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firelxdykatara · 3 years

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Katara x Aang :3c

are you trying to get me in trouble

-cough-

no but in all honesty, my genuine feelings about kataang boil down to three major points: 1. it's boring, and does not jive thematically with either of their character arcs, to the point of, 2. actively hampering character development on both sides, and 3. katara deserved better.

points expanded under the cut. (please, if you're a kataang shipper and you see this, just keep scrolling. i've tagged it appropriately and put the bulk under a cut and at this point that's literally all i can do lmfao.)

send me a ship and get my (brutally) honest opinion!

1. It's Boring: This is the most subjective point on the list (I mean, in fairness, it's all subjective, but I have evidence from the show and post-canonical materials to support my other points; this one is just preference), but there's just... nothing to kataang. It's cute (when it's not actively aggravating), and... that's about it. It's not even that I dislike friends-to-lovers as a shipping trope (though it's not my overall preference), because there are a lot of friends-to-lovers couples that I do ship (kanej comes to mind, also will/elizabeth from potc, karolsen from supergirl, romione and hinny from hp, among others), but one thing that I think all of those couples have that kataang doesn't is that both sides of the pairing are teens or adults when they get together, with teen/adult dynamics and issues and stories to deal with, rather than one half being a teenager and the other being literally prepubescent.

And don't get me wrong, I have no problem with age gap ships in general. And as far as atla goes, Katara, at 14, has the same age difference from Zuko (16) as Aang has from her, and it's never stopped me--because both Katara and Zuko are well into puberty when they meet and I have no problem picturing them being into one another and growing together as they enter adulthood. Aang, on the other hand, is a child. And he acts like it. Which wouldn't be a problem, if the show weren't expecting me to believe he is a) ready for a romantic relationship, and b) ready for one specifically with Katara, who is not only older and far more mature but is specifically cast as his caretaker in a very maternal role for the entire show's run.

This show asks me to believe that a teenage girl well into adolescence is going to be attracted to and develop romantic feelings for a pre-adolescent child--and it asks me to believe this while showing us otherwise that Katara's type is actually older boys with fabulous hair and angsty pasts in all of her other potential romantic dalliances--and then enter into a relationship with him, all while ignoring the elephant in the room that is the fact that she was basically acting like his mother for the entire series to that point. (Something that is heavily lampshaded earlier in the very same season.) That just stretches the bounds of credulity way too far for me, especially when there's no evidence that Katara herself would get anything out of their romantic relationship.

There's nothing there for me to sink my teeth into. No delicious development, no parallels where they help each other grow, no internal conflicts that they have to work through together, nothing. Certainly no reason for me to actually believe Katara feels (or would grow to feel) anything for him other than the platonic affection of a caretaker. I can easily believe she loves him dearly, as a friend and quasi-little-brother, but I just can't see that developing naturally into romantic love--not the way it's presented in the show.

And even if they did manage to at least make the development of Katara's feelings believable, unless they changed something fundamental about the nature of their relationship, it'd still be boring, so.

2. It Actively Hampers Their Character Development--On Both Sides: I've written before (extensively lol im so sorry) about how kataang is actively detrimental to Katara and to Aang. In short (because ye gods this post is already getting long enough), Katara is narratively harmed by being shoved into a relationship that completely ignores her stated feelings--a relationship that had been presented as a one-sided puppylove crush for the vast majority of the series--and it inhibits her growth as a character in ways that become far more obvious in the comics and lok, where the very same creative forces that lead to her beginning a relationship with Aang in the first place reduce her to 'the Avatar's girl' and very little else, all the way through to the end of LoK (where she is a Healer and the Avatar's wife and, again, very little else).

As for Aang:

As to how this relationship is detrimental to Aang (other than the comics and LoK nonsense)? Just take a look at book 2, when he’s trying to learn Earthbending from Toph. Katara constantly coddles him. Much of the time, she’s afraid to be anything other than gentle and understanding with Aang--partly because of her fear that if she pushes him too far, he’ll run away. (Which he does, several times.) But sometimes, what Aang needs to grow is a sharp kick in the slats, which Toph was more than willing to provide--and which worked. Katara was great for teaching Aang to waterbend, but he needed more than that to grow as a person. And he can’t get that while he’s in a relationship with someone who will apologize for getting upset when he was very explicitly neglecting her.

In addition, it is pointed out by Guru Pathik at the end of Book 2 that one of Aang's chakras is blocked by his attachment to Katara. Aang takes this to mean (incorrectly) that he has to stop loving her in order to become fully realized as an Avatar, but this is actually part of the problem--because the issue isn't that he is in love with Katara, it's that he's possessively attached to her. He believes himself entitled to her love in return, rather than selflessly loving someone regardless of whether or not they return that affection. (This is obvious come the EIP episode, where Aang demands to know why he and Katara aren't in a relationship already--because he kissed her without asking [or even checking to see if she'd be ok with kissing him], which he phrases as mutual even though it very much was not, and he gets angry and violates her boundaries when she says that she is confused and doesn't want to think about it right then.)

It is his attachment to Katara--the need for her to return his love, the belief that she will and it is only a matter of time before he gets what he wants--that he was supposed to let go of, not his feelings for her in general. Unfortunately, while he pays lipservice to doing this (far too late for it to be useful--if he'd stayed with the Guru for five more minutes and unlocked his chakra there, that battle would've gone very differently), he almost immediately backtracks on that development come book 3, and there isn't another single whisper of Aang maybe growing up and moving past his one-sided and possessive crush and realizing that even if Katara doesn't feel the same way, it doesn't mean she loves him less or that their friendship is less important.

What really needed to happen, for Aang to grow as a person and become fully realized as an Avatar, was for him to grow up. To realize that his feelings were not of paramount importance, and that even if he was in love with Katara, he was not entitled to her love in return. He should have been able to move past his need for her to love him back, in order to get past that stumbling block, unlock his chakras, and regain the Avatar State in time to face the Firelord. But he didn't. As a result, they had to find some other way to just give him the Avatar State (a well-placed rock) and the means to defeat Ozai without killing him (the deus ex lionturtle) and his entire character arc just fell apart in the third act rather than reaching a satisfying conclusion.

3. Katara Deserved Better: This really ties into how her romantic relationship with Aang hampered her own development, but I'm still bitter enough about it that it gets its own bullet-point. And the biggest single reason I could never ship kataang--the thing that would've turned me off even if there were substance and a halfway decent storyline for them--is the fact that Aang kisses her without her consent (for the second time) in Ember Island Players, Katara gets angry at him and storms off, and then..... she walks out onto the balcony to make out with him.

With nothing to bridge that gap.

It's bad enough that a show aimed at children had a scene where the child protagonist kissed the object of his affections without her consent when she didn't want him to (made explicit by her angry reaction)--and this is absolutely an issue when the show is aimed at children and it may well be the first experience they've had with consent issues portrayed in media--but this moment is never addressed again. Katara just decides--completely off-screen--that she does love him Really and walks out to make out with him in the epilogue. There's no conversation, no apology for violating her boundaries, no discussion of why that was wrong or any indication that Aang understands what he did and why it upset her. They don't have a single one-on-one interaction between that kiss and the epilogue, and the only other time they are on screen together, Aang yells at her and storms off.

So, even leaving the comics and lok aside, Katara deserved much better from her own romantic plotline. In fact, she deserved to have one, rather than simply being the oblivious object of Aang's affections, given a couple moments where she blushes but otherwise remains completely ignorant of his feelings (she looks shocked and upset when he kisses her prior to the invasion, and then she completely forgets that even happened because she's confused as to what Aang is even talking about during EIP until he brings it up; that's not the behavior of a fourteen-year-old girl who was kissed by someone she was developing romantic feelings for), before the epilogue where it becomes clear that she figured all of that out off-screen and had feelings for him after all.

She's a main character, not a side-character written in solely to give one of the mains a love interest. She deserved a romantic plotline of her own. (She could have had one with someone else, with very few changes made to what was actually on-screen prior to the epilogue, but that's another conversation entirely.) She deserved to have her feelings considered at all important by the person she was going to be paired with in the end, rather than having him just assume she felt the same way and then get mad at her for never giving any indication of it when he'd never asked about her feelings to begin with. She deseserved agency in her own romantic narrative, and she just didn't get that with Aang.

So yeah, at the end of the day, my biggest issue with kataang is that it involved doing Katara dirty, and she's my favorite character and she deserved so much better damnit.

#atla #katara #aang salt #kataang salt #anti kataang #atla meta #katara deserved better #salt for ts #ask meme #invincibleweasel #asked

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cosmicjoke · 3 years

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Alright, onto chapter 59 and 60 of AoT!

Chapter 59 of course has the big scene between Levi, Armin and Jean, and once again, we see Levi’s immense kindness on display, underneath the blunt honesty he also lays on his squad.

I feel like this scene really ties into my last post, and what I discussed about the 104th’s judgmentalism towards Levi, and how quick they were to condemn him for the actions he took. What strikes me during this scene from chapter 59 is how polar opposite Levi is in his own behavior from what the 104th’s was through chapter’s 57 and 58. That is to say, Levi’s utter LACK of judgmentalism towards his squad. This is one of the most remarkable things about Levi, and one of the traits that most highlights the actual goodness of his heart.

We see both Armin and Jean struggling immensely here with what happened in the wagon with that MP, Armin with the terrible guilt and fear that he killed a good person, and Jean with the awful guilt that his own hesitation and lack of commitment endangered everyone’s lives, and put the responsibility of taking a life on Armin.

What I find really interesting and telling about this scene is how Armin starts to voice his fear that the only reason he was able to kill the MP first was because she hesitated to kill Armin, but he can’t bring himself to ask the question to Jean, only imply it. And Jean, for his part, isn’t able to confess that that’s EXACTLY what happened. None of them want or are able in that moment to give life to their sense of guilt by admitting the truth of what happened.

And then... Levi steps in and does it for them.

He just flat out says the truth, where no one else was in that moment willing or able. That Armin was able to get his shot off first because the MP hesitated, and by saying so, he essentially forces Armin and Jean to confront the reality of what’s happened, and what they’ve done, and to come to terms with it. Levi then just flat out tells Armin that his hands are already dirty, and that there’s no going back to who he used to be, so he might as well just accept that this is who he is now. We see Mikasa start to make a protest, again, but Levi cuts her off and keeps going, to tell Armin that, if he hadn’t acted as he did, WHEN he did, Jean would likely be dead, and he tells Armin that he saved them all by getting his hands dirty, telling him that he’s grateful to him for that. Once again, we see Levi be the first and really only person there to express his gratitude and go out of his way to say thank you to one of his comrades for doing what needed to be done. He knows that Armin’s actions came at a great cost to himself, and he acknowledges that by expressing his gratitude for Armin’s sacrifice, for helping all of them, and giving a part of himself up in the process. This is exactly what Levi was trying to explain to them during the confrontation with Historia. That even if it means taking on the burden of guilt, or self-hatred, or being made to look like villains, none of that matters in the face of the greater good . Levi does the exact same thing with Jean, then, when Jean apologizes for judging Levi and his methods, and promising to not hesitate next time. Levi, once more, is brutally honest with Jean, telling him that, yes, because he hesitated, he put all of them in danger. Jean says he’s sorry, but then Levi tells him that what happened was “then and there” and “that’s it.”, before proceeding to tell him that he himself doesn’t know what’s right or wrong, and he wouldn’t try to tell Jean what is, that Jean may very well be right. Jean shows shock at this, and Levi’s willingness to consider Jean’s side and his thinking, despite how it put them all into a precarious position.

What gets me about this scene is how sharply it contrasts with the scene from chapter 57. Levi is totally upfront with his squad, telling them what he thinks and feels to their faces, being completely honest, and forcing them to be honest too, even though the truth is painful and sometimes ugly. He is, in turn, completely uncritical and non-judgmental towards Jean and Armin. Rather then condemning them, or belittling them, he tries his very best to comfort them and encourage them, and make them understand that they have nothing to feel guilty over, nothing to beat themselves up for. How, in fact, their actions were critical in aiding in all of their escapes. All of this is in such sharp contrast to how all of them acted in chapter 57, where Jean, Connie, Mikasa and Sasha were all highly critical and judgmental toward Levi, and how they only voiced those critics among themselves, not having the guts to say any of it to Levi’s face, the way Levi tells them without hesitation exactly what he’s thinking. This whole thing, I think, serves as a harsh lesson for the members of the 104th about the foolishness of being quick to judge and condemn without having a full grasp or understanding of the circumstances, the situation, or the person. Jean expresses remorse at having so quickly dismissed Levi’s methods as wrong, and says he’s sorry. But Levi doesn’t hold Jean’s own judgment of him against him, or tell him “apology accepted”, but rather tells Jean that he isn’t wrong to feel the way he did, basically telling Jean that it’s alright for him to think of killing as wrong, even still. When he tells Jean that what happened was “then and there. That’s it.”, he’s telling Jean that not all situations are the same, and that just because he made the wrong call in that particular circumstance, it doesn’t mean that a hesitation to kill in the future will be wrong. Levi is showing such a deep level of understanding and consideration for Jean’s feelings in this scene, and it’s just truly remarkable to watch unfold, again, especially, in light of how quick his squad was to judge him not that long before. We see Levi’s compassion for Jean’s feelings, and his consideration of his feelings here have an impact later on, between Jean and Marlowe, when Jean gives Marlowe a chance to prove his sincerity by not immediately killing him, even when he had the chance. We see Jean finally having listened to Levi, having heard his words and understood what he meant. That this situation was different from the one with the female MP in the wagon, that here, he WAS right to hesitate, here, he made the right choice. Levi is always impressing onto those around him that they can only ever try and make the right choice in any, given situation, and that they can’t expect those choices to always be the same across the board. That different circumstances call for different decisions, and there’s no point in beating yourself up or regretting those decisions that are made in the moment. Levi never puts unrealistic expectations or pressure on anyone around him to be perfect. He always tells them they’ve done a good job, just for trying. And that is just so incredibly sweet, and kind, and once again, really exemplifies just who Levi really is. Just that lack of judgment, that lack of condemnation, and the respect he shows to everyone by being HONEST with them, is amazing.

It’s interesting too, going through the rest of the chapter, and then chapter 60, when we see that Levi isn’t just some needlessly violent person that kills all the time. He doesn’t kill a single MP when they ambush them at their base, nor does he kill Marlow and Hitch, or the commander they take from the Interior Squads HQ. Once again, Levi’s squad gets another lesson in who Levi really is. That he’ll kill when it’s necessary, when it’s the lives of him and his comrades on the line. But when it’s a less dire situation, he doesn’t resort to it at all. He isn’t like Kenny, for example, who kills even when he doesn’t need to.

Another scene that really stood out to me in chapter 60, that I don’t think was animated, was when the commander they took from HQ tries to manipulate Levi into giving himself and the rest of his squad up, and tries to use Levi’s compassion against him, by telling him to save the lives of Erwin and his other comrades that have been arrested by giving up their own. This reminded me heavily of when Zeke tries to escape from the forest by turning Levi’s comrades into Titans, believing Levi won’t be able to kill them and thus leading to his own death. This kind of psychological deviousness, and attempts to use Levi’s compassion against him are particularly ugly, I think, particularly cruel and cynical. Especially in contrast to Levi’s own honesty and bluntness. Again, it only throws Levi’s own idealism and hopefulness into relief, seeing it clash up against the kind of psychologically manipulative games people like this MP and Zeke play at.

The way this commander of the interior MP’s tries to play head games with Levi by guilt tripping him, by claiming some of the people in HQ that they took down were only servants, and then implying that Levi doesn’t care about his comrades because he isn’t willing to turn himself and the other squad members in to save them is such an unkind thing to imply, because we know, and I think the MP knows, exactly just HOW much Levi cares about his comrades, and that’s why he tried this particular ploy. There isn’t anything much worse than the type of person who would use another person’s kindness and compassion against them this way, and again, the same way we see Zeke use it against Levi in that forest. And the same way we saw Levi’s pain and anguish in the forest when he realized what had happened, and what he would have to do, we see it too in the following panel here. Levi has, once again , an anguished look on his face as he readily admits that some SC members lives are worth more than others, meaning of course Eren and Historia’s lives are more vital than any of their own in overthrowing the corrupt government, and he understands in that way that even if it means Erwin and the others dying, it’s a sacrifice they have to be willing to make. You can see how these choices weigh down on Levi, how much it hurts him to have to make those choices, but tying back in to his earlier conversation with Armin and Jean, he has to be willing to make them in order to help the most people, and he never deludes himself about it. Levi is about as straightforward as you can get, he doesn’t mince words or try to play games, and he doesn’t lie to himself about any of it.

We get more of that honestly when he breaks the commanders arm and tells him straight that that was for refusing to answer his question.

That kind of honestly, both about himself and others, is part of what makes Levi not only the most heroic character in SnK, but also, in many ways, the bravest.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #meta #thoughts #chapter 59 #chapter 60

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whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years

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ORAITYY! HELOO DEAR! I hope you are doing fine <3. I was excited to see that ur request for match-ups are open :] I would like to ask for creepypasta match-up please!

I am A Campaigner (ENFP) and The Adorner (EFVL) and 7w6. In depth i am book smart but gullible as well as dense. My sister calls me "idiot" sometimes when I am dense for somethings…hah. I like to study until at one point i would just stay up until 3 am. I also would even drink coffee after 12 am. I have a RBF and i act like I have apathy. But if I dont tbh haha. If anyone i love is in trouble or something similar, I would help them. You wanna argue? Ok sure.I will definetely debate my thoughts lol. I will stand up for myself and what i am fighting for. I am the eldest child therefore i am very independent. To a point that, even if i really need help i dont try to get it. That's the problem with me :P

Height: 159 cm

I have Generalized Anxiety and Body Dismorphia (more to my face actually). So basically, i get anxious a lot about some things and my looks. My personality, uhhh mostly people find me complicated. But to me, I am neutral chaotic, book smart, stubborn, very curious, brutally honest and I have a bit of a anger issue but I am chill tho. I like to study, draw, listen to mucic, watch Youtube and Twitch! Also, I like anime and a fan of BTS. I go to boarding school and i can speak Japanese and Malay. I play Archery. What do I where?? At home i would just where a T-shirt and a blue jacket and some cozy pants.

