work to court He Kexin, who seemed to have improved her opinion of him somewhat during the time that Lan Qiren was gone, though whether it was the earnestness of his passionate pursuit, flattery at the idea of a man gone mad for her, or just that she’d become resigned to the idea for the moment, it wasn’t clear. What was clear to anyone with eyes was that her regard for him, although apparently now genuine, was nowhere near as fanatical as his. Lan Qiren suspected that they had started sleeping together, which seemed like a mistake on her part.

Still, brother or no, this was not a matter in which he was qualified to intervene.

Lan Qiren returned to his usual life, although he again temporarily delayed his planned departure in order to assist with sect matters – whatever his relationship with his brother, Lan Qiren loved his sect very much, and he, at least, would not so easily allow it to slip into disarray through neglect. No one asked him about the matter of He Kexin; his teachers pretended his unjust punishment had not happened but avoided his eyes for several weeks, and his peers had mostly moved on with their lives.

(His brother pretended he didn’t exist, but Lan Qiren didn’t hold it against him. Rumor had it that Wen Ruohan had either threatened or actually hit him or both to make clear how much he disapproved of what happened to Lan Qiren, and whether or not that was true, Lan Qiren enjoyed the thought too much to quibble over how his brother wanted to salvage his dignity.)

Lan Yueheng passed along news – not gossip, he said self-righteously, just news, as if Lan Qiren would somehow miss the fact that ever since he’d paired up with that pretty storehouse clerk of his, Lan Yueheng had belatedly discovered the joys of gossip and taken to it like a fish to water – but there wasn’t much of it, not even with his beloved Zhang Xin’s prodigious capacity for romantic stories and ability to embroider just about any situation into something resembling one. Cangse Sanren wrote Lan Qiren several letters, but once she’d been assured of his health and wellbeing, they largely shifted over to complaining about the Jin sect, where she was now residing, and occasionally included lurid descriptions of Wei Changze specifically meant to shock his conscience.

How are you even seeing him, Lan Qiren wrote back. Aren’t you in Lanling? He’s a servant in Yunmeng. Doesn’t he have a job?

Jiang Fengmian has ascended to the position of sect leader, she wrote back. He has to visit the other sects relatively often, and the Jiang sect has always been close to the Jin sect. Why shouldn’t they visit?

Lan Qiren thought about his brother and shook his head. Was irresponsibility in the rainwater this year?

I trust you’ve made your view on the matter clear to Jiang Fengmian.

Of course, she replied. He seems to live in hope that one day I’ll change my mind.

You’ve never changed your mind about anything.

So I’ve told him. Really, the fact that he doesn’t realize that is yet another reason why we wouldn’t be a good pair – putting aside his role, which I don’t want to share. Can you imagine me as mistress of the Lotus Pier? I’d be awful at it.

Lan Qiren imagined it, and shuddered.

Anyway, I’m like you – I want to travel! There’s so much to see out there. What a pity it would be to be trapped inside all day, like a caged lark singing only for a select few.

You could always invite others to come share their stories with you instead, he replied, thinking of Wen Ruohan sitting alone in the room he had designed for Lan Qiren like a dollhouse, waiting for a maid to help him vent his emotions over Lao Nie and Lan Qiren both. The rumors from Qishan said he’d recently taken on a concubine and that she was pregnant; Madame Wen was apparently furious over it. Bring the world to you, if you can’t go to them. That’s what sect leaders generally do, to my understanding: feathering their nest to make it bright and pleasing to their eyes because they cannot leave lest it fall apart. That’s a way of living, too.

I suppose, she replied, fearless and carefree as ever. But not for me!

There was Lao Nie, too.

He visited the Cloud Recesses a month or so after Lan Qiren’s visit to the Nightless City, belatedly concerned about Lan Qiren’s well-being – “I didn’t hear about it,” he said, looking shamefaced. “I had other matters on my mind…I’ll talk to your brother, though. I can’t believe he would order something so disproportionate. Is he here?”