Stuff that i like: + tall pepol

+ foooood (homemade at shop-made lmao)

+ drinks (favs are coffe and colaa)

+ people who like to spend time with me in any sort if way

+ art

+ M U S I C (anyy) + my favourite colors are black, midnight blue and gold

Stuff that i dont like: + slow people

+ annoying people that waste my time (if they are annoying in a fun way then thats fine)

+ bugs

Appearence? @ brown eyes (dark hazel-ish?) @ dark brown hair (it looks like brunette-ish under sun). My hair is short and it looks like Lee Joo Young's haircut.

Zodiac: Aries, moon is Taurus, Rising is Aquarius. And i am straight.

Aesthetic? Dark academia, Grunge (modern and 90s- ish, E-Girl) RIGHT, thats all from meee. Thank you for your Time <3 TAKE YOUR TIMEE i dont mind :D

Your matchup is... Masky!

[Disclaimer, if you're coming from the tags, this is part of a special event I am holding from November 17th to the 21st where I am accepting matchups from all fandoms I currently write for. Feel free to check out my 1K celebration masterlist here for rules during the window this event is open! If it's past the 21st midnight USA central time, do NOT send me a matchup. I will have to politely turn you down. Sorry </3]

In General

I'm choking bc I read this last night and in my hazy mind said "heh, Egirls are ruining Masky's life" and well, here we are. I never fight my intuition when it comes to these things and uh-

Things He Likes About You

I feel Tim actually really likes your aesthetic style, hence the e-girl thing. Dark academia too!! Also, Aries. Yes. Your dark hair and dark eyes make him really happy, I think Masky likes people with dark hair and dark eyes, making him smile. The things that you like are things he's really into minus the cola, but like, everything else yeah. You're book smart which is something he admires, curious and your honesty makes him weak in a good way. But, the section I really want to go off in is down below.

You Two As a Couple

Coffee dates are a thing between the two of you. 100%, it's undeniable. You being gullible makes him want to protect you tbh. He does worry that you stay up late but like, hey he stays up late too tf. I think Tim likes debating too - but like, about stupid things like if mint if a valid ice cream flavor or is bacon belongs with pancakes not genuinely important things. He'll have witty conversations with you. He doesn't mind that you're independent but he's a bit of a worrywart himself, so, you might get smothered by him once and a blue moon. I think Tim has body dismorphia as well, so he understands how to help you get through the night. He's good at taking care of people he loves, especially you. Tim has a pretty good limit on his patience, so he'll get to know you just fine, but like, be kind with him too. The honesty thing might need to be softened every now and then?? Tim has a slight ego and it gets bruised EASILY. Likes listening to music with you and will absolutely help you study. He doesn't get anime or BTS, but probably likes BTS songs and just won't admit it. Will give you his clothes and stuff. He's not like - tall tall, but he's tall enough. Will make you food from time to time.

Closing Thoughts/Other Things

Hi love bug, I read boarding school and I'm - I'm going to hope you're an adult/over 18,,,,,, bc otherwise- please not the hashing out again- I digress, hope you enjoy <3

#creepypasta #creepypasta matchup #creepypasta masky #masky x reader #masky headcanon

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urmomsstuntdouble · 3 years

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89 for the writing promp game? 👀👀 whichever characters u feel like it fits

oof this took a while. wasn’t sure who to write it about, and i didnt use those exact words, but. yeah. here it is!

(3rd person pov, lithuania x romano)

Nobody enjoyed world meetings. It was a known fact, and one regular humans would probably assume without knowing what transpired at such meetings- Which wasn’t much, in all honesty. And while they weren’t fun, they weren’t always bad. Sometimes they’d be in a nice city, and flights would line up with those of friends, and so forth- Today was not one of those days.

Tolvydas had stumbled off their train at three o’clock in the morning, and into their hotel bed two hours later. Their body now ran on two hours of sleep, and the conditions of the meeting didn't do much to help them stay awake. Jackets and ties were folded over the backs of several chairs, and some of the other nations held small wooden fans in death grips. Some were slumped over, and others stayed at attention. Of the other Baltic states, Estonia had removed his glasses and Latvia was clearly more focussed on his smartphone than the presentation. Tolvydas couldn’t blame them. The heat of the room seemed a cage, pressing in on them and making sweat drip down their back.

Why did the meeting have to be in Southern Europe? Tolvydas could handle the heat, but being trapped inside for an entire day- On which nothing tainted the pure azure of the sky- was a lot. A glance around told them they weren’t alone, as nearly every forehead shone with sweat. Every now and then, Tolvydas’ head touched their chest and they jerked back to attention. Their efforts were futile, though, and they’d yet to catch a single word of Paraguay’s speech.

Someone tapped their shoulder- Feliks, sitting at their left. Tolvydas looked down at them, where they’d rested their head on crossed arms.

“So bored,” they mouthed, and Tolvydas nodded. They shifted their notepad into Feliks’ line of sight and gouged the word TIRED into the paper. Feliks nodded with pink cheeks and drooping eyelids, and swiped the pen away from Tolvydas. Wish there was air conditioning. LORENZO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN AIR CONDITIONING.

Feliks giggled at that, attracting the glares of some nearby nations. Pink cheeks turned red, and they sank down a bit in their seat, folding their arms. Tolvydas sighed, and rested their head in their hands. Would it be a good idea to tape their eyes open? No, and they didn’t have any tape…shame. Tolvydas tilted their head around, looking for the host nation. Lorenzo. Romano, or Italy- They hardly ever spoke of things related to their nationhood. In fact, they only spoke as a result of social happenstance, that being Feliciano’s friendship with Feliks, and the Italy brothers shared a car, and that Tolvydas had spent much of the 90s on Feliks’ couch. A coincidence Tolvydas was fond of, actually. It was rare that nations befriended each other purely for social reasons. Even Feliks came into their life for the sake of politics.

Tolvydas looked around the room yet again, this time searching for Lorenzo. Would he be drowning in sweat too, they wondered? The answer seemed to be yes, and they bit back a smile upon seeing him. He sat hunched over the desk, with his suit jacket resting on the back of his chair. Dark circles lined both his armpits and eyes. As if cued by their staring, Lorenzo opened his water bottle and took four hearty gulps, then returned it, empty, to the desk. Tolvydas blinked, and wiped some sweat from their forehead. When they returned to their hotel room, they would get rid of all these clothes and lay on the bed with the windows open until they fell asleep.

They shuffled their papers about, searching for the weekend’s itinerary. They gave their speech the day before, but about a hundred nations still had to take their turns…According to the schedule, today’s last presenter would be Qatar. So the meeting would be over by…seven, maybe? Tolvydas pushed some air through their lips and picked at a loose thread in their shirt sleeve.

It wasn’t until about seven thirty that Qatar gave her presentation, and closing the meeting took another half hour. Once that was done, the nations milled about and spoke, as per their custom. Rare was it that they were allowed to be people- Tolvydas would never understand how people could say they ‘didn’t pay attention to politics.’ Paying attention to politics was all they could ever do. Then again, they were Lithuania, not a person.

Fortunately, many of the nations elected to move outside after the meeting ended. They fit right in with the students, bustling around the university campus. Nations fragmented here, splitting off with friends or returning to their hotels. Most importantly, though, they were stopped by people asking to take selfies. Tolvydas smiled and laughed when required, and let themself be dragged around with the other EU members.

“Where are we going?” Asked Feliks at their side, and they nodded, glancing around. Tolvydas wasn’t sure they recognized this city- They’d been to so many, it was hard to remember, and European cities started to look the same after a while.

“Not sure,” said somebody- Hungary. “I think Vene said something about a bar? I wasn’t really paying attention.” She snorted like it was punctuation, and Feliks laughed.

“Oh, Erzsi! Hey, I didn’t see you there!” Feliks launched himself at her, and was lucky that she reacted fast enough to catch him.

“Hi, Erzsebet,” Tolvydas said, suppressing a laugh.

“Hey, losers,” She said, arms clenched around Feliks’ waist. “Glad to see you here, that meeting was stuffy as hell.”

“Ugh, I know, right?” Feliks said. They righted themself, walking independent of Erzsebet again. “I was practically dying of the heatstroke.”

“I don’t think you can get heatstroke if you’re not in the sun,” Tolvydas said.

“You can,” a voice chimed in- Spain. “Trust me, summers are brutal at my place. Hey, can I ask you a question, Lithuania?” Tolvydas glanced over their shoulder, as if there was some other Lithuania he could be talking to.

“Uh, yes,” They said.

“Do you have nude beaches in your country?” Tolvydas choked on their own spit, and let out a strangled chuckle.

“Y-Yes,” They laughed, “Sorry, I didn’t expect you to ask something like that-”

“I was thinking about all the ways I’ve gotten heat stroke before,” Spain told them, holding his hands in front of his chest like a T-Rex.

“And one was at a nude beach?”

“Well, yes…” He narrowed his eyes. “More than one, actually. I don’t like nude beaches, Lithuania, because if you’re not careful you can get sunburned…I mean, you can on a regular beach, but it’s so awkward to be, like, in front of your people and putting sunscreen on your entire body, you know? And I’m a country, so it’s a lot of attention, and all that��You know?”

“Well,” Tolvydas said, “Not really, because I don’t get a lot of sun, but yeah, sort of.” They bit their lip- Since they’d been talking to Spain, they had totally lost track of where they were in the city. The university was out of sight, and Feliks was now absorbed into a conversation with Hungary and the other EU Slavs.

“Hm. You are pretty pale.” Tolvydas tucked some hair behind their ear.

“Yeah,” They said, not sure what else to say.

“Yeah,” Spain murmured, eyes darting about the street. “Where are you taking us, Feli?”

“What?!” Asked Italy. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, causing Finland to crash into him. “Oh, crap! I’m sorry, Finland.” Finland gave him a smile and assured him it was no problem.

“I said, where are you taking us?” Spain shouted, “I don’t recognize this street.”

“Umm, I actually forget?” Italy laughed, “My brother has a bar he likes that’s near here, but I don’t like it so I don’t remember what it’s called? And he’s busy now, so- Yeah. Oh, hi Lithuania! I didn't see you there, how’re you doing today?” Tolvydas started, eyes widening.

“Hi,” They said, “I’m tired, but it’s alright. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks,” Italy said, “Though it’s really my brother’s, I…I don’t really like it that much down here, to be honest. Don’t tell him I said that. But it is nice to visit!”

“Excuse you, it’s lovely here!” Spain said, “I’m telling on you, Feli.”

“Don't!” Italy shrieked, “Please?” He turned to Spain with wide eyes. Even Tolvydas would have to oblige, and they had plenty of experience saying no to cute people. Well. Cute dogs. And Raivis. And Feliks, and Russia. Maybe they did have experience saying no to cute people after all.

“I’m only joking,” Spain said, “Besides, Lithuania here agrees with me, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Tolvydas said, “I do, yes. It’s- It’s a very nice climate you have here. And I like this street- Very, uh, very nice cobblestones.” Italy snorted, his hair falling into his eyes.

“Thanks, I’m glad you like them,” He said, though they weren’t his. Tolvydas hummed, and took a moment to really look at the street they were on. Buildings kept the sun from reaching them, but not the warmth. Storefronts beckoned here and there, with parked motorcycles at intersections and window boxes at second floor windows. Every so often they passed some graffiti, though most of it was nonsensical to Tolvydas. Not once did they see a street sign. If it weren’t for Lorenzo’s lead, Tolvydas would be completely lost.

Finally, the group made it to the bar. It was a nice, quiet place- Tolvydas felt bad for the staff. They hoped nobody would get kicked out, though it was unlikely. Who was a nation, really, if they’d never been asked to leave a bar before?

Tolvydas wound up sitting beside Spain, with Lorenzo on their other side. Neither spoke to them- Spain was discussing the art of bartending with Italy, and Lorenzo preferred glaring into his cocktail. Tolvydas wondered if they should talk to him- They’d only spoken a brief hello today, after all, and that was a formality. But he seemed annoyed, with his furrowed brow and crossed arms…And now he was looking at them.

“Why are you looking at me?” Tolvydas sat a little straighter.

“Um. I, uh, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to talk to you,” They said, mouth dry. Lorenzo bit the corner of his lip, eyebrows raised.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, you looked, like, a bit irritated,” Tolvydas said, “S-Sorry.”

“You’re right, I am,” Lorenzo said, “Fuckin’ hate hosting world meetings. There’s so many people who are just in my space, you know? And I didn’t even realize there were so many people following me when we were on the way here.” He lifted his cocktail. Black salt rimmed the glass, and Lorenzo licked some away. “Was talking to Belgium, got distracted. But she left to go back to her hotel, so. Anyway.” He hung his head between his shoulders. “That’s a bit much, I know.”

“No,” Tolvydas said, “World meetings suck, whether you’re hosting or not…I don’t hate it but also there’s that invasion-y feeling.”

“Invasion-y feeling, yeah,” Lorenzo murmured, and licked more salt from the rim of his glass. “‘M tired.”

“Me too,” Tolvydas said. “I need to bring hair ties tomorrow.”

“That sounds useful,” Lorenzo mumbled. He took a slow drink of his cocktail, wincing at the end. “You don’t have anything to drink.” Tolvydas glanced down at the bar in front of them, and no, they didn’t. Huh, they hadn’t noticed.

“I don't,” They said, and glanced over at the bartender. A young man with veiny forearms, chatting as he shook up a new drink. His hair was greased back into a pseudo helmet.

“Giulio!” Lorenzo shouted, catching his attention. Giulio paused in his drink-making and glanced back, then nodded and went on with his business. “He’ll get you in a second.”

“Thanks,” Tolvydas murmured, “I could’ve waited.”

“Yeah, but you’re talking to me right now,” Lorenzo said. He sipped his drink again. “And I don’t want to talk to you when I’m drinking and you’re not. Then it’s not equal.”

“Fair enough,” Tolvydas said, “I can just shut up if you want me to-”

“No, we’re talking now,” Lorenzo said, “I want to talk. And it’s my country, so…yeah.” He took a drink.

“I think it’s nice here,” Tolvydas said, “Very warm.” Lorenzo hummed, then glanced up- Giulio stood at the ready, finished with his previous drink. He exchanged some words with Lorenzo, who turned to Tolvydas after a moment.

“What do you want?”

“Um- Could I please have a krambambula?” Lorenzo relayed the message, and Giulio was up to drink-mixing.

“What’s a krambambula?” Lorenzo mused, peering over the bar.

“Wine and vodka,” Tolvydas responded, “Belarus’ favorite.” Lorenzo hummed.

“Didn’t you used to be married to her or something?” Tolvydas bowed their head, letting hair fall in front of their eyes. “So you did, huh?”

“Y-Yes,” Tolvydas stammered, “Briefly, a hundred years ago-”

“She good in bed?”

“What?” Their cheeks grew warm, too warm for it to simply be the heat. “No- I mean- I don’t know, see-”

“Hey, calm down, I’m just making conversation.” Lorenzo waved a hand, “It’s none of my business, I know.”

“We, um. Never slept together,” Tolvydas said, “She doesn’t like me very much, actually.”

“Oh. That’s a shame,” Lorenzo said, and Tolvydas nodded, though they weren't sure what the shame actually was. A shame they never slept together? Maybe- Since she didn’t reciprocate their feelings, it was hard to really fantasize. They could daydream about kissing her all they wanted, but they’d still know that acting on it would be assault. So their feelings were in the process of fading away. A shame she didn’t like them very much? Eh, they would get over it. Eventually, maybe. They had time.

Giulio returned with their drink.

“Can I have a taste?” Lorenzo asked, “Never tried that before.”

“Of course,” Tolvydas said, and handed him the glass. He took a sip, and struggled to keep his face from contorting in disgust. “You don't like vodka?” Tolvydas asked, taking a swig.

“Shit’s nasty,” Lorenzo said, “Tastes like sadness. And like, we’ve all got issues or whatever, but mine aren’t so bad I need to drink vodka.” Tolvydas snorted.

“Okay. Lightweight.”

“Lightweight?!”

“Yeah, vodka’s like 95% alcohol volume.”

“Psh, whatever.” Lorenzo scoffed, and Tolvydas giggled at the sheer nonsense of it. “Why are you laughing at me?” He asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“Psh, whatever?” They repeated, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does so,” He said, “You’re too small-brained to get it.” That stung a bit, but Tolvydas didn't mind. They understood it was a joke, though they didn’t appreciate it any more for understanding.

“Whatever,” They said, looking away. Their eyes naturally picked Feliks out of the group- He sat on the bar, legs crossed, with a glass of wine held in both hands. He’d unbuttoned his shirt to the third button. Tolvydas shook their head- It wouldn’t be very long before they were completely drunk.

“I hope Feliks doesn’t overdo it,” They thought.

“Probably will. They look like they’d be wasted after two glasses of wine,” Lorenzo commented. Tolvydas jolted- They hadn't realized they were speaking aloud.

“They’re- Yeah,” Tolvydas said, “They like parties, always have, but they get drunk too fast to enjoy it.”

“Maybe that’s why they like parties so much. ‘Cause they don’t remember what one’s like, from all the drinking,” Lorenzo said, “Toni’s like that, sort of.” Tolvydas hummed, and swirled their drink around in the glass.

“I don’t think such heavy drinking is a sign that one likes parties,” They murmured, “After all, if you like doing something, wouldn’t you want to experience as much of it as you can?” Lorenzo scoffed, and they turned their head to look at him. His arm was thrown around the back of his chair, with his chest out and facing them. Sweat still clung to his forehead- It was less oppressively hot in this bar than the meeting room, but only just.

“Part of the allure of drinking is that it can make you forget about things,” He said, “Happy people don’t develop alcohol issues. And, you know, for people like us, it’s different, seeing as how we can’t fucking die.” Tolvydas shrugged in response. They shifted in their seat, feeling the cheap leather through their pants, and took another sip of their drink. Lorenzo was correct in that one liked to drink to forget. For people like them, there were virtually no downsides, save whatever you did while you were drinking. Once, Tolvydas had set a cow on fire and didn’t find out until the next morning when, in the clutches of a hangover, they were arrested.

“I guess,” They said. Then, mind caught on the cow-arson, “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done while drunk?” Lorenzo sucked air in through his teeth.

“Done too much stupid shit to tell you off the top of my head,” He admitted, “But, uh, this one time, I drank up a town’s entire supply of wine. Bad move. Had to regrow my kidney.” Tolvydas winced, a bit less inclined to finish their drink.

“That sounds painful.”

“Yeah,” Lorenzo said, “Much like hosting the fucking world meetings.” Hosting the world meetings was terrible- It was a constant headache to have so many other nations around you, especially if it was in your capital city. Tolvydas had never had maggots in a wound before, but they imagined that was what it felt like.

“Oh, I know,” They said. It was a good thing they all shared the burden of hosting the meetings. Locations cycled through nations, such that Lithuania wouldn’t be the host country for another ten years- They’d still have to do smaller meetings, of course, like the EU and UN and such, but at least it wasn’t a world meeting. Over two hundred nations in the same city could make even the humans feel a bit off.

“I’d be better if all you people hadn’t- hadn’t fucking followed me here. I mean- I didn’t want my idiot brother to invite the entire goddamn continent.”

“I’m sorry,” Tolvydas said, “I was just going with everyone else-”

“I don’t- You know, actually, I need to continue this conversation outside,” Lorenzo said, and stood up. He said a few words to Giulio and turned around, making for the door. Tolvydas’ skin pricked- What had they done wrong? It was just a simple conversation- But of course they’d manage to screw it up. They remained on the edge of their seat, with their eyes fixed on Lorenzo, as he walked out of the bar. As he got to the door, they stood. Should they apologise? Or- Or did Lorenzo want to fight them now? They pushed away the idea, knowing it was all probably fine.

Tolvydas pulled out their wallet, and left a few euros beside their drink. They followed Lorenzo outside, stumbling when they left the bar. The moon had risen while they were in the bar. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, bathed in silver light save the faint glow of a lit cigarette. Tolvydas swallowed. While it was dark outside, the heat from the day had yet to evaporate. Tolvydas speculated that if they were to touch Lorenzo’s skin, he’d be as warm as if he were sunbathing. Right, Lorenzo- They were not here to stare at him.

“Are you okay?” Lorenzo jumped, turning around with wide eyes. His shoulders sagged when he saw them.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, “Just fuckin’ tired. Want to go home.”

“Oh,” Tolydas said, “Sorry then, I’ll- I’ll fuck off now.” They turned away, poised to return to the bar.

“No,” Lorenzo said, then bit his lips. “I mean-” He put his cigarette between his lips and took a long drag. He looked hollow for a moment before he turned his head and blew a ring with the smoke. “You smoke?”

“Uh, no, not really…not anymore.”

Lorenzo hummed. “Shame. I could teach you how to blow rings, if you did.”

“You still can,” Tolvydas said, voice paper-thin, “If you want. And if I could borrow a cigarette. World meetings are hard on the rest of us too.” Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his back pocket.

“Ah, but you’re not the host, Lithuania. And you represent your entire country.”

“You can call me Tolvydas,” They said, “I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I just offered to teach you how to blow smoke rings. I don’t do that with everyone you know,” Lorenzo said, “Maybe I’m still fucked up from the meeting…But okay, sure. Tolvydas.”

“Thanks,” They muttered, “Also yeah, sorry about your. Brother.” Lorenzo shrugged, and took another drag.

“I don't want to think about him right now…No, I want to go home…” He bit his lip, and swayed from side to side. Was he alright? Tolvydas ran through a list of all the little things they knew to do if a nation was sick. Lorenzo coughed, and they twitched, hands reaching out for him. Instead of falling or even stumbling, Lorenzo put his cigarette to his lips another time. His cheeks shone in the orange glow. When he was done, he ground the butt under his heel. Three smoke rings floated away from his mouth.

“I’m gonna go get drunk at home now…You can come if you want.” He turned on his heel, reducing the cigarette butt into a stain of ash. He had a nice gait, Tolvydas thought. A medium sized stride, and they couldn't help but notice the sway of his hips…

Several short and fast steps later, Tolvydas was by his side.

song lyric asks

#oof i thought tumblr ate this ask and i was about to be so pissed #fortunately it did not!#anyway this was fun to write #i hope you enjoy it !#hetalia #hws #hws lithuania #hws romano #my writing #my fic #ceros posting #ask #romaliet ?

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comesassylostchild · 3 years

Text

Future Oscar Pine Character Development Theory

So within the RWBY community there has been a common criticism from both Oscar fans and those who dislike him. The criticism that he gets no development so there’s no reason to care, Even as someone who likes Oscar I can agree to this sentiment. So what if I told you there was a possibility of Oscar development right around the corner? The common complaint is that all his major character moments happen offscreen. His decision to leave home and the family he left behind His existential crisis after running away His place among the main group and their treatment of him I fully agree to the complaint here, but allow me to offer a counter argument. Oscar IS obviously important within the story, basically nearly as important to RWBY if not more so due to his connection to Ozpin and by extension the villain. The show is in a really tough area where the male protagonist holds a lot of story importance but the problem is if they focus on every opportunity where Oscar should have character development then the show ceases to be about RWBY and becomes about the male protagonist which is not good for a show starring female characters. Their only options are either to allow Oscars development to happen at each point in the story it should but end up taking the story away from the female leads making it about Oscars journey. Or they keep Oscar in the background and “not the focus” until it is time for him to have focus. We’re currently seeing development between Yang and Ruby’s relationship and Ren and Nora and Penny. Once those are handled to some extent the only ones left to focus on are Ruby and Oscar. Which brings me to my theory: Rather than having Oscar reacting to each milestone of his arc as if he were a main protagonist, I believe they are setting up for Oscar to go through a case of PTSD for his own upcoming arc. I found it odd for this to be the big faceoff with Salem with relics still missing as Oscar not doing much but playing damsel in distress. This first encounter with Oscar and Salem feels just like that, a first encounter. To give Oscar a real picture of what facing Salem is actually like. I also found it weird for the B team to be rescuing Oscar so quickly if his capture was supposed to be important and it feels off for them to just be able to rescue him and be done and over with it. So here’s the thing, I do think the B team will be able to rescue Oscar with help but I don’t think rescuing him is enough. Rather than Oscar reacting to each milestone of his arc I think the weight of everything he’s been through will finally take its toll on him. The kid just faced Salem and was completely helpless while there was a high risk of death involved. Oscar has always been able to bounce back to his normal self while pushing back his feelings, for the benefit of moving the mission forward. See how he takes a deep breath composing himself before telling Jaune he accepts his apology for yelling at him in an uncalled for way and acts like he’s accepted his role as Ozpins host when clearly in V8 he hasn’t. This could be a sign of Oscar actually ignoring his own mental and emotional health for the sake of the mission, pushing it back like its not important. Which brings me to the pieces of evidence for this theory within V8. First of all the opening, which clearly alludes to Salem’s capture of Oscar. The odd difference is Oscars clearly frightened in that clip, while in the actual show he’s clearly putting on a brave face even if he’s scared. So while this clearly is depicting his capture it could also be alluding to the way the encounter effected him after his rescue. Whether that’s nightmares, reflecting on everything that’s happened to him, questioning his decision to leave home, having a change in his behavior around everyone he knows. Its a big possibility this event could heavily effect him with the symptoms of PTSD since this was defiantly a traumatic event for him and could effect his behavior after his rescue, maybe even calling out his past treatment by the group or the situation Oz has put him in. The other two points for this come from Jaune and Ren. Ren’s abilities have now developed to be able to decipher the emotions of others. This doesn’t seem like something that could be super effective within the plot, unless you take into account Oscars tendency to say he’s fine and act like everything is okay around others even though he has a huge burden on his shoulders, and some things he’s clearly not telling the others because of his personal feelings even though he should be able to talk to his friends honestly. So what if this new ability Ren has is what allows them to see that Oscar isn’t actually okay mentally and emotionally just because he says he is, allowing them to see Oscars real emotions about everything he’s been through instead of the half truths of telling everyone he’s okay when he’s not. This also ties into Jaune’s abilities. V8 is a bit disturbing showing how brutal Oscars time of imprisonment is and I would honestly be disgusted if the show is just brutally beating up a 14-15 year old kid just for the hell of it and for a weird attempt at being “edgy”. But honestly Jaune makes Oscars beating makes sense since Jaune can boost the aura’s of others to help heal them. So it would make sense if Jaune is able to heal Oscars physical injuries with his abilities, but just because he can heal Oscars physical injuries doesn’t heal the mental and emotional pain he’s suffering due to everything he’s been through. You can heal the physical wounds but the mental and emotional ones take more time and effort. It can also tie into Oscar falling into the same trap as Ozpin, telling lies or half truths because he learned from experience that it was the easier option. Where Ozpin lost his honesty due to his trust issues, Oscar found that hiding the truth about Ozpin and telling half truths and his honest emotions helped him achieve acceptance in the group. I’m not sure if I trust the show to really do something like this but the build up and pieces are all there for Oscar to finally have a serious breakdown and shift in character after his encounter with Salem.

#rwby #oscar pine

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musical-chick-13 · 3 years

Note

And Theon bc I love him

WHAT A COINCIDENCE I LOVE HIM TOO (this answer is gonna be a combination of books and show)

Send me a character and I’ll tell you the following:

• Did they live up to their potential? / In what ways was their potential unachieved?

-I would say yes. The only negative I have about his general arc is his death (which, see below). But Theon from the very beginning was, though not a particularly nice person, still relatable. Feeling othered, wanting to be accepted by an immediate environment that doesn’t accept you, isolated from and ostracized by your family, and the tension that comes between serving the different types of familial relationships in your life. Theon has no idea who he is, tossed aside by his blood family for not growing up with them and being “soft,” aka sort-of moral and having emotions that aren’t selfish rage or smugness (which, yep, that second part is a mood, see: my entire childhood and how no one wanted to be around an “emotional” “soft” child). And from there, he spirals out of control in a way that, while certainly not admirable by any stretch of the imagination, is still understandable in the context of the narrative and his characterization. And from there, after going through hell and quite literally losing himself (even to the point of straight-up denying rescue), he builds himself back up gradually, to the point where he expressed extreme regret for what he’s done, helps an innocent woman escape a truly horrifying situation, acknowledges that his family is generally garbage, and (in-show b/c again books aren’t finished), helping to restore his sister to power, rescuing her after his PTSD relapses while confronting Euron, and ultimately opting to protect the Starks come hell or high water in order to genuinely atone for what he’s done. He is no longer conflicted because he wants to do the right thing, and that right thing is defending the kingdom from the White Walkers and making sure Sansa and Bran are safe. And it’s no longer about fulfilling a duty or finding a family to fill the void. Because now he has found himself. I will contend that Theon has one of the best, most nuanced, most organic redemption arcs of all time. I will forever be grateful that I got to see that piece of storytelling unfold.

Although, I would love to know what he thought of Dany. A missed opportunity, that.

• How they negatively and positively affected the story.

-Positive: His arc of identity and finding where your loyalties lie ties into the overall theme of “How do you find yourself in a world where goodness, authenticity, and honesty are often punished and increasingly rare?” And it proves that governmental politics aren’t the only defining factors in decisions: familial politics can be just as difficult and dangerous, which adds yet another rich, complicated layer to the overall story. He has a genuine, honest-to-Drowned-God redemption arc, which is...not really present anywhere else in the story (no, Jaime is not on a Redemption Quest, I will die on this hill). But I think the biggest draw of Theon’s presence is that it deconstructs the whole “Character Revenge Fantasy” idea. He does bad things. We want him to be punished. But not like that. No one deserves that. How far is too far? What does retribution really look like? Given how easily that idea can be abused and go off the rails, is retribution even something to strive for? What is the point of using extreme violence/torture/mutilation/breaking someone’s psyche when it doesn’t really accomplish anything? Isn’t atonement and genuine justice a better option? It certainly was for Theon. He could only piece himself back together and do anything meaningful once he was out of his abusive environment. All of these are imporant questions that are posed by his existence in the narrative.

-Negative: Idk if I have much to say here. My biggest problem is his death (see below), but that’s not really a negative story effect so much as...being disappointing and narratively irrelevant. I gotta say, his introduction via his sister was...really weird. I genuinely have no idea why GRRM wrote that. It never came up again or had any kind of narrative ramifications and kind of cast a strange, uncomfortable light on his relationship with Asha/Yara for the remainder of the story. I can ignore and enjoy their later relationship it if I don’t think about it too hard, though, so I guess I’ll chalk it up to GRRM having a Bad Idea.

• What my favorite arc for them is.

-All of it?? Theon’s journey is kind of...one big arc, which is why I think it works so well. He has this overarching redemption plot which spans the entire series and informs every decision he makes (for good or for bad, depending on where in the aforementioned journey he is). The redemption arc isn’t bogged down with side plots or other pieces of narrative clutter, meaning it has time to grow and, thus, be gradual and realistic. If I had to choose a specific point, it’s probably when he tries to reintegrate back into society via supporting Yara. Gaining the Iron Islands’ support for her ruling, spiriting away with Euron’s fleet, and ultimately rescuing his sister after her capture. He can’t just go back into society. He’s scared. He has really bad PTSD. But he recognizes that putting his home in good hands is something bigger than just him because it’s Yara’s home, too. I just...I really love family relationships, y’all.

• What I think of their ending.

-I’m not really sure how I feel about this one. I get that the series is GrimDark™ and that people who make the right choice and fight for good die all the time, but Theon dying just felt...wrong. To me.

And, like...I get it. It makes sense to parallel his original descent into villainy (cemented by executing those two boys and pretending they were Bran and Rickon) with him dying to protect Bran himself. It ties into the whole very common trope of completing a full redemption arc by committing a completely selfless act at great personal cost. It’s kind of like the whole Missy thing in Doctor Who (which...hoo boy, that post is coming, make no mistake), where selfishness is directly opposed by making the ultimate sacrifice with no motivation for personal gain. And the fact that the last words he ever heard were “You’re a good man?” I cannot even begin to describe how much that makes me sob. But...honestly, I’m really tired of this idea that redemption has to end in death in order to be achieved or “complete.” I think it’s much more poignant to have a redeemed character live to help build a better world. Because what’s the point of telling people to be better if the “reward” is death? No one’s going to want to reform themselves if they think that’ll be the result.

I think the thing that Bugs Me™ the most is that Theon never really got to have a moment of peace when he was alive. Sansa gained the North’s love and at least had a secure childhood. Ned and Cat were happily married for years. Arya had parents who loved her and a good relationship with Jon. Jon fell in love with Ygritte and found his Night Watch Bros, and Robb (in show verse) had some very happy moments with Talisa. Davos put great stock in what he considered fulfilling friendships with Stannis and Shireen; Brienne was treated respectfully by Renly, Catelyn, and Sansa; Missandei and Grey Worm had each other and their friendship with Dany, who herself had many personal successes in her quest for the Iron Throne and saw the death of her abusive brother. Cersei even had moments with Jaime (who himself had several notable military victories and at least some time with Myrcella, as well as being gladly and deeply in love, however dysfunctional that love was), times when she successfully fought off enemies (including her dad), and some sweet moments with Tommen, as well as a huge victory via blown-up sept at the end of season 6. Theon was treated as a second-class family member by the Starks his whole life by being “traded” to them as a condition of war resolution AS A BABY, is immediately disparaged and mistreated by his immediate family when he tries to return to them, makes terrible decisions that almost cost him his conscience completely, is brutally tortured by Ramsay, is on the run with his sister from Euron almost immediately after, and has a PTSD attack that ultimatly results in him having to launch a rescue mission. And then he fights ice zombies. And then he dies. He never really...got to be happy at all? There was never any kind of “win” for him. Not even survival. The narrative couldn’t even give him that.

TLDR: Theon’s death seemed less shock-value-y than others (like, for example, Shireen or Missandei or, heck, Melisandre even), and it isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen. It’s narratively-informed and it makes sense as an emotional through-line, but, ultimately, Redemption Cemented By Selfless Death is a tired trope, and I honestly thought this story (which...you know...serves as a deconstruction of common fantasy tropes/book tropes in general) was better than that.

• When I wish they had died. / If I think they should’ve died.

-So here’s where we get personal™ kids.

So, it’s no secret that I am...severely mentally ill. I’ve talked about expression/presentation of mental illness in regard to Cersei a lot on this blog, and how that (as paradoxical as it may seem) helped bring a sense of comfort and emotional resonance to me. Theon, post-Ramsay, has, I think, a very clear case of PTSD. Theon is one of the few characters I’ve seen where his mental illness isn’t the cause of the bad, violent, dangerous choices he makes. It only takes root after he has made the decision and conscious effort to better himself, and it, rather than demonizing him, serve to humanize him. His trauma didn’t define him. And although a PTSD attack led to him unintentionally losing Yara to Euron’s capture, he makes every effort to rescue her, a goal he does end up achieving. It is so rare I get to see a character who goes through these things, successfully fight them and come out with positive qualities at the end. Like...switching topics a bit here, Jaime going back to King’s Landing to (try to) escape and ultimately die with Cersei made sense to me because, as Jaime says, he is a hateful man. He never made much of an honest effort to be anything else. And he never truly wanted to be good; he just wanted to be liked. He wanted to adopt some personality that would make him feel less disconnected from the rest of the world. But Theon...genuinely feels remorse for everything he’s done. He makes a concerted effort to do everything in his power to improve the lives of people he believes are good and deserve to be safe. So, just...killing him off in a Completely Selfless Sacrifice (like...you know how a lot of mentally ill people put themselves through suffering-like OCD rituals, bottling feelings, self-harm, even suicide-in a misplaced attempt to “help” or “protect other people”) seemed antithetical to everything we saw of his arc.

Ultimately, with such a humanizing, empathetic portrayal of trauma and mental health struggles, seeing Theon be killed off just...pissed me off. I am so tired of seeing mentally ill characters die. I really want to believe that I can live through and thrive in spite of the things that afflict me, and I get example after example of characters not being allowed to do that. It feels awful, quite frankly. And it makes hope that much harder.

I also just feel like...there was nothing the story gained from his death? I get the thematic parallels as mentioned earlier, but it didn’t really move the story forward in any significant way. It didn’t motivate other characters to do anything, it had no political ramifications, it didn’t serve to contribute to any kind of happy ending or commentary on society, it just...was sad. Again, I thought this story was better than that.