“He is not,” Lan Qiren said with a sigh. Those who said you couldn’t change a man’s essential nature were not wrong, he thought, already forgiving Lao Nie despite his lack of actual apology.

Lan Qiren had always liked people whose spirits were bold and relentless, uncompromising and unbending just like him; there was really no other way to explain his truly inexplicable fondness for Cangse Sanren and Lan Yueheng and even Wen Ruohan, except maybe to say that he found himself compelled to love where he was loved in return. Lao Nie was like two drops of water with the rest of them, forging his own path in the world, wholly and truly himself – even if he left chaos in his wake, why should Lan Qiren expect more of him than to be exactly what he was?

“He’s out night-hunting,” he added. “Down in the south. There were tales of some very unusual beasts roaming there.”

He Kexin had expressed a mild interest in response to a storyteller’s tale, and naturally Lan Qiren’s brother whisked her away at once, her and all her friends that he always seemed to be paying for. Lan Qiren had thought that she kept them around her as a means of holding his brother off, but Zhang Xin had opined over a shared cup of tea that she thought He Kexin was treating the great and powerful Qingheng-jun as a convenient purse, that treating her friends to his largesse was the point and not the defense.

Zhang Xin liked to hold forth on her views, forthright and unstoppable and loud, and Lan Qiren could see why Lan Yueheng constantly looked so infatuated whenever he gazed upon her – she was not dissimilar to one of the explosions he created in his alchemy laboratory. They were very well matched, and Lan Qiren deeply pitied whichever teacher got stuck with their eventual offspring, which he foresaw as being the least Lan sect juniors to have ever graced their ranks.

“Gone? I’ll see him when he comes back, then,” Lao Nie said, entirely unperturbed by such concerns. “Let me tell you about my son instead! He’s wonderful – a big, fat baby.”

Lan Qiren crossed his arms. “We can talk about your baby later. What about your wife?”

“A goddess!”

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way, Lan Qiren mused. “Lao Nie,” he said. “What about Wen da-ge?”

Lao Nie blinked at him. “Hanhan? He’s doing well, too.”

Lan Qiren resisted the urge to strangle Lao Nie.

“Oh,” Lao Nie said, apparently figuring something out based on Lan Qiren’s sour expression. “You mean the fact that he’s angry at me?”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said patiently. “He’s very angry at you. Do you know why?”

“I’ve tried talking with him about it,” Lao Nie complained. “I don’t know why he’s being so stiff all of a sudden…it’s not like he doesn’t know what I’m like.”

This, Lan Qiren supposed, was definitely true.

“He thought of you as his,” Lan Qiren said. “Didn’t you know?”

Lao Nie shrugged, careless as a boar in full charge, heedless of the damage wrought around him as he moved through the world, none of which could penetrate his thick hide. “Of course. But being his doesn’t make me any less my own, and I can belong to others, too. Who’s he to tell me not to give myself where I will? Does he have dominion over me?”

“He doesn’t want dominion over you,” Lan Qiren said, and Lao Nie looked at him skeptically – which was fair enough. Wen Ruohan was possessed of a strong desire for domination, whether of people, places, or things; he truly believed all good things in the world ought to belong to him, and Lan Qiren only hoped that he never shifted over to thinking that he was actually the rightful owner of all things, for that path led inexorably to the reign of the tyrant. “Truly! Not over you, or any of the people close to his heart. If he wanted merely to possess you, he might as well try to snatch you off to his sect and give you his surname.”

“Not with the sort of relationship we have,” Lao Nie said, a smug smirk curling his lips. “If you know what I mean.”

Lan Qiren sighed. Truly, it was a pity to have reached the age in which everyone around him seemed to think of nothing but sex; he couldn’t wait until they were all too old for such things. Surely it couldn’t be that long…?

“You know what I mean,” he said patiently. “He’s not after Sect Leader Nie, not making some powerplay or attempting to seduce you in order to win your talents over. He likes you, Lao Nie, and all he expects from you is that you like him back.”

“I do!” Lao Nie protested. “I really do. He’s my darling Hanhan, isn’t he? He’s the one setting up walls between us, all because he’s gotten his feathers in a twist over something that’s really nothing. If it’s my time that he’s worried about splitting, what’s the surprise? My sect will always come first, as will his for him. I don’t even have a wife anymore!”

“You – don’t?” Lan Qiren stared, expression blanking out in his shock: this was not a piece of news that had reached his ears. He put down his teacup. “Lao Nie, if something happened –”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Lao Nie said dismissively. “She’s a goddess, like I told you! She’s off and around, coming and going, everywhere and nowhere at once – how could my Nie sect hope to contain such a creature?”

“But��you married her?”

“So? Does that mean I need to live with her?”

Lan Qiren was truly taken aback. He had never heard of such an unorthodox arrangement. “You have a son together! Who is raising him?”

“Me, of course! With the aid of plenty of servants, naturally. I wouldn’t dream of tying her down…ah, Qiren, don’t look so shocked. We’re all our own people, with our own wants and desires. Sometimes those desires pair well, and you can live together happily and well for the rest of your lives; sometimes they don’t. If you fall for someone whose desires don’t line up to your own, you can still pursue something with them. That you wouldn’t match well in what’s considered the orothodox fashion is no reason not to match at all, not if there can be an unorthodox arrangement that causes no one any harm.”

“Are we still talking about your ‘goddess’ wife?” Lan Qiren asked. “Or Wen da-ge?”

Lao Nie smiled ruefully. That sharp cleverness that was always with him lingered in his eyes, having been hidden beneath his distraction and his infatuation and his deliberately careless manner. “I tried to tell him,” he said. “From the very beginning…I was the one doing the pursuing, you know. He didn’t even want me at the start. The stupid fool, he thought he’d be better off alone, alone with the cold delights of political power and the miserable fascinations of that Fire Palace of his, leaving no room in his heart for any human warmth at all. You know what they all say about him: that he lost something when he passed the boundaries of his first human lifetime, his cultivation so high as to make him closer to a god than a man.”

Lan Qiren had heard that, too. At the beginning, he’d seen what people meant, but later, once he got closer, he didn’t see it at all.

“Before I convinced him to have me, he was far worse,” Lao Nie said bluntly. “If you think he was bad when you were younger, you have no idea – forget putting you in a dollhouse and dressing you up to suit his whims over your complaints; if he’d wanted you alongside him back then, he wouldn’t have hesitated to carve out your soul and turn you into a heartless puppet instead. It wouldn’t have satisfied him, of course, and eventually he would have discarded you, never knowing why he couldn’t get what he wanted from you.”

“Know your own mind,” Lan Qiren quoted. “What he would have wanted was the heart, sincerely given, and yet that was the first part thrown away…but such a realization would be too late and too bad for the victim, even if he later regretted.”

“He didn’t regret much, when I first got to know him,” Lao Nie said. “Nothing but trouble, down to his bones; that’s what he was, and what he still is, really. Lucky for him, I like a bit of trouble.”

That was an understatement. Lao Nie liked a lot of trouble, the more the better; it was really no wonder that he’d attached himself to Wen Ruohan.

“I pursued him,” Lao Nie said, picking up the thread from where he’d left off. “I dug out all the human parts of him that I could from underneath that stiff and stern human mask of his, and in the end he wanted me, too. But throughout it all I told him, I told him, that I wasn’t free for the keeping – that I knew myself, with my nose for trouble and wickedness, that I’d never be satisfied with just the one. That the only one who’d ever have all of me was my saber, and only because she doesn’t want anything in return but blood. He liked that, once. He thought it was a good thing.”

Yes, Lan Qiren could see that. Especially in the beginning, Wen Ruohan would not have wanted someone who gave him everything; he was like a wild cat, standoffish with those that longed for him and close to those that rejected him. One of the most powerful cultivators, sect leader of the most powerful sect – if he wanted someone who would simper and flirt and yield for him, he could have a dozen at the blink of an eye.