#theon greyjoy #got #my son #mental illness in media #meta #redemption arcs #tw: self harm mention #tw: suicide mention

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spell-cleaver · 4 years

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The mementos in his father's trophy room symbolized his previous political, or military victories. Luke knew the meaning behind all of them, except one. A replica of a primitive looking tatooinian pendant or amulet.

Previous parts on the masterpost here!

Luke wasn't quite sure was he was doing there, just standing, staring, shivering. It was cold in Palpatine's vaults of course—this was the domain of a Sith—but somehow, just the trophies in the entrance chamber made him uncomfortable already. He knew what these victories were. He'd been drilled on them incessantly.

The door to deeper into the vaults, where the Sith holocrons and artefacts lay, had to be opened by a Sith wielding the dark side, of course. So while Vader summoned his terrible power and the door screeched, metal Imperial cogs turning, Luke tried to distract himself by looking around, at the artefacts that were here.

A flagstone from the Jedi Temple's council chamber, bearing their insignia, now scarred with strokes of Vader's saber. A traditional brooch from Alderaan, typically worn by the queen. A recording of the moment Luke's mother had led a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum and another of the moment Palpatine had made his speech elevating him to Emperor. A small Shoto lightsaber that he'd taken from the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, Yoda, after he won their duel.

Luke knew them all, knew his father's victories, his glories—had always known that he was unbeatable.

Looking at them now made him sick to his stomach. Trivia about each artefact scrolled through his brain on instinct, every time he looked, so instead he looked at—

The necklace was the one thing that had never been explained to him, and he had never dared to ask. So he fixed his eyes on that as Vader finished with the door.

It was wooden. It had symbols carved into it that Luke didn't know. It was on a string, not a chain.

Yet it was placed in the middle of its own shelf—an area of significant importance.

Luke moved towards it, even as the heavy vault door swung open. Palpatine was not here to punish him, and, as his heir, as the Emperor, all of this belonged to Luke anyway, but even then he hesitated to reach out and pick it up.

Then he did, and cradled the little snippet in his palm.

Vader turned back to him. "If you are ready to enter, Majesty?"

Then he paused.

"What..." He reached out a hand, but drew it back before Luke could react. "Little angel... what is that?"

Luke closed his fingers around it, then opened them again, like the petals of a flower. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's the only thing in here I don't know."

"I... do," Vader said slowly, and reached out his hand again. From what Luke could tell, it wasn't trembling, but... he had the feeling it would have been, were it flesh. "It— it's a japor snippet, and it was your mother's. I had thought she was buried it, but it appears Palpatine ransacked her tomb."

It wasn't hard to hear the fury there, and Luke thought he felt a dull, throbbing echo of it, deep in his gut. Whether it was his own, or he was sensing Vader's, he had no idea.

Luke closed his fingers around the necklace, then, and blinked away tears. If— if this had been his mother's—

"Your father was from Tatooine," Vader continued. "He carved it for her—it's meant to bring luck." He turned his hand over, so his palm was facing up. "May I, little angel?"

Luke wanted to say no, wanted to cling to it, never wanted to let it go... but Vader's voice was agonisingly tender, and it did not take a genius to figure out why.

He dropped the necklace into his palm, watching the string coil on the leather of his black glove.

Vader inspected it for a moment, his other hand coming to trace the shapes and whorls infinitely delicately, so delicately he barely seemed to touch them. Luke stared.

Then, to his surprise, Vader untied the string, looped it around Luke's neck and tied it again.

"What..." Luke flinched for a moment, before he realised what was happening, then his hand came up to rub his thumb against the wood.

"It's yours by right, Majesty," Vader said, dropping his hands from the back of Luke's neck. Luke tilted his head up to look him right in the eye plates, but that mask was unreadable. "She... she would've wanted you to have it, I'm sure."

Luke blinked fiercely, to no avail. Tears crawled down his cheeks.

"I can't do this," he whispered. He could feel... something from the snippet, something warm and sweet and loving, but it was like a candle against the crash of darkness he could sense from the vaults. He couldn't do this. "Why would he display this as a trophy? Did he order my father killed? Did— did he order my mother killed," he'd researched the circumstances of Padmé Amidala's death the moment it had come up, and Nova had been quick to refute that the Jedi had killed her, "and take her necklace just because he could?"

He swallowed.

"Did he rip me out of her arms just because he could?"

Vader knew what he was asking. And Vader was honest—brutally so, in some cases. Luke looked to him for honesty now.

He said, "Yes, Majesty. I think you were his greatest trophy of all."

Luke nodded, and closed his eyes.

"I can't do this," he repeated. "I can't look. Could you..."

Vader's hand was gentle on his shoulder, the snippet nestled gently at his throat.

"Of course, little angel," he said, and led him out of the room. The door deeper into the vaults was still open behind them, a yawning chasm of darkness, but Luke knew Vader would go in there soon enough. "I will report to you what I find."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

"Even the parts that don't seem relevant to the spirit possession? Even the parts you have doubts about?"

Vader swore, "All of it."

Luke sighed, and wondered at the weight that rolled off his shoulders when he realised that he trusted Vader to keep his word.

Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I’ll continue it!

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#luke palpatine #luke skywalker #darth vader #padmé amidala #my writing #random words on a page

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seanbeansimp59 · 3 years

Text

Watchdog of the North (Part One)

Hey all! This is my first fic to post here, and I’m really excited to see what you think! Feel free to leave any comments or criticisms you’d like--I’m always happy to listen! I will be posting part two once I’m done writing it (which should be by next weekend at the very most) so stay tuned.

I’ve had this concept floating in my head for a while and I figured I’d write it down for once in my life. It’s the story of a shapeshifter who lives in the woods outside of Winterfell and protects the surrounding countryside. In all honesty, I have yet to watch Game of Thrones, so if some of my knowledge is incorrect, not only is it excusable, it is to be expected. Please go easy on me.

Winter in Northern Westeros was brutal, it always had been. The bitter cold settled deep into brittle bones and encased the lungs of any soul brave enough to step outdoors. Everything was coated in a brilliant white, blinding in the sunlight and gloom alike. Outside was unbearable, indoors wasn’t much better, but the forest? The forest was a death wish, save for one.

The Shifter.

Unlike the villagers, the Shifter lived in the forest. For years it wandered alone, estranged, more of a bedtime story than a living being. Children were told tales of a massive wolf that roamed between the trees, standing over two metres tall at the shoulder with huge yellow eyes and sharp white fangs. This wolf, according to legend, was not actually a wolf at all, rather a man who had been twisted by fate into a ravenous monster. “He still walks among the trees,” parents would warn their wide-eyed charges, waving their hands like wolf paws. “And if you wander off alone in the woods, he’ll snatch you up and scarf you down!” Of course, the story was an effective method of keeping children safely indoors, especially during the brutal winter months, so very few believed the tale of the Shifter in the forest. For years, it remained a legend and the people remained unworried, safe within the walls of Winterfell.

But the Shifter was real, very real indeed. And unbeknownst to the citizens of Winterfell, it did much more than devour children and slink unnoticed through the snowy drifts. It protected. When troubles came from the south, the Shifter slayed the attackers before they reached the village. When a pack of direwolves began to devour the livestock, the Shifter killed their alpha and drove the rest from the region. Time and time again, though the villagers knew it not, the Shifter continued to keep them safe from danger with neither thanks nor acknowledgment to keep it sated. It knew one thing and one thing alone—to protect.

Years passed. New leaders came and went, changing Winterfell for better and for worse. The Shifter never left, never stopped protecting. It stayed among the trees, always watching for any new danger yet never exposing itself, for even in its human form, it was intimidating. It stood at two metres tall with a wild mane of charcoal black hair, its skin viciously scarred from the battles it fought for Winterfell. Memory of the Shifter had all but vanished, and for the moment, it intended to keep things that way. Yes, it would protect, but it would do so from the shadows. That was how it had always been. At the moment, the land resided under the care of the very capable Lord Eddard Stark. He and his wife, Catelyn, had four children whom the citizens loved very dearly—Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, with Catelyn heavily pregnant with a fifth child. Life went on rather the same in Winterfell, full of its comings and goings, sparing no thought for the being lurking in the woods.

One particularly sunny afternoon, the children of the Lord of Winterfell decided to take an outing to the clearing near the village. It wasn’t far from the outskirts of Winterfell, and although the children were all rather young, they were extremely capable of surviving in the cold, as their father had taught them such skills at a young age. Once they’d said goodbye to their father and hugged their smiling mother, they scampered off, bundled up in furs and cloaks, giggling and chattering as the cold air nipped at their reddened noses and cheeks. Into the woods they raced, scooping up handfuls of the freshly fallen powder and making little spheres to sling at each other. Robb, a rambunctious lad of eleven, began pelting his younger siblings with snowballs, causing them to stumble and stagger about, spitting snowflakes to the ground and flailing blindly in irritation. The littlest ones, Bran and Arya who were four and five respectively, decided to join forces with Sansa, their older sister, and collectively they launched an attack that left Robb completely overpowered. His mood soured rapidly as he found himself being mercilessly barraged with snowballs, and he began to lash back in annoyance. Aiming blindly, he flung a snowball directly into Arya’s face, stinging her eyes viciously and making her fall on her backside into a rather large snow drift. Quite suddenly she burst into tears, swiping furiously at her face to get the snow away.

“Oh Arya, come off it,” Robb scoffed lightly. “It’s just a bit of snow, it’ll melt in a moment.”

“That hurt, Robb,” she cried in reply, rubbing her eyes miserably.

Sansa, ever the negotiator, put her hands on her hips and turned to him. “Robb, you ought to apologize. That was awfully mean of you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” he protested. “I’m not going to apologize for Arya being a big baby!”

There was silence for a second. Then Arya’s lower lip quivered, and she turned swiftly on her heel, storming from the clearing in a huff.

“Arya-” Sansa began, but Robb held his hand up.

“Don’t follow her. She’ll be over it in a minute or two.”

Sansa nodded. After all, Robb was probably right. Arya’s little outbursts didn’t typically last more than a half hour, so she’d be back in a few minutes and they could go back to playing. With that, she began to help her brothers build a snowman, almost completely forgetting about Arya’s anger.

As they resumed their play, a very disgruntled Arya marched through the woods, not going to any particular place or in any particular direction. Rage throbbed in her ears and made her head hurt and she found herself muttering aloud to the silent snow. “Why has Robb got to be so horrible? That really did hurt, and he had no right to bash me in the face like that! It was only a silly game. I hate him.”

The longer she walked, the angrier she became, and the angrier she became, the less she paid attention to where she was going. Lost in her own head, she crashed deeper and deeper into the forest, stomping furiously through the trees, smacking their branches in irritation. After a while, she heaved a deep breath and finally looked up to find herself in a very unfamiliar clearing. Leafless trees stretched menacingly into the sky, their spindly branches scraping in the breeze. All around her, the snow stretched into the distance, the now-setting sun making it glitter and shift with the dying rays. She had no idea how long it had been, but it was getting darker by the minute and she realized just how cold she’d become. A bitter wind began to whip through the trees, biting her cheeks and piercing through her clothes. Shivering, she pulled the furry cloak closer around her and turned back in the direction she’d come. Her angry path through the snow left a clear trail to follow back to the clearing, so with any luck, she’d be back very soon.

Luck, as it seemed, was not on her side.

The trail wound back and forth through the towering trees, seemingly erratic and mindless. Time wore on and Arya found herself becoming desperate and increasingly irritated with herself. The wandering trail was taking too long—the sun was already kissing the edge of the horizon and there was still no sign of the familiar buildings of Winterfell. Even though she was very young, she knew that once the sun went past the horizon, her chances of making it through the bitter winter night were very, very low. She began move faster, hurrying as best she could along the trampled snow. Tears pricked her eyes and she swiped them away in anger, stumbling through the bone-white drifts. Much to her dismay, the increased effort did nothing but exhaust her, and she could only watch in terror as the wind slowly ate away at her previous footsteps. Behind her, the sun dipped lower still and shadows fell long across the land. All alone in the woods, surrounded by nothing but cold unfeeling snow, Arya Stark began to sob.

Back in Winterfell, the village was in an uproar. Eddard and Catelyn had watched three of their four children come racing back into the village square, Sansa and Bran sobbing uncontrollably while Robb’s face was as white as the snow in his hair. In a tiny, halting voice, he explained that Arya had run off into the woods and she hadn’t come back. His body shook like a leaf in a gale, and he couldn’t meet his father’s horrified gaze. Robb knew it was his own fault, that if he had just apologized to Arya none of this would have happened, and he was deeply ashamed.

“We tried to find her,” Sansa wailed, running into Catelyn’s arms. “We tried, Mummy, honest we did!”

“I believe you, dear,” Catelyn murmured, stroking Sansa’s hair. “I believe you. It’s going to be alright.”

Ned was already rushing past the little throng, heading to the stable as quickly as his legs would carry him. He called for the guards in a rough voice, moving to where his horse was tied. He vaguely heard Jory, the captain of his guard, reassuring him, though the words were far away and blurry. Ned’s foot was in the stirrup, his hand gripping the reigns as he swung onto the horse’s back. One thought pushed to the front of everything, one brutally awful reminder that stilled the very blood in his veins. We have to find her before the sun sets, or else….

His mind wouldn’t let him finish.

He dug his heels into the horse’s side, thundering out into the village alongside his guard, sword gleaming at his side, torch burning brightly in the dying light of the sun. His face was grim, his jaw set like stone. “Hold on, little one,” he growled. “I’m coming.”

The sun set like it did every day, unaware of the chaos left in its wake. The moon took its place, though it were nothing more than a silver sliver hanging amidst the sparkling stars. Beneath the pale light, something moved, something massive. The Shifter was awake, prowling about in the powdery snow as it had done every night for the past eighty years. Nothing much moved in the woods these days, it thought to itself as it padded along between the trees. Everything was peaceful and still, save for the occasional travelling wolf pack, and danger hadn’t reared its ugly head for almost five years. Yes, the Shifter mused, nothing much had happened. Everything was good. Everything was quiet.

No sooner had the thought crossed the Shifter’s mind than a sharp shriek split the frigid air like a knife.

The Shifter’s head snapped up, its yellow eyes scanning the snow before it. What was that? it wondered. It was so out of place in the serenity of the snow that for a moment, the Shifter thought it was simply hearing things. Then, again, that same cry rose into the sky, this time more intense and terrified. It sounded like a child. Without another thought, the Shifter broke into a sprint through the trees toward where the shriek had originated.

It wasn’t long before the Shifter found the source of the voice, and when it did, its blood ran cold at the sight. A little girl, no older than five or six years old, was cornered against a huge boulder by a pack of snarling wolves. Her grey eyes were wide with fright, tear tracks running down her reddened cheeks. The largest wolf took a step towards her, saliva dripping from its sharp fangs as it sized up the little girl. She whimpered in fear and cowered away, shielding herself from its gaze.

The Shifter had seen enough.

In a single bound, it threw itself between the wolf and the little girl, spreading its massive paws wide as it faced the leader of the pack. For a moment, nothing happened. The wolf seemed a bit nervous, having never seen something so huge, but the girl whimpered again, and its mind was made up. It gave a sharp snarling bark and lunged at the Shifter, red jaws gaping.

The Shifter met it halfway.

With a visceral tearing sound, the Shifter’s fangs ripped into the wolf’s throat. Red splashed hot against the cold snow and the wolf lay still. Silence covered the clearing for just a second as the wolves hesitated, but the lull was broken as another charged. The Shifter whirled and snapped at the neck. It missed but recovered quickly, grappling with another assailant that attacked its turned back. Another wolf leapt. And another. The Shifter’s teeth ripped into flesh and fur and bone. Howls and yips turned the sky into a symphony. Pain bloomed through the Shifter as fangs sank first into its shoulder, then its belly. Fiery agony pulsed in its veins. It bit down hard and heard a squeal. A wolf fell motionless to the snow and didn’t move again. Scarlet touched the ivory, salty iron tingled in the crisp air. The Shifter’s eyes were blazing, its jaws clamping on exposed fur, and another wolf didn’t stand. Where once were five, only two now stood, tails tucked and ears flat. The Shifter staggered, swayed a bit, but braced itself once more, baring bloodstained teeth at the survivors. Without hesitation, they turned and ran, disappearing into the trees.

The Shifter heaved a broken sigh, its body aching as blood dripped from its wounds onto the snow. Amidst the pain it remembered the frightened girl and turned to where she lay, shivering and shaking. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow, her lips and nose already a shade of blue. The Shifter had seen many lives lost to the brutal cold, and the little girl was already nearing the point of no return. She needed to be warmed, and fast.

Wincing in pain, the Shifter dropped to the ground next to the girl, curling its massive, furry body around her like a living blanket. It pressed its muzzle against her brown hair, breathing gusts of hot air against the trembling form. Within its warmth, the child stirred, and the Shifter sighed in relief. She would be fine, given enough time. However, she would need better care than the Shifter’s rudimentary medicines could provide, and the Shifter knew that she must be returned to Winterfell as soon as possible. At least, assuming she was from Winterfell. Moving a bit, the Shifter scanned her little body, trying to find any indication of where this girl resided. A flash of bronze around her neck caught its eye, and it used its muzzle to coax the little chain from within the folds of her cloak.

The Shifter’s heart skipped a beat—proudly engraved on the pendant’s face was the Stark Crest.

Suddenly anxious, the Shifter’s eyes focused on the little girl. Could she be one of Lord Stark’s children? Was it possible? If his child were missing, Winterfell would be in chaos and gods only knew what frightened villagers would do in such times. A father who had lost his child was more dangerous than any beast, and a father in a position of power whose child had gone missing? The Shifter swallowed thickly. This was much more urgent than it had anticipated. It knew it needed to get the girl back to Winterfell as quickly as possible, likely before the sun rose.

Staggering to its feet, the Shifter looked down at the trembling girl. It could hardly carry her into the village in its jaws in the form of a massive wolf, not with the entire village on edge as it was. No, this journey would require something different, something just a bit less frightening. For the first time in months, the Shifter would have to shift, assuming a human form to deliver this girl to her anxious family. However, it couldn’t keep her warm as a human, not without some form of fur or clothing. Shifting to such a body left it naked, and skin wasn’t near as insulating as fur. The Shifter had clothes, true enough, as well as some pelts and furs, but it would have to take the girl back to its den to retrieve them. Would she make it that far? For that matter, would the Shifter make it that far? Its wounds certainly weren’t minor, and it was bleeding rather badly—could it carry the little girl all the way its den and then through the streets of Winterfell? It honestly wasn’t certain.

But as it debated, the little girl stirred, whimpering a bit as she curled closer in on herself. “Daddy…” The sleepy whisper left her mouth, dreamlike and frightened in her half-conscious state. The Shifter’s heart ached, feeling a rush of warmth and determination flood its tired body. It had protected her this far, it wasn’t about to leave her here to freeze. Stooping down to her stiffly, it opened its jaws and took her clothes between its teeth, lifting her like a mother wolf would lift her pup. Then, letting out a lightly pained growl, it turned and began to plod through the woods, the girl swaying slightly beneath its head as it walked deeper into the forest. The Shifter would protect, as it had always done, no matter the cost.

Back in Winterfell, the house in the center of the village was as silent as a graveyard. Catelyn sat with her children in the great hall, pacing anxiously back and forth in front of the blazing hearth. Robb was gazing blankly at the wall, his mind wandering aimlessly from worst case scenario to worst case scenario. Sansa sat on the floor, holding a trembling Bran in her lap, playing with his curls as he whimpered softly. Night had fallen long ago, and Ned had not yet returned. The cold was seeping through the floorboards as it always did, and with each passing minute the dread sank deeper into their bones.

It’s too cold. The thought gnawed at Catelyn’s mind like frostbite. Worry ate away at her soul, nibbling at her heart and making its home among her insides where it lay, writhing and twisting wickedly. It's too cold for her to be…. She shook her head viciously. No. Such thinking was pointless and only served to further distress her. It would do no good to have such doomsday thoughts, not with her children already being consumed by the same anxiety that plagued her every breath. She was their mother, and as their mother she was to be a stronghold. Not torn asunder by the realization of just how cold it was and just how small Arya was and just how dreadfully unlikely it was that Arya was still…. Alive.

Just then, heavy footsteps sounded through the echoing halls. Catelyn’s head snapped up to see a familiar form moving into the room, shrugging away the snow-speckled furs as he walked. She tried to push aside the realization that his shoulders were slumped in defeat and that each step seemed to drain him more than words could convey, but it was painfully evident. His eyes, so grey and bleary, met hers for just a moment before darting back to the floor. Her Ned had returned empty-handed, and Catelyn felt herself sway.

“Cat….” His voice faltered and he trailed off into silence.

“Daddy,” Bran whispered. “Where’s Arya?”

Catelyn saw his body shake, watched the labored breaths leave his heaving chest. He wet his lips to speak, but no sound left his mouth. The room stayed still as death.

“Children, you need to go to bed,” Catelyn found herself saying, though her voice was far away and foggy. “It is late, and we are all very tired.” Moving slowly, she helped Sansa and Bran to their feet, ruffling their hair. “Go on, dears. We’ll see you in the morning.”

The children, knowing better than to argue with their mother, gathered themselves as best they could and made their way to their rooms. All of them felt a growing sense of gloom and anxiety, but none of them could bring themselves to say so. For now, they could only wait.

Once the children had left, Catelyn turned to Ned, who had fallen into the armchair, his head in his hands as he gazed blankly into the fireplace. “We searched everywhere, Cat,” he mumbled. “We lost her trail on the other side of the old riverbed.” His voice broke and his shoulders began to shake as silent sobs racked his body.

Catelyn moved to his side, placing a slender hand on his arm, kneeling by him, and resting her head against him. She was dreaming, she knew it. She would wake up in a moment, wrapped in his arms and see little Arya running wildly through the great halls, brown hair flying and grey eyes sparkling with laughter. It was all some dreadful nightmare, she told herself. Just a horrible nightmare. But deep down, she knew it was no dream, that somewhere in the woods her little girl was freezing and alone, lips turning blue, fingers turning black, body going still, and heart beating slower and slower until….

A choked sob left her lips despite her best efforts. She tasted blood where she’d bitten her cheek to keep it in, but now the tears were flowing, and she couldn’t stop their onslaught. Ned’s form shifted as he rose to his feet and his arms slowly came up to wrap around her, warm and strong and familiar, only this time he could offer little in lieu of comfort. They stood before the fire, clinging to each other for dear life.

“I tried, Cat,” Ned wept. “I swear I tried.”

“I know,” came her reply, muffled by his shoulder. “I know.”

But trying wasn’t enough and they both knew as much. Ned had tried his best, yet Arya was still lost in the cold. Nothing they could do would save her now; all they could do was wait. And wait they did, wrapped in each other by the roaring fire, praying silently to whatever would listen, a plea from their bleeding hearts rising to the skies like the smoke from the hearth—please bring her home.

The forest was still and silent, snow sparkling cruelly in the soft light of the moon. Crunch, crunch, crunch, broke the trance-like hush as a form made its way slowly through the trees, limping lightly with each step. The Shifter walked upright for once, though it was unused to being on two legs rather than four. Primitive bandages were wrapped around its torso underneath a simple tunic, its breeches were ill-fitting and loose, and its feet were clad in a pair of boots that had been stolen long ago. Despite this, it was kept quite toasty by the layers of furs wrapped around its body, and the little figured clutched against its chest shared in that warmth. Her breathing was even and her body no longer frigid. Rather than passed out with exhaustion, she now was fast asleep in the Shifter’s arms, mumbling slightly as she squirmed. Even though every step brought a fresh wave of pain over the Shifter’s tired form, it knew that this little girl was worth it. The Shifter was first and foremost a protector, and this girl was no different.

In front of the Shifter, the wooden walls of the buildings of Winterfell rose into the sky. The streets were dark and quiet. Not a single soul seemed to be awake, and for once, the Shifter was thankful. Moving through a sleeping village would be much easier than navigating one that was awake and vigilant. Perhaps it could simply drop the little girl off on the doorstep of the great hall and leave before anyone saw it.

The Shifter took a deep breath and began to move through the darkened streets, taking care to step lightly on the firmly packed snow. It was almost too quiet, almost too sleepy. A child of the Lord of Winterfell was missing, and the people slept like logs? The Shifter was starting to feel anxious, unsettled in spite of itself. It was nearing morning, and it needed to hurry, but every step placed it deeper in the heart of the place it had avoided for nearly a century. Closer and closer it moved to the center of the village, seeing the rafters of the great hall peering between the rooftops. Nearly there, it reassured itself. Just a little further and she’ll be safe. It was dimly aware of the pain throbbing in its body and the little scarlet drops that followed its path, but it had come too far to turn back now. The girl was worth every step.

Finally, it came to a halt outside the gate that led to the house of Lord Stark. Timidly, though such a word seemed unfitting for such a massive being, the Shifter stepped into the yard, glancing around to scan for danger. To its surprise, there were no guards at the outposts, no soldiers patrolling the walls. Everything was deathly quiet. Everything was deathly still.

Crunch… crunch… crunch…. The Shifter cursed its heavy feet. The door was still a good hundred meters away, and the Shifter felt its heartbeat speeding up. Body aching, it took another step, and another, inching across the snowy yard to the doorstep where it could leave the girl. Just a little more, it thought, more a prayer than anything. Just a little—

The doors burst open with a bang. Standing in the doorway, eyes blazing in the cold, stood Lord Eddard Stark, his sword drawn and gleaming. “Guards!” he roared, striding quickly towards the Shifter. “At the ready!”

All around the Shifter, men rushed to their posts. Arrows were fitted to bowstrings and swords were drawn with a singing of steel. In less than a minute, the Shifter was cornered in the middle of the yard, staring down a furious Ned, whose blade was fixed at its neck with an alarming ferocity.

“Who are you?” The words were less of a question and more of a command. His voice was hoarse and grating, worn away by hours of tears. Frozen in fear, the Shifter stayed silent, gripping the little girl tightly beneath the furs.

“Who are you?” he barked, more forcefully now. The sword trembled in his grip, pressing into the Shifter’s throat and drawing a drop of crimson from the pale flesh. “What are you doing here?”

Behind him, Lady Catelyn rushed down the steps, hair flying as she rushed towards him. “Ned,” she cried. “What is going on?”

“Stop,” he commanded, turning his head ever so slightly to face her. “Stay where you are.”

She obeyed him instantly, hearing the seriousness in his voice and taking in the scene before her. Confusion and fear made her head spin, and she found herself shaking.

Ned turned back to the Shifter, his voice trembling with rage. “I will ask you once more. Who are you?”

The Shifter didn’t reply directly, only met his gaze with soft yellow eyes. Wincing in pain, it slowly knelt, feeling the point of Ned’s blade digging deeper into its neck. Ned was frozen, watching as this fur-clad figure got to its knees in the snow before him. The bowstrings creaked as the archers aimed, but Ned held his hand aloft and the guard lowered their bows. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Shifter bent to the ground with a hiss of pain, opening its arms and letting something slide to the snow. Swaddled tightly in furs and scraps of cloth, the bundle wriggled a bit and made a soft noise. The Shifter didn’t move, keeping its eyes on Ned as he watched the form in curious dread.

“Daddy?” The tiniest whimper rose from the shape.

For just a moment, no one moved.

“Arya?” Ned’s voice wobbled.

A hand emerged from the furs and Arya’s brown hair peeked through the pelts. Sleepily, she rubbed her eyes and muttered, “Oh there you are, Daddy. I was having the strangest dream.”

Ned let out a cry and dove to the snow, grabbing his daughter in his arms and drawing her to his chest, kissing her hair and her face and weeping in relief. “Arya, oh my Arya,” he sobbed between kisses. “You’re safe now, darling. Daddy’s got you.”

Catelyn was at his side in an instant, dropping to the snow next to him and wrapping her arms around the both of them. Tears ran silver down her cheeks, and she gathered Arya to her once Ned let go, kissing the top of her head and stroking her tangled hair. “Arya,” she murmured over and over between her sobs. “Arya, you’re safe!”

Behind them, the children burst from between the doors, running pell-mell down the stairs to where their parents cradled Arya between them.

“Arya!” Bran whooped, crashing into his father as he raced through the snow. “Sansa, it’s Arya!”

Sansa was there in another second, laughing as she grabbed Arya in a hug. “Oh Arya, don’t run off like that again!” she chided, pinching her cheek lightly.

Robb trailed behind a bit, standing sheepishly next to Ned as though waiting for permission to touch the sister he’d accidentally endangered. Catelyn noticed him shifting from foot to foot and stood, taking his hand, and leading him to Arya who sat between Bran and Sansa. Unable to look at Arya, Robb simply stared at the ground, muttering something about being happy to see her and thankful she was okay.

Arya stood up on shaky legs and moved until she stood in front of him. “Robb,” she said in a very no-nonsense voice, making him look up in surprise. “It’s alright. I forgive you for hitting me in the face with a snowball. Don’t be angry with yourself, it wasn’t your fault.” And with those words, she patted him softly on the hand and turned back to her father.

“Robb, what do you have to say to her?” Catelyn questioned lightly.

There was a moment of silence before Robb burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Arya,” he cried. “Thank you so much for coming back alive!”

Ned roared in laughter and gathered the two of them in his arms, tousling their hair and grinning from ear to ear. “Ah, if only grown adults could forgive as easily as the two of you, I’d have a lot less work to do.” He let go of them and kissed Arya on the forehead again. “We’d better get you inside, little one.”

“Ned.” Catelyn’s voice was low and sharp.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to face her, instantly recognizing why she’d gotten his attention.

The Shifter hadn’t moved from where it lay slumped in the snow. Its breathing was rapid and shallow, its closed eyelids trembling slightly. Underneath its form, a pool of red was blooming slowly across the stark white, and the acrid tang stung the cold air.

Arya was the first to move, breaking away from her father’s arms and rushing to the Shifter’s side. “Arya,” Ned barked, but she ignored him, dropping to her knees next to the huge form. Her hand reached out, small and white against the blackness of the furs ‘round its body and began to pet the matted black locks on its head. The Shifter started, opening its yellow eyes to see the grey eyes of the little girl looking intently at its wounded body.

“You’re the wolf,” she stated. There was no question, no uncertainty, just a gentle accusation.

The Shifter nodded slowly, wincing in pain.

“You saved my life.”

Again, not a question, so again, the Shifter nodded.

“Now you’re the one who’s hurt.” Arya ran a hand over the Shifter’s forehead, and it chuckled lightly, a sound like thunder boiling in a black storm cloud. “We must help you.”

That caused the Shifter to stop. Help? No one had ever helped the Shifter before, only run in fear from its presence. Breathing deeply, it gathered a voice that had gone unused for almost fifty years and spoke in a rasping growl that made the hairs on Ned’s neck stand straight up.

“There is no need, little one.” It’s voice was deep and rumbling like an earthquake, yet gentle when it spoke to Arya. There was no malice, no anger, only a sort of tender adoration.

Arya’s voice replied, high-pitched and sharp against the mellow nature of the Shifter’s voice. “There is too need,” she retorted. “You’re bleeding out in the middle of the courtyard.”

The Shifter laughed again and made as if to sit up, before letting out a short gasp and falling back. Arya put her little hand on the Shifter’s shoulder and held it down as best she could. “See?” The tone was very reproachful, and she stroked the Shifter’s hair as she continued. “You’re in no position to be going anywhere. That means we have to heal you, right Daddy?”

Ned Stark stood behind her, completely torn. On the one hand, Arya seemed to believe that this massive creature of a man had saved her life and it had, after all, brought Arya to Ned safe and sound. On the other hand, this man was larger than any man Ned had ever seen, standing two meters tall with the muscle structure of a bear. Should it decide to turn on them for any reason at all, Ned was uncertain of how much good he could do. In addition, the beast hadn’t introduced itself and they knew nothing about it save for the fact that it’d stumbled wounded into Winterfell with Arya in its arms. It was a tricky situation and Ned wasn’t entirely certain what to do.

“Well, Arya….” He trailed off, much to his disappointment. He couldn’t find the words to say what he wanted to say, and it seemed wrong to say I have no idea who this is so I’m not comfortable with it, or him, staying in my house, but it was what he would say if it weren’t for politeness’ sake. Instead Ned was staring down this man, this thing, that seemed more animal than human, knowing it, or he, had saved his daughter and was bleeding out in the snow, but Ned felt so uncertain of whether or not it was safe.

Catelyn saw her husband’s internal battle and shook her head, stepping past him to kneel next to Arya. “How badly are you hurt?” she asked the Shifter, extending her hand to sit next to Arya’s upon its mane of snake-like hair. “May I see?”

The Shifter hesitated, then nodded slowly, still anxious as whether or not to trust them. Catelyn’s hands moved slowly to the furs covering its massive body and peeled them back, making a wet sound when they separated. The Shifter growled in its throat, head falling back against the snow, chest heaving violently. Its eyes sparkled wildly with pain, fingernails digging into the calloused flesh on its palms and leaving little crescent moons of blood. Layer by layer, Catelyn’s skilled hands removed its wrappings until at last, the Shifter lay exposed before them, panting, eyes glazed and lips parted, feeling pained, afraid, and vulnerable. Moving to the bottom of the garment, Catelyn gently pulled it up to see the damage that had been done—puncture marks dotted the pale skin, oozing viscous red blood onto the snow. There was a moment of silence as Catelyn took in the scene before her. The blood, the wound, and perhaps most confusing of all, the fact that the body on the ground was undeniably…female.

“The wolves got her, Mummy,” Arya explained. “There were five of them and they were huge, but she jumped in front of them and killed all but two.”

“She?” Ned’s voice was full of shock.

“Yes,” Catelyn replied evenly. “She.”

Ned looked back and forth between his wife, his little girl, and the massive thing, or rather woman strewn on the snow before them, the blood spreading quickly. For a second, he said nothing, then “Can you stand?”

It, she, seemed uncertain. Her eyes were still full of fear, like an animal caught in a trap, but she shrugged her good shoulder and made a move to get up. A sharp hiss left her mouth, but she gritted her teeth and continued to rise as best she could with a body so broken.

“Ned, help her,” Catelyn said, and Ned moved swiftly to the Shifter’s side, wrapping her good arm over his shoulder. “Now, let’s get her inside.”

Slowly they made their way across the yard, up the steps, and through the doors. Arya stayed fixed at her mother’s side and the other children trailed a few steps behind, whispering to each other fervently. Despite the pain and exhaustion evident on the Shifter’s face, they finally made it to one of the guest rooms in the great hall and Ned guided her slowly to the bed.

She hesitated. “I’ll ruin it.”

“I care not,” Ned replied. “Please, lie down. I’ll have my healers tend to your wounds.”

Unwilling to disobey the Lord of Winterfell, she nodded and lied down, making a little pained noise in the back of her throat as she came to rest among the blankets. No sooner had her head hit the pillows than a huge wave of unconsciousness washed over her and bore her into a deep, dreamless sleep. Ned stepped back, watching as her form went limp almost instantly.

“Will she be okay, Daddy?” Arya asked from behind him.

“Yes, little one, I believe she’ll be just fine.” He pulled Arya to his side and ran a hand through her hair. “In fact, I think you could use some similar treatment. Why don’t we get you to bed?”

Too tired to argue the fact that she was not tired in the slightest, a common argument despite the level of exhaustion, Arya simply nodded and leaned her head against Ned’s hip. He chuckled and stooped to pick her up, sighing deeply as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in the crook of his shoulder.

“Daddy?” her little voice whispered next to his ear.

“Yes, little one?”

“I love you.”

Tears filled his eyes, and he took a deep breath. “I love you too, Arya.”

With that, he turned and walked from the room, leaving the Shifter to the skilled hands of his healers. He knew she would be safe given enough time, and unbeknownst to his family, he planned on keeping her in their home until she healed completely. He had no idea who she was or where she came from, but she had saved his Arya and that was enough for him. He had his Arya back, and that was enough. Stroking her hair, he made his way slowly to her bedroom where he gently deposited her on the cushions and furs. She give a little sigh of contentment and curled up almost instantly, snuggling deeper into her bed with a smile. “Good night, little one,” he murmured as he backed from the room. “Thank the gods you’re safe.”

And the Lord of Winterfell shut the door, pressed his back to the wall, and began to weep once more.