Someone like Lao Nie, who had a firm sense of identity and neither needed nor wanted anything from the outside world, who was always truly fundamentally himself, was far more his style.

So was someone like Lan Qiren, for that matter. Uncompromising and strict, mind preoccupied with his idiosyncratic obsessions – Wen Ruohan had thought him interesting, for whatever reason, and in time had grown jealous of those other thoughts, longing to be counted among them.

Lan Qiren rubbed at his temples. “He always seemed to enjoy you going off with others,” he noted, wondering if Lao Nie had more insight into the matter. “Why is this different? He got married, too.”

“Hanhan’s tastes are changing as he remembers more of what it means to be human,” Lao Nie said thoughtfully, accepting more tea when Lan Qiren poured it out for him. “I only excavated the surface, the rough parts of him that suited my interests, and he was content with our relationship being friendly and casual. But for you he brought out his soft underbelly and the hint of civilization that he used to have, remembering what he used to be and the things he used to want…I see he even gave you some of his paintings.”

Lan Qiren looked where Lao Nie was looking and saw the two paintings on his wall by the mysterious artist. “His paintings..? He painted these? It doesn’t feel anything like him!”

“Trust me, his qi is unmistakable to one who’s known it as intimately as I have. It’s definitely him – though I’d say these paintings are nearly a century old. Can we say that we are the same people we were between yesterday and today? Even the course of the mighty river can shift over time.”

Lan Qiren was stuck looking at the paintings. Free, he’d said to Wen Ruohan, all unknowing. The person who painted these was free and happy. Their soul is like a falcon’s, tied down by nothing.

For all the power and might that Wen Ruohan could bring to bear these days, Lan Qiren wouldn’t use any of those terms to describe him as he was now.

“He’ll forgive me,” Lao Nie said confidently, putting his cup down. “Give him time to remember why he liked me so much, remember all the warnings I gave him, and he’ll get over it. Maybe we’ll be a little less close than before, maybe there’ll be more anger and jealousy between us - at any rate, I haven’t pushed him so far to the brink that he would try to kill me to keep anyone else from having me, at least not yet. He’s just disappointed, that’s all. He’d only just realized that he wanted more when he realized he couldn’t get it.”

Lan Qiren nodded slowly. He thought that Lao Nie was right, although he also thought it was stupid of him to knowingly play with fire in such a brazen manner – Wen Ruohan really wouldn’t hesitate to murder a fellow sect leader, even one in another Great Sect, if he was determined enough, and he was smart and twisted enough to think of a way to get away with it, too.

Still, just as Lan Qiren had gotten over his feelings about Wen Ruohan’s inclination towards seeing torture and pain as entertainment, realizing that if he wanted him then he had to accept him as he was rather than rejecting him for it, Wen Ruohan would do the same for Lao Nie. He would remember what Lao Nie was like, what he’d always been like, and he would teach himself to appreciate those traits that he had once thought preferable, even as he resented them.

They’d get over this. Lan Qiren was sure of it.

What would come of it in the future, though...

“Anyway, I’ve dithered for long enough,” Lao Nie said. “I really only swung by briefly to say hello. I’m due at the Jin sect before the week’s out, and that means I have to go at once. Anything you want me to pass along to your lady-love rogue cultivator?”

“Leave Cangse Sanren alone, that’s what you can do for me,” Lan Qiren said. “Also, we’re still not lovers, nor will we ever be. Not everyone’s you!”

“No, they’re not,” Lao Nie said, grinning at him. “And that’s the way I like it – the richer the variety of the world, the more interesting people I can meet and be friends with, just like you.”

Lan Qiren was so overwhelmed by the compliment – he of course considered Lao Nie a friend of his, having as he did so many acquaintances and so few true friends, but he hadn’t realized that Lao Nie saw him as a genuine friend in return – that it didn’t even occur to him until it was too late that he hadn’t brought up the matter of his brother and He Kexin, nor told Lao Nie that he needed to stop his reckless encouragement of that relationship.

He’d tried to put that whole thing out of mind, Lan Qiren thought to himself with a sigh, and he’d succeeded – too well.

Whatever. His brother wouldn’t listen to their own sect elders, even as their exhortations shifted from encouragement to censure and their suggestions to leave it alone got more and more pointed, their interventions less and less subtle. Why would he listen to Lao Nie?

He’d just go his own way and do what he wanted, no matter what.

Lan Qiren ought to learn from his example and put the whole thing aside, accepting the facts just as they were. He’d finally given up on the idea that he could help his sect through this moment of disaster - there would simply be nothing for it; they would have to stumble along without him or else force his brother to actually do his job, but in any event, it wasn’t his problem.

He was going to go - he was going to finally make his way out of the sect for his long-planned travel, and when he did, he wouldn’t need to worry about his brother, or He Kexin, or any of it.

Only a few more months from the date he’d informed the sect elders of, he thought, and this time he would stick to it, not delay. A few more months...he could even count the time in days, if he wished.

His brother (and He Kexin) would return from their night-hunt in a few days, likely straight into the various elders’ less-than-subtle plans to find them and scold them over the whole thing.

Lan Qiren would give his brother ten days after he returned - the same ten days his brother had given him - before he formally informed him that he was leaving.

It wouldn’t be long now.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #sect leader nie #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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astaroth1357 · 4 years

Text

Demon Brothers being Soft for Their Daughters

Might just be me but I think there's nothing cuter than a Dad who loves his daughter so I made a hc for our boys. Strap in, it’s a long one!

IMPORTANT! Watch out for first half spoilers! Assumed that the child is a half human/half demon with the MC!

Lucifer

Tries to be really strict but ends up being kind of a pushover.

Oh there ARE rules that even his little girl can't break, but most of the time she can get away with almost anything if she's cute clever enough.

Pushes her to be the best at almost anything she tries, expectations be real high; gonna take the MC stepping in to remind him winning isn't everything and please cool it on the pressure.

Lowkey learned his lesson before and doesn't want to make another Satan situation so tries to take MC's advice to heart and not be quite so controlling.

Her favorite uncle is Mammon and he gets cold sweats about this every night.

Wasn't able to be there for a lot of her firsts due to work and gets real sulky when he misses out. Videos just don't offer the same experience...

Feels bad that work keeps him so busy so he tries to make up for it with toys, clothes, jewelry, pretty much whatever she likes at the time.

Would never admit it, but his black heart melts every time he comes home and sees she's excitedly waiting by the door.

One of those parents who will never stop bragging about how amazing their kid is to anyone who will listen, but never when she's in the same room.

100% that overprotective "I'm going to give you a brief tour of the torture chamber, then we’ll browse my whip collection. Oh, make sure she's home by 8" kind of dad if she were to ever bring home a date. They will know that his baby is not to be messed with (like anyone's crazy enough to try honestly).

Mammon

So over the goddamn moon that someone actually wanted to have a kid with him that he couldn't shut up about it for weeks.

Treasures his little girl more than anything he owns, even Goldie. When she's a baby the two of them are practically inseparable.

The biggest pushover to ever be pushed. She's about the only person he's ever unconditionally generous to and he really spoils her rotten.

She's just as materialistic as her father, honestly, but MC made sure their girl was raised with good morals. The first of which being no stealing. Ever. She works for every cent she spends.

On the one hand, he's actually pretty damn proud and relieved that she won't be called "scum" or anything like her father, but on the other hand like… Ew. Who raised you? (No one remind him it’s kind of his doing anyway).

For once in his greedy existence, he can tell a sob story about really needing that loan or those shoes for his beloved daughter and actually mean it… most of the time 😏

Even when she's young, though, she will ask him if a gift he's giving her was taken from someone else and, man, he cannot lie to her face. People shame him for stealing all the time but the little look of disappointment she gives him hurts WAY more than all of his brothers’ insults combined.