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my-artblog-is-ssjumi · 3 years

Note

Isono/Seto, Isono/Aileen, Hannibal/the other guy in that show aaand whatever Evangelion ship u most wanna talk about

disclaimer for folks with different taste than mine: you do you ofc but this ask game is not about your opinions

Isono/Seto

11/10 in every way (as long as not shipped as uwu) and the age gap is a big part of what really makes this ship in the first place

Love me all of this misplaced father/son dynamic stuff going on, since Isono doesn’t have time for the family life he would be pretty good at if he didn’t have the rich kids to take care of and Seto. Seto is just. His entire deal is that he is a bag made out of daddy issues filled with lots and lots of boxes that are also filled with daddy issues and a bunch of issues he got from his birth family.

Imo there’s a lot of unplatonic tension and a dynamic with an endless amount of potential right there and aside from a couple Japanese doujinshi artists and maybe 2 or 3 friends I don’t trust anyone in this fandom to do it justice so I’m not even mad that it’s not one of the more popular ships bc I don’t wanna see the healthy uwu.

Isono/Aileen

UGH, Sam, you’re SPOILING ME, asking for my MarySue child! X3

Ofc it’s a top tier ship, too, bc I came up with it and my taste is simply flawless.

I mean, if I was married to Seto Kaiba for some reason and ruined my social life outside the relationship with him in the process so I felt I didn’t have anyone aside from him anymore and we drifted apart because of his issues and my issues and then there’s the whole thing with the public eye, too, and I was this gorgeous (probably day-drinking) rich lady whose job it was to run the KC’s PR department - a job that only got shittier and shittier over the years the weirder Seto’s stunts got, building a school right next to an active volcano being just one of the cherries on top...........

I mean, who would I turn to in my loneliness?

Ofc I’d turn to the only other person who can relate to how exhausting it is to clean up Seto’s mess again and again and again but still sticks with him anyway.

(Some ppl might argue “What about Mokuba?” and I want these ppl to know that Mokuba deserves better and in this storyline he knows that and studied abroad and traveled the world and now knows what life outside the Kaiba bubble looks like... Also he probably fucks Jounouchi)

The soap opera aesthetic. Everything is bling in this golden cage.

And it’s impossible to tell if this relationship between Ai and Isono would even work outside of this bubble. I don’t think they want the same things from life. I mean, in case they even still know what they want from life in the first place.

Amazing. Show-stopping. Someone start production on this telenovela right now and I want a soft shimmery blur and star filters that makes the jewelry blind the audience on each and every close-up of Aileen!

Hannibal/Will

Oh boy!

Ok, so I actually watched that show a couple years ago but only got through the first two seasons and then was too lazy to figure out where to watch the rest (especially since it wasn’t clear at the time if it was cancelled or would be cancelled or not) and then kinda... forgot about it? Also I think I remember I was pretty annoyed by Will’s angst after a while.

I mean, it’s valid ofc.

His therapist/friend/whatever they were by that point was a manipulating cannibal and he had these blood-smeared antler nightmares and shit so I’m gonna cut him some slack here.

So, uh, my honest opinion............. I... guess it’s a ship that exists?

I mean, if I had the hots for one or both of them I might be able to get rly into it, but the sexiest thing on the show was the food (ignoring what it’s made of ofc. i guess.) and the rly fancy ties Hannibal always wore.

But the ship itself..........

¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

an NGE ship of my choice

Oh my.... hmmmm.... ok, this is brutal honesty hour so I’m just gonna be brutally honest and say that I don’t care much about the ships of this show.

I’m okay with most of them like. They have their place in the narrative, I guess? So iirc I’m not squicked by any of them?

They’re very tropey, especially the ones among the teenagers, but that trope density with these kinda archetypes n stuff wasn’t that run-of-the-mill common and fucking everywhere to that degree back when the show came out so while I would probably at least be bored if not hella annoyed to get all of that shoved in my face nowadays... it’s fine with me in the context of NGE.

Hmmm what could I say about a specific ship....

Yo, what about Kaoru/Shinji.

Everyone loves Kaoru/Shinji after all.

I think it’s. Okay, I guess.

I mean, it’s cool that it exists, but I don’t really FEEL much about it tbh?

It does get a bit more substance and becomes more interesting i you throw yourself down the rabbit hole of fandom’s timeline speculations and their related essays on that tho, in which all the NGE canons are somewhat linked in a particular order bc Shinji reset everything a couple times in previous Third Impacts XD

In this theory, Kaoru is the only one who remembers all these timelines, which explains why he starts out as a kinda emotionally incompetent bratty douchebag in the manga and only learns a human emotion or two and something resembling compassion through Shinji, which explains why he’s in instant flirty mode when he sees him “again” in the anime(s) and seems to know exactly what Shinji is going through and needs to hear (and how to hurt him by giving/saying it to him before making him kill him XD’) there.

Like, in the context of that connected timelines theory, this pairing is pretty cool and I can really get behind it and could see myself getting emotionally invested if I spent more time on it and/or maybe were a little younger.

But outside of that context, judging it by just one of the canons at a time...

It’s just.

It’s fine. It’s there. It has its place. It makes for pretty fanart sometimes. Eh.

#samcybercat #honest ship opinions #ask game #long post

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mahalkitajohnnysuh · 4 years

Text

Conflicted

So, I never thought that it would come to this. I do not tolerate this action due to family history, but I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I was overpowered by this guy’s charms that I just had to write something like this.

To know more what I’m talking about, read on. I won’t even give a summary because I want you guys to know what’s up with this.

And here’s the devil, erm, Jeong Jaehyun looking like a full-course meal even if he’s just serving face to hype you up.

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

–––

POV: 2nd person still.

Word count: 1,900 + words

Genre: Romance, with a dash of fluff and a bit of angst. A well-balanced meal, if I should say so myself.

Warning: Read until the bottom of this page, and you’ll get what you’re going to read, maybe next post or some other time.

–––

You felt conflicted whenever Jaehyun was near you.

Although he was your boyfriend’s ex-roommate, there were times that he would hang out at your apartment to catch up with him.

After all, they used to work together as radio DJs. They had a nightly program that you always tuned to before. You and Johnny were still best friends then, and you know you would be frustrated if he still had his program now that you’re together. You two won’t have the time to cuddle, because he would be working and you would wake up with him asleep on the couch.

As you watched Johnny and Jaehyun converse at the dining table, you couldn’t help but observe the younger guy. He was a Disney prince in real life – creamy white skin, immaculately dressed, and with great hair to boot. He also had a beautiful voice that everyone, regardless of age and gender, would fall for.

Those reasons made you feel weird because you’re already in a relationship with one of the most handsome men you know, but at the same time, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him sometimes.

Why am I even thinking of this? You thought as you tied your hair up in a bun to focus on your sideline. It has been a hot minute since you edited textbooks, and sometimes they amused you because some manuscripts contained hilarious content from idiotic authors.

You were already halfway editing the textbook when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You turned around to see Jaehyun, smiling with his adorable dimples on display.

“Hi Essie, it’s time to eat,” he said gently before he went back to the dining table. You followed suit since you didn’t say no to an invitation to eat. You saw that the guys prepared Korean barbecue, which you have been craving as of late.

“Wow, samgyupsal! I missed this!” You cooed, eyeing all the side dishes that you haven’t eaten in months. “I know you’ve been craving for this, baby. I hear you looking for samgyupsal in your sleep,” Johnny said, eliciting a chuckle from Jaehyun.

You glared at your boyfriend who just gave you a heart sign and winked when you raised your fist at him. Your guest was laughing at your interaction, entertained how one of his best friends bantered with his girlfriend.

As the three of you dug in, you talked about everything – from the weather, your music playlists (to be honest, you liked Jaehyun’s taste more than Johnny’s), your upcoming plans, and even your relationships.

“Uh, can someone please pass me the kimchi?” You asked, your hand trying to reach the bowl of said food across the table. It was Jaehyun who handed you the bowl, and you almost dropped it when your fingers touched.

“Sorry,” you both muttered, giving timid looks at each other. Johnny noticed your interaction and raised his eyebrows.

“Babe, what’s this? You’re shy of Jeong Jaehyun?” He asked, even stamping his feet for effect. You could tell that he was both curious and annoyed – curious that you felt that way and annoyed that maybe your feelings for him weren’t that strong as he thought.

“B-but…” you started, your eyes meeting Jaehyun’s for a moment before you turned to your boyfriend. “He’s too handsome, just like you…” Your voice was so soft that you felt you were the only one who heard it.

There was a moment of silence before Jaehyun cleared his throat. You and Johnny looked at him, which made him flustered. His ears were practically red now.

“Baby, I know he’s too handsome for this world, but I hope you’re not falling for him,” Johnny said monotonously, trying his best not to sound jealous.

On your part, you appreciated his honesty. That was one of the things you loved about him – his brutally frank comments helped you with your problems most of the time.

However, you also enjoyed how he seemed jealous of your budding crush on his friend, who now covered his face with his hands. “Please stop looking at me,” Jaehyun mumbled while peeking from the small spaces in between his fingers.

“Of course not, darling! You’re still my number one,” your attention was directed to Johnny this time, “but I have to be honest that Jaehyun is such a stunner that I can’t help but look at him sometimes,” you ended by taking a glance at the guy on your right.

The nerve of this guy to wink at you at this moment! You felt your body heat up at this, and you clenched your utensils tightly to fight it off.

“Jaaaaay! Don’t make her fall in love with you! She should be in love with me, and only me!” Johnny was whining like a baby, and the tension that enveloped the table earlier vanished.

You and Jaehyun laughed at how the 6-footer was acting. “Don’t worry, she won’t. Right, Essie? You’ll try your best not to fall in love with me?” The prince-like guy gave you another wink again and blew you a brief kiss.

You laughed in return, flushing red at the attention you were getting. “Hey, you’re totally trying to steal her from me!” Johnny quipped, whose long arm grabbed your wrist so you can focus your attention on him.

“I’m the only one you love, right?” He changed his voice to a sultry one and he gave you The Look. You felt your heart flutter and your insides became warmer. Ah, he still got you every time he did that.

“Yes, honey,” you murmured, shyly looking at his face. “You’re the one that I love.”

Jaehyun began to sing Shania Twain’s ‘You’re Still The One’, and Johnny followed suit. Then all of you sang the song until the end and burst into laughter at how funny (and flirty) you felt for the past few minutes.

After eating, Johnny had to take care of some errands, leaving you and Jaehyun alone in the apartment. “Don’t you even dare, Jeong Yoon-oh,” your boyfriend threatened, which you and your companion did not take seriously. “Don’t try to do anything to my girl,” were his last words before he left the house.

\\\

If there was one word to describe your situation after Johnny left, it was awkward.

You were seated on the end of the couch with a pillow on your stomach as you busily scrolled through your social media feed. On the opposite end was Jaehyun, who was also doing the same.

You could hear the videos he was playing, and you bet he could hear you mutter something under your breath. That was one quirk of yours whenever you scrolled through your Twitter feed – you had to comment on people’s tweets audibly first before responding to them on the app.

“You’re such a hoe, bitch,” you mumbled as you also typed it as your response. You were commenting on Ten’s latest post, which was an outtake on one of his shoots. He looked like a Renaissance painting that came to life with his velvet suit, silk ruffled shirt, and jeweled shoes.

“Who’s a hoe, Essie?” Jaehyun asked, melting you with his stare.

“It’s definitely not you!” You responded, cheeks red from embarrassment. You didn’t mean for him to hear your comment – you made a mental note to correct your quirk, so people don’t question you.

He laughed at your reaction and moved closer to where you were seated. “Then who are you calling a hoe then?”

You leaned back against the couch, hoping that there will be more space you could back out into. “It’s only Ten that I call as such, and it’s our thing,” you said, raising your phone to your face to cover how flushed it was.

“Really? You and Ten have a thing? Does Johnny know of this?” With every word he spoke, he moved closer to you.

“Not like that, dude! Ten’s one of my closest friends now. And you know he won't do something that will make Johnny angry, right?”

This stopped Jaehyun from approaching you, and it was his time to lean back on the sofa. “Oh, is that so?” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

When you thought that he was done from crawling toward you, he surprised you when he wrapped his arms around your waist.

You squealed as he tickled you on the sides, on your knee, and his hands crept up on your neck.

“Jaaaaaay! Stop that!” You said in between panting, getting tired from laughing. You were pushing him away, but he easily overpowered you with his strength.

“No, Essie, I don’t want to! Say the magic word,” he said while staring at you with all his might.

Time slowed, and you took in how intent he was on making you say the magic word – what was it, anyway?

“Please?” You breathed, returning the stare he gave you. “Please, darling,” you tried again, your voice breathier than usual.

He loosened his hold on you, but he didn’t let go. “Do I need to repeat myself?” You asked, your hands ready to untangle yourself from him.

“Darling, you make me feel conflicted,” he said with the most painful expression on his face. It was a mixture of sadness and struggle, a combination that was indeed painful to see on anyone.

“Are you for real, Jaehyun?” You raised an eyebrow, hoping it masked how shocked you were with his words. You hoped you sounded scandalized to make him stop what he was doing.

“Essie, I like you. A lot. It pains me that I was never able to make a move on you first,” he said, tilting his body toward yours. He now had a loving expression on his face, making your heart melt.

“But why now?” You could feel the tears pooling at the corner of your eyes.

Come to think of it, Jaehyun was always nice when you hung out with Johnny before. He never teased you – he was actually very sweet and was always on your side. There were times he held your hand, and you let him since you two were good friends.

And how could you forget that he used to kiss your cheek every time you said your farewell? It was not just your cheeks touching – he really pressed his lips lightly on your cheek.

But best friends trump good friends, and eventually, you weren’t able to maintain your closeness once you spent more time with Johnny instead.

“I’m sorry, Essie. I don’t know what to do,” he slowly unhooked his arms on you, “I’m such a fool for coming here. Now I’m confused,” he ran his hands through his hair and looked distressed.

“I’m sorry too, Jay. But if you must know, I like you a lot too,” you said while fiddling with your thumbs.

“Essie, you’re making me more confused,” He sounded annoyed now. “I don’t want to ruin your relationship with John, I know how much he loves you.”

“But does he know that you…like me too?” As much as it made you cringe, you just had to ask him that.

His answer surprised you. “He doesn’t, and I intend to keep it that way.”

This was a plot twist that made your love life more complicated – even though you already have Johnny, you had Mark trying his best to woo you, and now Jaehyun has joined ‘the group chat’, as the kids would say.

“So, what do you plan to do then?” The question came out of your mouth without any thinking, which you now regret.

“Do you want to sin with me?” The way he delivered it sent shivers down your spine. It felt as if you were talking to the devil, only he was clad in a sweater and black jeans.

From that day until the following week, you and Jaehyun had your trysts.

–––

FIN

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tvdversefanfiction · 3 years

Text

Origins of Magic

“The Originals” Fanfiction Series

Warnings: I do not own the rights to the television series “The Originals”, “Vampire Diaries”, or “Legacies” and do not own any of the characters within the TVD universe, I am making no profit from this and have no intention for this fanfiction series except for readers to enjoy.

15+ Mild to Strong Violence, Strong Language, Witchcraft, sexual scenes, and sexual references.

F/F, F/M, M/M, Other.

CHAPTER TWO HERE

Chapter Three – The Castle in the Woods

MANY YEARS AGO…in what feels like several lifetimes ago for Kayne Black, he found himself stuck within a castle him and his sisters had taken over in their hopes of making it their home, having had to leave their homeland due to a falling out with their brother Magnus. Although, this damp, cold and dark castle in the middle of nowhere felt like anything but home for Kayne. He loved his homeland, he wanted to stay there and continue to live the life he had loved but after what Kayne and his sisters did to take their brother Magnus out of the picture they had no choice but to flee, taking on different identities as they did and live a life Kayne referred to as luxury to live in the middle of nowhere, in a damp, cold and dark castle until the day the world forgot him and his sisters ever existed. Kayne loathed the existence he was forced to endure and blamed his older sister Annabella for his and Primrose’s misfortunes and as the years went by in this lost castle his hatred towards her only grew until one day, decades after their disappearances, the three siblings were greeted by guests, a family of guests to be precise, the Mikaelson’s. The brief time in which the Mikaelson siblings; Niklaus, Rebekah, Elijah and Kol stayed with Kayne and his sisters changed everything for the male witch, as he began to love the fact that they were all alone in the world, specifically he loved the idea of himself being completely alone with Niklaus, a man he quickly found himself becoming infatuated with Klaus. “Tell me what exactly brings a man to the middle of nowhere with his siblings?” Kayne asked Klaus after walking into Klaus’ room within the castle, a room not far from his which he had strategically picked out for his guest. “I could ask the same to you, but I doubt you would give me an honest answer and I can promise you I would not give you honesty either.” Klaus answered him with a wicked smile on his face. “You are clearly running from something or someone if you’ve taken to these dangerous woods in hopes of seeking refuge, it is just a case of what that remains to be seen but do not worry Niklaus I do quite enjoy a mystery.” Kayne replied with a sinister smirk to match Klaus’. “And you, why are you here?” Klaus asked the male witch, eager to deflect Kayne’s questions. “Believe it or not but I am waiting for the world to forget me so I can start anew and hopefully I will never again have to hide away.” Kayne answered honestly. “I do not seek out questions as leverage, I seek out you because you fascinate and nothing in this whole world has ever fascinated me until now.” “I would be careful about getting too fascinated with me it never ends well for anyone involved.” Klaus warned him, trying to mask the fact he was equally fascinated by the young male witch in front of him. “I look forward to being the one to defy the odds,” Kayne said in a flirtatious manner, making it clear to Klaus he wanted him.