Probably one of the most supportive and involved dads in existence. He will be at every game, every recital, every meet. Even if he's complaining the whole time, if anyone so much as suggests that he just shouldn't go he'd be appalled.

…. He's perhaps a little too involved because he's also totally the kind of father who will lowkey stalk his daughter's dates to be sure nothing bad happens. MC, please step in. She needs privacy too.

Leviathan

Was incredibly worried about having a kid, he's not even had the best track record when it comes to pets and parenting is some high-level normie stuff. But his little girl's first smile absolutely melted his doubts away.

That being said… he's still not the greatest with little kids. For a long time if the baby so much as sneezed unexpectedly he'd start shouting for the MC and checking every website he can like??? My half demon baby won't stop sneezing, is it pneumonia???

Gets a lot less panicky as the child gets older, but in those early years he'd practically want to stick them in a bubble wrap suit.

He passed on his love of the ocean and underwater creatures pretty early on. The running joke is that his girl knew how to swim before she knew how to crawl.

Family aquarium trips are an absolute must.

The second they're old enough to understand plot he's introducing them to his favorite shows, but only the best (and most child-friendly) ones of course. He wants his daughter to grow into a woman of culture, damnit! Pop culture that is.

Sooo much text/chat lingo between these two. It's not her fault really. She was bound to pick it up but man can it sound like they're speaking tongues at times.

With practice she can and will beat her old man at most video games and, yes, it makes his cry tears of equal parts pride and aggravation.

Has a mini-panic attack every time she hits a new milestone, like, yes he's so fucking proud but also don't you think she's growing up too fast??? MY BABY GIRL!!! 😭😭😭

Cries like a baby to the MC when she goes out on her first date because he realized she's really, truly, growing up and he's afraid his little girl isn't going to want to spend time with her lame old dad anymore.

Satan

Tries to be strict and IS strict but mostly on schoolwork.

Her grades best not be slippin' or this Book Papa will take all her stuff away. End of discussion.

Otherwise, he's surprisingly chill being the Avatar of Wrath and all. He of all people understands the desire to just have your own life and do your own thing.

She'll inherit his temper though, that's a given, and if they both get going then watch out. Fights between them can get verbally explosive, but never physical. Even at his angriest Satan would never once lay a hand on his daughter.

Read to her every night when she was young: storybooks, novels, mythologies, didn't matter to him. Whatever she wanted to hear. Still, he was so proud the day she told him that she wanted to read on her own.

100% makes nearly everything in life a teachable lesson but also helps her when she needs it. He wants her to forge her own path but is still very supportive when the situation calls for it.

Would never EVER admit it, but he does just as many dad jokes as Lucifer.

Of all the brothers, he's probably the most typical father to have, there for his kid just enough while also making sure they're not getting away with murder.

Is totally chill with her dating because he knows he doesn’t have to be super protective of her. She can more than handle herself if something goes wrong, in fact, if he were to step in it would probably add insult to their already grievance injury.

That being said, he IS the Avatar of Wrath. If someone hurts his girl he’s going to have a turn one way or another.

Asmodeus

Oh YEEESSS, he's not normally the commitment kind of guy but he and MC raising a child? They'd be the most gorgeous thing in the universe!!! (Not counting himself of course)

Beautifying his baby since day one, but the MC keeps him from doing anything too extreme. A lot of baths, good moisturizer, hairstyling (when she grows enough of it), etc.

Soooo many outfits. She'll practically never wear the same thing twice and Asmo coordinates his own clothes to match hers all the time.

He actually goes out and parties LESS if you can believe it, especially when she's young and needs a lot of supervision. But he'll get pent up real quick so learning how to do a quiet quickie during naptime is a must.

His girl is all over his Devilgram, nearly every milestone is snapped up and recorded. He loves her more than anything and would just scream about his pride and joy from the rooftops if social media didn't provide him that outlet.

Makes sure his daughter knows that she is gorgeous, she is loved, and passes on every bit of self-confidence he has. Doesn't matter if she grows up a girly-girl, tomboy, or anything else under the sun. When you're feeling good just being you, heads will turn on their own accord!

Not the best at discipline and would only really step in if he thinks she's being a real jerk about something. Day to day attitude adjustments are totally up to the MC.

He is, however, the best sex-ed teacher one could ever ask for and makes sure his daughter knows there's no shame in what comes natural, just be sure you're respectful and responsible!

Completely unfazed when the suitors began lining up, I mean she is HIS daughter. It was inevitable. Offers tips and advice when he can but lets her go off and experiment naturally. Young love is a beautiful thing! (Just don't break his girl's heart though because he may lowkey curse your whole bloodline)

Beelzebub

….. MC, you're going to be eaten out of house and home.

Though his daughter's appetite isn't AS bad as his, Beel could tell it's going to be an issue from day one but he's ready for it.

Dedicates his freaking life to being sure she never goes one night hungry. He'll cook, he'll shop, he'll even share from his own plate if he has to. The thought of her going through anywhere near the level of starvation he feels on a daily basis is enough to crush his soul (if he has one)

You better bet there will be eating competitions. She never wins, but the fact she can even get close will have him grinning anyway.

That being said, he will push for a healthy and active lifestyle for her too.

Highkey wants her playing sports and doing team activities because he genuinely thinks it will help her stay healthy and make friends.

Just the right amount of discipline. Tries to be understanding but also knows when to call a spade, a spade and express his disapproval.

Very in-tune to her emotions and her needs even if he can’t quite grasp WHY she's feeling the way she is. Keeping up with teen drama is going to be the bane of his existence...

Uncle Belphie=That one cool uncle who lets you get away with anything and probably gives out sugar after bedtime.

One of the only brothers who makes a point of his daughter also seeing and exploring her human heritage too and not just treating her like a pseudo-demon… And it's totally not just for the added excuse of sampling human world cuisine, like, come on who do you take him for? 🤫

Somewhat cautious about her dating, but ultimately just wants her to be happy. He'll usually trust her judgment but he's pretty good at reading someone's character and if he gets real bad vibes from anyone he's not above telling her, "No. Not that one." Whether or not he's listened to depends on the situation.

Belphegor

Lol MC, you could have picked a much better choice. Borderline Deadbeat/Cool Dad here!

Kids… not his thing. He doesn't dislike them exactly, they're just a lot of work and he's sort of allergic to that. He's more of a semi-irresponsible babysitter type.

Case in point, "Belphie, watch the baby" becomes "Belphie, if you're going to take a nap at least hold onto her leg so she doesn't go anywhere."

Only saving grace is she takes after him so most days she's pretty dang sleepy too. Naptime is a good third of the daily routine (not that anyone is complaining).

Shit at discipline because, like, what leg does he have to stand on? If she wants to ditch class, why not let her? Once or twice ain't that bad.

Takes her on a lot of "field trips" to the human world like he would with Lilith. Genuinely wants her to experience both sides of her identity and encourages her to explore her human side just as much as her demon.

The kind of chill dad that you feel comfortable going to when you've got to talk out a problem or need life advice. He might not be able to offer many answers, but he tries in his own way.

Will prank his kid and will not feel sorry, but is never cruel about it. In fact, this will only spur on a mutual prank war between the two.

Uncle Beel=that genuinely nice uncle who tries to teach you life lessons and how to take care of yourself… while also eating a ton of food.

Would be super confused at first if she started dating like?? How? He kind of sees her like a mini-him at times and his human came to him. Since when did she stay awake long enough to leave the house?? But otherwise he goes with the flow. Whatever she wants, her life.

He might get a bit more agitated if she starts to date a human, like, lowkey bad flashbacks to the whole Lilith situation and the MC would probably have to cool his jets about it. Different circumstances after all.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me headcanons #obey me luficer #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me scenarios

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