Primrose Black had always loved nature and being in the woods that was until being in the woods was where she always was trapped within a castle she loved but learned to loathe the surroundings that came with the property. The castle was a thing of beauty, a work of art, made to be appreciated and Rose did just that, however she was growing tired of being stuck away from the rest of the world with no form of entertainment and the only companionship being her forever warring siblings Annabella and Kayne and even when they were not fighting they were far from her ideal company. She deemed her sister too practical and dull to have fun with and she had found her brother too whiny which only made their entrapment within the woods away from the real world even more torturous for the youngest sibling until she found the perfect companion in one of the castle’s new guests, the guest in question being none other than Kol Mikaelson. “So, what exactly is a girl like you hiding a way in a castle?” Kol asked Rose as he let himself into her room to find her on the edge of her bed reading a book. “If you are trying to flirt, I am far from interested,” Rose replied before closing her book and placing onto her bed. “Well maybe just some fondling but only because it has been so long and I’m up for any source of amusement right.” “I will take you up on that offer soon do not worry but right now I seek company as I plan to go to a nearby village and seek whatever delights it may offer.” Kol informed her. “My sister would not be happy if I left my prison, however, it has been a long time and you look like the opposite of a perfect gentleman, so I am highly considering obliging.” Rose told him, trying to work out whether to break her sister’s rules. “How long have you been here for exactly?” Kol wondered, intrigued by why such a beautiful woman would be hiding away in the middle of nowhere. “I am not invested in you enough to share my story nor do I care about yours, however, you seem like you may amuse me and I am so tired of being bored.” Rose answered the original male vampire. “I will challenge you to create as much debauchery as possible, I am very intrigued to see if you can keep up with me!” “Something tells me I am going to like you!” Kol replied with a genuine sense of excitement for what awaited the original vampire and the bewitching beauty.

NEVER EVER…did Annabella Black ever think that after years of solitude with her sister Primrose and their brother Kayne that she would be the first one to break the rules of which all three siblings had lived by since coming to the castle in the woods. Bella loved the home her and her siblings had come to known, she love the wild and often brutal woods that was her garden, the castle which had become a home and the peace she would only hear when her siblings were fast asleep. The only thing Bella did not enjoy about living in the castle in the woods was having to share her home with her two younger siblings who did not only refuse to appreciate the extents she had gone to ensure their safety but continued to complain repeatedly about the decisions they made together as well as both of them blaming her solely for every little bad thing that had ever happened to them all. Bella had no choice but to remain hidden with her siblings knowing they would have to stay in that castle with no other visitors for a very long time, long enough for the world to forgot they either existed and Bella followed the rules she created with an iron fist determined to protect her family at any cost, until she found herself lovestruck upon first sight of the undeniable beauty that was Rebekah Mikaelson. “If my brothers have not yet offered their many thanks for granting us shelter then please allow me to be the first.” Rebekah thanked Bella after walking into the library to find the witch putting books away into their rightful places within the large display of bookcases within the beautifully gothic library within the castle. “Your eldest brother was very grateful, and it was appreciated the same regards go to you.” Bella said as she placed the last book away, before turning to give the female Mikaelson all her attention. “I know you are not human, I sensed it the moment I opened the door to you and your siblings…I also know you are not a werewolf because I have known many in my lifetime but I cannot fathom as to what you are…nor do I care…just know that whatever you and your brothers need refuge from I am more than happy to help.” “Such kindness,” Rebekah replied with a soft smile that Bella could not help but get lost within. “It has been a while since I’ve seen kindness from anyone other than my brother Elijah, but it is not quite the same as having a friend.” “I understand that feeling all too well being held up in this castle with only my constantly angry brother and my deceitful sister as company, I can honestly say kindness is a rare thing around here.” Bella admitted the original female vampire. “Well I guess we can gather together while my brothers and I remain here to complain about our blood ties and seek refuge in each other’s company.” Rebekah suggested, happy to have made a friend after feeling alone for quite some time. If only either Black or Mikaelson knew how this unexpected meeting between two families would go from a cosmic connection between witches and vampires to a grizzly end that would spark centuries of ill will between them all.

Klaus Mikaelson was a talented, complicated and beautiful man and Kayne Black enjoyed every moment he spent with the original male vampire/werewolf hybrid over the course of the weeks him and his family spent within the castle, as the male witch found himself quickly falling head over heels for the mysterious man who both thrilled him and made him feel safe in his touch. They spent every waking hour together talking endlessly into the night, making passionate love with each other and on the rare moments when inspiration hit Klaus, Kayne would watch as he painted onto a blank canvas, watching Klaus lose himself within his art and at the same time Kayne losing himself in the art that was the man he loved. Kayne Black had never dreamed of ever getting this close to another person but upon meeting Klaus Mikaelson he knew something was different about him and before the witch knew it he was besotted with the hybrid, sharing everything with him, including his blood. The only problem this witch and vampire has was although Kayne was all in, ready to be with his true love for all eternity he knew Klaus was holding back from giving the witch his all, whether it be his own paranoia or the secrets of the past which still weighed heavy on him, Kayne knew they could never truly be happy until Klaus let him all the way in. “What do you mean you are leaving? Where are you going to go?” Kayne asked as he and Klaus stood in Kayne’s bedroom, a room which had become theirs in recent weeks. “It is what my siblings and I do, we keep moving onto the next place because if we stop for too long well…it gets rather unfortunate for all involved.” Klaus revealed to him, shocking the witch by his sudden plans to departure. “Then I will go with you, I am tired of this bloody castle anyway and I want to go with you…I would go anywhere with you!” Kayne offered himself to the hybrid, eager for Klaus to accept his offer. “That is the thing love,” Klaus replied as he placed his hand softly onto Kayne’s face, stroking it briefly. “I do not want you to come with me!” “You cannot be serious Niklaus,” Kayne snapped, as he brushed Klaus’ hand away from his face. “I love you, I love you with all my heart, I love you more than I ever thought possible and I know you feel the same for me too, I know it!” “It’s only been a few weeks and yes we have both had fun, but I never claimed to love you.” Klaus said with a cruel laugh, knowing fine well his words were breaking Kayne’s heart. “Nor do I claim to love you now.” “I see,” Kayne struggled to say with his voice beginning to break, as tears formed in his eyes, completely devastated by Klaus’ rejection of his love. “I did warn you that people tend to get hurt around me, do not say I did not warn you!” Klaus told Kayne, brushing off the tears the witch cried for him. “You sure did!” Kayne admitted, as he attempted to wipe the tears from his eyes, attempting and failing to hide the pain that Klaus had just inflicted on him.

“Mikael?” Rose said out loud as she and Kol laid down on the floor within the library side by side, both looking rather comfortable with each other. “I just cannot believe a foursome with such power is running from a man named Mikael it is hardly the name of a great hunter…no offense to the father who intends to kill you all…I am sure he has his reasons.” “Oh, I am sure going to miss you Primrose, you have been the first bit of fun I have experienced since becoming what I am now.” Kol admitted to his bewitching friend. “Draining bar wenches and ending tavern brawls with a bloody feast will just not be the same without you by my side to soak in all the debauchery and challenge me to be even more wicked than I thought possible.�� “You are the only thing in this world that does not bore me it will be a shame to see you go but who knows we may meet again,” Rose replied to her vampire companion. “I intend to leave this place soon myself, you have shown me the chaos that awaits me out there and I have grown tired of hiding…I wish I could break you free from your chains, if only you would let me take down Niklaus…” “Oh I fully intend to return the favour to my bastard brother for daggering his siblings as he sees fit but I need to be tactical about it or I will wind up with a dagger in my chest with no chance of being woken up before the next century.” Kol confided in Primrose, like he had done many times throughout the weeks he and his siblings stayed within the castle. “I understand when it comes to betraying brothers it is best to keep it a family affair instead of bringing in the outsiders,” Rose responded to the Mikaelson sibling she had considered her only true friend. “Besides, I already got rid of one brother and that proved to be rather bothersome, however, my offer still stands if you change your mind.” “So, where are you going to go? I would love the choice of choosing where my siblings and I will go next, but my opinion will only ever be met with finding myself in a coffin.” Kol wondered, eager to live through his friend’s plans, plans he knew he could never make for himself.” “As far away from my siblings as possible!” Rose revealed to him, as the two shared a knowing smile, one which revealed to the other that they both knew they would unlikely ever see each other again.

Rebekah Mikaelson had given in too love many times in her life but there was one time when the girl who often was considered too easy to fall in love made a choice with her head instead of her heart and it was a choice she would forever regret. The one time in question when Rebekah chose not to put love before all else was when her brothers planned to leave the castle and the Black siblings behind, choosing not to attempt to live a life with the witch Annabella Black who she had found herself falling in love, knowing Klaus would more than likely kill Bella if she tried and dagger her in the process. The original female vampire wanted nothing more to have her happy ending and she believed she could have it with Bella, a belief that only grew as the weeks went by in the castle in the woods but eventually reality hit Rebekah hard and as her and her brothers prepared to leave she knew she had to let this love go. “I do not understand why you have to go Rebekah; you are safe here from whatever you are running from you are safe with me.” Bella pleaded with the female vampire. “It is not as simple as that my brothers Niklaus and Elijah believe if we stay put we would only be putting ourselves and you and your siblings in danger and I cannot have anymore deaths because of me.” Rebekah explained to her bewitching lover. “If I do not go with them then Niklaus will seek out revenge on me by hurting you and I cannot have that Annabella because I love you!” “Then stay with me and we will stand tall against him…together, he cannot hurt us if we stay together.” Bella attempted to persuade the woman she loved, desperate for her to stay. “You do not understand neither Klaus nor I can die but you can!” Rebekah warned her, knowing all too well Klaus would not hesitate to kill someone she loved, as he had done before. “I have loved and lost before, and I do not want to have to watch somebody else suffer because of their feelings towards me.” “Then we will run, and we will keep running so that Klaus will never find us.” Bella argued with Rebekah. “He would find us, and I cannot risk it,” Rebekah cried. “I cannot be the reason for your death so please do not try to make me say otherwise because this is my choice and I refuse to change it!” Rebekah loved Bella far too greatly to be swayed in her decision, refusing for the bewitching beauty to suffer the same fate as her previous love Alexander although admittedly the hunter Alexander deserved his fate, she knew Bella did not and was determined to not have to see Klaus kill another person she loved, not knowing then that although Bella would escape Klaus’ wrath many of her future loves would not.

Centuries later…the three Black siblings; Kayne, Bella and Rose stood within the streets of New Orleans in the French Quarter all looking at each other in shock while remaining to hold each other’s hands as a unconscious Rebekah lay unconscious beneath their feet within a circle they had created with their hands. “There is definitely no going back now!” Rose stated with a devilish grin on her face, excited for what lay ahead like only she would be. “Klaus and Elijah are once again amongst the living…let the games begin!”

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comicsgirlimagines · 5 years

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Ultimatum - Bruce Wayne Imagine

Prompt: You really didn’t care about the stupid dates anymore, you just wanted all the lies and lame excuses to stop! You want the truth just for once. So you gave you boyfriend of one year, Bruce Wayne, an Ultimatum.

Word Count: 1,537

Warnings: None.

Inspiring Song: ‘Say you won’t let go’ by James Arthur.

A/N: So many of you liked the first one shot with Bruce Wayne so I thought I’d continue with a small series of different scenarios in Yours and Bruce’s relationship – already have enough ideas figured out ;). Hope you’ll like it, let me know whatcha think.

You were getting dizzy from spinning on the spinning chair, but you were so bored, it seemed like the only source of entertainment while the minutes kept passing.

It was 7:28pm. 28 minutes past the time you agreed on. But knowing Bruce, you knew he will burst through the door, as he clumsily ties his tie with countless apologies for being late again, any second now… he had too.

7:46pm, and still no sign for Bruce. You were sitting on a chair in the dark office in a black flirty yet elegant backless skater dress that showed much more skin than you would usually show, leaning on a big desk, your chin resting on the palm of your hand as your leg was dangling over the other. Staring into thin air, you felt yourself sinking in deep thoughts. Maybe he did forget? You thought to yourself. The logical and more calculated mind screamed ‘it’s been almost an hour, of course he forgot!’, but your heart was desperately aching as it clung to the littlest hope of Bruce showing up.

Another 10 minutes passed, and the wonder and doubt were replaced with the hurtful realization. “For someone that planned this date night, he sure as hell knows how to commit.” You mumbled sarcastically, finally giving up. He forgot.

With a tired and annoyed sigh, you stood off the chair before straightening the hem of your dress. You clamped your matching Chanel purse that was sitting on the table, right next to the gift you bought for Bruce for your anniversary. Reaching for the luxurious box, you came to a halt, at the end deciding to leave it where it was for Bruce to find in the morning. Hurt and disappointed, you left Bruce’s office and next, the grounds of Wayne enterprises.

Another long night of chasing Gotham’s lunatics had left Bruce Wayne sleep deprived. He was rubbing his eyes tiredly as he guided his finger to his office phone.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne. How may I assist you?” his assistant’s voice traveled through the speaker.

“Morning, black coffee would be great.” He replied tiredly.

“Will be there right away, sir.”

He sighed in relief, knowing that in no time he will get a much needed boost of caffeine. But as his eyes moved away from the phone to his desk and landed on a luxurious velvet box, his sleepiness was long forgotten.

Shit. He thought to himself.

“Your coffee, Mr. Wayne.” His assistant announced, making her way to his desk.

“Kathrin, what date is it today?” he asked, examining the box, too afraid to open it and confirm his suspicions.

The assistant looked at him a bit confused, “it’s February 24th, sir.” She replied anyways. Shit. He thought again, his eyes shutting close as he realized, he fucked up. “Is everything okay, Mr. Wayne?” his new assistant questioned worriedly.

He sighed, looking at her with his charming dark blue eyes. “Everything is fine, thank you for the coffee.” he faked an unconvincing smile.

She nodded, setting the hot coffee on his desk, before leaving his office.

As soon as she left, Bruce let out another sigh. His eyes fell on the box once again, and this time, he opened it. It was the perfect gift. A black Rolex watch. How did she know? He thought to himself, looking at his bare left wrist. A slight tan marked the presence of a watch that wasn’t there anymore.

Another sigh left his lips, as the scary thought echoed in his head. She deserves someone better than me, someone that would give her the attention she deserves. Someone that will notice just like she does. One day, a man like that will come across, and I will lose her… forever.

“You’re sorry?” you raised your eyebrows at him skeptically as you thought - really Bruce? Is that all you’ve got?

He looked at you quite lost for words. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? That the Joker and Harley Queen decided to go on a terrorizing spree through Gotham? That Gotham needed the Batman? He could never put you through this risk of knowing who he really was. You were already roaming around with a huge target on your back as the ‘Billionaire playboy’s love interest’. Telling you about his alter ego, would put you in an even greater danger.

“wow.” Your voice pulled him back, “you’ve really done it this time.” The way you spoke, that fake amused smile that he knew all too well, that fake smile that you used right before you spit fire at the ones you strongly disliked, this sarcastic and powering look in your eyes right before your crashed your enemies.

He really did screw up this time.

“Y/N, I-“

“it’s not even about last night anymore,” you cut him off, not interested in hearing another useless apology, followed by an empty promise and finished with a lame excuse. You were so done. “Not about that time nor any other time that you ditched me or lied to me.” your voice was scarily calm. The way you spoke, the venomous sarcasm that laced your words, he was sure Alfred was the only one with the ability to put him in place. Yet here you are, a sweet 5 foot 4 woman, putting the big bad bat on a tight leash. He would lie if he ever said it didn’t turn him on from time to time. “It’s not about the actions nor the lame excuses anymore. It’s about me being kept in the dark, being put aside like a used toy and then being picked up whenever you’re free to play, and I’m tired of this.” Your honesty was brutal, the hurt and pain you worked so hard to hide glimpsed for one second too long, just enough for Bruce to realize his mistake.

He stood there silently, his mind blank from words as the sharp-tongued woman stands before him. A woman that won countless debates, a woman that knows so many words it seemed like she swallowed a dictionary, a smart and intelligent woman that he knew he could never fool.

“I love you, Bruce. I truly do.” your voice was shaky and high, choking out these words for the first time in a very long time, catching both you and Bruce by surprise, “I respect you immensely, and I’ve been honest with you completely, from the very first moment that we met I have been nothing but loving, understanding, accepting and honest with you. I deserve the same from you.” Your last words came out like a hanging threat, a threat that Bruce was too scared to hear.

“Or?” he spoke, trying to sound as brave and firm as he could, but you could see right through him. He was scared.

You felt tears in your eyes, blurring the sight of the man you love with all of your heart. “Or we’re done.” Your voice was shaky, you tried to restrain the painful emotions but miserably failed.

You hated doing it. You hated putting an ultimatum. But you grew tired and desperate, the frustration was biting into your flesh whenever he came up with a lame excuse that you pretended to accept, you were just tired of guessing – it haunted you. Bad and worst thoughts became way too distracting as the unknown became unbearable.

“Well?” you pushed for an answer, the long silence making everything so dreadful.

You wished so hard, you were so hopeful he wouldn’t just give up on you. Your eyes were begging for him to save this beautiful thing you shared with each other because there’s still so much more to go, because even with all the lies and terrible excuses that hide some ‘big dark’ secret – you could see a future with the man that swept you off your feet just a year and a day ago at some boring Gala. You needed him to not give up.

Bruce stared at you silently. His eyes were somewhat readable and unreadable all the together. His dark blue eyes darkened with a mixture of clouded emotions. Maybe he was meant to be alone for the rest of his life? After all, in this line of work, people are weakness. Guys like him never get the girl.

His silence was louder than words. The way he looked at you with cold eyes, the type of look you’ve hardly seen but could definitely recognize – the detachment from his feelings, when he shot off his emotions and started with the logical solution, analyzing the situation.

The way he stared at you with a straight face right before he turned away and walked out the door.

The courage faded away from your body, and suddenly it was hard to breath with the lump in your throat. A small sob escaped your lips as you felt your heart drops just before shattering into million pieces. Your mind was lost in a mist and the tears were finally too heavy for your eyes to carry.

His actions felt like a record on repeat in your mind as the realization hit you all over again and again.

It was over.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman imagine #batman x reader #ultimatum #breakup #dc comics #dc comics imagines #holland roden gif

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housedzemael-archived · 5 years

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Lost and Found

Orlaux Voss, once dee Dzemael, has spent the past twenty years searching high and low through dangerous lands looking for his hope. After the fall of Ala Mhigo, and the death of his wife Maerwynn, his missing Daughter (and unknown to him, Warrior of Light) Danica in hopes that even with the two of them, family and home can be found again.

AKA Welcome to My Adventure in making my Main's Dad first a retainer and then an Alt and now he's demanding fiction explaining how he found his Daughter that I'm too willing to write. For the most part is just Noir Lancer Dad.

Archive Link

Chapter One: Hope Thine Name is Wyrmblood

It started simple enough. A strange lancer much like myself, so very far from home, half swallowed by his cup in a bar seedier than a pomegranate. White hair, grey eyes, exhaustion of something greater than war written across his face, I had half the mind to try to get his story but what he said damped curiosity's flame.

“You’re eyes. Familiar.” He murmured more into his ale than to me. I tensed, normally such declarations are punctuated by blades to my gut. My mask of indifference, honed from years in Ishgard and once again in use since the fall of my dearest Ala Mhigo, gave no outward sign of my fear, only raising a single eyebrow in query. When he didn’t continue, I cautiously goaded my foe.

“Oh? Strange.” I laughed, my cup to my lips, thankful my hands didn’t betray the thoughts in my mind by shaking. God’s it had been years since I had dealt with any of my families assassins, I had hoped they had finally left me to my own devices. “Most of the time I’ve been told they’re freakishly unique. Gold and Green as they are.”

The stranger dropped his eyes from me to his glass, his fingers tightening around it, twisting it aimlessly as the bartender did everything he could to avoid both of us. For good reason, I imagine. We both look the part of the angry loner, he more than I honestly. I leaned back, my glass empty, and slide gil across the counter, hoping eventually the bartender will risk serving us for the glinting gold on the table.

“What’s familiar about them?” I probed once again. “I don’t recall ever meeting you before ser...” I let the words hang in the air, and attempted to give a reassuring smile. He didn’t look up to see it, but he did shake his head.

“Estinien. Estinien Wyrmblood.” He looked back at me, finally, but pointedly avoids looking me in the eye. Uncomfortable. Cornered. A state I’ve been in before, but I needed to know where he’s seen these strange mismatched eyes before. I needed to know if this twenty year vigil was at an end, without a body to bury on the other side. Did dare I hope? Yes. Hopes all that's kept me going over the years.

“Well then Ser Wyrmblood, I’m Orlaux. Lovely to make your acquaintances, but that still doesn’t answer my question.” I cracked a smile, the one that wins me jobs and pays my tabs, and prevents people from asking for my surname. He seemed to relax a bit. The gears in his mind turning slowly. Figuring how much he wanted to tell a stranger, smart boy really, tired and more world weary than he should be but smart all the same. I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t trying to figure out the exact amount myself. Dangerous to overshare. Dangerous to undershare.

“I’ve seen them before, but on someone else.” Words fell from his lips like slow melting ice, setting me on edge even as I was grateful for the progress. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, and grimaced as it caught on some knot. “A friend of mine. Better than I deserve. Defended me. Saved my life.”

Saved his life ey? My mind tried to connect the last image I had of my daughter with an older, wiser, and kinder woman. Perhaps a healer, or guard, or perhaps she’d follow after her mother and pick up a rapier and venture. Someone out there helping the world. I could not help but crack a smile, and my mask, at such a thought. “Oh? What’s her name? Perhaps I have some heroic cousin I should be bragging to my family about.”

He tensed, and I immediately knew I’ve overstepped something, slipped up somehow. This time it was he who got defensive, snapping his eyes towards mine and squinting with all the rage he can muster, or at least that he can contain in his moderately inebriated state. I could smell the booze coming off of him even before I sat next to him and heard his murmuring about my eyes. He went to open his mouth, but was stopped by the approach of the bartender, who sweeps up my gil and goes to refill us both.

“Or their name, or his name, though from memory most of my venturing’ cousins prefer feminine pronouns.” I covered my own ass with a half hearted lie. I doubt a sober companion would have bought them, but hopefully a drunken one did. It’s hard to tell with the permanent scowl on this Estinien’s face. He didn’t look at me again, instead, turning his gaze to his own reflection in his cup, colored gold by the liquor inside. I could have counted this out as a failed lead, nothing more than the drunken ramblings of a lonely Dragoon, when he spoke again.

“She doesn’t have any family,” His words once more to himself more than to me, “Hasn’t for a long time.” He shakes his head hair falling in front of his eyes, blocking his own reflection, and exhales audibly. I watched him carefully, while attempting not to appear as if I was doing so. Failing terrible honestly, but thankfully he was too enthralled by his drink to notice. “Plus, you don’t strike me as a Mhigan, not with a spear like that. What took you out of Ishgard?”

He looked up, and I caught him taking a glance at a black scarf tied around the neck of his own spear, instead of mine, as he tried to redirect the questions away from himself. A ragged little thing, more grey than truly black anymore, with a time worn symbol of the Destroyer embroidered onto it. I gritted my teeth and think, deciding to leave my answer up to fate and down my drink instead of replying.

“Ala Mhigo did.” Honesty, I always told her to be Honest, best practice what I preach. “A Wanderer in Red stole something from, not something I wanted back, but something I was willing to follow her for.” The thought of my stolen love, my dearest Maerwynn, stalls my tongue for but a second. I blinked, even though I know I’ve no more tears to hold, and feel naught but the hollow ache in my chest.

“Wanderer in Red...” He repeated after me, sitting up right, making his own choices, hearing some familiar in my words. “They tend to do that, don’t they?” He faced me and gave me a once over I’m too busy wishing away my memories to notice. I traced the scar on my face absently, cursing its very existence. Perhaps, perhaps if it wasn’t there and I had been at home the Garleans would have never gotten to her. To either of them.

“Her name is Danica,” His words snap me from my self pity, and I can’t stop my eyes from going wide. I feel my heart skip a beat and hope course through my veins like oxygen. A breath of fresh air in my face after years, nay, decades of stagnation. My rational mind tried to will this away, at least to a reasonable level, but my heart is so overcome with joy I cannot help but show it on my face. I fear the smile may unsettle, but in fact it seemed to relax him. A curiosity for another day, another night of pondering. He looked away, back to his drink, sadly finding it empty.

I need to know more. This name, this dearest matching name. Eyes like mine. A Hero, a friend. My mind moved faster than it could possibly make coherent sentences, in the end I blurted out my next question with such force Estinien jumps a bit.

“Where is she?”

Startled, he blinked, and I once again fear I had faltered. I glanced to the bartender, though I know fate isn’t keen on giving second chances, let alone thirds, and then to him. Finding the red face of someone who truly three sheets to the wind. “Last I saw her she was in Ishgard. Tired, Happy that the Dragonsong war didn’t claim another of her friends.”

And what once was boiling blood, filled with hope and joy and images of being reunited with a daughter I’ve searched so damn long for freezes in my veins.

Ishgard.

Of course she had to be in fucking Ishgard. She had to be within stabbing distance of my family, she had to be in danger. She had to be where if I was seen, I’d be chased out with pitchforks and torches bought with nobles money or worse. Branded a heretic and executed in some fun and brutal way where accepting my death would prove my innocence. A land even more dangeorus for me than fucking Garlemald.

Yet. I would still go.

Even for the chance, the hope, that his Danica and my Dani were one in the same. That I’d walk into the Forgotten Knight decades after I last left it and see my daughter enjoying a fine evening surrounded by friends and those who care for her and see her smile up at me again like when she was small and asking for bedtime stories about heroes and dragons. Even if she wasn’t with friends, even if she was alone, even if she didn’t recognize me in the slightest.

Alive. Just Alive would do.

I stood from the bar and tapped the newest of Ishgards expatriots on the shoulder in thanks. Though I doubt he knew the weight his words had had on me. He barely looked over his shoulder to me as I departed without so much as a word. A rudeness, but one I felt was needed when my own words could not be trusted to hide my truths in such a state or joy and fear.

I had much to consider and plan, in the relative safety of my inn room, but found no such purchase as I laid my head down. The wine and memories overtaking me into a realm of sleep that for once, seemed not so dark.

#ffxiv #ff14 #Danica Voss #writing #Estinien #Estinien Wyrmsblood #Orlaux Dzemael

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besidemethewholedamntime · 5 years

Text

here’s to the hearts that ache

Something I wrote that was inspired my 6.06 because 6.06 was amazing! I hope you enjoy it!

Summary:

'“I'm sorry." "For what?" "For saying that my pain comes from you.” He looks pained, like a small boy admitting wrong. “That-that’s not true -I didn’t mean it.” His eyes, so blue and plaintive. “My pain comes from losing you. It-it hurts when you’re not there.”'

They're getting good at this whole 'baring your souls' thing. Fitzsimmons decide it merits another conversation. This one significantly quieter. Canon to 6x06.

{Read on Ao3}

or read below!

In a way, Jemma’s grateful for the mind prison.

While certain aspects were certainly… unpleasant, things feel a lot different now. It’s like the air after a thunderstorm: clear and fresh and freeing. The lead balloons tied to her shoulders have been snipped away. She can stand up straight again.

But though she feels free, there was a lot thrown at her during those minutes she was a prisoner in her own mind, a lot thrown at both of them. It was good to get it out in the open, of course, but now it’s actually out there it needs to be addressed. Something which has recently been established that she’s never been very good at.

Luckily, Fitz goes for it first. Dear, sweet Fitz who just wants to make it alright.

It’s a morning, one of their first back with the team. Between trying to get home, the actual journey home and the tearful, heartfelt reunions, there hasn’t been much time for talking. A blessing or a curse; the coin is still in the air.

“Hey, Jemma?”

“Yes?” She’s towelling her hair; the water drops are tickling her bare feet. She never thought she’d miss the Lighthouse plumbing, but space bathrooms leave many things to be desired.

Fitz stands by the dresser. He was looking for a pair of socks a moment ago. He didn’t know where they were, where he left them over a year ago only he didn’t. She tries not to let it mess with her.

“I’m sorry.”

For a moment Jemma thinks he’s talking about the socks. Then she realises he looks too solemn for that. His hand twitches at his side. Ah, she knows what’s coming.

“For what?”

“For saying that my pain comes from you.” He looks pained, like a small boy admitting wrong. “That-that’s not true -I didn’t mean it.” His eyes, so blue and plaintive. “My pain comes from losing you. It-it hurts when you’re not there.”

The thing about the air being like after a thunderstorm is that there had to have been an actual thunderstorm before. And there was, a hell of a one. And it left her raw. And the thing about being raw is that things, from the small to the big, hurt more.

Tears begin to sting the corner of her eyes. Breathless, she sits down on the edge of the bed, feeling exposed in more than the literal sense.

“I didn’t mean it when I said that all my damage comes from you,” she decides to say, the truest thing she can say right now. “My damage comes from lots of things, like you saw,” she murmurs. “Maveth and all that, which wasn’t really your fault.”

“It’s okay, Jemma. You don’t have to say-”

“No.” She holds up a shaky hand. “I do. The thing is, Fitz, is that those things hurt – a lot – but they didn’t damage me as much as losing you did. I meant that part.” She gives him a rueful smile. “It really did mess me up.”

Fitz still stands by the dresser, the socks he’s found held limply in his hands. This brutal, quiet honesty is new to them; neither of them know quite what to do with it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She waves away his apology. “It’s not like dying was your fault, a choice you made. I never said you meant to damage me.”

He gives her a small smile of his own. “Well at least that’s something.” Then he blows out a breath and sits down on the other side of the bed, throwing the socks down beside him. They bounce off and fall to the floor. Both of them just watch.

“This is hard,” he says, looking at her. Hunched shoulders, eyes with dark thumbprints pressed into the flesh beneath. The signs of a hard life. Not for the first time she thinks of a life far away from here, with green hills and a house and maybe a dog.

“Yeah, it is a bit, isn’t it? A lot easier said than done.”

The duvet cover is threadbare in places; Jemma picks at a loose thread with her fingers. This talking business, about these deepest darkest things from the unvisited corners of her mind, is against everything she was taught as a child. Though her father was talking about nightmares about scoliosis surgery and monsters that lived in the wardrobe – she doubts he ever imagined his advice being abused like this.

“I did notice, you know,” Fitz says suddenly, words bursting forth, like he’s said it before chickening out.

She feels her eyes narrow in response and consciously returns them to a neutral state. This is quiet honesty, now. The adult part. “Notice what?”

He gestures with his hands. “What you did. The whole ‘keeping it to yourself thing’. I did notice. I just thought that was how you dealt with it and I didn’t want to pry.” He looks down at his own side of the duvet, finding his own thread to pick at. His voice is a mumble. “And I kind of thought you’d tell me about the big stuff, you know, when it was really bad.”

God, that does bring a lump to her throat and she tries to swallow past it but she can’t.

“Oh, Fitz, I tried it’s just-” She presses a hand to her head. Deep breath, Jemma. Honesty. You can handle it. “It was just so much easier to put it away, to get on with it.” She reaches all the way over for his hand, clutching it tightly. “To sleep at night. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you or didn’t think you could handle me telling you, it was…” She closes her eyes for a moment, another deep breath. “Saying it made it real. I didn’t want it to be real.”

In the nicest of ways, it was never about him. This time, it was all about her.

“It’s okay, Jemma.” His smile is small but ever so sincere. He squeezes her hand back. “I get it. It’s not like I’m great at talking either, I suppose.”

“No, I don’t suppose either of us would win awards for it any time soon.”

He smiles. “I am sorry, though. I took a few cheap shots in there, about Maveth and-and about Will and, um, saying you abandoned me after my brain injury.” He looks down again. She wishes he would just look at her. “That wasn’t fair, I know why you did that and, well all of it actually, and-”

“It’s alright, I know.” And she does. They’ve talked about it before. For once, something they actually have. And he’s right: it was abandonment. Him being injured wasn’t something she could shove inside her little box and pretend it wasn’t there, because he wasn’t there. The guilt, the fear that she was making him worse, the belief that she was… so the story went on.

And he’s right: she has no doubts that he was dying on the inside when she left. It’s just that she was, too.

“For the record, I said some unfair things to you as well in there. That stuff about AIDA and The Doctor. I knew how guilty you felt about that, and I shouldn’t have used it against you.”

Jemma knows they were bickering, arguing like the used to when they threw anything and everything at each other. Only the stakes are different now; the weight behind the punches is heavier, the knockouts more final. She knew how horrible he felt, how he probably still feels, and to use that in a fight is something she’ll never do again.

He shuffles closer to her, bridging the gap between them, though it wasn’t that big to start with. “Guess we’re both a little messed up.”

“If we think of our alternate selves in there then I’d say we’re maybe a little bit more than a ‘little messed up’.”

“Oh, God,” he groans, head falling into his hands. “Where did that monster of yours come from anyway?”

It feels strange to laugh about it but she does anyway. “Oh, gosh, I don’t know. I feel like it started with scoliosis surgery and ended probably when I saw you on Kitson.” She nudges him on the knee. “What about you? The Doctor. Where’s he from?”

She almost regrets asking but Fitz doesn’t look wounded when he looks up. In fact, he looks surprised.

“My dad,” he says, with a duh in his voice. “Something that sick and twisted? Definitely has to come from my dad.”

“Right, sorry. I’ll remember.” Then she shivers. “Ugh, like I’ll always remember the two of them-”

“Aw, Jemma. Please. Don’t.” Fitz presses the heels of his hands in his eyes. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“What the worst parts of ourselves getting it on? Who wouldn’t want to remember that?” At Fitz’s look she holds in her laugh. “Right. Sorry. Disturbing. Of course.”

It’s kind of sweet, really. Even in their worst moments they still can’t be kept from each other. If you squint, it’s the stuff romance novels are made of.

Fitz takes her hand again, softly. “Also, about the therapy thing-”

“Fitz, it’s okay. We said stuff to each other in there. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I mean, clearly, you definitely need therapy – that thing was something else and-”

“Fitz!”

“Right, yeah.” He strokes her hand softly with his thumb. “I shouldn’t have said it like that but yeah. You do need therapy, Jemma. But maybe I do, too.”

Her heart that was hammering so fast it was threatening to burst out of her chest has suddenly stalled for a moment. Has she heard him correctly? “What?” She asks, softly

His eyes are honest and wide, no fear within them. Good. She doesn’t like it when he’s afraid.

“Maybe we both need it. This has all been a lot to deal with, for both of us and I think that maybe this is something we need to do, to work out together but-”

“But on our own,” she finishes, gently.

“Yeah,” he nods., folding and unfolding her fingers “Separately. I think we need to.”

This is not something they can do together, she understands. This journey of healing they’re about to embark on must be a personal thing. It’s not their relationship that has problems. It’s not couple’s therapy they need. They need to do it because they want to do it for Leopold James Fitz and Jemma Anne Simmons. To be somebody healthier than who they are, before being somebody to each other.

“At the same time, in the same direction but on different roads…”

“Parallel,” she tells him with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Parallel.”

Still holding hands, they flop backwards ono the bed, exhausted by this honesty. This is how they used to watch the stars all those years ago. All that Jemma sees when she looks up now is a grey ceiling, a couple of cracks at the edges. But it wasn’t always like this and, one day, when she looks up, she’ll be able to see the stars again.

“You’re my greatest strength,” she whispers into the quiet, “and my greatest weakness, and I love you so much. I’ll always keep wanting to save you.”

His response is not immediate, but when it comes it makes her want to cry.

“I’ll save you every time, or I’ll die trying to because you make me weak and strong all at the same time and because I love you. I think that you’re amazing.”

“Amazing?” She looks at him incredulously, propping herself up on one elbow. So much for their talk clearing the air. He is still as deluded as he was before.

But his eyes are clear and his voice is steady when he says, “Yeah, amazing.”

“Even with all those awful things you found inside my head?”

He chuckles. “It was a horror show, sure, but it’s you. It’s all you. And I love you just as much with them as I would without.”

Damn Fitz because his thoughts are always such a bloody mess except for when he’s being like this. He has quite the way with words, he does.

“I-I don’t know how you can still speak like that about me” she mumbles, feeling a tear finally escape. He brushes it away gently with his thumb.

“It’s just the truth, Jemma. And if you can still love me with everything that’s inside my head.” She giggles before he continues.

“We’re messy, kind of broken and yet we’re still together, still love each other.” They’re still holding hands; she hadn’t realised until just now, so natural is him being an extension of her. “A love like that, stronger than any curse. We’re-”

“Unstoppable together,” she finishes quietly.

“Yeah,” he smiles. In his eyes she sees what he sees: two people, who love each other more than anything, who have overcome the worst, have been the worst, and are still standing together at the end of it all. And she sees how beautiful that really is. “Exactly that.”

#aosficnet2 #fitzsimmons #aos #fitzsimmons fic #aos fic #fanfic by moi #exciting times!#this kept me up but oh i hope it was worth it!#i think it's alright!#enjoy!!

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